#it might be good timing but your message made my day

[zaynezone]

serendipity

synopsis: coming home is better with something sweet waiting for you warnings: y'all...ik i say this all the time but this might be the sweetest one yet. also some mentions of eating and food pairing: Zayne x fem!reader wc: 2.8k an: don't forget to brush your teeth before bed! my dentist would kill me for this fic

When Zayne reaches home, he’s exhausted. His body aches in that deep, heavy way that only comes after a day spent inside an OR, hours on his feet, eyes straining behind magnifying lenses, steady hands pulling thread through tissue, muscle, life. Every inch of him hums with tiredness, but all he wants is you.

You had been gone the last two weeks, dispatched on a mission that took you so far out of reach it had felt like a small kind of cruelty. A place where even cell service sputtered in and out like a dying star, and messages came too late or not at all. You’d returned this afternoon, just as Zayne was elbow-deep in a valve replacement.

He hadn’t even been able to check your message himself. One of the nurses had read it out loud to him while he worked, her voice uncertain as she recited your words. Normally, Zayne would have waited. He loved the quiet ritual of reading your messages, savoring the way you typed his name, the emojis you chose with far too much thought. But he couldn’t wait. Not this time. He needed to hear from you, needed to know you were safe.

The looks the rest of the team gave him didn’t matter. They never did. The only thing that matters is you.

By now, you should be asleep. He hopes you are. But if he’s being honest, selfishly, he wants you to be awake. Wants you curled on the couch, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, waiting for him like the thought of him had made it impossible to settle. Just like he had been thinking of you all week, all night, constantly.

God, he missed you.

When he sees the lights on through the windows, it loosens something in his chest. The house isn’t still or cold or silent. It’s awake. Awake with you. Music filters faintly from the kitchen, warm and low. He doesn’t even take off his coat. He moves on instinct, pulled by the sound like gravity.

And then…

There you are.

You’re reaching up toward the cabinet, one socked foot lifting slightly off the floor as you try to stretch. He drinks you in, hungry for the sight. You’re in those plaid pajama shorts that should quite frankly be illegal, cotton stretched just right, soft and worn and familiar, and your favorite old crewneck that slips slightly off one shoulder.

He watches you for a second longer, chest full to bursting. He could stay here forever, watching you in your little rituals, quietly commanding the space they share.

You haven’t noticed him. You’re still reaching for the orange box of baking soda, fingertips just shy of it. Without a word, he steps forward, slipping in behind you and reaching over your shoulder with ease. His hand closes around the box.

You jolt, turning quickly, but then you see him.

And you smile.

That smile. It always undoes him. Zayne loves every part of you, really. Every strand of hair, every eyelash, all of it. But your smile is his favourite. It melts him every time he sees it. You could gut him clean open with that smile, and he’d thank you for it. It’s a little sleepy, warm around the edges, lighting up your whole face. Your eyes crinkle, and your arms go around him without hesitation.

“Zayne!” you say, your voice like honey and home. You wrap your arms around his neck like you’ve done it a thousand times before, like you’ll do it a thousand times more.

He leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. Not too tight, never too tight, but enough that you feel how much he missed you. Enough that he hopes you can feel everything he doesn’t quite know how to say yet.

He stands there for too long, he knows. He doesn’t want to let go. You seem to sense it, not loosening your grip until he does.

“Did you have a good day at work?” you ask softly, fingers brushing back his messy hair, your voice light with the kind of concern that feels like love.

He sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder, your warmth grounding him. “It was alright. Long. I missed you.”

You laugh, gentle and bright, rubbing his back in slow circles. “I’ve missed you too. But I’m home now. And I have a couple days off. Maybe this weekend we can spend the day together, hm?”

It almost breaks him. The casual sweetness, the ease of it. The promise of time with you.

Honestly, he could cry.

Instead, he straightens, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The softest part of you he can reach without letting go.

“That sounds nice. I’ll rearrange my schedule,” he murmurs, voice low and full.

He doesn’t want to go too far from you, lingering close as he leans against the counter, like stepping back might break the fragile calm wrapped around this moment. His gaze flicks over the ingredients spread across the kitchen, flour, butter, sugar, chocolate chips, your usual setup, comfortingly chaotic in its own sweet way. The scent of vanilla already clings faintly to the air.

His chest feels lighter just being near you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a quiet lilt of curiosity curling through his words. He spots a container of sugar placed the counter, and for some reason, an odd twist of excitement hits him.

“I figured I would bake some cookies before you got back. But you got home earlier than I thought.” You pout softly, in that way that always makes his resolve buckle. He can’t help but smile.

“Well, now I can help.” He offers it easily, already halfway through rolling up his sleeves, desperate to stay close, to do something with you, anything at all, as long as you’re near.

You give him a look, that look, the one he’s sure you’ve stolen from his own medical playbook. It’s equal parts stern and fond, the kind that usually precedes an argument he knows he’ll lose.

“You’ve been up for hours. Go lay down.” You say it gently, but firmly, your concern for him showing in every softened syllable.

“I’ve been in longer surgeries. This is fine.” He shrugs, but the truth is that whatever weariness had been weighing down his limbs when he walked in has vanished now. He feels lighter. Awake. Present. Just looking at you seems to recalibrate his entire nervous system.

You narrow your eyes, assessing him the way he might assess a vitals chart. For a brief second, he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

“Alright. But you’ll sit down, got it, Doctor?” You point to one of the stools by the island. It’s a reasonable distance, logical, even. But it feels like too much space between your warmth and his reach.

“Leaning is more beneficial for back pain,” he says, unmoving. A flicker of amusement crosses your face, and then, with the kind of fondness that makes his ribs ache, you let him have it.

“Alright, Doctor. Lean all you want.”

That smile of yours, it’s shy, almost like you’re blushing at the nearness too, and it tugs at something inside him. He watches as you reach for the stand mixer he’d given you on your last birthday. It had taken weeks to find the exact limited-edition shade you loved, but the memory of your joy when you’d unwrapped it makes the effort worth it tenfold. You had leapt into his arms, laughing like a kid, wrapping around him with the kind of affection he still feels in his bones.

He’d buy you ten more if it meant seeing you light up like that again.

“Zayne?” Your voice pulls him from the memory, and he blinks to find you with your hand outstretched. He slips his hand into yours, confused but quietly thrilled at the unexpected intimacy.

You blink at him, then burst into laughter, the sound warm and melodic. You squeeze his hand, and he never wants to let go.

“Well…as nice as this is, I meant I needed you to pass me the butter.”

He flushes immediately, the tips of his ears going warm. Still, he doesn’t regret it. Not really.

“Right, of course.” He keeps his hand in yours for a second longer, then reaches with his free one to pass you the stick of butter. You unwrap it expertly with just one hand, still not letting go. But after a second, practicality wins out, and he releases you. He doesn’t miss the faint flicker of disappointment on your face as your fingers slip from his.

It hits him in the heart.

You begin measuring ingredients with a precision that makes his surgeon instincts quietly applaud. Each scoop and pour is efficient, deliberate, you move around your kitchen like it’s a second skin, and he watches you like he’s witnessing a quiet kind of magic.

“Is that all the sugar you’re going to use?” he asks, raising a brow as you pour in a measured heap.

You laugh, the kind that suggests you’d been waiting for him to ask that. “No, I’m going to add this same amount of brown sugar too.”

He hums, watching as you continue. He wants to commit all of it to memory, the way your brows furrow slightly when you calibrate your scale, the way your lips move as you hum along with the faint music still playing. His heart feels full to the brim.

Zayne watches silently after that, though he’s brimming with excitement. He loves your cookies, really anything you make. It was always so much better than anything he could find in any store or bakery.

Then you speak again, teasing.

“You need to stop that or these will be chocolate chipless cookies.”

He freezes mid-theft, his hand halfway into the bag of chips, guilt written all over his face. He reluctantly hands you the bag, a tiny scowl flickering across his features. He really had no self-control around your baking.

You just shake your head fondly and continue. Once the batter is done, you pass him a task.

“Can you preheat the oven?”

He nods, happy to be useful, and starts adjusting the dial as you begin scooping out dough onto the parchment-lined trays.

Not entirely able to resist, Zayne dips his finger onto the spoon, swiping a dollop of cookie dough. It’s sweet, buttery, with just the right grit of brown sugar, and is immediately followed by your stern voice.

“Zayne,” you scold, plucking the spoon from his hand like a disappointed parent. “You’re going to get salmonella.”

He chews slowly, unrepentant. “Well, we buy pasteurized eggs,” he points out. “So salmonella is highly unlikely.”

“Mhm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him. “And what about E. coli from the raw flour, Doctor?”

That stalls him. For once, he has no rebuttal. He opens his mouth, searching for a loophole, but comes up empty.

You smirk, smug with victory. “You can have a cookie in twelve minutes, alright?” you say as you slide the tray into the oven, the warm scent of vanilla and butter already beginning to rise in the air. The timer beeps softly as you set it.

“I can wait.” Zayne says, though there’s a flicker of longing in his voice. His eyes flick to your cheek, where a smudge of flour sits like an afterthought. He reaches out without thinking, brushing it away with his thumb.

Your face tilts into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut. The moment stretches. In the quiet, Zayne’s ashamed to only now realize how worn down you look. The softness under your eyes, the faint slump of your shoulders beneath the light. It hits him all at once, how draining that mission must have been. How you’d come home and decided to make cookies instead of resting.

“You should’ve gone to bed,” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the waist. His voice is gentle now, nearly inaudible against the faint hum of the oven. “Instead of baking cookies.”

“I wanted to see you,” you mumble, cheek pressed to the slope of his shoulder.

The words land like a balm, both warming and aching in his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, arms tightening around you.

“You’ve seen me,” he whispers. “How about you go get ready for bed?”

You sigh, reluctant. “I still have to clean up.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says firmly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Go.”

You blink at him, drowsy and half-defeated. Eventually, you nod and pad toward the stairs. He watches to make sure your steps are steady before turning to the counter.

He cleans quickly, movements efficient, muscle memory from years of sterile procedures helping him move seamlessly from bowl to counter to sink. The stand mixer gleams faintly under the lights. When he finishes wiping everything down, the timer goes off with a soft ding.

He opens the oven and is met with a wave of buttery warmth. The cookies are golden around the edges, soft in the center, chips glistening. He pulls the tray out carefully, shutting off the heat, and lets them cool on the counter. The snowman cookie jar waits nearby, your favorite piece of decor.

He stacks most of the cookies inside, their soft centers still pliable, then places two perfect ones on a ceramic plate. Lights off, he climbs the stairs, walking quietly toward your shared bedroom.

You’re curled up under the covers, eyes barely open. You blink up at him sleepily, a small, delighted smile flickering across your lips when you see the plate in his hands.

“Save me one,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sit up slowly, groggy but smiling, and pluck one cookie from the plate. “Only if you hurry.”

Zayne chuckles and disappears into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he steps back out, toweling his hair dry, a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips, he’s surprised to find you still awake. Even more surprised by the way your gaze lingers, slow and unhidden, trailing down the planes of his chest.

Despite the heat that creeps up the back of his neck, he doesn’t comment. He dresses without ceremony, pulling the shirt over his head and sliding into bed beside you.

You hand him the plate wordlessly, a cookie and a half remaining.

“You didn’t finish yours?” he asks, brow lifting.

“You can have it.” You curl closer to him, your voice soft with sleep.

He leans in and kisses you, slow and sweet. The chocolate lingers faintly on your lips, mingling with the taste of the berry-flavored lip balm you always wear before bed. It makes him want to kiss you again, longer this time, but he pulls back before he gets too lost in it.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. His voice is tender, lower than before.

You smile faintly and after a moment, your breath evens out and your body melts into his.

He watches you for a moment, hand stroking gently down your back. Your face is peaceful now, expression soft and untroubled, your lips still curved in a content little smile.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, he reaches past you and plucks the remaining half of the cookie off the plate. It’s still warm. The chocolate chips leave a faint smear on his fingertips. He takes a bite, then another, slow, indulgent, savoring it.

You always make them just right.

Something tugs in his chest, achingly gentle. He would never be able to put into words how much he loves you.

He places the empty plate back down, flicks off the bedside lamp, and sinks deeper into the bed. The warmth of your body, the lingering smell of sugar and soap, the sound of your breathing, all of it calms him.

One arm slips around your waist. You shift closer in your sleep, your body folding effortlessly into his.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, lips lingering there like a promise. With the taste of chocolate and you still clinging to him, Zayne finally lets himself sleep.

[sweet-halsey]

off limits

Chapter 8 – Unspoken things

seven | eight | nine

lando norris x reader

summary: lando wants her, badly. she has a boyfriend, but that’s not going to stop him. he won’t quit until she’s his.

We were leaving in less than an hour.

Our bags were packed. The sun was already high over Monaco, golden and warm against the glass of Lando’s penthouse. Morgan was double-checking cables and chargers, making sure we hadn’t left anything behind, while I hovered near the kitchen island, trying not to feel the way I felt.

Tense. Off. Floaty in the worst kind of way.

Lando leaned against the counter, sipping an iced coffee like nothing was ending. Like we hadn’t spent four days playing with fire. Like he hadn’t stared at me for far too long every time Morgan turned around. Like he hadn’t made me blush so many times I’d started avoiding mirrors.

“You’ll survive London without me, yeah?” he asked, smirking.

I raised an eyebrow. “Think I’ll manage.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m convincing myself.”

Morgan walked past, grinning. “Don’t feed him. He’s in one of those moods.”

Lando’s grin widened. “What mood is that?”

“Cocky. Attention-starved. Flirty.”

“Only when provoked.”

Morgan laughed, brushing his knuckles against my lower back before heading toward the door to check if the car had arrived.

And then it was just us.

Just Lando. Just me. Just the kind of quiet that says this is your last chance.

He didn’t waste it.

In one motion, he stepped closer. Not too close, not obvious. But enough to shift the air between us. Enough that I could smell his perfume, still sharp from the morning.

“You looked good this week,” he said, softer now. “All glowy. Monaco suits you.”

I didn’t respond.

“Shame you’re leaving,” he added. “I was getting used to the view.”

My chest tightened.

I knew what he was doing. He knew I knew. And neither of us stopped it.

“I’ll send flowers if you get withdrawal,” I said flatly.

“Don’t need flowers.”

“Then what?”

His eyes didn’t move. “Something to hold onto.”

Then his hand brushed my hip.

Slow. Heavy. From behind. Possessive.

Not quite a grab, but not nothing either.

Just enough pressure to make my breath catch. Just enough to make it feel like he could’ve slid it lower. Like he almost wanted to.

It was brief. A few seconds. Maybe less.

Then Morgan reappeared in the doorway, phone in hand.

“Driver’s here,” he said. “You ready?”

Lando stepped back instantly, like nothing happened. I grabbed my tote bag, pulse out of sync and forced a breath through my nose.

We said goodbye at the elevator.

Morgan went first, pulling the bags toward the door. I turned back one last time, eyes meeting Lando’s. His arms were crossed. His jaw tight.

“Thanks for the chaos,” I said.

He smiled, just a little. “Come back soon.”

The doors slid shut before I could answer.

The plane ride home was quiet. I stared out the window most of the time. Morgan edited photos on his phone, humming to himself and pointing out random clouds like we were still on the same wavelength.

But I wasn’t.

I was elsewhere. Still in Monaco. Still in that kitchen. Still feeling the ghost of Lando’s hand on my body.

I didn’t want to be.

But I was.

By the time we got home, dropped our bags, and flopped onto the couch, I was exhausted and restless.

Morgan stood in the middle of the living room, stretching his arms over his head. “Glad to be back.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Same.”

He wandered off to shower, still cheerful, already talking about what he’d cut for the next YouTube video.

My phone buzzed a minute later.

I didn’t check it right away.

I knew.

I knew who it was.

But when I finally picked it up, I saw it.

@lando.jpg: miss having you around. might start pacing. @lando.jpg: next time, don’t pack so early. i wasn’t done looking. @lando.jpg: i liked having my hands on you. hope you did too.

My stomach flipped.

I stared at the messages. Re-read them. Locked my phone.

Didn’t reply.

But I couldn’t breathe properly for the next hour.

The next morning, we tried to go back to normal.

Routine was our anchor editing in the kitchen, coffee brewing, both of us watching the same clip three times in a row trying to agree on the right cut. The footage from Monaco was gold: chaotic, beautiful, full of energy.

Morgan was already talking analytics.

“This one’s gonna do numbers,” he said, grinning. “We should do more travel stuff. People love seeing us outside the studio.”

I nodded, trying to focus. “Yeah. For sure.”

He played a bit of the gym footage. Lando showing off. Morgan complaining about the oats. Me, off-camera, laughing.

The chemistry on screen was undeniable. But it wasn’t ours.

Not anymore.

Morgan didn’t notice.

But I did.

And that realization? It scared me more than Lando ever could.

Because it meant something had shifted.

Deeply and maybe… permanently.

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•

Chapter nine 🤍 (probably monday sorry babes i’m working nonstop these days)

Taglist: @biblioteca-da-meia-noite, @spidybaby, @margo-justine, @jaydensluv, @swiftlyboring, @lorena-mv33, @jsprien213, @sagestack, @annie115, @blooming-glooom, @saudisack, @jule239, @seonaw, @dontsupressthejess, @il0vereadingstuff, @hurtblossom, @itssueed, @mel164, @skylandori and @harrysf1girl

Also english is not my first language and I don't want it to be. Any mistakes are made out of pure hatred and disrespect for this language. The English have taken enough from this world, I will not let them have my tongue as well.

Thank you.

[viennajoell]

Conflicted Hearts 2

Summary: After being ghosted by her boyfriend Tyler on her birthday, Y/N struggles with lingering emotions and unexpected attention from NHL star Will Smith.

Word Count: 3,130

Warnings: none :)

A/N: this will be the last part!! Hope you enjoy<3

Y/N stared at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. The unread DM from Will Smith still sat there like a blinking neon sign in her mind—even though she hadn't actually opened it in days. Just his name was enough to stir up that annoying swirl in her stomach. Not butterflies—those were reserved for someone else once. Now? It felt more like a tug. A nudge. A quiet reminder of something she hadn't allowed herself to consider.

Not until now.

The front door creaked open and slammed shut, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Hey, I brought donuts," Jack called out, his voice echoing through the house. "And before you ask, yes—I got your favorite. Cinnamon sugar. Because I'm thoughtful and emotionally intelligent."

She couldn't help but smile as Jack entered the room like a golden retriever with a pastry box.

Behind him, Quinn and Luke followed. Of course they were all here. They'd made it a habit lately—checking in on her like some protective, sarcastic brotherly patrol.

"Thanks," Y/N muttered, taking the box and setting it on the kitchen counter. "You didn't have to."

"Yeah, we did," Quinn said, not looking at her as he opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle. "We figured today might be... weird."

She didn't need to ask what he meant.

Tyler was back in town.

It had been three weeks since her birthday. Three weeks since he'd jetted off to the Bahamas with barely a text goodbye. Three weeks of silence, overthinking, and long nights spent staring at the ceiling. Now he was back. And she hadn't seen him once.

Jack popped a donut in his mouth, talking around the sugar. "You gonna see him?"

Y/N leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I don't know. Should I?"

Luke snorted. "You asking us? 'Cause we're all gonna say no."

"I mean, maybe not right away," Quinn offered carefully, more diplomatic as always. "But if you need closure... or answers... maybe."

She looked down at the counter. "He texted me last night."

All three of them turned to her at once.

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "And you didn't say anything?!"

"Because I didn't answer him!" she snapped. "I don't know what to say. 'Hey, welcome back from your tropical escape while I was crying into cake alone'? Yeah, no thanks."

Luke leaned on the island. "Then don't say anything. That guy ghosted you. On your birthday. If he wanted to talk, he could've picked up the phone three weeks ago."

Quinn nodded in agreement. "He should've come to you with answers, not a 'u up?' message."

Y/N cracked a small smile. "It wasn't a 'u up' text."

Jack pulled out his phone dramatically. "Okay, but hypothetically, if Will Smith were to DM you again—then what?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "You're never letting that go, are you?"

"Absolutely not," Jack said proudly. "Dude's got the best slapshot in the league and a jawline that could cut glass. Just saying. Upgrade."

Luke jumped in, grinning. "He liked your last post, too. I saw it."

Her eyes widened. "How the hell do you know that?"

Luke shrugged with exaggerated innocence. "Because I stalk your comments. You're my sister. It's in the job description."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Wait... he liked the one from the cabin trip?"

Y/N nodded slowly, trying not to read into it. "Yeah. That one."

Jack wiggled his brows. "You looked good in that pic, too. Like, 'Sorry Tyler, this ship's sailed' good."

Y/N blushed, but didn't protest this time. Something in her was shifting. For once, the idea of Tyler—his voice, his laugh, his presence—didn't spark comfort. It sparked questions. Regret. Frustration.

But Will?

Will had shown interest. Quiet, respectful interest. And he'd done it without knowing she was in the middle of an emotional disaster. He'd just seen her. Liked what he saw. And reached out. Simple. Clean.

Real.

She bit her lip and glanced at her phone again.

Luke caught the glance. "Just open the damn DM, Y/N."

"I already did," she said softly.

The room went silent for a beat.

Quinn set down his water. "...And?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It was nice. He said he hoped I had a good birthday. That he was sorry if it was weird messaging while I was probably busy. And... that if I was ever free, he'd love to take me out for coffee."

Jack let out a low whistle. "Smooth. He's got game."

"And he kept it classy," Luke added. "Respectful. No 'hey beautiful' crap or weird emojis?"

"Nope," Y/N said. "Just... genuine. Kind."

They were quiet again, but this time it felt different. The judgment wasn't there. Just curiosity. Maybe even... hope?

"So?" Quinn finally asked. "Are you gonna reply?"

Y/N didn't answer right away.

But then she smiled, slowly, and picked up her phone.

"I think I might."

—

Two days later, Y/N stood outside Tyler’s apartment, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets, heart tight in her chest.

She’d texted him. Not with hope. Not with curiosity. Just clarity.

Can we talk?

He’d replied almost immediately: Yeah. Of course.

The door opened, and there he was. Tyler. The same tousled hair. The same soft hoodie she used to steal. But something was different now. She didn’t feel like she was coming home—she felt like she was visiting an old place that used to mean something.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside.

“Hey.”

She walked in. He closed the door behind her.

Neither of them sat.

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

Silence stretched awkwardly between them.

Finally, she exhaled. “Tyler, what happened?”

He swallowed. “I messed up. I know that. I just—things were getting serious. And I panicked. I felt like I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, and I didn’t want to drag you through that.”

“So instead, you left. No warning. No honesty. You just ghosted me. On my birthday.”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

Y/N laughed—a short, bitter sound. “You weren’t protecting me, Tyler. You were avoiding your own mess.”

He looked down.

“I loved you,” she said softly. “And you disappeared. I waited. I cried. I tried to convince myself you’d come back with something—anything—that made this make sense.”

“I didn’t know how to explain myself.”

“You didn’t even try.”

Tyler stepped closer, his voice low. “I’m sorry. I still care about you.”

She didn’t step back. But she didn’t move forward either. “But you didn’t choose me. When things got hard, you ran.”

His expression tightened. “And now?”

“Now?” She smiled sadly. “I’m choosing me.”

A long pause.

“Is there... someone else?”

Y/N hesitated, but only for a second. “Maybe. But this isn’t about him. It’s about us. And how we were never really in the same place.”

Tyler nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “You deserve someone who shows up.”

“I know.”

And with that, she left.—

Will was waiting outside his car when she pulled into the parking lot later that evening.

He smiled when he saw her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I am now."

He didn't press. Just opened the door for her. "Pizza and no emotional trauma sound good?"

She laughed. "Perfect."

—

The city lights shimmered off the river as Will leaned against the hood of his car, waiting outside the bookstore they’d agreed to meet at.

When Y/N arrived, his face lit up.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward with a cautious smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Actually... I think I really am.”

He didn’t push. Just opened the door for her like a gentleman born out of another era.

The pizza place was a hole-in-the-wall with mismatched chairs and Christmas lights still hanging in August. She loved it immediately.

“Okay,” Will said, sliding into the booth. “I have two questions.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hit me.”

“One—how do you feel about pineapple on pizza?”

“I support it. Strongly.”

He looked relieved. “Great. This might work.”

“And two?”

“Do you always rearrange your toppings before eating or was that just a one-time thing on your Instagram story?”

Y/N stared. “You stalked my pizza habits?”

“Extensively. I’m doing my due diligence.”

She laughed—loud, real, unexpected. “Fine. Yes. I rearrange. I’m not proud of it, but I stand by it.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Chaos respects chaos.”

They ate. They joked. He told stories about rookie hazing rituals in the NHL. She told him about the time she accidentally joined a yoga class for toddlers and didn’t realize until halfway through the session.

By the time they ended up back at the same bookstore, just browsing and making sarcastic commentary about weird book covers, Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this... free.

Will handed her a worn copy of a poetry book she’d once mentioned in passing. “Saw this earlier. Thought it looked like you.”

Her heart fluttered.

“You’re a menace,” she said softly.

“Only part-time,” he replied. “Full-time, I’m just a guy hoping this isn’t our last date.”

They stood under the amber streetlight as the night wound down. He reached for her hand—no pressure, just warmth.

And she didn’t let go.

Y/N got home later that night, cheeks sore from smiling and the poetry book tucked under her arm like a secret.

The second she stepped through the door, Jack shouted from the couch, “So? Do we need to change your emergency contact, or what?”

Luke peeked over the back of the couch. “She’s got that ‘just got held tenderly by a respectful man’ glow.”

Quinn strolled in from the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn. “Tell us everything. Don’t spare the details.”

Y/N flopped into the recliner with a dramatic sigh. “Okay. First of all—pizza. Extra cheese. No judgment. He even offered me the slice with the most pepperoni.”

Jack gasped. “A keeper.”

“Then we walked into this little bookstore and he remembered a book I mentioned once. Like, weeks ago. Just casually pulls it off the shelf like it’s nothing.”

Luke blinked. “He listens? Is he from Earth?”

“And he makes awful jokes. Like, pun-level disaster humor. I might be in trouble.”

Quinn leaned forward. “Kiss? No kiss?”

She smiled. “No kiss. Just… he held my hand. The whole walk back to the car.”

Jack launched a throw pillow at Luke. “Okay, I officially approve. Guy’s not rushing. That’s a rare species.”

Luke nodded. “Did he do the door-open thing?”

“All of them,” Y/N said. “He even waited until I buckled my seatbelt before driving.”

The boys let out a collective groan.

“Okay, but real talk,” Quinn asked, voice softer. “How do you feel?”

Y/N looked down at her hands, then up again. “Like I’ve been underwater for a long time... and tonight, I finally came up for air.”

They didn’t tease her after that.

Just smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, so did she.

[kings-highway]

what is your favorite sin (genuine question)

Did you know that this question would unlock Lore?

My favourite sin (out of the traditional cast of Christian Sins) is Gluttony!

Now you might have meant more along the lines of “what sin do you partake in the most” but, alas, that is not at all the relevant information for this answer. (I partake in Gluttony the most FOR SURE.)

Once Upon A Time, I was participating in an online roleplay server that was open world. I was part of a group that decided we wanted to do a Seven Deadly Sins style group of demons, and that we’d all play one of the sins. Unfortunately for me, while people were passing around who would play what, I had to go to work. And I spent the WHOLE TIME at work KNOWING that when I got back, I was going to have to take whatever was “leftover” which I knew IMMEDIATELY was going to be Gluttony.

Because Gluttony is an ugly sin. It’s gross, and often made for comic relief, and not very “aesthetic” in any way - I, personally, was particularly… upset at being given the task of playing this sin because I was very shameful over my own gluttonous habits - I grew up a very overweight child. So I didn’t like this. It (almost) ruined the entire premise for me.

And sure enough, when I got back, I had group leaders happy little “hey, you’ll play gluttony right?” message and I agreed because I didn’t want to be the dumbass throwing a fit over something that didn’t matter.

And for a minute, I almost threw in the towel. If you’ve participated in Roleplay before, you’ll know the difference between characters you create, and characters you craft, ones you love. I considered just making my stupid gluttony persona and calling it a day, but everyone was so excited. And I DID want to participate! So I decided, pedal to the metal, I’m going to character-design the SHIT out of Gluttony and make it something I *did* love. No slug of consumption, no comic relief joke, no gross body horror. I made a man whose premise was that he couldn’t be satisfied - he was so thin he might have been a skeleton, his body literally eating itself, and his constant hunger drives him insane. He weighs the amount he might have, if he was able to gain weight, though, making him several tons packed into a skeletal frame, impossible to knock off balance or lift up. But he’s not greedy, and he’s not envious, of course - Gluttony isn’t hateful, of others who consume or have or want. He shares, he loves watching others enjoy food, he cooks for them, he uses magic to produce candy, all he wants in the world is just… more. But more of everything. For everyone. Envy wanted what others had - Greed wanted more than what others had - Gluttony just wants. And not just food. He’s shameless in his want for things. He’s incapable of having just one of anything, if you give him something, he compulsively needs more.

And unfortunately, this was to for love. For friendship.

See, I knew going in that none of the other players would give a shit about Gluttony. It’s the least popular sin. I did my best to write him as interesting as possible, and I… I did that. The other roleplayers loved getting to interact with him. But exactly as I knew would happen to Gluttony happened.

His closest friend and brother, Greed, was his first strongest connection. They were going to take over the cosmos together and have everything. Greed, however, fell in love with Wrath. And Gluttony wasn’t needed anymore. So in his pit of loneliness, his own sin a violent curse as he struggles with the fact that he cannot have more affection from Greed than Greed had been able to give him, he reconnects with Sloth. Sloth is also down in the dumps, so they decide to bake a cake together. Because cake is good. And they have a lot of fun. Gluttony develops a friendship with Sloth, again, and they really connect, they really get each other. They’re the “go with the flow” sins, the sins that aren’t really that evil at all, and that sort of just want to be allowed to do as they do. They have a lot of fun. Until Pride comes back. See, Sloth had fallen in love with Pride. And so when she has a chance, Sloth goes after her. Gluttony takes the cake out of the oven alone. He doesn’t really know what he did wrong that time. Pride hadn’t really ever been kind to Sloth before, Pride wasn’t really anything. Pride pretended to be the eldest, but they weren’t.

Gluttony was the eldest. Gluttony was the apple of Eden, the bite taken from the first sin, wanting more than what God had permitted them, in any respect, no matter how non-malicious, was what had cast sin into humanity to begin with. The oldest and, possibly, the most true. Dissatisfaction. The incapacity to be happy with the relationships, the objects, the food around them, however good they were.

There are seven deadly sins: then there were three pairs. And there was Gluttony.

My feelings for the character evolved heavily over the short time we roleplayed them. Everyone’s characters were incredible interpretations of their sins, but eventually, as they all paired up (and if you’re familiar with roleplay servers, you know how damning pairing up can be) Gluttony was left with nothing to do. So I played around with a couple of non-sin characters.

He met a human man, a man as lonely as him. A man who liked him, who understood Gluttony’s want for more, but appreciated how he also liked to share. This, finally, was Gluttony’s first true friend. This person did not leave them for a romance, for something more. This person liked Gluttony the most out of every other sin. He even told him so! This was-

The user left the server without warning. Just gone one day.

Gluttony sits in the bar they used to meet at, and drinks beer that will never intoxicate him and wonders why, why, why, why he was not allowed to be loved as much as the rest of his people were. Why was he, the sin everyone on earth committed - the sin that was the precursor to all other sins! - the one constantly dismissed as the least worth thinking about?

All he wanted was a little more affection. (He promises, he’d be satisfied if even just one person loved him…)

Maybe that’s the nature of being sin, that you are not allowed to be happy. The rest of the sins eventually fizzled out that roleplay, and the server eventually quieted down, and then was deleted. My experiences playing with Gluttony, though, remained lodged in my mind. Because what I remembered most was the moments before I had committed to him. About how I was dreading having to play him, how I was embarrassed to play him, how grossed out I was by the idea. How much I had dismissed him before putting any thought into what “Gluttony” could be.

And how that was sort of a reflection of myself. How I had always felt that I (as someone frequently perceived as gluttonous, afraid of being seen eating “too much” afraid of being the biggest person in the room) should be dismissed because of that gluttony… to then have not just tried, but been proven right. People didn’t want to have relationships with Gluttony. They didn’t want him. They wanted the beautiful, hot Pride character, or the badass Wrath, or the scheming, devilish Greed or the cute, funny Sloth. Envy and Lust. Everyone fucking loves a character based on Lust.

I had called it, and it had played out exactly as I had expected it to. Even though I had tried my best to make him more than the stereotype, even though people OOC had said they adored the character. I couldn’t change that when people closed their eyes, Gluttony was the slug character, and everyone else were people. Just look at anyone’s “seven deadly sins” demon artwork. You’ll see it every time. There’s nothing beautiful, or interesting or kind about Gluttony. It’s gross, it’s horrifying. Usually it’s the least human, which I think is funniest, because I stand by the fact that Gluttony is something we all share in common. The most alive thing you can do is try and take more than you need. Fish will eat until they fucking die if given the option.

So I kind of fell in love with him. I was probably eighteen or nineteen years old at the time, and I remember being done with those plotlines and holding this lovingly crafted character and thinking… if nobody else in the world will say Gluttony is their favourite of the seven deadly sins, then I will. I can be that single individual that I myself had denied Gluttony at the beginning of this journey. He won’t be the joke, he won’t be the comic relief, he won’t be the last thought tossed off to the last roleplayer to sign online for the day, the one everyone else had obviously passed over. Because I’ll have him. And I’ll choose him first.

So I say it with complete sincerity, that Gluttony is my absolute favourite of the seven deadly sins. And I don’t think there’s even a contest, there’s no way to usurp him from that position.

[fishiedrabbles]

"I can be cool too!" / Caleb x Reader

summary: Your not fond of parties, but you haven't seen your best friend in months and he's inviting you! How could you say no? | mentions of alcohol and a scene with harassment, reader feeling like they're going to throw up | PURE FLUFF!!! (And a little bit of angst.) Thanks for reading!

You didn't like parties much. No- you despised it. You hated how overwhelming it was-the loud ear-bleeding music, the constant stream of chatter and laughter, the intoxicating scents of last minute perfume and alcohol-it was horrible!!

But how could you decline the sweet request that Caleb offered? It had been months, months of not seeing his handsome face. Months of not having him cook your favorite meals, not helping you style your hair in the mornings, walking home together, watching nonsensical action movies...it really had been a while. In that time, you realized how easy Caleb had made life for you...and how comfortable he made you feel. You missed him. A lot.

Yes, Caleb being the wonderful guy he was took the time out of his day to message you. Quite literally everyday. How are you doing? Was the cafeteria food good today? Did you catch the latest episode? Why are you up so late? Remember to take your vitamins! Did you check out that new cafe that opened nearby? Any other person might see this has being overbearing, being too nosy-but not Caleb. He genuinely cared about what you were up to.

Your heart jumped with joy every time your phone pinged with a notification. You cherished each one of his texts.

(You could never admit this out loud, of course.)

Caleb: Hey pips! Whatcha up to? Was school okay? :D

Me: uhh yeah it was good haha. just eating a snack.

Caleb: oh yeah, you free this weekend? i know how much you hate parties, but i reallyyy want to introduce you to my friends here :)

Caleb: but its okay if not, you can just visit and we can go somewhere else

Me: no no, its fine i'll go

Caleb: Really? You don't have to force yourself, pips :(

Me: yes yes ill go!!!

Of course Caleb knew that parties-no, more like mass gatherings of people-made you feel suffocated. After several high school parties and dances, you have had enough of it. You remembered each time you came home early, and remembered how Caleb was always there to listen to your complaints or rants. You remembered how it was him who picked you up early from the Spring dance that had made you feel feverish and wobbly-how he took care of you gently and whispered words of support and comfort.

You declared that night, "I'm never going to a party again!!" Loudly in front of him, still in that sparkly night gown you had tripped over multiple times on the gymnasium floor.

(You didn't tell him that either.)

And now, you were going to break that bold vow of yours. A college party?? Pffft...no biggie! Not a big deal at all! You were in college too, though still a freshman. You had no idea what college parties were like and never bothered to attend one.

Guess your just going to find out yourself.

---

"The trains almost there," You remarked to Caleb, who was on the other side of the phone. You played idly with a strand of your hair. "I know, I know..." You glanced out the window, the sky the only thing you could see. Huge, fluffy clouds were painted across the sky giving the illusion of seemingly someone misplacing their cotton candy on the very blue in front of you.

It made your heart beat faster knowing that Caleb might as well be looking up at this same stretch of sky, waiting for you at the station.

10 minutes later, the train smoothly came to a stop. The doors swiftly opened, allowing for the flow of people to reach the exit. Stepping of the train with your duffle bag, you make your way to a nearby bench by a cafe. The streams of people around you kick your anxiety up. You look all around you and quickly text Caleb.

Me: im here now!!!

You sigh and your knee bounces nervously. You were a little skeptical about riding the train by yourself here. Usually, Caleb would pick you up at the train station at Linkon and ride with you to Skyhaven...or sometimes even Grandma accompanied you. You've heard stories from friends of creepy guys on trains, or even people going missing...you shuddered at the thoughts and pushed them away. You couldn't go looking all scaredy-cat in front of Caleb!! You had to remain positive-

"Hey pipsq-" A hand lands on your shoulder and you jump in you seat letting out a yelp. You look in the direction of the voice and see Caleb, his eyes widening at your reaction. "Woah, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." He chuckles lightly, taking his place next to you like its the most natural thing in the world. His sudden closeness-his presence- after not seeing him for weeks makes your heart skip a beat.

"How was the train ride? No one did anything weird, right? Did you eat yet? I'll buy you something." Caleb shot questions at you like a minigun and you answered them with practiced swiftness. You were used to his barrage of questions.

"Nope, no weirdos on the train. Though, this kid was picking his nose in front of me...oh-and the girl next to me was watching thirst traps on her phone!!" You replied giddily, not taking a breath between words. Caleb laughed at your response, his hand falling back onto your shoulder.

"Pffft-sounds a lot like you, pips," He replied, eyes twinkling. You gave him a look.

"The...picking nose part or the thirst trap parts?" You questioned bitterly.

"Hmm...what about both?" He replied teasingly. You punched him lightly on the shoulder to which he erupted into laughter. The two of you find your rhythm quickly as always. You were afraid that Caleb's absence from your home would lead to him growing distant, but it's been the opposite. It's only made you and Caleb crave each others presence more.

(Though none of you would dare to voice that thought out loud.)

---

You and your stupidly tall friend made your way to his dorm room. Since he was an upperclassman, he had a room all to himself which made it convenient for visits. Caleb made a big show of using his card key, and theatrically opened the door for you.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He said dramatically. You rolled your eyes and stepped in. It was a plain room-a bed in the corner with plaid bedsheets and a desk pushed next to the window. What caught your eyes was the sight of textbooks, papers, and pens scattered across his desk messily. Your fingers lingered on a piece of writing.

"You got a test coming up?" You asked over your shoulder. Caleb shut the door and hauled your duffle bag onto his bed.

"Yep-oh geez, pips, what did you even put in here?" He muttered, weighing your bag in his grip. You went back to inspecting his room, acknowledging several trophies and medals on his shelves.

"I brought the playstation," You said dismissively, observing the picture frames Caleb chose to display. There was one of you, him, and Grandma, and another of you and Caleb grinning in another. Your lips slowly curled into a smile, your finger tapping against the photo.

His windowsill had a tiny plant growing, its little leaves reaching for the stray rays of sunlight. The carpet had some pencil shavings sprinkled on it. The trashcan was full of crumpled pieces of papers and chip bags. His laundry basket was half full. There was a half eaten candy bar on the edge of his desk. Spicy...blueberry flavor? Pffft. It was so Caleb. It was...so home.

You heard a grunt and turned around to see Caleb flopping onto his bed. He looked up at you, smiling shyly.

"Done checking out my room yet?"

"Hmmm, yeah, I think so," You sat down on the bed, swinging your legs. "Sooo, about this party..."

Caleb propped himself on his elbows. "It starts in an hour. One of my flight buddies is throwin' it, should be fun." He throws you a reassuring smile. "Maybe it'll change your perspective on parties?" You shrugged and stopped swinging your legs.

"Do you...usually go to parties like that?" You muttered, suddenly feelings small. Caleb was the epitome of cool. You wanted to able to feel worthy of being next to him. But...nope, you hated parties, was introverted-you were the opposite of him.

"I mean, yeah, but only because I can't say no to my friends." Caleb replies, chuckling lightly. Of course. Caleb always was the golden boy-always getting invites to birthday parties or events since he was a kid. He had always been kind to bring you along.

"We're a package deal!" Is what he had told you with that stupid grin of his at 10 years old. The thought warmed your heart, easing your mind temporarily.

You've had your doubts of course. Ever since he moved away, you couldn't help but think if this "package deal" was going to expire. Maybe he'd find some cooler friends to hang out with-friends who actually liked to party and do that kind of stuff. You wanted to prove to Caleb that you could be as cool as any college friend he had.

"You okay?" Caleb sat up, inching closer to you. His purple eyes filled with concern when you didn't reply. His fingers brushed briefly against yours. "You know...we don't have to go. Your sensitive to crowds. We could just stay here and-"

"No!" You blurt out, making his eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry-I mean-no...it's fine. I can handle it. I can go!" You shove him lightly. "Stop treating me like a kid-I'm an adult too, you know!!" He tousles your hair playfully.

"Ah, okay. Sometimes I forget." The two of you laugh, the moment reminding you of the many scenes that played like this before back at home. Just the two of you. "But seriously...if you want to leave, just tell me alright?" You nodded, meeting his serious gaze.

"Okay, I will. Don't be so worried, I can handle myself!" You state boldly, though your stomach twists. You really wanted to spend time with Caleb in a college party setting-to experience it with him, almost as like the two of you attended the same school. You really wanted it to be like old times.

---

Yup, you hated it. As soon as Caleb opened the door, you felt your insides die. The hallway was crowded with people in an array of...interesting outfits, their hands occupied with red solo cups or soda cans. As on cue, some guy vomits near you making you gag. At the top of the stairs seems to be makeout-lane. There are several passed out people on the steps. Some guy is drawing mustaches with a sharpie. Caleb pulls you away from it, saying something you can't hear over the booming music. Seriously, how does anyone have fun in this?

Well, Caleb does, right? You frown.

Caleb leads you outside to where the pool is. It's even crazier than it was inside. People are jumping in the pool like maniacs, tackling each other while simultaneously trying to play a game of volleyball. There's food everywhere, on the floor, tables, chairs, even the pool which sickens you. It makes you question you cleans up after such horrid events.

"Pipsqueak, this way," Caleb tugs you to a table by the pool occupied by people who's faces look vaguely familiar to you. Caleb lets go of your hand and smiles at his friends. "Hey guys, this is Y/N, you know, the friend back at Linkon." He proudly says. It makes your stomach twist knowing that he probably was so excited to introduce you to his friends...yet you couldn't even muster any energy to have a normal conversation. His friends greet you politely to which you just nod and make small talk. Gosh, this life just wasn't for you. Everywhere around you, manic is demonstrated. The intense smell of the chlorine isn't helping either.

"I think I'm gonna go back inside," You smile at his friends after a couple minutes of talking and then at Caleb. "Gonna go grab a drink." Caleb's eyes reveal nothing, though you already know he's going to follow you. He nods and lets you leave. You stumble your way back into the house, nearly getting knocked over by some drunk dude. You open one of the coolers and to your luck find a bottle of water.

You find a spot on one of the few empty couches and take a swig of water. You massage your temples, feeling a headache coming on. The music seemed much louder than it was when you first came. Who was turning up the music?!

"Hey there, I haven't seen your face around yet," A man approaches you, red cup in hand. You, feeling sick, don't have the energy to keep up this positive facade of yours.

"Uh huh," You manage to say, continuing to rub at your temples. The man sits down next to you, immediately making you jump to your feet. Oh hell no. You try to slip away, but his grimy hand snatches your wrist, pulling you back down to sit. You gulp, feeling sick, uncomfortable, and violated.

"What the hell? Don't touch me!!," You cried out hotly, your heart pounding in your chest. The music only gets louder. The laughter and shrieking only amplifies. The man in front of you just laughs.

"No need to get so emotional. I just want to talk," He flashes you a smile that's meant to be friendly? You didn't care what this guy had to say. You felt unsafe. You rubbed your wrist, ignoring the guy and attempted to escape again. "Aw, don't run away. Where are you from?" The music makes you feel dizzy. The constant moving bodies around you emit heat that wraps around you cruelly. Your feel like your going to puke.

"Not interested." You state flatly and get up to leave. He grabs your wrist. Again. You retaliate, slugging him across the jaw in frustration and anger. No one seems to care around you, like this is just some normal occurrence.

"You bitc-"

The guy doesn't take this too kindly and looks like he's about to grab you when he's frozen in place...and harshly brought to his knees.

The familiar tinges of Calebs evol pulse around the man. You feel like crying. Of course Caleb had to save you again. You stumble backwards and feel an arm gently wrap around your shoulders. You relax at Caleb's touch, breathing heavily. You feel like your going to puke.

"Let's go home, pipsqueak." Caleb murmurs into your ear. You can't see his face. Is he disappointed? Angry with you? Those are the only thoughts you can think as your best friend leads you out of that hell house and out to the fresh air. The walk back to the dorms was silent, minus the groans you let out, still massaging your temples. You had a killer migraine right now, not to mention the horrible knot in your stomach. Why did you ever agree to this?!

"Almost home," Caleb reassured you, though his voice was guarded. Oh...he was disappointed. He had to be. Of course he couldn't bring his childhood friend to a college party. She can't handle it, of course. She's lame...so lame and can't even handle one party!! Man, what an embarrassment you were to his friends! These thoughts only made you feel more sick.

You heard the door being opened, your gaze only on the floor as you fought not to spill your guts out on his dorm floor. He led you to his bed, laying you down.

He disappeared for a moment, coming back with a glass of water. "Here." He guides the edge of the cup to your lips, making sure you drink enough before pulling away. He presses his forehead against yours, gauging your temperature. He pulls away once more, muttering something you don't have the energy to process. He works mechanically, taking out your hair ties, unfastening your earrings, cleaning your makeup delicately with a cotton pad. It made your heart ache. You ruined his night...it was supposed to be fun. Yet, here he was, back at his dorm, taking care of you when he should be having fun with his friends.

Why did he always have to invite you?

"Caleb...I'm sorry," You muttered weakly. He lifted your head, putting an extra fluffy pillow underneath. He combed a hand through your hair, pausing.

"For what?" He asked softly, eyes flitting with concern. Your eyes begin to moisten, and you hate yourself for it. For everything. His hand cradled the side of your face. "What are you sayin' sorry for?"

"Caleb, just say it-I ruined your night...I wanted to be cool with you-you know, at a party-but no...I just had to mess it up again!" You cried out in frustration, a single tear rolling down your cheek. And then another. You sat up, pushing away his hands. "You should've just left me back here at the dorm...! At least then you wouldn't have a burden like me tagging along..." The tears continue to fall, and your breathing becomes labored. You attempt to cover your face but he catches your hands in a firm hold.

"What? I'm not mad at you, pipsqueak. Why..? Oh, Y/N." He lets out a small sigh, smiling slightly. You sniff. He quietly wipes away your tears away, still gazing at you with those kind, understanding eyes that make you want to sob even harder. "How could I ever get angry at you over that? I was so unsure about you coming because I knew you didn't like parties...but it made me happy that you tried for my sake. Even if you said no, I'd still be probably 10 times as happy if we just stayed here." He continued to wipe the tears as they fell, still looking at you softly. "Y'know...I panicked when I couldn't find you...and then I saw you punch that guy. I was so proud-what a strong pipsqueak you are." He laughed softly, pulling you close as you cried even harder.

How was he so understanding? So tolerable of you?

"I'm totally gonna find out who that jerk was, by the way," Caleb added darkly. Though you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

(Probably not, knowing him.)

He stroked your hair, continuing to speak words of comfort and warmth. Your tears subsided, leaving you a breathy, tear-stained mess.

"It's still early, pips. I don't want your memory of me to be tainted by that awful party," He rubs your back soothingly as you start to calm down, taking deep breaths against his chest. He feels so warm...so familiar. It reminds you of all the times Caleb has comforted you in the past. From something as small as skinning your knee to failing a big test in high school-Caleb was always there to offer his embrace to you. You nuzzled against his chest, savoring each moment. "Next time, if you don't wanna do something, just tell me, okay? I'll understand. I always do." You can only nod, afraid you might burst into tears again.

"Your so cool. Cooler than any person I know who's attended one of those parties." Caleb muttered. He hesitates, and the speaks. "Your my favorite person. Don't forget that, okay?"

"Okay." You whisper, hugging him even tighter.

Favorite person...his favorite person. You smile at that. How could you ever forget that? That night may have started horribly, but Caleb was there to ease your worries...just like he always has. As you and Caleb eventually pulled away from each others embrace, talking about other things-you felt much, much better. Much lighter.

"Y'know what? Your right. Parties do suck." Caleb said, grinning at you. His eyes, only on you. "I'd rather be here... with you."

Each smile and laugh shared between the two of you belonged to you and Caleb only. Here, in this quiet and small room, miles away from the place where the two of you grew up, it really felt like home.

a/n: I wrote this in the dead of night spontaneously! Caleb is such a huge comfort character to me i love him so much ;-;

first fic on here so thank u so much for reading! have a lovely day/night <3

[boozye]

I love hate the way u draw Lucifer he looks so pathetic like no that's my type how dare you make him so pathetic but at the same time yes make him look so sad I love that fhdhhdhdhd (ur seeing an anti lucifer be in denial rn)

Anon, I'm just a humble "tired Lucifer" peddler. I roam the dash with a little cart carrying my babygrl wares for anyone who would listen...

Love and peace on the hellsite.

[airenyah]

Your essay on Joong's underrated acting skills deepened my Joong appreciation so much, that I watched Mafia the Series, I'm watching Ploy's Yearbook (even though there is a serious lack of Joong so far), and I'm planning on watching The Warp Effect too. I haven't watched het shows in over ten years, so this is a big deal! 😂 I really liked him with Dunk in their shows, but MTS gave me another facet of him, because he's so timid in it, unlike in SIMM and HA, where he's (seemingly) very cool and in control. So thank you for making me a full time Joong (and Dunk) girl 💜

i saw this message first thing in the morning when i woke up yesterday and it instantly put me in a good mood!!! <3

YESSSSSS I'M SO HAPPY TO HEAR THAT

mafia the series might actually be my absolute fave thai het-show, it's just SO funny!!!! and the entire cast is so great, like, not just joong but the entire cast plays off each other SO well. and don't even get me started on gina virahya and her portrayal of anna kondra!!!!

you know, when i went into mafia the series i saw the poster and was like "ughh i really am gonna have to sit through this standard (overly) dramatic mafia show just for joong, huh. the things i do for my boy..." and then. AND THEN. you can imagine my surprise. i was crying tears of laughter throughout the show and i was actually laughing so hard that my mom made a comment about how she could hear my laugh in my room

beam is my loser boy and joong portrays him in such an adorably awkward way, i love it <333

and yes there IS a serious lack of joong in ploy's yearbook so far :((((

it was quite funny tho bc in the one scene where joong does show up i immediately recognized him by the back of his head, like!! i saw this:

and instantly went "OH there's my boy!!!!!" 😂😂😂

and i can't wait to see him with film bc film did extremely well with gun in not me and i feel like film and joong will also work together really well

you know, i'm always happy to turn people into full time joong (and dunk) girls!!!!!!

i've adored them ever since simm which i watched live from ep2 onwards. fun fact, actually: when i started simm i actually had no idea who they were (even though technically i'd seen dunk in bad buddy already, except i wasn't paying attention to the random high school bandmates and so i didn't actually recognize dunk and only realized later on ahahah)

aaaanyway, i had no idea who they were, right? and so in 2022 my mom and i spent two nights in prague during easter and in the evening we were in our hotel room and we were kinda looking for something to watch. and i was like "hey look, gmmtv has a new bl out and it looks kinda cute and fluffy judging by the thumbnails?? and like something that doesn't require too much brain power?? plus, there's also only two eps out so far, so we'll be caught up right away" and so we watched the first two episodes and then the two of us ended up watching every new ep together every week hahaha

i actually didn't really talk about it on tumblr back then and when you go back on my blog you'll see that there are hardly any simm post. but really, with every new simm episode that aired i liked joongdunk more and more. and especially once the characters started dating i was actually so in awe about just how comfortable joong and dunk were with each other and how they absolutely weren't afraid to touch? like, their physical affection was just so casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world to them in an "i'm-not-even-thinking-about-it-bc-it's-so-normal" kind of way and that was just soooo refreshing to watch?? i was (and still am) truly amazed

and when just a couple of months later, at the end of 2022 gmmtv announced joongdunk were gonna get another show together i got SO excited!! and also when it was revealed that simm was included in our skyy 2!!!!

and then hidden agenda started airing and then i was tagged in that tag game and then i went to watch joong's entire filmography and then i ended up falling into a joongdunk rabbit hole and here we are...

anyway, i have multiple agendas and one of them is turning people into joong fans and dunk fans and joongdunk fans sllksdfd

and my other agenda is getting people to watch mafia the series, bc it's truly a gem of a show!!!!

(speaking of agendas: the only thing that's missing in your message is you telling me that you approve of my fight for a sexy joongdunk vampire bl, like... that would have made the message and the influence of my joong/dunk/joongdunk blogging complete 😂😂😂)

[light-wrath-paradise]

WAIT ARE YOU SAYING THAT ALL OF THESE HAPPENED IN THE LIVE ACTION REMAKE. I THOUGHT THIS WAS A HYPOTHETICAL LIKE "HAHA WHAT WOULD BE THE WORST THING TO POSSIBLY HAPPEN". PLEASE SAY THAT I MISUNDERSTOOD AND THIS IS A HYPOTHETICAL

*very emblematic of disney sanitizing the fuck out of stitch.

[angstigone]

btw this isn't an insult because the dirtiest people I have ever met are white but like, each time I go outside of italy, I am reminded that cleanliness is a whole different concept for everybody.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men Getting "She's busy bro" Text

Request: Hi!! I waited patiently (and eagerly) for your requests to open again, I'm so happy!! I love your writing!! I laughed so hard at the previous request where you mentioned Tara. I have another "Tara is on thin ice" idea, lol. Tara and Mc are having a girls night at Mc's place. Mc is cooking or just doing something, mc's receives a message from the lads men (something random like "hi, how are you, I'm off work"). Tara tells Mc she got a message (since Mc is doing something and she can't answer), and mc tells Tara to reply for her. All good and sweet, what does Tara reply with? "Hi, all good, she's busy now, she will talk to you later!" (Basically, the "she's busy bro" prank but with an oblivious Tara that didn't mean to prank them, lol)

AN: Hey anon, I am sorry for how last I am posting this. But thank you for requesting such a fun scenario. I hope you enjoy this!! Might be ooc at times but I am woman of dramatics so excuse me.

Ingredients: 75% fluff , 25% drama

My Fav: Zayne 🥺

Genre: She's busy bro, prank

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

You’re in the kitchen, half-focused on stirring the pasta and half-listening to Tara rant about her latest training match when your phone buzzes on the counter.

“Hey, your phone just lit up,” Tara says, leaning over to check the screen. “It’s one of the guys. Something about ‘how are you?’ and ‘off work.’”

“Just reply for me,” you say, tossing a handful of garlic into the pan. “Tell him I’ll get back to him later.”

Tara shrugs, picking up your phone and squinting at the message. Her thumbs fly over the screen as she replies, “Hi, all good, she’s busy right now, she’ll talk to you later!”

She hits send with a satisfied nod, setting the phone back down without a second thought

Rafayel:

You lunge to catch Tara as she collapses, her hands flying to her throat, her breaths coming out in sharp, choking gasps.

“Tara!” you gasp, your watch buzzing with frantic alerts, the tiny screen flashing red with proximity warnings.

And then you see it. The curving, sinuous tendrils creeping from the edges of the painting on your wall. The one Rafayel gifted you not long ago. The inky black swirls ripple like living shadows, curling toward you.

You snatch your phone from the counter, one arm still braced around Tara’s trembling form, your body blocking her from the painting as the tendrils inch closer. You hit Rafayel’s contact, your finger jabbing the call button with a fury you can barely contain.

He picks up on the first ring, and you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“Stop it. Now.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, the sound of crashing waves and distant seagulls crackling through the line, but you don’t flinch.

“I swear to the fucking seas,” you snarl, your voice low and dangerous, “I will never talk to you again if you hurt her.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, a flicker of hesitation, and then the tendrils retreat, coiling back into the frame like startled serpents, the air around you cooling as the painting slowly still.

Tara collapses against you, her breathing evening out, her death grip on your arm loosening as she gasps for air. You meet her wide, dazed eyes, your own heart still hammering in your chest.

She gives you a shaky, crooked grin. “That was kinda hot,” she croaks, her lips twitching into a weak, mischievous smile, and your heart melts on the spot.

It takes Rafayel three weeks of pleading, apologizing, and bribing (both you and Tara) to be forgiven for 'the incident'. He sends flowers, chocolates, and a rare pearl necklace that you suspect he made with his anguished cries.

But the painting stays. “For protection,” he insists, his tone defensive, his eyes shifting away from yours when you bring it up. “You’ll thank me one day.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t push it.

Xavier:

He just shows up at your door. Because, of course, he does.

However busy you were, he could stop it. He is a victim to the sunk cost fallacy. If he has to pull you out of some other guy’s orbit, he’ll do it, no hesitation.

He knocks once, twice, each rap firm but patient, the ripped delivery package dangling from one hand, his other tucked casually into his jacket pocket.

The door swings open, and he inhales to deliver his practiced excuse." “Delivered to wr....” He blinks, momentarily thrown off as Tara opens the door, her hair a chaotic mess, pasta sauce smeared up to her cheeks like she’s just face-planted in a pot of marinara.

Behind her, you’re hunched over a massive dish of pasta, a noodle dangling from your lips, your eyes going wide as you choke at the sight of him, your face turning a lovely shade of tomato red.

“Oh, he—uhgh!” you splutter, breaking into a fit of coughing, nearly dropping the fork in your hand.

Xavier’s eyebrow twitches, his frown slowly morphing into a wide grin as his shoulders relax, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in the chaotic scene.

There’s a long, painful beat of silence.

Then Tara, completely unfazed, just wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, shrugs, and steps aside. “You coming in or what, dude?” she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Somehow, Xavier ends up joining your girls’ night, plopping down on the couch, grabbing a fork and helping himself to the monstrous bowl of pasta, because why not?

He makes a few snarky comments about your terrible math skills, but shuts up when you threaten to make him eat his own disastrous cooking as punishment.

Predictably, he’s the first to fall asleep. Conveniently, on your shoulder, his head tucked against your neck, his soft breathing mixing with the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background.

Zayne:

Zayne, of course, doesn’t take the bait.

He’s the only one who doesn’t react to the “She’s busy, bro” text like it’s a declaration of war, because he’s seen this sort of thing before.

As a surgeon, he’s often out of reach, his pager passed off to a resident while he’s deep in the OR, his hands steady, his mind clear as he cuts through flesh and bone. He knows what it’s like to be unavailable, to be occupied with things that demand his full focus.

So when he gets the text, he just blinks at his phone, smiles a little, and sets it down without a second thought, already mentally filing away a dessert he can bring you later, something to help you relax after your busy day.

And he does. He shows up that night, a paper bag in one hand, his coat still smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the faint lines of old scars.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, a little shy, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “I brought tiramisu. Thought you could use a break.”

He’s literally the most precious bby, and you have to resist the urge to hug him right there in the doorway.

Sylus:

He’s in the middle of a deal, lounging back in his leather chair.

He checks his phone on a whim, his fingers flicking over the screen, and sees your text. His lips curl into a slow, arrogant smile as he types out a quick, casual, “Hey, what are you up to, sweetie?”

When the "She's busy, she'll call you later," text comes back, the smile freezes on his lips.

Busy? Busy?

His mood sours instantly. His fingers curl around the edge of his desk. He flicks his gaze back to the fumbling dealer in front of him, and his generosity reserves run dry.

“Out.”

The dealer stumbles back, wide-eyed, sweat beading on his forehead as he stammers out a “Y-Yes, sir!” before practically tripping over his own feet to escape the room.

Sylus leans back in his chair, teeth gritted, jaw tight, the soft click of his metal-tipped fingers against the desk the only sound in the now-silent room.

But just as he’s about to mentally spiral, his phone buzzes again.

“Made a pretty big batch of pasta, would you like some?”

He blinks, eyes flicking to the photo you’ve attached. A literal tub of way too much pasta, the noodles piled high, the sauce thick and steaming, a chaotic heap of carbs that only you and Tara could possibly miscalculate into existence.

He huffs, a quiet, exasperated chuckle slipping past his lips, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He leans back, his head tipping against the cool leather of his chair, a small, fond smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll be there in 20. Don’t start without me.”

And just like that, his mood is ruined in a completely different way, his dark, dangerous aura slipping into something much softer as he straightens his tie and stands, already picturing you waiting with a bright grin and a mismatched fork.

Caleb:

“Why does she get to use your phone and I don’t?” Caleb storms around your apartment, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor, his uniform still perfectly pressed.

It’s been an hour of this. A Fleet Colonel throwing a full-on tantrum in your tiny studio, pacing like a caged animal, his jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he’s debating strangling the nearest pillow. You did put your plushies away at the first given chance.

Pouting. Whining. Sharp, accusing glances thrown your way every time you so much as move.

You’re honestly grateful that Tara had left before this. She’d probably just laugh and egg him on, and you don’t need two chaotic messes in your living room right now.

“Caleb, I was busy,” you try to reason, leaning against the kitchen counter as he paces. “I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

He whirls to face you, his eyes dark, his jaw ticking, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, untouched by the cap he’d clearly ripped off the second he stormed through your door. Your mind unhelpfully drifts to the way that uniform clings to his shoulders, the way his collar hugs his throat, and nope, now is not the time for that.

“Busy?” he spits, his voice a low, irritated rumble. “Busy with what? And why with her, exactly?”

You sigh, pressing a hand to your forehead, already exhausted from the emotional hurricane that is Caleb. “I was cooking, Caleb. With Tara. I didn’t want to leave you hanging, so I asked her to text you back.”

He scoffs, his shoulders tense, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to try that excuse again.

Rage bait Tara is Colonel Caleb’s worst nightmare come to life. Given how you never seem to care how close she gets to you, how easily she invades your space, how unapologetically she teases you.

Much to Caleb’s dismay, you never seem to mind.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

average United States contains 1000s of pet tigers in backyards" factoid actualy [sic] just statistical error. average person has 0 tigers on property. Activist Georg, who lives the U.S. Capitol & makes up over 10,000 each day, has purposefully been spreading disinformation adn [sic] should not have been counted

I have a big mad today, folks. It's a really frustrating one, because years worth of work has been validated... but the reason for that fucking sucks.

For almost a decade, I've been trying to fact-check the claim that there "are 10,000 to 20,000 pet tigers/big cats in backyards in the United States." I talked to zoo, sanctuary, and private cat people; I looked at legislation, regulation, attack/death/escape incident rates; I read everything I could get my hands on. None of it made sense. None of it lined up. I couldn't find data supporting anything like the population of pet cats being alleged to exist. Some of you might remember the series I published on those findings from 2018 or so under the hashtag #CrouchingTigerHiddenData. I've continued to work on it in the six years since, including publishing a peer reviewed study that counted all the non-pet big cats in the US (because even though they're regulated, apparently nobody bothered to keep track of those either).

I spent years of my life obsessing over that statistic because it was being used to push for new federal legislation that, while well intentioned, contained language that would, and has, created real problems for ethical facilities that have big cats. I wrote a comprehensive - 35 page! - analysis of the issues with the then-current version of the Big Cat Public Safety Act in 2020. When the bill was first introduced to Congress in 2013, a lot of groups promoted it by fear mongering: there's so many pet tigers! they could be hidden around every corner! they could escape and attack you! they could come out of nowhere and eat your children!! Tiger King exposed the masses to the idea of "thousands of abused backyard big cats": as a result the messaging around the bill shifted to being welfare-focused, and the law passed in 2022.

The Big Cat Public Safety Act created a registry, and anyone who owned a private cat and wanted to keep it had to join. If they did, they could keep the animal until it passed, as long as they followed certain strictures (no getting more, no public contact, etc). Don’t register and get caught? Cat is seized and major punishment for you. Registering is therefore highly incentivized. That registry closed in June of 2023, and you can now get that registration data via a Freedom of Information Act request.

Guess how many pet big cats were registered in the whole country?

97.

Not tens of thousands. Not thousands. Not even triple digits. 97.

And that isn't even the right number! Ten USDA licensed facilities registered erroneously. That accounts for 55 of 97 animals. Which leaves us with 42 pet big cats, of all species, in the entire country.

Now, I know that not everyone may have registered. There's probably someone living deep in the woods somewhere with their illegal pet cougar, and there's been at least one random person in Texas arrested for trying to sell a cub since the law passed. But - and here's the big thing - even if there are ten times as many hidden cats than people who registered them - that's nowhere near ten thousand animals. Obviously, I had some questions.

Guess what? Turns out, this is because it was never real. That huge number never had data behind it, wasn't likely to be accurate, and the advocacy groups using that statistic to fearmonger and drive their agenda knew it... and didn't see a problem with that.

Allow me to introduce you to an article published last week.

This article is good. (Full disclose, I'm quoted in it). It's comprehensive and fairly written, and they did their due diligence reporting and fact-checking the piece. They talked to a lot of people on all sides of the story.

But thing that really gets me?

Multiple representatives from major advocacy organizations who worked on the Big Cat Publix Safety Act told the reporter that they knew the statistics they were quoting weren't real. And that they don't care. The end justifies the means, the good guys won over the bad guys, that's just how lobbying works after all. They're so blase about it, it makes my stomach hurt. Let me pull some excerpts from the quotes.

"Whatever the true number, nearly everyone in the debate acknowledges a disparity between the actual census and the figures cited by lawmakers. “The 20,000 number is not real,” said Bill Nimmo, founder of Tigers in America. (...) For his part, Nimmo at Tigers in America sees the exaggerated figure as part of the political process. Prior to the passage of the bill, he said, businesses that exhibited and bred big cats juiced the numbers, too. (...) “I’m not justifying the hyperbolic 20,000,” Nimmo said. “In the world of comparing hyperbole, the good guys won this one.”

"Michelle Sinnott, director and counsel for captive animal law enforcement at the PETA Foundation, emphasized that the law accomplished what it was set out to do. (...) Specific numbers are not what really matter, she said: “Whether there’s one big cat in a private home or whether there’s 10,000 big cats in a private home, the underlying problem of industry is still there.”"

I have no problem with a law ending the private ownership of big cats, and with ending cub petting practices. What I do have a problem with is that these organizations purposefully spread disinformation for years in order to push for it. By their own admission, they repeatedly and intentionally promoted false statistics within Congress. For a decade.

No wonder it never made sense. No wonder no matter where I looked, I couldn't figure out how any of these groups got those numbers, why there was never any data to back any of the claims up, why everything I learned seemed to actively contradict it. It was never real. These people decided the truth didn't matter. They knew they had no proof, couldn't verify their shocking numbers... and they decided that was fine, if it achieved the end they wanted.

So members of the public - probably like you, reading this - and legislators who care about big cats and want to see legislation exist to protect them? They got played, got fed false information through a TV show designed to tug at heartstrings, and it got a law through Congress that's causing real problems for ethical captive big cat management. The 20,000 pet cat number was too sexy - too much of a crisis - for anyone to want to look past it and check that the language of the law wouldn't mess things up up for good zoos and sanctuaries. Whoops! At least the "bad guys" lost, right? (The problems are covered somewhat in the article linked, and I'll go into more details in a future post. You can also read my analysis from 2020, linked up top.)

Now, I know. Something something something facts don't matter this much in our post-truth era, stop caring so much, that's just how politics work, etc. I’m sorry, but no. Absolutely not.

Laws that will impact the welfare of living animals must be crafted carefully, thoughtfully, and precisely in order to ensure they achieve their goals without accidental negative impacts. We have a duty of care to ensure that. And in this case, the law also impacts reservoir populations for critically endangered species! We can't get those back if we mess them up. So maybe, just maybe, if legislators hadn't been so focused on all those alleged pet cats, the bill could have been written narrowly and precisely.

But the minutiae of regulatory impacts aren't sexy, and tiger abuse and TV shows about terrible people are. We all got misled, and now we're here, and the animals in good facilities are already paying for it.

I don't have a conclusion. I'm just mad. The public deserves to know the truth about animal legislation they're voting for, and I hope we all call on our legislators in the future to be far more critical of the data they get fed.

[tonycries]

Freak On The Cam! - C.K.

Synopsis. Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, camgírl! reader, spítting, Choso has rings and piercings, first times + loss of vírginity (Choso’s), oral (fem receiving), exhíbitionism, DOWN BAD Choso, cúmplay, use of “ma’am”, Sukuna is a menace, víbrators, light jealousy (Choso’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.5k

A/N. Meant to post this last week but hehe here we are. Also I’ve GOT to stop using Unc-kuna so much lmao.

“Wanna see a movie or do you wanna make one?”

Choso was screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. So badly, in fact, that he might as well just wipe off every trace of himself online and go into hiding - preferably forever.

All because he had been so stupidly careless as to leave his phone unattended for exactly 1 minute and 47 seconds around Sukuna. 

In the time it took Choso to raid the kitchen for his favorite brand of cereal, his uncle had managed to open his Twitter (because “that’s where all the juicy stuff is”), stalk your pretty page at the very top of his last searched, and send a god-awful pick-up line that would probably get him blocked. Or worse.

Damnit, he knew he shouldn’t have made his password Yuji’s birthday.

“Ya should be thankful I didn’t DM her myself, brat.” Sukuna chuckles, not even a shred of regret in his tone, way too amused with how Choso was frantically trying to tackle the phone out of his hands. “What’s the harm in asking? Such a pretty camgirl, n’ you look like you need some good pu-”

“She’s also my classmate.”

“Kinky. Even better.” 

No, not “even better”. God, this must be some kind of cosmic joke, and Choso just wished the Earth would swallow him up whole right now - and maybe his phone along with it too. 

It had taken him almost a whole semester to work up the courage to just sit next to you during your shared lecture. All gorgeous with your bright smiles, and your smart mouth. And Choso was very much content to admire you from afar - and from behind his phone screen, of course.

Never following, never liking. Never tipping you off as one of your hundreds of thousands of fans.

And now, not only had Sukuna revealed that he’d found your secret Twitter account - the one with those sinful little clips of yourself that had Choso opening the app way too much - he’d also propositioned you. Like some creep.  

“Ugh. This is why women hate you.” Still desperately grappling, he spits out more to himself than Sukuna at this point. “B-besides, she’s never even gonna respond any-”

Ping!

And the Itadori household had never been quieter. Never, on a random Saturday during spring break. Never, as the two men crowd the phone, jaws dropped and staring wordlessly at the singular message on screen. You. 

“Let’s make one ;)”

---

“So s’not a stream this time, jus’ a video. Is that okay?”  You hum from your desk, glancing at the man seated on your bed as he hastily nods along with whatever you said. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

Weird. 

It had only been a few days of back and forth since you’d gotten that first text - the one that you’d honestly thought about blocking like the thousands of others. But there was just something about it that made you stop, something that had you clicking on the profile to delve a little deeper.

It hit you like a semi-truck back then - five of them, in fact - that this was someone in your class. Someone you knew. How the hell did he even find this account? 

You knew Choso as that sweet - albeit slightly gloomy - kid that sat next to you, always quick with his answers and even quicker to look away from your gaze, no matter how hard you tried to spark a conversation. You’d just guessed he was afraid of you or something.

So nothing could’ve prepared you for how ridiculously attractive he looked in that profile picture, all smug grins and dark locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner. Shirtless, giving just a peak of- oh god, were those nipple piercings?  

Could you really be blamed? You just had to have him.

But, here - it was like he was just itching to run away at the first chance he got. 

“You’re not held at gunpoint, y’know.” you giggle at how he startles at the mere sound of your voice. The mattress dips as you stop fiddling with the camera to sit next to him, thighs flush against his muscled ones. “Are you sure you want-”

“Yes.” 

It seems that both of you were surprised by the abrupt response. Too quick. Choso clears his throat, cheeks flaring as he tries to dredge up some semblance of dignity, he drawls lightly. “I mean- Yes.”

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - nothing quite like the suave impression his pick-up line gave off. 

But so irresistible just the same.

“Well…Cho.” you bat your lashes, voice dropping to a seductive whisper - not too heavy, for now at least. “Then why won’t you even look at me?”

Alas, Choso was not a strong man. 

Maybe at your words, maybe at that playful little nickname you gave him, he’s finally raising those dark eyes to look at you. Twinkling with- fear? anticipation? A flicker of something so dangerous as his gaze sweeps greedily over that tight dress you put on just for this occasion. 

Choso tries to ignore how sinfully it hugs all your curves. Or the way it would look a million times better on the floor. 

This was absolute torture. 

And God he thinks he could pass out right then and there as you lean in closer. Too close. The temperature in the room suddenly increasing by about 10 degrees as you purr, tone careful and balanced. “Much better. And now…” 

His breathing becomes heavier, eyes flickering downwards. Once. Twice. 

And you know you’ve got him in the palm of your hand. 

“...all you gotta do is touch me.”

Yeah, if Choso thought he was going to pass out before then he definitely wasn’t ready for those dangerous little words. Ones that have him shaken right to the core - fighting that urge to just take you how he’s imagined all those lonely nights.

“You- huh?” he lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he crosses his legs with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, desperately trying to will away the blood rushing straight to his throbbing cock right now. 

But how could he? Not when you only shift closer, barely even a hair’s breadth between you two - relishing in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. Such an adorable pout playing on your lips as you mutter, “Do you not want to?”

And he did. Oh, how he did - has been imagining it for the past five months, in fact. And Choso lets you know, a little twenty times, actually, as the words spill panickedly from his lips. 

“-idiot trying to set me up and I’ve been dreaming of fucking you for so long but I’m just-” Heat rushes to Choso’s cheeks, as he abruptly shuts the fuck up. But it’s too late - the damage has been done.

You give him a wry smile, lips mere inches from his ear. “Just what?”

His breath hitches, muscles rippling so deliciously as he shudders beneath your touch. “I’m a-” Choking out - as if it physically hurts to  admit - “-virgin.”

Oh. 

Now, you might’ve expected many things - but certainly not this. Though, looking at the cute flush on the tips of his ears, all the way down to those big, needy eyes, you don’t mind. Not one bit.

With one, quick glance at the rolling camera - your mouth is moving before your mind. “Do you want me to…do something about it?”

And then it’s like something snapped. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Choso’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him - how could you not? 

Because goddammit it was always those pretty lips that you were staring at whenever he was spouting off answers in class. You just never expected he’d be kissing you back with such an infectious desperation. 

No sooner are you thinking about how sweet his lips are before he’s pulling away with a soft sigh, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. Your neck. Back to your lips like he wanted everything and anything.

You gasp licks a long, languid stripe up your neck - maybe at how utterly obscene it felt, maybe at that sharp cold feeling that makes you flinch. Fuck - a tongue piercing? The noise makes Choso’s mouth drop into a quick oh! surging forward to claim your lips again. Addicted. 

Only to be stopped by your hands cupping his face, letting out a pained grunt at how he was so close. Just a hair’s breadth away from your lips.

“Cho~ Open your mouth, baby.” you whisper, hotly. 

And he looked so pretty - dark hair askew, lower lip swollen and quivering with need, brows furrowing because he wanted more of your taste. But he obeys, of course he does, Choso thinks he’ll do anything you asked. And lo and behold, sitting right there in the middle of his tongue was a pretty silver piercing.

You just can’t help but thumb open his mouth further, looking him right in the eyes as you spit in his mouth. Once. Twice. 

“Bet no one else has done this before, huh?” Grinning at how sinfully Choso’s eyes roll to the back of his head at your taste, “Kiss me proper now.”

God, you were so good at throwing away whatever was left of his poor sanity. And it’s all that’s said before his kiss-bitten lips are crashing into yours again. 

“No. No one’s hah- done that before. Only you.” he’s panting into your open mouth, swirling his tongue with yours. “F-fuck only you. Only you only you-”

You barely even realize the way you’re on his lap now, sitting so prettily there that Choso half-deliriously wonders whether he should take a picture. Mind spinning too much with his throbbing erection under your drenched panties, a damp little patch at his fat tip. So hot and heavy already.

“Cho, do you want me to-”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You certainly don’t have to be told twice - especially with that little nickname. Fiddling with his belt, you’re so hazy with want - the need to taste Choso, to see if the rest of him was as sweet as his lips - that you almost miss the look of confusion that flashes across his face.

You bat your lashes at him almost-innocently, “You alright?” And Choso thinks he could cum right there and right now at the sight. If he wasn’t currently battling for his life, that is. 

“Yeah, s’jus’- what I wanted hah- was to…” His hands sneak down, cupping your heated pussy through your drenched panties. “-taste her. ”

“Oh?”

“Are y’gonna teach me how?”

Oh. Fuck.

You know you’re fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

Only moments later, Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress, face-to-face with your sloppy pussy. So mean with the way he was pinning your hips down with one hand, all but ripping your panties off with the other. 

You feel his piercing before his tongue. Both the hot and cold so maddening on your cunt as Choso licks long, lazy stripes up your puffy folds - dragging his hot tongue all the way from your base. Just grazing your swollen clit. 

“Teach me- fuck fuck-” words muffled and slurring together, vibrations going straight to your pussy. “Use me. Use me how you want.”

You’re threading your fingers through his dark locks before you even realize it, grinding your sloppy cunt all over his waiting mouth. “Quirk your tongue like- ngh-” Angling him close enough so he bullies his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Piercing massaging all the right places. “Fuck-”

“Like this?”

“Sh-shit,” you gasp, nodding deliriously. “S’too ngh- good.”

And by God, did you mean it. 

“Yeah? Y’like this?” he’s groaning, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. “Can feel you clenching around me. Shit shit shit, you love this, huh? So slutty on camera for it?” 

Getting wetter and wetter by the second as his tongue roams for that one-

“Oh! F-fuck, Cho. Right hngh- there. Deeper-”

Ah, found it.

Choso grins as you tug on his soft strands, you can feel it on your throbbing pussy. Pushing your legs all the way till they’re at your tits to hit that little spot each and every time. Again and again. Eyes glassy, torn between devouring that slutty expression on your face and how fucking drenched you were. 

“Shit, baby,” his words are so strained now, like his sanity was dancing away at each flick of his tongue. “You’re drooling everywhere. See? Show the camera now.”

You don’t have to look. Because you can feel it.

Can feel how wet his mouth is, just glistening with slick and saliva. Trailing all the way down his chin - to his wrist - only second to how sloppy your dripping cunt was. It was like he was getting messy on purpose, like a little reminder to himself that shit this was you and he was eating out your pretty cunt to insanity-

“Oh my god, think m’hooked.” Tongue dragging all over your swollen folds, catching on his piercing. “Think your pretty lil’ pussy’s hah- driving me crazy. Ruined me, Fuck-”

And it’s so embarrassing how he’s talking you through it, grinning at every lil’ whine and whimper that leaves your mouth. You were acting all shy right now in a way that makes Choso’s cock twitch so painfully. He barely even notices, though, with the way he was so drunk off your pussy. 

So messy - unable to decide between rolling his tongue over your ravaged clit and dipping into your sloppy hole. Too much. In and out in and-

“Faster.”

He goes faster. 

“H-harder.”

He goes harder.

Anything and everything for you - to keep those pretty moans falling from your lips, walls getting tighter and tighter around his tongue. And Choso might just consider himself a man addicted.

“Can you ngh- cum f’me, baby?” You flinch as he spits out the words into your cunt. Harsh. Fucked-out. Sounding just as delirious and breathless as you. “Cum f’me please. Wan’ to taste y’on my tongue. Please. Fuck- need it so bad. So bad.”

You’re so caught up in Choso’s pussydrunk little babbles that you barely even realize when you’re cumming. Just that you’re letting out a strangled scream of his name, dragging your sloppy pussy all over his mouth. 

And he has never seemed more blissed out. Long gone is that nervous little expression usually on his face around you, Choso looked like he could be suffocated in-between your legs right now and love it. Hope for it, even.

He tells you that, of course. As soon as you’re blinking back your vision, blood still roaring in your ears. Delicate strings of slick snapping where he parts from your quivering cunt, lips swollen and glossed so prettily with your sweet sweet juices. 

“Baby, y’think the video of lesson one came out good?”

Oh. Shit, what have you done?

---

That certainly wasn’t the last time you saw Choso - or the last time you had him in front of a camera, either.

A few weeks later, you found yourself with an entire album for the man - a hidden treasure trove under the simple name of “Cho <3”. Most of the videos favorited, all sorted so tediously in a way that showed you spent an obscene amount of time looking at all the ways he ruined you. 

So filthy on camera that you always wondered whether it was the same person in the sheets and in class, texting Choso for later. Just to confirm. 

But embarrassingly, only some of these videos made their way onto your Twitter account - with Choso’s pretty face largely out of the frame. The two of you hadn’t ventured into streams yet either, opting to hide him away. Because, okay, maybe you were slightly jealous of other people seeing him - but it was really hard not to be when he looked like that.

In spite of all that, you’d still gained a casual hundred thousand more followers since his appearance - ones who always commented on your solo streams asking where your “hot emo bf” was.

Comments you’d pointedly ignore, because, hell, you wished he was here on-stream helping you get off, too. Yet despite the endless flirting and videos, Choso actually hadn’t made it further than actually holding a full conversation with you. And you wanted more. 

For all you know, you might just be one of his many trysts - and it was just for the videos, right? You get the content, he gets the experience? A win-win situation, so why have you never felt more like such a loser?

Such a loser the way you’ve already lost count of the “lessons” but still haven’t gotten to feel him - to fuck him the way you wanted just yet. 

“S’alright if I take this, right, ma’am?” He smirks during one such session, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. Dangling your drenched panties like a badge of honor, flimsy and soaked with your sweet sweet juices. “S’alright if I-” And he can’t even finish the sentence. Your jaw drops as Choso raises the thin fabric to his face, breathing in your essence like a man possessed. 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“You’re so filthy, Cho-” you manage to choke out once you find your voice. Squirming on his bed like such a slut for him. “Was the innocent thing just an act?”

“Nope.” he pops the p, licking lewd little circles on your neck, thumbing open your puffy folds to watch in amazement at the way you glisten and clamp around his fingers. Eyes flickering briefly to the recording phone in his hand. “But we gotta give ‘em a good show, huh?”

Right, you’d forgotten about the camera. But none of that matters anyway because-

Intensity setting 2.

“You’re so mean, too.”

“Am I?” he grins, teeth grazing along your racing pulse. “I think you taught that to me, baby. Shit, lesson 8 it was?”

God, he was addictive.

Choso’s having way too much fun playing around with the intensity setting of the bullet vibrator shoved inside your ravaged cunt. Sending quick, methodical vibrations all along your pulsing clit. In time with the breathless moans leaving your kiss-bitten lips, and it’s all you can to call out for- more? Mercy? Both? 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“God, you’re so perfect. Shit, so messy f’me.” he groans, and you could tell that the video wasn’t going to be uploaded anyway. Too shaky, focusing in and out of Choso’s fingers. Knuckle-deep and pumping in and out of your filthy hole. Relentless. “Almost makes me wanna show off to an actual audience.”

“Maybe I want to, too.” you muse, shifting at his heated gaze. Dangerously pressing your thumb over those nipple piercings you’ve gotten to know so well lately - as if to support your point. God you wish he’d take off that snug shirt.

Intensity setting 3.

“That so?”

And no matter how many times Choso’s ruined you on camera - and watched the videos over and over afterwards - he always thought they weren’t enough to capture your perfection. 

“Such a slut f’me, baby.” To capture the exact moment in which your wet lips fall into a soft little oh! when he massages your walls in time with the pulsing vibrator. To capture that absolutely sinfully excited little glint in your eyes as he ruts his clothed erection against your pussy. “Y’always this dirty?” Quickly turning into a look of slight panic at the sudden jingle of keys from the front door. 

“Yo, brat. Where the fuck are ya?”

Ah, there he was, the reason that Choso usually locked his bedroom door whenever you were over, even if he was home alone. 

Intensity setting 4.

As the silence continues, so does Choso’s abuse on your cunt. In fact, he only gets more erratic - like he wanted you to cum. Needed you to cum right now, right here in front of Sukuna, footsteps only growing louder. Nearer.

“Cho-” you fight to get out the words. “He’s hah-.”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“Can’t speak? That’s cute.” he coos, voice way too relaxed for someone whose mind was reeling with the realization that he couldn’t remember if he locked the door this time, and how adorable you sounded. Enough so that it made some raw, primal part of him wanna pull down his pants and fuck you right here right now. Cockblocks and his own virginity be damned. “C’mon now, use your words like a good girl. Tell the camera.”

Cocky bastard.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“Close!” you yelp, unsure of whether you were talking about yourself or the looming Sukuna. Jaw slack, tears springing into your ears as you look up at Choso. “So close.”

God, you were addictive. And this video was definitely going in both your favorites.

“Mhm,” he hums, movements getting hastier. More desperate. “I know, ma’am.”

Intensity setting 5.

That’s all that it takes for you to cum, letting out a loud strangled moan of Choso’s name. Or, you would’ve - if it hadn’t been for the way he’s shoving two, thick fingers into your mouth.

Silencing you - and in your hazy brain you think that if this was his way of shutting you up, then you really didn’t mind. Because all you could taste was you and the cold, cold metal of his rings. Somewhat intoxicating.

“Shhhhhh.” he’s breathing out, still mindlessly grinding his hips into yours. Though, you realize with a pang that today won’t be the day you get to feel that achingly hard erection straining his pants. “These pretty moans aren’t for him, hm?”

Pressing on the back of your tongue, smirking at the way you nod tearily up at him, moans still muffled. Hell, do you even know how sexy you’re being right now.

“Mhm, all f’me. All for fuckin’ me.”

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Why the fuck are you locked up in here on a Saturday night?” Sukuna sounds impatient, but not surprised. Probably imagining all sorts of dorky things his nephew was doing to hole himself up in his room. “Come out n’ get this takeout- what’s left of it anyways.”

And with that, it’s like the magic is over.

Your high only just bating before Choso’s hurriedly ending the recording on a hazy still of your disappointed pout, cursing Sukuna for his impeccable timing. 

Slightly concerned about the door being broken down and someone else seeing you in all your fucked-out glory, he hastily moves to grab the spare cloth by his bedside. Cleaning you up with hushed promises of “sending the recording later”, and “s’alright, he’ll be gone soon.”

Close. You were so close.

A win-win situation - but you’ve never felt like more of a loser.

---

“By God, I never thought he’d get the balls to do it.”

You yelp in surprise at the deep voice from behind you, whirling with a defiant brandish of Choso’s (your?) keys. He’d given them to you a few lessons ago, saying it would make it easier for you to come and go from his apartment as you pleased. Which - to you - felt dangerously like something a boyfriend would say-

But that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was the older man suddenly towering over you right outside Choso’s front door. Big arms crossed over his chest, that leering smirk clashing with his pink hair. “I knew it was odd that brat had a pair of heels by the door.”

Shit. Sukuna.

Ryomen awfully-wingman-his-nephew Sukuna.

“Spill.” At your confused head tilt, he plows on. “Spill the tea. I need new blackmail on my lil’ nephew. How badly did he have to beg you to go out with him?”

You don’t know what was more bizarre - what he was saying or the way he actually pulls out his Notes app as if hanging on to your every word. 

“I-It’s because of you.” you manage to choke out, unsure of what Choso has told his family about you.  Eyes flitting between him and the door right behind you, sounding your very best not to sound just as guilty as you felt. “You’re the reason we have this weird…thing.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two. 

And just as you’re beginning to wonder whether you’ve broken Choso’s infamous uncle, he throws his head back and laughs. Laughs, right in your face, sounding like he’d just heard the funniest punchline in the world. 

“Oh that’s hilarious.” he exclaims, wiping a mock tear. Cackles dying down as if he was suddenly aware that maybe Choso would hear and walk in on this impromptu interrogation. “Damn, that awful pick-up line is why you started fuckin’? I thought it’d get that sap blocked so he’d stop stalking your account so much.”

“No, we…” you hesitate, mind reeling with what Sukuna just admitted, and how bad it would really be that you’re divulging your sex life to a relative of the guy you’re fucking. Before thinking fuck it, might as well confide in someone. “...we’re just doing stuff for-” putting up air quotes. “-content.”

“Just content?”

“Just content.”

“And you like that fool?”

Your face burns at how glaringly obvious it apparently was, “...Yes.”

This seemingly sets Sukuna off on another wave of uncontrollable laughter. “Ohh, thanks for the blackmail on that emotionally-constipated brat.” Typing away on what you assume to be his Notes, he promptly turns to walk away, “See ya around, doll.”

“Wait!” you call after in confusion, making him stop and raise a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to like- I don’t know, give me advice for your nephew or something - like a good uncle?”

Scoffing, “Who said I was a good uncle?” He leans in ever-so-slightly, “Jus’ rock his world on camera or somethin’ n’ ask him out right in the middle.” Satisfied with being enough of a decent samaritan for today, he walks back with a half-wave, “He’d listen to whatever you say anyway.”

Oh. Is that so?

And Sukuna probably meant it as some joke. Something to tease the both of you with - but it’s something that sets the gears going off inside your head. Something that had you ignoring Sukuna’s slightly panicked, “Jus’ not too soon, I needa bully him with this first.”

---

You didn’t listen to Sukuna’s little plea, of course. Because only a few days later you’d steeled yourself to finally send that one text you knew would change your relationship with Choso. For the good, hopefully. 

You: 9pm my place. Get ready, cuz this time we’re gonna be live ;)

Cho <3: :0 

And with that, you’d thrown your phone on the bed, jittery about later tonight. Browsing through your wardrobe for that one set of barely-there lingerie in his favorite shade of pink. Hey, you could never be too prepared, right?

Nothing could’ve prepared Choso for this moment - absolutely nothing at all. 

He might’ve just died and gone to heaven the very moment he read that dangerous text - finally inviting him to join one of your streams. The ones that he’d always watch in the safety of his bedroom, lights dimmed, pants bunched around his ankles. 

Cock just achingly hard in his fist while he wished he was with you behind the camera. Getting you off so much better than any sextoy would. Just forcing those pretty moans from your lips - and everyone else could see that. Wish it was them ruining you instead. 

Alas, it was only a dirty little fantasy. 

Until now, that is.

slvt4u: Holy shit boyfriend reveal, about time.

uniwhore: THIS is the hottie from Twitter????? 

itsgenslut: idfc just fuck

“Nervous?” you smirk, looking down at the man sprawled so prettily on your bed. “You look just as close to an aneurysm as you were the first time. Though-” snaking your hand down, “-this is still the same as ever.”

You chuckle at the way Choso catches your lips with his, more to shut up those pathetic little moans threatening to escape him than anything. Because every glance at you in that sinful little pink bra gave Choso a mini heart attack. 

“B-baby-” he gasps, grinding his clothed erection against your palms. “I wan- hah-”

“Mhm?”

And God how you’ve ruined Choso - run him so utterly dry of his sanity.

Because he’s angling your head down, piercing cold against your tongue. “Spit.”

It was like that first time had gotten him addicted. So you do - right into his waiting mouth. Jaw dropping at the way he tips his head back, back, back to let it slide so obscenely down his throat. Moaning at just a taste of you, “God, I need to f-fucking ruin you.”

And if there’s anything you’ve learned after all these months with Choso, it’s that anything he says - he does.

The words have barely left his mouth before he’s pulling your bra off, ripping your panties easily off your hips. Each and every little regret about what a shame it was thrown out the window at the first sight of your pretty pussy. 

It never gets old - and Choso could never get enough of the sinful sight - your cunt so sloppy and ready for him already. 

“Cho-” you whine as ringed fingertips coming up to circle your sloppy entrance. Cold. Stretching you to insanity. “S-stop teasing.”

“Yes, ma’am. But first-” shifting you around ever-so-slightly on top of him. “Gotta show off how wet y’are f’me.”

uniwhore: did he just call her “ma’am”?? Me when??

roses101: idk who i wanna be they’re both so fucking hot ugh

“Fuck, y’look so sexy from this angle. Wonder if the camera thinks so too?”

Your face slightly burns at how he was seemingly taking over your own stream. Smug bastard, you think, glancing down at Choso, red-faced, hair untied, wearing a sly grin as his eyes slide over the flurry of comments. But two can play that game. 

“Cho~” fumbling with the hem of his underwear, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

A gasp leaves you involuntarily as you tug down Choso’s boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring free, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Blushed your favorite shade of pink - to match your bra - so so angry and soaked in precum. 

He was so intimidatingly long - longer than any of those toys you usually brought on camera. Thick enough that it had you wondering, shit, would you even be able to take it?

“S’this a-alright?” and for all his previous confidence, Choso sounded self-conscious. Peeking at you through his long lashes.

You grin, pumping a hand up and down his swollen cock, letting his precum drip down your wrist. “S’perfect.”

“God- fuck, baby. Oh-” Choso lets out breathless little profanities as you straddle his waist, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy as you sink down in by fucking in. Slowly. “Too- much-”

Apparently too slow because no sooner have you just taken in his fat tip, squeezing and clenching around him, that Choso’s flipping the both of you over. 

“M’sorry.” he breathes into your mouth as your back hits the mattress. “M’sorry m’sorry, fuck- just can’t-” fingers immediately drawing frenzied little circles on your pulsing clit to take your mind off the dizzying stretch as he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. “Can’t wait can’t wait- waited too fucking long. Want this so badly-”

You felt too good. Too perfect around him. 

“Ah! Hngh- Cho, oh my god. Too- ngh-” you moan, as he starts grinding in shallow, mindless little movements just to fit himself inside. Pushing and pushing, you wondered if he even realized what he was doing.

Sounding like his sanity was dwindling away with each little thrust, “S’too big? You can take it. Fuck fuck fuck please. Need this.” Pressing all the way into your lungs. “How do you wan’ it- how do you wan’ me?”

Honestly, Choso didn’t even need to ask, because he just bottoms out - heavy balls smacking against your ass, cock swollen and throbbing inside you - that you think that you just wanted him to ruin you. 

“R-ruin?” his voice breaks as he repeats - more to himself than you. Oh, shit had you said that out loud? You’re speechless as Choso throws your legs over his shoulder, dragging his swollen lips lazily across your ankle. “Yes ma’am.”

Oh. You might as well have just signed off your will. 

Because then he’s fucking into your sloppy cunt. Unforgiving. A man starved because he was. Jagged, quick thrusts, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his rock-hard cock. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” he pants into your open mouth, finding it so fucking difficult to find any rhythm when your tight cunt was milking him so good. “You feel so good. So messy. Ya love it like this, huh? Being hngh- watched?”

“Hngh-” you buck wildly into his body, reaching up to play coyly with his nipple piercings. Tugging and pulling lightly. “Feels too good- are- ah- are ya sure this is your first time?”

Honestly, it was a wonder Choso didn’t cum right then and there. 

Tojisslvt: need someone to fuck me like this the first time

22sabi: Typing with one hand is so hard.

DaStrongest: i could fuck her so much better than than inexperienced loser

Choso throws his head back in a cruel little laugh at that last comment, something that makes you tingle all the way from your burning cheeks to your stuffed cunt. Clamping down deliciously on Choso’s unforgiving cock in a way that makes his hips and fingers stutter. 

“Ya think you could fuck her better?” it takes you a second to realize he was talking to the camera and not you. Thrusts getting sloppier, getting familiar. “I’m the one that got her so messy like this.” Purposeful. Calculated. Like he was aiming for that one-

“Fuck!” you scream as he hits that magic spot. Once. And then over and over like a man possessed. Just so utterly ruining you the way you knew he could. “Cho oh my god- I can’t hah- ngh-”

The cold metal of Choso’s rings dig into your cheek softly as he turns you head to face him. God, this was the stuff of his wildest dreams.

You - teary eyed and looking up at him like such a slut. Pussy getting wetter - tighter - as he teases you in front of the camera. Torn between running away from his relentless cock and bucking up for more more more-

 “Fuck no no no- Keep your legs open, baby. Don’t hah- run away from me.” his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. “Don’t- need this. Need this so ba- shit.” 

And he sounded so genuinely worried he’d lose the feeling of your heady cunt. Fingers bruising on your hips as he pulls you closer. Like he was trying to fuck out any and every shred of shyness out of your body. 

slvt4u: Always the quiet ones.

DaStrongest: heh, fuck off. i’d make her cum so much harder.

Now, Choso was fucking you like he had a point to prove, and it was probably the only reason he hadn’t passed out from how good your pussy felt wrapped around him. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point - and he was out of control now.

Pussy drunk thoughts unfiltered, “No one’s ever d-done this- got me hah- feeling like this.” And you had the distinct feeling he just beat you to your original goal, letting out sweet little babbles into your open mouth - though his hips were anything but. 

So hard that you were sure the creases of your sheets would leave marks for tomorrow - along with his balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, lips searing against yours. It was like he wanted to prove something - to prove he was good enough to- the viewers? To you? 

Knowing your body well enough to hit that one spot over and over until you were sobbing. Fingers erratic on your clit. 

“Cho-” you squeal, tears springing to your eyes as he only gets sloppier. “I-I’m gonna-”

“Cum?” he breathes, as if he couldn’t believe it. And fuck if you weren’t the gates of heaven spread wide open for him then he didn’t know what was. “Fucking cum. Please please- hah- f’me. Cum on m’cock n’ make them jealous. F’me- Like you’re mine.”

You barely even realize when you are. Jaw slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you see stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. God, he was gonna have to go home and rewatch this stream all over again. 

“Ngh- m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

Not even realizing the way you’re dragging your nails down Choso’s sculpted back. Marking up his milky skin - and he lets you. 

Loved it in fact- the way he loved you. 

Your eyes go wide, and Choso knows he’s fucked up. Realizing with a jolt that words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. But it’s the way you squeeze him tighter- giving him such a gorgeous little fucked-out smile that sends him over the edge.

Sharp canines digging into the crook of your neck like he wanted to break skin, holding himself back from breaking you while he cums and cums so hard it hurt. Over and over-

“Love you- love you love you love you-” he’s muttering into the skin, unbarred. “Since I first saw hah- you. Wanted this more than fuck fuck- air that I breathe.”

His seed was oozing out of you now, painting your ravaged pussy white, dribbling down your legs.  So fucking full and debauched. Thick, hot globs that were sure to stain those overpriced new sheets. But did Choso care for the mess? Not at all. 

Because you were holding him so impossibly tight, pushing away the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Whispering little praises as he fucks you through his first time. Close. Warm. Everything he ever dreamed of.

“S’everything I ever dreamed of, too, Cho.”

And he knows he’s won. 

urfavslvt: Proudest nut. Want more.

uniwhore: does this mean couples content??? Pls say yes plsplspls

DaStrongest: invite me next time <3

“Thought you were embarrassed.” he licks soothingly over the bite. Voice shot, piercing smooth against his tongue. Embarrassing little confessions leaving him with each spark of electricity running through his veins. “Thought you didn’t stream w’me cuz of that- but shit. Dreamed of this f’so long. So long-”

Oh?

“Hey, Cho.” your voice rings through his hazy mind. Just enough for Choso to raise his head and meet your intoxicating, sultry gaze. Giving a sly, sidelong glance at the still-blinking camera. 

“Mhm?”

“Wanna film a week’s worth of ‘movies’ in advance?”

---

Sukuna (do not answer): Oi shitty nephew, where r u Jin made me come over with (half) leftovers.

You: Sorry, not home. At the movies rn.

Sukuna (do not answer): When tf do u go to movies?? 

You: Since now, on a date. You probably can’t relate.

Sukuna (do not answer): Stfu n’ stop lying, a date with who? Ur body pillow?? Not like u had the balls to ask out that pretty lil’ camgirl anyway.

Haha

Right? 

You: *girlfriend

Sukuna (do not answer): Huh?

You: Girlfriend.

Sukuna (do not answer): THE FUCKIN’ PICK-UP LINE WORKED??

A/N. This came out a LOT longer than expected. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[wileycap]

Hakoda the Grief Pirate it's time for Hakoda the Grief Pirateeee

Kya is killed, as in canon. Unlike canon, Bato is killed too. This means that rather than join the war, Hakoda goes mad with grief and gathers a few ships' worth of men - desperate, brutal men who want to repay the cruelty of the Fire Nation in kind. Not soldiers, not sailors, killers.

And he takes Katara.

The first place he goes is the Northern Water Tribe. He gets an audience. He goes to Chief Arnook and the elders and says: either I leave here today with a master for my daughter, or none of us leave this room alive.

Katara gets a master.

As in canon, Katara is a prodigy. With a year to focus on her waterbending and drilled by a man wearing her father's face who tells her "we're all going to die doing this" and "but we'll bleed them a thousand times over for every one of us" and most importantly he says "we're going to avenge your mother" - growing up under that man, Katara becomes terrifying.

Sokka is left alone. The last bit of love in his father's heart was spent on him, though he doesn't know it. It was spent on leaving him. It was spent on sparing him from seeing what his father would become.

Sokka goes out often, looking for traders and sailors and ships. He finds no news and too little fish. Until one day, an iceberg cracks open.

The boy is young and Sokka hasn't been a big brother for a while now, but it turns out that it's like riding a penguin - you never really forget. So when Aang gets kidnapped by some ponytailed jerk, of course he goes after him.

That he only manages to ruin Aang's escape and get them both captured is beside the point, okay? The Fire Jerk cheated.

(Appa follows them, if you're wondering. Aang doesn't seem to be in any real danger. Zuko isn't an especially merciless captor, no matter how he tries.)

Sokka finally gets some news. The Frost Wolf is believed to be a Northern raider (to protect his tribe from reprisals) and he is feared. He leaves only one survivor in each of his raids. He tasks them to deliver a simple message: the seas are no longer safe for the Fire Nation. He replenishes his crew with convicts and pirates. They say he has a crazy mechanist working for him. They say that an icy fog follows where he goes, blocking out the sun and chilling Firebenders to the core. They say he can't be killed.

-

"So, these guys of yours -" Sokka began and paused to let the answering "they're not my guys!" wash over him, "do they say anything about a girl?"

The Prince's ears reddened. "I don't listen to that kind of filth."

Which means you have listened, Sokka might have said if he felt like teasing. He didn't.

"Not like that! A girl, a little younger than me. Have you heard anything about that?"

Sokka held his breath. This was it. Of course, it didn't mean anything if Zuko hadn't heard...

"No." The Prince's voice was unusually quiet. Zuko's good eye glinted in the orange light of the torches.

Sokka couldn't help that his exhale caught in his throat on the way out, it wasn't - it was just a shock, he reasoned, it didn't mean anything that Zuko hadn't heard...

Zuko stood up and made to walk out. He stopped at the door.

"I'm sorry," the Prince said. "I have a sister, too."

The door closed and Sokka was left alone and with questions. Questions like:

How did he know?

-

The trip to the Fire Nation is long. Any experienced commander could have told Zuko to limit his interactions with the prisoners. To rotate out their guards and never have their meals brought by the same person if he could avoid it. Any experienced military commander would have seen the risk of two child prisoners, one of who is particularly genial and charming while the other is funny and sarcastic.

Iroh, one of the most experienced military commanders alive, encourages Zuko to learn all he can about his enemy. It's an advantage, you see.

(And if the watch lists are edited to put crewmembers with children into frequent and close contact with the prisoners - well, that's Iroh's prerogative. He is a General. And if there are a few minor navigational errors that lenghten their journey, well, that he knows nothing about. He's a General, not an Admiral.)

Meanwhile, Princess Azula is tasked with putting an end to the Frost Wolf's provocations. It would be terribly inconvenient if she were to have frequent encounters with another bending prodigy, about her age and wearing blue robes and a mask. They should make out about it.

Eventually, they'll all have to reckon with their monstrous fathers and murderous siblings.

[hyunjinsmuze]

A/N it’s not letting me reply to my requests but this is a request!!! so if you have any send them to my inbox ����

You Can Join

warnings: cock warming, oral (fem receiving) a little m x m, use of ‘good girl’

contains: ⛔️smut, threesome, a little fluff

summary: you were only supposed to be seeing your childhood bestfriend and now your involved in a secret you can’t forget

pairing: leeknow x han jisung x reader

words: 3.8k

You used to think summers lasted forever. Long days, scraped knees, and the sound of Changbin’s laugh ringing through the sticky heat like a bell. Back then, he wasn’t a famous rapper with millions of fans chanting his name. He was just Changbin from two streets over, the loud, scrappy kid who could never win at Mario Kart but insisted on rematches until the sun went down.

You didn’t grow up inseparable. It wasn’t like the dramas made it out to be. There were years when you barely talked, middle school drama, new friends, life. But the bond never really broke. You always came back to each other in the end, like bookmarks in a story neither of you had finished reading.

High school was when things started to shift. He got serious about music. You got serious about... well, trying to survive exams and not lose your mind. You cheered him on from the sidelines, sent him stupid memes at 3 a.m., sometimes didn’t talk for weeks but always picked back up like no time had passed.

Then came his debut.

You were proud — like, beyond proud. But it also meant distance. Not emotional, not really. Just time zones, tour schedules, and a version of him you could only see through screens and stage lights. Still, when he did reach out, it was always genuine.

Which brings you to now.

The friendship isn’t deep in the way some childhood friendships are, but it’s solid. It’s honest. He’s one of the few people who’s seen you ugly cry after failing a test and laugh until you snorted cola out your nose. That counts for something.

And the rest of Stray Kids? You’ve met them. Not in a fangirl way, you made that clear from day one. You weren’t there to drool over their visuals. They were Changbin’s people, and slowly, over a handful of get-togethers, they started to become yours, too.

Lee Know was cool, in that slightly intimidating “I’ll-read-you-in-two-seconds” kind of way. He didn’t talk much to you at first, but when he did, it was sharp, not unkind, just observant.

Jisung? He was chaos personified. Hyper, a little awkward, full of jokes. You liked him. He made you feel like you belonged even when you were just sitting quietly on the edge of a group.

You’d hung out with them a few times, movie nights, random meals when Changbin dragged you along, that one beach trip where you fell asleep with sand in your hair and woke up to Jisung drawing something obscene near your ankle with sunscreen.

Still, you were careful. You never overstayed. You knew their world was hectic, private. You never wanted to be that person , the childhood friend trying to milk clout or cling to old memories.

But when Changbin messaged out of the blue, “Hey, I miss your dumb face. Come hang out this weekend?” you said yes without thinking.

Because some bonds don’t need daily maintenance. They just exist. And sometimes, all it takes is a text to remind you that yeah, he still thinks of you as one of his people.

And you? Well. You missed being around people who knew you before.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s quiet when you arrive — too quiet, considering the chaos that usually defines anything involving Stray Kids. You press the buzzer and wait, your reflection staring back at you in the gloss of the dorm’s front entrance glass. The door clicks open and you step inside, greeted by the soft hum of electronics and the faint smell of ramen and cleaning supplies, someone must’ve just cleaned.

You slip your shoes off and glance around. No one's in the hallway. No laughter. No shouting. You frown a little but shrug it off. Changbin did say they might be out. Still, it’s kind of eerie being in their dorm alone, even though it’s not your first time.

Text from Changbin [4:38 PM]:

"Running late — got caught in traffic. Be there in 45ish. You can chill, everyone else is probably out too 🫠 Don’t eat all the snacks."

You snort. Typical.

You wander in further, your steps light on the polished floor. The living room is the same as you remember, slightly messy, with throw blankets half-folded and a weirdly large collection of remotes that no one ever knows how to use. There’s a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. You recognize it, it’s Jisung’s. You pick it up, giving it a small shake before tossing it neatly onto the back of the chair.

There’s something a little too domestic about it all.

You flop down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, letting the silence fill your ears. It’s weird. Not uncomfortable exactly, but unfamiliar. Like you’re sitting inside someone else’s life. You scroll your phone for a bit, switch to some random playlist, and then let your eyes close.

For a moment, you think about Changbin again. It’s always a little bittersweet, seeing him now. You’re proud of him, always, but it’s hard not to notice how different his world is from yours. You’re still you — still figuring things out, still living in the spaces between job applications and late-night cravings. Meanwhile, he’s out here living the kind of life people only dream of.

And yet... he still invites you back.

Maybe that means something.

You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. “Okay,” you mumble to no one. “What now?”

Your eyes wander toward the hallway. A faint sound catches your ear, not music, not talking exactly, but something. A soft thud. Maybe a laugh? You tilt your head. Could be someone’s home after all. You hesitate. You’re not the type to snoop, but boredom’s a dangerous thing.

And maybe… maybe you’re curious.

You make your way down the hall quietly, your bare feet making barely a whisper against the floor. The noise comes from upstairs, the door to the second floor is slightly ajar. That’s when you hear it again.

Voices. Low. Male. A laugh — breathy, almost choked. Then something like…

A kiss?

Your stomach twists strangely, and for a second, you think maybe you misheard. You’re halfway up the stairs before your mind really catches up with your body. You're not trying to spy. You just—

Okay. You kind of are.

Curiosity gets the best of you.

You step carefully up onto the second floor, trying not to breathe too loudly. You follow the sound to one of the bedrooms. The door is cracked open, just enough. You peer through the gap.

And freeze.

There’s Lee Know, sitting back against the headboard. Jisung is half in his lap, straddling his thighs, his hands tangled in Lee Know’s shirt. Their mouths are moving together, slow, deep, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s intimate in a way that feels like a secret and a confession all at once.

You suck in a quiet breath, stepping back. The door creaks just a little under your weight.

Jisung jolts first, wide eyes snapping toward the door. You can see the panic rise in his expression, the way his body goes tense and stiff like someone flipped a switch.

Lee Know’s gaze follows a second later, but his reaction is the complete opposite.

Calm. Composed. Maybe even amused.

“Shit,” Jisung breathes, scrambling a little, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

You’re already raising your hands. “I-I didn’t see anything. I swear. I just heard someone and thought— I’m sorry—”

Lee Know’s voice cuts in. Smooth. Unbothered.

“Don’t go.”

You blink.

He shifts slightly, and Jisung stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Hyung—?”

“If you don’t tell anyone…” Lee Know’s gaze slides back to you. “You can join us.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “W-What?”

His head tilts, dark eyes sharp but unreadable. “I’ve seen how you look at us,” he says casually, like he’s stating the weather. “Especially Jisung.”

Jisung turns red, still trying to process the situation.

You stammer something, probably the beginning of a very weak excuse, but then Lee Know adds, “Come here.”

It’s not a question.

Something about his tone sends a small, electric thrill down your spine. It’s commanding. Teasing. Like he already knows what you’ll choose.

And then he looks to Jisung. “Tell her.”

Jisung licks his lips, eyes flickering nervously between you and Lee Know. “I… We’ve both— kind of— We’ve thought about you. A lot.”

There’s silence. Charged. Breathless.

Your heart is thudding way too fast.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you don’t move either.

You’re not leaving.

Not yet.

You should leave.

You should turn around, go downstairs, and pretend you never saw anything.

But you don’t.

You stand there, fingers clenched against your palms, heart racing so fast it drowns out the sound of your own thoughts. Jisung is still flushed, hands halfway tangled in the hem of his shirt, looking between you and Minho like he’s waiting for someone to wake him up.

Minho is steady. Always steady. His gaze stays locked on yours.

“Come here,” he says again, voice lower now, smooth like honey with a dangerous edge.

You step into the room.

Because you’re not pretending you didn’t hear him. You’re not pretending you haven’t thought about it, too — maybe late at night, alone, your thoughts wandering a little too far into dangerous territory. You’ve seen the way Jisung looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You’ve caught Minho smirking, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

You just never thought they talked about it.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?” Jisung asks, his voice soft, uncertain.

You shake your head. “I won’t.”

Minho smirks slightly, satisfied. He pats the edge of the bed. “Then sit.”

You do.

Close enough that your knees brush Jisung’s thigh.

He swallows hard.

Minho shifts beside him, draping one arm behind Jisung casually, fingers ghosting over his shoulder. “We’ve thought about you,” he says, the words slow, deliberate. “A lot.”

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pulse. “Like… thought about…?”

Minho’s eyes flick down your body, then back up, sharp and warm. “Like how you’d sound,” he says, “if we took turns kissing you.”

Jisung lets out a quiet breath, staring at his lap. Minho’s hand moves to his neck, thumb stroking over his pulse.

“Thought about how you’d look,” he continues, “with your head thrown back, mouth open, begging for more.”

Your thighs press together instinctively. He notices. His smirk widens.

“You’ve got no idea how pretty we think you are,” Minho adds, leaning a little closer. “Or how much we talk about you when we’re alone. Isn’t that right, Ji?”

Jisung groans softly, hiding his face for a second. “Hyung…”

“Tell her.”

You glance between them, your skin prickling with heat.

Jisung shifts, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I—I think about you all the time,” he admits, his voice tight. “Like, fuck, it’s bad. The things I’ve imagined doing to you…”

You shiver.

He looks wrecked just saying it, pink-faced, pupils blown wide, lip caught between his teeth. “I’ve— I’ve jerked off thinking about you,” he blurts out, then immediately covers his face again. “Fuck.”

Minho laughs under his breath. “You’re so shy now, but you’re the one who whines when she texts you at night and you can’t touch yourself.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Jisung squeaks. “Hyung!”

“He gets so desperate,” Minho murmurs, leaning in toward your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. “He’ll send me voice notes begging for permission to touch himself. Just because you posted a photo looking too good.”

You don’t know where to look, everything is heat and tension and the sense that a line has already been crossed, and now there’s no going back.

“What about you?” Minho asks, eyes gleaming. “Have you thought about us?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Both of us?”

You glance at Jisung, then back at him. “Yeah. Both.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Minho leans forward and kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not testing. He kisses you like he’s claiming something, like he’s known you’d taste good and now he’s proving it. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, angling your face exactly the way he wants, tongue sliding against yours, hot and sure.

You whimper into his mouth before you even realize you’re doing it.

When he pulls back, Jisung is staring — eyes blown wide, chest heaving.

Minho tilts his head. “You want to kiss her too?”

Jisung nods, almost desperately.

You don’t even have to move — he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s messier, needier, full of shaky breath and whispered sounds. His hands tremble as they cup your waist, thumbs sliding under your shirt just barely.

When you part, you’re breathless, your mouth kiss-swollen, your head spinning.

Minho’s hand slides down your back, warm and confident. “You want to join us, don’t you?”

You nod.

He smirks, pleased. “Good girl.”

Those two words set something off in you, a shudder deep in your gut. You gasp softly, and Minho clearly notices.

“Oh? You like being called that?”

You bite your lip.

Jisung’s hand moves to yours, fingers lacing together. “Can I touch you more?”

Minho hums. “Only if she says yes.”

You nod again. “Yes.”

Jisung shifts forward and places a kiss just below your jaw, sweet and a little clumsy. His hand slides up under your shirt, not rushing, just exploring — fingers brushing your ribs, then higher.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “So perfect.”

Minho watches you like a predator. “I want you to take your shirt off.”

You hesitate only a second before pulling it over your head.

Both boys groan at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, hands now on your waist. “You’re actually— you’re so hot, I don’t even know what to do—”

“Relax,” Minho says, voice low. “We’ll show her everything. She’ll beg for us by the time we’re done.”

He moves behind you, kissing down the curve of your shoulder, slow and sensual, while Jisung presses soft kisses to your stomach. Your skin is hypersensitive now, every brush of breath or fingertips makes you twitch.

“You still sure about this?” Minho murmurs near your ear.

You nod again, breath hitching. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he says, licking the shell of your ear. “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “Both of you.”

Minho smiles against your skin. “Good girl.”

He moves to unhook your bra, and the moment it falls, Jisung lets out a shaky groan.

Minho slides his hand over your chest, slow and possessive. “Next part,” he whispers, fingers grazing over one of your nipples, “we make you ours.”

Minho doesn’t give you time to overthink.

He nudges Jisung back with a quiet, firm “lie down,” and the younger boy obeys instantly, scooting back against the pillows with wide, glassy eyes.

Then Minho turns to you.

“Strip,” he says simply, voice cool, controlled.

You obey, slowly, nervously, but already burning up. You feel their eyes on you as you slide your pants down, then your underwear. By the time you’re bare, Jisung is chewing his lip and Minho is watching you like he already owns you.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” Jisung whispers.

Minho doesn’t smile — not exactly. He’s too focused. But there’s satisfaction in the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing a fantasy finally come to life.

“C’mere,” he says, and you climb onto the bed.

He positions you right between them, Jisung beneath you, hard and panting, and Minho behind, still half-clothed but completely in control.

“You’re going to take us both tonight,” Minho murmurs in your ear. “You want that, baby?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

Minho hums his approval and kisses down your neck, his hands sliding around your waist to grope your chest again, firmer this time, possessive. “You’re already shaking,” he whispers. “And we haven’t even touched you properly.”

Jisung’s hands find your hips, pulling you down over him so you’re straddling his lap. His clothed cock presses against you, desperate and twitching. “C-Can I take mine off?”

But Minho presses his hand flat against your stomach. “Not yet.”

He glances down at Jisung, who’s panting, already bare, his cock twitching in his pants. “You want her mouth first, Ji?”

Jisung’s eyes are huge, pupils blown. “Y-Yes— wait, I mean—”

Minho smirks. “I meant your mouth on her, baby.”

Jisung’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“Oh—fuck, yes. Yes please.”

Minho grips the back of Jisung’s neck and nudges him downward with calm authority. “On your stomach. Face between her legs.”

You lie back, breath caught in your throat, and Jisung slides down the bed like he’s being summoned by gravity, kissing your thighs, trembling with anticipation.

Minho moves behind him, still fully dressed, and leans over to trail kisses down the curve of Jisung’s spine.

“She’s so wet for us already,” he murmurs, and Jisung groans in agreement as he drags his tongue through your folds, slow and reverent.

Your hips jerk.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, fisting the sheets.

Jisung moans against you, messy and needy — tongue swirling over your clit, then dipping inside you with growing urgency. He clutches your thighs, holding you open, face buried in your heat like he can’t get close enough.

Minho watches over his shoulder, one hand gripping Jisung’s hip, the other stroking down his back.

“Good boy,” he says, and leans in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss between Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Just like that. She loves it, doesn’t she?”

You whimper a moaned “yes,” toes curling.

Jisung licks you faster, lips wrapping around your clit now, sucking gently — making obscene little sounds between desperate breaths. Minho kisses along his spine again, trailing down to the small of his back.

“Such a slut for her,” he murmurs, voice dark with heat. “Bet you’ve dreamed of this. Her thighs around your head. My hands on you. All of us like this.”

Jisung groans into you, the vibration making you gasp, your legs shaking.

“You’re gonna make her come, aren’t you?” Minho growls. “Make her gush all over that pretty mouth.”

You’re already close.

Your hips buck against Jisung’s tongue, and Minho strokes the inside of your thigh, watching your face intently.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come for us.”

You cry out, hips jerking, back arching, one hand tangling in Jisung’s hair as the orgasm crashes over you. He groans into it, licking you through every wave, hands gripping your thighs tight.

When you finally slump back, panting and trembling, Jisung pulls back, lips shiny, chin soaked.

He looks completely wrecked.

Minho leans down and kisses the back of his neck. “That’s my boy.”

Then he turns to you, eyes dark and hungry. “you wanna ride him now baby?” you nod eagerly

“Wanna let him fuck you while I play with you from behind?”

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes—please.”

He pulls off jisungs pants kissing his tights as the boy underneath him squirms and whimpers.

Jisung lays flat on his back as minho moved me to straddle jisung.

He grabs a condom and tosses it to Jisung. “Be quick. Don’t get sloppy.”

Jisung fumbles a little but gets it on, and Minho pulls you back just slightly, slipping a hand between your legs.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, jerking as his fingers slide through your folds.

“So wet,” he mutters. “She’s dripping for you, Ji. You feel that?”

Jisung nods helplessly, eyes glued to where Minho’s fingers are working you open. “I—fuck, I wanna be inside—”

“Then do it.”

Minho helps guide you down — slowly, inch by inch, and both of you moan when he finally fills you. You’re tight, soaked, your walls fluttering around him as you sink fully onto his cock.

“Shit,” Jisung groans, grabbing your hips like he’ll lose control otherwise.

You brace your hands on his chest, panting.

Then Minho wraps one arm around you, pressing his chest to your back. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

You nod.

His free hand travels down, teasing your clit slowly while Jisung twitches inside you, already close from the buildup.

“Look how pretty you are,” Minho whispers. “Both of you. Fucking beautiful.”

You whimper, trying not to buck your hips. Jisung is moaning, every muscle in his body tense.

“Please,” Jisung gasps. “Please let her move—hyung, I can’t—”

Minho’s fingers pinch your clit lightly, making you jolt. “What do you say?”

“Please,” Jisung groans again. “She feels so good, I’ll go crazy if she doesn’t—fuck—please—”

Minho chuckles. “Alright. Move.”

You rock your hips, slowly at first, rolling them just right so that both of you moan again. Jisung bucks up to meet you, nearly sobbing your name under his breath.

Minho bites your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Ride him. Make him lose it.”

You do, building rhythm, faster, needier, until you’re both falling apart. Jisung grips your ass, thrusting up to meet you, whimpering with every motion.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” he warns, and Minho grabs your hips, slowing you down.

“Let go,” he says. “She can take it.”

Jisung moans your name as he finishes, trembling beneath you.

You’re still panting when Minho slides away from behind you.

“My turn,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his pants down.

You stare.

He’s big.

And he knows it, too, the smug look he gives you as he rolls the condom on is enough to make your stomach flip.

He gently moves you off of Jisung and onto your back. “Open for me.”

You spread your legs and Minho moves between them, stroking himself once, twice, before pushing in, slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch.

You both groan.

“Fucking tight,” he mutters, gripping your thighs. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He starts slow, measured, deep strokes that make your toes curl. His hand slips under your leg, pushing your thigh up to get deeper.

“You’re doing so good,” he says. “Taking me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please—faster—”

He obliges, snapping his hips harder, your whole body rocking with the force of it.

Jisung moves beside you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering praise.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “So fucking good, so perfect—”

Minho grabs your jaw and turns your face to his. “Eyes on me.”

You moan louder when he starts pounding into you harder, the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping down his chest. “You love this, don’t you?” he growls. “Being fucked dumb by both of us?”

“Y-Yes—”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit again, fast and unforgiving. “Then come for me. Come while I fuck this perfect pussy.”

You break.

The orgasm rips through you, sudden and overwhelming, your vision goes white, your body trembling under the force of it.

“Good girl,” Minho groans, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into the condom with a low growl.

You barely register him pulling out, collapsing next to you on the bed.

There’s a long silence.

Just panting.

Sticky skin and tangled limbs.

Then Minho brushes a strand of hair from your face and leans in, kissing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nod weakly, breathless. “Yeah… more than okay.”

Jisung cuddles up against your other side, nuzzling your neck. “That was the best day of my life.”

You laugh, dazed.

Minho smirks. “Guess Changbin’s gonna be real confused when he gets home.”

You all burst into giggles, tangled and happy and sated.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

comment if you wanna be added to the tag list

[missdynamighttt]

happy birthday to the love of my life, katsuki bakugo. hope he enjoys his gift for his easter birthday: his favorite little bunny.

it had started with a birthday plan. well—technically a birthday easter plan. the odds of katsuki bakugo’s birthday landing on easter sunday weren’t high, but fate had a sense of humor. and you? you had a sense of drama.

you’d already given him gifts for his birthday. his letter—handwritten, sealed with a kiss, full of sharp sarcasm wrapped around soft, sappy sentiment you’d never admit out loud.

he read it quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, thumb brushing over your kiss mark at the bottom. his brows furrowed in that way they always did when he was feeling too much but didn’t want to show it.

“you’re such a damn brat,” he muttered, voice thick, eyes refusing to meet yours. “but… you write good shit.”

“don’t cry, tough guy.”

he didn’t look up, just folded the letter carefully—too carefully—and tucked it into his nightstand drawer like it was something fragile. precious.

“shut up,” he said, voice rough. “you’re lucky i like your dumb handwriting. even if it looks like a drunk squirrel tried to learn cursive and gave up halfway.”

“aww. that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“don’t push it.”

he reached out, grabbed the front of your shirt, and yanked you into a rough, lingering kiss that left no room for misinterpretation. when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“best fuckin’ letter i’ve ever gotten,” he murmured, low and soft like a secret.

a few small gifts were scattered on the dresser: limited edition all might merch, a new hoodie he’d been eyeing for a while (that he absolutely knew you were going to steal), and that spicy snack mix he always hoarded like a dragon with gold.

he stood there, arms crossed, doing his best to look unimpressed, but the way his ears turned a little red gave him away.

he eyed the merch first, holding the figure up with a raised brow. “…you been stalkin’ my browser history or somethin’?”

you grinned. “nah. just love you enough to pay attention.”

he shot you a look—equal parts flustered and fond. “tch. hoodie’s mine. you’re just gonna steal this in two days.”

“i give it one,” you said sweetly.

he looked at you, eyes soft but unreadable. “still wearin’ it anyway.” then he found the snack mix. “you didn’t eat any, right?”

you gasped, mock offended. “i would never.”

still, he leaned down and kissed your cheek before grabbing the snack mix and tearing it open immediately.

the cake? well, it was slightly lopsided, the frosting uneven, but it was made with love—and caramel with cinnamon. he didn’t say much when he ate it, just grunted, grabbed a fork, and took a second slice without a word.

you hovered awkwardly nearby. “so… good?”

he chewed slowly, gave you a deadpan look. “tastes like love and poor frosting skills.”

“rude.”

he grinned, leaned over, and pressed a sweet kiss to your temple. “still the best fuckin’ cake i’ve had in years.”

“you say that every time.”

“yeah,” he said, mouth full. “and i fuckin’ mean it every time.”

now, though, it was time for the real present.

so when he walked into your shared bedroom after a long morning of birthday messages and half-assed hero paperwork, the last thing he expected was you, perched pretty on the bed.

pink bunny ears twitching with every little movement you made. a tight, pastel one-piece hugging your every curve. sheer stockings accentuating your thighs, and a fluffy little tail pinned to your lower back like a gift-wrapped tease.

katsuki stood by the edge of the bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he took you in.

you sat perched on the bed, legs crossed, every bit the picture of flirty confidence. your gaze was locked on his, unapologetic.

“happy birthday, katsuki,” you purred, lips curling into a sly smile.

his crimson eyes dragged over you slowly, deliberately, his tongue running over his teeth before he finally spoke. “the fuck is this?”

“what’s it look like, hm?” you stretched out, back arching just enough to show off your curves. “figured i’d... hop into something special for you.”

his jaw ticked. “you think you’re funny, huh?”

“a little,” you admitted, shifting onto your hands and knees, crawling toward him at the edge of the bed.

his eyes darkened as you closed the distance, your hands sliding up his chest when you reached for him, kneeling in front of him. “thought you’d like a cute little bunny to play with, birthday boy."

katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his gaze.

“you know what happens to dumb little bunnies who tease too much?”

you swallowed, trying to keep your confidence, even as the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine. “they get spoiled rotten?”

“wrong. they get fucked.”

a thrill shot through you, heat pooling in your stomach as he crowded closer, his other hand slipping down to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

“bet you thought you were bein’ cute, puttin’ this on. bet you thought i’d let you bounce around and tease me all night.”

you let out a breathless giggle. “bunnies do like to bounce…

his fingers trailed down your back, playing with the delicate ribbon lacing up your tail before giving it a sharp tug. you gasped, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

“that so?” his lips brushed against your ear. “then let’s see how long you last when i really make you bounce.”

he took you in—your ridiculously boner-inducing ensemble, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster, the anticipation in your eyes. then, with slow precision, he sat down on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh.

"come here," he ordered, voice thick with authority.

you swallowed, your body already thrumming with heat as you climbed onto his lap. his hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin through the sheer fabric of your stockings. he let you hover there, deliberately drawing out the moment, making you feel the power shift between you.

"go on," katsuki murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he guided your hips to settle against him. the heat of him pressed against you, even through the layers between you.

your breath hitched as he held you there, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he wanted you. his grip was firm, unwavering, making it clear that he was in control even as he let you take the lead.

he shifted, leaning back to watch you straddling his lap. his hands slid down, gripping your hips, guiding you to grind against him—slow, deliberate, teasing. the heat between you was undeniable, the layers of fabric doing little to hide just how affected you both were.

you whimpered, trying to tug your bodysuit aside, reaching for the bulge pressing up against your core. but his hands stopped you, fingers curling around your wrist.

“uh-uh,” he hummed. “not yet. little bunnies gotta hump first.”

you whined softly, frustration bubbling to the surface as you squirmed in his lap. “katsuki, please—”

“please, what?” he cut you off, voice sharp, mocking. “please fuck you already?”

you nodded desperately, biting your lip.

he scoffed, his expression darkening as his hand shot up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat.

“i said hump,” he growled. “that needy little cunt doesn’t get filled until you earn it.”

you tried to slow, to catch your breath, but his hands were relentless, grinding your hips against the hard line of his cock beneath you.

his fingers dig in as he helped you move. every time you tried to slow down, his hands tightened, forcing you to keep up, forcing you to take it.

you barely had time to catch your breath before katsuki pulled you forward, burying his face between your tits.

“fuck, you’re soft,” he groaned, tugging the fabric away before his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking hard.

you gasped, back arching as heat shot straight between your legs. his teeth grazed your sensitive skin before his tongue soothed over it, his other hand coming up to knead your other breast.

you tried to keep moving, to keep bouncing, but between his hands gripping you and his mouth marking you up, your body was giving out, shaking from the overwhelming pleasure.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, hands tangling in his hair, tugging.

he growled against your skin, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. his smirk was feral, eyes burning with satisfaction.

“hm? thought you liked to bounce?” his fingers dug deeper into your thighs, a warning. “or do i gotta fuck you like the greedy little thing you are?”

you whimpered, hips bucking desperately along with a nod. he laughed, licking a stripe up your chest before capturing your nipple between his teeth again.

“that’s it,” he praised, voice strained. “knew you’d look so fuckin’ good like this.”

you sobbed, rolling your hips, desperate for more, and he grinned like he’d won. you weren’t sure how long he made you keep going, but by the time he finally took the reins, you knew you were fucked.

“aww, poor thing,” he cooed mockingly, pressing a hot kiss to your throat before nipping at your skin. “tired already? guess i better take over before my little bunny gets too worn out, huh?"

before you could respond, he shifted, one arm wrapping tight around your waist as the other yanked your bodysuit to the side, finally giving you what you’d been aching for.

the thick head of his cock pressed against your dripping entrance, teasing, pushing just enough to make your breath catch.

nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling as he eased inside—slow and torturous, filling you inch by inch until your walls clenched around him.

katsuki groaned through gritted teeth, holding you still for a second, letting the stretch overwhelm you. then his eyes flicked up to your face, and that familiar, dark grin curved his lips.

“you wanted to be a cute little bunny, huh?” katsuki grunted, fingers digging into your hips, guiding you as you bounced on his cock. “bunnies fuck like crazy, y’know that? they go at it all night long.”

you could barely respond, your moans breaking into gasps as he thrust up to meet you, driving deeper, harder, forcing you to take him to the hilt every time.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he taunted, voice thick with amusement. his fingers dug in as he guided you, making sure you didn’t slow down. “thought bunnies were supposed to be full of energy.”

you whined, gripping onto his shoulders for support, trying to keep up with the brutal pace he was setting.

each bounce forced his cock deeper, the obscene sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. you whimpered, legs shaking as he controlled your pace, refusing to let you fall back into lazy movements.

he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear. “put on the ears, shake your ass, act like a toy—and now you’re surprised i’m treatin’ you like one?”

you sobbed, clutching at him, body trembling from the overwhelming mix of pain, pleasure, and the pure, filthy thrill of being used exactly how you wanted.

“good fuckin’ girl,” he rasped, slamming up into you harder.

your moans were broken, breathless, every movement sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he thrust up to meet you, filling you so deep it made your head spin.

your head fell against his shoulder, body shuddering as pleasure built higher, hotter. his arms wrapped around you, keeping you flush against him as he took control, lifting you just to slam you back down, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

every time your pace faltered, he’d lift his hips, thrusting up into you so deep it stole the breath from your lungs. a whimper slipped from your lips, fingers digging into his chest as you tried to keep up, but he wasn’t making it easy.

“what if i fill you up, huh? make sure this bunny knows her fuckin’ place?”

he suddenly slammed you down onto him, making you cry out, and he groaned low in his throat. your nails raked down his back as another wave of pleasure crashed over you, but he wasn’t letting up—not when you looked so fucked-out and desperate.

“gotta train you better,” he muttered against your skin, his smirk widening when you clenched around him. “bunnies are supposed to breed, aren’t they?”

you let out a broken moan, body shuddering, and he laughed breathlessly, one hand slipping down between your bodies to rub tight circles against your clit.

he was gripping your waist before flipping you in one fluid motion, pressing you down into the sheets. his breath was hot against your ear as he settled behind you, caging you in.

“aww, don’t tell me you’re tappin’ out already?” he cooed, tilting his head. “and here i was thinkin’ i’d finally get to see you breed like a proper bunny.”

heat shot through you at his words, making you clench around him, and katsuki groaned, his grip on you tightening.

“oh? you like that?” his grin widened. “shit, maybe you are just a dumb little bunny in heat.”

you gasped, nails dragging down his back, and his hips suddenly snapping up to meet yours, driving deeper, harder—sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

katsuki didn’t give you a second to breathe. toes curling against the sheets, your vision blurring as he fucked into you harder. the slap of skin echoed through the room, punctuated by your gasps and his low, hungry groans.

“that needy little pussy’s fuckin’ leaking,” he growled, dragging his fingers through your slick before pressing them against your clit in tight, punishing circles. “soaked through that slutty little costume, too.”

you choked on another moan, face buried in his chest as your body shuddered, everything building—tight, unbearable, right on the edge.

“gonna cum like a dumb bunny while i fuck you full? huh?” he taunted, pulling your head closer by the ears on your head and forcing your back to arch deeper.

“yes, yes, katsuki, please—” you sobbed.

“beg for it. tell me what you fuckin’ want.”

“i want you to—want you to cum inside, need it, need it so bad, katsu—”

“yeah?” his thrusts faltered for only a second, a low, wicked groan slipping from his throat. “wanna be bred, huh? wanna be my filthy little bunny full of cum?”

you cried out, so close it hurt. “yes! please—please, fill me up—”

his grip tightened on your hips as he slammed into you one final time, deep, brutal, until you screamed his name. your body convulsed, pleasure crashing through you as you clenched around him, falling apart.

“take it. every fuckin’ drop.”

katsuki growled low, and then he was spilling inside you, hot and thick, hips jerking with each pulse. he buried his cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled hot, thick spurts into your clenching walls.

you whimpered as you felt it, the heat of him flooding you, dripping out before he’d even pulled out.

katsuki didn’t let go right away. he held you there, impaled and filled, his breath ragged against your shoulder. he stayed pressed against your chest, panting, one hand stroking slowly down your side as the other cradled your hip with surprising gentleness.

“shit,” he muttered against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder as his breath slowed. “fuckin’ hell..”

you snorted, too tired to do more than flop your face into the sheets. “that what you wished for when you blew out the candles?”

he chuckled—an honest-to-god laugh rumbling from his chest as he finally eased out of you, warm stickiness following in the wake.

“didn’t know i could wish for somethin’ i already had.”

“wow. look at you. getting soft in your old age.”

“twenty-six is not old,” he grumbled, but the faint blush on his ears betrayed him.

you hummed teasingly. “sure, grandpa.”

katsuki shot you a warning look, but instead of snapping back, his hand came up to card through your hair, bunny ears askew and all, his fingers surprisingly gentle.

“so... did the costume make the top ten birthday presents list, or…?”

katsuki huffed out something between a laugh and a groan, finally pulling out of you slowly, both of you flinching a little at the oversensitivity.

you felt the mess between your thighs instantly—sticky and warm, dripping down your skin—and you shivered at the loss of him.

his hands never left your body as he shifted you gently onto your back, reaching for the nearby towel he’d tossed on the nightstand earlier—because of course he was prepared, even if he pretended not to be.

“top three,” he muttered, wiping you down carefully. “right after the cake and that dumbass letter that made me feel shit.”

you flopped onto your back with a dramatic sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. “didn’t think birthday boys had to do cleanup.”

he shot you a look as he gently dabbed between your thighs, taking his time, making sure you were comfortable. “birthday boy’s the one who ruined you, so yeah—he fuckin’ does.”

you smiled, soft and real this time. “you’re getting sappy in your old age.”

he tossed the towel aside and climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you, pulling you into his chest like it was instinct. “yeah, well, turns out its not too bad when i’ve got a stubborn, sexy weirdo wearin’ bunny ears for me.”

you laughed against his collarbone. “you’re lucky i love you.”

katsuki kissed the top of your head, nose brushing against your ear. “nah. i’m lucky you’re mine.”

“and i’m lucky you’re easy to distract with cake and tits. y’know, i was actually gonna jump out of a giant egg and yell ‘surprise!’ but i figured you’d actually murder me.”

“you’re not wrong,” he said, arm tightening around you. “and you look better in that stupid bunny suit anyway.”

“careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“say that again and you’re spendin’ next year’s birthday with a vibrator and a guilt trip.”

“worth it.”

he glared at you before he stripped you, hands moving with familiar precision as he pulled off the bunny ears, the one-piece, and the stockings that had barely survived his earlier onslaught.

without a word, he grabbed one of his old t-shirts and slid it over your head, the fabric swallowing you up, before he joined you under the blankets.

you felt his gaze on you, warm and intense, and you looked up at him, brow arched. “what?”

he stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening as he took in every detail of you—maybe still a little in awe, maybe still a little surprised at the way you fit against him. his fingers lightly brushed your hair away from your face.

"god, i love you. so fuckin’ much, baby.”

your heart did somersaults. but you nuzzled in closer to him.

“i love you too, old man.”

“tch. shut up and go to sleep,” he grumbled, brushing a kiss over your cheek.

but as you started to drift, wrapped in his warmth and the lingering high of everything, he murmured, barely audible:

“best fuckin’ birthday ever.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ AHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAN 💗💗 omgomg i apologize for the blogs i couldnt tag, blog name wouldnt come up for some reason😭😭 I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THO 😝😝 please consider this my 4k special lmao (its only fitting sinces it 4/20 and shi), instead breeding kink with katsuki is 5k special!! would like to thank this request (one of the few first requests i had when i started this account), hope this fulfilled your request somehow!! 💗💗

⋆˚࿔ tags ˚⋆ @kodzubaby @akiii143 @mindless-existence1 @dollyfetti @st4ntwic3 @skylermiller1 @sugarcubepop @jazzywazzy859 @jealousmartini @kksmush @2elusional @ch3rryjampi3 @happinessisabutterflie @thirstygorl @zennypiee @kiansss @dullcets @kirishimasboobs @jo8920 @vrtualghoulz @inlovewjay @grim-reapers-wife @just0jordyn @ettesxythia @quixtic @whorecityyy @izayanara @valeriannnnnn @hanako-0kun @lmaolmaolmao @raining4food

[cryobabiess]

girldad!geta pleeease!

Filia Divina

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Wife!reader

Tags: childbirth, pregnancy, miscarriage mentioned, implied infanticide, soft!geta (if you squint), historically accurate practices, NOT BETA READ SO IF YOU SEE SOMETHING WONKY NO YOU DIDN’T, good ole fashioned misogyny

AN: Tollere Liberos is in reference to an ancient Roman tradition where a father decides whether or not to accept a newborn as their child. Rejected children were abandoned via ‘expositus’ (aka dead ass just leaving a baby out in the wilderness). So basically girldad!geta but historically accurate lol. Enjoy!

It had only been an hour since you birthed her—a sweet little creature with curls the color of honey and supple skin like the flesh of a ripe plum. With a mighty wail fit to be heard across an empire, she came into the world. Your goddess, Juno, generously granted her the health and strength you prayed for. You rejoiced, though your joy was not shared.

The midwives cleaned your daughter in grave silence, save for the whispers of the politic-men gathered to witness the birth of Rome’s divine son. They huddled together in the far corner of the chamber as your girl laid against her mother’s chest for the first time.

“It cannot be true—look again!” Geta frantically commands the weary doctor. He paces across the marble floor in a state of distress. A litany of expressions troubles his face; disbelief, panic, betrayal.

“My lord, it is not what was desired, but I assure you—the child is female. You have my greatest sorrows.” The doctor mournfully bows his head, knowing better than to look the short tempered prince in the eye.

Geta was persistent, diligently sewing his seed in your womb since your holy union. You passed two of his children as blood, and he held you as you suffered through the pain. He watched your body grow when his efforts succeeded, massaged your taut skin with olive oil, and fed you bread soaked in sweet wine when you felt ill. He even kneeled at Jupiter’s alter to call for the safe delivery of his first son and the health of his wife—All these precautions only to be cruelly slighted.

“The gods have punished me, yet I’ve done nothing but bend to their will.” Geta holds his head in disbelief, his devastation made evident by a deep scowl.

Senator Gracchus tentatively approaches your distraught husband, resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“My lord, we must atone for our offenses, whatever they may be. It is a grave misfortune indeed, but your bride—“

Rage ignites across Geta’s face as he pulls away from his constituent’s touch.

“Speak tactfully of your empress if you wish to keep your tongue, Senator.” He seethes through a tight jaw. Gracchus relents, his tone softening considerably. He continues slowly and with caution.

“Two winters have passed since your union, and she has yet to bring forth an heir of Rome. Her body has proved inhospitable. The gods have sent a message, and it would be foolish to turn a cheek—you must heed this omen! ”

Geta takes a moment, carefully considering the senator’s plea for reason. He looks back to you, Obsidian eyes gazing down at the linen sheet that obscures your sleeping child.

“I am a conduit of their will. Tollere Liberos will prevail and the gods will decide through me.” Geta turns to you fully. Your heart becomes heavy in your chest as you search your husband’s face for tenderness, but see nothing but solid stone.

In your dreams, you imagined the day Geta approached his first heir as sweet—that he might kiss your reddened cheeks and proudly claim his child. Never did you think the sight of him would cause you to tighten your grip and cower away. He looms over the bed where you lay exhausted and perspiring—like a holy monument.

“Show me the child.”

“My love, I beg you—“

“Your emperor commands it.” Geta callously interrupts.

You unwrap your daughter in your arms, trembling hands moving as gingerly as possible. She shifts in her sleep, curling her precious limbs toward her delicate body, but does not wake. Geta’s eyes widen at the sight of her.

“So it is true. My faithful wife’s womb has betrayed me.” His gaze softens. Something stirs behind it, but you are not sure what.

“If you wish to return her life, then be merciful and do the same with mine.” Your heart twists and aches, your love for your emperor becoming a knife in your rib.

To your shock, Geta reaches out to his daughter, takes her tiny fist in his palm, and runs a thumb over her blushing knuckles. She wraps her hand around her father’s finger with a mighty yawn.

You have seldom seen your restless husband become so still.

“She bears your resemblance.” Geta’s voice is but a whisper. His gaze doesn’t stray from her. It appears his heart aches the same as yours.

“And a head of golden hair.” You can only offer an exhausted smile.

Geta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time.

“The gods have spoken!” He declares to the small gathering of senators. Your emperor raises his girl above the laurels atop his head. Some look on with horror, and others with pride.

“She will have my name! It is done.”

As your daughter’s first weeks pass, Geta’s tenderness only grows. In the lavender hours of dawn, you wake to find him cradling her in the crook of his arm. He speaks to her softly.

“Poor girl, you have wounded your father’s pride. My, what tragedy.”

You smile at the sound of her gentle crooning as your husband assuages her back to sleep.

“A son would belong to Rome—but you, dear Septima, will belong to me.”