#my game... how could they do this to you... why.....

[kxsagi]

Bllk boys w a reader who's always changing hair color or/ and makeup?

“𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧”

a/n: i love sticking to routine so i admire when people go out of their comfort zones and experiment with makeup

ft. isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, kaiser michael

isagi yoichi

he’s trying to be cool, but lowkey stunned every single time. 

he thought he recognized you until he saw you with silver hair and neon green eyeliner and froze like “wait… who is this?” then you laughed and said “it’s me, silly.” he nodded slowly like he believed it. 

takes way too many pictures of you because he’s still trying to figure out which version of you he likes best. “this one? or the one with the smokey eye?” 

lowkey scared to compliment you because he’s afraid he’ll accidentally praise a past look and you’ll switch it up the next day out of spite. 

once spent an entire morning helping you pick the perfect lipstick shade. ended up with more lipstick on his face than yours. didn’t mind. 

when you went full goth one week and dyed your hair black, he was like a proud dad who’s just happy you’re happy. “you look cool. cool, scary, but cool.” 

shidou ryusei

he’s hype 24/7 and secretly jealous. 

“yo, that hair’s fire!” is his standard greeting now. no matter what color you show up with, he’s hyped and can’t stop staring. 

he lowkey wants to try switching up his look because you’re setting the bar too high. “bet i could pull off jet black too, right?” (you tell him please no but secretly you want to see it.) 

makeup tutorials? he watches them with you, but only to roast the dramatic ones. “why do people put that much highlighter on their face? they’re gonna blind somebody.” 

once convinced you to do matching streaks in your hair and was so proud he showed off to the whole team. he calls it “power couple dye.” 

every time you change your style, he’s the first to scream “that’s my girl!!!” like a proud hype man in the stands. 

nagi seishiro

he tries to be indifferent, but lowkey loves the attention. 

“did you do something with your hair?” he asks casually every time. the answer is always different, but he tries not to look too impressed. 

lowkey fascinated by how you can change your whole vibe with just makeup and hair. “it’s like you’re a different person every week.” 

he’ll offer you one makeup tip, which is basically “don’t get it in my eyes.” 

took a million selfies with you when you did that pastel goth look once. “don’t tell anyone i liked it. you looked like a video game character.” 

teases you about being a “professional chameleon,” but secretly thinks it’s the coolest thing ever. 

mikage reo

he’s elegant, but sometimes bewildered. 

“you’re like an artist.” he says it so seriously every time you show up with a new look, like you just painted a masterpiece. 

not totally sure what all the makeup jargon means, but he tries to learn because he wants to understand your craft. (bonus points if you teach him.) 

when you showed up with fiery red hair and bold eyeliner, he almost dropped his glass of wine. “wow. you’re on fire.” 

he’s a bit protective too. “don’t let anyone dull your colors.” 

once made a small donation to a high-end makeup brand because “it makes you happy.” he thinks that counts as a romantic gesture. 

karasu tabito

he’s amused and a little sarcastic. 

“so, what’s the color this week? purple? green? ‘don’t talk to me’ black?” he asks with mock seriousness. 

“you change your look more often than i change my socks.” (which is pretty often.) 

lowkey admires your confidence. “i wouldn’t have the guts. i’m too lazy.” 

you once dared him to wear lipstick for a day. he did it but immediately wiped it off when no one was looking. 

sometimes pretends not to notice, but he’s secretly memorized every shade you’ve worn and can name your favorite lipstick brand on demand. 

itoshi sae

he’s lowkey impressed, but acts like it’s no big deal. 

“you don’t do anything halfway, huh?” he says, deadpan, watching you change your hair color yet again. 

he appreciates how you own your look and never care what anyone thinks. it’s something he admires, even if he won’t say it outright. 

he’s not the most expressive about makeup, but he notices the little things, like the way you do your eyeliner on a day you’re feeling confident. 

once caught himself staring at you in disbelief because your hair color matched your eyeshadow perfectly. “that’s some next-level coordination.” 

if he ever sees you struggling with a tricky makeup look, he’ll silently get you a mirror or some wipes and then walk away before you can thank him. 

itoshi rin

his eyeliner is fear. yours is fierce. 

rin notices every single change you make. he just refuses to comment on it until you ask. then he hits you with a grumpy “… it looks good,” while blushing like he just confessed his entire soul. 

the first time you came home with icy blue hair and rhinestone liner, he stared for five straight minutes before muttering “you look like a final boss.” (that was actually a compliment.) 

pretends he doesn’t care when you ask “should i go copper next?” but he always votes subtly. “do whatever you want… but the pink was nice.” 

if you wear dramatic lashes and bold lips, he gets weirdly quiet and stares at you from across the room like he’s fighting demons. like sir? why do you look like you're losing a boss fight in your brain??? 

the day you gave him a full “e-boy eyeliner look” for fun, he groaned the whole time, but refused to wipe it off for hours. he even looked in the mirror more than once. 

he's used to living in black and grey, so dating you is like watching someone splash color into his grayscale world, and he’s annoyingly obsessed with every shade you bring. 

kaiser michael

he pretends to be unfazed, but you’re LIVING in his head rent-free with every look. 

“another hair color? what happened to the purple?” “got bored.” “you’re a menace. and it’s hot.” 

loves every single look you try, but especially the bold ones. full lashes, glitter shadow, hair that looks like you walked out of an anime? that’s his kryptonite. he’s down bad. 

literally calls you his “goddess of transformation” and demands a grand entrance every time you walk into the room with a new style. “music! lights! look at her!!” 

if anyone so much as blinks wrong at your look in public, he’ll throw hands. “jealousy is ugly, schatz. unlike your highlighter. which is blinding and perfect.” 

has no idea how makeup works, but he’ll fake confidence. “yeah, the… contour? it’s really…contouring.” 

once tried to dye his own hair to match yours as a joke. it turned out weirdly green and he had a spiral. you still tease him about it. 

when you do a romantic look – soft tones, glossy lips, light blush – he melts. like visibly short-circuits. “ugh. stop being so pretty. this is a threat to my ego.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. crying, emotional, angst, fluff, and more

A/N: I’m not ready to let go 😭💔

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ FINAL ] P31: You Don't Own Me

I feel fucking clueless.

Our final project is done. Shawn and I finished it throughout this past week, trying to rush through all the procrastinated work which left me little to no time to think—which I desperately needed to.

There’s not much time to really do anything but panic. I have to make a decision. Only a week left before I have to choose if I’m packing my bags to move with Chris or not.

And I just don’t know.

“Hey, you good?” Matt asks, his voice layered with concern as he stares up at me from his phone. Mia’s sitting with her legs across his lap, the living room full of three of us on both couches.

“Yeah, um,” I nod hesitantly. The anxiety pulses through my veins, the sight of the sun sinking below the horizon outside making my stomach churn. “-’m fine.”

Mia’s lips slide into a subtle pout, her eyes analyzing me with precision as I grow stiff under her gaze. She knows. I don’t have to hear it to understand that she sees how utterly clueless I feel.

“You sure?” Mia chirps, narrowing her eyes as I nod again.

Somehow that girl could just read me—she could read anyone. Chris hates it. She’s called him out a couple times.

One time, he was just…off. I couldn’t explain it, but she called him out for being all sad, saying he should stay out in the living room so all four of us could hang out.

Chris surprisingly didn’t snap back. He nodded, pulling me into his lap while we all nestled in the living room and played random games.

It’s become a routine now. My favorite games are the stupid ones—the random questions of ‘would you rather’ that made us all rally up with the most bizarre explanations.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be back,” Matt says, brushing off his jeans as he stands before walking down the hallway.

My hands fiddle in my lap. I hear the bathroom door shut softly, taking a glance up to see Mia fully leaned forward, her eyebrows lifted as she tilts her head to the side.

“So…” Her eyes dart around the room. I hear the click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, wincing as she lets out a heavy sigh. “-you gonna talk or am I gonna have to pry?” she questions.

“It’s just…ugh.” I huff, my eyes squinting shut as I try to block out the overwhelming thoughts that had been echoing in my mind every minute of every day.

“I don’t know what to do. Nothing…nothing seems like the right thing to do. Staying here without Chris…like…why? What’s the point? I’d have his family but that…I don’t know…it doesn’t…ugh.” 

My words roll off my tongue with a loud sigh. Mia squints her eyes at me, rolling her lips together before shrugging. “-well—what’s holding you back?” she asks. 

“I…I don’t wanna feel like this is it for me—like I’m only doing it for him, you know?” Mia nods at my words, her eyes full of compassion as she offers a sympathetic smile. “-I just…I think I need to talk to some people first.” 

“Yeah,” she puffs, planting her hands on her knees as she lets out a heavy breath, “-I agree. Go talk, go think—really think for yourself, then make a decision.”

___

He’s rambling. Baylen has been speaking for at least five minutes, telling me the perfect option instead of going with Chris. 

“-Ryan probably won’t mind—we have a spare room in our apartment, you could stay–”

“Baylen.” 

His name falling off my lips in a sullen tone makes his lips fall open wordlessly. I twiddle my fingers together, my eyes darting out the living room window as I feel Trevor scoot closer against my thigh. 

The sunlight beams in through the windows. It feels odd to haven Baylen over here, but Chris said it was better if I invited him over here to talk. He was right. I couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the house I grew up in—I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to give another bittersweet goodbye to everything within those walls. 

I roll my lips together. My nose twitches as I feel Baylen’s gaze burn into me. “Ryan…he’s my ex. We dated years ago.” I mention.

His face drops. He shakes his head, his lips smacking open and shut before he lets out a dry laugh. “Wow��I…I really don’t know you, huh?” he tuts, his voice strained. 

I reach over, placing my hand on his shoulder. He stays deathly still. His hands stay rested in his lap, his gaze trained towards the floor as he stares blankly. 

“It’s not your fault, I didn’t tell you—”

“He’s right—Chris.” 

My eyes narrow. Baylen moves, his hand resting on top of mine before he pulls my hand off his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“You…you should go with him, I…” he shakes his head, turning towards me with sad eyes, “-I don’t get to try and swoop in and act like I deserve to be there for you now. You…he’s proven himself a lot. He—he deserves to have you—you deserve to heal.” 

My bottom lip wobbles. I feel a wave of warmth crawl over my face, my cheeks growing hot as my vision starts to blur. 

“Baylen, you tried your best—”

“No. I didn’t.” he says, a soft smile etched over his features. “-I tried my best for me, not for you. Chris…he can take care of you—he has taken care of you. I’m here when you need me, but,” his eyes flicker over my face, his lips tugging into a sympathetic frown, “-but you deserve to feel safe and heal. I…I can’t give that to you right now. He can.” 

His hand squeezes mine. I feel the tears in my eyes flooding my sight, my eyes squinting as I feel a warm streak of wetness glide down my cheek. Baylen tugs my hand tighter, pulling me into his chest before wrapping his arms around me tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice breaks, his arms cradling me closer, “-’m sorry and…and…I hope I can be the brother you deserve one day.” 

A sharp cry leaves my lips. My hands are pressed between both of us as he tightens his arms around me. 

Years of confusion, years of feeling so alone, so hurt. I finally feel validated. All of it was for a reason. He didn’t just stop loving me one day—it wasn’t my fault. It all makes sense. 

And even though it hurts, there’s still hope. 

___

“I’ll get it, just…just sit down.” 

Chris is anxiously pulling any box I try to lift into his own arms. Jimmy and Matt helped us bring over a bunch of stuff yesterday, we had yet to unpack the stacks and piles of everything.

The vacation home was filled with new stuff. My own picture of Baylen and I is sitting on top of the fireplace mantle. It’s a photo of us in his room from a week ago. We tried to recreate the blanket of forts we used to make, he insisted on capturing a good moment so I would have a reminder of him. 

I really liked it.

My hands latch onto a small bin. The plastic handles are snatched from my grip before I can even comprehend what’s going on. I look up with a shocked expression. Chris spares me a quick smile, turning with the box in his own hands before carrying it down the hallway. 

Looking around, I shake my head, rolling my eyes as I see the lack of boxes. I had yet to even carry one successfully. Chris had taken care of every single one, practically running back and forth so there would be no opportunity for me to pitch in and help.

“Here let me—oh? That’s all of them?” Chris pants, out of breath as he scratches the back of his neck. 

I shake my head with disbelief, plopping down on the couch. Chris sits next to me. His weight dibbets the sofa cushions, making me lean into him more. 

A wave of silence beams over us. I look over to see his eyes glazed over, concern laced in his features as he stares forward with his brows scrunched together. 

Moving, I swing my leg over his lap, plopping myself on his thighs. His hands immediately latch onto my waist. Chris stares up at me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, his fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of my shirt. 

“You okay, baby?” he asks. 

I tilt my head, cocking an eyebrow as I let out a huff. “Are you?” I quip. 

“Um, I…” He lets out a sigh as I comb my hands through his hair. His eyes shut as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“What’s wrong, Chris?” I interrogate, worried as his eyes fall with a sullen glaze of sadness. 

“Are you…are you sure about this? I mean, it’s a lot, we’re moving in together—”

“Chris.” I cut off, watching as his eyes drift back up to mine with uncertainty, “-I want this, I want to be with you. Why are you still overthinking so much? I chose to come.” 

He sighs. His hands grip my hips tighter, swarming up to my waist before he lets out a shaky breath. “I just…I don’t want you to feel like I’m controlling you—or like I own you—”

I place my hands on his shoulders. Leaning forward, I let my lips press against his gently. The kiss is brutally soft, a gentle pucker echoing. 

Pulling away, I laugh at his dazed expression. His lashes slowly flutter open, his eyes darting into mine with a glow of adoration. 

“I know you don’t control me, Chris, I…” I cup his cheek, my lips tugging into a smile as he leans into my touch, “-you don’t own me—but…but my heart belongs to you.” 

His face brightens with joy. I smile as he tugs me in a tight embrace, laughing as he peppers kisses on the side of my head. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips over my jawline and towards the corner of my mouth, “-I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

The chanted mantra makes my heart flutter in my chest. I let myself melt in his hold, smiling as he continues to mutter the same words under his breath. 

“Chris,” I giggle. 

He pulls away just enough for our eyes to meet. The shit-eating grin on his face makes it hard for me to bite back a painful smile. 

“Can you say that again?” he asks. 

“Hmmm….” I pretend to wonder, looking aimlessly around the room before feeling his hands squeeze my waist to pull my attention back to him. He looks into my eyes with hope and pure devotion. I feel my cheeks ache, my smile growing as I bathe in his dreamy eyes. “-what did I say?” 

Chris bites lightly onto his bottom lip. “You know…” His tongue prods from the inside of his cheek, his eyes glowing with love. “-you don’t own me, but…” 

He repeats my words, his gaze searching into my own while his hands give a reassuring squeeze on my waist. 

I let my vision blur, my eyes only blurring everything except for him. Biting back a smile, I let the words float off my lips;

“You don’t own me…but my heart belongs to you.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading along and showing any sort of support! I've adored writing this series and I hope you enjoyed reading! Thank you <333

with love and big tits, rose

[featherspiral]

why Asriel? I mean I really like Asriel too, I am just curious on why you personally like him so much.

I dano ur gonna have to ask 10 yr old me on this one

yeah idk man essentially I just think if the very experience of playing this game and it's major themes were translated into a character study he is the ultimate subject <- (this is why hes my fav but this is also now my thesis for the derailed rambles below)

(this is about to be VERY nonsensical and all over the place)

no but for real. I actually kind of find it difficult to put into words just whyyy it is I like my favorite character (at any given time) so much... it definetly helps a lot that I have that nostalgia from 9 years ago but if I were to play undertale for the very first time today he'd absolutely still be my favorite. I think he's pretty much one of (if not) the best video game villains ever, particularily because his story could not work and exist in other media forms. at least to nowhere NEAR the impact.

obviously you hear a lot about how he acts as a mirror to you as the player, which yes holy peak. my god perfectly done. but the part that REALLYY sells his character to me, and my favorite aspect of this, is how the game essentially baits you into falling down the exact same path he did (and probably even faster than he did) by just.. promising more. its a short game, not so short you don't have to be invested, but not long enough for you to actually feel totally and fully satisfied with just one playthrough.

undertale is completely designed for replayability- it reads you up and down and fully anticipates that you WILL play this more than once. assuming the route of the average blind player is neutral -> pacifist -> genocide, if you were receptive to the game and, in a sense, played along and took this world and the characters seriously, neutral will probably leave you with much to be desired. it let's you get attached to these characters, but ends so unsatisfyingly. makes you wonder what would happen if you chose differently, especially with flowey (the little guy of the hour) coming in and goading you on to a pacifist ending (which you also learn later that this is part of his oh so evil scheme to keep you around forever). and if your receptiveness let you actually find yourself caring about the ending these characters get, you WILL replay the game to see it through and get the good ending.

ultimately in the pacifist ending toby fox decides to spend a solid 20 minutes making you feel really sorry for asriel, only for him to then be the only character you cannot truly give a good ending. and usually, most people (ive seen) are just shocked at how emotional this little game made them feel and how much they realized they cared about these little guys. and even though you did all that to get the good, preferable ending, you boot up the game again because you dont really want to let those emotions you just felt go. and flowey is there to ask you NOT to do it, because, isn't this what you just fought to stop him from doing?? and it's something he no longer wants- he's stopped seeing chara as the only possible vehicle to his own (self defined) redemption, and hes divorced that projection of the "perfect friend" from frisk, choosing instead to see them as not only their own person, but someone else he needs to let go.

your inability to let this world (that you've expressly chosen to take seriously) carry on in its most desirable ending is what will eventually lead you to try and milk all the possible content out of it, to the point of killing everyone you possibly can just to see what will happen. obviously that's wording it pretty dramatically (i literally replay geno all the time for funsies and i like to fight sans LOL) but I'm just trying to ham up the point that this is practically BAR FOR BAR what flowey says as he recounts how he came to be so bored and apathetic.

it was your own love for the game that made it stop feeling "real" to you, as the more you replay the game, the more dialogue you skip through, the less you truly engage with it. it's kind of an endless cycle of ever diminishing returns to try and replicate how it once felt. (does this sound awfully familiar to that little guy still is this sounding like that guy to anyone else)

I also think he's just kind of funny he's such an edgy little 10 year old man. everything flowey says and does is so irrevocably tied to who he is and the relationships he had and the fact that when he died he was a little kid being influenced by the most emo human to ever step foot on mt ebott LOL. also I feel like when people look at my page they'd probably instantly assume I think "asriel > flowey" but that quite literally means nothing to me that is a chai tea moment like I know everybody has their own interpretations but for me personally i feel that flowey cannot exist as his own character without acknowledging that he's asriel and how that constantly affects everything about him (as hes pretty much his own foil on purpose) and asriel without flowey is just not so much an interesting character to me.. I just think (and again!! everyone has their own interpretations!!!) (ik people like 2 argue ab this) that the most (personally!!!) compelling way to read him is as one singular, linear person. because like thats what he is. he didn't come back as a flower and immediately hop on that murder sauce, the game just intentionally simultaneously shows you both the very beginning and the tail end of his villain arc without you even realizing you are seeing two ends of the same person's life. I'm losing track I think hahao

yeah anyway I like him ibguess I dunno

[gender-is-fake]

There was a small wooden rack filled with a collection of decorated eggs on the dilapidated mantelpiece. It looked out of place, but Shell had insisted on placing them there, those prized petty trophies he had stolen from the governor in their first successful art heist. Now he was staring darkly at the collection. Burn turned towards the window—anything to get out of the room. To think. To understand. The report droned on in the background.

It was the VCEA—“villain control enforcement agents,” who were really just police in fancy outfits. The VCEA had always been violent with them, but to go this far… no one had ever expected they’d do something like this. Torturing their friends to the point of killing them. Their bodies had been marked with burns. Their skin was blackened, blue, lumpy. The worst part was that the news was taking the side of the law enforcement. Acting like they’d had no other choice. But Burn knew that was wrong. There was no world in which his comrades would have actually confronted cops, especially not without reinforcements or preparation. They were too close to their homes for an altercation, just blocks away. They’d been ambushed. He couldn’t listen anymore. Burn clicked a button on the remote and the screen flickered to black. They were silent for a moment.

“… Nothing?” Burn asked.

Shell was despondent. His head hung low, his white hair hanging over his face, still staring forward at his trophies with an empty look. He didn’t reply. It didn’t make sense to Burn. Shell had had powers. Shell had been known to lob fireballs. Freeze tides with his icy winds. He was a master of temperature control and strategy. Sure Burn had never seen him lob a projectile at full scale, but Shell had demonstrated his power in front of him before, playing with sparks and icy sighs in his hands before his eyes. It was a way he liked to threaten the people usually; a small demonstration of the control he possessed. Burn had appreciated Shell’s powers, and that’s why he’d gone into Shell’s service.

“All this time. All this work,” Burn murmured. “Distracting the mob, the law enforcement, playing your intricate little games against them, and you don’t have anything you can do?”

Shell just shook his head.

“No? Your reputation is feared. It doesn’t make sense! Just hit them with a wave of destruction. Make them regret ever touching you in the first place. Then we can get back to what we do. The petty thefts, the drug trades with rich kid’s asshole children. The things we’ve always done.”

Shell’s gaze didn’t move, but he began to fiddle with his cuffhooks. Once he had undone the button he lifted his singed sleeve, revealing a bracelet underneath. He unhooked this bracelet, placed it on the table, and then pressed a red button. Little sparks sizzled outward by about a foot. Burn could only assume that the blue button did the frost wind.

“The fireballs were deployed by canons controlled by the lieutenants. The bracelets sold the illusion of my power in close quarters. With the other lieutenants gone… well, we just don’t have anyone to…” Shell swallowed. His face was grave. Ashen. Burn didn’t understand. How had they all believed it? This ruse?

“I just don’t get it. I mean, I just… No. No. Don’t say it…” Burn hung his head too. He’d said it himself. “Reputation.”

Burn understood the name Shell now. He understood fabergé eggs. It had always been in plain sight and he just never saw it. Shell’s powers were decorative on the outside, giving the impression that he was worth fearing. Inside, he had always been empty.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At worst, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. All fun and games until things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[maxwellhauskaffee]

Why Tenna's Also Shitty And How Both Got Played

I'm dead ass legit serious when I wonder if people are playing the game or not or even watching lps because how can ya'll miss key things Tenna says and does that also puts his character into question as much as Spamton's???

Introducing another autistic rant about Tenna and Spamton and how I think neither of them wanted to hurt one another but did because they were duped by someone else.

But first - we gotta' talk Tenna (again) (well - we don't have to; I just have autism).

First - how is a collaboration inherently leeching off someone? As someone who's worked in (power level), there are multiple contracts signed for various types of work, even when working with or under the same people and studios. This is true for most forms of production. You also sign new contracts for new types of work or labor not defined or requested within your original contract. At least I've requested new contracts and revised for my security.

With this in mind, this is hc, if they were working together before Spamton became big, that was likely one contract.

Now, Spamton could be lying because he's canonically lied and horrifically so. That said, we only have limited canonical information about the details of their relationship. And I think many folks are purposefully ignoring Tenna and Spamton's canon and filling in gaps via favoritism for Tenna. It's a bias we all have, so I'll try to not do that here.

So this is how I think things went based on canon... Things that are hc will be noted. 👈

Did Tenna give Spamton deals before Spamton signed his deal?

MAYBE...

The yellow addison never says, "Spamton was GETTING big TV deals, big commercials." He says, "Spamton started bragging ABOUT big TV deals, big commercials." I may be giving too much of the benefit of the doubt because I try to say what I mean (autism), but to me it's not clear which one it is. Spamton was either getting these deals or simply bragging about them being offered to him, two different things. But I do believe he was working with Tenna by this point because of what the yellow addison says next.

The yellow addison claims Spamton and Tenna started working together after Spamton moved into the Queen's mansion at his peak. This implies Tenna had no knowledge of Spamton. Or if he knew Spamton, he had no interest in working with him UNTIL he became famous.

If we're being consistent, Tenna was "leeching" off of Spamton as much as Spamton was off of Tenna. Remember - Spamton became a big shot in the late 90s. That's when CRT TVs were becoming obsolete. Tenna likely needed Spamton more than Spamton needed him, as noted by Tenna's desperate rambling of how Spamton was going to teach him. Also, Spamton was doing very well with his benefactor prior to meeting Tenna.

I've written about this before indepth, so I won't go too much into it. But Spamton has valid reason to be skeptical of Tenna. Tenna's canonically shady with his contracts. And despite Spamton's hesitation, HE WANTED TO SIGN until he was immediately called and was informed of something that made him run.

We don't know why Spamton ran nor what he was told, but it doesn't seem it was because he didn't want to work with Tenna since he was going to sign.

The other point of note, Tenna never put Spamton on TV.

It's implied Tenna was only going to do this after Spamton signed his contract concerning providing tips about being a big shot.

I'm curious as to what they were collaborating on before. I hc that Spamton sold Tenna's wares at Tenna's gift shop, or they did mutual promotions and advertisements that weren't on TV. Maybe Spamton did email advertisements for Tenna for his programs alongside his role as a car salesman. Who knows!

Point is - they were on posters together. They collaborated. Tenna WAS cheated, no denying that. But it's not shown to be purposeful, even by Tenna's admission, and it's not as though Tenna didn't get anything from working with Spamton. He just didn't get Spamton's benefactor.

Worse still, I think it was because Spamton wanted to help his friend that he got fucked. He broke a prior deal. And I think Tenna, wanting to be a good friend, revised his contract to be fairer as a show of trust.

Think about it.

They worked together and seemed genuinely happy based on the poster.

It's implied Tenna had a deal with someone on the phone. Same with Spamton. If Spamton had a deal, there would be stipulations. If it's true Spamton was corrupted after his fall, he was likely a (somewhat) decent person (for an addison) who wanted to uphold his promises and be honest which could explain why he was originally bad at being a spambot (more hc shit in another post I'll make omg).

What if Spamton’s benefactor had some knowing beforehand threatened to cut him off or do something to him or Tenna? What if he was informed of something very grave?

I think that’s when Spamton's benefactor cut him off, and in a panic, Spamton left trying to prevent it, forgetting all about Tenna.

Interestingly in canon, Tenna didn't care that Spamton was freaking out. He was more excited to get Spamton's secrets and eagerly picked up the phone. This is why I say both of them aren't saints and have done questionable to bad things to each other lmao. They can be greedy lil' businessmen. It's why I'm really wondering if people are like - digesting what's actually happening.

If anything, I think they sincerely didn't want to exploit each other. They wanted to do right by each other. But due to desperation on both their parts, they did hurt each other. They continue to hurt each other because of past transgressions, despite it being canon that both desperately want the other to acknowledge them again. And that's more complex and compelling than "Spamton was a stinky dookie butt all along".

It's tragic.

(source)

That said - this'll hopefully be my tl;dr post on Tenna and Spamton's morality until THE BIG ONE, which pertains more to mental health biases between the two.

[rafayelxsylusho]

I have a request for a smut fic where basically mc pranks Caleb on Instagram by posting some spicy pictures on her close friends story ( but she removed everyone and only kept him🤭) he saw them and got furious that other people are seeing them too and he floods her DMS with jealous messages and "who else is seeing these??" messages 😭 mc starts gradually posting semi spicy pictures to almost nudes and he literally storms to her apartment until she tells him it's just a prank and basically punishes her for pranking him like that 😵 it's 4am and I can't stop thinking about this I need to sleeppp 😭

Btw I absolutely LOVEEE your work so much especially the horny thoughts series is just *chef's kiss* thank you for your service !!😋

I hope this is what you were looking for ☺️☺️.

TW:Smut

Art: omi-resources

🍎 Tease 🍎

You lean in closer to the mirror, checking your reflection as you adjust the strap of your dress. The fabric stretches across your curves. You smirk to yourself, knowing exactly what you're doing.

It's just a harmless prank, right? Nothing too crazy.

With a few taps on your phone, you post the picture on your social media profile. But this isn't any ordinary post. No, You made sure to set the privacy settings just right, only Caleb could see it, while making it seem like your closest friends were also enjoying the sexy snapshot.

You giggle to yourself as you imagine his reaction. Will he be shocked? Angry? Possibly even a little bit jealous? The thought sends a thrill down your spine. You've always been able to get under his skin, in more ways than one. 

Grinning to yourself, you tossed your phone aside and stood up, stretching like a cat. You wondered how long it would take before Caleb said something. The anticipation was killing you.

Half an hour later, there was no message, Caleb hadn't reacted to your previous post, leaving you with only a seen notification. Two could play this game, you thought to yourself. If he wanted to ignore your provocative dress picture, then you'd give him something he really couldn't overlook.

Slowly you slid the dress off your body, letting it pool around your feet on the floor. You stood there for a moment, naked and bare, feeling a rush of empowerment and naughtiness.

You grabbed Caleb's old shirt, the one you always used as a sleep shirt. It was already worn and soft from countless washes, with holes that showed glimpses of your skin. The collar slipped down your shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of your neck and a peek of your collarbone.

You struck a pose, one hand resting on your hip while the other played with the hem of the shirt, teasingly high on your thigh. You arched your back slightly, letting the shirt ride up to expose more of your smooth skin. The picture was perfect, a study in contrasts, with the casual, almost lazy pose and the revealing nature of the shirt. It screamed "I don't care what anyone thinks, I'm just here to tease you."

Satisfied with your handiwork, you uploaded the picture and not even 5 min later you received a text.

Bingo! You had him right where you wanted him.

Who else is seeing these?

Caleb's message was short and to the point.

So you can text me for this, but ignore me for days because of a stupid fight?

His next message popped up almost instantly.

Answer the damn question. Who else is seeing these?

Well if it's set to be seen by my close friends then you should have your answer.

You hit send, knowing full well that your sarcastic quip would only serve to fuel his anger. You knew Caleb well enough to know that he would not let this go easily.

Why do you want people to see you like this? And don't say it's just a picture, this is ridiculous...

Isn't that rich coming from the guy who's been ignoring me for days because of a stupid argument? I think the real question is, why do YOU care so much who sees me like this, hmm?

No answer, again.

Your next move was risky, but the thrill of it all was simply too tempting to resist. With a newfound sense of daring, you slipped off Caleb's old shirt, letting it drop to the floor.

Next, you grabbed one of his spare uniform coats he kept at your place, holding it up admiringly. The cold, dark fabric was a stark contrast to your bare skin, and you couldn't help but shiver in anticipation. Perfect.

Sitting down in front of your mirror, you draped the coat over your shoulders, leaving the front open and hanging loosely off your frame. You gasped as you caught sight of your reflection, half of your breasts were on full display. Perfect indeed.

Your lack of underwear left you feeling exposed, you had no choice but to cross your legs demurely, trying to maintain some semblance of modesty. 

With shaking hands, you held up your phone, angling it just right to capture the image. The coat, the exposed skin, the crossed legs, it was a recipe for disaster. You snapped the picture, your heart pounding as you hit post, knowing full well the effect it would have on him. This was it, the final piece of the puzzle, the ultimate test of his self control.

You stared at your phone screen, your heart sinking as the minutes ticked by with no response from Caleb. Twenty minutes had passed since you posted that picture, and still, there was nothing. No angry message, no frantic call, not even a single word.

A pang of disappointment hit you. Had you pushed him too far? Did he really not care enough to respond, even in anger? You knew Caleb could be stubborn, that he had a tendency to clam up when he was furious. But this silence was deafening.

Sighing, you flopped back on your bed, your mind racing. You knew it was too late for Caleb to come over, he was all the way in Skyhaven, and he would never make the trip at this hour. No, if he was going to confront you, it would have to wait until morning.

You tossed and turned, the silence stretched on, and with each passing minute, your unease grew.

Mechanically you went about your nighttime routine, mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Caleb's silence. You brushed your teeth, went through your meticulous skincare routine, and stepped out of your room, still lost in thought. It was only as you entered the dimly lit kitchen that you glanced down and noticed you were still wearing Caleb's coat. A soft giggle escaped your lips as you realized your forgetfulness.

But when you looked back up you froze in shock at the sight of a man sitting on your couch.

"Damn it, Caleb!" you gasped, your heart leaping into your throat. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

You clutched the coat tightly around yourself, your eyes widened as you took a step back, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Answer me," you demanded, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "What are you doing here so late? I thought you were in Skyhaven."

"I have a spare key, remember?

"Yeah, for emergencies," you retorted. "I don't think a stupid fight counts as an emergency, Caleb."

"Take down those pictures NOW"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew that tone well, it was the same one he used as a Colonel, the one that demanded immediate obedience and left no room for argument.

"No," you said, your voice steadier than before, even as your heart raced. "You can't just barge in here and order me around."

You stood your ground, even as Caleb rose to his feet and began striding towards you "You wanted attention? I'm here. Now take them down."

"Maybe it was someone else's attention I wanted."

Wrong answer. Wrong fucking answer

You saw the shift in Caleb's demeanor a split second too late. The air around him crackled with a dangerous energy as your words sank in, the implication of them striking him like a physical blow. A muscle in his cheek twitched, the only outward sign of the rage that suddenly exploded behind his eyes. Those deep purple irises flashed with a fury you had rarely seen, even in all your years together.

In a blink, your back hit the wall, the breath knocked from your lungs as Caleb slammed his palms against it on either side of your head. He leaned in close, so close that you could feel his breath ,hot and heavy, against your face, could smell the faint whiskey scent on his breath. The coat you wore suddenly felt stifling, the wool roughly abrading your bare skin as Caleb's body pressed against yours, pinning you in place.

"You want to play games, Y/N? You'll lose. You know better"

You swallowed hard,and met his gaze defiantly. "Maybe I don't"

A humorless smirk twisted Caleb's lips "You wanted my attention," his voice was rough with a hunger that made your toes curl. "And your pussy licked. I could've done both. All you had to do was ask"

He licked, sucked and teased your pussy, bringing you to the brink again and again, only to pull back at the last moment. Hours passed in a blur of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Tears of frustration streamed down your cheeks as you begged and pleaded, your voice hoarse from crying out his name. He ignored your pleas, determined to claim every last shred of your pleasure for himself.

Finally, when you were a mess of quivering, oversensitized nerves, Caleb hauled you up and on his lap. Your legs trembled as you straddled him, your slick, swollen folds parting around his fat cock. You gasped as he filled you, stretching you wider than you had ever been stretched before.

His hands guided you up and down his length, his eyes drinking in the sight of your tits bouncing with every rise and fall.

But no matter how you circled your hips or rolled your body, you couldn't get him all the way inside. He was just too big, too thick, your tight cunt struggling to take him to the hilt.

Your legs began to shake and your movements grew sluggish as exhaustion set in. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided your movements, forcing you to take him deeper with every downward thrust. You could feel your climax building again, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core as he pounded into you.

"I...I can't take it anymore, Caleb," you whimpered

Your breath hitched as Caleb flipped you on your back, his heavy body settling between your thighs. The new angle allowed him to drive his cock even deeper into you, stretching your walls around his impressive girth.

"Yes, just like that," Caleb growled as he gripped your hip bones tightly "Wider baby, let me get deep into your pretty pussy. Take every inch of me like a good girl."

Panting, you reached down and gripped the sheets beneath you, spreading your thighs wider to accommodate his thrusts. Your knees began to tremble as they pressed against the mattress on either side of you.

Your back arched sharply as Caleb's thick cock slammed dead on into that sensitive spot deep inside you, sending a shockwave of pleasure. A high, keening cry tore from your throat as you clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

"Right there, fuck Caleb, right there!" you wailed, hips bucking frantically to meet his thrusts. Desperate for more, your hand snaked down between your bodies to find your puffy clit.

Caleb's eyes darkened as he watched your fingers fly over your clit and his cock thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, your walls clinging greedily to his shaft.

"She's clingy...fuuuuck...just like you princess"

But just as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy, your inner muscles starting to flutter and clench around him, he slapped your hand away from your clit. His grip tightened on your hip, holding you down as he loomed over you, his expression thunderous.

"No," Caleb commanded "You're not allowed to cum yet Y/N . Not until I say so"

His fingers closed around your throat, feeling you swallow as he continued to pound into you, driving you higher and higher towards your peak.

"Please Caleeeeb...."

"Later, I'm going to hold your neck just like this," Caleb rasped," so I can feel you swallow while I cum down your throat"

His words, dark and filthy and so full of carnal intent, were the final push you needed to fly apart completely.

"CUMMING! Oh fuck, Caleb, I'm CUMMING!"

The force of your orgasm was so intense, so all consuming, that you swore you could feel it in the tips of your fingers and toes. Your pussy clamped down around his shaft like a vice, your walls spasming uncontrollably as a flood of your juices gushed out around his cock.

He threw his head back, the tendons in his neck straining as he felt your release drenching his cock and balls, dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. His hips stuttered and jerked as he slammed into you one, two, three more times before burying himself to the hilt inside you.

In that moment, you knew you had truly reached the pearly gates of heaven. If you were to die right then and there, with Caleb's cock pulsing deep inside your cunt and his cum flooding your womb, it would be the most exquisite way to go. You clung to him, trembling and mewling, lost in the throes of the most mind blowing orgasm of your life.

Your body went limp beneath Caleb, the intense pleasure had drained you completely, leaving you drifting in a haze of blissful oblivion. The last thing you said before you fell into deep sleep was "It was all a prank silly"

[kenniesf1]

people we meet on vacation (pt. 3) | OP81

masterlist part 2

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader (smau!)

summary: oscar and his childhood best friend, whose families always vacationed together, haven't seen each other in forever. maybe the f1 2025 season summer break is the time for them to rekindle?

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, social media + written, based loosely off of people we meet on vacation by emily henry

yn.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, fayewebster, and 562,839 others

yn.jpg billy joel soundtrack to vienna!!!

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user54 they're back!!!!!! istg the only person less consistent than ynoscar is the hunger games official account

user55 bro... did you see the magno casting??

yn.jpg I DID I AM SO EXCITED I LOVE BILLY PORTER

user55 excuse me, i shan't be watching sotr bc i'm DEAD

charles_leclerc did you pray to niki lauda?

yn.jpg oscar did, religiously

charles_leclerc that's my son ����

lizzymcalpine my love 💞

yn.jpg meine leibe 💞

user19 somewhere in austria, oscar is tweaking tf out

user56 anywhere but the studio *sigh

lando WEINER schnitzel

yn.jpg this is why we ignore your messages sweetie

lilymhe yn come home, the kids miss youuu

yn.jpg you mean alex?

alex_albon no, stay away. when you're here, lily never hangs out with me

yn.jpg she knows her priorities 😏

oscarpiastri alexa, play "she's always a woman"

logansargeant 🤨

oscarpiastri it's billy joel, get out

user57 im gone

user58 can we make clones of op81 for everyone?

lewishamilton 💛

user59 who do YOU think you are?

user60 sir lewis hamilton, 7 world championship titles

user61 relax, yellow is for friendship

yn.jpg don't be putting hearts in my comment section when you won't let me babysit roscoe

oscarpiastri

liked by gabrielbortoleto_, nicolepiastri, and 1,028,920 others

oscarpiastri Nearing the end of summer break, excited to be back on the track but sad to be leaving places like Vienna and people like Yn. Pretty place, pretty people, pretty Piastri?

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lando who let him get away with "pretty Piastri?"

yn.jpg guilty (but regretful)

user62 oscar looking fineeee

user63 my wdc 2025!

user64 i just know the comments will be full of people talking abt yn or whatever her name is

user1 he's not gonna choose you!!!! hope this helps!!!!

olliebearman steal any credit cards?

oscarpiastri no...?

kimi.antonelli wrong brunette to ask that

user65 y'all i'm a ynoscar fan but no one will love this man like lando does

user66 fr he's always commenting and liking within seconds lol

yn.jpg i didn't approve this layout

oscarpiastri i'm trying this new thing called independence

yn.jpg it doesn't suit you

yn.jpg and most things do, so it's just a testament to how you should stop 🤗

user67 she thought we wouldn't see that???

mclaren The track misses you too!

isackhadjar pretty piastri indeed

oscarpiastri thank you, isack, i really needed to hear that

user68 this man has hoes on hoes on hoes

georgerussell63 when do we play padel?

user69 why do all the f1 boys love padel? are they paid?

oscarpiastri play with lando and alex, you prefer them anyway 🙄

georgerussell63 i do but we need four people

yn.jpg do not come to my town

july 21st, 2025 - 7:33

Oscar and Yn had been on the train to Amsterdam for an hour now, but it had begun to feel like a lifetime the second they stepped on. Of course, Yn was blind to this, intrigued too much by the newest Miranda July novel to notice Oscar's confused eyes and unusual inability to sit still.

It had been roughly three days since he'd decided that he could only ever remain 'friends' with Yn, but the decision had yet to sink in. In his head, it was all perfectly clear. He'd gone through every scenario, and each ended with him losing her, the one person who he couldn't bare to lose. Why would he change paths if every one of them ran out of tracks?

His heart was the one stalling. Despite feeling the logic of his choice all the way down to his bone marrow, the increased thumping of his heart against his ribs whenever her perfume wafted through the air or whenever she laughed to herself was in disagreement. Even right now, in her oversized Snoopy shirt and messy hair and practically acrobatic sitting position, it beat, faster than usual.

"Can you pass the strawberries?" she asked, eyes still focused on the page. He smiled, widely, knowing she wouldn't see, and complied. A small nod was her curt way of saying thank you before digging into the fruits, clealry starving.

"You hungry?" Her eyes darted up immediately. Having known her for most of his life, Oscar was well aware of the little things he could do to get her to pay attention to him and not to whatever hyperfixation had caught her focus. His entire childhood consisted of pretending to fall so she'd stop crocheting and play with him.

"Starving, how could you tell?" she grinned, closing the book and sitting up. "Why are you smiling like that?" Oscar shrugged, unable to hide the smile playing on his lips.

"While you were sleeping in," he enunciated, slightly teasing, "I found that bakery you were dying to eat from." The excitement was quickly evident on her face.

"No way! I basically sold my soul trying to find that place, how'd you find it so quick?"

As he began digging through his bag, Oscar explained, "I found it when we got here, I just hid it from you."

"You dick!" Yn said.

"It's more fun this way," he replied, handing her a fancy paper bag full of pastries. "I like to surprise you."

Her eyebrows burrowed, "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

Yn shrugged, taking a huge bite into a seemingly delicious butter croissant, "Well, we've known each other for ages. I don't think there's much to surprise ourselves with."

"That's why it's nice," he told her, reaching over the table in their compartment for a croissant. She tilted it without even looking, hinting at just how well she knew him. "I've done everything with you. It might seem repetitive--I don't think it is--so I like to try to make it interesting. I don't want you to get bored."

She set the bag down. You know it's serious when Yn stops eating her breakfast.

"You think I'd get bored of you?"

It was Oscar's turn to shrug, "It's not a crazy thought, Yn. I'm away all the time. All we do is go on vacation. It wouldn't be insane if you wanted someone who was... I don't know, around? Or did more than sit with you on flights or share hotels with you."

"You've got to be the dumbest person alive, Piastri," she said, so calmly that it confused him. "You're the Formula 1 driver here. You've got everything. If anyone's getting bored, it's you."

"How could you say that?"

"You said it first."

"Yeah, well, I was trying to be open. Communicative. You know, that thing you always say is super important in relationships?" A beat followed. "Like, relationships as in friendships. This is a relationship because we're--"

"I know what you meant, Oscar," she said, arms crossing over her body. I said something wrong, he thought to himself, fuck. "I'm not getting bored of this friendship." Her eyes rolled at the word, and Oscar decided that was enough for the day. His stubborn heart would beat to the rhythm of her words for the rest of the week if he didn't cut it off right now. Friendship, she said, as though it was an insult to her. Maybe she wanted him to say best friendship? Oscar didn't know.

They sat in silence for five minutes, Yn back to her book and Oscar pretending to solve a sudoku. To the background of train tracks and distant chatter from other cabins, Yn quietly murmured, "I'm not getting bored, Oscar. This is forever for me."

He looked up. When their eyes met, he nodded slighly, "Good." She held his gaze for another second before forcing herself to look away.

What a friendship.

oscarpiastri posted a story!

julu 22nd, 2025 - 10:21

Yn hated arguing with Oscar more than she hated avocado (she really hated avocado). Not only was it painful to be yelled at (and to yell back at) a person whom she'd felt nothing but love and admiration for since kindergarten, it was impossible to take the arguments seriously. They were always pointless. She didn't feel there was much she could do to push Oscar away. He'd always find his way back, like a frisbee. Stupid fucking analogy, Yn, she thought to herself as she grabbed her things from the train.

Oscar was waiting off the train, patiently, with his hands behind his back. As she approached the doors, he smiled and she smiled back and that feeling of safety flooded Yn again. They'd been fighting a lot recently--about things they'd never fought about before--and despite being able to tell herself that it would be fixed, it wasn't always easy to believe that. Seeing him there, that sweet look on his face, was a reminder she knew she could count on.

"How can you look like that after a long-ass train ride?" he jokingly asked, grabbing her suitcase and helping her out. "Share with the rest of the class. I'm the one that's got media following him, it's more important I look good."

"How many times in one trip does a girl need tell you that you never don't look good for it to stick?"

"A lot more," he grinned, "tell me again. Pretty please."

"You look good, Osc. Paparazzi will be too blinded to take photos."

"That's the goal."

They made their way out of the train station, conversing so intently that they didn't notice how refreshing the Amsterdam air felt as it hit their skin or even how close they had gotten, with Yn's hand wrapped around Oscar's bicep. Friends walked like this all the time. Yn had seen it in the movies. Although, to be fair, those cinema friends would either end up dating or be gay.

"I want to go to a club tonight," she told him, anticipating the shocked look on his face. "I know it's not your style, so you don't have to go with me if you don't want to. But I figure, Amsterdam is the city of clubbing. It'd be a shame for my twenty-year-old self to not go to the club. If anything, I'll have a story for my grandkids."

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liked by rolemodel, maxverstappen1, and 489,003 others

yn.jpg amsterDAMNNNNNNNN

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maxverstappen1 Yn and Oscar in Amsterdam. I'm scared they're going to burn my country down. liked by author

user70 she's so aesthetic

user71 do i want to be her or date her?

rolemodel come to my show

yn.jpg can't, i'm a busy, busy bee

rolemodel make her come to my show oscarpiastri

lando i love lurking in yn's comment section, she's my beyonce

user71 she knowLES

yn.jpg aww lando ur nice

oscarpiastri no he's not, he's trying to take my wdc

yn.jpg bad lando 😡

maxverstappen1 yours? bitch please

iamrebeccad you and oscar look so cute in slide 2 <3

user72 WHAT DOES SHE KNOW THAT WE DON'T

user1 lit nothing, they're just friends

user8 NOOOO user1 why are you off the ynoscar train

user1 i'm tired, i'm old and grey, i have no more hope

user73 who will be our leader now?

pierregasly yas queen

yn.jpg did franco teach you this?

oscarpiastri thank you to the random stranger who took slide 2 👏

user74 stop pretending you like her oscar, it's okay, she's annoying, we know

user2 i SWEAR i will commit crimes

Yn didn’t know the name of the club. She knew it was hot and the loud techno music was providing an incredibly steady beat, but she didn’t know the name of the people around her or the meaning of the lyrics or the type of alcohol in her addictive drink. She didn’t even know if she was having a good time.

She should’ve been. The appeal of Amsterdam, for all normal people, was the nightlife. But right now, Yn wasn’t normal. It was incredibly not normal how, despite the sea of good-looking men, all she could think about was her best fucking friend.

Oscar may as well have been a ghost the way he was haunting her. She’d liked him for years, but never had it felt less like a crush and more like a fucking need than tonight. Maybe it was how close in proximity they'd been, or maybe she just got tired of waiting. Maybe it was this darkened room full of strangers that made her realize she wanted Oscar to be anything but.

He probably didn't want the same. On the train, he was the one to insist they were solely friends, as if he could read her mind in those precious moments and see how her cheeks reddened at a brush of his hand. He was the one in Rome who assured her that friends could too sleep in the same bed. Every word out of his mouth felt like an attack on her most precious secret. He had to know. But, fuck, if he knew.

If he had known and not taken her into his arms in the way she'd envisioned him doing, it might be worse than any other possibility. She'd danced with men, she'd kissed them, she'd loved them, but only one could she laugh, cry, and just be with. And it was the one who probably saw her as a sister.

This is why I haven't talked to him in a while, she reminded herself. The last time she spent too much time with Oscar, these stupid fucking feelings arose. She almost kissed him on the balcony as they shared a slice of pizza. She was out of her mind, so she needed to be out of his vicinity. But she had to keep coming back. They had this promise that they'd grow old and gray together and tell their respective kids about their adventures as idiotic twenty-year-old selves. How could she survive until then without letting these feelings spill out, like the red wine that night in Bali four years ago?

She had to talk to him. No more missed opportunities on balconies or lingering looks in dim rooms. No fucking more. Pushing through the crowd, Yn wrestled her phone out of her clutch, struggling to focus her vision on her contacts. Once she tumbled through the exit, she rang Oscar, waiting and unknowingly teeter-tottering.

"Yn?" his deep voice answered--had he been sleeping?

"Osc!" she sang, twirling as she did so.

"Is everything alright? Are you drunk?" In the background, she could hear him shuffling out of what was presumably bed.

"I'm a lot of things," she dragged out, swinging her clutch around.

"What's going on, do you need me to pick you up?" Why was he so fucking perfect?

"That would be nice," she said, shy all of a sudden. "You're always so nice to me, Osc. It's not fair. It's like you're an angel and I don't think I deserve that."

"Where are you?" he asked, ignoring her comments.

Yn giggled. "I don't know, the name is in Dutch or something." Even though she couldn't see him, Yn knew Oscar had rolled his eyes.

"Okay, describe what's around you."

"Um, there's a metal gate with like a shit ton of stickers on it. It's like an alley here. Wait, let me move out of the alley."

"How'd you get there earlier?" His voice close to the phone, creating the slightest sense of static.

"I walked. Why? Wondering which shoes I'm wearing? You always care so much about my shoes, and I think it's cause I care about them. See? Nice."

"I asked because if you walked it must be near the hotel. Stay on the line, describe more."

"I'm between two tourist-y stores. There's also a flower shop in front, but it's closed. But it's not on the other street. I'd buy you flowers. You don't get enough flowers, Osc. I know I send them when you win a race, but you deserve them every day."

"Description, Yn."

"Okay. Tall, handsome, soft brown hair that sometimes looks bad--sorry--hazel eyes, really fucking cute teeth, God, your teeth make me want to die--"

"Of the street, Yn."

"Oh, yeah." She gulped. "There's a mushroom sign. On a nearby building."

"Give me a second, I'll find it." While Oscar stayed quiet, with the exception of a few soft clicks on his phone, Yn kept talking. Maybe too much.

"I shouldn't have gone without you," she admitted. "Not because I can't, I can, but I don't like to. I'm here with you. With Oscar Pastry. I should spend time with Pastry. I don't even want to fucking club. Everything I want, I can get from you." A moment passed before Yn started chuckling. "Well, I can't get that," she dragged it out, almost in song.

"I see you," he said over the phone, quickly hanging up after. Yn turned around before hearing his voice from the other side of the street. He was still in his pajama pants, a classic Oscar Piastri plain white t-shirt to match. How could he look so good? When he was near enough, his hands went to her arms, stabilizing her. "Are you alright?" His eyes were darting around, and it really made her feel bad for what she was about to say.

"No," she simply replied. Oscar gaped at her, confused and even more worried. "I haven't been fucking alright for so long, Osc. I... I can't be alright when you're here and you're perfect and you're my stupid fucking friend? It's not fair. I mean, how can a girl be alright? I don't even know how to answer that. I don't even know--"

"Yn, what are you saying?" he asked, his grasp on her arms lightening.

"You know what I'm saying, Oscar. I'm saying I don't want us to be friends. I don't think I can take it. I haven't been able to just be friends for a long ass time. What I'm saying is..." she couldn't find the words. Her eyes met his and suddenly it wasn't words she needed, it was action.

She pulled him close and kissed him.

aaaaaaand that's part 3. a little less social media and a bit more writing but i felt it was necessary. hope you guys enjoyed!!!! final part coming soon <333

[swordymacaroni]

Break Up With ME, I'm Bored -_-

summary- how do the jjk men react to you saying "lets break up"(as a joke)?

pairings- nanami x reader, sukuna x reader, toji x reader, geto x reader

warnings- swearing, suggestive?, threats of murder

requested by-@hrts4hanniehae

NANAMI

“noooooo! come backkk” you protest as you sleepily tug on nanami’s arm. you’re both nestled in warm, cozy sheets. that is, until nanami’s alarm beckons him to go do his fuckass job.

nanami looks down at you, his hair mussed and sticking up, a boyish smile softening his features. “can’t sweetheart. i have work. not all of us can be this abhorrently clingy.”

he leans over to kiss your forehead before he sees your eyebrows draw together. you pull the covers over you, thoughtful. 

“what, honey?”

“oh, nothing, ken. you’re right. i’m too clingy and i’m hindering your career. we should break up.”

no alarm clock could wake kento up as fast as that statement did. 

“what? honey, no. oh god, please don’t. i would never mean it like that. you’re-you’re what makes me want to come home after a long day, I couldn’t-wouldn’t do this without you here, sweetheart-”

your cackle interrupts his panicked speech. 

“kennn. i was kidding! go get ready, you’re going to be late.”

he simply lies back down, pulling you into his arms. “go to work? after that? i certainly don’t think so.”

he sends a quick text to his team that he won’t be able to make it today due to an emergency of the utmost importance.

he lounges with you until noon, talking about nothing and everything,  before he makes you  pancakes, caging you between him and the stove, pressing kisses to your shoulders every once in a while.

you assure him that he does, in fact make enough time for you, and he’s free to go to work tomorrow. he asks if you’re sure at least ten times before he agrees.

(he takes you on a two week trip to malasia the very next day)

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

SUKUNA

you stare at sukuna as he sips his tea or (it doesn’t look or smell like tea, but you’ll be happier not knowing what it actually is). 

“what?” he asks without sparing you a glance.

“can i come to the advisory meeting with you?”

“why?”

“because… uh, it’s fun and i like hearing people’s perspectives.”

He smirks. "or is it because you follow me every waking breath?”

you squint. “wow, ok. say that when i break up with you and move to the other side of the country.”

he sips his tea. “no.”

“excuse me?”

his hand comes up to cup your nape, eyes holding yours captive. “you simply cannot escape me. every place you go. i come along. every home you make. i adorn it for you. every man you touch.” his eyes darken. “i erase for you.”

“hey sukuna so what the fuck?”

he brings your hand to his mouth, nipping at your fingers almost threateningly. “you will join me for my advisory meeting. and then for dinner. and then for my evening stroll. i require you beside me at all times. all the time.”

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TOJI

you chuck a pillow at toji, which he deflects without looking up from where he’s cleaning his gun.

“oh my gosh! if you spent as much time with me as you do with the gun, i’d be pregnant with twins by now,” you pout.

he casts you a sidelong glance. “i can make that happen.”

you let out a shriek of frustration. “put the gun down and come upstairs.“

he tuts. “can't have you getting so needy on me, girl. how do I function with you being a koala?.”

your mouth falls open. “wow. ok. expect my side of the bed to be empty tomorrow. you shall receive an invitation to my wedding with a tall funny finance bro.”

toji laughs, but it has an edge to it. “won’t happen, doll.”

you jut out your lower lip. “hell you mean it won’t? i totally have game, you know-”

“it won’t because every man you look at will end up with a hole in his head. i don’t think you’d want that.”

he cocks his gun nonchalantly. 

“ toji. You know you’re psychotic, right?”

he grins before planting a wet kiss on your cheek. “the better to love you with, doll.”

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

GETO

you throw your arms around geto with a little sound of joy. he has to drop his cup of coffee to catch you. he tuts, his arms still around your waist. “come on, pretty. so needy you can’t even wait for me to literally enter the house and put my drink down?”

you stiffen as you untangle yourself from him, sighing. “You’re right, geto.”

“he frowns. “geto? what happened to sugu?”

you shrug. “i can’t call my to-be ex sugu.”

his entire body tenses as he looks down at you. “i’m sorry?”

you tug on a strand of your hair. “oh you know, you don’t want me to be so obsessed with you, so i’ll have to respect your boundaries and break up.”

his hands are threaded in your hair as he’s backing you up against the wall. “no, pretty. you’re not leaving. not like this. not ever. you want me to carry you around the village and kiss you like the world is ending in front of my followers? done. no second thoughts.  you want me to abandon them and become a hermit with you for the rest of time? fucking absolutely. just don’t want those words to leave your pretty mouth again.”

you open and close your mouth, shocked. “sugu, I was literally just joking…”

he hums noncomitally as he saunters away. “pass me the mop, pretty? have to clean up some coffee.”

───⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

a/n- this is butt booty cheeks but uhh

[calypso-rt]

HELLO SO some stuff is happening to me rn with my frat boy friend and it gave me an idea for a fic 🙈 Could you do a Frat boy! Rafe x Reader that are just friends and he needs a date for his date function, so he asks her? the theme/idea for the date function is that they get handcuffed to each other for the night and they have to drink a bottle of champagne. Definitely flirty friendship (w lotsa tension) but up to u whether anything actually happens or not!

Love love love your works! 🫶

Cuffing Season

-> Frat!Rafe x Reader

-> A/N: this has been sitting in the drafts for AGESSS but it's out. thank you @rafeycameronsgf for such a fun idea

You’re halfway through a paper on political theory when your phone buzzes.

Rafe 😕:

yo u home? emergency. need you.

You sigh. Glance at the clock. 6:47 p.m.

Another buzz.

i’m outside

You blink.

Sure enough, two minutes later: knock knock knock on your door.

You open it, and there he is. Backward hat. Faded hoodie. Grinning like the devil.

“Hey, genius,” he says easily. “You busy tonight?”

You fold your arms. “You’re aware it’s Thursday and I have three papers due.”

He smirks. “Perfect. Then you’ll need a break.”

“Rafe.”

“Listen.” He leans against your doorframe. “I need a date.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“For the function. The handcuff one.”

You stare. “The what?”

He grins. “It’s stupid. Whole theme is we all get cuffed to our date and have to do challenges together. Drinking games. Obstacle courses. Whatever. My original date bailed. But 's for the best since you’re the only person I trust to win me that title, anyway.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’d say yes?”

He flashes that dangerous smile, the one you’ve seen melt half the campus. "Because you secretly love chaos. And you haven’t been out in weeks."

He’s not wrong. You’ve been buried in your books. And you do like chaos... on your own terms.

Rafe leans in slightly, voice low. "Come on. You know you’ll run circles around these people. I’ll even buy you all your drinks."

You narrow your eyes. "You’re really desperate, huh?"

He smirks. "I’m asking you, aren’t I?"

And despite yourself, despite the very obvious implications of being handcuffed to Rafe Cameron for an entire night, something in your stomach flips.

You sigh. "Fine. But if you annoy me, I’m taking the key and leaving you cuffed to Topper"

His grin turns downright wicked. "Deal."

...

You almost forget why you agreed to this. Until you’re standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide just how good to look.

You’re not a regular at the frat scene. You watch it happen from the edges. You’ve seen Rafe in his element: confident, loud, magnetic, and you’ve always been the one with a knowing smirk in the back of the room, drink in hand, unbothered.

But tonight… cuffed to him?

You smirk to yourself and pick the dress, the one you reserve for nights you want to be remembered.

By the time you’re done, your hair falls in soft waves, your lipstick is a shade deeper than your usual, and your phone buzzes again:

Rafe 😕:

outside. don’t make me come drag you out 👀

You grab your jacket and head downstairs.

When you step out, you spot him leaning against his car, blue jeans, black tee, hands in his pockets.

And when he sees you?

His entire posture changes.

His smirk falters for half a second, like he wasn’t prepared. Then it comes back twice as cocky, but his eyes drag over you like they’re memorizing the view.

“Holy shit,” he says low. “You’re gonna be the reason half this party cries tonight.”

You cock your head. “That good, huh?”

He pushes off the car, crossing the distance in two easy steps. His voice drops. “Better. You’re dangerous like this.”

Your breath catches, just for a second, but you recover fast. “You’re the one who asked for this.”

“Trust me,” he says, leaning in, voice like velvet, “I’ve been wanting an excuse.”

Before you can question that statement, he holds out his hand, handing you some handcuffs. “Cuff me, genius.”

You roll your eyes but your fingers tremble slightly as you fasten the cuff to his wrist, then your own. The click feels louder than it should. When you glance up, his gaze is already on your mouth.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

You lift your chin. “Try to keep up.”

The frat house is already buzzing when you pull up. Bass thumping, bodies moving, lights spinning.

Rafe slides out of the car and pulls you with him, the chain between your wrists forcing you closer than you mean to be.

“You good?” he asks quietly, thumb brushing your knuckles, an excuse, probably, to touch you.

You nod. “I can handle a party.”

“Yeah?” His grin turns wicked. “Can you handle being cuffed to me all night?”

You smirk. “Don’t tempt me.”

Inside, people immediately turn. Rafe Cameron, cuffed to you? It draws attention. Whispers. Stares. He eats it up, throwing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you through the crowd with easy arrogance, but you can feel it: the tension in the way he holds you a little too close, the way his fingers flex against your side.

“Didn’t know you had this in you,” he says against your ear when you pass a particularly wide-eyed group of sorority girls.

You glance up at him, eyes glittering. “You clearly haven’t been paying enough attention.”

He stops walking, just for a beat, turns so you’re facing him, closer than close.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice a little rougher now. “You have no idea how much attention I pay.”

Your pulse kicks.

Before you can answer, someone calls your names for the first challenge.

Rafe smirks. “Guess we’ll see if you can really handle me tonight.”

And with that, he tugs you toward the center of the room, handcuffed, heart racing, wondering how in the hell you’re going to survive this night without letting him see how much you already want more.

...

“Cameron! Y/N! You’re up!”

You glance at Rafe, raising a brow. “Remind me again why I said yes to this?”

He grins. “Because you like winning.”

Fair enough.

They call you both to the center of the room where a long folding table is set up, shot glasses in a neat row, alternating liquids. Some tequila, some water, some vinegar (to mess with you), some mystery shots that smell dangerous.

The challenge: One hand each. One person drinks, the other handles the refills. Fastest pair wins.

Rafe looks down at your cuffed hands, then back up at you, eyes glinting. “Guess that’s me and you, superstar.”

You smirk. “Just don’t slow me down.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leans in close, voice a dark drawl. “Try to keep up.”

The countdown starts. 3… 2… 1… GO!

From the first second, you two are locked in. Seamless.

Rafe flips the first shot toward you with perfect timing. You down it, slam the glass. He grabs the next one, fluid and fast. When it’s his turn to drink, your grip is already on the next glass, waiting.

People start cheering when they see how fast you move.

“Holy shit, look at them!” someone shouts.

But you barely hear them, your whole world is narrowed to the heat of Rafe’s body next to yours, his breath in your ear every time he leans in, the sharp glint of focus in his eyes when he watches you.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs after you knock back a brutal shot without flinching. His hand squeezes yours under the table, fleeting, electric.

You smirk. “Thought you said I couldn’t handle you.”

He laughs, a low, wicked sound. “You might be the only one who can.”

Another round, faster now, you and Rafe moving in perfect sync, like this is a game you’ve been playing forever. The cuffs force you close, shoulders pressed, legs bumping, heat building in every unspoken glance.

By the time you slam the last glass down, the whole room is roaring.

“WINNERS!” someone shouts.

Rafe grins wide, breathless, and turns to you, eyes bright, chest heaving from adrenaline and tequila.

Without thinking, he grabs your cuffed hand and lifts it over your heads, triumphant. “Dream team, baby.”

You’re grinning too, heart racing, not from the win, but from the way he’s looking at you now. Not like a friend. Not like a teammate.

Like a guy who’s been trying to hold it together all night, and who’s about five seconds away from forgetting you’re supposed to be "just friends."

...

The night blurs in a whirl of heat and music and too many shots. You lose count after the third round of challenges, the cuffs feel like part of you now, the weight of Rafe’s hand in yours a constant, grounding thing.

At some point, the crowd thins. People disappear to rooms, to Ubers, to dark corners.

You and Rafe end up collapsed on the beat-up couch in the sunroom, fairy lights flickering, music muffled now, the air cooler against flushed skin.

You’re both giggling at something stupid, an earlier challenge, the fact that you managed to win two rounds in a row even though you’re swaying slightly now. Rafe leans back, head tipped against the wall, eyes half-lidded and fond.

“You’re trouble, y’know that?” he says, voice low and lazy.

You nudge him with your knee. “Me? You’re the one who handcuffed me to you for four hours.”

He grins, tipsy and lopsided. “Best decision I’ve made in a while.”

You should laugh it off. Should tease him back. But something in the way he says it, too soft, too sincere, catches you.

You glance at him, heart thudding a little too fast. “Rafe..?"

He turns his head, meeting your gaze fully now, no smirk, no cocky edge. Just warmth. “Yeah?”

You swallow. The words come out before you can stop them. “I think I… might kinda like you.”

Silence.

Then he exhales a soft, shaky laugh. Runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Y/N.”

Your stomach drops. “I shouldn’t have said—”

“No, no.” He grabs your cuffed hand gently, thumb brushing over your skin. His voice is rough with something like relief. “I’ve liked you since forever.”

You blink. “What.”

“I mean it.” He shifts closer, forehead nearly touching yours now. You can feel his breath, warm and smelling faintly of mint and tequila. “But I wasn’t gonna screw it up. Not with you.”

Your pulse is a wild thing in your chest.

“I don’t want this to be because we’re drunk,” he says softly. “Or because we’re cuffed and everyone else is gone.”

You nod, throat tight. “Me neither.”

He studies you for a long moment, eyes searching, reverent. Then slowly, carefully, he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to your cheek.

Soft. Steady. Like a promise.

When he pulls back, his voice is barely a whisper. “When we’re sober. I want our first kiss.”

You can’t speak, just squeeze his hand in silent agreement. And there you stay, tangled together on the couch, cuffed and incredibly drunk, hearts racing, two idiots too fond of each other to move.

But finally, finally, knowing you’ll get the moment right when the time comes.

[mariacallous]

As a member of ICE, you may be wondering: How are the people we thrust into our vans supposed to know that we are, in fact, acting under color of law and not just kidnapping them? Can I really do this job while wearing either an Army uniform that I have assembled myself in a confusing, over-the-top way or the same T-shirt I just wore to my failed custody hearing?

Sure! Here’s what to wear to let everyone who interacts with you know that you are an agent of ICE!

Do we have a uniform? No.

Uniforms show that you are part of something and that there is someone to call if anyone interacting with you has a complaint. A uniform indicates that you are not a rogue criminal seizing someone’s mom and hurling her into an unmarked van without reading her her rights: You’re an officer of the law doing that.

Who are they going to call about some guy in an ill-fitting T-shirt and long shorts? Why, behind that face covering, he could be the billionaire Mark Zuckerberg! Better treat him as though he is worth billions and accountable to no one, just in case!

If you’re wearing a uniform, people will be disappointed when you fail to show them an arrest warrant before entering their place of work. If you’re not wearing a uniform of any kind, they won’t know whether to be disappointed until it’s too late!

If you decide to wear some sort of uniform anyway (Army Surplus? January 6 Surplus? Your choice!), you can still send the message that you intend to be accountable to no one by wearing a face covering.

A face mask can say so many things: “I’m trying to do my part to protect those around me,” or  the exact opposite. A balaclava can say, “I’m skiing!” or, “I’m about to commit a jewelry heist,” depending on how you accessorize it.

The point is, we want you to feel free to express yourself! ICE believes in freedom of expression, except for graduate students who want to lead protests or write op-eds. Your clothing should tell a story about you! Just not who you are or that you are acting in any kind of official capacity. Wear a pink button-down, a shirt, a jacket, and some sort of backwards hat. Wear something that looks like what Ben Affleck would wear if he were really going through it and was visiting the Dunkin’ drive-through on foot. Wear something that, if you showed up at a costume party in this outfit, would make people say, “A soldier, but wrong somehow, like he’s in a video game,” or, “Did I see you at Charlottesville?”

If the person you are shoving into a van has any inkling that you are an officer of the law, you are doing it wrong. You should look like someone who is going to Home Depot because you forgot something (what you forgot was an arrest warrant for your next stop).

As Coco Chanel said, whenever you assemble an outfit, before you leave the house, look in the mirror, and take one thing off! Specifically, your badge identifying you as an officer of the law. Coco collaborated with the Nazis.

Remember, the right ensemble and accessories can say: I’m accountable to the people of the United States, and we are still operating under rule of law. So before you get dressed each morning, think about the message you want your outfit to send. It shouldn’t be that.

[brattysx]

some... fwb x seongjae, angst (boss specialty) fluff smut???? pls i love your blog sm 🤭 i hope u receive requests 😭🙃

🧸-

“Friends?”

Geum Seongjae x reader | Weak Hero Universe | +18 mdni!

Tags: fluff and angst, smut, jealousy, friends with benefits, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, possessive behavior, emotional sex, slow burn, sexual tension, drunk confession, protective male lead, toxic…

They said we were just friends.

So did we.

With one difference: we lied better.

It all started as a joke — an inside joke between two people who pretended to annoy each other out of sheer spite, but deep down used the arguments as an excuse to keep in constant contact. There were barbs, sure, but there were also silences far too long to be merely awkward, looks that lingered past the limits of friendship, and touches that started off casual but ended thick with unspoken tension. There wasn’t a specific moment when we crossed the line, because the line had always been blurred — fragile, volatile. It was a slow process, like a rope stretched until it snapped, and by the time we noticed, we had already fallen — not into love, not yet — but into something intimate, dangerous, and wildly addictive. We weren’t dating. We never dated. That would’ve required courage, honesty, and the willingness to face feelings head-on. Neither of us was ready for that. We lied so well we almost believed it ourselves.

Seongjae was the kind of guy who looked like he had it all under control. Calm face, calculated words, that unshakeable posture. People admired him — some even feared him — because he never showed all of himself. He was a walking mystery. And yet, with me, he let pieces slip — anger, desire, confusion — fragments of himself he tried to smother before they could become real. He was arrogant with others, but with me… it was different. Sometimes it felt like he was fighting something inside himself. Like he was at war — between what he felt and what he thought he should feel. And that was never clearer than when we said — loudly, always — that we couldn’t stand each other. That we were oil and water. But it only took one bitter remark, one sharp exchange, for the anger to spark fire — and for that fire to consume us until there was nothing left but our bodies, tangled together, searching for relief from a pain we hadn’t yet learned how to name.

It was a cycle. Vicious. Almost toxic. A quiet game where we both knew the rules but insisted on pretending we didn’t. A kind of delicious hell, because every fight ended in trembling hands and desperate kisses, and the addiction to being near each other always outweighed the clarity to walk away.

Nobody knew.

Well, nobody knew. But they felt it. That thick tension in the air whenever we were in the same room. The way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching, or how I went quiet just to listen to his laugh, hiding my smile like it was nothing. Even our friends started to comment.

“Don’t you think there’s something going on between them?” I heard someone whisper at the end of class once, while I pretended to look for something in my bag.

“No way. They hate each other.”

“Exactly. That’s why. There’s too much tension for it to be just bickering.”

I swallowed hard. Pretended not to hear. But it stung — because it was true. There was something. Something suppressed, something we fought to deny with everything we had. But it was there. And it was growing. With every touch, every late night together, every time we pretended it was just one more night and not what it had always been underneath: the desperate need to be close, even if we didn’t know what to do with it.

And I was getting tired.

Tired of pretending, of hiding, of feeling small when all I wanted was to be seen. Not just in the dark of his room. Not just in the silence of our secret nights. I wanted to be acknowledged. Spoken aloud. Named. I wanted to exist fully in his life — not just in the in-between moments he didn’t deem important.

The first time I brought it up was after a particularly long night. We were lying across the mattress, breathless, sweaty, the sheets half on the floor. I turned to him, waiting for a touch, a look, something. But he was just there, staring at the ceiling like I wasn’t even in the room. Like nothing had happened. Like I was invisible — even after I’d given him everything. Again.

“You never wanted this,” he said with that fake calm that drove me insane.

“Wanted what?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Anything serious. You always said you hated commitment.”

“I said that a year ago, Seongjae. People change.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked away — like he couldn’t bear to meet my eyes and see the reflection of his own cowardice. And that was the moment I knew. He was lying. Again. It wasn’t about me. It never had been. It was about him. About his fear. About the scars he carried that made him choose the safety of a nameless arrangement over the risk of loving me for real.

But I couldn’t keep living off scraps.

I wanted everything. And all he ever gave me was almost.

Almost love.

Almost courage.

Almost truth.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could survive in that “almost” without completely falling apart.

I had asked again. For the third time. But this time, it wasn’t a reckless impulse driven by loneliness or anger. It was different. I had to gather every last inch of courage I had left in me, pick up the pieces he’d been leaving behind bit by bit, and put on the table what had been eating me alive. He knew. He’d always known. The problem was, he never wanted to admit it — not to me, not even to himself.

“Answer me, Seongjae… Why don’t we try something real?” I asked, straight to the point, my voice steady even though I was falling apart inside.

He didn’t reply right away. He blinked slowly, like he was trying to delay the question, postpone the inevitable. He looked down and licked his lips — a nervous tic I’d come to recognize in moments where he felt cornered. The silence between us stretched too long.

“Now’s not the right time,” he muttered at last, with no real conviction. “There’s too much going on. My parents… the union… you know how tense everything is.”

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” I shot back, not bothering to hide the hurt already seeping into my voice. “There’s always some new excuse. A fresh reason. A convenient distraction.”

He drew a deep breath. His posture was the kind of strong that’s built on the edge of collapse. But he would never show it — not to me. Not fully. His eyes avoided mine, as if every time I looked straight at him, he might give in to the truth he tried so hard to silence.

“I don’t want to drag you into my mess,” he said softly, like he thought he was doing me a favor.

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” I asked, pulling away slightly, swallowing down the ache that now pulsed in my chest. “You use me as a pressure valve, like a sedative for a pain you won’t even share. You want me close when it’s dark, but you shut me out when I want to be in your daylight. That’s not care. That’s cowardice.”

He stayed quiet. Silent the way he always got when I said too many truths. And that silence was deafening. Cruel. Worse than shouting. Because it meant that, once again, he was choosing fear over me. Safety over the risk of something real.

The second time came weeks later. Another night. Another dark room. Another set of sheets that bore witness to our exhaustion disguised as desire. We were lying side by side, not touching, like the bed had turned into neutral ground on a war zone. I looked at him. The profile of his face was lit faintly by the streetlight outside. He looked tired. But it was more than that. There was weight there. Pain. Something ready to snap.

“You’re amazing. You deserve someone who’ll actually claim you,” he said suddenly, as if it were a compliment — a distorted way to protect me.

“And that someone can’t be you?” I asked, without hesitation.

He hesitated. Swallowed hard. His voice came out low, a little broken.

“No… I ruin everything I touch. I always have. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That was his specialty: sounding noble while running away. He’d put himself in the martyr’s seat, like he was doing me a favor by keeping me away, when really he was just hurting me in the slowest, quietest way. And still… I couldn’t hate him for it. Because there was truth in that fear. I saw it in his eyes. He was already in love with me — in his own way. Twisted, silent, terrified. He loved me without knowing how, without knowing what to do with it — so he ran. And hurt. And came up with excuses he could barely keep straight.

But the third time… that’s when it really broke me. The worst one. The one that shattered something in me that would never fit back quite the same.

“You know that if we end up together, it’ll just fall apart. And I don’t want to lose you,” he said, with that sharp honesty of someone who’d rather rip the wound open than try to heal it.

“You’d rather have me halfway than risk losing me for real?” I asked, my voice trembling, my heart screaming on the inside. “Is that what you prefer? This miserable version of presence?”

“I’d rather this than not have you at all,” he said, and this time his eyes locked on mine. And what I saw there wrecked me more than any words: fear. Real, raw, paralyzing fear.

In that moment, I knew he wasn’t going to change. Not now. Maybe not ever. And so, without yelling, without some dramatic scene, I chose to walk away. It was me who chose — because he never made the hard decisions. He just let time and silence make them for him. He just watched as I left. Didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t ask me to stay. Just… let it happen.

“We went our separate ways.” That’s what we said when people asked. Neat words. Convenient. Detached. “It was for the best,” we’d add. Like it had been mature. Like it was mutual. Like I hadn’t cried for days, and he hadn’t locked himself deeper into that shell of his.

But nothing moved on. Nothing continued. The truth was, everything stopped. I felt hollow. Like I’d been ripped out of myself.

And him? He vanished. Disappeared like a ghost, leaving behind only scattered traces. He pretended to be busy with union matters, buried in new conflicts and responsibilities. He acted like he was dealing with bigger things, more important things — when in truth, he was using external chaos to avoid the storm inside him.

And just when I thought the dust was settling, when I thought my feelings might finally fade, he showed up.

Not Seongjae.

Someone else.

Someone new. Someone who spoke to me like he actually saw me. Who listened. Who complimented my smile without needing me to earn it. And even though I didn’t truly want him, I let him get close. Because pretending a new beginning was easier than facing the end of something that had never been said out loud.

He was just a classmate. At first.

Someone nice. Present. Conveniently attentive. The kind who smiled too much, complimented out loud, and made sure to show how much he cared — even when no one asked him to. He started slow, like someone trying to build something solid, but his steps felt too calculated to be innocent. First came the late-night messages — random questions at 2 a.m., like a “are you still up?” was just curiosity, not a poorly disguised excuse to create intimacy. Then the coffees, always just the way I liked them, left on my desk before class with my name scribbled on the lid, like we’d been close for years. And then the invitations — persistent ones: snacks after class, movies, “just friends” walks. I didn’t encourage it, but I didn’t turn it down either. Not because I wanted something with him, but because, in a way, the whole act gave me this petty sense of revenge. Pretending I liked him was a childish — maybe even cruel — way of punishing someone who probably didn’t even know he was being punished.

Or maybe he did.

Seongjae had changed. Quieter. Sharper. More distant, even when he was right there. He didn’t look at me the same way — or pretended not to. If before he made a point of teasing, now he just walked past. If before his sarcastic remarks led to thick tension, now he didn’t speak at all. And when we were in the same group, I could feel his gaze on me — tense, dark, sharp — but the moment I turned to look, he was already pretending to scroll on his phone or stare blankly at the floor, like I was just another shadow in the room.

But it wasn’t indifference. It was held-back rage. Jealousy chewed down until it turned to poison.

His jaw would clench every time the other guy got too close to me, and he gripped his hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He never said a word, but his silence screamed. Every time he saw me smiling at the other boy, he’d avert his gaze like it physically hurt. And still — he did nothing. No attempts to talk. No effort to come closer. No confrontation. Seongjae chose to back away. He avoided me everywhere he could: school hallways, union meetings, even the usual spots where we’d always bumped into each other like fate. I started to notice how he’d change directions when he saw me from afar. How he’d switch study rooms. Leave early if I walked in.

And then came the comments.

Mutual friends — unaware of anything — started talking to him about me and me about him, clueless about the weight each word carried. One of them, laughing, said: “Seongjae, did you see your ex-bestie’s all smiles these days? That Minho guy’s glued to her. They’re always together.” Another was more direct: “Honestly thought you’d care. Guess it really doesn’t matter to you, huh?”

He wouldn’t reply. Just frowned slightly and kept doing whatever he was doing. But after that, I’d catch him running his fingers along the side of his neck, like he was trying to soothe something burning from the inside out. That restlessness of his didn’t go unnoticed. And that’s what hurt the most: he refused to get involved. Refused to stop me. Refused to fight.

And I kept pretending I was happy. I smiled in pictures. Laughed at my new admirer’s jokes. Let myself be touched on the shoulder, hugged from behind. I let it happen because I knew Seongjae saw. Even if he didn’t say a word. Even if he avoided me. Even if he acted like I no longer existed — he saw. And it was eating him alive. I could feel it.

Until one night, at a party, things nearly slipped out of control.

We were in a small hall — dim lights, loud music. Just another school event, nothing special. But everyone was there — including Seongjae. He saw me with the other guy the second he walked in. I saw the way his eyes hardened like stone, his whole expression shutting down into something cold and unreadable. He didn’t come talk to me. Didn’t say a word. He stayed across the room, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like part of the decor — but his eyes didn’t leave me for a second. The way he stared made me dizzy.

The guy — the new one — was full of energy. And clingy. He pulled me to dance, wrapped his hands around my waist, whispered something in my ear that made me laugh nervously. I could feel Seongjae’s eyes burning into me, even without looking. He was on fire, and it was almost tangible.

And then, the inevitable: the guy tried to kiss me.

He didn’t hide it. He was direct. Probably thought he’d timed it perfectly. And I, on instinct, turned my face away. Not out of loyalty to Seongjae, not because I was scared of feeling something — but because, in that moment, it just felt wrong. Dirty. Forced. Pointless.

Before I could fully pull back, I turned my head.

And Seongjae’s stare hit me like a blade straight to the chest.

It wasn’t just anger.

It was something darker. Deeper. Desperate.

But he didn’t do anything. He just turned his back and walked out through the side door like the room was on fire and he had to escape.

He left me there — in the middle of loud music and hands I didn’t want to hold.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe we weren’t just stuck in a game where we had both already lost — but neither of us had the guts to admit it.

Three days later, on a random Friday, he showed up at my door.

No warning. No message. No excuse.

Just him. And the weight of everything we never said.

The scent of alcohol got there before he did. Not strong, but just enough to give him away. His hair was messy, his expression unguarded, his eyes red — and not just from exhaustion. He looked lost, like he’d been drifting ever since the last time we saw each other. And only now had he gathered just enough courage to face the wreckage.

“Are you going out with him?” he asked right away — no hello, no hesitation.

“And what if I am?” I shot back, arms crossed, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart was pounding.

Seongjae let out a dry, bitter laugh, like the question itself was a personal offense.

“That asshole Minho can’t even hold a conversation without sounding like a lovesick teenager. Imagine dating someone like you.” He took a slightly off-balance step forward, swaying a little, but his eyes never left mine. “He doesn’t know you hate clingy people. Doesn’t know you can’t stand when someone talks only about themselves, or that you can’t fall asleep unless the fan’s on — even in the middle of winter.”

“And you do?” I challenged, trying not to flinch.

“I know everything. I know you like your coffee bitter, that you can’t keep quiet when you’re mad, and that you cover up how you feel by joking around. And I know you only let that idiot hang around to get back at me.”

He was visibly shaken. And even with his pride in pieces, what came through was a pain more honest than any half-assed excuse he’d ever given me.

“You’re drunk, Seongjae.”

“Maybe. But I’m not stupid.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m drunk off the thought of you with him. That idiot with the tight-ass pants who thinks making you laugh means he gets you. He doesn’t even know you talk in your sleep. I do. I’ve heard you say my name, by the way.” He nodded toward the inside of the house, like every room in it was burned into his memory.

“You only came here because you’re like this,” I said, trying — and failing — to keep my distance.

He smiled, but it was crooked, sad, full of rage.

“I came because I can’t watch that jerk put his hands on you like he has the right. I came because seeing you with someone else felt like someone ripped the air out of my lungs. I came because…” He took a deep breath, his voice dropping, “…because I can’t stand the idea of anyone else knowing you the way I do.”

We stood there in silence for a moment. A silence that hung heavy, trembling between us. He was closer now. I could smell the alcohol mixed with that scent of his I knew too well. And even then, I didn’t step back.

“You got mad, so you came here?” I asked, eyes locked on his.

“Mad? Mad doesn’t cover it.” He lowered his head, laughed again. “You talk about Minho like he’s some kind of prize. Like I didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You were punishing me, weren’t you?” He looked up again, calmer now, but still burning. “Admit it. You knew I’d see it. And you knew I couldn’t take it.”

I stayed silent. My heart pounding like a drum. Because he was right.

He stepped closer. So close I could feel the heat of his body on my skin.

“Tell me you don’t want him,” he said, in a low, husky voice, soaked in jealousy, desire, and pain. “Tell me you still want us.”

“You pushed me away, Seongjae.”

“And now I’m here. I’ll get on my knees if I have to. Just say it. Just tell me it’s still me.”

I didn’t say a word. Just looked at him. And in the next second, he pulled me in. His hands firm on my waist, his breath hot against my skin, his eyes locked on mine — and he kissed me. No asking. No thinking. No permission for pride.

The kiss was rushed, messy at first, fueled by anger, urgency, and all the pain we’d been carrying. But it was real. Alive. Intense. He held me like he needed proof I hadn’t vanished. And I kissed him back like I was tired of pretending I didn’t feel anything anymore.

When we finally pulled apart, he kept his forehead pressed against mine, breathing deep, eyes closed.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I just… I can’t pretend I’m okay watching you with someone else. I can’t.”

And for the first time, he said what he’d always kept buried.

And for the first time… I didn’t want to run.

His breathing was still shaky when his lips pulled away from mine, but his eyes — those eyes that were always so guarded — were now wide open, overflowing with feeling. You could see everything there: the jealousy, the longing, the desire, the fear, and a kind of desperate love that looked like it was choking him from the inside. He was still holding me in his arms, like letting go might actually make me disappear. Like if he dropped me now, I’d vanish for good.

“You drove me crazy,” he murmured, brushing his lips across my cheek, down to the corner of my jaw. “You and that idiot… smiling like you were fine. Do you know how many nights I tortured myself, imagining him touching you? How many times I almost went after you and stopped halfway, thinking I didn’t deserve you anymore?”

His voice was low, hoarse, almost shaking. I could feel the tension in his muscles as he carried me to the bedroom, every step driven by something that wasn’t just anger — it was need. But not the blind rage of someone who wants to punish. It was the frustration of someone who wants to love right and never learned how.

He laid me down on the bed like he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers — even though I wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. He hovered above me, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. His hands were trembling, but even so, they moved with purpose — down my arms, my waist, my thighs. And every touch left a trail of heat, like he was drawing into my skin all the things he never had the courage to say out loud.

“You’re mine. And not because I’m saying it. Because you’ve always been. Since the beginning. Since that first fight. Since the first touch in the hallway.”

With each word, he lowered himself over me, our bodies aligning like he wanted to melt into me. His hands weren’t rushed — they were slow, deliberate, exploring me with a kind of wild reverence. He knew where to touch. He knew how to take my breath away with just the right pressure of his fingers. And he did it on purpose.

His kisses traced down my neck, hotter now, wetter, more possessive. He bit gently, whispered things in my ear, and I arched under him like my body had memorized this kind of surrender. And he talked. He wouldn’t stop talking.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rougher now, deeper. I opened my eyes and met his gaze — wide, breathless, holding a truth that hurt to look at. “I want to see you while I have you back.”

Then our bodies began to move together — slow, heavy, like every motion carried months of silence. It wasn’t just sex. It was anger, guilt, confession. But it was also love — raw, urgent, wrecked. He touched me like he was somewhere between worship and collapse. The kisses turned hungrier, the grip of his hands tighter, and the sounds escaping between us were so intimate they felt like the only things that existed.

“I love you,” he whispered again, this time with his lips against my chest, as his body moved against mine. “Do you get it now? I love you so much it hurts. It tears me apart. And still… you’re the only thing that makes it worth breathing.”

I didn’t have words. I just wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer, deeper — as if I needed to say “I love you too” with everything except my mouth.

And in that bed, with the room dark, the sheets tangled, and the weight of everything we’d held back between us — we finally made love. But not the soft, cinematic kind. It was real love. Messy. Intense. Full of pain, full of longing, full of return. The kind of love that comes from people who broke it, came back, and still don’t know how to fix it — but won’t walk away again.

Because by now, it was too late to deny.

And far too early to stop.

The light slipping through the cracks in the curtain made it clear the day had already begun, but inside the room, everything still tasted like the middle of the night. The sheets were a mess, clothes scattered in random spots on the floor, pillows tossed far from where they belonged — the whole scene looked like it had been painted by some kind of private storm made just for us.

I opened my eyes first. The silence was calm, and Seongjae was still sleeping, lying on his side, his face turned toward me, breathing deeply — almost childlike. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and one arm was draped lazily across his waist like he was still making sure I hadn’t disappeared. He looked… at peace. For the first time in a long time. And even with his face smudged with sleep and a tiny bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, he somehow still managed to be annoyingly handsome.

Suddenly, he groaned.

“My head’s killing me…,” he mumbled, eyes still shut, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Well, good morning to you too,” I said with a soft laugh, propping myself up on my elbow to get a better look at him.

“Let’s sleep a little more…” he whispered, reaching out to pull me back in like I was his favorite pillow. “My head’s gonna fall off if I get up right now.”

“You were such a baby last night. And now you’re even cuter — all clingy like this.”

He opened one eye slowly, face scrunched into a fake scowl.

“If I’m the baby, then you’re the blanket. And I’m not leaving you anymore.”

I laughed — couldn’t help it — and tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Get up, Seongjae. We have school.”

“Ugh… real life ruins everything,” he groaned, pulling the sheet over his face. Still, after a few more minutes of stalling, he finally got up, and we got ready together — with quiet laughs and slow, playful touches as we bumped into each other on purpose.

We left the house together, fingers laced, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. Maybe it had always been. We had just taken too long to admit it.

At school, we didn’t bother hiding it. We walked side by side through the main hallway, and it was almost funny to watch people turn their heads, one by one, like they hadn’t seen it coming — even though everyone had always kind of known.

We sat next to each other, same row. He didn’t let go of my hand. From time to time, his fingers brushed against mine, or he’d rest his hand on my thigh — and whenever someone stared, he’d flash that smug little smile of his, the one that now worked in my favor.

But of course… Minho showed up.

I saw him approaching with that overconfident walk, eyes going straight to our joined hands. He froze for just a second, like his brain was still processing what he was seeing — our hands, the smudge of lipstick, the faint purplish mark on my neck. But he held his posture.

“You disappeared last night…” he said, stopping beside us. “Left the party early. You’ve been kinda forgetful lately.”

“Wasn’t feeling too well,” I replied calmly, glancing at Seongjae — whose expression clearly said he wasn’t thrilled to see Minho.

“Oh, right… Must’ve been the dizziness from being around someone who lies to everyone and then vanishes,” he added, slicing his gaze between the two of us. Seongjae had already let go of my hand and straightened up in his seat, jaw clenched tight.

“Minho…” he said in a low voice, with a forced sigh — like he had to find an extra level of patience just because we were in public. Though, it wasn’t about the people around us — it was about me.

“Anyway,” Minho continued, ignoring the warning in Seongjae’s tone, “wanna hang out after class? Just the two of us? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while.”

He already knew.

And Seongjae knew exactly what that kind of line meant coming from a guy — and he wasn’t having it.

Before I could say a thing, Seongjae stood up. Slowly. His eyes locked on Minho’s. His smile was polite — but his gaze? Pure warning.

“She’s not going. Because she already has a boyfriend. That would be me. We’re perfectly fine on our own, so keep your eyes off her before I mess up your face.”

Minho scoffed. Tried to laugh it off like it was some kind of joke.

“Boyfriend?” he repeated with a scoff. “Maybe clarify that — seeing how she wanted me before you ever put a ring on her finger.”

“Yeah. Boyfriend. Official. Holding hands in the hallway, good morning kisses, all the things you’re never gonna get. Oh, and that? That was during our dark phase. We got back together. So don’t ever come near her again,” Seongjae said, his tone harder than before.

Silence fell over the hallway instantly.

Minho said nothing.

He hesitated for a few seconds — then turned and walked away without another word.

Seongjae, on the other hand, sat back down beside me, arms crossed, and shot me a sidelong glance with that familiar, satisfied little smirk.

“Now that’s peace,” he muttered.

“Oh, please… Don’t give me that evil look. You look like a scary baby,” I teased, pouting your lips and kiss him. He chuckled.

I smiled quietly, turned my face toward him, and rested my head on his shoulder. For the first time — no fear. No pretending.

And for the first time… he wasn’t pretending either.

a/n: hii, tyy honey, for you message, i hope you enjoy it. i took a while to reply but here it is, happy reading! 💋🤭

yes, i’m taking requests! anyone who wants to can send them through the ask box, 24/7. see you and bye bye!😸🙃

[horny-marbles]

how would the creeps/proxies try to flirt? like, what would they say as an example? if not something to say, what cheeky things would they do to gather their love interest's attention?

WHY DIDN'T I SEE THIS ASK EJFJSKJDKWKDK

Jack: first of all. he doesn't flirt (i WISH)—not that he doesn't know how to, i think he'd be fucking lethal if he had the fucks to give (which he doesn't). but there'll be actions that you need to actively look out for. like no wait time at the "infirmary" and keeping you "under observation" longer than anyone else. like the fact that he answers you with full sentences instead of low effort grunts. like finding items you forgot around the mansion at your door. BUT, if he did try, "Ugh, this food hit me like a truck. I feel like my intestines are screaming." "They could be." or, maybe during a stitch, you wince. "Fuck, Jack!" "So that's what it sounds like. Noted."

Jeff: i've said it before, i'll say it again, he's a DOG. mental-institution-fuckboy. no filter, no decorum, no shame, no fucks. you don't even need to give him an opportunity to pipe in, he'll make one whenever he wants. you're just existing, chewing gum, "Wasting that mouth on gum when you could have my dick in your molars." you roll your eyes at something he says, "Keep playing coy, baby, I'll make 'em roll so far back you might see God." you could literally just brush past him, not even paying attention, "Uh-huh, fuckin' touch me like that again and I'll put a baby in you just to prove a point." what point? you'll never know.

Toby: the definition of plot twist. he jumps from jokes and banter to Jeff Lite™ so quick you're not sure whether you're whiplashed or clenching. "Hah, d-dude, what's w-with the fff-face? W-Why you look like that." "? Like what?" "Like you w-want me puh-put my ffuckin' hands on you." you didn't even make a face. oh, and play fighting. that's his declaration of love. he's WAY too fucking rough because he can't tell what kinda force he's using (or maybe he can and he just gets chubbed overpowering you), he'll be obnoxious on purpose so you shove him, and he just gets giddy like that's his fucking cue lol. gets you pinned and, "F-Fuck, baby, if you w-w-wanted me on t—bitch—top of you, you coulda' a-asked," or "Y-You do this shit on p-puh-purpose? Huh?" "What?? Rogers, get—" "Shit, I don't m-mind, baby."

BEN: he's a special case of "haha jk... unless", and you can never tell from the looks he gives you either because he's always sporting a half-lidded-eyes-and-permanent-stoner-smirk combo. you could be sitting next to him and laugh at something he says, "You're so fucked up for that." "For what??" "Existing? I got shit to do here, and you're out here sounding like that. Real selfish, dude." you could be smoking together, just talking about nothing, and he pipes up randomly. "If I told you I had a dream about you last night, and it was kinda illegal in like... three states. Would that be weird, yes or nah." "...Depends?" "On which states? Yeah, same." or, you'll be playing some co-op game and he'll always move his character back and forth over yours (like making them kiss lmfao), laughing through smooching sounds. "Dude you're so annoying." "That's crazy. Wanna make out about it?"

Brian: he'll show up for you in the most obvious but effortless ways possible, like driving you places or fixing your shit is just something to do. but flirting is CRIMINAL. he'll have your knees weak while he's beaming at you like you're not his crush. "You got somethin' on your face, sugar." "What? Here?" "Here, I'll get it." and he just swipes his thumb over your lips and grins, like was there even anything there to begin with??? "We gotta stop for gas, you want something from inside?" "Nah, I got everythin' I need right here next to me." you're maybe fiddling with his handycam, lens toward you, "Wouldn't mind if you hit record. You look good on camera." OHHHH YOU WANNA GET FUCKED UP MR. THOMAS. also he winks at you from across the room—not even smiling most of the time, it's just like a quick acknowledgement, but he doesn't "acknowledge" anyone else like that so...

Tim: game is crazy because it will ALWAYS seem like it just came out flirty, like it's just an afterthought. you'll have a cig between your lips and patting your pockets for a lighter, and he'll reach out and light it for you. "Thanks, I had a light though." "I know, but you look at my hands when I do it for you." and he just turns to what he was doing like he just commented on the weather. also he becomes super protective, but not even in a "hero" way (although he does look out for you during missions and altercations), just like. dadcore. like huffing and puffing when he's patching you up after getting hurt. like throwing his jacket on your shoulders with no ceremony, "You'll catch a cold, and I'd rather catch it some other way than from you coughing and sneezing 'round me." "I won't— In what other way?" "Directly from the source." like okay??? and you're just gonna keep walking after that sir??

[overdramaticbaddie]

Okay one thing about Berdly that NO ONE talks about is that bro is a FUCKING TANK.

His canon HP in his battles is 1985 (first battle), 900 (second battle) Which is FUCKING RIDICULOUS when you compare it to any of your party members.

While this makes sense for his function in chapter 2 as a miniboss (he would likely have a lot less if he were a party member) his unique resilience seems to be a part of his character besides basic game mechanics.

In the battle when Queen controlls him by attaching a whole ass mind control device to him, (if you dont get it off him) he will eventually manage to not only resist it, but fucking RIP IT OFF HIS FACE despite excruciating pain. If you DO save him, as soon as he hits the ground, he IMMEDIATELY turn to face queen like "You can't fight all FOUR of us bitch whachu gonna do?" and then as soon as she leaves he's just like "haha i'm actually fucking exhausted u guys go without me ill just go build a giant robot with spotify itunes and youtube music over here" like BRO??????

and SNOWGRAVE.

FUCKING.

SNOWGRAVE.

During the fight, if you look at the spell's description, all it says is "fatal". Not only that, if you choose to "check" Berdly, it says he's weak to ice.

He recieved a FATAL hit with a spell he is ELEMENTALY DISADVANTAGED AGAINST EVERY POKEMON PLAYER KNOWS THAT'S FUCKING INSANE

And then he just sits there in the ice cube for the whole rest of the adventure, and then everyone just LEAVES him in the library until kris manages to get out of the house at the end of the chapter. Bro is slumped over a wooden desk for HOURS in fucking CRITICAL CONDITION like how TF are you not dead?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!?!??

And when you enter the hospital the nurse talks to kris, saying something like "your friend is still- he's resting"

WAS SHE FR JUST ABOUT TO SAY HE'S STILL ALIVE

LIKE HE COULD FUCKING DIE AT ANY MOMENT

LIKE KRIS DRAGGED HIM IN AT DEATH'S DOOR AND SHE'S BARELY MANAGING TO KEEP HIM ALIVE!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?

I was talking to my dad abt this and he was like "plot armor" and that even FURTHER supports my theory abt berdly being relevant bc WHY PLOT ARMOR IF NO PLOT RELEVANCE

alsoooo kerdly canon hehehe

[kkitteny]

I can’t keep my panties from dropping!

—i.sae x nanny!reader

Your job description was simple.

Get Aimi ready for school, drop her off, come back, make food, pick her up, and entertain her until she fell asleep.

Despite the simplicity of your daily routine, you couldn’t help but be distracted by the girl’s father.

The constant stares, the lingering touches. The sugarcoated flirting.

You knew it was unprofessional— extremely. You shouldn’t look at your boss this way. Not when your job is to care for his daughter.

You could ignore your feelings and try to focus on your job, right?

Incorrect.

You were two pink-whitney shots down a past of destruction at a party one of your friends invited you to. You knew (thought) that a quick fuck and a couple drinks could take your handsome employer off your mind, so you continued downing shot after shot like water in order to follow through with the game plan you crafter while half tipsy.

But two turned to three, then four, then five and your friend couldn’t stand watching you hug walls in order to walk straight and giggle every time you tripped— which led you to your current sticky situation.

Sae stood across the kitchen island, arms crossed as he watched you drink water.

It had been an hour since your friend called him to take you home and you shrunk in your seat, embarrassed as he glared at you in disappointment.

“You usually never drink.” Not a question. Just a statement. His tone remained flat and terrifying, making you want to crawl into a hole.

You made eye contact with him and immediately looked away, a pout forming on your face. “Sorry.”

“Why’d you go out?” He asked, walking around the counter to stand by you. He practically towered over you, awaiting your answer as his arms crossed. You didn’t respond, holding eye contact with him.

He leaned down to meet your face, holding a dangerous amount of distance. “Hm?”

“Don’t do that.” You stated. Breaking eye contact and turning your head.

“Do what?”

“You do this all the time. You flirt with me and make me feel guilty because you’re my boss and i know I can’t have you.” You ranted, granting the alcohol freedom of speech.

“Is that why you went to that party?” He asked, cocking his head with a smirk. “Thought getting fucked would make you forget about me?”

You shrunk in your seat further as he leaned even closer, sliding past your face and heading for your ear.

“None of those lames could fuck you better than i can.” He whispered, fumbling with the hem of your lacy tube tob.

“Stop. You’re my boss.” You demanded as he began leaving a trail of kisses down from your ear to your collarbone.

“It’s 1 am and Aimi’s. You’re not working right now, don’t you think we can get away with being a little unprofessional?” He questioned, pulling the top of your tube top down a little bit to place a kiss in between your breasts.

Fuck it— you were too drunk to argue with your hot boss.

Your lips connected with his as your kisses changed from passionate to aggressive in seconds. He didn’t dare to let his face leave yours, wrapping your legs around his waist and picking you up, gently setting you down on the couch.

He didn’t bother with teasing you— He’s wanted you for fucking months, and he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.

He circled your entrance with his tip for a couple of seconds, admiring your perfect cunt before he finally entered, starting with slow thrusts and eventually getting rougher.

“Do you know how long i’ve waited for this?” He groaned mid thrust, gripping your thighs and earning a moan from you. “You feel so good.”

His pace picked up before he came and he was practically seeing stars. You looked so perfect all whiny and desperate under him, it felt like a dream.

He finally reached, pulling his cock out to come all over your stomach and slowly pumping while rubbing your clit in circles until you came.

He brought his hands to your face, placing a kiss on your forehead. “We should probably go to sleep. You’re still cooking breakfast, right?”

Can you guys tell i cant write smut💔

@ kkitteny

[xoxolaw]

this is different but can u write geum seongje x his little sister??? it can be Angst or him being over protective big brother

+ 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥

in which she's fed up with being known as Geum Seong-je's sister, and he’s the overprotective, silently possessive brother who doesn’t know how to love softly, only how to guard.

+ 𝗚𝗘𝗨𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗝𝗘 𝗫 𝗦𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

“I swear to God, if one more person calls me your sister like that’s my entire personality, I’m going to throw myself into traffic.”

The school rooftop was empty except for the two of them — or it had been, until she stormed up the stairs, uniform half-untucked, bag slung over one shoulder, frustration trailing behind her like steam off boiling water.

Geum Seong-je barely blinked from where he sat, back resting against the water tank, cigarette unlit between his fingers. He glanced at her — slow and quiet, like he had all the time in the world.

“I mean, you are my sister.”

“That’s not the point.”

She dropped her bag with a thud and folded her arms across her chest. Her voice was sharp. Practiced. The kind of irritated tone you only reserve for someone who’s always pushing buttons.

“All day it’s just—‘Whoa, Seong-je’s sister.’ ‘Man, you’re lucky to be related to him.’ ‘Doesn’t he, like, kill people with his bare hands?’”

A twitch of his lip. “That last one’s not totally wrong.”

“Shut up.” She threw a crushed juice box at him. “You’re not helping.”

He caught it lazily, dropped it beside him, and didn’t offer a single apology. Because Geum Seong-je didn’t do apologies.

What he did do, apparently, was scare the living daylights out of any male classmate who so much as looked in her direction.

Last week, one of the third-years offered to carry her books. He showed up the next day with a busted lip and wouldn’t even make eye contact with her.

A month ago, a guy in her class said she had a pretty smile. He transferred schools. No explanation.

It didn’t take long for everyone to get the message:

“Don’t talk to Seong-je’s sister unless you have a death wish.”

And she was sick of it.

She sank down beside him, cheeks still hot from her earlier rant, and glared out at the skyline.

“Do you even know how annoying it is that no one knows my name?”

“I know your name.”

“Well, congratulations.”

He didn’t bite at her sarcasm. Just flicked the edge of the cigarette between his fingers, still not lighting it. His eyes stayed on her — quiet, unreadable.

“They’re idiots anyway,” he said finally. “You don’t need them.”

“I don’t need you playing Grim Reaper over every single one of my conversations.”

His brows lifted, like that was the part that offended him. “I’m not killing them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—emotionally scarring them, then.”

A pause.

Then, more seriously:

“They’re not good enough.”

Her throat tightened. “You don’t even know them.”

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen how they look at you.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Yeah? And how’s that different from how you look at half the people you fight?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t snap. Didn’t joke.

Just stared at her with that same unreadable calm — like he knew something she didn’t.

She hated when he did that. Hated that he was always five steps ahead in the game of people. That he could size someone up in seconds and never explain why he decided they weren’t worth keeping around.

She hated even more that, deep down, part of her trusted him.

That stupid, protective, closed-off idiot who only said “be careful” instead of “I care about you.”

“Look,” she muttered finally, quieter now, “I get it. You’re trying to protect me or whatever, but you’re not my shadow. You don’t have to act like I’ll break if a guy flirts with me.”

“You won’t break.”

He said it so simply. So matter-of-fact.

“You’re stronger than most people I know.”

She blinked. “Then why—”

“Because I know what it’s like to be looked at like a possession.”

His voice was different now. Low. Steel wrapped in something softer, but not quite gentle.

“I’ve spent my whole life in places where everyone wants something. Where no one says what they mean. Where they smile at you one second and break your ribs the next.”

He finally turned toward her fully, cigarette forgotten. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it. I know you can. I’m saying… I don’t want you to have to.”

The wind carried their silence for a moment. And she hated it — hated how much that honesty disarmed her.

Because even when he was annoying, even when he was overbearing, she knew it came from that place. The one he never let anyone see.

The one where love wasn’t gentle, but raw. Brutal. Borne from scars and back-alley loyalty.

She sighed. “I just want people to see me, not just your last name.”

“I do,” he said quietly.

She looked at him.

And maybe it wasn’t a fix. Maybe he’d still chase off the next guy who tried to flirt with her. Maybe they’d still argue about this next week.

But for now, she leaned back beside him and said, “You still owe me ramen for ruining my social life.”

He smirked, finally lighting the cigarette.

“Make that two bowls. I scared off a guy from your history class yesterday.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Debatable.”

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

hope you enjoyed it!!

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@sunnyophelia @atztrsr @snoopsyka @cayrelyra @symphonies-of-poenies @ghost-reine @ginaaaa29 @gacktsa @inom17 @coffee-ii @dna-black-and-blue @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @kyungjunnies @changbinkisser @mishh2728 @0waves2earth @ashayein @janjoonty @ineed-myspace @loveg4lore

[stealurhart]

SKZ AS ROMANTIC TROPES

maknae line x reader

hyung line (coming soon) | maknae line

HAN

childhood friends to lovers

Seems like the type to feel comfortable and content with someone he’s familiar with. Your dynamic and his as children would probably start off with him being an egoistic piece of shit, until one fine day your family moved in and his parents had to constantly remind him that you’re much more well-behaved and hardworking than he was.

Definitely had one-sided beef with you for the longest time because of that, until a barbecue gathering happened and he was told to keep you entertained while the adults got drunk. The only thing he could think of was introducing you to mario kart on his newly gifted switch, which thankfully you had some experience playing. You weren’t as bad as he thought, in fact you were really patient with him even though he was little shy talking to girls during his fresh teenage years.

Soon after, he started visiting your house often to play video games with you, and his parents started to catch on to why he suddenly became more responsible and helped out more around the house. Further into your friendship, he started a mature a little, the boy was changed into a gentleman. Time spent was what brought you closer — he’d check in on you when you were sick; need to destress? You’re suddenly in the park enjoying convenience store ice cream with him.

Finally, on your 18th birthday, he decided he couldn’t hold in his feelings anymore. He showed up at your door with flowers — a sight you never thought you’d live long enough to see. Suddenly, the words “Let me take you out on a breakfast date” rolled off of his tongue, and to his delight (and relief), you accepted.

“Damn, was I really that obvious? How long— 5 years? Shit… it was way longer than that. You’ve looked so hot since way back, you know how many other of our neighbours I had to compete with? Of course I was jealous… I wished they would have just moved to another town. ” — Han Jisung.

-

FELIX

part-time colleagues

For a coffee shop tucked away in a hidden corner, it surprised you seeing all the college students filling up seats quick on a saturday morning. You had always relied on Felix to help solve most problems that occurred during your shifts. Busy day? He brewed you some decaf to help you sleep before closing the store. Rude customers? Don’t even think of laying hands on you. Dishes piled up from the previous night? Fret not, you only have to wash half of the dishes.

Outside of your shifts, he followed you on instagram, replying to your stories once in a while. Whenever one of you couldn’t make it to a shift, there will always be updates on what diabolical orders were made and how badly someone messed up the toilet.

The bus rides back to the student hostels after shifts were just another round of the crowd office crowd. Shared earbuds, you resting on his shoulder — he couldn’t ask for more. You looked so adorable being a geek with him about your favourite bands, how could he not fall in love with you? On the surface, they’re all ordinary situations you’re used to. But was it casual, when the lyrics always had to be about cheesy love? Was it casual when you both had a shared playlist that only contained slow and fluffy love songs? The answer was, no. And he had to do something about it.

“Of course I love you, sunshine. The moment I smell coffee, I think of us chatting in the coffee shop on slow days. It’s hard not to think about you, especially when the songs you introduce to me get stuck in my head. ” — Lee Felix.

-

SEUNGMIN

Academic rivals to lovers.

Just an old married couple reincarnated as students that teachers would place bets upon in the staff room — whichever seating pair ends up in a relationship first, gets to take home $100. The banter between you and Seungmin was absolute fire, no one ever knew who to side for because you both would be CLOCKING that tea on each other on a daily basis.

You both swore there was no way you’d ever let each other breathe a little, but you’d write notes for him whenever he’s absent, hoping that your handwriting was readable to him. On the other hand, he always covered you from the teacher’s view whenever you felt like eating snacks during lessons. Something too about the unspoken vulnerability between you two was hard to ignore — because why on earth would you be in the nurse’s office wincing from a nasty gym class floor burn, while he held your hand as the nurse put betadine on the exposed cuts and scrapes?

Then came school beach trips, the only thing keeping all of you sane from the summer humidity and flies were games that you didn’t choose to be a part of, quickly realising that truth or dare was a dangerous game when played among teens, because it quickly escalated into walking up to strangers and asking them for their number. When the turn was on Seungmin, you could see him swallowing a gulp because truth or dare, either option would leave you having to take a big risk. The big risk in question? A dare. A dare to kiss the prettiest girl he knows.

It took him a while to move a muscle. For the first time, he looked awfully distressed beside you, like completing the dare could possibly traumatise him for life. Even the twitch in his eyebrows were hesitant, until suddenly he threw all his doubts away and just went for it. In a heartbeat, he turned to you and grabbed your face, leaning into you slowly enough to give you time to turn away, but you were the one to press your lips onto his.

“Oh please, do you actually think of me as a little wuss? I’d rather be made fun of for liking you than cry when graduation ends and I wouldn’t know if you liked me back or not.” — Kim Seungmin.

-

I.N

Secretly dating

Hear me out. Secretly dating — while being in a well-established friend group. Both of you don’t see the need to make it public. In fact, the peace does make both of you grateful. Beach nights, group road trips, group sleepovers. You two would definitely wait for everyone to walk in front, so that you two can be beside each other and in your own space. He’s the type to laugh at your friends’ jokes and immediately look at you to see if you’re laughing too.

Matching outfits was always a dangerous game, but he loves your creativity and usually lets you decide, even if it means he has to wear hair clips or put stickers on his face. If anyone points it out, it’s just a coincidence. Your digicam has tons of group pics, but of Jeongin… you have way more. He loves the thrill of scaring you whenever he includes a picture of your bag or hand whenever he took you out, he just thinks you’re so adorable not to talk about.

Your friends would eventually catch on after noticing how suspiciously many inside jokes shared between the both of you. They’d definitely push Jeongin to confess when he does mention he has a thing for you, but what they don’t know is that he’s already yours, and that he has nothing to worry about. They all think he’s a wimp for not wanting to confess to you, not aware of the fact that he pays for your share of the group dinner, holds your bags for you when shopping, and plays with your hair when no one’s looking.

And when you both do get alone time together, you’re both perpetually holding hands like it’s the only thing you know, sharing coffee that he only orders because of you, and showing up wherever 2-for-1 meal deals can be found. Morning cuddles in bed when he stays over makes the both of you inseparable for the rest of the day, until you get hungry and need to go out for food.

“Your nails have clear polish, I’m sure no one will be able to tell it’s you. You on the other hand? Back view of someone that obviously has my style. You sure you still wanna keep it private? I don’t exactly mind, if people know I’m the secret boyfriend you’ve been soft launching…” — Yang Jeongin.