#i got lazy doing the background.....rip

[energonshot]

i don't know who you are, but you should let me out. i really think you should.

[daeniradraconis]

Right Where You Left Me

Hey, Lovelies! ✨

Sorry I’m a little late — my Mac decided to quit on me today 😅, and I spent the whole night saving my files. But all is well now! Everything’s backed up, so here’s hoping no more tech issues in the future. 🌙

Before we get into the first chapter of William and Eli’s story, I want to share something fun. For each chapter, I’ve chosen a song that I think fits the mood or foreshadows something ahead. If you play the song while reading (hit play on the video above the text), it can add a little extra layer to the story — sometimes you might even catch a hint of what’s coming next! 🎶

Anyway, here’s the first chapter of William and Eli’s story! I hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, love at first sight, weddings, pure fluff, mentions of a car crash and injury

Chapter 1: A Promise Under the Stars

June 27, 2014

The sun’s been sitting heavy all afternoon, warm and lazy, the kind of heat that makes the grass smell sweeter. You’re stretched out on the lawn, elbows propped, legs kicked out in front of you, pretending to read Greek and Roman History of Art — a book you’ve read so many times it might as well be your diary. But you’re not really reading. Not today.

Your brothers are at it again.

You don’t even have to look to know what’s happening. Jack’s yelling, Luke’s trying to keep up, and Quinn’s probably rolling his eyes while doing everything better than both of them. The clatter of rollerblades on the driveway, the slap of sticks, the crash of a puck hitting the side of the garage — it’s like background music you never asked for.

You glance up anyway.

Yup. There they are. Jack’s already got his shirt off like he’s playing for the Stanley Cup instead of sweating through another backyard game. Luke’s copying him, all limbs and attitude. And Quinn, steady as always, holding it all together with that calm “old soul” energy he’s had since birth.

You roll your eyes and let out a sigh. Loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention.

You love them. You do. Jack, all wild energy and reckless chaos, like a storm that never quite settles. Luke, the baby of the family, all big eyes and easy charm — a golden retriever in human form. And Quinn, the quiet one, steady and serious, with a calm kind of passion that runs deeper than he lets on. They’re your brothers, and they’re home. But some days, it feels like you were dropped into the wrong family by mistake. A Hughes who can’t skate? Blasphemy.

You tried once. You really did. At 11 years old, bundled in gear three sizes too big, wobbling on skates like a baby deer. Quinn held your hands, patient and kind, while Jack chirped from the bench and laughed when you hit the ice face-first. You lasted maybe half an hour before you ripped off the helmet and declared hockey the enemy.

Ellen — your mom — just smiled. “Stick to your books, Eli,” she said, brushing ice shavings off your coat. “That brain of yours will get you further than a slapshot.”

So you did. You built your world out of stories and soil — history textbooks, dog-eared art guides, a garden full of stubborn tomato plants you refuse to give up on, no matter how many times your brothers trample them chasing after a ball.

“Eli! We need a goalie!”

Jack’s voice cuts through the afternoon like a fire alarm. You don’t look up.

“We’re down a man!”

“Don’t care,” you mumble.

“Get over here, nerd!”

Luke. Of course.

You flip a page, even though you’re not reading it. “Yell one more time, and I’m snapping your sticks in half while you sleep.”

Jack snorts. “You’d probably cry if you chipped a nail.”

“I’d cry if I had to live with you forever,” you shoot back, deadpan.

Luke gasps dramatically. “She doesn’t love us.”

“Fix your helmet, Luke,” you add. “It’s halfway off your head, you walking concussion.”

From the garage, Quinn’s voice cuts in, flat and amused. “Jack, you couldn’t score on an empty net. Luke, stop trying to be Jack. And Eli, please don’t murder them before dinner.”

You smile. Just a little.

Quinn’s always been the balance. The one who sees you when you go quiet, the one who reads the room without needing a single word. Maybe it’s because you’re closest in age, or maybe it’s just the way he sees the world, but you’ve always felt closest to him. Like he just gets it — gets you — in a way the others don’t.

Still, it’s exhausting sometimes. Being the only one who doesn’t speak “sports.” Like you’re a guest in your own home.

You pull your knees up, rest your book against them, and stare out at the garden. Your basil looks droopy. One of the tomato cages is crooked. You think about moving it, but—

The sound of tires crunching gravel stops you.

You look up.

Your dad’s car is pulling into the driveway, and for a second, everything feels normal. You expect him to step out, maybe toss Luke a water bottle, ask if Jack’s broken anything today.

But then the passenger door opens.

And someone else gets out first.

He’s tall. Really tall. His golden blonde hair almost looks white under the sun, and his eyes — blue, clear, like the ocean on a perfect day. There’s something about the way he walks, the smooth confidence in his stride, that catches your breath. He looks… different. Like he stepped out of a storybook. Like the version of Prince Charming no one told you actually existed. And for a second, you honestly wonder if you’ve just imagined him.

He glances around, and then — he sees you.

Just for a second. A flicker of a glance. But it hits like a lightning strike.

You forget the book in your lap. You forget the sun on your shoulders. All you can think is: Oh.

Your heart, which was perfectly fine a minute ago, starts doing something weird. Like it’s trying to crawl up into your throat.

“Kids!” your dad calls out. “Come say hello! This is William Nylander. He just got drafted, and he’s staying with us for a bit while he settles in.”

The name clicks, vaguely. Hockey. Leafs. But honestly, your brain is busy with other things.

Like the way William is walking toward you, easy and sure, hands tucked in his pockets. Like he’s stepping straight into your daydream and bringing it to life.

Jack drops his stick. “No way! He’s a Leaf?! That’s so sick!”

Luke’s already bouncing. “Wait, like on the team team?!”

William laughs — soft, polite, a little bashful. But his eyes haven’t left yours.

And then, he stops in front of you. You.

He flashes a grin — just crooked enough to feel dangerous.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and smooth. “I’m William.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like of course that’s who he is. And maybe it should be — with that smile, that hair, that confidence like he already knows you’re staring.

Your stomach flips so hard it might do a full somersault. Words? Gone. Logic? Useless. All you can think about is how warm your face feels and how suddenly awkward your hands are, just sitting there like they forgot how to be hands.

You manage to squeak out, “Hi.”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. You sound like someone just rewound your whole personality and left it on mute.

He looks amused. Not in a mean way — in a charming, "this is cute" kind of way. Like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you.

Your dad’s saying something — something about him staying here for a couple of weeks until his apartment’s ready. But it’s background noise now.

He’s going to be living here.

With you.

You’re pretty sure your soul just left your body.

You glance up again, and he’s still looking at you, still smiling, like this is all some kind of inside joke he hasn’t let you in on yet.

And that’s when it hits you. You’re in trouble. Like... real trouble.

Because this isn’t just a crush. Not even close.

You're in love.

And he hasn’t even made it through the front door.

—

The next two weeks are a blur. Not in a busy, chaotic way, but in a dreamlike, everything-is-new kind of way. William’s presence feels like an added layer to everything you’ve known. He’s in your house, under your roof, sharing your space, and it’s almost surreal how easily he slips into your world.

He’s still the same charming, confident guy from that first moment. He talks with that easy, magnetic confidence that makes everyone gravitate toward him. But what surprises you the most is how he makes space for you in the midst of it all.

Every morning, he’s in the kitchen, making coffee, and when you shuffle in — hair a mess, sleep still heavy in your eyes — he’s always there with a quiet “Good morning,” and that crooked, too-perfect-for-him smile. It’s like he knows exactly how to make you feel like the only person in the room, even if Jack’s already rambling about his latest skateboarding tricks and Luke’s stuffing his face with cereal. William doesn’t mind. He just listens. Really listens, in a way that makes you feel like you could tell him anything.

And you find yourself telling him things. Little things. 

Like how you started gardening because it felt like the only thing that could grow in the chaos of your family. How Ellen once tried to teach you to skate and you cried on the ice. How you’ve read Greek and Roman History of Art so many times it’s basically your second language. How you despise salted caramel with such passion that you believe its fans deserve a short, contemplative exile in purgatory.

He doesn’t laugh. He just nods like it’s all valuable information.

“You really like art, huh?” he asks one night on the porch.

It’s late — one of those velvet-sky summer nights where time slows. You’re in your usual spot, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie sleeves over your hands. He’s next to you, hoodie half-zipped, legs stretched out, hair still damp from his shower. He smells like clean soap and warm skin.

You nod. “It’s not just that I like art. I love it. And not just paintings — I mean the whole thing. Art history. Architecture. The stories built into stone.”

He glances over, intrigued. You go on before you can stop yourself.

“I read about the Pantheon when I was thirteen. This giant, ancient Roman temple in the middle of the city — still standing. I’ve never even been to Rome, but the pictures? Unreal. The dome is a perfect hemisphere — same diameter as its height. They built it without modern tools, and no one even knows exactly how. The concrete they used? Still hasn’t cracked. The oculus — that giant hole in the roof — it’s open to the sky. Rain falls right through it. But the floor is sloped, with invisible drains, so the water just disappears.”

You pause, but he’s still looking at you, listening.

“It’s not just architecture. It’s—” You shake your head, smiling a little. “It’s art. The kind that makes your chest feel too full. It was built to honor all the gods, but they made it feel like it could touch the universe. Like they wanted to bring the heavens into reach.”

You hug your knees tighter. “And it’s still there. People walk into it every day. Into something made almost two thousand years ago. You can feel the history pressing in around you. It’s like standing in a heartbeat that never stopped.”

William is quiet for a long moment.“That’s… amazing.”

You laugh a little, embarrassed. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s incredible that you care about something that deeply.”

You glance over, unsure. But he’s smiling — that quiet, thoughtful smile he doesn’t give out easily.

“I think that’s what art’s supposed to do,” he says. “Make you feel something you can’t really explain. Even if it’s just a building or a painting. Doesn’t matter. If it moves you, it matters.”

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. William Nylander — hockey guy, professional athlete, and also someone who actually gets art? 

“You’re full of surprises,” you murmur.

He smiles, sensing your surprise. "What? You didn’t think I was all hockey, did you?"

“I mean… kind of.”

“Wow,” he says, mock-offended. “I’m layered, Eli. Deeply complex.”

You laugh, but it sticks in your chest, warm. Because somehow, it’s true — he’s funny, confident, ridiculous… and he sees you. Not as one of the Hughes siblings. Not as the quiet one. Just…you.

That’s how you end up here. Most nights, side by side on the porch while the house buzzes behind you.

Tonight is no different — quiet air, cicadas in the trees, stars overhead like someone scattered glitter across navy velvet. Your bare toes brush his knee by accident, but he doesn’t move.

You look over. He’s fiddling with the cap on his water bottle, uncharacteristically quiet. The kind of silence that makes you want to fill it with something soft.

“I always wanted a dog,” you say.

He turns, eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah?”

“Since I was five. Every birthday, every Christmas. I begged. Once I even made a Power Point on why a dog would help with my emotional development.” You snort. “Didn’t work.”

“What’d they say?”

“That I already had three brothers and that was enough chaos for one household.”

He laughs — that warm, low sound that always makes your stomach twist. “Fair. But brutal.”

You smile, leaning your head back. “I even had this whole Pinterest board. His name was going to be Pablo. He’d wear a little bandana and sleep at the foot of my bed.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Pablo? That’s kinda badass. Like a mob boss or something.”

You giggle, nudging him lightly. “Exactly! Super manly, right?”

William hums like he’s really considering it. “I’ll get you one.”

You blink. “What?”

“When I get my place. You move in. I’ll get you a dog.”

You snort a laugh, but your face feels suddenly way too warm. “William. I’m seventeen.”

He smirks. “So? It doesn’t have to be today. Just… someday. I mean—” he stretches his arms over his head, all long limbs and relaxed confidence “—I’m just saying, I could see it. Me, you, a golden retriever with too much energy. Maybe a garden. I’d build you a whole greenhouse if you wanted.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans in closer, just enough that you feel the heat of him, his voice suddenly lower, teasing. “Nah. I’m serious. I think you’d look really cute walking a dog in one of those oversized sweaters. Maybe wearing my hoodie. Nothing underneath.”

“William.” You choke on a laugh, heat crawling up your neck.

He grins like he’s just scored a goal in overtime. “What? I’m a romantic.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in just slightly, “you’re still sitting right here.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse is loud in your ears. The porch feels smaller, the air charged.

He shifts closer. Not suddenly — slowly, deliberately — like he’s checking to see if you’ll stop him.

You don’t.

His hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. But it’s not just a gesture. It’s careful. Intentional. His fingertips graze your skin like he’s memorizing it, like this moment matters. And maybe it does. Maybe it always has.

You can’t think. Can’t move. The world narrows to the space between you — to the heat pulsing there, to the way your lungs forget how to work.

“I meant it,” he says softly, his voice a low thrum against the quiet night. “I’d get you that dog. Or anything you wanted.”

You look up at him — and this time, you don’t look away. Your voice is barely a breath.

“I just want you to kiss me.”

And then everything shifts.

He leans in — slowly, like he’s giving you every second to change your mind. But you don’t. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. And then his lips are on yours.

It’s not fireworks. It’s not chaos.

It’s warm.

Soft at first — almost hesitant, like he’s learning the shape of you, tasting the moment. His lips are tender, sure, and it’s careful — not rushed, not greedy, but full of something deeper. Something real. The kind of kiss that makes time slow down, stretch thin. Like your heartbeat just synced to his.

You breathe him in — soap, skin, sun-warmed cotton — and everything else disappears. No porch. No summer night. Just the quiet pull of it, of him, of this thing you didn’t see coming but somehow always knew was meant to happen.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair. You melt — literally melt — into him, into that touch, into that kiss, like your body finally understands what safe feels like.

When he finally pulls back, it’s just an inch — enough for his eyes to settle on yours, lingering, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and deliberate, like he's tracing the very shape of you in his mind.

His gaze dips to your lips, his voice low, thick with something that makes your pulse race.

“Your dad’s probably going to kill me, you know that, right?”

You laugh softly, the sound escaping with more ease than you expected. You shake your head, the playful glint in your eyes never fading. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m his favorite. I’ll handle him. Just…don’t break my heart, okay?”

For a beat, his smile falters, just a fraction, before his eyes soften with an intensity that makes your heart skip. He leans in, his breath warming your lips, and for a moment, the world goes still.

“Never,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, just before his lips brush against yours again — slow, gentle, as if he’s savoring the very moment, the very feeling of you against him.

—

The August sun spills gold across the edges of the white tent strung with fairy lights and swaying eucalyptus garlands. Toronto’s late-summer air hums warm and bright, the breeze from the lake brushing against the skin like a soft kiss. Laughter rises from the open bar, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation. The light is honeyed, slow — the kind that wraps itself around memories, preserving them in warmth and shimmer, like a pressed flower between the pages of a well-loved book.

You’re dancing.

Barefoot now — your heels long since abandoned under the table — you move slowly in William’s arms, your wedding dress whispering around your legs with every step. His hands are gentle at your waist, your palms resting over the slow thrum of his heartbeat beneath the crisp collar of his shirt. His jacket is off, tie loose, hair a little messy. And still, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The world fades. It’s just him, you, and the music curling softly through the late summer air.

And you can’t stop smiling.

You let your eyes sweep across the crowd — the blur of people clapping, slow-dancing, talking over champagne and cake. Familiar faces beam back at you. Jack is on the dance floor, leaning in a little too close to one of William's cousins, flashing a grin that says I’m about to charm you out of your penties — and she’s laughing, probably rolling her eyes, but clearly amused. Quinn, a little too tipsy, is dancing with your mom like he's auditioning for Dancing with the Stars, spinning her around with moves you didn’t know he had. Your mom's laughing, loving every second, teasing him about how he's killing it. Meanwhile, Luke’s found Banksy. The two of them are tucked in a corner, and you swear Luke’s sneaking him bites of something he shouldn’t be eating — probably pastry crumbs. Banksy looks up at him, wide-eyed, like he’s in on the secret. Luke’s giving him a soft smile, whispering to the dog like they’re plotting something together. It’s one of those moments that makes you laugh because Luke’s too pure for his own good.

And then there’s William’s side — Michael, laughing over drinks with your father like they’ve known each other forever, probably arguing over hockey plays and statistics. Catherine, poised and glowing in a soft sea-blue dress, watches you both with misty eyes and a smile that says she always knew her boy would find this kind of love.

His sisters — Michelle, Jacqueline, Stephanie, and little Ella — are huddled near the dance floor, swaying and giggling, clutching glasses of something sparkling and non-alcoholic for the youngest. Ella looks especially radiant. She's grown so much, but you still remember the quiet, sweet girl who lived with you and William for a while, who left tiny mugs half full of tea all over the apartment and asked you questions about plants like you were a walking encyclopedia. She studies in Toronto now, living in her own dorm, but she never stopped feeling like your little shadow. Your heart squeezes at the thought.

And then there’s Alex — standing near the dessert table, deep in conversation with Auston and Mitch, probably trying to talk them into some ridiculous offseason challenge. He loves those. He was your temporary roommate, too — shared takeout dinners and hockey talk on the balcony, late-night dishwasher debates and all. He winks when he catches you looking and lifts his glass in a silent, smiling toast.

It hits you slowly — not like a wave, but like sunlight through a window. Quiet. Warm. Certain.

This is your life now.

Not just his, not just yours — but something you built together. Layer by layer. A life that started on a quiet porch, with a kiss under the stars when you were seventeen and trembling and unsure. A kiss that said, I see you. A promise he never stopped keeping.

When William moved out to play for the Marlies, it wasn’t far — just across the city, but it felt like the start of something new for both of you. A few months later, you started your degree in Environmental Science at the University of Toronto, throwing yourself into early mornings and long lectures, lab reports and field work. Your days were full of discovery; your nights, often spent curled up in his apartment, surrounded by textbooks and half-eaten takeout, with him brewing you tea and soft music humming low in the background. He never made you feel like you were chasing your dreams alone. He was there — not just beside you, but behind you, making space for your ambition and cheering it on like it was his own.

Then came the day your family packed up and moved back to Michigan. You still remember standing in the driveway, watching them go, feeling a crack form right in the center of your chest. But your parents saw it — the way William looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in the world. The way you spoke about your classes, your city, your life here. You had already started putting down roots.

And somehow, they understood.

You stayed behind.

Not out of rebellion. Not out of stubbornness. But because your heart had already chosen a home. And he was here.

So, you and William moved in together — and he made good on another promise. Just a few months later, Pablo came bounding into your life. Curly-haired, floppy-eared, endlessly sweet. He slept at the foot of your bed and carried around his stuffed pig like it was his life’s purpose. A year later, chaos arrived in the form of Banksy — pure mischief and boundless energy, a lovable menace with paws too big for his body.

Somehow, the two of you built a life — dogs and houseplants and a garden that spilled from the balcony like your own little jungle. William, who kissed you every morning like it was the first time. William, who never once made you feel like you were orbiting his world — because you had created one together.

And then, 2019 arrived. It was Christmas Eve — your favorite night of the year. Lights strung across the living room, cinnamon in the air, your mom crying before anything had even happened — you swear she knew. William cleared his throat and then — of course — launched into a speech. Classic Willy: heartfelt, a little cocky, and so completely sincere it made your knees weak.

He turned to Jim first, asked for his blessing like a man raised right. And Jim — naturally — acted all serious and intimidating… before pulling William into a hug so hard you thought he might break a rib. Your mom sobbed so intensely she forgot to record the moment — something she still brings up every single Christmas, like it’s your fault she was too busy crying to press the red button.

Jack wasted no time. “Biggest simp I’ve ever seen,” he declared loudly, shaking his head, but grinning so sweetly at you. 

Quinn just smiled. Then, without a word, hugged William like he was his own brother. When he finally pulled back, he said, “It always felt like you were part of this family… but now it’s official.” You think William nearly cried at that part, though he’ll never admit it.

And Luke — sweet, sentimental Luke — tried to play it cool. But the moment the ring box opened, his chin wobbled. He stood up clapping and wiping his face with his sleeve at the same time. Of course, Jack immediately took a picture of Luke crying and has printed it every year since to hang as an ornament on the tree. “The emotional support elf,” he calls it.

That was the moment everything shifted — not just for you and William, but for all of them, too.

They saw what he meant to you. What you meant to each other.

And now, here you are.

Married. His wife. Barefoot under a Toronto August sky, the sun sinking low over the lake, the air thick with roses and summer and laughter.

And through all of it, William watches you like he still can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s still that boy on the porch, blinking stars out of his eyes, wondering how the hell he got lucky enough to end up here — with you.

“You okay?” William murmurs against your temple, his breath warm, his lips brushing your skin.

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “Better than okay.”

His fingers shift slightly at your waist, pulling you just a bit closer. “You were worth every second of waiting.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “You kept every promise.”

He grins, that soft, crooked smile that undid you back then — that still undoes you now. “Told you I’m a romantic.”

“Yes, you are. I’m a pretty lucky lady,” you tease, eyes glinting.

His hand brushes along your spine, and suddenly, you’re both laughing quietly, breathing each other in. It’s strange, really — how something can feel brand new and completely familiar all at once. How love, real love, doesn’t feel like butterflies. It feels like sunlight — constant and warm and always finding its way back to you.

A microphone crackles, and then a voice rings out — someone from the band, smiling into the mic.

“Alright, everyone, if we could have your attention—our bride and groom are about to head out for their honeymoon! Let’s give them all the love they deserve!”

The room erupts in cheers, whistles and applause. Champagne is lifted. Glasses clink. You blink back the sudden blur in your eyes as William leans down to whisper against your ear:

“You ready to go, Mrs. Nylander?”

You laugh — a bubbling, joy-soaked sound as you nod. “With you? Always.”

And as you walk hand in hand through the crowd, showered in petals and love and laughter, you look back once — just once — at the people who built you, held you, shaped this life. And then you look forward.

—

The doors of the car close behind you with a soft thud, and suddenly, the world feels quieter. The buzz of the reception is replaced by the sound of the engine, the warm night air drifting in through the cracked window. William’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in the way they always do — familiar, steady, grounding you.

He starts the car, and as you pull away from the venue, the streets of Toronto slipping by in a blur, you glance over at him. His eyes are still full of that joy, that soft, warm look that has been there since the moment he slipped the ring on your finger. There’s a relaxed, almost goofy grin on his face, the kind that only comes after a long, perfect day.

You turn the radio dial, and suddenly, the opening chords of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” fill the car. It’s the very song you and your brother used to sing at the top of your lungs on long summer road trips. A surge of excitement hits you, and you can’t help but start belting it out, loud and carefree, your voice rising with every word.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia…”

William glances over, his eyebrows lifting in mock horror. “Oh, no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Not this song.”

You don’t stop. “Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River…” Your voice is full of energy, all the joy and excitement of the day flooding out of you in the form of music.

William laughs beside you, one hand on the wheel, his hair still a little messy from the dancing. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, grinning. “I marry you and now I’m stuck with a country music soundtrack for life.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a classic!” you tease, singing louder, not even trying to stay on key anymore. “You just don’t get it.”

William gives a dramatic sigh, shaking his head with a grin. “No, I definitely don’t. I never understood how anyone could love country music this much.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Take me home, country roads…” you sing, your voice rising with the chorus, throwing your head back as you belt it out, carefree and happy.

He watches you for a moment, shaking his head but clearly entertained. “Okay, okay,” he finally says, the teasing in his voice softening. “I get it, you’re killing it. But I still don’t get the appeal.”

You grin, leaning over to nudge him playfully. “You’ll come around one day,” you tease, eyes sparkling.

The song continues, and you sing your heart out, your joy filling the car. It feels right — this moment, this life, this love — everything wrapped up in the sound of a song that’s been a part of you forever.

William starts laughing softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as you hit the high notes with all the conviction of a true country fan. “I don’t know how you do it,” he says, still chuckling.

You’re lost in the song now, the road stretching ahead of you, the glow from the dashboard casting a soft light on William’s face. His focus is on the road, but every so often, his smile flickers as he glances at you.

You throw your head back, still singing — louder now, on purpose. “To the place I belong…”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

Then it happens.

A flash of headlights.

A horn blares.

The scream of tires on pavement.

Metal.

The impact slams through you like a punch. Your body jerks, flung forward and snapped back by the seatbelt. The airbag explodes, the sound impossibly loud — like a bomb detonating in your ears.

You can’t see.

You can’t breathe.

You hear glass shatter, the car twisting, spinning — and then stillness.

Pain hits you all at once, hot and sharp — blooming in your ribs, your shoulder, your head. Your vision sways like a curtain of water. You try to move, try to sit up, to find William, but your limbs feel heavy, unreachable.

You hear him.

Faint, but frantic.

“Elise—”

You try to answer. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You want to reach for him. You want to tell him you’re okay, or ask if he is — but everything is fog.

His voice grows sharper, full of panic.

“Elise! Elise, stay with me! Please—”

You try. God, you try.

But the pain grows thick and distant, your head lolling as the dark swallows the edges of your sight. The world fades — his voice, the night, the music — all pulling away like waves retreating from shore.

And then—

Nothing.

Just black.

[zpendragon]

DC X DP inspired by @thebubblesareevil post: Retired Hero Danny - March 1st

ring ring

The sound of a phone could be heard over the low music and sound of tinkering. The man looked up at the clock, seeing that it was 5 minutes to close he sighed as he reached for the phone.

"Danny’s dead device depot: you kill it I fix it, how can I help you today."

“My name is Diana of Themyscira. I was told you could help….we have run out of options.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“A new god by the name of Darkseid intend to bring our world to ruin. His army is without end and we cannot hold them back much longer”

“Hmmmm sounds like a tough job” tinkering is heard in the background “ tell you what, get me some of those cookies like yer mom makes. The nutty ones and we’ve got a deal”

“Kourabiedes? That’s it? But-“

“No buts, you just get those started while I take care of this creep. I should be done by the time they cool down.”

Danny hung up the phone and stood into a stretch. His gaze landed on three items hanging on the wall. Three clubs with glowing green letters were mounted in a row. 'Fenton Anti-Creep Stick - Small, Fenton Anti-Creep Stick - Medium' and 'Fenton Anti-Creep Stick - Large'.

"Hmm, I think medium should do… I mean it's just a god. No use going overboard." He grabbed the medium sized club, roughly 6 feet long and a foot across at the head. Taking a few practice swing to loosen up he nodded to himself. "Perfect." He raised his free hand and before him appeared a glowing green portal. Danny leaned the club over his shoulder, he walked though whistling a jaunty toon to himself."

Danny arrived on Apokolips, the home of Darkseid. Looking around he could see the army Diana had mentioned. He'd seen better, but if he wanted to get back for the cookies, he needed to get started. Danny infused his creep stick with a bit of his ectoplasm and swung in a lazy arc in front of him. A massive wave of green swept out before him swallowing everything in sight leaving huge swathes of land bare. No enemies remained in front of him. Lifting into the air, Danny flew towards the "strongest" energy on the planet. He made his way to a large fortress surrounded by large pools of lava the put off smoke that choked the air with an acrid scent. The fortress looked like it was bought straight out of villain's quarterly.

Sigh "No imagination." Danny strode towards the large doors on the front of the fortress. Each step saw ice spreading in every direction, freezing the lava and providing a path to the door.

BOOOM Danny's foot struck the door throwing it forward, ripping it from the door frame and embedding it in the wall to the left of the large figure on the throne. Danny stood in the doorway eyeing the dark figure.

"I hear you're the creep giving my niece problems." Hefting the club off his shoulder he continued " I have just the thing for creeps like you… although looking at you now, maybe the medium is a bit much for this."

Darkseid stood from his throne shaking with rage. "You shouldn't have come here. Your death with not be gentle." he said with a glower.

snicker "Oh man, not only are you too late for that threat, but how unoriginal can you get? 'YoUr DeAtH WiLl NoT bE gEnTlE'. Let's get this over with, I have cookies waiting for me."

Dark red beams flashed from Darkseid's eyes towards Danny, who knocked them to the side with a swing from his club. "That it? Boxy hits harder than that." Danny leapt forward swinging the anti-creep stick to strike him on the left side of his head. Darkseid's head separated from his shoulders slamming into the wall of the throne room. His body crumpled to the floor.

"Well that was disappointing…" Danny made a grasping motion and Darkseid's soul appeared before him held in place. His eyes wide in fear he asked "Who are you?"

"Oh, I run an electronic repair store." Danny replied with his best customer service smile. "You were my last house call of the day. Well, it was nice to meet you Mr. Dick-seid." With a squeeze of his hand, Danny crushed Darkseid's soul, ending him for good.

"I hope Diana bakes as good as her mother!" he said as he opened another portal leaving the entire planet a barren, frozen ball of ice.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

calendula | gaku (sakamoto days)

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, no dialogue, gakus perspective, established relationship, technically pre-canon but not relevant, tit worship, riding, unprotected sex / no prep, 18+

✮ wc ; 3.4k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; girl idk. guy i characterized off of vibes and a brief reread. this is kind of a character study. if you squint. if this characterization is completely wack im sorry i think i was overcome by lust

more importantly this fic is me attempting to practice my prose so there's no dialogue rip. i dont think it succeeded but that's why there's only one line of dialogue sdkjfhkjsd.

✮ synopsis ; gaku gives you whatever you want.

Gaku knows it’s you before he answers the door.  

From the weight and sound of footfall to the way you knock on the door—always twice in rapid succession. All of these details about you linger in his mind all day. He knows you’re going to knock on the door and waits for it. His attention is away from the screen. His avatar takes a hit and the weighted controller vibrates in his hand. He let it happen. It’d have been easy enough to dodge, since he’s got good reflexes and all. But if he takes a hit, there’s a brief second that makes it easier for him to pause his game.  

He clicks a few buttons to hit pause. Neon lights paint his bedroom walls, casting shadow on the wall behind him and dimmed by the pause menu. A simpler techno beat replaces the flashy, high energy background music of an intense boss battle. Gaku gropes his bed for the remote to turn the sound lower.  

You knock at the door just when Gaku expects you. He tosses his controller and remote onto the bed , landing with a barely audible thud.  

He opens his door to find you right where he thought you’d be. Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and eyes lidded—he stares at you, observing your expression. It’s not like he’s going to interrogate you, not really.  

He can just tell. You’re thinking about something. Could be anything. He knows a lot about you. All of things you say to him when you impolitely assume he’s not listening are kept in the same part of his mind all the other details about you are. He doesn’t think you’re upset about anything. He’s developed a sixth sense for that.  

You’re here for something else. Gaku has a guess, though he doesn’t voice it to you. Just looks on with lidded eyes and waits. Something else is on your mind, too he’s sure. He can tell you don’t want to talk about it. Or that it’s not worth talking about to you.  

You’ve got your hoodie barely zipped up, he notices. Gaku’s hoodie, actually. It’s too big on him, and falls even bigger on you, the shoulder slipping off of your frame revealing the skin underneath. Gaku lets his eyes run over the vision. Tugging at the front of your top and pulling it down, covering your shorts and making it look like you’re wearing nothing at all—you fidget conspicuously. Shifting your weight from one side to another. He gets a clear view of the set you’re wearing. Work-out clothes, he thinks.  

He feels his lips twitch at the sight of you. You pick your head up to look at him, expectant. You don’t want to say what you’re thinking, but you look like you figure he might pry anyway. Sometimes he does. In matters concern you, he often finds himself sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong in general. He does want to know, but decides it’s fine for now.  

It’s not mercy. He just doesn’t think he needs to ask. Whatever it is, he can do it for you if needs to. He does a lazy glance in the hallway for sight of anyone. 

When he finds no one, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into the room all in one go.  

You let out a squeal as he grabs you. It’s easy to do it. All the strength he’s been building has its uses other than killing. He’s learned that lesson because of you. Your hands are fisted against his chest, arms folded at the elbow--as he shuts the door behind you and backs you into it. He uses his other arm  to cage you—resting his weight on his forearm as his hand clenched into a first.  

He should give you a second to breathe. Should play nice when you’re already looking for a way to wash your hands of your thoughts.  

But, he doesn’t want to let go of you right away. This close proximity—the slight tension in the air. Feels good because it’s you. Impossibly close with unspoken understanding. 

 Already close, he wonders if it’d be fine just to linger there for a minute longer than he would otherwise.  

With an arm still around your spine, Gaku presses into your space. His nose is milimeters away from yours. The only light faint from the TV screen, the atmosphere around you shifts in the darkness. Your face is shrouded, but up this close he can see you with perfect clarity. Like you’re the only two people in the world.  Your wide eyes, glimmering with expectancy. Mouth pressed into a flat line like you’re unamused—in a way that’s completely contrary to how you’re staring at him.  

He can see every detail. A part of him thinks he could trace them out with his eyes closed.  

Both things make him wanna kiss you. Both your stubborn desire to hold onto a petty grudge (that is, him pulling you in and surprising you) and the obvious, bone-deep devoted look in your eye. 

Before you can ask him anything, Gaku lets you go. With your back now pressed up against the door, he uses his free hand to to tip your chin up and kiss you.  

You relent easy. He knew you would. Always quick to forgive him when he gets on your nerves. Your arms loop around his neck and his hands finds your hips and you kiss. Your lips are soft and warm. They taste like cheap vanilla, the artificial taste that comes with whatever chapstick you use.  

(Gaku knows the brand. As in, he could get it for you if he saw it but he doesn’t know the name. Another unimportant detail he keeps tucked away for himself.)  

He’s fond of the way you melt into his touch. Your body slumped against the door, the lazy draw of your limbs and your arms around his neck - sleeves pulled your hands. The tension bleeds from you as kiss him back eagerly.  

You always kiss too fast. The first few times he had to tell you to take it easy. You never learned. He kind of hopes you never do 

Gaku prefers to draw it out. Pull away for a while with nothing but the threads of spit and bitten lips as proof  before kissing you again. But you’re eager, excitable. Your tongue laps at his lips hurriedly, brows furrowed -desperate and whimpering. Greedy. Wanting for more because Gaku can give it to you just fine if you want it.   

You never have to tell Gaku what you want. For the most part, he doesn’t how else to operate other than give you whatever. Never asks you for any favors, just gives it because it makes sense to him. Gaku likes kissing slow, but for you—it’s fine to kiss a little faster.  

His tongue slips against your mouth. The pace changes. The air in the room becomes thick around you and Gaku can’t breathe around it it. Seemingly, neither can you, but it doesn’t deter you.  

Doesn’t deter your eagerness. He’s fond of it. Lets you suck on his tongue and kiss him sloppy just because.  

It amuses him. He lets you do what you want. Gets him hard to see you act that way, despite knowing each time you come to him for something—its already yours. Puppyish to your own demise, Gaku squeezes your hips. His hands slip under the fabric of your hoodie until he can feel the waistband of your shorts.  

Your skin is bare underneath. Just a bra and shorts then. Good to know.  

You pull away panting. Face flush, mouth spit slick. Still so adoring in a way that makes his stomach flip. Excites him in a way so few things in the world do. It makes him laugh. If he had a shirt for you to tug on, you would.  

You’re not gonna ask for it directly. Gaku doesn’t exactly feel like making you, either.  

He nudges his nose against your jawline before he bites gently into the space below your chin. A breath of laughter passes through his nose as he slips his hand into your, fingers locked and tugs you further into his room. A silent confirmation.  

Yeah, he thinks. If you want it.  

Falling into bed with you is always easy.  

You crawl into his bed like you belong there. Get comfortable in his unfolded clothes, his blankets, his pillows. You’re never in the same place very long but Gaku likes the sight of you in his temporary bed, with his things.  

The lines between you and him blur when you’re tucked in with his other belongings and Gaku sort of likes it that way. He tries not to reflect on it.  

You sit on your knees, expectant. Reaching out to grab Gaku’s hand but holding his finger, you pull him into bed along side you. He looks at you amused, head tilted to one side. You put a hand on his thigh and Gaku gets the message  - scooting himself to sit up against a wall.  

Your eyes light up, just a little. You crawl into his lap like a spoiled thing. Your knees on either side of his thighs as he’s spread out, straddling his waist with his hoodie still on. He can feel himself get hard right away. It feels pathetic every time, but it’s the way it goes. Your ass is soft as you sit on his dick like its yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you. You grind back against him tentatively.  

He lets out a deep sigh.  

He can see you a little better this way. It’s the way you’re both sitting. Gaku with his back a side wall and you just over. The light from the TV is close enough to cast on your face. Your features are clearer this way. The subtle nuances of your expression especially visible.  

It’s so easy to tell when you want him to fuck you. Of all of things he likes about fucking you (and that list is long)—it’s this face that drives him most up the wall. Makes him want for it even when he thinks less of himself for being so easy.  

You’re vicious. And talented. You’ve got a knack for assassination like no one else, not motivated by blood lust but some strange desire to be the very best at it, if you’re going to do it all. 

But you’re so debauched like this. Eyes clouded in visible arousal. Wearing an athleisure fit that’s perfectly, seamlessly tight and so see-through in all of the right places. Wearing his hoodie.  

That look on your face like you want his dick so fucking bad, so desperately—that you’d go as far as begging him. He knows you would. You practically are. A sloppy, ultimately transparent attempt to get him to pound your pussy the way you like. The way you need.  

(The way he’s made you need)  

You don’t really have to do any of it. It’d be just as easy if you barged in and pulled his pants down. He wouldn’t say no to you. Might laugh, but wouldn’t turn you away.  

But you work for things you want. Like a compulsion. If Gaku’s gonna fuck you, it can’t just be because he’s whipped beyond words (he has enough self-awareness to know, but tries not to dwell.) 

 You would want him to lust after you just as bad, get him hard and excited since it’s not easy to accomplish. There’s nothing for you to earn but you’ll earn it anyway. 

Gaku ruts his dick against your ass, feeling the outline of his cock stretch the seam of your shorts. Like he’s trying to fuck you through it. He’s hard. It’s making him dizzy, just how much. All you’ve done is kiss, he remembers.  

It doesn’t make his hard-on any less severe.  

You urge him to do it again. Rub yourself against him as best you can, grinding at his lap for friction on your clit. Your body wracks with a shiver, mouth fallen open as you use your hands on his legs to keep yourself up and rut against him for pleasure—moving back so you’re pussy is sliding against him properly. Riding his hard-on. The sheer material of your shorts gives him a preview of how you’ve got nothing on underneath, your pussy visible in the thin stretchy material. So wet it’s dampening them. They seep through the fabric. Nylon and spandex and polyester. Too thin.  

It turns him on so much it makes his head throb. 

Gaku’s hands slide up underneath your hoodie again. Your skin is warm underneath the tips of his fingers. Even through bandaged hand he can feel you just slightly. They travel upwards, until he’s at the end of your sports bra. He gets underneath the stretchy band, pulling it up until it sits bunched up over your breasts— just underneath your neck and chin.  

Your nipples are hard from arousal, pert and begging for his attention. Gaku likes the way you feel in grasp. Soft and warm and supple, sweet and pliable under his touch. His palms squeezes the fat of your tits, playing with them as you grind yourself on his cock unabashedly. Head thrown back and not entirely paying attention—something he’ll tese you for later. He squishes your tits together, testing their gravity. His fingers brushing across your nipples, flicking lightly. Teasing and rolling them with the pads of his thumb.  

Above him you shiver. Moan out his name, still humping yourself on him. He figures you’ll tucker out soon. Beg him to put in it. He decides to wait it out more.  

He leans in close, placing a kiss under your sternum before his mouth travels upwards. Gaku is meticulous as his tongue laves over the soft patches of skin. He kisses and licks first, but always finishes with a bite or bruise. He can’t help himself. He loves the way his teeth sink in. Loves the mark it leaves in your skin when he bites hard enough, the indents of his incisors and canines that linger for a long while after him.  

(Loves kissing the yellowing bruises when you have sex in the mornings. On the rare slow and lazy days where the sex more sweet than anything. He tries to save it for when you’re sleepy. For his sake and yours)  

You moan loudly when his tongue flicks against hardened buds. Impatience flickers through him listening to you. His hands grip your ass hard enough to keep you in place - no longer content with just sitting. His mouth sucks and licks at your nipples while his hands change the pace from a shallow grind to a long, deep one. 

He moves you with intention against the outline of his cock. Slowly, steadily - at the kind of pace that lets him worship your chest with his tongue and teeth without risking a bite that’s too hard. Your hands fall around his neck, as you curl into him.  

Once Gaku gets control of you like this, you’re eager to let him have it. You give into the forcefulness of his touch, the demand of it. Your words are more whimpers and please against his neck. Your nails are digging into the muscles of his back—no doubt leaving red marks for him to admire later. He’s sure he’ll get a look from Kei when he sees them.  

Your shoulders are trembling. The first word to leave your lips is one Gaku likes hearing you say. Whined against the column of his throat, muffled but loud enough for him to catch.  

“Please,”  

It’s like a gut-punch. Makes the lust in him so urgent, so heavy, so daunting—he can feel it in the way moves. His breathing is labored. He presses his head against your chest and inhales deeply. Tries to mellow and keep composure.  

It just feels like he can’t get his dick into you fast enough. Feels like there’s no amount of time he’s willing to be patient for it. He needs his dick in you now, needs to take you by your hips and bounce you on his lap.  

You did say please. He’s being fair, is all.  

Gaku grabs the thin material of your shorts and rips it right along the seam. You gasp, but you’re too worked up to protest it. Soaked all the way through, your clit is hard and demanding attention. Gaku slips his his dick out from under his sweats quickly. 

He taps the head of his cock right against your clit, rubbing it with his tip - a mess of pre-cum making it sticky. Gaku moans low in the back of his throat, eyes rolling back.  

Fuck. Fuck. You feel so wet. So fucking good. Just thinking about putting it in makes him ache.  

It’s your hand that guides the head of his cock into your pussy. 

Without prep, you’re dripping wet but still so tight. You’ve taken him enough to know your limits, but you’re eager. Just as much as he is, for him to split you in half the way he’s good at. Your pussy stretches easily to the shape of him. Accommodates what it knows so well. Your body makes home for him. 

 Gaku can hear how fucking wet you are, each inch stretching you out further and further. He holds your hips and waits for you to sink down all the way.  

When you bottom out, Gaku’s jaw grits ever so slightly. He waits for you to get used to. You slide yourself slowly, up and down until the stretch of his cock isn’t achy. He can tell when it starts to feel good for you. 

 Your pussy opens up for him so well, gets slippery and soft and so perfect for him to fuck into, he isn’t sure what he was doing before that. You feel so fucking good to him every time.  

You stop, your arms wrapping around his shoulder blades and hugging him tight. You say his name that time to substitute for please, synonyms of each other. A testament to how easy he is when it involves you.  

Gaku gives you what you want. Of course he does. He takes both of his hands and holds onto your waist and fucks you exactly the way you deserve. You cry aloud, sobbing into his neck from pleasure. Your pussy squeezes around him in that familiar way and he groans. He knows you came without telling him. He knows that feel better than anything.  

It spurs him into action. Gaku builds it up but it takes practically no time for him to piston you. Half-way between holding you up so he can fuck into you and slamming you onto his cock with endless stamina and relentless desire. Whatever inbetween he finds is a good one, makes sure he knocks into your sweet spot in exactly the right way. 

The sound it makes each time he pounds into you echoes in the room. It’s filthy—the wet sound of skin to skin and his cock stretching you over and over and over. It’s good. It’s always so good with you. 

You sneak a shaky hand between your bodies. Gaku can tell you’re getting close, your fingers clumsy and twitching. You’re trying your best to match up to his brutal pace, but the thought only endears him more. Makes him harder, growing bigger inside you. 

It’s easy enough to hold off until you cum first. Until he feels your pussy clamp down on him tight again, feels you tremble and shake in his grip as you bite into his bare shoulder and cum hard. Your whole body curling into him, crying as Gaku fucks you through it.  

When you’ve fallen limp and come down from your high— that’s when Gaku finally lets himself go. His thrusts grow sloppy - fucking into your went cunt shallowly until he feels the muscles in your stomach tense. He cums inside, unable to pull out from the way you have him gripped. Thick ropes of cum paint your insides and slowly drip back out onto his cock.  

Gaku stays inside of you even as he goes soft. He can feel you in his arms, your breathing growing steady again as you both catch your breath.  

He uses a hand to pull hair away from your face, kissing whatever he can reach. A rare, quiet intimacy that makes sense to him in the moment. You let out a giggle,  a sweet sound from your lips and Gaku finds himself smiling just barely.   

Whatever you want, Gaku thinks. It’ll be yours if he can get it for you.  

[wingedhallows]

— CHIVALRY ISN'T DEAD —

CHAPTER TWO — ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING ; 5.1k words vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS : There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy. Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim?

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You curse whoever designed this damn university—the placement of the gym, the sheer distance between it and the dorms, the fact that you’re always the one sprinting across campus like your life depends on it. Your lungs burn, your knees scream in protest, but you push forward, feet pounding against the pavement.

By the time you finally reach the gym, you feel like you’ve aged a decade. Your teammates are already there, and judging by their unimpressed expressions, your absence did not go unnoticed.

“Second time this month,” Laurel, the team leader, mutters, arms crossed as she eyes you with thinly veiled irritation. You brace yourself on your knees, struggling to catch your breath—why the hell is it so hard to breathe?

“Sorry,” you wheeze, barely managing the words. “My alarm didn’t ring.”

A half-truth. More like you’d hit snooze three times and convinced yourself five more minutes wouldn’t hurt. Laurel just rolls her eyes, unimpressed, and shoves open the gym doors. You already know this means extra drills, probably an endless cycle of Arabesques until your legs give out.

But the moment you step inside, your irritation shifts into confusion.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the rhythmic thud of a bouncing ball, the distinct scent of sweat and sports tape—it doesn’t belong to your team.

Your brows furrow. Isn’t this our time slot?

“What the hell?” Laurel huffs, her voice sharp with frustration. She crosses her arms, clearly seething at the sight in front of her.

But you barely register her anger. Because your eyes have already landed on her.

Violet.

She’s mid-stride, clad in her jersey—sleeves ripped off, exposing glimpses of inked skin. Her hair is damp, strands sticking to her forehead, and her face is flushed from exertion. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on her arms, catching the light just enough to make you want to look again.

Your stomach does something strange, something you really don’t want to acknowledge.

Good lord, have mercy.

For a second, just a second, you forget why you’re even here.

The spell shatters the moment Laurel steps forward, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“It’s our time to practice.”

Her words echo across the gym, sharp and commanding, drawing the attention of the basketball team. A few of them falter mid-drill, their gazes flicking toward your group. Then, as if on cue, all eyes shift to their captain. Abby.

“Is it?” Abby steps forward, her face flushed from exertion, that same infuriatingly smug grin tugging at her lips. She crosses her arms, eyeing Laurel up and down with deliberate slowness, clearly enjoying the way it makes her bristle.

Why does she always have to be such an ass?

“You know I reserved the gym last week,” Laurel bites out, her jaw tight with irritation. “This time slot’s ours.”

But the tension between them barely registers, fading into the background as your gaze drifts—drawn like a magnet—back to her.

She’s standing now, elbow propped casually on Ellie’s shoulder, her posture all lazy confidence. That stupid, lopsided grin is still on her face, the one that looks effortlessly cool, the one that makes your stomach flip against your will.

And Vi?

Vi is struggling.

She swallows hard as her eyes trace over you, heart hammering against her ribs. Jesus fucking Christ.

The leotard, the delicate cardigan slipping off one shoulder, the sheer tights clinging to your legs—it’s almost criminal. Should carry a goddamn warning.

A slow warmth unfurls in her chest, a pull so strong it knocks the breath right out of her.

Vi had spent the entire weekend replaying that stupid party in her head, kicking herself for her own recklessness. She had told herself over and over that she needed to fix things, to apologize. But standing here now, watching the way the gym lights catch in your hair, the way you seem completely unaware of the effect you have on her—

God. What a fucking fool she had been.

She needs to make this right.

She has to.

You step forward—force yourself to tear your gaze away from Vi, to shake off the way she’s looking at you like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Instead, you focus on Abby. You know her well enough to know she’ll cave with the right approach.

“Oh, come on, Abbs.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. You give her a small nudge, tilting your head ever so slightly. “We reserved the gym. Give us an hour, and then it’s all yours for the rest of the day.”

Abby narrows her eyes at you, lips pressing into a firm line like she’s considering being difficult for the hell of it. But it doesn’t last—she exhales, shoulders dropping in defeat. Of course, she can’t say no to her favorite ballerina.

“Fine, fine,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes in faux annoyance before nudging you back. Then, with a lazy wave of her hand, she turns to her team, signaling for them to clear off and rest while your group takes over.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Laurel watching the exchange, brows subtly raised. She looks like she wants to ask about your friendship with Abby but ultimately decides against it, choosing instead to focus on ushering the ballet team forward. No time to waste.

Meanwhile, Vi follows Ellie toward the stands, grabbing her water bottle without much thought. Or at least, she tries to.

The moment her fingers curl around the bottle, her gaze flickers back to you—and suddenly, everything else fades into background noise.

You’ve shrugged off your cardigan now, leaving your arms and shoulders bare. The soft glow of the gym lights catches on your skin, accentuating the subtle shift of your muscles as you stretch. Every movement is fluid, hypnotic—each slow bend and reach designed for flexibility, but to Vi, it’s something else entirely.

Something devastating.

Her throat runs dry as her eyes trace the delicate lines of your body, the way your tights hug your legs, the way your leotard dips at the small of your back. There’s something impossibly graceful about you, something that makes her stomach clench, her pulse stutter.

Vi is so utterly, ridiculously screwed.

Ellie has to say her name once. Twice. Three times before she even registers the sound.

By the fourth, she blinks, snapping her gaze away like she hasn’t just been caught blatantly staring.

Mighty—this is going to be torture.

By the time practice is over, Vi is convinced her heart might just give out.

How do you move like that?

Her empty water bottle sits crushed between her fingers, long forgotten after she drained it dry the second she saw you leap—some kind of jump-spin-twirl move that she’s sure has a real name, but hell if she knows it. All she knows is that it did something to her, something she’s trying very hard to pretend isn’t utterly wrecking her.

Ellie is still beside her, talking her ear off about some girl she met at the party last week, but Vi barely registers a word. Her attention is locked onto you, on the way you laugh at something Abby says, on the way your hand brushes her arm so effortlessly, so familiar. Vi swallows hard.

Then she hears it.

Abby, ever the fearless one, casually asks you if you want to see a movie with some friends.

Vi’s stomach drops.

This is it. Her chance. The opening she’s been waiting for.

She watches you agree without hesitation, watches you lean in and hug Abby before walking off with your team. You disappear through the gym doors, leaving behind only the ghost of your smile in her mind, and Vi can’t—won’t—let that be the last of it.

She moves before she thinks, practically launching to her feet the second Abby’s within reach.

“Let me join,” she blurts out.

Abby stops mid-step, turning to look at her, brow arched in amusement. Vi realizes her mistake instantly—too desperate. She clears her throat, trying (and failing) to backtrack. “I mean… I’d like to see the movie too.”

Abby’s grin stretches wider, the kind that makes Vi want to disappear into the floor.

“An eavesdropper and a terrible liar,” she muses, head tilting just enough to make Vi squirm. “Seems the pretty birdie did catch your attention, huh?”

Vi’s gut reaction is to deny it, to scoff and play it cool. That’s the routine. That’s what she does. But this time… this time, she lets out a slow breath, her shoulders drooping slightly.

She already fucked up once. She refuses to do it again.

“Fine. Yes.” The words are quiet, but firm.

For the first time, Abby looks… almost surprised. Vi doesn’t just admit to liking people. Not like this. Not anyone.

Not until you.

“You’re serious?” Abby asks, her teasing edge softening just a fraction.

Vi clenches her jaw, trying to ignore the creeping heat licking up her spine, the familiar burn of humiliation threatening to settle in her chest. But she’s already exposed now—might as well see it through.

All she can do is nod.

Abby studies her for a second, then exhales through her nose, expression shifting into something almost unreadable. “Then why the hell did you say you weren’t?”

Vi lets out another sigh, quieter this time. The truth tastes bitter in her mouth.

“’Cause I’m a damn idiot.”

Abby snorts, shaking her head. “That you are.” But there’s no bite to it, no mockery—just a simple statement of fact.

“We’re meeting around nine,” she says as she steps past Vi, barely missing the way her head snaps up at the confirmation.

Then, just as she’s about to leave, she pauses. “Don’t fuck it up again, will you?”

And with that, she’s gone, leaving Vi standing alone by the stands, heart pounding, palms clammy, stomach twisting in a mix of nerves and determination.

She won’t fuck it up.

She can’t.

She’s going to show you—prove to you—that she didn’t mean it. That she wants you.

And this time, she’s not going to let herself get in the way

By the time you pull up to the cinema, the sky is inked in deep blue, the street lights humming with soft yellow light. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of popcorn and city life. You’re almost impressed Margot managed to get here without crashing—her driving skills are as reckless as ever.

“I heard Ellie’s gonna be there,” Flint drawls, a smirk playing on his lips.

Margot stills for half a second, fingers tight around the keys before yanking them out of the ignition. "Oh, shut up," she huffs, but you don’t miss the way her ears turn just a shade pinker.

Flint only grins wider. "And Vi’s coming too." His gaze flicks to you with knowing amusement before he shoves the car door open, leaving you in the backseat with a sudden, inexplicable heat blooming in your chest.

Vi’s going to be here? Damn it, Abby.

You curse yourself for how traitorous your heart is—pounding, thrumming against your ribs as if it’s trying to give you away. It’s stupid. She doesn’t even like you like that. Right?

You step out of the car, the rush of cold air wrapping around you, making you shiver. The effort you put into drying your hair suddenly feels useless, strands already catching in the breeze. Margot loops her arm through yours like she always does, a warm, grounding presence, and together you follow Flint toward the cinema’s neon glow.

The group is already there, clustered near the entrance. Abby and Ellie are bickering, cigarettes lazily hanging from their lips. Ekko leans against a pillar, chatting with a blue-haired girl who—wait—looks almost exactly like Vi. And then there’s Vi herself.

She’s standing just a little apart, currently fending off the blue-haired girl—her sister, probably—who’s clambering over her like some determined gremlin, reaching for her cigarette. Vi’s scowl is deep, but it does little to hide the easy familiarity of their play-fighting.

“Back off, you menace,” she mutters, voice edged with irritation.

And then, as if sensing something, she glances up—right at you.

Her breath catches.

God.

She knew you were coming, but somehow, seeing you now—soft curls catching the light, makeup done just right, outfit that might as well have been designed to ruin her—it’s too much. She swallows hard, dragging her eyes away before they betray her completely.

You, on the other hand, find yourself equally doomed. The way she stands there—hands wrapped in bandages (does she box?), cigarette hanging effortlessly from her lips, dressed a little neater than usual yet still so effortlessly cool—it’s unfair. Completely unfair.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

Her jaw clenches.

And in the span of a single glance, something unspoken crackles between you. Neither of you dare say it aloud. But it lingers, heavy in the cold night air.

“There you guys are,” Ellie calls out, her voice warm and teasing as she flicks her cigarette to the pavement. She moves past Abby with effortless ease, her arms already open as she pulls Margot into a hug—too familiar, too lingering. Yeah, those two definitely have something going on.

Abby claps a hand on your shoulder, flashing a knowing grin before turning to greet Flint with an easy handshake and a firm tap to the back. You try to focus on the casual exchange, on the comforting familiarity of it all, but the second your gaze shifts, your stomach twists.

Vi.

She’s standing just a few feet away, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire world slows. But then it hits you—memories slamming into your chest like a punch you weren’t prepared for. Her rejection. The sting of it is still fresh, still lingering in the corners of your heart. Your chest tightens, and before you can dwell on it, you force yourself to move on, masking the flicker of pain with a smile that barely reaches your eyes.

You turn to Ekko instead, pulling him into a familiar hug. Safe. Easy. No hidden wounds there. But then—

“You must be Y/N!”

A bright, enthusiastic voice breaks through your thoughts, and you turn just in time to see Vi’s sister beaming at you, her eyes alight with mischief. You reach for a handshake, but she’s faster, throwing her arms around you before you can even react.

“Name’s Powder,” she says, pulling back with an easy grin.

You blink, your brain scrambling for a response, but all that comes out is a small, awkward, “Nice to meet you.”

Damn it. That sounded way too timid.

Vi watches the interaction with sharp, unreadable eyes, her cigarette forgotten between her fingers. Her fingers tighten around it, but she doesn’t take another drag. Powder likes you. That’s… new. Her sister has never taken to the girls Vi was interested in.

Wait.

Her interest in you isn’t something she wants to acknowledge, but it’s there, simmering beneath the surface, undeniable. And now, seeing you like this—so effortlessly charming, even in your nervousness—sets something uneasy in her chest.

“This one’s my dumb older sister,” Powder teases, jerking her thumb toward Vi.

Your eyes flicker toward her, and as soon as they meet, it’s over.

Vi’s breath catches. Damn it.

You’re looking at her with those eyes again, the same ones that made her stomach flip the first time she saw you, the same ones that made her regret every stupidly chosen word when she turned you down. But it’s worse now. Because there’s something new in your stare, something hesitant, wounded—but still longing.

Is it heaven reflected in her eyes, or is she just trying to kill you?

Vi clenches her jaw, nudging Powder roughly in the side with a scowl, desperate to deflect the sudden wave of vulnerability creeping up her spine.

“Shut up,” she mutters, crushing her cigarette underfoot.

And then—because she can’t help herself—she glances back at you.

You’re still staring.

And god, it’s killing her.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Abby strides ahead, effortlessly ushering the group inside the cinema. The neon lights overhead cast a warm glow against the pavement, reflecting in the glass doors as they swing open. You follow after Margot, who is fully immersed in what can only be described as blatant flirting with Ellie—her voice softer, her laughter just a little too easy.

But your attention isn’t on them. Because Vi is walking beside you.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

She could be walking with Powder, or Ekko, or literally anyone else—someone she actually likes. But instead, she keeps her pace with you, her presence a steady heat at your side.

You try not to overthink it. Try not to let it mean anything.

Ahead, Abby reaches the counter and pulls out her wallet, paying for everyone without hesitation. She’ll make it back in drinks in the future —her usual method of collecting debts. The transaction is brief, a simple exchange of cash, but to Vi, it feels like a goddamn eternity.

Because she’s still standing next to you.

Because her heart is thudding a little too fast.

Because if she doesn’t say something now, she might just explode.

She risks a glance at you, drinking in the soft slope of your profile, the way the overhead lights highlight the curve of your cheek. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides, her nerves a tangled mess of contradictions. She’s never been like this before. Never second-guessed herself, never lost her confidence.

She needs to make progress tonight. She needs to stop being such a fucking coward.

The words are out before she can stop them.

“How was your day?”

It’s abrupt, awkward even, and your head snaps toward her so fast that she barely has time to prepare herself for the full intensity of your gaze. 

Has she been this close to you the whole time?

For a moment, you just look at her, like you’re trying to piece together an answer that doesn’t feel completely inadequate.

“Um… quite alright,” you murmur, and Vi swears under her breath.

This wasn’t how she wanted this to go. Not at all.

She’s a charmer. She knows how to talk to girls, how to flirt, how to carry a conversation with an easy, devil-may-care attitude. But with you? It’s like all of that skill, all of that finesse, just crumbles into dust.

She nods stiffly, rocking on the soles of her feet. Real smooth, Vi.

Where the hell did all her confidence go?

And then you look at her again—really look at her—and suddenly, she remembers.

Oh. That’s why.

Because you’re breathtaking.

Because every time she meets your eyes, her throat goes dry, her heart stumbles over itself, and she forgets how to breathe.

Because no matter how hard she tries to push it down, the truth still lingers, burning at the edges of her resolve.

She likes you.

A lot.

“You want butter or caramel?”

Flint’s voice pulls you back to reality, yanking you out of the trance you didn’t even realize you’d fallen into. You blink, swallowing down the warmth creeping up your neck as you turn to him.

“What?”

Flint chuckles, eyes flicking between you and Vi with a knowing smirk. He sees it—of course, he does. The way your eyes linger just a second too long, the way Vi watches you like she’s scared to look away. It’s painfully obvious.

“Popcorn, idiot.” He nudges you toward the counter, shaking his head like he can’t believe he has to spell it out for you.

You stumble forward slightly, still flustered, and that’s when you notice—Vi is right there with you. Keeping pace, her presence solid and warm at your side. She could be anywhere else, walking with someone else, but she isn’t. She’s here. With you.

Her lip is caught between her teeth, and you wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. There’s something hesitant in her posture, like she’s fighting an invisible war with herself.

Popcorn. You should answer. Say something. But before you can—

“What do you want?”

Vi beats you to it, stepping forward as she pulls out her wallet. Her voice is casual, but there’s something beneath it—something careful, something almost hopeful.

Your breath catches.

That’s it. Buy the girl you’re hopelessly smitten with some popcorn. That’ll fix everything, smooth, Vi - she berates herself inside.

All you manage is a quiet, slightly stunned, “Butter, actually.”

Vi nods. “Butter it is.”

And for a split second, she looks relieved, like she’s patting herself on the back for getting through that interaction without completely embarrassing herself. Like this tiny moment—this insignificant act of buying you popcorn—means something to her.

It does, doesn’t it?

Flint has already moved on, his voice carrying over from where he’s playfully arguing with Abby. Maybe it’s intentional, maybe he’s giving you two space, or maybe he just doesn’t want to stand too close to whatever mess of feelings is unfolding between you and Vi.

You should be grateful for the distraction, but you’re not. Because Vi is still beside you, ordering your popcorn and—wait. Did she just add two drinks?

Like it’s second nature, like it’s always been like this.

You watch her, something tightening in your chest.

The way she leans on the counter, her confidence returning in the way she flashes the cashier an easy smile. The way her voice dips, smooth and effortless, like she’s found her footing again.

God. She’s attractive.

And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? That even after everything—even after she turned you down—your heart still betrays you. Still trips over itself whenever she’s close.

And right now, she’s so, so close.

Vi steps back from the counter, the warm scent of buttered popcorn clinging to the air between you. The bucket is balanced effortlessly in one hand, the two drinks cradled in the other—like she’s done this a thousand times before.

Like this is just something she does for you.

You follow her, your throat suddenly dry, your mind spiraling in circles you can’t quite escape.

Why did she buy you popcorn?

If she didn’t like you—if she meant what she said back then—why do this? Why stand beside you, walk in step with you, make your heart stutter with every stolen glance?

Is she playing with you?

You swallow hard, head swimming with questions, none of which have easy answers. You don’t know what this is supposed to mean—if it’s just Vi being Vi, or if there’s something more lurking beneath the surface.

But the worst part?

You want there to be something more. And that’s dangerous.

“I’ll sit in the middle!” Powder declares, stomping past Flint with a triumphant grin, dragging Ekko along with her. You bite back a laugh, watching as Flint blinks after her, utterly bewildered.

Beside you, Vi exhales a soft huff of amusement, the corners of her lips curling into the barest smile. It’s fleeting, but you catch it, and for a split second, the world stills.

She’s even more beautiful when she smiles. God.

Vi catches your gaze, and something shifts. There’s a tenderness in your eyes—soft, unguarded, just for her. It knocks the breath from her lungs.

She swallows, clearing her throat as if that might steady the sudden pounding of her heart. It doesn’t. She’s already lost to you, completely and utterly gone.

With a quiet exhale, she forces herself to follow the others, but the warmth of your glance lingers, burning at the edges of her thoughts.

Inside the dim glow of the cinema, you catch the way Vi maneuvers past Ellie and Margot, making a deliberate beeline for the empty seat beside you. Your breath hitches. Why? Why would she choose to sit next to you?

Your pulse quickens as you steal a glance at her, but the rush of excitement is fleeting. It’s smothered almost instantly by the cold, lingering memory of her rejection just days ago. The ache of it settles deep, dull but persistent.

Vi drops into the seat beside you with an ease that feels almost practiced, and before you can even process it, she’s handing you the bucket of popcorn— The one she had offered to buy so charmingly. 

Your fingers brush as you take it from her, and she tenses for just a second, the warmth of your touch setting off a riot in her chest. She tries to ignore the fluttering sensation, the way her skin hums where it met yours—but it’s impossible. The feeling is too sharp, too consuming.

“Thanks,” you murmur, stuffing a few kernels into your mouth in a weak attempt to ground yourself.

The movie begins, casting flickering shadows across Vi’s face, but your focus is elsewhere. Your eyes drift down, catching the way her arm rests on the armrest between you—palm up, fingers just slightly curled, almost as if she’s waiting.

Waiting for your hand to slip into hers.

Your head spins, tangled in the weight of confusion, of longing. The pull toward her is undeniable, intoxicating, and yet—doubt lingers, threading through your chest like a vice.

Does she want you close, or is this just another moment that will slip through your fingers?

After the movie—and what felt like an eternity of Abby and Flint’s relentless chatter—you find yourself outside the theater once again. The night air is crisp, biting at your skin, and the sky stretches dark and endless above you. Abby’s already fishing for a cigarette like her life depends on it, muttering something about needing it badly.

Beside you, Vi stands in silence, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its ember glowing faintly in the cold. Margot, on the other hand, is still shamelessly flirting with Ellie, her laughter spilling into the quiet street.

Vi grips her cigarette like it’s an anchor, the last thing keeping her from completely losing her composure. You’re too close—too close—and her thoughts are unraveling, tangled in the weight of wanting you. She racks her brain, searching for a way to move forward, to say something that won’t end in disaster.

Well, she bought you popcorn—that’s a win in her book. She also stumbled through possibly the most awkward conversation of her life with you, which… might be a loss. But at least it was something.

Her heart pounds, fingers tightening around the cigarette as she blurts out, without thinking—

“Let me take you home.”

The words hit the air, unfiltered, unplanned, way too loud. And worse—in front of everyone. Heat surges up her neck, settling in her cheeks as the weight of the moment crashes down on her. Your head snaps toward her, eyes wide, and for a second, she swears the world stops spinning.

“What?” The question tumbles from your lips, confused, hesitant. You came here with Margot and Flint—why would Vi be the one to take you home?

The thought lingers between you, curling in the cold air like the smoke from her cigarette. And then, something shifts. A possibility, fragile but undeniable, takes root in your chest. Maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t actually not like you.

Vi’s mouth opens, then shuts. Then opens again. Great. Real smooth.

She scrambles for something—anything—to save face. “It’s on the way.”

Her voice comes out quieter than before, and she immediately wants to punch herself in the face. That was a blatant lie, and she knows it. You know it. Everyone knows it. The basketball dorms are in the complete opposite direction.

You tilt your head slightly, lips parting like you’re about to question it—like you don’t quite buy her excuse. But before you can say anything, Flint jumps in, mercifully cutting off whatever awkward attempt at an explanation Vi might’ve tried to offer.

“That would be great,” he says easily. “I don’t think Margot’s in any condition to drive anyway.”

Your gaze follows his, landing on Margot, who is very much occupied. Ellie traces slow, lazy fingers up and down her arm, a smug little grin playing on her lips.

Vi watches as your expression shifts, your brows pulling together slightly. She knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Fuck Margot.

Fuck Flint.

And honestly? Same.

That’s how you end up here—sitting in the passenger seat of Vi’s sleek black BMW. The interior is just as you’d expect: clean, but lived-in. Black leather seats, a faint scent of her cologne hanging in the air, a couple of cigarettes in the ashtray, long since burned out.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Vi starts the car, gripping the wheel a little too tightly, like she has to physically remind herself to drive like a normal person, to not scare you off. Her nerves are wound tight, but she forces herself to keep it together.

Then, in a small, uncertain gesture, she cranks up the heat. She has no idea if you’re cold. No clue if you even need it. But it’s something—it’s a move, at least. Something to fill the silence, to make this feel less suffocating.

“You didn’t have to…” You hesitate, voice soft. “…drive me home, you know.”

Vi grips the wheel tighter. Her knuckles flex, then relax.

“I wanted to.”

Her words are steady, sure. No hesitation this time. And god, if your voice is like balsam for her soul, then looking at you is an entirely different kind of torture.

You turn toward her, your gaze drifting over her frame—and immediately, you regret it.

Because Vi in the driver’s seat, relaxed yet effortlessly in control, is a sight that does unspeakable things to you.

One hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other gripping the gear shift with casual ease. Her legs spread just enough to make your thoughts stumble into dangerous territory. The soft glow of passing streetlights cutting shadows along the sharp lines of her jaw, her lips slightly parted in quiet concentration.

Your stomach twists. Your head spins.

And worst of all—Vi notices.

She catches your lingering stare, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you swear you see something shift in her expression. Her grip on the wheel tightens, her jaw ticks, and there—right there—is the tiniest flicker of a smirk before she looks back at the road.

A slow, molten heat spreads through her chest, pooling low in her stomach.

For the first time tonight, she feels like she might actually be winning. Like maybe—just maybe—she’s finally making progress.

And when Vi sets her mind to something, she damn well sees it through.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

( @foralltheprettygirls ; @sawaagyapong ; @jivimatcha ; @majuia ; @uhmidkmuch ; @savedforlaterr ; @baylegend6 ; @elle-girlylesbian @dazevi @paymeinkash , @jupitism , @lostsouls-mxli ; @xseraphine ; @tdawg2012 ; @norwayromanoff ; @caffeine-pup ; @tuliptu ; @killuomi ; @lin-elizabeth )

[yveslogy]

Vanilla & Danger

Pairing: Se-mi x Fem! Reader

CW/TW: There are also themes of infidelity, charged emotional tension, alcohol consumption, and explicit sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Note: The work is fictional and only suitable for mature audiences. The songs encompass desire, temptation, self-discovery, and the facets of emotion involved in relationships. Not to advocate cheating, but to show the visceral response and decision behind it. So please read the story responsibly.

Word Count: 1.3k+

The bass pounding through the walls vibrated the floor under my feet as I leaned against the kitchen counter, a drink in my hand that had long since lost its chill. The party was in full swing—bodies crammed together in a dim, neon-lit living room, sweat-slicked skin and half-full cups sloshing to the floor. Laughter, music, the occasional drunken shout—it all melded into a euphoric haze.

But none of it mattered.

Because Se-mi was here.

She was leaning against the fridge, facing me, looking so cool in ripped jeans and a cropped leather jacket, her wolf cut messy in a way that felt deliberate. She had this lazy, shaggy smirk in the corners of her mouth, her lip ring catching the low light every time she turned her head. Her eyes sharp, dark and mischievous—tracked me as if she already knew what I was thinking more than I did.

And the worst part? She probably did.

“Your girl ain’t here tonight?” Se-mi asked between slow mouthfuls of her drink. Her voice was low, husky, winding around me like smoke.

I rolled my eyes. “She’s around somewhere.”

Se-mi hummed, unconvinced. “Doesn’t sound like she cares too much.”

I stiffened. “She does.”

She arched a brow. “Sure.” A beat of silence held between us, heavy and charged. Then she edged closer, close enough for me to note the faint traces of her cologne—something dark and sweet, like vanilla cut with risk. “But if she did, how come you’re over here alone?”

I swallowed, clutching my cup a bit too hard. Se-mi always did this—pushed in too close, too deep, as if she could see every crack in my armor. Like she wanted to pop me open and see what I was made of.

And the worst part? A part of me wanted her to.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered and looked away.

Se-mi just laughed; the sound sent a chill down my spine. “I know you, though.” Another step. She was close enough, heat radiating from her frame, her breath skating across my ear as she leaned in. “And I know you deserve more than some cold half-assed love.”

Her words burned. She isn't wrong, and that’s what made it worse. My girlfriend—if she could still be called that, had been checked out for months, present but not really there even when she was. No late-night calls, no lingering touches, no fire. Just empty I love you’s that didn’t seem to me to mean anything.

But I stayed. Because I was supposed to. Because in relationships, that’s what you do, right?

Se-mi made me question that.

She tilted her head, those sharp eyes studying me, then got up and pulled me to my feet as she led me to one of the rooms upstairs.

The door opened, and immediately, the background turned into a world of wealth and silk. And Se-mi shoved me through the door, which thud quietly closed behind us.

The room was dim, and the only sound was the soft hum of music from downstairs. Se-mi’s eyes met mine, and I felt the fire in her gaze. She touched me, and we began to take off our clothes, her fingers running along the lines of my body.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” she whispered, her voice heavy with need.

I swallowed hard, her body pressing into mine as she leaned closer. Se-mi’s lips met mine, hot, insistent. She kissed me back as if she wanted to eat me, her tongue probing inside my mouth.

I groaned, my body reacting to her caress. Se-mi held my waist, fingers dug in and pulling me closer. I lost myself in the sensations, my body begging for more.

Se-mi’s hands wandered over my body as we kissed. She squeezed my nipples and rolled them between her fingers. When she reached down and traced with her fingers the lines of my body, electric waves made their way through my body.

Se-mi’s hands dug into my thighs, urging me as she guided me to the bed. I was charged with anticipation her hands surely deft.

My body tensed in anticipation as I lay there. The moment Se-mi's eyes met mine there was no mistaking how badly she wanted me. She inhaled deeply, her breath soft against my ear.

“I own you,” she said, with a husky voice filled with lust. “And you are going to feel so much more than a touch.”

Se-mi’s lips slid against mine once more, fiery and urgent. But this time, she was taking me. This was her way of marking me as hers, and I understood then that I was hers, body and soul.

I felt the hairs on my neck rise as Se-mi’s lips brushed my ear. She touched her hand, finding the trails along my body. The touch of palmer on my clit brought another jolting electric charge through my body as her fingers began piercing deep inside.

I moaned, pressing my body against Se-mi’s roaming hands. She put her hand on my nipples, rolling them in between her fingers. A wicked pleasure washed over me when Se-mi’s hot demanding lips found mine.

I felt myself getting lost in the feeling as we kissed. Se-mi was the master of my body, a conductor escorted me to a place of pleasure. I was hers, and I knew it.

Se-mi had her hands on my chest, squeezing on my nipples. Her lips brushed my ear as she leaned in, and I felt a kind of pleasure sweep over me.

“I want you to come,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire as she put on her strap-on.

I nodded, my body reacting to her touch. Se-mi’s hands gripped my thighs, pulling me close as she guided me back down toward the edge of the bed.

I was thrilled with anticipation as Se-mi knelt over me. We were perfectly sized for each other; her hips molded against my thighs. She leaned in, and our lips met, and it zapped me with electricity that coursed through my entire body.

As we kissed, Se-mi started to push the head of her strap and she started rocking back and forth. Her hips pressing into mine. As she stretched me out so I could take in all of her, a wave of pleasurable sensation washed over me.

I moaned and arched into her as Se-mi kept moving. Her body fit perfectly against mine, her hips driving into my thighs. It was a shock, an electric rush at her lips when she leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine.

I melted into the feeling as we kissed. In that moment, I didn’t give a damn about anyone else. I did not give a shit about my girlfriend, or our relationship. What I cared about was Se-mi, and how she made me feel.

Se-mi moved more vigorously now, her hips seeking the rough pressure of mine. A wave of pleasure washed over me as she leaned into my body to feel me more.

I moaned, my body curling into hers as I reach my climax. My body shook as i came, walls clenching. This was the first sheet, and as it came off the other side, I felt a charge of electricity shoot through my body as she leaned into me and pressed her lips to my forehead.

As we gasps for air, Se-mi’s gaze landed on my eyes. They blazed, with a fire I’d never seen. In that moment, I knew I belonged to her; she had claimed me as her own.

By the time the sun bled into the sky, I was snared in her sheets, body buzzing, mind spinning. Se-mi was sprawled next to me, one arm flung carelessly over her head, watching me with that same knowing smirk.

“You gonna regret this?” she asked.

I swallowed and stared at the ceiling. Maybe I should have. Perhaps I should have felt guilty, given by the enormity of what I’d done.

But all I felt was free.

I looked up at her, my fingers skimming around the rim of her lip ring, and said, “No.”

Se-mi smiled, drawing me in again, and I allowed her.

Because for once, no one else was on my mind.

Just her.

Just this.

Just us.

Author’s Note: I got the idea of this story when I was thinking about passion versus obligation, being caught between what is expected of you and what you really want in life. Se-mi is a force of reckoning—the one who upends the protagonist thought they knew about love and loyalty. The most difficult decisions aren’t necessarily right or wrong, but what makes us feel alive.

Thank you for reading, and I hope this story made you feel something—tension, excitement, maybe even introspection. I’d love to hear what you think!

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

The Diaboys' reaction: they cheated on you and now want your forgiveness, but you were already leaving with another man—so they have no choice but to kidnap you +18

(low-key loved this idea!)

NSFW - themes of kidnapping domination yandere behaviour, violence and death (of the man you leave them for)

Shu Sakamaki

Lazily indifferent at first, Shu hadn’t thought you'd really leave him—even after he’d slipped up and bedded someone else in a heat of boredom. But when he saw you stepping into another man’s car, looking free, he snapped.

You didn’t even hear him approach. The world turned upside down when you woke in his bedroom, wrists bound to his headboard, classical music humming in the background.

“Tch... running off like that. Do you know how fucking tiring it is to chase after you?” His lazy smirk hides something sinister, as fingers trail slowly down your thigh. “You’re mine. You never had a choice.”

His eyes darken. “He’ll be dead by morning. But you? I’m going to make sure you never want to walk again.”

Reiji Sakamaki

Reiji knew the moment he lost control—betrayal, even once, was a stain on his perfection. But watching you walk away with another man, smug and oblivious to Reiji’s rage, shattered his facade.

You woke in a sterile room, bound to a velvet chair. Reiji stood over you, calm as ever, blood dripping from his gloves.

“I made a mistake. But you made a greater one—trying to replace me.” He slides his glasses down. “I’ll correct both errors tonight.”

Each movement is clinical, controlled, punishing. His lips find yours as he whispers, “You’ll learn discipline again, my dear. You’ll forget any name but mine.”

Ayato Sakamaki

“Ore-sama” couldn’t believe you dared leave. He cheated—so what? You were his toy, his girl, his everything. But when he found you smiling at someone else? Game over.

You didn’t make it far. He crashed the date, snapped the guy’s neck like a twig, and dragged you by the hair to his room.

“Who the hell said you could run off, huh?!” He snarls, ripping your clothes with greedy hands. “You belong to Ore-sama! And now I’m gonna make you feel it.”

He doesn’t stop, even when you cry out. His obsession burns hotter than rage. “Say my name, Chichinashi. Beg me to forgive you.”

Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato’s betrayal was strange—childish whims and a doll he broke. But when you ran to another man for comfort, Kanato shattered completely.

He killed the guy in a bloody frenzy, smiling as he painted your skin red with his bloodied fingers. “You tried to leave me, didn’t you? Bad doll...”

He ties you up next to Teddy. “Now, you’ll never leave again. And I’ll show you how much I love you.”

Every act is possessive, cruel, and unhinged—his tears mixing with moans as he marks you inside and out. “You’re mine. Forever. Until you rot.”

Laito Sakamaki

“Bitch-chan~ you really thought you could find someone better?” Laito crooned after dragging you back mid-date, still adjusting his hat as he licked blood from his lips.

He threw you on his bed, uncaring of your screams. “You didn’t leave because I cheated... you left because you forgot who your master is.”

His belt came off with a snap. “Let’s fix that~ I’ll ruin you so deeply, your new man will never want used goods again.”

Every thrust is punishment. But his voice? Still sweet. “Say you forgive me, bitch-chan... or I’ll keep going until morning~”

Subaru Sakamaki

Subaru regrets it instantly. His hand slipped. His temper got the best of him—and he kissed another. But when he sees you with someone else? Something inside him breaks.

Your date ends in blood. He carries you off, whispering apologies through gritted teeth. “I didn’t mean to... but you made me crazy, dammit!”

He chains you in the basement, trembling as he touches you. “You can hate me... but I’ll never let you go.”

His kisses are desperate, his hands rough, his voice a broken growl. “Let me make it up to you... with every inch of me.”

Ruki Mukami

Ruki saw it as a miscalculation. A rare error. He cheated out of logic, not lust—but you left emotionally, illogically, and now you must be corrected.

He intercepts your escape, drugging your drink. When you wake, you’re naked in his study, surrounded by books and restraints.

“You belong to me, livestock. And livestock does not choose its master.”

He penetrates you with brutal precision, his voice calm, eyes unreadable. “You’ll forget the man you ran to. I’ll rewrite every inch of your body with my name.”

Yuma Mukami

“Ya think you can leave me?!” Yuma snarled, fist bloodied from the fight that left your date a corpse. “I messed up, but you don’t get to run.”

He slams you against a wall, teeth bared. “I gave you everything. You’re mine. So now I’m takin’ it all back.”

He ravages you rough, primal, as if trying to claim you with every brutal thrust.

“You’ll scream my name, sow... I’ll fuck you so deep that no one else’ll ever fit.” His lips brush your ear. “You ain’t leavin’. Ever.”

Azusa Mukami

Azusa didn’t understand why you left after his betrayal. Pain is love, right? But seeing you happy without him... it sent him into a spiral.

He lured you back with a soft voice—and a knife. Now, you’re tied up, bleeding gently, his tongue tasting every inch of your tears.

“Don’t cry... I just want to feel you again... inside... around me...”

His thrusts are slow, worshipful, as he cuts hearts into your skin. “This is love... my love... forever... even if it hurts...”

Kou Mukami

Your new man was a fan. Big mistake. Kou smiled as he smiled for the cameras—right before tearing the guy’s throat out.

You’re dragged backstage, into a soundproof room. Lights still flashing.

“You were mine, M-Neko-chan~ You broke me.”

Now he breaks you. On camera. On his lap. His voice silky and sharp. “I’ll make a new video... just for us. Let’s make the world see how much you love me.”

Every moan, every cry—recorded. Owned. “Smile for me, baby~ You’re not going anywhere.”

Shin Tsukinami

Shin never begged. But he did beg you to forgive him. You refused. And worse? You ran off with a human.

Now, you’re in the royal den, stripped bare and collared like prey.

“You belong to me,” he snarls, biting your neck hard enough to draw blood. “You think some pathetic man could satisfy you?”

He fucks you like a beast—feral, deep, animalistic. “You’ll learn your place... under me. Screaming for my name.”

Carla Tsukinami

Carla’s pride wouldn’t tolerate disobedience. You were his. His error—his betrayal—was logical. Yours? Treason.

He kidnaps you without effort, chaining you in silken cuffs and perfumed sheets. “I will correct this.”

His body dominates yours with graceful, terrifying control. Each thrust a punishment, each breath a cold promise.

“You will love me again. Or you will never leave this bed.”

His poison seeps into your veins as he drinks from your throat, claiming every drop of your soul.

Kino

Kino’s laugh is sharp when he finds you with someone new. “Did you really think I’d let you go that easily?”

The man disappears. You wake in Kino’s gaming dungeon, naked under his hoodie.

“Game over, babe. Now it’s just you and me.”

He takes you right there—tied in cords, screen flickering. “You’re my favorite prize... and now I’m gonna break you until you beg for a respawn.”

His love is madness. And now, you’re the only player that matters.

[iatnen]

Modern / Frat / If-They-Went-To-Ilvermorny AU 🇺🇸🤙

RIP Sebastian Sallow you would’ve loved beer pong

SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

Also if it’s not already obvious…….. I really do love making them quidditch bros

I tried to make it look like a flash photo but I got lazy so idk — I suck at doing backgrounds

[deepdreamnights]

Using Vidu to Make Character Turnarounds

Disclosure: I am in the Vidu Artist Program.

Having (at the very least) front and back reference greatly improves the quality of character image prompting. And very often, one finds that they were lazy and only got a couple of bits of character reference. Or they have tons of it in the wrong art style.

A character like Wally Manmoth requires some good reference to work right.

Now, it's not that hard to prompt up something that matches close enough and then modifying the stuff manually until it works, such as I did with TriceraBruce and DeinoSteve:

You can tell Steve's the bad boy because he's got a cool rip in the back of his jacket.

But for Wally, I decided to try out Vidu as a means of getting turnaround frames.

So I loaded Wally's front-view pic (above) into the image-to-video feature, and prompted with:

vintage traditional animation scene (1985) humanoid mammoth/furry elephant wearing a red hawaiian shirt and blue shorts, by filmation and sunbow productions, 90s colors, friendly on green background, streamlined black line art with cel shaded vintage cartoon color, official media, character design fullbody shot on green background. The mammoth-anthro starts facing the camera, turning around to face away from the viewer, providing a view of his back.

I gave it two shots at the 720x quality setting (12 points per, total of 24), and got:

Huh. Weird it happened twice, etc.

This demonstrates both that the tech is viable for this use, and the reason you'd want to have that multi-view reference. The robot clearly assumes that a luau shirt would have a large print on the back, whereas wally's is a more basic print. That's ultra easy to fix, though.

I started by exporting the last frame of each (or close to it, picking the one that looks cleanest)

While its image editing features and often touch-and-go, one thing the Midjourney edit feature has going for it is it's utility as an upscaler. You load the image in, make your tweaks (just a little bit of background if you're just upscaling) and then upscale and at the very least you have 2048x2048 worth of resolution.

I used the midjourney edit process, that got those two images to the following state, as a test.

The results are good, but getting the large trees to erase-and-replace out took several attempts, and just doing it in photoshop then using the editor to upscale would have been faster.

This is why we do tests.

I went with the slightly-at-an-angle one for the main reference sheet. I'll be keeping the straight-on-back-shot in case it winds up being useful for specific scenes down the line.

In photoshop, I touched up the shirt print, made sure the colors where consistent, and simplified the hair coloration to something more period-plausible.

No more giant trees on the back! On the other hand, I think the feet sprouting toes on the heel is going to be something I'll be fixing frame-by-frame until there's another revision.

Human characters will induce these issues less often. I just stick with my genre of choice.

Midjourney was not cooperating with TyrannoMax (it really doesn't like giving him the proportions I like, preferring to make him a weird big-head salamander), so I went the same direction, resulting in this stage 1 front/back:

Only Midjourney refused to work with it, at all. Declaring everything that came out of it too lewd for its internal censor. Apparently, this hunky relative of cheesasaurus rex is too sexy for general consumption. Nevermind that it's a cartoon lizard in a shade tangello orange.

The workaround is too dumb for words.

Slam the hue slider until it's off anything that could be perceived as a human skintone.

Then make the modifications. Here I had to rework the leg several times, and do a lot of tweaking to remove-overinking. Then I popped it back out, droped it back into lineart, re-colored it, and and composited it back together:

And voila, a front and back for Max. I shortened his tail, as the longer tails have been causing problems with confusing the image prompting systems. The armor skirt has scallops to accommodate the tail, which looked better more consistently than the flaps folding around the tail.

The results are, thus far, encouraging.

Of course, if the back of your character has any unexpected details, you're going to have to add those in after the fact or include them in the prompting, and you're going to be making a lot of edits regardless (as you should).

Oh, and Max has a sword now.

A blade of amber crystal with a fossilized femur grip and a faceted dino-eye that should be far enough away from the Eye of Thundera for safety. A roleplay-toy friendly trademark weapon, usually a sword, was a must-have for 80s action-adventure lines despite the fact that you'd never see it used on anything that wasn't a robot, living statue, or skeleton.

Thus the sword's gimmick is it cleaves through non-living matter with ease but anything BS&P doesn't want subjected to a stabbin's is encased in amber crystal: locked in place if partially encased, put into suspended animation if fully encased. A nice, nonlethal use for a magic sword.

It's proportioned like a gladius, but is generally interpreted as larger, approaching a broadsword, in keeping with the generally ridiculous blade sizes of kidvid fantasy. They're just more fun when they're stupidly huge.

Is "Sword of Eons" too on the nose?

[tinyshyteacup]

TW: Cussing, panic attacks, flashbacks, shock

A:N: I do not understand this culture, heavy use of google, if anything is offensive or incorrect, please let me know so I can adjust -T.S.T.

Part 12

Spare Parts - Part 13

The house smelled like microwave popcorn and cheap fabric softener—the latter probably from Letty’s attempt at pretending she actually gave a shit about laundry.

The TV screen flickered, casting a dull glow over the small living room, where the couch was already stacked with mismatched blankets.

A bag of candy had been ripped open and abandoned on the coffee table, and somewhere in the background, Letty was already bitching about the movie choices.

Coco stood by the kitchen, cracking open a beer as he eyed you with a smirk.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence."

You rolled your eyes, setting down the bag of snacks you’d brought.

“Better late then never.” You shot back.

Coco clicked his tongue, pretending to think.

"Eh"

Letty shot him a look. “Pendejo.”

He grinned, taking a swig of his beer.

You shook your head, taking a seat on the couch while Letty shuffled through the movies.

"Alright, what we watchin’? And if you pick some corny rom-com, mija, I swear to God—"

Letty cut him off. "Relax, we’re watching horror."

Coco perked up at that.

The movie started, but Letty was still side-eyeing you from her spot on the floor.

You weren’t sure what to make of her yet—she had a sharpness to her, like she was always waiting for someone to give her a reason to bite. But tonight, she seemed… calmer.

Letty stretched out with an exaggerated groan, cracking her knuckles.

"Man, this movie sucks."

Coco snorted. "You picked it, mija."

"Yeah, well, I regret it." She turned her head, looking up at you with that same scrutinizing stare she always had. "So… what’s the deal with you not liking to be touched?"

Your stomach tightened.

It wasn’t said with any real malice—Letty was blunt by nature, no filter, no hesitation. But the question still landed heavy.

You felt Coco go still beside you.

Letty continued, oblivious. "I mean, it’s kinda weird, right? You like Coco, but you flinch when he gets too close. Like, what’s up with that?"

You opened your mouth, but before you could even attempt an answer, Coco shifted, dropping his arm from the couch and leaning forward slightly.

"Leticia."

His tone was flat. Firm.

Letty raised an eyebrow. "What? It’s a fair—"

"Don’t."

That one word carried more weight than anything else he’d said all night.

Letty looked at him, then at you.

Then, with a roll of her eyes, she muttered, "Whatever," and turned back to the TV.

Coco didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t tease. Didn’t push.

Just leaned back again, shifting like nothing had happened—except now, his knee brushed against yours under the blanket.

At some point, you got up to grab more snacks, and Coco followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a lazy smirk.

"So."

You didn’t like the way he said that. “So…?”

"You been doin’ alright, muñeca?"

You frowned. “Yeah?”

"Mhm." He took a sip of his beer, eyeing you over the rim. "‘Cause, you know, last time I saw you at the clubhouse, you were all sweet talkin’ me ‘bout how much you appreciate me and shit."

Your stomach dropped. “Coco—”

"Nah, nah, it’s cool, muñeca," he teased, setting his beer down and stepping closer. "You were feelin’ real sentimental that night, huh?"

Your face burned. “I'll have you know I was tipsy.”

"Ohhh, I know." He grinned. "Shit was adorable. All wide-eyed, lettin’ me hold you like I was your fuckin’ hero or somethin’."

You groaned, covering your face.

"Ay, don’t hide now, chiquita—you were real cozy up against me. Bet if I pulled you in right now, you’d—"

You smacked his arm before he could finish.

"¡Ay!" He laughed, rubbing his arm dramatically. "Damn, alright, alright, I’ll stop."

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him.

"You done?"

"For now."

He shot you one last smug grin before heading back to the couch.

The horror movie flickered on the screen, throwing shadows across the small living room.

You were curled up on the couch, knees tucked under the blanket, while Coco sat beside you, sprawled out like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he did.

Letty was still on the floor, leaning against the couch with a bored look, occasionally glancing over at the two of you.

It wasn’t a huge change, but there was something different tonight.

Coco was sitting just a little closer than before.

Not touching—because he never pushed that. But the space between you wasn’t as wide as it used to be.

His arm rested along the back of the couch, and if you shifted just a little, you could almost feel the warmth of him.

He noticed, too.

Every once in a while, he’d glance over, like he was checking to see if you were still okay with it. And when you didn’t pull away, he just smirked to himself and kept watching the movie.

Coco sat next to you, smirking every time the final girl made a dumb decision.

"Oh, yeah, bitch, run upstairs. ‘Cause that always works," he drawled, tossing a piece of popcorn at the screen.

You laughed, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it.

"You act like you'd do any better," you teased, turning to him.

He gave you a look. "Please. I’d be the first one outta that house. You’d still be sittin’ there tryna reason with the killer, all sweet, like—‘Maybe we can talk about this?’”

You rolled your eyes, laughing again.

"That’s not—okay, maybe depends on the killer"

Coco grinned, shifting slightly closer.

Not enough to crowd you. Just enough to see if you’d let him.

Every once in a while, his knee brushed yours.

A casual touch. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like he wasn’t checking to see if you’d pull away.

And when you didn’t, his smirk deepened.

"Look at you, chiquita. Gettin’ real brave these days."

You gave him a look. "I let your knee touch mine. That’s hardly brave."

He chuckled low in his throat, taking a slow sip from his beer. "Nah, but it’s a start."

The way he said it—like he knew you were figuring things out—made something in your chest feel warm.

Eventually, Letty groaned, standing up to grab more drinks from the kitchen. "Don’t make out while I’m gone."

Coco snorted. "Nah, mija, we’ll wait ‘til you get back so you can feel extra awkward."

Letty flipped him off and walked out.

Coco leaned back into the couch, eyes flicking toward you. "You good?"

You nodded, eyes flicking back to the screen, the second film of the night playing across the screen.

The movie played on, but Coco had been watching you more than the screen.

You were curled into the corner of his couch, looking more comfortable than you usually did.

Then, like you suddenly remembered something, you sat up. "Oh! I brought something for you guys."

Coco raised a brow, watching as you padded over to his fridge and pulled out a large, plastic-wrapped dish.

Letty glanced over from the kitchen with a skeptical look. "What is it?"

You grinned a little, peeling back the wrap. "Pav"

Coco stared at the fluffy, meringue-based dessert, topped with whipped cream and fresh fruit.

"The fuck is ‘Pav’?" he asked, squinting at it.

You turned to him, eyes twinkling. "It’s a kiwi thing. Trust me, you’ll like it."

He smirked. "Oh, I gotta trust you now? That how it is?"

"Yea, besides you guys missed out the other day," you said simply.

Letty snorted, grabbing some plates.

"I dunno, chiquita," Coco drawled, arms draped over the back of the couch. "Last time I trusted you, you got all drunk and emotional on me."

Your cheeks warmed. "I wasn’t drunk—"

"Nah? Tipsy then."

Letty grinned. "You got tipsy?"

"No—"

"—Touched all over my face, muñeca," Coco added, enjoying how flustered you were getting.

Your shot him a look, eyes narrowing. "And you fucking loved it"

Coco just shrugged, shooting you a lazy, knowing smirk.

And that was the moment Letty decided to intervene.

"Jesus Christ, just get a room already."

After you cut slices of the pavlova for everyone, Letty grabbed beers from the fridge.

"You guys want one?" she asked, cracking one open for herself.

Then, after a moment, you gave a small nod. "Yeah. Okay."

Coco took his with no hesitation, taking a slow sip as he leaned back, watching you.

You weren’t getting drunk.

But after the first beer, you stopped fidgeting as much.

And after the second?

That fuzzy softness started creeping back in.

The same thing that had happened at the clubhouse.

Coco tilted his head slightly, clocking the shift in your body language—the way your shoulders weren’t as tense, the way you stopped overthinking every movement.

It was subtle, but he caught it.

"Huh."

You glanced over. "What?"

He smirked. "Nada, chiquita. Just thinkin’."

"Thinking about what?"

He just sipped his beer. "How a couple drinks turn you into a whole different person."

Your brow furrowed. "I don’t—"

"Nah, you do," he said, watching you. "Get all relaxed. Touchy. Like at the clubhouse."

You gave him a look. "That a bad thing ?"

"Didn’t say it was."

There was something knowing in his expression, but he let it go.

For now.

Coco dug his fork into the pavlova, lifting a piece with exaggerated skepticism.

"This shit better not kill me, muñeca. I got a lotta enemies, and I’d hate for it to be you that takes me out."

You rolled your eyes. "Just eat it."

He smirked but finally took a bite.

Then another.

And another.

Letty squinted. "Ew, eat with your mouth shut."

Coco shot her a look mid-bite, speaking around a mouthful. "Shut the fuck up."

You grinned, curling your legs beneath you on the couch.

Letty made a face. "Ugh. You’re disgusting."

Coco just shrugged, licking a bit of cream off his fork. "What? Shit’s good."

You watched him, feeling pleased.

"Told you," you murmured.

Coco pointed his fork at you, amused. "Oh, so now you’re all smug ‘bout it? Damn, chiquita, get a couple drinks in you, and suddenly you’re all confident, huh?"

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t shrink away.

Coco stretched, throwing his arm lazily along the back of the couch, his fingertips just brushing your shoulder.

You didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even tense.

He clocked that immediately.

"You’re real comfortable now, huh?"

Your head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded. "Mhm."

Coco’s smirk turned softer, something almost pleased settling behind his eyes.

He shifted slightly, his arm lowering just enough that his fingers brushed your upper arm.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was still waiting for you to notice what you’d done.

Then, after a moment, he tested something.

He shifted a little more, his hand dropping to your shoulder, warm and solid.

No resistance.

Then?

He pulled you in.

Just a little.

And you let him.

"Damn, look at that," he muttered, lips quirking. "You do like me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, but you didn’t move away.

Didn’t fight it.

Coco tilted his head, voice dropping just enough to be teasing. "A couple drinks and some sugar, and you’re putty in my hands, huh?"

You gave him a dry look. "Coco, shut up"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, but his grip on you was solid—grounding.

The movie had ended. Letty had long since retreated to her room, leaving you and Coco in the quiet hum of a house that felt surprisingly warm.

You shifted slightly, drawing your legs up under you as you glanced at him.

"So… am I staying the night, or should I go?"

Coco, who had been lazily sprawled against the couch, turned his head to look at you, dark eyes sharp despite the drowsy ease of his posture.

"You tryna kick me to the couch, muñeca? ‘Cause damn, you coulda just said that."

You hesitated.

"No, that’s not—" You exhaled, steeling yourself before clarifying, softer this time. "That’s not quite what I meant."

Coco went still.

For the first time since the night started, his usual smirking, sarcastic confidence faltered—just slightly.

Because this?

This wasn’t like you.

And you’d had a couple of drinks.

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he tilted his head, assessing you in the low light. "Yeah?"

Coco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he considered you.

"Don’t take this the wrong way, chiquita, but… you’re not exactly the type to jump into bed with a cabron like me."

Your eyes widened. "Whoa, I didn’t mean—"

"Nah, I know," he cut in, watching you with a knowing smirk. "But you are sayin’ you wanna stay—with me."

Your fingers curled slightly against the couch.

You nodded.

He let that sit for a beat before he shifted, stretching one arm along the back of the couch and watching you closely. "Shit, muñeca, you say that, but you’re also, like, two drinks in. What if you wake up and regret it?"

"I kinda, just want to ... try."

You'd been around Coco for a good few months and he hadn't pushed your boundaries.

"You sure about that?" His voice broke through your thoughts

You nodded again.

Coco let out a breath, running his tongue along his teeth before shaking his head with a smirk. "Damn. You really do like me, huh?"

You huffed. "Shut the hell up."

"Nah, nah, this is cute," he teased, but there was a softness to his voice now, something warm and edged with the weight of knowing exactly how much trust this meant.

His hand lifted, his fingers ghosting along the edge of your sleeve. He didn’t push—he never did—but he didn’t pull away either.

"Alright, muñeca," he murmured, voice low, easy. "You stayin’ the night."

Coco led the way toward his bedroom, glancing back at you as you hesitated in the doorway.

The bed was unmade, blankets kicked to the side like he hadn’t bothered to fix them in the morning.

He turned, catching the way your fingers fidgeted at the hem of your shirt. "Damn, muñeca, you look like you just walked into a fuckin’ trap."

"I don’t—"" You stopped, exhaling. "I’m just… processing."

Coco tilted his head, giving you a lazy once-over.

Tipsy.

Not drunk, but loose around the edges, like the usual stiffness had softened just enough for you to be here, standing in his doorway, trying to work through whatever was going through your head.

He didn’t push.

Didn’t make a comment on it.

He just reached down, tugging a shirt out if his half open drawer.

"Here."

You blinked. "What?"

He smirked, holding the shirt out. "Unless you tryna sleep in your jeans, muñeca, I figured this was better."

You stared at it.

Then at him.

He waved a little. "C’mon, chiquita, ain’t like I haven’t seen a girl in my clothes before."

You rolled your eyes, but took the shirt anyway, turning away as you pulled it over your head, and shimmyied your shirt out from under it.

It was too big, the hem brushing your thigh, the fabric a kittle broaderer then you in a way that made his lips twitch in amusement when he caught sight of you.

"Shit, look at you," he mused. "Could eat you up, chiquita, you that fuckin’ cute."

Your face warmed.

"Shut up, Coco."

"Nah, I’m serious," he teased, eyes flicking over you before he nodded toward the bed.

The alcohol softened your nerves, just enough to try.

His presence, his warmth, the way he never treated you like you were fragile, but still managed to make you feel safe.

This would be fine.

Coco was safe.

"I trust you."

Coco’s jaw ticked slightly.

That?

That hit deeper than you probably even realized.

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his jaw before shaking his head with a smirk. "Shit, muñeca, don’t say shit like that."

"Why?"

He grinned, voice dropping just slightly. "‘Cause then I gotta prove you right."

Coco sat down on the edge of the bed, watching you closely before he spoke again.

"C’mon, muñeca, let’s get you some sleep before you start gettin’ ideas."

Your eyes flicked open sometime in the darkness.

The first thing you registered was warmth.

A solid, heavy warmth pressed against your back, an arm draped loosely around your waist.

The faint scent of Coco—cigarettes, cologne, something distinctly him—filled the space around you.

And then—

The weight of his arm registered.

Heavy.

Holding.

No.

Caging.

Pinning.

Panic.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening like a vice as reality shattered beneath the weight of something else.

Something darker.

Trapped.

Can't move.

Can’t breathe.

Your hands curled into the sheets. Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, too loud, too fast.

You didn't know where you were.

The room was too dark.

The air was too close.

The weight on your body was wrong—

Your breath hitched violently, a sharp, gasping sound that barely made it past your lips. You tried to move, but your body wouldn’t respond—tried to speak, but your throat had closed.

Not here.

Not now.

But your brain didn't care.

All it knew was danger.

Coco stirred at the sound of your breathing—quick, shallow, wrong.

"Mmm... qué pasa, chiquita?" His voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges as he shifted. His arm around you tensed slightly as he pulled you closer, instinctively protective.

And that was the final trigger.

Your body snapped into fight-or-flight, a choked, panicked sound escaping your lips as you stiffened violently.

Coco barely had time to react before he felt you shaking.

His smirk faded instantly.

"Ay, mierda— muñeca? Hey—hey, what's wrong?"

He sat up quickly, hands reaching for you—then stopping short when he saw you, gasping for air like you were drowning, eyes glassy.

"Shit—okay, okay, relax, muñeca, it’s me—"

But you weren’t hearing him.

Coco cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Think, pendejo.

Your breath hitched, ragged and desperate. Your hands trembled violently.

Coco swore under his breath "Fuck, this shit ain't normal—"

Coco moved fast, shoving the covers back and swinging his legs off the bed.

"Don’t go anywhere, muñeca." His voice was low, careful. "I got you, a'ight? Just—just stay put."

He bolted for the kitchen.

The freezer door slammed open. A few seconds later, he was back, a handful of ice cubes wrapped in a towel.

He crouched down in front of you, eyeing you carefully. You were still gasping for air, eyes glossed over but like you where caged with a wild animal.

"Alright, chiquita, listen up—this shit is gonna suck."

And before you could even process what he meant—

Cold.

A shock of ice against your bare arm, jolting you like a live wire.

You gasped, a sharp, pained sound—

And suddenly, you were back.

The room slammed into focus all at once—the dim light filtering through the window, the smell of stale cigarettes, Coco crouched in front of you, his brows furrowed, mouth set in a tight line.

Your breath still came in sharp, ragged gulps, but the crushing weight in your chest was beginning to ease.

"I ain’t gonna touch you, okay? Just—tell me what you need."Coco muttered, tossing the ice towel aside.

You tried to steady your breathing.

"Mierda— okay, okay, just—just breathe, muñeca."

Your whole body was trembling violently, your nails digging into your arms as you stared at him like he was a threat—like he was something dangerous.

And Coco?

Coco looked like someone had punched him.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Letty’s voice was thick with sleep as she stumbled into the doorway, rubbing a hand over her face.

Coco barely glanced at her.

"Go back to bed, Leticia."

"Uh—nah, dude, what the fuck is happening?" She blinked at the sight of you—shaking. "Did you—"

"No, I didn’t fucking do anything!" Coco snapped, then exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.

Letty held up her hands. "Damn, okay—"

Coco turned back to you, carefully lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.

You nodded, breathing returning to normal.

"I-I'm—fuck Im so sorry Coco"

[h3artsf4me]

“Kitty..” 

I can just imagine Shinsou getting back from a long shift all frustrated and needing to let it out, but he lets it out on you ;) Word count: 1.5k Btw I was too lazy to spell check ;-;

TW: Smut, slight fluff, oral m!receiving and f!receiving, aggressive, degradation, pet names: kitty, little slut, whore, baby, kitten.

You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for you and your husband, Shinsou. Shinsou had been having a bad week, but today was the worst.

You heard the front door to your apartment slam shut, the jiggling sound of keys in the background as you peeked over the wall, seeing your husband, his hero outfit a bit tattered and non to pleased look on his face. His indigo hair was slightly messed up and he looked exhausted. You frowned softly seeing the state your husband was in and spoke softly,

“Hey love, how was work..?” You asked in a hushed tone, watching how his indigo eyes shifted over to your frame peeking from the corner. His expression stayed the same as he let out a deep sigh, his gaze shifting to the clock that hung in the living room,

“Fucking frustrating.” He answered angrily, his tired eyes twitching a little as he looked back at you, his gaze running all over your body, pitching a slight tent in his pants. Your gaze shifting around the room a bit nervously for a moment, you hated seeing him like this but you never knew how to help,

“Do you-” Before you could finish your sentence your husband was already in front of you, tightly grabbing your waist and pulling you against him. A slight blush creeped up on your cheeks by his actions as you hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck, slightly bringing his head down towards yours. His eyes were hungry as his hands moved to your ass, grabbing the soft flesh roughly, causing you to let out a small gasp. He let out a low growl, burying his face in the crook of your neck and biting roughly, sucking on your sensitive skin, leaving a mark. 

“Kitty..” He mumbled against your skin as his teeth parted from your neck, looking at the mark he made with a satisfied look. He started to gently kiss along your neck, making you whimper under his touch as his hands kept kneading the soft flesh of your ass, pulling you flush against him, with the tent in his pants more noticeable now as he pressed it against the small of your stomach. “I can’t any longer..” He murmured as he ground his erection against your stomach, letting out a soft sigh of relief. Your eyes gently fluttered shut as you mumbled,

“B-But..” 

“Shush.” He interrupted, not letting you finish your thought, as you felt his teeth sink into your neck again, making you moan softly,

“Shinsou…” You whimpered as you felt his hands cup under your ass and lift you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed and sucked at your neck. He brought you to the shared bedroom where he roughly set you onto the bed, straddling your waist as he practically ripped your shirt, leaving you in your laced bra. You looked up at him, your face slightly red as you felt his hand roughly fondle your breast, his other hand going to your back and quickly unhooking your bra, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

“My god..” You heard him mutter as he took a moment to look at the sweet curves of your body and breasts, watching how they bounced with any slightly movement, and before you knew it his mouth was latched onto one of your erect nipples, sucking roughly and running his tongue over your sensitive nub, making you whine and whimper. You moved your hands to his hair, grabbing handfuls and slightly tugging, earning a soft grunt from him. He let go of your nipple, now a dark-ish red as he took off his shirt and scarf, throwing the shirt away along with the scarf, “Get on your knees, now.” You heard him order, watching how he got off the bed and started to unbuckle his pants, letting them fall down his legs, leaving him in a pair of black boxers. You felt yourself getting hotter and hotter, feeling the need to obey and listen to him grow. You shifted to the edge of the bed, then slipping down and getting on your knees in front of him, your breasts bouncing with each move,

“S-Shinou..” You muttered quietly as you looked up at him, watching how he slightly pulled his boxers down, letting his cock spring free, his impressive girth and length making you shiver,

“Look at you.. Suck a good kitten..” He mumbled as one of his hands roughly grabbed your hair, pulling your head closer to his erect member, watching as his free hand grabbed the base of his cock and brought it right in front of your mouth, the tip already leaking pre-cum. He smirked as he watched you slowly open your mouth, tongue slightly peeking out, with half lidded eyes. He was quick to stuff your mouth full, forcing you all the way down as he gave a satisfied groan, gripping a handful of your hair tightly as he started to move your head, your throat clenching around his cock as your eyes squeezed shut, slightly gagging on him as you whimpered around his cock,

“M-Mfgh-” Your sounds were muffled as he continually bobbed your head up and down, watching as your hands lightly gripped his thighs and how small tears pricked your eyes, gently falling down your red cheeks, 

“Such a g-good little slut…” He whispered, his face contorting with pleasure, as he felt himself getting closer, forcing your head to move faster as he threw his head back. He let out a loud groan as he felt his balls tighten, white ropes of hot cum shooting down your throat by surprise as your eyes shot open, swallowing every drop that was given. As you swallowed every drop of his precious seed, he started to stroke your hair like a cat, mumbling dirty things under his breath. You gently pulled back from his semi-hard cock, with a satisfying pop sound, panting as you looked up at him, your tongue slightly peeking out of your mouth. Soon he tilted his head down to look at you, with a twisted smile and rosy cheeks, “You like swallowing my cum, hm? You dirty whore..” He half heartedly teased as he started to kneel. Once he was low enough he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder the best he could, standing up straight before tossing you onto the bed, making you squeak in surprise. You body gently recoiled on the soft mattress as you watched your husband grab you thighs and tug you to the end of the bed, 

“Ep! Shinou..!” You squeaked out, and before you could protest you found him practically tearing off your pants and panties, exposing you wet little pussy for him. He leaned down, taking in your scent as you couldn’t help but whine softly, your eyes fluttering shut at the pleasurable sensation. You felt his tongue glide along your wet folds, making your back arch as you whimpered, deep chuckle from him, the sound vibrating in his chest. After a few small licks and letting you get used to the new feeling Shinsou didn’t hold back, diving right into your little cunt as you lapped up every drop of your juices, making sure you bury his tongue inside your cunt a few times. You let out sweet little moans and whimpers as he ate you out, every lick and suck getting more aggressive, “M-Mmph…! S-Shinsou~” You whined as his motions were getting too much for you to handle, your hands tangling in his hair as your thighs practically crushed his skull. You hips bucked and wriggled like crazy, the stimulation to your pussy getting too much as you felt the tightness of that familiar knot in your stomach start to build up, ready to snap at any moment. Suddenly you felt his mouth depart from your pussy, a harsh slap of his palm instead, making you cry out as your back arched off the bed, hands clutching on his hair for dear life as you felt the knot snap. As you feel over the edge your legs quivered, body tensing as you came undone, letting the feeling completely take over your senses,

“Mhh…” You could hear the deep rumble of his voice, the voice that made you fall head over heels for, “Did that feel good baby..?” You could feel his gaze on your face as you came down from your high. You gave a small nod, before fluttering your eyes open, looking up at the ceiling with dazed eyes as you hear him get up. Too tired to look around your gaze stayed focused on the ceiling, listening as you heard the soft sprinkle of the shower, “C’mon baby.. Lets get cleaned up and ready for bed, I’m tired…”

[dr-spectre]

I saw some really lovely art that depicted some of the Splatoon Idols more chubby than they are and like... I need to rant because I think society as a whole has a massive issue and we need to seriously talk about it.

I think that a lot of people have a deep rooted hatred and disgust for fat people and in my personal opinion, I find that kind of thought process to be vile and sickening to my core.

No, being fat and just living isn't promoting an unhealthy life style to others and if you think otherwise I kindly ask you to go jump into a volcano.

No, body positivity isn't saying that being obese is healthy and that you should strive for it, body positivity is body acceptance. Accepting what your body is and treating yourself with patience and care rather than guilt and shame. Did you know that bringing shame upon a fat person via bullying and harassment actually discourages them from wanting to change how they look? FUNNY HOW THAT WORKS OUT HUH?!?!!? BULLYING IS... OH I DONT KNOW... BAD?!?!?!?!

If you wanna encourage someone who you think is overweight to lose weight, then ask them, "Hey bro, you wanna go for a walk at the park together?" Or "Hey dude, let's go to the gym together. We can train and I can help you out." SIMPLE AS IS!!!! GOT IT?!?!?!

I think that beauty standards across the globe have made it so that millions and millions of people believe that being skinny or muscular are the only way to be attractive, that being skinny or ripped will get you a partner and if you are fat you are unlovable.

As someone who is chubby, due to beauty standards and fatphobia online, I've felt disgusted and shame over looking at myself in the fucking mirror. Every time I look at my belly, I just wish it would magically go away, and I look at my own flesh and blood with a sickening feeling. Sometimes I think about doing something... drastic to my gut...

I've thought about literally starving myself to get rid of my fat because of what people say online about fat people, treating them as monsters, as lazy disgusting unlovable beasts... I saw any bit of fat on my body as a mark of shame and disgust...

Fatphobia is so deep into people's brains that even people on the other side who are incredibly skinny and sick get ignored because they are seen as healthier than a fat person.

And besides fatphobia, I've been seeing a lot of hate and backlash for fans making different takes on the characters, making Callie have darker skin, making Marie black, etc etc. And like... if you hate on that kind of fan art in the community? Go fuck yourself. Honesty. Go fuck off. I want you gone. "Oh why did you draw Marie like that?!?!" It's a fan interpretation dumbass, it's not canon, it's just friendly fun. If people wanna draw Callie as black then that's perfectly fine.

If you're a true fan of Splatoon then you would actually like seeing the characters in different interpretations...

It's just... it's just fucked man honestly. I'm so disappointed in the god damn Splatoon community yet again, a community full of various different people from different backgrounds, yet a hatred for fat people still lives on so casually. Instead of being sympathetic and understanding, people are spreading hate and animosity.

Do fucking better. Stop treating fat people with hatred, treat them with sympathy for once in your fucking lives.

[h3artsforme]

“Kitty..” 

I can just imagine Shinsou getting back from a long shift all frustrated and needing to let it out, but he lets it out on you ;) Word count: 1.5k Btw I was too lazy to spell check ;-;

TW: Smut, slight fluff, oral m!receiving and f!receiving, aggressive, degradation, pet names: kitty, little slut, whore, baby, kitten.

You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for you and your husband, Shinsou. Shinsou had been having a bad week, but today was the worst.

You heard the front door to your apartment slam shut, the jiggling sound of keys in the background as you peeked over the wall, seeing your husband, his hero outfit a bit tattered and non to pleased look on his face. His indigo hair was slightly messed up and he looked exhausted. You frowned softly seeing the state your husband was in and spoke softly,

“Hey love, how was work..?” You asked in a hushed tone, watching how his indigo eyes shifted over to your frame peeking from the corner. His expression stayed the same as he let out a deep sigh, his gaze shifting to the clock that hung in the living room,

“Fucking frustrating.” He answered angrily, his tired eyes twitching a little as he looked back at you, his gaze running all over your body, pitching a slight tent in his pants. Your gaze shifting around the room a bit nervously for a moment, you hated seeing him like this but you never knew how to help,

“Do you-” Before you could finish your sentence your husband was already in front of you, tightly grabbing your waist and pulling you against him. A slight blush creeped up on your cheeks by his actions as you hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck, slightly bringing his head down towards yours. His eyes were hungry as his hands moved to your ass, grabbing the soft flesh roughly, causing you to let out a small gasp. He let out a low growl, burying his face in the crook of your neck and biting roughly, sucking on your sensitive skin, leaving a mark. 

“Kitty..” He mumbled against your skin as his teeth parted from your neck, looking at the mark he made with a satisfied look. He started to gently kiss along your neck, making you whimper under his touch as his hands kept kneading the soft flesh of your ass, pulling you flush against him, with the tent in his pants more noticeable now as he pressed it against the small of your stomach. “I can’t any longer..” He murmured as he ground his erection against your stomach, letting out a soft sigh of relief. Your eyes gently fluttered shut as you mumbled,

“B-But..” 

“Shush.” He interrupted, not letting you finish your thought, as you felt his teeth sink into your neck again, making you moan softly,

“Shinsou…” You whimpered as you felt his hands cup under your ass and lift you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed and sucked at your neck. He brought you to the shared bedroom where he roughly set you onto the bed, straddling your waist as he practically ripped your shirt, leaving you in your laced bra. You looked up at him, your face slightly red as you felt his hand roughly fondle your breast, his other hand going to your back and quickly unhooking your bra, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

“My god..” You heard him mutter as he took a moment to look at the sweet curves of your body and breasts, watching how they bounced with any slightly movement, and before you knew it his mouth was latched onto one of your erect nipples, sucking roughly and running his tongue over your sensitive nub, making you whine and whimper. You moved your hands to his hair, grabbing handfuls and slightly tugging, earning a soft grunt from him. He let go of your nipple, now a dark-ish red as he took off his shirt and scarf, throwing the shirt away along with the scarf, “Get on your knees, now.” You heard him order, watching how he got off the bed and started to unbuckle his pants, letting them fall down his legs, leaving him in a pair of black boxers. You felt yourself getting hotter and hotter, feeling the need to obey and listen to him grow. You shifted to the edge of the bed, then slipping down and getting on your knees in front of him, your breasts bouncing with each move,

“S-Shinou..” You muttered quietly as you looked up at him, watching how he slightly pulled his boxers down, letting his cock spring free, his impressive girth and length making you shiver,

“Look at you.. Suck a good kitten..” He mumbled as one of his hands roughly grabbed your hair, pulling your head closer to his erect member, watching as his free hand grabbed the base of his cock and brought it right in front of your mouth, the tip already leaking pre-cum. He smirked as he watched you slowly open your mouth, tongue slightly peeking out, with half lidded eyes. He was quick to stuff your mouth full, forcing you all the way down as he gave a satisfied groan, gripping a handful of your hair tightly as he started to move your head, your throat clenching around his cock as your eyes squeezed shut, slightly gagging on him as you whimpered around his cock,

“M-Mfgh-” Your sounds were muffled as he continually bobbed your head up and down, watching as your hands lightly gripped his thighs and how small tears pricked your eyes, gently falling down your red cheeks, 

“Such a g-good little slut…” He whispered, his face contorting with pleasure, as he felt himself getting closer, forcing your head to move faster as he threw his head back. He let out a loud groan as he felt his balls tighten, white ropes of hot cum shooting down your throat by surprise as your eyes shot open, swallowing every drop that was given. As you swallowed every drop of his precious seed, he started to stroke your hair like a cat, mumbling dirty things under his breath. You gently pulled back from his semi-hard cock, with a satisfying pop sound, panting as you looked up at him, your tongue slightly peeking out of your mouth. Soon he tilted his head down to look at you, with a twisted smile and rosy cheeks, “You like swallowing my cum, hm? You dirty whore..” He half heartedly teased as he started to kneel. Once he was low enough he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder the best he could, standing up straight before tossing you onto the bed, making you squeak in surprise. You body gently recoiled on the soft mattress as you watched your husband grab you thighs and tug you to the end of the bed, 

“Ep! Shinou..!” You squeaked out, and before you could protest you found him practically tearing off your pants and panties, exposing you wet little pussy for him. He leaned down, taking in your scent as you couldn’t help but whine softly, your eyes fluttering shut at the pleasurable sensation. You felt his tongue glide along your wet folds, making your back arch as you whimpered, deep chuckle from him, the sound vibrating in his chest. After a few small licks and letting you get used to the new feeling Shinsou didn’t hold back, diving right into your little cunt as you lapped up every drop of your juices, making sure you bury his tongue inside your cunt a few times. You let out sweet little moans and whimpers as he ate you out, every lick and suck getting more aggressive, “M-Mmph…! S-Shinsou~” You whined as his motions were getting too much for you to handle, your hands tangling in his hair as your thighs practically crushed his skull. You hips bucked and wriggled like crazy, the stimulation to your pussy getting too much as you felt the tightness of that familiar knot in your stomach start to build up, ready to snap at any moment. Suddenly you felt his mouth depart from your pussy, a harsh slap of his palm instead, making you cry out as your back arched off the bed, hands clutching on his hair for dear life as you felt the knot snap. As you feel over the edge your legs quivered, body tensing as you came undone, letting the feeling completely take over your senses,

“Mhh…” You could hear the deep rumble of his voice, the voice that made you fall head over heels for, “Did that feel good baby..?” You could feel his gaze on your face as you came down from your high. You gave a small nod, before fluttering your eyes open, looking up at the ceiling with dazed eyes as you hear him get up. Too tired to look around your gaze stayed focused on the ceiling, listening as you heard the soft sprinkle of the shower, “C’mon baby.. Lets get cleaned up and ready for bed, I’m tired…”

[thorias]

Every time I read a post about how all the deaths in ep5 won't be reversed because they weren't reversed in the comics (they actually were during the Krakoa era, but that's beside the point) and in the comics it was a horrific tragedy that nearly wiped out the mutant race and blah blah blah, I just get so frustrated.

The two things are not the same. In the comics, it was easy to stick to this and not reverse the attack somehow because no one important actually died. The only notable characters who were present for it were Magneto and Emma Frost, who both survived. So, yeah, it was an unthinkable mass casualty event, but the casualties were 16,000,000 background extras who nobody gave a shit about anyway.

That is not what happened in X-MEN 97. In ep5, they were killing off named characters, important characters, characters the writers will want to use in the future, characters it would simply be a giant waste to get rid of like this.

And it didn't stop there. They were killing off characters whose storylines hadn't even finished yet, (ex. Gambit, Madelyne) which, to me, is the biggest sign that these events are going to be, if not reversed, then at least changed somehow. I mean, how do you kill a character without concluding their arc first, thus leaving the audience without any kind of closure?

'Oh, you thought the Madelyne/Scott psychic affair storyline was super interesting and couldn't wait to see what happened with it? Too bad, she's dead! That story will just never be finished now, so suck it!'

'Oh, you felt bad for Gambit who didn't think he was a hero or deserved to have a happy ending and got his heart ripped out thinking Rogue chose Magneto over him? Too bad, 'cuz he died believing all that stuff and now Rogue will just be left to drown in her grief/guilt and be consumed with rage forever! *womp womp*'

Fuck. That. Shit.

That's not tragedy, that's not tugging on heartstrings and it's certainly not "Making a Point" or "Sending a Message About How Much the World Sucks." It's just fucking lazy, shitty writing. There's nothing narratively satisfying about it whatsoever, even in a sad way; it's the complete opposite! The only thing that does is frustrate the fuck out of everyone who's watching. That's the kind of slap-in-the-face garbage that makes fans want to ragequit a show, not support it.

So, no, I don't believe that the attack will be completely prevented. No, I don't believe that every death will be undone. But SOMETHING about that event is going to be changed (via time travel, resurrection, etc.) by the time we get to the end of this story. Because if it's not, if all those deaths are permanent and can't be reversed, then this isn't a story... it's just a bunch of bullshit.

[the-weeping-dawn]

-> BASICS

Name: Ilztaun Auvryvirr

Class/Subclass: Aberrant Mind Sorcerer College of Eloquence Bard (usually a few levels in Wizard, School of Necromancy)

Background: Noble

Gender: Male

Sexuality: bisexual

Pronouns: he/him

-> OTHER

Family: Three siblings he still counts, Sylf, *gestures to the various lunatics he got stuck living with a few months and now cannot escape*

Birthplace: Menzoberranzan

Job: Co-Head of Knights of the Shield Bard, of a few finds Actor composer Alchemist Hat juggler for many reasons

Phobias: He's generally agoraphobic, but it's something about vast open skies that set of the terror of being somewhere he's not meant to be the worst Second worse. Combined with horizon. He was nearly screaming before needing to look anywhere else. (keeping in the rigging of all things kept him sane) To become what someone else wants him to be ever again. Ducks. Okay the first time he was in the night above ducklings. He missed seeing their mother and stepped too closely. She didn't miss him at all.. just suspicious of them from then on.

Guilty Pleasures: Fuck you.

Hobbies: Embroidery, drawing, learning instruments which can never be useful, gardening, talking to every.single.cat. in the city.

-> MORALS

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Sins: Pride, wrath,envy lust but he doesn't count it

Virtues: Diligence, Charity(he'll fight tooth and nail to deny.)

-> THIS OR THAT

Introverted/Ambivert/Extrovert

Organized/Disorganized (HE HAS A SYSTEM! THE SYSTEM HAS A SYSTEM!)

Close-minded/Open-minded

/Anxious/Restless (he has never been calm to where we've removed the whole option)

Disagreeable/In-Between/Agreeable

Patient/In-Between/Impatient

Outspoken /In-Between/Reserved

Leader/Follower/Flexible

Empathetic/In-between/Apathetic (will lie about.)

Optimist/Realist/Pessimist (Will claim extreme pessimism in words. Never holds to them for more than 5 minutes or will argue against himself if the same opinion is expressed by someone else. )

Traditional/In-Between/Modern

Hard-working/Lazy

-> RELATIONSHIPS

OTP: Ilztaun/Emperor

Acceptable Ships: Minthara, Barcus, Gale...Party bicycle mf......

OT3: Unethical Polycule AU lives in my head rent free. Like Lae'zel lives with he and Emperor and Shadow/Wyll and her parents without anyone knowing it she knows the concept even.

BroTP: Shadowheart, Lae'zel and Gale. ...Barcus again....I keep forgetting characters outside the party but this si the 3rd I'm doing ^.^;

NoTP: Karlach oddly, she just shoudl have better taste.

-> BASICS

Name Ian

Class/Subclass: Druid Circle of Stars Assassin Rogue Divine Soul Sorc

Background: Haunted One

Gender: Woman? In the default kind of sense

Sexuality: lesbian

Pronouns: Whatever

-> OTHER

Family: She'd rather not still care about Orin but sadly, they were close once. no she doesn't count certain entities.

Birthplace: Not quite sure she was born. Though her memory is almost entirely in Baldur's Gate....

Job: She'd like to continue as an adventurer Former Bhaalist cult leader.

Phobias: Loss of control. Herself. That She's going to wake up and find Shadowheart dead. Or another bard. No idea what it was with bards....they both seemed so kind.....perhaps that was more it, and being a bard followed?

Guilty Pleasures: The feeling of skin ripped from flesh, laying out an identifying bodies left in a mangle of viscera, the taste of blood while biting in wild shape, that she regularly pictures friends without skin, what their flesh might taste like. ANYWAY.

Hobbies: Picked up whittling from Halsin, around the same time he started teaching her druid craft as a way to be a little more productive with the knife she refused to put down. Mainly actually likes doing detailing in buildings. Has gotten very good at climbing about Shadowheart's parent's home since she can't remember where a ladder is, can remember how to get up to reach doorframes, windows and so on without one.

-> MORALS

Alignment: Chaotic Good. Maybe?

Sins: Wrath, Greed

Virtues: hm.

-> THIS OR THAT

Introverted/Ambivert/Extrovert

Organized/Disorganized

Close-minded/Open-minded

Calm/Anxious/Restless

Disagreeable/In-Between/Agreeable

Patient/In-Between/Impatient

Outspoken/In-Between/Reserved

Leader/Follower/Flexible

Empathetic/In-between/Apathetic

Optimist/Realist/Pessimist

Traditional/In-Between/Modern

Hard-working/Lazy

-> RELATIONSHIPS

OTP: Ian/Shadowheart

Acceptable Ships: Ian/Karlach or Kagha

OT3: I think for the time being she's not to polyamory yet.

BroTP: She is one of my latched onto Halsin much like a baby duck. Also she and Shadowheart with Isobel and Aylin. Independently yes. But Again the duckling metaphor cannot be more true than with them, who thankfully would take the moon and stars ducklings in stride. Lena/Gortash...Unfortunately she returned quite different even with her memories back, Gortash didn't and wasn't really someone she could understand why they were friends beyond shared loneliness.....Which would describe the entire group she'e found but.....It's not her job to fix him, it took her brain being so wrecked it's being held together with a bit of parasite.....So on the pile with Orin he goes. ....Would have been nice to keep just one of them, especially since the first she thought she might want to live in this world for more than just service to her father, was realizing they might have become friends, one she'd hold off killing as long as she could even which then...is as high affection as she had.....

NoTP: Also Gortash. Really anyone that could cause her to be part Bhaal's breeding kink. People who are not Shadowheart

-> BASICS

Name: Sylfiel [Nothing More]

Class/Subclass: Wizard, School of Transmutation Life Domain Cleric (Formerly War Cleric while still following Lolth) Wild magic Sorcerer

Background: Noble

Gender: Woman

Sexuality: pansexual

Pronouns: She/Her

-> OTHER

Family: No. (Ilztaun but also he does tend to more firmly define that by blood so she'd not say it. You'd think grabbing her)

Birthplace: Menzoberranzan

Job: Adventurer, magical item specialist

Phobias: Returning to Menzoberranzan, Loosing control of her magic again, That the incident had survivors after all. Isolation, large dogs. Horses.

Guilty Pleasures: She rejects the concept and has had enough guilt for any pleasure for at least her lifetime no matter how long and four others.

Hobbies: Painting, sewing, she's been learning some metal working, likely to go more in a goldsmithing direction though it's mainly because she learned she enjoyed the craft itself while testing different techniques with Damon before actually working with the hammer itself.

-> MORALS

Alignment: Chaotic Neutra leaning a lot more on the evil end of things

Sins: Pride, Wrath, Pride again, Greed

Virtues: Diligence

-> THIS OR THAT

Introverted/Ambivert/Extrovert

Organized/Disorganized

Close-minded/Open-minded

Calm/Anxious/Restless

Disagreeable/In-Between/Agreeable

Patient/In-Between/Impatient

Outspoken/In-Between/Reserved

Leader/Follower/Flexible

Empathetic/In-between/Apathetic

Optimist/Realist/Pessimist

Traditional/In-Between/Modern

Hard-working/Lazy

-> RELATIONSHIPS

OTP: Sylfiel/Gale

Acceptable Ships: I need to finally run her to decide these two

OT3: Again need to get her through an entire play to decided these two more firmly

BroTP: Sylf/Damon (she assumed she'd hate him upon meeting and then they never shut up, mainly about their crafts of asking details of the other.)

NoTP: Sylfiel/Minthara.

TAGGING: @maud-lin @baldursghaik @thefloatingstone @nearest-x-dearest @squidgang

....anyone who's feeling like it? I guess?

AND I FORGOT TO SAY UP FRONT I WAS TAGGGED BY @arach-tinilith THANK YOU <3 <3

[baileypie-writes]

shouko + protective reader? shouya’s middle school bullying era, he’s doing all that shit cause he thinks he’s cool. reader jumps in and genuinely bodies him verbally, asking why he even does any of it, wanting to protect her best friend.

honestly forgot about a silent voice for a while 😭 one of my favorite anime movies though. love your writing.

A/N ~ Sure! And thank you for liking my writing🩷Hope you enjoy!

~Where did Your Mother go Wrong Raising You?~

Shouko Nishimiya + Fem!Protective!Reader

Part 2, Part 3

Fandom: A Silent Voice

Reader: Female

Relationship: Platonic

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: You’re tired of Shoya bullying your best friend, so you chew him out.

Warnings: Bullying, swearing, mention of blood(Shouko’s).

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Eight.

Eight goddamn hearing aids.

Who did this Shoya boy think he was? Bullying a deaf girl, and destroying her hearing aids? And not only that, no one defended her besides you. While the little devil committed his sins, your classmates just laughed along with him. What kind of class is this? Was no one a decent person?

You were more than tired. You were just about ready to destroy this kid. All you needed was an opportunity. Lucky for you, one came.

~~~~

The entire class waited for the teacher to arrive. He was taking his sweet time, so most students were messing around. But not you. You could never have a moment of peace during school. Nearly every second was spent monitoring Shoya, making sure he didn’t try anything.

You glanced over at Shouko. You smiled, as she looked peaceful. She was wearing her shiny new hearing aids. But your smile faded as you caught a glimpse of the scar on her ear. She got that when Shoya ripped her last hearing aids out, causing her to bleed. Just the memory made you feel angry.

Shouko noticed you staring, and lightly smiled at you. “Something wrong?” She signed over to you.

“No. Just looking at your new hearing aid.” You signed back.

“What are you guys talking about?” Shoya interrupted. You groaned, not wanting to deal with him.

“Nothing you need to care about.” You said, a thick attitude in your voice.

“Woah, calm down. I just think it’s a little unfair that you guys are having your own secret conversation.” He said, crossing his arms.

You huffed. “Well, it wouldn’t be secret if you bothered to learn sign language. You can’t just complain about not understanding something when you’re too lazy to learn it.”

Shouko looked confused. “What are you talking about?” She signed. But you didn’t have the chance to answer.

“Who’re you calling lazy? You know what, I don’t care. Why would I listen to someone who’s so desperate for friends, that she hangs out with the freak?” He says as he walks over to Shouko. He reaches over to, once again, take her hearing aids, his friends laughing in the background.

That was it. You shot up from your seat, and grabbed Shoya’s wrist. “Shouko is not the freak! You are! You’re so close minded, that you can’t handle the simple fact that someone can’t hear. I mean, honestly, it’s not that complicated. But I guess you can’t handle complicated things. Hell, you can’t even keep the tag inside your shirt.” You pointed to the fabric sticking out of his top.

The class laughed, including Shoya’s friends. He didn’t like that. He yanked his wrist away, and made another attempt to steal Shouko’s hearing aids. But you were quick, and shoved him away. You got in front of poor, confused Shouko, guarding her.

“Why do you even do it? Do you take pleasure in seeing others suffer? What the fuck is wrong with you? Where did your mother go wrong raising you?” Shoya froze at the mention of his mom. You knew that was his weakness, so you kept going.

“I’ve met your mom. She cuts my hair, and she’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. How in the world did her son turn out to be the spawn of Satan himself? I bet she doesn’t even know. What would you think if I went over to your house after school, and told her all you’ve done? I’m sure she’ll be very upset with you. And hey, if she doesn’t beat your ass, I’ll gladly do it.” You finally finished. And just in time too, because the teacher finally arrived.

“What’s going on?” He asked, noticing the silence in the room.

“Nothing, Mr. Takeuchi.” Shoya mumbled, making you grin.

Everyone went to their seats, and Mr. Takeuchi began class. You still kept an eye on Shoya, but he didn’t seem to be planning anything. At least for today.

Suddenly, Shouko waved your attention to her. She had a small smile on her face as she signed “Thanks.”

You smiled too, and signed back to her. “No problem. I’m always here for you.”

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~~baileypie-writes