#drawing April for like the first time in a while

[storkmuffin]

hello stork! i have a question about the term 'fan attracting fairy' (i think that's what it's called) in relation to the atz members. i think the general consensus is that san and maybeee seonghwa are the people that originally make many people go: 👀👀 maybe i should get into them, and of course the other members also get a variety of people into ateez.

what ive seen around these parts as a newer atiny is that yunho tends to bias Wreck a lot of people, and maybe eventually shift their bias, but many people tend to write him off when they first get into ateez, which was the case with me. do you think yunho's tendency to want to appeal to the maximum amount of people and be the most likable to the most varied and different types of people at once sort of makes people dismiss him as generic?

his 'thing' is being the perfect bias/boyfriend/whatever else, and after people get into ateez and maybe watch live performances and they get to know him more and they get fascinated by his charms and intensely competitive nature or humor they're like okay maybe i like this guy. but do you think his need to appeal to everyone is the thing that makes him like. uniquely unappealing to everyone? this exact scenario has happened w atleast 4 irl friends, 7 online friends and me, and i think even you originally didn't get into ateez because of yunho and didn't even consider him in the running for your bias for a Long time. what do you think?

TLDR: Yunho's ults are crafted from witnessing him live in performance in concert and fanchats, which makes sense because he is boring on camera for various reasons. (Yeah I said it).

First, a brief personal history:

So the first time I mentioned Yunho as an interesting member (no, shut up, I just didn't find him that interesting, OK?) was for being catholic on stage and then on January 22, 2025, I quoted a youtube commenter ktiny who said something like:

the audience actually took a close look at him and made a sound like OhhhHHHHHHH???? as they went from going, Oh, Idol Face Type Is Doing Idol Stuff to OMG WTF WTF?? So there’s that.

And then I went to the finale encore for Towards the Light, and on day 1 of the two day concert series got totally turned around on Yunho, so much so that I researched the Yunho birthday cafes being hosted near the arena the next day for day 2 and went to three of them and chatted up the Yunho ults who were there from all over the world.

 They all asked me, Is Yunho your ult? because I was at the damn birthday cafe, and when I said, He wasn’t but I saw him live yesterday and now I feel really differently, they gave me the look I consider The Yunho Face of Quiet Absolute Confidence, before saying, quietly confidently(!), “Yes, he has that effect.” 

And thus began my deep dive into Yunho. Then I was asked to compare contrast Yunho and Mingi's speech patterns but it wasnt't until April, 2025 that I made my first Yunho Crying Compilation which then directly led to people diagnosing me as a Yunho Bias.

It took a while, in short, and the shock to the system that was the live performance in concert.

Second, the Yunho must be experienced in live performance thesis.

OK - So the way I would describe the reason why Yunho is a slow burn as opposed to a the usual Introduction Fairy candidates (I've seen that they are variously, San, Wooyoung and Seonghwa) is the difference between flash and glow.

San is considered a fashionable beauty - the triangular body holding up a face that's both ultra- Korean classical (19 century) and yet also very of-the-moment, in that they didn't used to let boys with eyes like that and jaws like that become Idols nor hold them up as beauty standards (even though they were always beautiful) - Flash and fashion, you know? Wooyoung is quick on the draw, sexy, witty, fast, loud as fuck = sparkly. Seonghwa is lickable, a beautiful pervert who pretends to be gentle so he can choke you out later let out his dominant side in the quiet of his Lego dungeon. HongJoong, for the record, has a mad genius vibe. Mingi is his own creature in his own universe, a mad rap prophet hollering in the desert who snaps out of it periodically to insist, No I'm a precious soft little chikadee, hold me gently in your palm and tell me I'm cute, I'm mommy's princess. Jongho is like, I really should be singing opera but you're only young once so I'm going to be in an Idol band for kicks. Yeosang is the 4th dimensional SM prince that somehow got lost and picked up by this weirdo group of insane boys and is too polite to leave.

So many of the people around Yunho are snap crackle pop, but he's doing Good Boy Gentle Glow over here.

Yunho looks too standard and yet not standard enough. He looks like an elevated version of the best looking boy in your high school, the one who was always laughing with other boys and really nice to everyone and the teachers loved him and he got to be class president while the smartest girl in the class only got to be vice president because people need smart girls to do the work but nobody likes them and anyway she's a girl (ahem). He's not extremely, excessively expressive like Seonghwa or San, and he doesn't go all out unalloyed sexy like Wooyoung and Mingi on photoshoots or in reality content.

Some of this is personality, to be sure. He refuses to get messed up, make mistakes, lose, fall apart, be the fool or the loser in group activities. This is dull.

Some of the problem - a lot of it perhaps - is his face. He's just not as expressive as they are, except when he's crying. (ahem). He's beautiful but he's not especially photogenic. This is isn't a diss - he's very beautiful, but some people have a special something when photographed (I'd say Wooyoung and Mingi both have this) that elevate their physical presence, and others don't (Jongho - also very bloody handsome - is not photogenic or photographically expressive either, and resembles Yunho too, so maybe it's a face type issue.).

In LIVE PERFORMANCE however, Yunho really really really shines. He's big, and he's loud, and I dunno if you watched the movie, but he sings a LOT MORE of the songs than somehow you remember. He has a lot of in-person charisma. He also seems physically powerful, more so than the other members. Yunho is actually very loose and playful on stage, where it feels like that would be the more high risk place to be loose and playful, than he is in reality content or music videos. For some reason they have him sitting still a lot in music videos, which I find unfortunate. LET HIM JUMP AROUND MORE, KQ.

And the other thing he excels at is the TokToq chats, but in order to get the full flavor, you actually have to speak Korean, I feel, and be able to appreciate courtesanship, and prefer Geisha performance as opposed to candour. I would think that the Mingi fans who love when he just, uh, gets FULLY WEIRD or just says things really bluntly would feel suffocated by Yunho's TokToqs, in the way that I feel (frankly) bewildered by the abrupt, stop and go but nevertheless very genuine-and-frank feeling Mingi TokToqs. This isn't specific to Mingi either - one of the reasons I stopped being a Stay was because my bias Lee Know also does very strange fanchats that border on hostility. He wasn't always like that, but he's gotten to be that way more and more. It's not my thing. I don't want to know the real you, I want you to perform Idol you.

In any case, Toktoqs are also a form of live performance, in a way that the semi scripted reality content isn't, and the music videos aren't and the lore stuff isn't either.

And to get to all this - the live performances, the footage of live performances, the tokToq chats - you need time to discover and immerse yourself, whereas the music vidoes and screenshots of photoshoots etc are what get people into fandom. Hence the later discovery of Yunho by the Yunho ults, I think, in their fandom journey.

[onejellyfishplease]

Oooh I wonder why April’s looking for that?

Anyway, just another little au to add to my collection. Imma call this one: Switch and Twist

(Next)

[knifebaby3000]

fear fun fear love

[voitier]

M.P.S - JJK

"Jungkook had a big problem. A serious one, too, at that. He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate. You."

GENRE: oneshot

RATING: 18+

CONTAINS: masturbation (m&f), squirting, spying, stealing, teasing, getting caught, jk isn't as sneaky as he thinks he is, oc loves to play him as she pleases, alcohol, drunkness, obsession, underwear used in improper ways (?)

WORDCOUNT: 2k

TAGLIST: @jeeykey @songbyeonkim @yunhoswrldddd

Divider by @cafekitsune

Jungkook had a big problem.

A serious one, too, at that.

He was utterly, desperately obsessed with his roommate.

You.

You drove him absolutely insane while doing nothing at all to do so, had him gushing over you like a little kid with his first crush, turned him into putty with your words, even though he would never admit or show you that.

At first, he didn't even mind it too much attention. He told himself it was a little infatuation, nothing more nothing less, and it would go away with time, like it usually happened.

That was almost a year ago, though, and it did not go away. If anything, it only got worse.

As time went on, it came to a point where his obsession turned primal, raw, sexual. Slowly, his little crush transformed into a carnal desire he ached to have his hands on. He didn't just want to have his way with you, he itched to worship you the same ways preachers worship their gods. Cause that's what you were to his eyes, a goddess who had blessed him with your presence. And he strived to know what his goddess tasted like, what she sounded like.

He didn’t truly realize how bad he craved you until one particular day of april. Usually, you two would split the house chores and every new season you two would “exchange” chores: you spent all winter taking care of laundry, now it was his time to take care of it. The only boundary you two had agreed on in regards? Underwear needed to be taken care of by its rightful owner. Everything else was “public dominion”.

That day, though, something shifted in him.

“If this world were mine” he hummed freely alongside the song blasting from his headphones, luther (with sza), occasionally bopping his head to the beat while he folded the warm, soft towels, picking them straight from the dryer. You had gone out a few hours prior, grumbling about how much you hated your professor and their incapacity at doing their job. Jungkook smiled amused at your rant, having memorised it word by word as it never faltered, before turning around in his bed and snoozing off for a couple hours more.

“This world, concrete flowers grow, heartache, she only doin’ what–” he stopped singing briefly as he picked up another towel, catching the sight of a white cloth falling to the ground with the cornerof his eye. He bent down, not even watching where his hand was going, his eyes still fixed on the screen of his phone where the lyrics of the song changed every second.

He felt the light texture of the cloth under his fingertips, grazing it softly before bringing it up without too much thought. When he finally turned to look at it, he froze on the spot.

What he had grabbed so carelessly wasn't a normal cloth– it wasn't a cloth at all. Between his fingers, he had the delicate white fabric of your panties, which he must have accidentally thrown into the washer earlier on.

His fingers caressed the fabric gently, hypnotised by something so innocent yet so sinful in his eyes. He ran his thumb over the part where your lips would be, imagining how many times you had touched yourself right in this pair of pure white panties, soaking them in your arousal. His cock twitched at the thought, slowly getting stiffer in his sweatpants, but before he knew it the door of the entryway opened with a click, followed by your loud groan.

He gasped softly, bunching up the fabric in his pocket before darting for his room, closing it behind him as silently as possible, not wanting to draw any attention right now.

He relaxed against the door, exhaling a breath of relief as he heard you marching towards your room, slamming the door shut. His cock twitched again in his pants, begging for attention. His hand reached inside his pocket, fingers trembling as they found the soft, fresh fabric. He pulled them out slowly, bringing them to eye-level.

He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding, his body still alert yet calmer now that he was hiding behind a closed door.

That day, Jungkook spent the whole day locked in his room, fisting his cock furiously while he held the clean pair of panties up to his face, his nose, wrapping them around his flushed red tip, until he had eventually milked himself dry, nothing else left in his spent body.

After that, he had a hard time looking at you in the eyes, and he spent approximately one week avoiding you as best as possible. He couldn't help but feel ashamed and guilty, yet, that wasn't the only time he had stolen something of yours.

That first accident only opened to his lustful mind the opportunity to steal more of your panties, trying to be sneaky about it, only taking one every once in a while. And while he thought he had mastered the art of theft, he didn't even suspect that you had noticed your panties progressively missing, catching the glimpse of your flimsy underwear peeking through the back pocket of his jeans once as he headed back to his room from the laundry room.

He didn't need to know, though.

Some things are better kept private.

You hated men.

Hated how entitled they can get, how stupid, incompetent and useless they are. Most importantly, you hated how much they turn you on, how they can play with you easily before you’re drenched and ready for them, despite all their flaws.

It’s during times like this that you have to remind yourself why the sentence “sexuality isn’t something we choose” is so fucking true to begin with.

You slam the door shut behind you, trying to be as silent as possible as you take off your high heels from your aching feet, accidentally knocking over the umbrella holder by the door. Maybe trying to be sneaky while drunk wasn’t the most intelligent thing you tried to do, but you really didn’t want to wake up your roommate at 3 a.m., especially not now that you had to take care of the tension in your body left unsatisfied by a guy you met at the bar you had spent the night at.

You groan frustrated at the aching throb between your legs, tiptoeing towards the shared bathroom quickly. You push the door closed behind you, switching the light on. Your eyes squint shut, the blinding light sending a wave of pain to your drunken mind, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bathtub for a few moments to recover.

Chills rise on your exposed skin at the cold feeling of the marble kissing your legs, yet it doesn't cool down the fire cursing through your needy body. You can’t help but let a hand travel south between your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress up until it leaves your lower body exposed to the cold room. You shudder, looking down to see a wet patch already soaking your black thong.

In your mind you silently curse the guy from the bar, thinking about the fact that you could have been entangled with his body in his sheets, body arching from pleasure, but instead you had to resort to your own fingers hidden in your bathroom while being silent to not wake up your sleeping roommate.

Your hips jerk once your fingers find your clothed clit, rubbing with featherlike pressure tight circles on your sensitive bud. A soft sigh escapes your lips, shoulders dropping in relaxation as the tension you had endured the past few hours starts leaving your body.

Your eyes close shut, head dropping back as you pull your panties to the side, running a finger through your folds to collect the wetness pooling before pushing it inside you, feeling your walls stretch pleasantly to welcome you in.

Slowly, you start to move your finger in and out your leaking hole, warming up before adding another finger in, curling them just right to hit that spot that has your body jerking in response. Your thumb finds your clit once again, rubbing it softly while you keep fucking yourself.

Your other hand grabs the edge of the bathtub, sliding off it before landing with your butt on the ground and your back slumped against the white marble, fingers still working lazily between your shaky thighs. Sweat glistens on your forehead, brows scrunched in concentration as the band inside you feels ready to snap any moment now, finally relieving your needs.

Soft gasps and moans fill the bathroom, and the wet squelches that echo in the room do nothing to hide what was happening behind the closed door. You pray that Jungkook is still snoring annoyingly in his room, blissfully oblivious to what was happening just down the hall. Just this one time.

Jungkook was, in fact, not oblivious at all to what was happening in the other room.

He had heard you knock over something in the entryway, the bang echoing so hard around the silent house that the whole apartment had probably heard you and woken up. You also weren’t silent at all while heading towards the bathroom, feet dragging to the floor like it physically pained you to lift them off the ground.

Anyway, he didn’t pay any mind to your failed attempts of silence, turning around in bed and dozing off to sleep again. What did catch his attention, though, came a few minutes later, right in the moment when reality and sleep collide in an intricate embrace where it’s not clear if you’re more awake or asleep yet.

A soft sound, coming from the bathroom, followed by another one.

Immediately he was off the bed and on his feet, padding towards the room he knew you were in to check up on you, worrying that the alcohol was making you feel sick and too weak to call for help.

He stopped right in front of the door, peeking through the little space you had left open unknowingly. You weren’t by the sink, that he could see clearly, nor by the toilet. Another gasp came from inside, followed by a broken “fuck” whispered to the air. Only in that moment his sleep drunk brain registered what was probably going on, but it was too late anyway, he had already pushed the door open a tad bit.

And there you were in all your half naked glory looking like an absolute wreck, body arching off the floor as your fingers pumped in and out of you at increasing speed, your orgasm clearly building quickly by the second. Jungkook gulped, hand squeezing the door to keep his body up as his eyes ran up and down your body shamelessly: head thrown back over the edge of the bathtub, eyes closed and lips parted in pleasure, your black dress crumpled and bunched around your waist that gave him the perfect view of your black thong messily pulled to the side to allow your fingers to work their magic, knowing exactly what felt good and what didn’t, thrusting and curling and stroking until your muscles spasmed repeatedly, body lifting briefly from the ground as you moaned loudly. A gush of clear fluids came spraying out of you, soaking your hand, your thighs, the pavement, even your thong. Jungkook’s eyes zeroed on it, quickly thinking of a way to have his hands on it before you could wash it.

His eyes scanned the room frantically while you recovered from the orgasm that had left you a whimpering and shaky mess, making it even harder for Jungkook to focus on his mission. He couldn’t get distracted, though, not when the prize was so damn high. Not when the mere thought had him squeeze his cock through his pants to relieve the throbbing, mouth watering as he imagined how good it would feel to have it in his hands.

His eyes fell to the two baskets under the sink, the ones where you two put your dirty clothes that had to be washed: one for you, one for him. He almost prayed out loud that you would throw the piece of garment in the basket, so that he could sneak in and take it with no problem whatsoever.

He was so focused on his little mission that he hadn’t even noticed your hands reaching for the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your body then throwing it in said basket. He had to bite his lip in an attempt to not gasp as his gaze immediately snapped back to your oblivious figure now only covered by the skimpy thong, turned around and bent over the bathtub as you waited for the water to become warm before getting in.

“If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me up,” he thought, feeling his briefs getting wetter by the second at the view of your perfect body now bent over in front of his own eyes. Images of him fucking you dumb right there flashed in his mind, clouding his senses with the hazy haste of lust.

His breath catches in his throat as he watches your fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and mindlessly throwing them away before getting in the bathtub, closing the curtains all around you.

Perfect.

He pushed the door open slowly, hoping it wouldn’t creak all of a sudden. Each step he took was precise, well thought, measured in pace and weight. He kind of felt like a ninja, or a thief trying to break into a bank to steal all the money stored. Except, his prize was worth more than a bank would ever offer to him, and way more rare, too.

His fingers reached for the fabric, wrapping around it before snatching it off the ground, quickly retreating back to his room all giddy and over the top. He didn’t even pay attention to the sound of his door locking behind his back, too caught up in his mind to notice it.

But you did. And you smirked, satisfied as you realized something.

The little mouse had fallen right into your trap.

Perfect.

© voitier 2025

other works here

part 2 here

[shesnake]

Spider-Verse Artists Say Working on the Sequel Was ‘Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts’

Why don’t more animated movies look this good? According to people who worked on the sequel, Across the Spider-Verse, it’s because the working conditions required to produce such artistry are not sustainable.

Multiple Across the Spider-Verse crew members — ranging from artists to production executives who have worked anywhere from five to a dozen years in the animation business — describe the process of making the the $150 million Sony project as uniquely arduous, involving a relentless kind of revisionism that compelled approximately 100 artists to flee the movie before its completion.

While frequent major overhauls are standard operating procedure in animation (Pixar films can take between four and seven years to plot, animate, and render), those changes typically occur early on during development and storyboarding stages. But these Spider-Verse 2 crew members say they were asked to make alterations to already-approved animated sequences that created a backlog of work across multiple late-stage departments. Across the Spider-Verse was meant to debut in theaters in April of 2022, before it was postponed to October of that year and then June 2023 owing to what Entertainment Weekly reported as “pandemic-related delays.” However, the four crew members say animators who were hired in the spring of 2021 sat idle for anywhere from three to six months that year while Phil Lord tinkered with the movie in the layout stage, when the first 3-D representation of storyboards are created.

As a result, these individuals say, they were pushed to work more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for more than a year to make up for time lost and were forced back to the drawing board as many as five times to revise work during the final rendering stage.

"For animated movies, the majority of the trial-and-error process happens during writing and storyboarding. Not with fully completed animation. Phil’s mentality was, This change makes for a better movie, so why aren’t we doing it? It’s obviously been very expensive having to redo the same shot several times over and have every department touch it so many times. The changes in the writing would go through storyboarding. Then it gets to layout, then animation, then final layout, which is adjusting cameras and placements of things in the environment. Then there’s cloth and hair effects, which have to repeatedly be redone anytime there’s an animation change. The effects department also passes over the characters with ink lines and does all the crazy stuff like explosions, smoke, and water. And they work closely with lighting and compositing on all the color and visual treatments in this movie. Every pass is plugged into editing. Smaller changes tend to start with animation, and big story changes can involve more departments like visual development, modeling, rigging, and texture painting. These are a lot of artists affected by one change. Imagine an endless stream of them."

"Over 100 people left the project because they couldn’t take it anymore. But a lot stayed on just so they could make sure their work survived until the end — because if it gets changed, it’s no longer yours. I know people who were on the project for over a year who left, and now they have little to show for it because everything was changed. They went through the hell of the production and then got none of their work coming out the other side."

[frmisnow]

ㅤ▌ ͟CHERRY LOLLIPOPS & CHEAP MOTELS! ‎⠀⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀ ♬᭢ 𝟐.𝟔𝐤 smut . nsfw

SUMMARY in which jungkook picks you up in his shitty car, takes you to an even shittier motel, and makes you forget why you ever said you wouldn’t do this again.

the parking lot outside your boyfriend's apartment, if you could even call it that, smelt like piss and burnt rubber. no, another correction ⎯⎯ the parking lot outside your exe's apartment complex smells like piss. you shake your head, one of your heels clicking against the hard ground in an effort to distract yourself; you keep on having to remind yourself that he cheated.

i mean how horny does one have to be, getting a blowjob at the exact time when you were supposed to have the date. 'the date' is an abomination and an overstatement. by that you mean overglorified sex meeting, or whatever, that you had planned.

you roll your eyes, one of your nails digging into the cigarette that you then put out, your heel digging into the little butt. your fingers work on unwrapping one of the cherry lollipops that he liked so much. now you had a whole pack somewhere in your basement, for no damn reason. you didn't even like cherries.

your brows furrow, as you taste the oversugared candy just as your ears pick up the low, rough engine approaching from your left side. you'd recognize that shitty sound from everywhere. if that ain't love.

jungkook pulls into the dirty street, like he owns the whole thing. one hand slung over the wheel, the other resting against the worn out gear shift, ink-dark tattoos flexing under cheap fluorescent light. while his confidence was certaintly cute, his car was everything but such. scratches and dirt adoring the most likely decade-old car.

the window’s already rolled down, but he doesn’t say anything at first. just lets his gaze drag slow over your frame — your bare legs, your mascara which was ruined well just a little, the slight pout of your lips around the lollipop. it's not even sexual, he's looking over you like he's observing a situation, figuring you out, where you stand, how you're feeling. calculated.

“don’t,” you say before he can open his mouth.

jungkook’s smile curves, the kind of expression that makes you want to throw your lollipop at his face. “don’t what?”

“don’t.” you punctuate it with a click of your tongue, the sharp crack of candy between your teeth. your mood is just a tad bit rotten, and jungkook is the very last person you need needling at your pride.

still, he gestures toward the passenger seat with a flick of his fingers. “get in.”

you hate how fast your body moves before your brain can catch up, your hand reaching out to open the car door, which opens with another sharp noise, barerly. and you hate how the seat smells like him, warm leather and cigarettes, that one perfume that he still wears, no.97 april cotton. it firmly recks, of it all. of familiarity and something you once considered mellow.

but most of all, you hate how he can tell. how he witnesses you lean back into the seat, were anyone else would see it as you getting more comfortable, he could tell it was you chasing the comfort that it itself provided.

his palm settles on your thigh, warm and familiar, like it belongs there. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your bare skin, just once, just enough to make something tighten low in your stomach.

you should push him off. should cross your legs, turn toward the window, pretend you don’t care. but you don’t. you won’t. instead, you sink further into the seat, pressing into the scent of his cologne like it might drown out the bitterness sitting in your throat.

“so,” he muses, casual as anything, drawing out the vowel, like he wanted to see you squirm under the pressure of what his question awaits. his sadist ass would probably enjoy that. “are we gonna talk about it?”

you roll the lollipop between your teeth., before you let it go with a soft pop, anything to distract him from your heartrate. could he feel your heart through your thigh? god, you hope not. “nothing to talk about.”

he snickers, but it's dim, faint, gentle, there's no real malice. other then the fact that he expected just that answer, and those actions, in that exact order. why was he so smart? it seriously freaked you out, all you were left to resort on doing was continue on with the lollipop.

cherry all over your tongue. rotten.

“you want me to fuck him up?”

you sigh under your breath, lifting one of your legs to rest on your other one, his hand ultimately falling off as a result, "no- i," you pause, eyes out the window, focusing on the bright neon signs and eventual car that drives by, "he didn't promise me anything. i didn't promise him anything either, it's- really." you hate, absolutly despise, how your voice flatters, unsure and uneven, "nothing."

jungkook's fingers drum against the wheel in a steady rhythm, letting your words settle into the thin air. before he echoes your words, "nothing." and you see a muscle in his jaw twitching, before he smiles, though it's all half-lidded and lazy in execution, bit forced perhaps, "you're a shitty liar."

"you used to be better."

you do your best to ignore him, his words and presence all together. just twist the straw of the red candy which by now, has probably painted your tongue in a similair shade, starr out the window because that was all you could fathom doing. stupidly. naively.

being confronted by the past stung because you haven't changed, really. it's the similar sting of sugar against your tongue.

his hand moves again. not to your thigh this time, but to the lollipop stick, tugging it from your lips without asking. the candy snaps from your teeth, cold air replacing it before you can protest.

he licks what was left of the little red circle, as the car stopped at a red light, now his tongue was red as well. just one more thing on the long list, tying you both by fate. his brows furrow only slowly, before his eyes settle on you, thumb gently gracing your lips that carried the same taste which was now between his very own.

"i thought you didn't like cherries."

your tongue darts out instinctively, tasting the sugar still clinging to your lips, "no. no , i don't like cherries." the car behind you honks, sharp and impatient. the red light had long since turned green.

total silence fills the practically broken car as he continues driving, the lollipop lazily rolling on his tongue as you shift in your seat, one leg folding over the other, skin still buzzing from where he touched you. your heel dangles off your toes, threatening to fall, and you wonder if he’s watching, you could never quite tell with jungkook.

“you wanna tell me why I’m driving you to a motel?”

you blink. once, twice, thrice, before it was to unnatural as to not respond.

“you picked me up.”

“you told me to.”

“you didn’t have to listen.”

jungkook huffs, something close to a laugh but not quite. “that’s cute.” god, dimples. beautiful little dimples on both sides of his face.

the lollipop clicks against his teeth when he bites down, cracking the hardened sugar like it’s nothing, as if to break the tension, or worsen it.

you sit still, legs crossed for the rest of the two minutes. before you can clearly witness the motel sign in front of you, one of the lights clearly broken. MTEL, charming.

his voice cuts through the tense air while he's turning the car off, "do you want to be alone tonight? i'll let you."

you'd say you hate how you don't hear your own voice, your lips mouth or don't feel any physical reaction for that matter, but that'd be a lie. because you wanted it, wanted him, the real craving to repeat the past just once more.

the room he gets is upstairs. third door on the left. the hallway smells like cheap lemon cleaner, and there’s a buzzing light that flickers overhead, casting long shadows yet it highlights his tattoos as well, the pretty ink you used to lick and trace patterns off. you want to burry yourself into the grey carpet beneath you.

he steps inside, flicks on the lamp, and tosses the key onto the nightstand. the light casts his face in amber, warm and unreadable. he’s watching you again. that same slow, calculating gaze from the car as the door falls shut, with a tiny click.

“take your shoes off,” he mumbles, arms leaning back onto the dark brown desk, he just tossed the keys onto.

you don't move, a little pout adoring your face, the one you do whne you were unsure of.. well.. what to do.

his gaze flicks down to your heels, then back up, slow. “you wanna fuck on a motel bed in six-inch stilettos?”

you huff, a little defiant, but the heels come off. you bend, slip them off slow, and he watches. of course, he does. that same hooded gaze, tracking the movement like it’s something to be studied.

“pretty girl,” he murmurs, pushing off the desk, and you barely get the chance to straighten before his hands are on you. firm, sure. the rough pads of his fingers skim over the fragile skin of your face, thumbs tracing over your flush cheeks.

his mouth is hot against your throat, dragging slow kisses down the sensitive skin. he lingers just below your ear, exhales long, lets you feel it. then, his teeth — just a little.

“always got an attitude,” he mutters, hands smoothing down your back, “m' gonna fix that,” he rasps, pushing you toward the bed, turning you so you stumble back onto the mattress.

the mattress creaks under your weight. the air is thick, humming with the heat between you. his eyes are half-lidded, burning, dark.

he pulls his shirt over his head, lets it drop to the dirty motel floor, then his belt clinks, the soft shift of a zipper. his cock slaps against his stomach, flushed red, thick, leaking at the tip.

your mouth goes dry.

“spread your legs.”

you do. you don’t think. you just do, and he groans, a deep, pleased sound that makes you squirm.

he grabs your thighs, drags you closer to the edge, and just — sinks in.

you choke on a gasp.

no prep. nothing but how soaked you already are. it’s too much, just right, stretching you open in a way that makes your head spin.

his hands settle on your hips, grip unforgiving, and he doesn’t move. not yet. just sits there, thick inside you, like he’s letting you feel it, making sure you know, making sure you remember. how it was like, how it used to be.

“jesus,” he breathes, looking down at where you’re stuffed full of him. “tight fuckin’ cunt. always so good for me.”

then, he moves.

slow at first, measured, like he wants to see how you take it. then, rougher. faster.

the headboard knocks against the wall. the slap of skin fills the room, slick and obscene.

your nails bite into his forearms. your back arches.

“oh, fuck—”

he grips your jaw, forces you to look at him.

“you have the prettiest fuckin' eyes,” he rasps, thumb pressing into your cheek, "fuck— look at me." and it's practically a whine which you can't help but comply to.

his hips snap into you, deep, brutal. his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick, teasing circles.

your legs shake. your thighs clench around his waist, body tensing.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, watching you unravel beneath him. “c’mon, baby — fuckin’ come for me.”

you do. hard.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, grip tightening on your hips, pinning you in place, chasing his own high. “bet your fucking pussy remembers everything, remembers who i am.”

his hips stutter as you clench around him. a sharp inhale. then, warmth. deep.

he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t move, just breathes, dragging a hand up your stomach, up between your breasts, stopping at your throat.

your heart pounds against his palm.

his lips move barerly, a small smile while leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pulling out just enough to let his cum drip between your thighs.

he lets you breath for about a minute, before he flips you over like you weigh nothing. like he’s got all the time in the world to manhandle you, spread you out over the mattress just how he wants.

your cheek presses into the sheets, legs bent under you, ass up. you barely get a second to breathe before his palm cracks against the curve of your ass, sharp, hot.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets.

he just hums, rubbing over the sting, soothing before landing another — harder this time.

“too fuckin’ pretty like this,” he mutters, palming at your waist, dragging his cock through t he mess between your thighs, nudging against your clit. “can’t get enough of you.”

he grips your hips and pushes back in, one slow, aching stroke, stretching you open all over again.

“shit,” he rasps, watching himself disappear inside you, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “always so fuckin’ tight.”

your fingers fist the sheets. your back arches. he’s deeper this way, heavier, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress as he starts to move.

slow at first. taunting.

then, he grips the back of your neck, pinning you down, and snaps his hips forward.

you moan, high pitched, wrecked, and he groans in response, fingers flexing over your skin.

“that’s it,” he breathes, pace quickening, slamming into you hard enough to shove you up the bed, the headboard banging against the wall. “take it, baby.”

his other hand sneaks under you, pressing against your stomach, feeling the way he’s deep inside you, grinding in hard, slow circles.

“can feel me, huh?” his voice is rough, almost teasing. “fuckin’ you so deep—”

you whimper, clenching around him, and he hisses, dragging you back onto his cock, fucking you harder. the room is filled with noise — the wet slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, groans of the both of you.

“gonna come,” you gasp, fingers slipping against the sheets, weak, small bits of sweat glistening on your skin. your vision whites out while he fucks you through it, his own release hitting only seconds later.

jungkook collapses beside you, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder. you’re just a tad bit ruined, limbs useless, but you hum in contentment when he continues pressing lazy kisses up your spine.

you can firmly feel that signature smile of his against your skin, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before pulling back. the bed dips as he stands, leaving you feeling cold for all of two seconds before he’s back with a warm cloth.

the first press of it between your thighs makes you shiver. he’s careful, gentle, murmuring soft praises as he cleans you up.

“so good for me.”

“always take me so well.”

when he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, dragging you against his chest. his fingers trace slow circles against your bare back, lulling and soothing.

“you want water?” he asks, lips brushing your temple.

you nod, still half-asleep. he reaches over to the nightstand, pressing the bottle to your lips, "c'mon drink." carefully watching as you take a few small gulps before pushing it away.

his fingers move through your hair, once again lulling you into soft sleep.

[slutzforbueckers]

dear april- p.b x f!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: angst?

synopsis: what happens when two people— two very different people— meet and fall in love?

a/n: i hope yall like this im not good at angst 😭also i listened to dear april by frank ocean while writing this so its lowk based off that song.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you never wanted the attention to be on you, you never liked the feeling of all eyes being on you. sometimes you felt like a shadow in your own life. moving through the world unnoticed, quiet, an afterthought in every room you stepped into. you never cared for the attention, never fought for the spotlight, never asked to be more than what you were. you never wanted that, at least not until you met paige.

paige buckers, the golden girl, the prodigy, the name whispered on every sports analyst's lips. paige was the type of person who made you believe in fate, in destiny. she shone so brightly that sometimes you wondered if you'd burn just by standing too close.

you met her on a rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky wept for hours, soaking the streets and forcing people to rush from place to place with their heads down. you had just left the library and you were waiting for your uber to take you to your job.

you had been sitting on a bench outside the library, watching the rain fall, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. you had been lost in a drawing, charcoal smudged across your fingertips, when you felt a presence beside you.

"what are you drawing?" a voice had asked, clear despite the heavy downpour of rain.

you looked up to find paige standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, her backpack slung over one shoulder. she was wearing her team hoodie, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. you recognized her instantly, but you pretended you hadn't.

"nothing special." you turned your attention back to your drawing, not wanting to stare for too long. you silently hoped she'd go away, you couldn't figure out why someone like her would bother to stop and talk to you. she didn't go away, instead she took a seat next to you, peering over your shoulder at the sketchbook in your hands.

"can i see?" her voice came out smooth, unlike yours which had a slight shake to it. you hesitated for a moment, then slowly passed it to her. paige looked at you for a second before turning her attention to the paper. it was a sketch of the library in front of you. she ghosted her fingertips over the details, careful not to smudge anything. "that's really good, you must see the world differently."

she handed you the sketchbook back, her eyes meeting yours. you shrugged, your fingers picking at the rips in your jeans. "maybe. i appreciate the beauty in things around me."

paige went quiet for a second before she spoke again, her voice softer and a little less confident. "i like that."

you fell together slowly, then all at once. paige, who spent her life surrounded by noise, found something quiet and steady in you. and you, who had always felt like you were watching life from the sidelines, were suddenly in the game. late night drives, secret kisses in empty gyms, stolen moments before and after paiges practices—it was yours. no one else mattered in those moments, just you and her.

you could remember the first time paige had let her guard down. it was the middle of the night, and you had driven out to the lake just outside of town. paige had been quiet the entire drive, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“talk to me,” you whispered when she finally parked the car. you reached over and ran your fingertips over her clenched jaw, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. paige exhaled slowly, staring out at the reflection of the moon on the water.

“sometimes,” she opened her mouth but shut it, not being able to gather her thoughts enough to speak. you waited patiently, staring at the side of her face until she spoke again. “sometimes i feel like i don’t even belong to myself. like i’m just…existing for other people. coaches, my teammates, my fans. everyone has a version of me that they want me to be— sometimes i forget who i am when i try to be me.”

you reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and who are you when you’re just you?”

“i don’t know,” paige went silent, her chest closing with vulnerability. she took a deep breath and turned to you. “but when i’m with you, i feel like i can breathe.”

but the world wasn’t kind to love like yours. paige’s career was on the rise, she had cameras in her face, expectations weighing on her shoulders, and a future that didn’t leave room for any hesitation. and you? you were just you. no flashing lights, no one screaming your name, no crowds waiting for you, no bright future carved out in headlines. that didn’t stop you though. you tried— god, you tried.

paige whispered promises into your skin, holding you tight like she could keep you both frozen in time. “you’re the only thing that feels real,” she admitted one night, her voice raw, forehead pressed against yours.

you remembered all the amazing moments you had, moments where everything felt perfect, like you had carved out a piece of the universe just for the two of you.

you had snuck into the school’s basketball court, it was nearly 3 in the morning but neither of you could manage to fall asleep. so you sat on the bleachers, a smile on your face while you watched paige dribble a ball lazily.

“i’ll teach you how to shoot,” she said suddenly, jogging over and tugging you onto your feet. you laughed out a squeal and shook your head.

“i have terrible aim, p.” you caught the ball she bounced at you, rolling it around in your hands.

paige rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. “that’s why i said ill teach you.”

“here,” she stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hands into the right position. “i got you.”

in that moment you believed her but reality was cruel. paige couldn’t keep hiding, she couldnt keep her love for you a secret when the world expected you to be someone else. rumors started, people whispered, and paige—paige hesitated. she let go, just for a second. a second was just enough to make you feel like maybe you had imagined it all.

and in the end, that was all it took. just a second.

it had been months since you last saw her. you hadn’t planned on going to the game, you told yourself you wouldn’t. but something pulled you there anyway, the same way the ocean calls back the tide. you sat near the back of the stadium, expecting to be far enough away that you went unnoticed. the noise of the crowd faded into a dull hum as you watched paige move across the court, fluid and effortless, like she was meant to be there.

you thought you could handle it— just watching, just being one of the hundreds of faces in the stands. but then it happened. paige looked up, just for a second, her gaze sweeping the crowd, and her eyes met yours.

you felt your breath catch in your throat. paige froze for just a fraction of a second, barely enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. you saw the paused in her step, the look of familiarity in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the ball before she forced herself to move.

for a moment, it felt like the whole work had stilled. like there were no cameras, no roaring fans, no expectations. just the two of you, locking in a moment of memories neither of you had been ready for.

maybe she would find you after the game, maybe she wouldn’t. maybe you had become strangers again, orbiting around each other but never colliding.

or maybe, in another life, in another version of your story, paige wouldn’t have hesitated.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[tojipie]

welcome home <3

he’s unboxed ! who cheered. by far one of my most requested fics of all time. started this series 6 months ago and it remains one of my favs :,) this is by no means the end though ! i haven’t been writing any of the additions to this series in “order” and i am still 100% open to writing about his life inside/after prison lol. thank u to all the lovely ppl that have been showing love to these since april mwah mwah mwah mwah

as always, prison bf toji series linked here <3

content: (incarceration, fem reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, p in v smut, pining, road head, swallowing, creampie, dirty talk, multiple rounds)

“just step through here and—yep,” the guard waves his security want across your outstretched arms, clearing you to take your belongings from the conveyor belt.

you’d done this dance a hundred times over the past seven years, driving up to the district penitentiary twice a week to see your boyfriend—now fiancé.

toji told you he didn’t have it in him to wait, popping the question during a conjugal visit a month ago. 

the man had known he’d wanted to marry you even before he got locked up. the feeling was mutual, but unspoken, always hanging in the air between the two of you.

you on the other hand had known you wanted to marry toji the moment he whispered his first “i love you,” said to you through the crackly speaker of a burner phone on a night when neither of you knew if he’d be coming home or not.

you make a beeline for the release wing, breaking into a subtle jog without drawing too much attention to yourself. the bouquet of green flowers you’d bought at the grocery store jostles in your purse, leaving a breadcrumb trail of stray petals.

there, around a bend and down the corridor stands the man of your dreams, flanked by officers and personnel at the front desk. 

metal cuffs clack together as the man reaches to accept a clipboard from the release agent, skillfully uncapping the pen with his teeth to fill out the means for his freedom.

he looks up a split second before you speak, dropping the clipboard with an audible clatter. toji tears down the corridor with a look that speaks of relief beyond words.

“toji!” you yell, sprinting to the inmate with outstretched arms. you nearly trip over your own feet with how quick you barrel towards him.

warm bodies clash together at last, squeezing, cradling, and caressing every inch of each other at last. his law enforcement entourage watches from afar, some smiling, others annoyed.

you’re lifted clean off the ground as strong, tattooed arms slip over your head and around your body. thick fingers work their way into your hair, cradling your head to his shoulder. 

actions speak louder than words, you know that much from how quickly he buckles, dropping to his knees with your body still wrapped around his. 

toji smells different every time you come to visit. there were days when the tang of blood stuck to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed, a telling sign of his short temper. 

other days he’d smell like the earth, soil from the rec field permeating his already brown garments after his morning run.

once in a while, you’d catch hints of industrial paint and car exhaust, a smell built up from hours of making license plates for pocket change from the state. “pennies,” he’d tell you, “that’s all we fucking get in here.”

today, toji smells like himself. like the man you fell in love with 7 years ago in the passenger seat of a BMW, gazing into green eyes while gentle hands brushed the hair from your face. 

you almost think he’s laughing until warm tears trickle through the porous fabric of your shirt. 

strong shoulders quiver as quiet sobs rack his body, you rub his back in small circles, unable to pull away with how tight he’s holding you against his chest.

“i love you,” the inmate whimpers, wiping hot tears with his sleeve. he pulls back to press your lips together, mumbling nonsense in between kisses.

“pretty girl—m’ sorry— missed you,” his hands shake as they curl into the fabric at your waist.

you’d seen him cry exactly twice in his life. the first being the night he’d opened up to you in full for the first time, quietly relaying stories of neglect and abuse from his childhood while you kissed tears from his cheeks.

the second was well, the day he went away.

to see him break down like this so openly was devastating. he hated being emotional, told you it was humiliating. you’re sure he felt more than vulnerable, the leader of the city’s biggest drug ring, crumpled on the floor of a prison hallway 

“it’s okay baby,” you tell him, still rubbing circles into his skin.

to touch him like this, at last, was unlike anything the two of you had been allowed to experience for the past 7 years. this wasn’t your two legally allowed hugs at the beginning and end of your visits, or a quick fuck in a storage closet.

this was love. to hold and be held in front of law enforcement personnel without threat of being reprimanded. this was the first time you had been allowed to feel him under the tips of your fingers with an audience, publicly declaring your claim on each other without fear. 

you never blamed toji for what had happened, as angry as you were that first year. he blamed himself enough for the both of you really. 

you’d come to learn over the years that it had already been too late for him to get out of his line of work way before you’d found each other, a cycle he couldn’t break.

prison was always a possibility, inevitable even. that’s just how it was.

you slowly gather your purse off the ground, cellophane-wrapped flowers coming into view. 

“for me?” he laughs, slightly embarrassed. dark green carnations, just like his eyes. 

“who else?” you tease, watching the distress melt from his face.

you share a look briefly, yours saying you’re safe with me. his saying i know.

the soft clicks of black work boots pull you from your thoughts, a female officer in tow.

“you guys ready to get started?” she asks softly, shooting you a sympathetic look.

toji stands with a chuckle, not letting you respond. silver cuffs dig into the meat of your thighs as you’re carried back to the group.

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

half an hour of paperwork for his freedom. that’s what you give the prison in exchange for his belongings and dignity. 

the waiting room is quiet, sterile air filtering through dated vents. calloused fingers rub over your ankle, legs propped up in his lap.

“feels like a hospital in here,” he mumbles, trying to cut through the silence.

the cuffs are gone, thank god. though you’re more than unhappy with the marks they left on his wrists. toji doesn’t seem to mind, used to almost a decade of this treatment.

the release desk worker slides you two a yellow bag under the glass divider once you finish your task, pointing you in the direction of the bathrooms in case toji wanted to change. 

the inmate—no, ex-inmate you remind yourself— hands you the bag with a disinterested look. 

he doesn’t want to remember, you realize. too scared to wear the suit he had on the day the world took you from him. you quickly trash the old clothes and hold out your shoulder bag to him, fresh clothes neatly folded inside. 

“always prepared huh?” toji smiles, grateful at the gesture. “haven’t changed a bit.”

you wait a couple of minutes outside the single-stall bathroom, physically picking your jaw up off the floor when he emerges.

to say that his old shirt fit would be... egregiously wrong. blasphemous even.

toji’s shirt doesn’t just “not fit”, it’s bursting at the seams as it struggles to accommodate his hulking form, stretching over plains of corded muscle like a rubber band pulled too tight. 

seeing him so often had likely gotten your brain used to the change, preventing you from realizing how fucking big your fiancé had gotten. truly.

the black garment is so tight against his body that it’s practically a second skin. you make note of the way it molds into the dips and curves of his abs, mentally reminding yourself to get him to wear it for you later. 

you suppose the change makes sense. if toji wasn’t with you on a day visit he was always in his cell, sticking to a strict workout regimen to take his mind off things. still, you rack your brain trying to pinpoint how and when such a massive transformation slipped your mind.

a tattooed hand snaps you out of your trance, cradling your cheek.

“you focused?” your fiancé teases, rubbing circles into your jaw with his thumb.

“i think that thing’s gonna explode if you move,” you swat his hand away. 

“would you rather i take it off to be safe?” he asks, jutting a thumb behind him at the waiting room desk.

the workers make no attempt to hide their oggling, faces pressed against the glass barrier separating your party from theirs.

“no— god keep it on,” you mutter, shooting them a nasty look.

“you and your girlfriend ready to go fushiguro?” an officer says, holding the door open for the both of you. toji squats down momentarily to get a grip on your thighs, folding you over his shoulder to carry you fireman style.

“wife,” he corrects, shouldering past the guard and trudging down the corridor with calculated steps.

the coos that ring out from the help desk are humiliating.

waxed tile fades into worn concrete as the two of you pass the threshold into the prison parking lot, your soon-to-be-husband muttering a curt “go fuck yourselves” to the officers who’d wished him good luck on his way out the door.

you’re proud of him for holding his tongue, in a way. knowing toji and his temper there were a hundred more creative and undoubtedly gruesome things he could have said to the personnel who’d kept him locked up for the better half of a decade. 

the world flips right side up again as you’re gently placed on your feet in front of the car. 

toji raises his head to the sky, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“s’ nice,” he mumbles, reaching to intertwine your hands. “felt the sun during rev time but.. not like this.”

you hum, rubbing your thumb over tattooed knuckles. 

“get ready to experience a lot more sun then,” you giggle. “wanna have a look at the car?” the question is more of a rhetorical one at this point considering he’s already running his hand over the hood with a whistle.

“haven’t seen this baby in a while,” he smiles, internally gushing at your choice to welcome him to the world in the car he used to drive you home the night you met. your fiancé doesn’t have to say thank you, you know how grateful he is from his smile alone.

he falters for a bit, looking like a newborn fawn with how careful his steps are as he circles the vehicle. you figure wearing proper shoes instead of rubber slides must feel at least a little abnormal after 7 long years. 

“alright,” toji states, rolling his shoulders in his too-tight top. “fuck are we waiting for, i wanna go home.”

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

you pay no mind to toji the first time he turns to look at you, opening his mouth to say something before slumping back into his seat with a frustrated sigh.

the fourth time it happens, you speak up.

“what are you doing?” you laugh, eyeing him from the driver's seat

“getting rubbed to death by my fucking zipper,” he mutters, repositioning his lower half to take the pressure off his cock. his frustration isn’t aimed at you in the slightest, all blame placed on his bottoms.

oh.. oh.

the whirlwind of emotions toji had gone through in the past 3 hours alone had taken a toll on his mind and body. but tasting the first morsels of freedom with you, alone in a car that smelled like you? you’d be worried if he wasn’t hard.

you had no problem helping his little problem go away, the question was how soon.

the idea that piques on you is absolutely shameful, you’re not even sure where it came from but you don’t have it in you to care. 

you know this road, you’ve used it a thousand times to make the trip up to the penitentiary. judging by how long you’d been driving you’d say there was about 10 minutes left before ruler-straight tar merged into the twists and turns of the suburbs.

“when did your license expire?” you ask, cautiously peering in the rearview mirror. good, no cars.

“3 years ago,” he laughs, “why?”

fuck it, you think.

“you still remember how to steer?” 

“course i d— oh.”

it finally dawns on him. you smile, shooting him a look that says “want to?”

you’re sure you have your answer judging by how quick he shucks his jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.

“oh fuck,” he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open as your mouth presses against his base. 

your fiancé steers while your head bobs just beneath the dash, one hand on the wheel and the other placed firmly at the crown of your head, guiding you up and down the shaft.

your throat flexes around the intrusion, fighting the hulking feeling of his length mercilessly fucking into your mouth.

“fuck, perfect girl— my girl,” he shudders, hips moving to buck into your slick throat.

“gonna cum, gonna— shit,”

fingers kissed in dark ink massage your throat softly, urging you to swallow the hot load coating every inch of your mouth. you flutter around his length, pulling back to clean him off with your tongue.

“fucks gotten into you, pretty girl?” he whispers, so out of breath you barely hear him. 

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

you barely make it up the steps of the house before you’re shoved against the door, tattooed hands groping up and down your body with fervor.

“keys,” he says against your lips, “keys—fuck, now,” his voice is hoarser this time, desperation clear.

you whip around to jam the item into the lock, not unaware of the rock-hard dick grinding into your jean-clad ass from behind.

you’re being carried to the couch before you even step off the doormat, a stray throw blanket cushioning your fall as you’re pressed into squeaky leather. 

“won’t be gentle,” toji groans, ripping your jeans and panties down in one fluid motion.” can’t right now.”

“don’t be.” you say, rucking his shirt off his body surprisingly quick. “wouldn’t want you to.”

you needed him, needed toji to have his way with you. to christen your home round after round until you couldn’t feel where his body and yours ended.

when it came down to it, you suppose 

he smiles at the crude admission, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your drenched folds.

“filthy,” he mutters, said almost lovingly. toji grips his base and sinks to the hilt with a sharp groan, shuddering at the heat of your walls.

the stretch is delicious, filling you from every angle and pressing right against that special spot. you’re surprised at how easily he slams in, though you’re embarrassed to admit it was entirely because of how soaked you were. 

toji immediately pulls back with a flick of his hips, pistoning into you like his life depends on it. 

he hasn’t changed, you think. still so incredibly in tune with your body, skills that would put a pornstar to shame.

this was better than some quick closeted fuck under the cover of night after slipping a guard a rubber band of cash. this was primal, filthy. two bodies writhing against each other, the only goal being complete and utter pleasure. 

toji makes no effort to shush you like he would if you were sneaking around, basking in your sighs and whines like water from a stream.

“missed this,” he says, licking a long, wet stripe from your sternum to your pulse. “missed you, missed having you every day.”

“you’ll have me forever,” you moan, sucking a purple bruise into the tattooed skin of his throat.

thick fingers thread into your hair to hold you to his neck, silently commanding you to bite down.

and so you do. you bite down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, licking over pink teeth marks as his thrusts reach their maximum speed.

the pleasure you feel is blinding. stars explode behind your vision while the curve of his cock hits that heavenly spot in you just right. over, and over, and over.

your climax sneaks up on you before you can think, ripping a wail from the depths of your chest. toji’s thrusts falter to a halt as you lock down on him, pleasantly caught off guard by the vice grip you have around him.

“oh my g— holy shit,” he groans, mouth hanging open. dark brows furrow it to a look of pure pleasure, emerald eyes squeezing tight.

“keep going,” you mumble, scratching rivets down the skin of his back. “just keep fucking me please don’t stop please pl—”

“yeah? keep going?” he teases, groping at the swell of your breast. “greedy huh?”

you did want more, that was the thing. you just came the hardest you ever had in years but you’d be damned if he didn’t keep giving it to you.

brutal thrusts shake the frame of the couch. your bodies meld like they were made for each other, sharing pleasure in the comfort that came with the knowledge that the both of you intended to fuck until you physically couldn’t anymore.

“gonna come,” your fiancé pants, mouthing at the curve of one of your breasts. blunt teeth brush over the bud of your nipple, sending shockwaves down your spine

“inside, fuck—please,” you’re practically shaking.

“inside?” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue like gold. “you want my seed? huh?” 

you nod, clutching to his naked back as he ruts into you, deeper than ever. strong hands grip the back of your thighs practically folding you in half, opening you up in ways you thought to be impossible.

hot release fills you up for the second time that day, shrouding your lower half in a blanket of warmth.

you sigh, low and satiated at the feeling inside of you, pulling toji to your chest when he collapses on top of you.

“we should probably..” toji trails off, completely out of breath. “should probably head upstairs.” he heaves, chest swelling with deep gulps of air.

“or we could go another round?” you mumble, throwing the question out there. 

“shit, yeah.. probably should right?” he chuckles

taglist ! 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin @tempest1art @sakuraryomen01 @kariito-art @vkeyy @mxtokko @inumakiiz @rosieee491 @loveme-b4by @suguxo @namjoonsbuspass @tojis-luver @complexivelovely @dancingwithdeities @sunflwrsugar @catvader101 @ktsgrl @princessos-blog @4ut0p5y @swiftsongs-mp3 @mycocoapuffs @adrenepinephrine @na0koz @suguscape @jaswonder3 @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @getousrep @jeannieboys @darkstarlight82

[starrdream]

Birthday sex

Hayden Christensen x f!reader. summary: Waking up next to your bf on his birthday.. includes: SMUT, p in v, slight praise

The day you were most excited about finally came-april 19th, your dear boyfriend's birthday. You yawned softly the second you woke up, slowly turning your head only to bump it against his chest.

He was still asleep, one arm loosely slung over your waist, his face relaxed, peaceful in the dim morning light. You turned to face him more fully, tucking your arms around him and pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his neck.

Hayden shifted, groaning under his breath but not opening his eyes. You kissed his neck again, a little higher this time, then let your lips trace along his jawline.

"Good morning baby.." You mumbled, kissing up his jaw.

He said nothing at first. Just tightened his hold on you, grounding himself in your warmth like he was still drifting somewhere between sleep and waking. His fingers found the small of your back, resting there, steady.

"Happy birthday, my love." You whispered, grinning against his skin.

That earned a tired little breath of laughter from him. His voice came out low, raspy. "Thank you…"

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him. His eyes were still shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, but there was the softest hint of a smile on his lips. You leaned up and kissed him there.

He yawned, finally waking up. "You’re up early."

"It's almost 11 AM." You chuckled. "Besides, I want to make the most of today." You shruged.

He hums, clearly still tired. "Yeah?"

"Yeah.." You repeat, sitting up slightly and resting your weight on your elbows.

Hayden just smiles down at you through half-lidded eyes.

You sit up even more before crawling over him and placing a soft kiss on his lips. Instinctively, Hayden's hands come up to rest on your hips, keeping you steady.

"Well this is a nice way to start my birthday…" He joked, hands roaming up your waist.

"I think I could do better.." You shrug, covering his hand with yours, dragging it own to the hem of your underwear.

"Is that so?" His eyebrows shot up.

You nod, smirking.

"Well.." He snaps the fabric against your shin before pulling them down. "In that casee..."

You grin, pulling down his boxers just enough to let his cock spring free. His hard and heavy length pushes firmly against your hand and you flick over his tip a few times, drawing out a soft whimper from him.

"Don't tease me baby..." His hand covers yours, guiding his cock up to your entrance-teasing your wetness with his tip before slowly pushing in.

Your insides stretch to accommodate him, the feeling both pleasurable and painful.

You moan slowly, eyes rolling back and closing.

You nod, hips still grinding down on him. The delicious friction of your bodies rubbing against each other is pushing both of you closer to the edge.

Your hips slowly start rocking back against him, fucking yourself onto his length as he thrusts up into you.

"Mhm..just like that." Hayden approved, a small huff escaping his mouth.

Hayden leans up a little bit, claiming your soft lips in an open-mouthed kiss and effectively muffling your moans.

His large hands on your backside keep you lifted and bouncing on his lap, the deep, slow rhythm hitting spots inside you that make you see stars.

With just a few more thrusts, both of you are finishing, riding out your orgasm together.

Once you’ve had enough, Hayden slowly pulls out, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

"Happy birthday to me.." He jokes.

"I’ll go get started on the pancakes." You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement.

In seconds you’re up and on your way to the kitchen, wanting to make this day even more special.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAYDEN 🥳🥳 Also I’m closing my requests for a while until I finish all of the other ones I’ve already started. Feel free to still ask but I’m probably not gonna answer for a week or two!!

[chewnotchoke]

in the warmth of your touch,

— boynextdoor with a s/o who feels cold

requested by anon <3 idk if a similar fic was written prior to this but pls do let me know if there is

comments are highly appreciated! also been a while since i last posted so i hope u enjoy this one!

sungho

𓍯 it was your first time sharing a bed with sungho. you snuggle into yourself, but you still feel an icy breeze along your back, and the room is colder than you anticipated. you know every inch between you and sungho, who is laying only on the opposite side, so you don't want to move too much.

it's not quite enough to have a blanket drawn firmly around your shoulders. you wonder whether he feels the same hesitancy because he hasn't said anything yet, likely in an attempt to settle in. but before you can say anything, you feel his arm extend and his touch lightly rest on your shoulder.

“i think it’ll drive me crazy if i’m not closer than this to you.” sungho says close to your ear. the softness of the moment, the way his hand rests on your arm, and the silent comfort in the gap between you are all that's left. under a blanket that is too tiny, the two of you are feeling warmer than ever.

riwoo

𓍯 maybe going on a walk on a cold night was a bad idea. you didn’t bring any sweater with you to warm you up, and your clothes were almost thin. the breeze was crisp and unexpected on an april night. worse, you were walking side by side with riwoo.

“you look cold. do you want my jacket?”

you declined, knowing it would be bad for him if he tries to make you warm. it’s been a while since you started dating but you still couldn’t help but get shy around him. his kindness makes you fluster, only because you like him that much. he noticed how you kept trying to bring your arms closer to your body to summon any warmth left.

before you knew it, like an embrace, his jacket was enveloped around your shoulders. the wind made it easier to smell his scent on the fabric. from behind, riwoo then wrapped his arms on your shoulders as he draws you closer to him.

“we could stay like this longer if you want.”

and both of you were giggling because he didn’t want to let go of you while walking. flirtatious glances accompanied every step, and your breath was audible in the cold air, fitting in with the playful conversation that seemed to revolve around you two.

jaehyun

𓍯 would be the type to make cheesy comments because he's actually shy about holding your hand and his cheeks are tinted with a faint blush. "you know you don't need to buy hand warmers because you already have me, right?" he says. your fingers are intertwined with each other and he adds, "other people can't find a hand warmer like me!" he grins. you'd laugh at his remark and say "so you're like my personal hand warmer then?"

"yeah, i'm yours only." both of you would laugh at each other's cheesy comments, warming up your hand even more like how much his laugh and smile warms up your heart. he loves playing with your hand, and makes more comments to conceal his shyness.

he doesn't tell you he likes it when you feel colder because then it's his chance to hold you closer to him. he'd ask you if your body feels cold too so you could snuggle together and wrap his arms around your waist.

taesan

𓍯 taesan gets more flirty because he loves the feel of your touch when you use his face to warm up your hands. on a study date you had with him, he reached out to your hands and noticed they were cold.

“can i make use of that pretty face to warm me up?” you asked, a smile crept onto his face. he was holding your hand and slowly bringing it to his face. you couldn't resist grinning as your palm touched taesan’s cheek and the warmth that radiated from him seemed like a soft sunshine.

taesan wasn't finished yet, though. he closed his eyes for a second, perhaps enjoying the sensation as he leaned into your contact and pushed your hand closer.

with a low voice, he whispered, "you don't realize how good this feels."

you move a few strand of his hair away from his face asking, “like it that much?” he opens his eyes to meet yours before replying “i love it so much i could fall asleep like this.”

leehan

𓍯 at a cafe, you were staying with your boyfriend leehan for food. "baby, it's getting a little colder here." you were slightly shivering from the breeze of the air conditioner despite being wrapped with a long-sleeved shirt and thick denim pants. leehan watches you while you barely couldn't smile from the cold freezing air.

"i told you to order something hot like coffee." leehan holds both of your shoulders, making you face him. he starts rubbing his palms in an exaggerated motion, trying to summon warmth.

he leans in as he cups your face with his hands, warm like a furnace as it dissolves the chill settled on your cheeks. being the playful guy that he is, he lightly squeezed your face, filling his expression with a teasing laugh. "better?" he grins.

"stop making fun of me."

"it's okay, you're cute."

woonhak

𓍯 woonhak would be the type to take your hand and put it inside his pocket. woonhak slowly pulls your hands apart as his fingers discover yours. he silently puts your hands in his coat pockets while keeping his own hands firmly in place. with his thumb making soft circles on your skin, he occasionally squeezes your hand. the subtlety of it makes you wonder if he even recognizes what he's doing.

a grin forms in your face, realizing how bold he is but his pink cheeks were still visible. he doesn’t let go, not even when you finally stop shivering.

there's a pleasant, familiar smell of his cologne that hovers between you. now that he's near enough, you can feel his soft breath and his presence enveloping you like an invisible blanket. the gentle curve of woonhak’s lips and the faint flush on his cheeks that intensifies when he knows you're observing him are visible when you dare to look up.

“like it so bad when i hold your hand like this you can’t even stop looking at me, huh?” he teases you

[iscdisc]

This is a 2012 take I've had for a while now, and I'm so happy I made art about it today because I genuinely love talking about it !! 🗣️

This isn't meant to be 2012 Leo slander whatsoever, because I adore him and don't think he's terrible or anything (He's literally my favorite pick for the 2012 Turtles-) ! But I do feel that he admittedly had a lot of poor leadership moments at times (Especially in late Season 3 to Season 4- 💀), and I feel like a lot of the burden of having things accessible / ready / or even remotely feasible in order to have Leo's plans actually work out fell on Donnie. Without much appreciation or acknowledgment of that fact from Leo or anyone else for that matter.

I feel like if any of the brothers had a right to argue with Leo about leadership or how things were being run under him, it should have been Donnie, because Donnie had more than enough of a leg to stand on for that argument. I'm not trying to invalidate Raph's feelings or perspective, because I'm not saying I don't understand the angle of him being upset about Leo's blatant favoritism when it came to their Father and that being a big reason why he was so obstinate with Leo- But that aside, I don't feel like he had much of an argument to make when it came to presenting himself as a better option as far as leadership-?? I get retconning canon and that this could've just been the writers depicting Raph in a way that some of you may disagree with, but if we're basing this opinion on the Season 1 episode, "New Girl In Town", we can clearly see that he wasn't very well equipped to fill that role in the way that Leo was. And speaking of that particular episode, it was actually Donnie who stepped up when things were getting really bad with Snakeweed in the sewers- 👀

This is why I depict Raph in this scenario accepting this outcome and not being super defensive or acting like he should be included in the conversation, because I kind of have him admit that he wasn't the best at it-!

I'm also sorry, because there was so much more I wanted to draw, and instead of being able to show those things I'm just going to say them here-! For example, Splinter's involvement in the situation. I pretty much don't have him do anything about the unanimous vote, because in his eyes, this team's dynamic / structure is this team's business and he doesn't really have a place to say whether or not they change who leads the team. Sure he chose Leo in the beginning, but if they decide to come to a different decision, they're fully in the right to do that. So Leo couldn't exactly get Splinter to come to his defense,, 👍 || I also wanted to show more of Donnie and Leo both being pretty content with this new dynamic change after a while ! I somewhat got to explore that with the last image of Leo being able to fully explore his hobby / interest in astronomy, but I also wanted to show Donnie feeling very fulfilled and respected within this group of siblings and friends now that he is the team leader, with that being really satisfying for him ! || I also wanted to show Donnie having his first leader breakdown post the Kraang Invasion of Season 2, with Leo comforting him at the Farmhouse and expressing empathy having been in his position many many times before,, He just never really told his brothers about it because he didn't want them to worry and he honestly felt ashamed for breaking down so much,, <:/

Also, you know I can't resist putting 2012 Jonatello in everything I make, so of course this is going to have Jonatello moments too ! I just didn't get around to it yet- One of those things was going to be Casey becoming the second mechanic in the group in order to take off some of the work load on Donnie since now he's juggling even more than he used to-! The way Casey expresses not only concern but so much support for Donnie gives Donnie butterflies, okay- 👀💜🖤✨ Lmao

I guess the last thing I'll mention is kind of April's role and everything, since I want her to join Mikey in encouraging Leo to really explore himself as an individual now that he doesn't have to be defined by the leadership role anymore ! She's very supportive of him just being able to be himself and figure that out during this time ! But I also wanted her to better explain to Leo why she also agreed with this leadership change, since I can see him feeling a little betrayed by her. With Leo most likely assuming that she would have tried to reason with Donnie or get him to see a different side of the situation. I wanted to be very clear that she did not agree with Donnie because she felt bad for him or because of the weird crush he had on her and she didn't know how to be honest with him, etc. etc., you know what I mean? 👍✨

[prettiestlovergirl]

DISCONNECTED

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; semi-public sex; teasing; almost getting caught; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it); oral fixation! reader; family friend! luke castellan.

concept: going on vacation to your family's beach house with your favorite family friend. song: disconnected by 5sos.

a/n: oh how i love family friend luke castellan. also, sex in a bikini. that is definitely a plus. for pool house context, i'm imagining one like slightly smaller than the one in the OC. this is supersuper unedited. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

when your mom informed you that the castellan's were joining you guys for your yearly spring break trip to your family's beach house, you'd been fucking ecstatic.

you played it cool in front of your mom, of course. just smiled and said it sounded fun, you couldn't wait to see them again and catch up. you had to play it cool, telling your mom you were looking forward to catching up with mind-blowing sex was not an option.

unfortunately for you both, you hadn't gotten a moment alone. there was always a sibling or parent interfering in every single private moment the two of you had.

until today, that is.

you had resigned yourself to having an orgasm-free vacation, deciding to instead spend as much time as possible in the pool, the cool water acting like a giant cold shower.

you got up early, hoping to relish in some of the silence at the pool without any smaller kids running around. you figured you were the only one awake, so you had no issues wearing one of your smaller bikinis.

you'd been in the middle of placing your sunglasses on your face when you suddenly felt two hands wrap around your waist. you yelped in surprise, hand flying over your heart when you heard a familiar laugh in your ear.

"jesus, luke! you scared the shit out of me!" you huffed, smacking his chest roughly while he continued to laugh at your surprise. god, you didn't realize how much you missed his laughter against your skin.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry." luke grinned, pressing a quick kiss behind your ear before he went on. "let me make it up to you?" he hummed suggestively, hands lightly squeezing your hips.

"knowing our luck, someone's gonna wake up right now and cockblock me." you grumbled, biting your lip as he started pressing soft kisses along your neck that made you shiver despite the april heat.

"then let's go into the pool house. no one'll think to check there first." he hummed, nipping at your skin hard enough to make your breath hitch. you finally relented, just nodding your head. you didn't trust your voice not to come out all breathy.

luke led the two of you to the small pool house, locking the door behind you before pouncing almost immediately. his lips met yours in a hungry kiss, drawing out a desperate whine from you.

it had been far too fucking long since you'd had his lips on yours like this, it had been pure fucking torture having him be so close for this past week and be unable to touch him.

your hands roamed all over his bare chest, desperate to feel every inch of his skin, feeling for any new scars or marks he'd gotten since the last time you'd seen him.

"fuck, i wanna take my time with you, but there's no time." he murmured against your lips, groaning softly against you. you tightened your grip on him, gently grinding your hips against the bulge in his swim trunks.

"s'okay, don't care, just fuck me." you moaned, relishing in the feel of his skin against yours. he grunted as your hips rolled against him, quickly pushing you back towards the white chaise lounge in the center of the room.

he helped you lay back against the pillow, not once pulling his lips off of yours. he'd waited far too long to bruise your lips with his, he didn't plan on breaking until he absolutely needed to.

you laid against the pillow, one leg bent up on the chaise lounge while the other hung off the side so you'd be spread open for him, just like he wanted.

luke moved one of his hands down, slipping it under the fabric of your bikini. he rubbed his finger over your entrance, moaning at just how fucking wet you were for him already. it was certainly good to know you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

finally, he broke the kiss and you whined as he pulled away, despite the fact that you were now practically gasping for air. "need you to hold this to the side, baby" he told you, panting lightly before pressing his lips to your throat.

you brought your hand down, pulling the small strap of fabric covering your aching pussy to the side and holding it there. he ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, taking another mental picture of how fucking gorgeous you looked all spread open for him.

if he had it his way, he'd just bury his tongue in you right then and there, but there was no time. "never gonna get tired of this sight." he informed you, his free hand bringing his throbbing cock out from his swim trunks.

he lined himself up to your glistening pussy before thrusting inside of you, drawing moans out of you both on impact. your back arched against the chaise, mouth open as you felt the delicious sting of your walls stretching to fit him.

you'd think that after the amount of times you two had fucked, he'd fit without much of a struggle, but alas, here you were. "fuck, baby." luke groaned, hands moving back to grip your hips tightly.

"fuck, luke, give me your fingers, need to muffle." you moaned, eyes focused on him while he started to thrust into you. he did as you asked, releasing the grip on your hip with one hand and letting you grab hold.

he started thrusting fast and hard, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned out before bringing three of his fingers into your mouth. you sucked and swirled your tongue around the digits, making him groan as his eyes watched.

"god, you look so fucking hot like that." he grunted, his pace picking up more as you looked at him. the feeling of your cunt gripping him like a vice and your tongue coating his fingers in your saliva spurred him on.

"harder" you moaned around his fingers as he fucked you, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. your voice came out muffled and wet, drool and spit slipping down chin as he moved faster into you.

you let out more muffled moans, hips bucking up to meet his every thrust as he fucked into you. your foot stayed up on the tips of your toes, body buzzing with the attention it craved for so long.

luke's eyes were fixed solely on where you two were joined together, watching the way his cock got lost amongst your soaked walls again and again.

your arousal created a thick, creamy white ring around the base of his cock that he fucking relished in. he just couldn't take his eyes off you, the way your pussy clenched every time he moved out and fluttered when he shoved back in.

"fuck, g'na cum!" you moaned, mouth hanging open with his fingers still in your mouth. he started fucking into you even faster, wrapping your bent leg around his waist to go even deeper into you.

"hold on just a little longer, baby, fuck, just a little longer" he grunted, grip on your body tightening so he could fuck into you harder, getting close to cumming himself.

"shit, shit, fuck!" you cried out as your legs quivered around him until you finally came, drenching his cock in your pussy juices and creating a loud, wet slapping noise as he continued to fuck you rough and fast.

"oh, fuck, c'mon, fuck, cum for me, luke, please, want to see you cum" you moaned out, your hips bucking up once again to meet his thrusts and take him in deeper to help him get closer.

"oh, fuck, do that again" luke demanded, eyes closing as you bucked your hips up again to meet his thrusts until he quickly pulled out of you.

he wrapped his hand around his cock, fisting it immediately before cumming on your stomach with a groan. "fuck, babe..." he panted, the two of you slumped in silence for a moment.

he pulled his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing behind them as he swiped them through his cum on your chest. wordlessly, you pulled his hand back up to your lips, cleaning the cum off his fingers while he watched with rapt attention.

he'd been about to say more when he heard the doorknob start to jiggle. "luke? is that you?" your dad's voice called, snapping you instantly out of your dizzy post-orgasm haze. you quickly grabbed your towel, wiping your chest off.

"yeah! what's up?" luke called, looking at you with wide eyes as he started to quickly put his dick back in his shorts. "have you seen y/n?" your dad questioned, making your eyes widen.

"uh.. yeah! yeah, she went down to the beach like twenty minutes ago. wanted some alone time, i think!" he lied, biting his lip gently. "oh, alright."

he waited until your dad's footsteps trailed off before letting out a sigh of relief. "shit, that could have been bad." he murmured, glancing back over at the door.

you let out a giggle as you slumped back down against the chaise lounge, biting your cheek to try and stop your smile as he glared at you.

"so, now that he's gone... round two?"

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[sirenedeslily]

ALWAYS, FOREVER :: JACKIE TAYLOR

⏝ི ✿ 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a tender chronicle of two souls intertwined through secret languages and stolen kisses, as they shatter beneath society's frost only to thaw into truth under courage's warm light.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[cw.] — a narrative shaped by Spring Into Summer by lizzy mcalpine; an au where the crash never occurred. jackie, constrained by compulsory heteronormativity, navigates the complexities of longing and self-discovery in 1996’s quiet ache.

jackie taylor was born in december, a winter child with snowflakes in her hair and frost on her eyelashes. you could see it in her eyes—hazelnut blonde, wide and unblinking, framed with lashes so thick they cast shadows on her cheeks—the innate understanding that beauty was both weapon and armor. she resembled a wide-eyed doll come to life, porcelain-perfect and untouchable, a girl who learned early how to smile just right, how to laugh at jokes that weren't funny, how to hold herself with the straight-backed posture of someone who knew she was being watched.

you were born in april, a spring child with pollen dusting your shoulders and petals unfurling in your lungs. your curls were the color of soil after rain, rich and earthy, framing a face that was all soft planes and curious eyes. you had lips that naturally pouted, as if perpetually on the verge of asking another question. while jackie stood straight, you moved like water finding its way downhill, following currents invisible to others, bending but never breaking.

the first time you met, you were both four years old, playing in a sandbox that was really just a glorified cat litter box behind wiskayok elementary's pre-k building. jackie had a plastic shovel and a determination to build the perfect castle. you had nothing but your hands and an imagination that transformed each grain of sand into universes.

"you're doing it wrong," jackie said, watching you pat formless mounds with your palms.

you looked up, squinting against the late summer sun, and replied, "there's no wrong way to play."

jackie considered this with the serious expression of a child contemplating philosophy for the first time. then she handed you her extra bucket.

"here. now you can make towers."

instead, you filled the bucket with dandelions and placed it atop her meticulous castle like a crown.

that was how it began—the bunny and the doe, an unlikely pair bound by the mysterious gravity that draws children together before they learn to question why they like who they like.

⚘

in the arithmetic of childhood friendships, you and jackie defied every equation. she was all clean lines and planned adventures; you were smudged margins and spontaneous detours. she collected friends like trading cards, carefully arranged and displayed; you collected stories and kept them pressed between the pages of your mind like wildflowers.

jackie's house was a showcase of suburban aspiration—gleaming hardwood floors that her mother polished every sunday, furniture arranged at perfect right angles, family photos in matched frames documenting their collective perfection. the refrigerator door was a museum of accomplishments; jackie's straight-A report cards, certificates of achievement, newspaper clippings of her youth soccer victories.

your house was a labyrinth of books—stacked on stairs, teetering on tables, forming makeshift furniture of their own. your father, an english professor, believed in the sanctity of the written word; your mother, a nurse with the soul of a poet, believed in the healing power of stories. they gave you a childhood scripted by dickens and alcott and austen, letting you run wild through fictional worlds when the real one seemed too constrained.

in jackie's bedroom, everything had its place. trophies on shelves, stuffed animals arranged by size, clothes sorted by color and season. you spent countless afternoons lying on her pink carpet, watching her organize her life into perfect compartments while you read aloud from whatever book had captured your imagination that week.

"don't you ever get bored?" jackie asked once, sitting at her vanity, practicing french braids on her own hair. "reading about other people's lives instead of living your own?"

you looked up from your dog-eared copy of "anne of green gables" and said, "i'm not reading about other people's lives. i'm living a thousand lives in addition to my own."

jackie's expression flickered between confusion and fascination. "i don't think i could ever be like you," she said finally.

"why would you want to be?" you asked. "i already have me. the world needs you to be jackie."

she smiled at that, a rare genuine smile that reached her bunny eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. "you're so weird," she said, but she said it like it was a compliment.

in your room, books formed a fortress around your bed. posters of the cranberries and your favorite french movies covered the walls. your dresser was a archaeological dig of half-finished stories written in notebooks, fragments of poems on loose paper, quotes copied from favorite books onto index cards.

"how do you find anything in here?" jackie would ask, perched primly on the edge of your unmade bed, afraid to disturb the creative chaos.

"i don't find things," you'd reply. "things find me when i need them."

she'd roll her eyes but submit to the ritual of lying beside you on the floor, heads close together, while you pointed out shapes in the textured ceiling and spun stories about cloud kingdoms and star wars, years before either of you had heard of george lucas.

between your houses lay wiskayok itself—a town too small to hide in but too big to truly know everyone. you navigated its streets like parallel rivers, sometimes converging, sometimes diverging, but always flowing toward some shared, unnamed sea.

the summer before sixth grade was the summer of secret languages. twelve years old, teetering on the precipice between childhood and something more complex, you and jackie created ways to communicate that no one else could understand.

it began with a simple code—replacing letters with numbers, leaving notes in each other's lockers, giggling when others couldn't decipher them. then came the elaborate hand signals, each flick of a wrist or tap of fingers conveying entire sentences. by july, you had developed an entire vocabulary of facial expressions, able to conduct silent conversations across crowded rooms.

it was also the summer jackie's body began its betrayal, developing before yours in ways that drew new kinds of attention. boys who had pulled her hair in fourth grade now found reasons to stand close to her, to brush against her in hallways. girls who had been friendly rivals now measured themselves against her, finding themselves wanting.

you watched this metamorphosis with a scientist's curiosity and a poet's heart, cataloging the changes in your best friend like phases of the moon. the way she started wearing her hair down instead of in the practical ponytail of her soccer-playing days. the careful application of lip gloss where once she'd just slathered on cherry chapstick. the measured pace of her walk, slowed from its former eager bounce to something more deliberate, more aware.

"do you think i'm pretty?" she asked one night, both of you lying on the trampoline in her backyard, the august sky a tapestry of stars above you.

"you know you are," you answered, turning to study her profile in the dim glow of distant porch lights.

"no, but do you think i'm pretty?" her voice had an urgency to it, a need that transcended the typical reassurance-seeking of preteen girls.

you propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at her face—those wide eyes reflecting pinpricks of starlight, that perfect nose, those lips now slightly parted in anticipation of your answer.

"i think you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen," you said, the truth spilling out before you could filter it through the appropriate lens of girlhood friendship.

her face changed then, softened and opened like a night-blooming flower. "show me," she whispered.

and there, beneath the indifferent gaze of distant galaxies, you leaned down and pressed your lips to hers in a kiss that lasted three heartbeats—one for courage, one for discovery, one for a revelation neither of you was ready to name.

when you pulled away, jackie's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, her lashes dark crescents against her cheeks. when she opened them, there was a new language being born between you, one with no words or gestures, one written in quickened pulses and hitched breaths.

"we should practice," she said finally, pragmatic even in this uncharted territory. "for when we kiss boys."

"for boys," you agreed, though even then, you knew no boy's lips would ever fit against yours the way jackie's did.

that became another secret language—kisses stolen in the shadows of her basement during movie nights, in the back corner of the library behind the reference section, in the equipment shed after soccer practice when everyone else had gone home. always under the guise of "practice," always followed by giggles and performance reviews, as if you were merely rehearsing for some future that required this skill.

by the time school started again, you had become fluent in each other, able to translate the slightest change in breathing, the smallest shift in posture. it was a dictionary written in skin and breath, a grammar of touch and taste.

a language destined to become a dead one far sooner than either of you could have imagined.

⚘

eighth grade arrived with the subtle seismic shifts of tectonic plates—imperceptible to most, but you felt the tremors beneath your feet. jackie joined the advanced soccer team, began spending weekends at tournaments in neighboring towns. you joined the literary magazine, disappearing into the cocoon of the newspaper office during lunch periods.

the kisses became less frequent, though more intense when they happened. there was a desperation to them now, as if jackie was trying to memorize the feel of you before something took you away from her.

"jeff sadecki asked me to the harvest dance," she told you one october afternoon. you were lying on your stomachs in her bedroom, algebra homework spread before you, though neither of you had written anything for twenty minutes.

"are you going to go?" you asked, carefully keeping your voice neutral, tracing the edge of your textbook with one finger.

"i think so," she said, watching your finger move. "my mom would literally explode with joy. she's been hinting about me and jeff since his mom and her started that book club."

you nodded, understanding the invisible architecture of expectations that had been built around jackie since birth. good grades. soccer excellence. student council. and now, the perfect boyfriend—handsome enough, smart enough, from the right kind of family. jeff sadecki with his easy smile and varsity jacket already as an eighth grader, being groomed for high school glory just as jackie was.

"he's nice," you offered, because it was true, and because you knew that was what jackie needed to hear.

"yeah," she agreed, not meeting your eyes. "he's nice."

that night, when she kissed you goodbye at your front door—a risky move given the well-lit porch and curtainless windows—there was a finality to it that made your chest ache.

"just because i'm going to the dance with him doesn't mean anything changes with us," she whispered against your lips.

but you were the reader of stories, the one who could see foreshadowing in everyday moments, who understood the inevitable trajectory of narrative arcs. you knew an ending when you tasted one.

"nothing ever stays the same, jackie," you said, pulling back to look into those bunny eyes, now shining with unshed tears. "that's okay. that's how life works."

she shook her head, suddenly fierce. "not us. we're different."

you wanted to believe her. for a moment, standing there with her cold hands framing your face, you almost did.

the fault lines continued to spread throughout that year. jeff became jackie's boyfriend in the official, going-steady sense. you started spending lunches with lottie, who shared your interest in astrology and tarot, and laura lee, whose fervent christianity somehow complemented your more pagan sensibilities rather than clashing with it. different lunch tables became different social circles became different weekend activities.

the last time you and jackie kissed was the night before high school started. she had come to your house, unexpected, climbing the tree outside your window like she used to do in elementary school when her parents were fighting and she needed escape.

"i'm scared," she admitted, sitting cross-legged on your bed, looking smaller than she had in months.

"of high school?" you asked, closing the book you'd been reading.

she shook her head. "of everything. of not being good enough. of being exactly what everyone expects and nothing more. of—" she paused, looking down at her hands. "of how i feel when I'm with you."

the confession hung between you, heavier than any silence you'd shared.

"how do you feel when you're with me?" you asked, though you knew. of course you knew. you felt it too—the rightness, the completion, the sense of coming home that no other friendship or relationship had ever given you.

"like i'm real," she whispered. "like i don't have to pretend."

you moved then, crossing the small distance between you, taking her face in your hands as she had held yours so many times. "you never have to pretend with me."

the kiss that followed was different from all the others—not practice, not play, but promise. a vow written in the press of lips and the tangle of tongues, in the way her hands fisted in your shirt and yours threaded through her hair. you tasted salt and realized she was crying, or maybe you both were, tears mingling in the seam where your mouths met.

when you finally broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads still touching, jackie spoke words that would echo through the empty corridors of your future;

"i can't be this. i'm sorry, but i can't."

"this?" you gestured between you. "you mean being friends?"

"you know that's not what i mean." her voice dropped to a whisper. "the other stuff. it has to stop. it's—it's not right."

the words landed like a slap. "not right?"

"it's disgusting," she said, but her voice wavered on the word, betraying the lie. "i'm with jeff now. i think i love him."

you stepped back as if burned. "you don't mean that."

"i do," she insisted. "we're not kids anymore. it's time to grow up."

high school dawned crisp and clear, a perfect september morning that felt like a mockery of your shattered heart. the hallways of wiskayok high were wider than those of the middle school, the ceilings higher, the social hierarchies more rigidly enforced. by lunchtime on the first day, everyone knew their place—or at least, knew where they were supposed to aspire to sit.

jackie slid effortlessly into her predetermined role; freshman soccer star, girlfriend of sophomore football player jeff sadecki, potential homecoming court material despite her young age. she walked the halls with a confidence that looked genuine to everyone who hadn't spent a decade learning her tells—the slight tension in her shoulders, the too-wide smile, the way she checked her reflection in every available surface.

you found your niche in the spaces between expectations. too smart to be dismissed, too pretty in your unconventional way to be entirely outcast, too unapologetically yourself to be fully embraced by any single clique. you spent your lunch periods in the library or the courtyard with lottie and laura lee, an unlikely trio bound by your shared appreciation for the mysteries that existed just beyond the veil of everyday life.

lottie, with her dark eyes that seemed to see straight through pretense, never asked why you flinched when Jackie and her soccer teammates passed your table. laura lee, whose faith gave her a compassion rare in the gladiatorial arena of high school, simply passed you extra cookies from her immaculately packed lunch on the days when jackie and jeff were particularly demonstrative in the hallways.

you watched from a distance as jackie became more polished, more perfect, more packaged for public consumption. her natural grace on the soccer field translated to a carefully choreographed performance of ideal teenage girlhood off it. by sophomore year, she was captain of the jv team, dating the varsity quarterback, maintaining a gpa that kept her solidly in the top ten percent without threatening the true academic overachievers.

you bloomed differently—unfurling rather than constructing, growing toward whatever light called to you rather than the one you were expected to seek. your essays won state competitions. your poems were published in literary journals that usually only accepted college students' work. a short story you wrote about two childhood friends who communicated through a secret language earned you a summer workshop at the state university, where professors spoke of your voice as "astonishingly mature" and "hauntingly authentic."

for two years, you and jackie enacted an elaborate performance of polite distance. you acknowledged each other with nods in hallways, exchanged bland pleasantries when mutual activities forced interaction. to outsiders, you were former friends who had drifted apart as childhood companions often do. only you knew the truth of what had been lost.

until junior year, when the fault lines that had been dormant suddenly ruptured.

⚘

it happened at shauna shipman's halloween party, one of those high school gatherings that seemed destined for disaster from its conception. parents out of town, a house too nice to risk trashing but too tempting not to use, alcohol flowing freely despite most attendees being years from legal drinking age.

you hadn't planned to go. parties were jackie's domain, not yours. but lottie had insisted, claiming the veil between worlds was thinnest on halloween, and what better place to observe the unmasking of true selves than at a costume party?

so there you were, dressed as ophelia in the depths of her madness—flower crown askew on your curls, vintage nightgown artfully torn and stained with watercolors to suggest river water, eyes dramatically lined to hint at beautiful despair.

"bit on the nose, isn't it?" lottie commented when she picked you up, herself resplendent as some pagan goddess with antlers woven into her dark hair.

"literature is always on the nose," you replied. "that's why it hurts so much."

you didn't plan to stay long—just enough to appease lottie, maybe talk to a few people from your ap literature class who might appreciate your costume's details. what you didn't plan for was jackie, three drinks past her usual limit, dressed as a playboy bunny—an outfit that played up both her soccer-toned body and the nickname you had given her so many years ago.

she saw you from across the room, those wide eyes growing impossibly wider. for a moment, the carefully constructed mask slipped, and you saw your jackie—the girl who had handed you a sand bucket, who had let you read aloud for hours, who had kissed you beneath a canopy of stars.

then jeff's arm slid around her waist, and the mask snapped back into place.

you retreated to the relative quiet of the kitchen, hoping to find water or perhaps even a quieter exit. instead, you found yourself cornered by travis, a quiet boy from your calculus class who had been working up the courage to talk to you for weeks.

"your costume is amazing," he said, sincerity evident in his voice. "you actually look like you stepped out of a pre-raphaelite painting."

you smiled, genuinely surprised by his art history reference. "thank you. i wasn't sure anyone would get it."

"i did a project on millais last year," he explained, then launched into an enthusiastic if slightly nervous discussion of victorian art that was actually interesting enough to distract you from your desire to leave.

you didn't notice jackie watching from the doorway, her bunny ears askew, her eyes narrowed with an emotion too complex to name.

later, you would piece together what happened from fragmented accounts and your own blurred memories; jackie, drunk and emotional, confronting jeff about some perceived slight. jeff, equally intoxicated, saying something careless. jackie, storming off to the bathroom. you, excusing yourself from travis to get some air on the back porch. the paths crossing in the hallway.

"having fun with travis?" jackie's voice had an edge you'd never heard before.

"he's nice," you said, echoing her words about jeff from so long ago.

"nice," she repeated, almost sneering. "is that what you want? nice?"

"what do you think i want, jackie?" the question came out tired rather than confrontational.

she stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the vodka cranberries on her breath, could see the smudge in her otherwise perfect eyeliner. "i think you want what you can't have."

"that's rich, coming from you."

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"it means you're the one who walked away, not me." the words came out sharper than you intended, years of carefully contained hurt suddenly finding release.

jackie's face contorted, a kaleidoscope of emotions shifting too quickly to track. "you think i wanted to? you think i had a choice?"

"we all have choices, jackie. every day."

"easy for you to say." her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "you get to be you. free and artistic and not caring what anyone thinks. i don't have that luxury."

"it's not a luxury. it's courage."

she recoiled as if slapped. "so i'm a coward now?"

"i didn't say that."

"you didn't have to." jackie's eyes filled with tears that she angrily blinked away. "you've always been so fucking superior, haven't you? so sure you know everything about everyone's heart."

"i never claimed to know everything," you said quietly. "just yours."

something broke in her expression then—the final wall crumbling. "you don't, though. you don't know what it's like to feel like you're rotting from the inside out. to know that everything you're supposed to want, everything you've been raised to chase, feels like ash in your mouth compared to—" she stopped abruptly.

"compared to what, jackie?"

"compared to one minute with you," she whispered, defeat and revelation mingling in her voice.

what happened next was inevitable as gravity—her hands finding your face, your bodies colliding against the hallway wall, mouths meeting with the desperate hunger of the long-starved. it was nothing like your childhood kisses, nothing like your tentative teenage explorations. this was excavation, archaeology, mining for something precious thought lost forever.

and like all such desperate digs, it caused a collapse.

"what the fuck?"

jeff's voice shattered the moment. you broke apart to find him standing at the end of the hallway, face twisted in confusion and dawning anger. behind him, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the promise of drama.

jackie froze, her face draining of color. you watched as her eyes darted from jeff to the onlookers, saw the exact moment when panic overtook every other emotion.

"it's not—she just—i was trying to get her off me," jackie stammered, stepping away from you as if burned.

the words hit like physical blows. you stared at her, unable to process this ultimate betrayal.

"jesus, i always knew there was something weird about her," someone in the crowd murmured.

"fucking dyke," someone else said, not bothering to lower their voice.

jackie looked at you, naked terror in her eyes. "i'm sorry," she mouthed silently.

but you were already moving, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the taunts and whispers, running from the house with flower petals from your crown scattering behind you like ophelia's sanity breaking apart on the current.

the aftermath was as brutal as high school could make it. for you, at least. somehow, jackie emerged relatively unscathed—the popular girl who had been accosted by her strange former friend, the victim rather than the participant. jeff, after initial anger, took her back. her soccer teammates closed ranks around her. the story morphed in the retelling until you were the predator, she the innocent prey.

lottie and laura lee stood by you, fierce in their loyalty. travis, surprisingly, became another ally, walking you to classes when the whispers grew too loud, sharing his notes on days when you couldn't face the hallways. but high school was still high school, and the weight of being suddenly, unwillingly visible was suffocating.

winter came early that year, november bringing snow that usually waited until december. you watched it fall from the window of your bedroom, wondering if the universe was mocking you with its metaphors—jackie's season descending before its time, burying the world in cold silence.

you didn't see her outside of classes you couldn't avoid. she kept her eyes down when forced into proximity, her face a mask of practiced indifference. only once did you catch her mask slip—in the girls' bathroom during fifth period, when she thought herself alone. you entered silently, saw her gripping the sink, staring at her reflection with such naked self-loathing that you almost went to her, almost reached out.

then she noticed you in the mirror and the mask slammed back into place. she left without washing her hands or saying a word.

december brought holiday preparations and the temporary reprieve of everyone being too busy with exams and family obligations to maintain active torment. you threw yourself into writing, producing a series of poems that your english teacher described as "disturbingly beautiful" and urged you to submit to collegiate competitions.

january crawled by, february a blur of gray skies and slush-covered sidewalks. you survived by disappearing into books, into words, into the worlds you created where endings could be rewritten and love didn't collapse under the weight of expectation.

and then came march, with its false promises of thaw, its teasing glimpses of sun between snow flurries. you were sitting in the library during lunch, lost in sylvia plath's "ariel," when a shadow fell across your page.

"can we talk?"

jackie's voice, so familiar yet strange after months of silence. you looked up to find her standing awkwardly before you, clutching the strap of her backpack like a lifeline.

"i don't think we have anything to say to each other." your voice came out steadier than you felt.

"please." one word, but it contained oceans.

you gathered your books slowly, giving yourself time to rebuild the walls her presence immediately threatened to crumble. "fine. where?"

"the old equipment shed? after school?"

the location choice wasn't lost on you—the site of so many of your secret meetings in earlier days, now abandoned as the school had built newer facilities closer to the main fields.

"i'll be there at 3:30," you said, not looking at her. "i won't wait long."

she nodded and left quickly, as if afraid you might change your mind.

you told yourself you wouldn't go. told yourself it was masochism, not closure. told yourself there was nothing she could say that would matter now.

but at 3:25, you found yourself walking across the still-frozen field toward the shed, your breath clouding before you in the march chill.

jackie was already there, pacing the small interior, her varsity jacket pulled tight against the cold. she stopped when you entered, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"you came," she said, as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"i said i would." you remained near the door, unwilling to step fully into this space so laden with memory.

jackie took a deep breath. "i need to apologize. what i did at the party—throwing you under the bus like that—it was unforgivable."

"yes," you agreed. "it was."

she flinched but continued. "i was scared and drunk and stupid, but that's not an excuse. i've been a coward for years, and that night was just the worst example."

you said nothing, waiting.

"the thing is," she continued when you didn't speak, "i've been thinking a lot about what you said. about choices. about courage." she paced again, unable to stay still under the weight of what she was trying to say. "i don't want to be a coward anymore."

"what does that mean, jackie?" you were tired, suddenly, of riddles and half-truths.

she stopped pacing and looked directly at you for what felt like the first time in years. "it means i'm in love with you. i think i have been since we were kids. and i've been running from it because i thought there was something wrong with me for feeling that way."

the words hung in the cold air between you, crystallizing like frost.

"you hurt me," you said finally. "not just at the party. every day since eighth grade when you decided i was too dangerous to your perfect life."

"i know." her eyes filled with tears. "and i will regret that for the rest of my life. but i'm here now, telling you the truth, finally. for whatever that's worth."

"and jeff? the soccer team? the perfect jackie taylor life?"

she swallowed hard. "jeff and i broke up last week. the rest... i don't know. i just know i can't keep pretending. it's killing me." she took a tentative step toward you. "i don't expect you to forgive me. i don't expect anything. i just needed you to know that you were right—about me being a coward, about me making choices. i'm trying to make better ones now."

you studied her face, looking for signs of the old jackie—the girl who would say whatever was necessary to maintain appearances, to keep her world spinning on its prescribed axis. but all you saw was raw honesty and fear.

"i don't know what to say," you admitted.

"you don't have to say anything. i just..." she wrapped her arms around herself. "i miss my best friend. i miss the person who knew me better than i knew myself. i miss you."

the simple truth of it cracked something in your carefully maintained armor.

"i've missed you too," you whispered.

jackie's eyes lit with cautious hope. "really?"

"every day."

she took another step toward you, then another, until she was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, could smell the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"i can't promise i won't mess up again," she said softly. "i can't promise i'll be brave all the time. but i want to try. with you, if you'll let me."

you reached out slowly, touched her cheek with fingertips that remembered the feel of her skin from years of memorizing it in secret moments.

"i don't need you to be brave all the time," you said. "i just need you to be honest. with yourself, most of all."

she turned her face into your touch, eyes closing briefly. "i can do that."

outside, a tentative sun broke through the clouds, sending shafts of light through the shed's dusty windows. somewhere in the distance, a bird began to sing—the first herald of spring's approach.

"it won't be easy," you warned, thinking of the world waiting beyond this momentary shelter.

jackie opened her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "nothing worth having ever is."

she leaned forward then, hesitant, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn't. when her lips met yours, it felt like recognition, like remembering something essential you had tried to forget.

it felt like spring melting winter, like currents too strong to fight.

it felt, at last, like truth.

⚘

spring came late that year, but when it arrived, it came with a vengeance—green exploding across the landscape, flowers erupting from soil that had seemed dead only weeks before, the world renewing itself with reckless abandon.

you and jackie moved cautiously at first, relearning each other in stolen moments between classes, in weekend hours spent in the sanctuary of your book-filled bedroom, in long walks through forests just beginning to wake from winter's dormancy.

the rest of junior year unfolded in unexpected ways. jackie quit the soccer team, causing a minor scandal that was soon overshadowed by prom drama and graduation preparations for the seniors. she joined the literary magazine staff, revealing a talent for photography that complemented your words in ways that surprised you both. together, you created a series of photo essays that won the publication its first national recognition.

lottie and laura lee welcomed jackie into your lunch table circle with minimal skepticism, though lottie made it clear in her eerily perceptive way that second betrayals would not be tolerated. travis became a friend to you both, his quiet intellect and complete lack of interest in high school politics making him a safe harbor in still-turbulent waters.

there were still whispers, still sidelong glances in hallways. but as spring progressed into summer, as junior year gave way to the promise of senior year and beyond, those voices seemed to matter less and less.

on the last day of school, you and jackie returned to the equipment shed—not out of secrecy now, but out of sentiment. you brought a blanket to spread over the dusty floor, a small basket of strawberries and chocolate, a bottle of sparkling cider smuggled from your parents' fridge.

"do you remember the first time we came here?" jackie asked, lying beside you on the blanket, her fingers intertwined with yours.

"seventh grade," you said. "after you scored the winning goal against westfield. you were so pumped up on adrenaline you practically dragged me in here."

she laughed. "i told you i wanted to show you something important."

"and then you kissed me."

"and then i kissed you," she agreed. "best impulse i ever had."

you turned to look at her, at the face you had loved in so many different ways throughout your shared life. "we took the long way around, didn't we?"

jackie's expression softened. "maybe we needed to. maybe i needed to understand what i'd be missing if i kept making the wrong choices."

"and now?"

"now i know." she shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "i know that nothing—not popularity or parental approval or some cookie-cutter future—is worth giving up what i feel when I'm with you."

you reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "and what do you feel when you're with me?"

"real," she said simply, echoing words from a night years ago. "like i don't have to pretend."

you pulled her down to you then, a kiss that tasted of strawberries and possibility, of winters survived and springs renewed.

outside, summer was asserting itself—the sun high and hot, the world lush with life. inside the small shed, time seemed suspended, the past and future collapsing into a perfect present.

later, walking home with your hands swinging between you, unafraid now of who might see, jackie stopped suddenly.

"what is it?" you asked.

she was looking at you with an expression of wonder, as if seeing you for the first time. "i just realized something."

"what?"

"im happy," she said, sounding surprised. "actually, genuinely happy."

you smiled, feeling the truth of it in your own chest—a lightness that had been absent for too long. "me too."

as you continued walking, you thought about the cycles of seasons, how winter always gives way to spring, how spring inevitably yields to summer. how nothing is permanent except change itself.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ yuri is life :3 who missed me?

TAGLIST :: @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @m4gz-png @ifwdominicfike @honeymoonchem @ch6rm @freshloveee @theapollochronicles @mattsdolll @jetaimevous @secretlocket @saturniolo

[httpsserene]

hi!! congrats on 3k!! could i request the car wash kink rating with breeding kink for Fernando, Charles, Daniel, Lewis And Franco?

#3k vday celly

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. i am stupid. and, no, i am not cosplaying as charles leclerc rn. i mixed up my requests during the 3k celly and somehow thought i had already written this prompt for charles when i, very clearly, did not! so sorry about that, love, and i have added charles’ blurb below the cut (i promise it’s actually there this time!) happy 3k🤍 thank you for requesting < 3

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!bipoc!reader x dr.3 | fa. 14 | cl. 16 | fc. 43 | lh. 44 cw under the cut.

heavy discussion of pregnancy, children, and domestic life. charles blurb added on april 7th.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

simply put, daniel is going to tell you to take it and let him knock you up. he’s watches his cum threaten to spill and tuts disapprovingly, using his fingers to push any leakage back inside of your cunt. what he really has a kink for is making a family with you. he wants to massage your sore feet and speak to your rounded belly. he wants you to yell at him for getting you pregnant while you’re laboring. he wants to handle the diaper changes, midnight cries, and teething tantrums while you sleep, heal, and relax. he wants to make you brunch-in-bed with your gaggle of mini-me’s for mother’s day. his breeding kink is the manifestation of his longing to start a family with you.

charles tends to lose himself when his hindbrain is triggered. his attention tunnels when your nails sharply pierce his shoulder, instantly halting his thrusts when your other hand weakly pushes against his abdomen, whimpering about how he’s too deep. he hums lowly, pulling his hips backward until he’s threatening to slip out of your cunt (he can feel you tightening around him, your muscles squeezing tightly to draw him back inside the heated, dripping, plush depths). charles adjusts his angle to avoid the head of his cock bullying its way into areas it shouldn’t be. one of his hands collects both of yours, his grip soft but unyielding around your wrists as he presses them into the bed above your head. charles sees the lustful glaze over his eyes reflected in your arousal-blown pupils and he resumes the harsh and deep grind of his hips. his free hand moves to cover your navel, searching for tangible proof of him reaching the deepests part of you before he spills. he’ll continue like this until it takes.

lewis does not want to get you pregnant. at all. he understands that can be hard to believe when he’s fucking into you, delirious with pleasure, as he mindlessly rambles about “needing you to be a good girl and give him a baby.” but, fear not, lewis is well known at the local pharmacy for his frantic plan-b trips. it’s not like he’s fucking you raw either; lewis is an avid fan of protected sex. if anything, the two of you could be the face of several birth-control and condom brands. when male birth control becomes approved, lewis will be the first man in line to get his prescription. then, he might entertain the idea of fucking you raw.

fernando omitted the truth when asked what his biggest fear is on grill the grid. it’s you showing him a positive pregnancy test or ultrasound pictures. he’s not going to judge if you have a kink for being bred, and he could even play into it for you. but, kids? and, one that has half of his genetics? no, fernando will pass on that, he prefers being the handsome, terrifying, yet funny uncle. he truly has kink for being childless—and the two of you don’t have to stress over raising and forming a well-rounded human being. 

franco pretends that he doesn’t have a papi kink; you know he does, and you never let him live it down. but, he could never pretend to have a breeding kink. he’s young, wild, and free—he doesn’t want to think about kids or pregnancy in way during sex. it might be the only thing that can make him soft as soon as the thought pops into his head. sex is fun, and a breeding kink would ruin the fun. your first (and only, please) pregnancy scare scared away any chance of him developing a kink. it terrified him so much, he started tracking your cycle on his phone to be aware of the days you’re fertile and when you’re ovulating. the notification brightens his phone screen and he refuses to put his cock anywhere near your lower half—even with protection—during those days, unless he’s desperate for it.

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[purpdrawsthings]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

special birthday post 💜

[very long yap incoming 💥]

Edit : this was supposed to be released on midnight yesterday right when it turns 20th in my country but I didn't have time so yeah, kinda upset <=[

IT'S MY BIRTHDAYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!

By the time I post this my phone will be well, closed and I will be unable to access it since it's past 9 and it'll turn back on at 7 in the morning.

This was made one day before the bday btw I did not prepare 💔

Anyways..

Todays the day I turn ▒▒ years old! Oh. Why would I tell my age? Gotta keep that a secret!

Funny fact, the 20th of April is also the same date as when the prophet of Islam Nabi Muhammad was birthed! Crazy amirite?

But anyways, I've gone through so many things. Both sad and also wonderful. Life sure is full of possibilities isn't it? I'm in a fandom about beans and suddenly I'm in a fandom about a Saturday morning cartoon mario shitpost? Never thought that would happen but it did, somehow.

The thing is, you'll never know what ever happens next! Prepared or not, you'll always be hit with the most unexpected occurrences. And that's the wonder of life! It's what keeps us interested and curious!

It's okay to change. I used to promise to myself that I would always stay in the among us fandom! But look where I am now. I used to think that I was a bad person for doing that, but now I realize that, it's okay! It's not like the end of the world happens when you leave a fandom you've been in for 3 years!

Looking back at old things may be cringe to most, but it's always nice to feel that nostalgia that you haven't felt in a while! It really shows how much you've grown for the past few years!

I used to be really terrible with animation. Like- really ass. But since 2024, my animations have started to become much better! It just takes time and patience. Thing won't always go your way and you shouldn't rush everything! [ Ironic considering that I always rush stuff 💀 ] Taking your time slowly but surely will pay out and you'll have a good result in the end!

Now those few past paragraphs I literally said earlier made no sense whatsoever considering I just talked about life but in a non rearranged order. So I'm sorry for that one 😭

But anyways, all I wanna say is, thank you. For everything. To everyone here! Involved or not, I could NOT be here if it weren't for you all! You can't BELIEVE how much it has impacted me! I sincerely love you all! 💜 <=3

Being in here for less than a year and having this much is crazy! Like I didn't know you guys liked my stuff! I'm just a silly girl who just draws that's all 💜

For the last part, I'd love to say a few words to some people that I love/admire the most 💜 [ the words I'm about to say may be a bit similar to the ones said in the Christmas special so yeah =[ ]

Neptune - You were my first friend, friendo and best friend. We don't interact a whole lot anymore but I just wanna say, you are an amazing person. You were so supportive and amazing! You always made my day back in amino. And I won't ever forget about that. You've improved so much on your art too! I'm glad to see youre improving so much on your art, and to that, thank you Nep. Thank you for being my friendo. 💜

@rr3d2y - My first friend in the SMG4 community! I WANNA HUG YOU SO BAD IRL 💔 you are seriously such a kind and wonderful person! GENUINELY LIKE YOU SO COOL!!!!! We got along with each other so well like, I didnt know you were that chill smh??? I LOVE YOU AND CHERISH YOU SO MUCH A FRIEND!!!! THANKS SO MUCH FOR BEING FRIENDS WITH ME YA SILLY!! 💜❤💜❤💜❤💜❤💜

@mikchi8 - Pulls you out and hugs you and shakes you affectionately. YOU TOO MIKCHI. YOU TOO!! YEAH WE DON'T TALK A WHOLE LOT BUT GENUINELY YOU'RE A COOL PERSON!!! LOVE YA YOU FUNNI PERSON!!! 💜💜💜💜

@superluigiglitchy - I will make art of Oliver soon I'LL GET TO THERE SIDHOSHSKDKDHD 😭 PJ I love ur art and the stuff you do like- A LOT! Like that vanellope AU and also the squib! THE SILLY HIMSELF!!! No seriously how'd you make him so cute siudidjdodjdojdodhdidj /silly we don't a talk a whole much as much as we used to but I'm always interested and up for what u're cooking! Love ya ^^ ! 💜

@jmaknavigr @markboyblue - You both are so kind and sweet like JMA YOUR AXOLOTL GIFTS ARE SIYDIDHDIHDOFJF AND MARM YOUR COMPLIMENTS THEY'RE SO SIHDISHDIDHDKHDKSJS I'LL GET YOU BOTH!!!!!! MARK MY WORDSSSSS /silly /jk /nsrs /lh I'M SORRY FOR NOT HAVING ANYMORE TO SAY BUT JUST KNOW THAT I LOVE U TWO 💜💜💜💜

@tiredsmashbros @strange0-0storm @cookiepopcat @its-a-me-mango - You four have been like my main source of inspiration like HELPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!! YOU ALL ARE STILL VERY COOL TO ME. All of you fours contents are just so unique and well made?? Man that what I really strive for tbh 😭 all I wanna say is you are all creative in your own separate ways and I'll continue praise you four for that, 💥💥💥💥💜💜💜💜

@libbytwq @bear-boi-5 @coralalala64 @4thwallbreakerdraws2 - OKAY I DID NOT EXPECT TO BE FRIENDS/MUTUALS WITH ANY OF YOU. SERIOUSLY 😭. LIKE UH... HOW? You four have like, really cool stuff and people should really see that because y'all are cooking some rlly good art in that kitchen right there 💥 interacting with like all four of you has got to be one of the goofiest and silliest things. Like- sure it's not that chaotic but it can get rlly silly at times and I'm glad for that do what you four do XD 💜💜💜

@michaelscorneroftheinternet @grinnames @dorriostareyes - OH GOD YOU THREE ARE REALLY COOL TOO. Micheal and Dorrio, you boths writing are actually like top notch WHAT ARE Y'ALL COOKING UP WITH CHANGE IN SCRIPT PUT THAT GIF WHERE SOMEONE IS WRITING AND IT'S ON FIRE 🔥🔥🔥🔥 Grinnames you too I know I said this before but ur Godbox au is so interesting very excited to see how that like.. Event... Thing.... Ends =D! You three are all obviously very cool and deserve more recognition 💜💜💜

@alelathedragon - Hey uhhhhh wasn't expecting this huh? I KNOW WE HAVEN'T INTERACTED A WHOLE LOT BUT I GOTTA SAY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME LEND A HAND ON THE COMPETITION!!! I DIDN'T EXPECT THAT AT ALL LIKE WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT MY DOORSTEP ALL THE SUDDEN!! Honestly I love broken star like he's such a silly goober AND LOYBOO TOO. HE'S SUCH A CUTIE!!! Man you so cool. Yeah this is what you get for interacting with me muahahhahaa 💥💜

@eliscz @meg-girumi @theclosetcreature @fbanjex @jovialoddity @bidinonsense @h4ppysoki @dakaakula @icedbeverageenjoyer @jibrilthethingart @stargus0k @hplonesomeart @scimagic @the-masked-astro @yasmin70 @fenicearts420 @mrtophat518 @alex-dolmatescu2-0 @change-name-later - YOU ARE ALL REALLY COOL MR PUZZLES ARTISTS IN YOUR WAYS!!!!! SERIOUSLY YALLS IDEAS FOR THIS SILLY MAN ARE REALLY COOL LIKE THE WAY Y'ALL DRAW HIM, HEAD CANNONS AND THE STUFF Y'ALL DID WITH HIM, ARE ALL JUST REALLY COOL!! Will adore you all till the ends of handsome tv man 💜💜💜 /silly

And these are the list of people that I'd like to make messages to but I simply don't have the time and energy to do that so yeah 😔. Just know that I enjoy you all as equally as everybody else before this!! 💜💜💜

@opossol @shygirl4991 @theartistisme24 @art-parasi-te @fruit-sy @dictatortirah @corgibuttdraws @smp-eclair @psinkaaa @rat-n-atty

And for the last bit! A recap of alllllll of my digital drawings since I interacted online! Enjoy 💜

And that's it!.. There was supposed to be a bit where I yapped more but with my real voice but that got scrapped.. =[

Anywaysssss yeah! Thank you for whoever read this far smh ig you have a good attention span 💥💥💥💥

Have a great day every body and most importantly, happy purpday to me 💜

[devildomcuties]

Model for Me

pairing: satan x f. reader

genre: smut, established relationship, 18+

summary: Satan discovers drawing is like meditation and asks you to model for him.

wc: 2k

warnings: dialogue from the texts 'Model For Me', demonus, pet names (love, babe, kitten, good girl), marking (biting, hickeys, bruises), possesiveness, unprotected sex, creampie

Date: April 1, 2025

“I’d like to draw a side of you only I know.”

Satan’s words come to the forefront of your mind as you loosen the sash on your green silky robe. 

Diavolo has called everyone except for you and Satan on an expedition to the Human World, a favor you asked for so you and Satan could be alone without interruptions.

The black, rolled arm chaise lounge sits in the middle of the garden, bright lights placed nearby to give Satan enough light to work with.

A table sits nearby with flutes of Demonus. A flute in your hand as you take a seat on the chaise lounge.

You’ve arrived a few minutes early to make sure everything is ready for Satan, and now you can sip your drink and relax as Satan heads your way, a thick leather-bound sketchbook in his hands.

“You went all out, huh?” Satan asks as he takes a seat a few feet away from you. A smile appears on your lips as you set the flute back on the table with the rest.

You head to Satan, easily sitting in his lap, your arms loosely draped on his shoulders. “Of course. Only the best for you.”

Satan grins. His forehead presses against yours, thanking you softly before you kiss his cheek.

“Want to get started?” You ask as you carefully climb off his lap. His hands linger on your hips, not wanting to let you go, especially when your robe slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin.

How long had it been since the two of you had the House of Lamentation to yourselves?

Too damn long.

Satan swallows thickly, debating drawing you like he so desperately had been wanting to, or taking you to his bedroom or the library to ravish you until you lose your voice from screaming his name loud enough to fill the empty halls of your shared home.

“Love?” You probe gently, your fingers lifting his chin so he looks up at you. His eyes shine brightly, with adoration in them. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m ready.”

“Good, how do you want me?”

On your hands and knees, taking me so deep, you feel me in your stom-

Satan shakes his head, clearing any salacious thoughts as he motions to the chaise lounge. “Start sitting, and I’ll let you know how to pose once I get settled.”

“Sure thing, love. I’m yours to do with as you please,” you say earnestly as you sit on the chaise lounge with one leg crossed over the other. It’s then that Satan notices the anklet on your left ankle; it glimmers when the light hits it. A gold S and a little gold heart.

Satan doesn’t think his cock can get any harder as he slumps in his seat. His cheeks flush with heat, sweat beads on his forehead as he opens his sketchbook with shaky hands. 

Perhaps a cold shower would be more ideal than drawing you. Or maybe, he should move this to the bathroom where he can sprayed by cold water while he tries to draw you.

It’s not like this was the first time he’d seen you wearing so little, but the robe matched his nails, and the anklet kept sparkling every time you moved. 

The pencil in his hand presses harshly to a blank page in his book. He inhales deeply as he forces himself to look at you, ignoring the throb of his cock when his eyes land on your perfect physique.

Fuck, if he didn’t want to devour you whole.

How was he supposed to draw your every perfection? How could he capture every perfect bit of you? Drawing was supposed to calm him like it had before at his friend’s place, but your beauty was more outstanding than the model he’d roughly sketched that day.

He figured this would be a good bonding/date type thing the both of you could do together but you were sitting there, waiting for his command, and he wanted to ravish you; fuck you like an animal, fill you full of his cum and then fuck it all back into you.

Wouldn’t you look gorgeous with his cum streaked across your face? A perfect masterpiece that made his dick twitch.

Shit, what were you doing to him?

Get it together, Satan scolds himself as you wait for his instruction. He moves toward you with slow, sure steps as he has you lie on your right side, your hand delicately placed on your cheek. He then loosens the robe enough to expose your breast, and with a few more adjustments, he’s ready to get started.

Satan focuses on you as he sketches, attempting to capture every curve and every line of your marvelous self. 

You do your best to stay still until your first break. Satan has your outline down, and a few details. He could easily finish the rest from memory, but you’re eager to see it through until the end.

You share a flute of Demonus with him, kissing him to allow the drink to fill his mouth. Satan groans, cursing as he pulls you onto his lap.

“Don’t start what you don’t intend to finish,” Satan warns in a low tone. He’s on the edge of slipping, of letting his demon form free.

You undo the sash, allowing the robe to slip and bunch at your hips as you place your hands on his shoulders. “I want to make you finish.”

Satan growls, gripping your hips, causing you to rub against his erection.

He can’t take much more of your teasing. His lips capture yours in a deep kiss that makes your heart skip a beat. Your fingers grip his blond hair, tugging to make him moan against your lips. His tongue meets yours, deepening the kiss as you unbutton his shirt, helping him out of it.

You need him, your body craving his touch, his kiss. 

“Satan!” You cry out as he nips your neck, leaving his mark behind as he takes a nipple into his mouth. You arch your back and hold him to your chest as you focus long enough to make the rest of his clothes disappear.

Satan isn’t the least bit surprised. Instead, he grabs your ass, squeezing it before you crash your lips to his as he lines up at your entrance.

“Fuck,” you groan as your eyes squeeze shut. He’s so thick, the familiar ache so fucking good. He slides home easily, moaning your name as he pulls out just enough to see how you’re already creaming his cock.

The two of you could barely keep your hands off each other, and it’s not surprising that your little session has led to the two of you fucking like your lives depend on it.

Satan cups your face, his eyes locked on yours as you bounce on his length. “You’re so beautiful.”

You lean into his touch, turning your head just enough to take his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip before releasing it.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, eyes hooded before he kisses you again. You grind on him as one hand holds your hip, the other grips the back of your head like a lifeline. He never wants to let you go. He’d keep you locked in his bedroom if he could, if he knew Lucifer and Diavolo wouldn’t tear down the House of Lamentation free you.

You were his, and he was yours. 

That’s how it was always meant to be.

“Satan,” you moan wanton when his lips trail kisses to your neck, your hips slowly moving against his before you end up on your back underneath him. The chaise lounge squeaks in protest, but neither of you cares as he pulls out just to slam into you.

Your hand moves over your head to grab the arm of the seat as Satan slides his hand up your thigh that you’ve wrapped around him.

“Always so pretty like this,” He comments as he fucks into you, licking his lips when your tits bounce with each of his thrusts. You moan his name, cursing him for being so thick, for fucking you so good… you’re not even sure you’re making sense as he drives into you again and again the obscene noises of your coupling falling on deaf ears.

“That’s it, kitten. Take this cock like the good girl you are,” Satan groans as you tighten around him. His head lolls back, exposing his pretty throat. You should mark it with deep reds and purples, mark him as yours for everyone to see.

Satan chuckles.

Did you say that aloud?

Your hands grip his forearms, nails digging into his skin as he tugs you closer, one hand around your throat as you come undone.

“Satan! Satan!” you cry out as pleasure consumes you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head, leaving you shaking and clenching around him. He curses your name, loosening his hold on your throat as he brings your ankles to his shoulders. 

Satan is gentle when he kisses your left ankle, his teeth tugging on the S.

“You’re mine,” he states as he allows your legs to slide back down to his waist. He presses his forehead to yours, nose to nose, as he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper before his lips meet yours. You kiss him, hoping he’ll get a taste of how much you care for him, how much you love him.

“Good,” he smirks. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you can ask what he means, he turns you on your side as he slides in behind you on the chaise lounge. His lips meet your shoulders as he lifts your left leg over his. He grinds into you slowly, fucking you slower.

You moan as he fills you deeper, his hand rubbing your clit and you know you won’t last long, not when he’s fucking you so deep, so good.

Satan’s tongue licks your neck, and you melt as he holds you close, rubbing tight circles on your clit until you tremble, falling apart for him. 

“Go ahead, let go.”

“Satan,” his name rolls off your tongue in a heady cry, and it’s what sets him off, has him holding you tight as he cums deep inside you with a groan. He buries his face in your shoulder, muffling the desperate cry of your name as he cums hard.

It takes a few minutes for you to gather your senses, smiling like a fool as Satan slowly lowers your leg after he pulls out. 

“Hi,” he grins as he rests his chin on your side. 

“Hi,” you smile, your fingers running through his messy hair.

Your robe is stuck under you, bunching almost painfully, but you don’t care as you pull Satan closer. You manage to roll onto your side to face him, draping your leg over him.

Satan rests his hand on your hip, where a few bruises already form from earlier. 

“Thank you for doing this for me,” he says as he looks you in the eye. He had a hard time controlling his emotions, but he always tried his best when it came to you. He had promised himself he’d be truthful with you, no matter how difficult it was for him to get the words out, to express himself.

“I would do anything for you,” you cup his cheek. “I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Satan nods. 

“So, how’s the drawing coming?” you tease, and he glares at you playfully.

“Gonna have to make a few adjustments,” he teases.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like the cum dripping from you unless I fuck it back in,” He smiles smuggly. You shove him gently, rolling your eyes.

“I’m a masterpiece,” you laugh as you spread your legs further. Satan agrees easily as he lines himself up at your entrance.

“How about I paint you from the inside?” Satan smirks, and you giggle.

“You’re ridiculous!”

“And you love me anyways.”

“That I do,” you confirm, kissing him as he slides into you. You grip his shoulders, your moan muffled by his pretty lips.

Satan’s not sure if he’ll ever finish the drawing left forgotten in his sketchbook, but he’s more than happy to end up inside you again and again with every attempt.