#trying to beat the game for the first time

[kxsagi]

WAIIIIIt I have so many request bllk boys with someone who plays rough or is tough with them?? Pls pls Reo because he's rough sometimes 🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

“𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬”

a/n: ultraviolenceeeee

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

mikage reo

he's rough in games, yeah, but the first time you smacked his shoulder after he made a snarky comment, reo just blinked like did i just get manhandled?? by my crush?? 

you tackled him during a casual soccer scrimmage and instead of being mad, he was grinning like a lunatic, lying in the grass like: that was hot. 

he tries to get you back by shoving you playfully during practice, but the second you full-body slam him into a tree? he’s wheezing and in love. 

“you scare me sometimes.” “good.” “... but like in a sexy way.” 

will absolutely brag to nagi like “my girl kicked me in the shin today. true love.” 

nagi seishiro

does not fight back. won’t even dodge. 

you could smack him with a throw pillow, tackle him mid-hug, or steal the last piece of candy right out of his mouth, and nagi would just blink slowly and go “mmm. annoying. do it again.” 

he lies on you like you’re a body pillow and when you push him off with a “you’re heavy,” he flops back even harder. 

“ow.” “you didn’t even move.” “you’re comfy.” 

he finds your roughness kind of endearing, honestly. especially because it makes everyone else scared to mess with you. and he loves having a dangerous guard dog for a girlfriend. 

itoshi rin

you tackled him once while joking and he immediately turned to you with the deadest eyes and said: “... you’re lucky i like you.” 

that being said? he does like it. way too much. 

when you shove him out of your way, smack his arm for being dramatic, or yank his hoodie over his head mid-convo, rin is just there grumbling like a wet cat while secretly enjoying every second. 

if someone else touches him like that? murder. 

if you do it? he'll scowl, call you a menace, and then follow you around for the rest of the day like a broody little duck. 

“stop roughhousing.” “you didn’t tell me to stop yesterday.” “... shut up.”

shidou ryusei

his soulmate. 

you shoved him for saying something gross and he immediately perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag open. 

“oh? you wanna fight? i’m so turned on right now.” 

he 100% tries to get under your skin so you’ll rough him up. like he wants you to body slam him into the couch. 

“c’mon, princess, hit me again. harder this time. i won’t fall in love unless you draw blood.” 

will go around showing off scratches like badges of honor. “she did this. isn't she perfect?” 

he also never loses a chance to pick you up and yeet you into the pool/bed/couch. it’s mutual violence love. 

kaiser michael

in public? he plays along so well. you roughhouse him, shove him when he’s cocky, flick his forehead when he teases you, and kaiser just laughs like you’re his favorite game. 

he’ll smirk, catch your wrist mid-slap and go, “don’t stop, i like it rough,” like the walking menace he is. 

but in private, when the lights are low and no one’s watching, that’s when the cracks show. 

sometimes, after you playfully shove him or even jokingly raise your voice, something flashes behind his eyes. a beat of stillness. the way his shoulders go tense just for a second too long. 

and when you notice, when you pause, reach out, and touch his cheek gently, he melts. 

“you’re not mad, right?” he asks, too quietly. “i’m not.” “and you love me?” “always.” “… and you’re not gonna leave?” 

there are nights when he crawls into your arms without a word and just clings to you like a lifeline. presses his face into your neck like he’s trying to disappear. 

“i know you’re joking when you push me. i do. i know.” “but?” “but sometimes my brain doesn’t.” 

you learn to hold him tighter after the laughs fade. you learn the difference between when he wants to be wrestled and when he needs to be held. and in return, he trusts you in a way he never has before. 

“you’re the first person who can rough me up and keep me safe,” he whispers once, voice shaky, forehead pressed to yours.

isagi yoichi

he tries to be a good sport but he is so unprepared for your physical affection. 

you punch his arm playfully after a win and he straight-up staggers. 

you jump on his back and he makes the most dramatic noise. “agh– baby why– okay okay i got you!!” 

secretly loves it. his inner shonen heart is like: my strong, feisty gf… she's so cool… 

he starts going to the gym more because he wants to be able to handle your suplexes. 

“if you body slammed me in front of my enemies, i think i'd fall harder for you.” 

probably keeps bruises like love marks. "this one's from when she tackled me after practice. best day ever." 

itoshi sae

you shoved him once while teasing him and he turned his head soooo slowly like. did you just touch me unprovoked. 

what surprises him is that... it kinda awakens something in him. he’s always surrounded by people tiptoeing around him. you? you called him a smug little brat and kicked his shin after he said you couldn’t outrun him. 

he still looks perpetually done, but he keeps letting you manhandle him. “you’re violent.” “you’re smug.” “don’t stop.” 

if anyone else tried that? dead. but when you do it, he’ll let you poke his face, flick his ear, and drag him around by the wrist with the softest eye roll ever. 

and don’t let him catch someone trying to shove you – he’ll end their career in .02 seconds. only you can bully him like that. 

ness alexis

you shoved him once in the hallway and he fully gasped. 

“i’m delicate.” “you’re dramatic.” 

he keeps saying you’re bullying him, but he literally follows you around just to get roasted or shoulder-checked. 

the most likely to shriek “ABUSE” when you flick his forehead but then blush and giggle like “wait that was kinda fun.” 

he’s like a cat. will hiss at you, act like you’re the worst, then ten minutes later snuggle into your side all clingy. 

“i’m a lover, not a fighter.” “then stop poking my ribs when i’m eating.” “... make me.” 

loves that you’re tough and fearless, especially around kaiser. he watches you clap back at him and goes wow. she’s powerful. terrifying. i want her to step on me.

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[azonewithu]

My eyes are my desdliest weapons. You eoukdnt want to mess with even if you had sll those wespons and i had none. Thats what many have said you should see my wall. It has every being in the known universes skull on it. I can remove a head with nothi f but my bate hands. But ill taje a k bar in the woods. Taje any wespons you want come find me. Then ill walk out of the woods with your head. Theres tv ir movie tough kid. Azriel stood up and massive black then multicoloured then jet black wings formed in a shadow just behind him than vanished. Black is not the absence of colour it like white is a combination of all the colours. Figire put how thst vould be true now youre talkn to me. Truth younpeople do not know the first tho g about it. Not from what i can tell. But you tell a decent story so why argue. Only ibtell a better one. Just me slone if you ask some people crush any of your ensembles. I just have the ace of spades on lock and this is spades not bid wiz. In spades spades is always trump with a few other small differences depending on which region youre playing it in. Ya dont wanna play bid wiz or spades agsinst me. Or any card games or sny game of chwnce. You wont girss whose honna win yhe gane. I eill. I told you everything that happens can be read before hand. Meaning things do not actually hsppen instantaneously but the outcome is foreshadowed just like a goid book. Its jist not always easy to read the signs. Beforevtherecwas anything else thete were the words. The words forshadowed the actusl existence of anything. These are all clues add them up what do you get? Its obvious what im trying to say. And its the cornerstone of life on earth itself. Me knowing this and being connected in a certain way to what im talki g about is the spurce of my deadly power. Youre starting to kearn. Yes i actually killed all thise people all of them. So ill just check kate you agsin and tell uou ine last time none of you are scsry or tough to Azriel. Surrender. Its not fuckn funny how you got those peoples houses put up in smoke. THEY did not desrrvevthst. You font wanna fuckn know ehat you deserve for yhst in return. Anyone eho tries to shiled people eho fuvked up with God ill hirt you worse. Tell then yo maje smends the heat is going up agsin. Im the bei g eho crushed ehoever uou call God. I feel your frsr id be dlscares to of domeone as desdly as i obviously sm. It foesnt natter about snyones money Kenna. At this point some of thrm are just staring out a window. Thetll hsppen more and more the longer they tske to realize yheyre beat bsdly by God. Snd they hot people eho fidnt start with je hurt and much worse. Its not wrong i kash out at you people its wrong you think s groip of assholes has sny trump cards playing death. The ace of soades slong with the king queen n jack ste sleays in my hand. Why? I stack yhe fuckn deck because i can.

JENNA ORTEGA as WEDNESDAY ADDAMS

Wednesday (2022 - ) I Season 2

[digiflora]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘!

ꪆৎ choso ⸝⸝ sukuna ⸝⸝ gojo ⸝⸝ ino wc.

summary. life as a streamer creates all sorts of potential interactions- whether between other creatives, or just some random person in a csgo lobby...

contains! ꪆৎ streamer au ⸝⸝ cosplayer reader (choso) ⸝⸝ some suggestiveness + downbadness lmfao ⸝⸝ nerdjo my beloved

𐔌 gia's notes! ☆⌒(ゝ。∂) woioi chat. i've been on such a 2020 first lockdown nostalgic kick recently im ngl... hence the title of this fic LOL. and lowkey the content too 😞 you can kinda tell that i ran out of steam while writing this... but o well

streamer!choso [@/ch0k4m0] who is relatively well known- technically, for his gaming abilities, though what solidified his online fame was his rather candid commentary, with seemingly no filter between his thoughts and the words that come out of his mouth. that, and his looks which had broken the internet when he had face revealed, catapulting him from a fairly unknown but well loved streamer to regularly getting hundreds of thousands of views on his streams.

his current streams mostly consisted of him working his way through resident evil. viewers could expect to see a decent progression within each stream due to choso not being completely useless at playing the game, alongside his dumb comments diminishing the fear factor of the franchise ever so slightly. and of course, his ever so subtle crush on the character ada wong.

'chat oh my GOD i've never been so in love with some pixels before'

'ada baby please, just one chance. i know that i'm 3d and you're 2d but we'll make it work'

every time a cutscene of her plays, there's an absolute torrent of messages and donations teasing him for his poorly hidden crush, ones that choso takes the time to properly read through during his breaks in the stream. such an occasion happens now, with choso reading out some random comments when a new donation rings out, the text to speech voice that comes with it bearing a demand

'choso you need to look up this account RIGHT NOW and look at the video they just posted'

his brow furrows as he reads the username, deliberating on whether he should actually follow those instructions or if his viewer was just trying to mess with him. ultimately, he conceded to his chat's wishes and opened a new browser window, typing it in.

a mere few hours later after the stream, you found your notifications to be blowing up more than usual. you had posted a new cosplay video earlier today, but even then there was a little TOO many notifications to be your usual audience. you noticed that you had been tagged in an edit, inclining you to click on that before wading through the likes and comments. every time that you received one it was a special kind of joy, with the knowledge that someone enjoyed your cosplays enough to inspire them to make something. you hear the music begin to fade in once the edit loads, though the intro clip has you confused as you don't think that you've seen it before.

obviously, you recognise choso, the handsome and funny streamer who got really popular recently, and one that you have unfortunately joined many others in appointing as your resident e-crush. you weren't big on watching streams, but every time a clip of choso appears when you scroll, you can't help but watch the whole thing, partially for its entertainment value, and partially because of just how cute the guy looked on your phone screen.

so really, it was quite the surreal experience to hear your username fall from his lips as the clip plays on your phone, and you watch the edit in disbelief

'am i spelling this right, chat?'

'and the latest video, right- oh it's, holy fuck-"

the beat then kicks in. clips of your ada wong cosplay flashing across the screen, one final flashbang of choso's face as he watches your video with an almost comical expression of awe. you're left absolutely flabbergasted as the video begins to loop, clicking on the comments to see what the hell was going on

'get in damn line choso 😩'

'BROOOODJFNSJG I WAS WATCHING THE STREAM AND I JUST KNEWWWWW SOMEONE WAS GONNA MAKE AN EDIT WITH THAT CLIP 😭😭😭'

'the stream was like 2 hours ago this edit was so fast wtf'

'it should have been meeeeeee ughhh'

'the way choso scrolled thru her ENTIRE account and then followed her... that man's finally got a crush on a real personnnnn'

that last comment captures your attention specifically, and sure enough, you see his username amongst your many new followers. it pays to get noticed by a popular streamer, you suppose.

and then, to your utmost surprise, you also see his name pop up within your dm requests

@/ch0k4mo: sooo are you in need of a leon kennedy by any chance

the dm isn't exactly suave, but it has its intended effect as you blink at your screen as you process it, finally letting out a squeal of excitement, screenshotting the message shamelessly. your friends are not gonna believe this. and then, only after running laps around your room and waiting for your erratic heartrate to return to a normal tempo, you type out a shaky response.

@/yn: funny that you ask that, cos i had a few video ideas in mind ;)

you can only hope that on the other end of the line, choso is having a somewhat similar reaction to yours.

streamer!sukuna [@/kingkuna] who is notorious for causing chaos online, whether on fps games such as cs and valorant, or even on the more inane roblox games where he makes a living off of terrorising little kids. actions speak louder than words, though the streamer is quick to utilise both when instilling terror on whichever server has the misfortune of having him

'i do this for the love of the game, chat'

'well, that, and because bullying little runts is fun'

all of these actions, streamed live every wednesday and friday, helped to garner sukuna a rather.... distinct reputation.

despite being considered an asshole for all intents and purposes, sukuna had somehow amassed a following, all from his persona of being an online troll.

so this week's particular stream was especially shocking to his fans for all of the wrong reasons.

it started off like any other stream, sukuna casually reading off the odd message in his chat whilst preparing for the stream, retorting some snarky comment that has the chat getting more and more riled up, all with a shit-eating grin on his face.

it was more or less a love-hate relationship between him and his chat, though everyone seemed happy with the dynamic, expecting no less from the streamer.

this stream in particular was particularly anticipated, if the steadily increasing viewcount in the corner was anything to go off of, probably due to the fact that this wasn't quite like his other streams. despite the countless hours of his content, very little was known about sukuna, and as a 1 million subscriber goal, the man had acquiesced to people's demands for a q&a.

it started off as well as it could have, with rather generic questions rolling out. but of course, knowing sukuna's audience (and his lenient moderators), some raunchier ones started to worm their way through

'does it... jiggle when i walk? mods, get this clown out of here'

sukuna rattles through the questions, his fans clearly revelling in his embarrassing childhood stories, in the knowledge that his hair is not dyed, and how he views his streams as training to continue defeating his nephew in fortnite whenever they play together.

and then, finally, the fated question

'kingkuna i have to know for all the ladies out there... do u have a gf??'

it's a special donation message, one that rattles off loud and clear in a way that absolutely cannot be missed, though with the amount of time it takes for him to respond, he may as well have.

'hm, wouldn't you like to know?'

there's a torrent of outraged messages, before a deep booming laugh emits from the man.

'ehhh, i'm just fucking with you. of course i do, she's my forever girl.'

there's another torrent of messages in chat, though they're now oohing and ahhing at just how uncharacteristically sweet the streamer is being. his eyes flit over the incoming messages, his grin widening as his gaze lifts to somewhere beyond the webcam's reach.

there's a silent exchange, no words needed before sukuna reclines back in his chair, his legs spreading as he makes room for whoever's coming into frame.

'she's right here, too. everyone say hi to y/n'

and when she situates herself right on his lap and his arm wraps around her waist, the chat goes crazy. the streamer seems to remember his regular image, cackling at the desperate onslaught of messages eager to get even a morsel of information about the two of you, instead starting to click away at the preparations needed before he ends the stream

'oh would you look at the time, looks like i'll be having to end the stream now. see you suckers on wednesday'

'byeeeee!'

you can't help but chime in, giggling and waving right at the camera before the stream shuts off, and you feel sukuna begin to truly relax into his chair, shuffling you impossibly closer to his chest, hugging you to him and burying his face against you.

'aww, you big baby'

'dunno what you're talking about'

you giggle at your boyfriend's antics, though definitely used to them by now. instead, you get comfy, letting sukuna use you as his personal pillow as you card through his hair with one hand, the other unlocking your phone and you begin to scroll through twitter. #kingkuna1m was already trending thanks to the premise of his livestream, and you can't help but click on the tag, looking through some of the most recent tweets.

'never would i EVER have expected SUKUNA of all ppl to be relationship goals'

'praying on his downfall fr 🙏🙏🙏 he doesn't know how good he has it'

'he's so EVIL for ending the stream like that omfg'

'the way he looks at her IM SICKKKKK ☹️☹️☹️☹️'

that last one comes with a video, a hasty screen recording of those last few moments of the stream as you wave at the camera, though you're focusing on the shamelessly lovestruck expression on sukuna's face as he watches you. it's enough to have you giggling and kicking your feet right in his lap, and he grumbles, his spare hand catching onto your flailing ankle

'quit squirming, brat'

'but you're just so cute, kunaaa'

you show him your phone screen, and it's your turn to study his face as he looks at the video impassively, though he can't hide the little twitch of his lips.

'my camera must be faulty, gotta get a new one'

streamer!gojo [@/sago] who is affectionately known by his fans for being a big fat nerd. it's not like he tries to hide it, the background of his setup decorated avidly with all sorts of posters and memorabilia from his favourite shows and games. compared to other streamers, too, gojo wasn't one to particularly shy away from details of his personal life, his laidback and easygoing persona making it easy for people to become regular viewers of his streams.

on said streams it was commonplace for his chat to ask him questions about himself, and more often than not he would give them an answer- and on one of these such occasions is when he let slip the fact that he had a roommate. and that in itself isn't anything too worldbreaking to hear, but it's the way he almost lights up as he mentions your name that has his fans intrigued.

even more interesting is gojo's reluctance, for lack of a better word, about relinquishing more information about you. how quick he is to change the subject, or act as if he never read the original message at all.

and in an impressive effort which has the streisand effect in strong contention to be renamed to the gojo effect, this only further instils a need for his fans to know everything that they possibly could about you.

it's arguably one of his most well-loved bits with an incredibly long longevity, with a large amount of fanmade compilations of him at least alluding to it

'who's my roommate? i'll let you know when i find out'

'come back with a warrant, fed'

'that's some very personal information there which i would be hesitant to spread online. what do you MEAN i was telling you all about where i grew up 2 minutes ago-'

(you get the picture)

therefore, it's a rare and delightful treat whenever a new tidbit about you is let slip by the streamer. the day that your name got accidentally revealed by him on stream was a day for the books. and of course, since gojo's fans were deranged, your insta account and subsequent face reveal were soon to follow.

and once the cat was out of the bag, gojo seemed to begrudgingly relax about your secrecy. you started popping up in streams a bit more often, usually just a face peeking in to the room of gojo's setup, a sneaky wave that satoru would notice later and grin to himself about. he's got a highlight reel of your appearances on his twitch profile that he likes to rewatch more than he cares to admit.

one time, he even had you sat next to him during a just chatting stream, the two of you shooting the shit. his fans were quick to point out how red the tips of his ears were throughout the whole stream. and how he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars whenever you spoke. and how he kept looking at you like that even when you weren't speaking.

it was never official, but satoru's feelings for you were.. rather obvious to anyone with the time to tune in to his streams. his touchiness regarding you seemed to make a lot more sense now, and became the newest aspect of satoru's life for his chat to ruthlessly mock.

today was just a regular stream- some mindless shooter game that satoru was way too invested in, no mentions or guest appearances of you. until now.

the door opened in the background of the stream- satoru's eyes flick up just before the door even moves, as if he had a sixth sense just for you- and you storm into the room, closer to annoyed than your usual cheery self.

'toru, you forgot to take out the bins. they're being collected tomorrow so don't leave it too late

and just like that, you're gone again. there's not even an ounce of hesitation before satoru is getting up from his desk, headphones coming off despite the yells of his teammates for him to stop fucking around and help them rush a.

chat is making their usual comments, a spam of their love for you and excitement that you've made an appearance. a few keener watchers were geeking over the toru nickname that's sure to make their way into the next y/n and gojo compilation video.

and despite all of this, satoru's heading out of the room.

'my girl's mad at me guys, i gotta go fix it'

and he's only gone for a few minutes, at most. but it's like an implosion of oncoming messages, all scrolling past his screen with no eyes to see them.

gojospinkietoe: FIRST TORU THEN MY GIRL!!!???? OHHHH MY GOD 🥺🥺🥺

iwatchmen: the gojoyn fans are gonna loveeee this

gojoyn5evrrr: SOMEONE CLIP THAT

funnily enough, satoru doesn't even realise the slipup until he's almost back to his room. at least he can blame the blush this time on having to have gone outside very briefly.

it's not exactly the same as his usual slipups when it comes to you- usually, there's at least an element of truth to them, but this appears to be sourced from somewhere deeper in his brain, a lot more of a subconscious desire that he hoped wouldn't breach into the conscious realm.

not until he was ready, at least.

streamer!ino [@/yunglean4ever] who's more of an up and coming streamer.. but he's slowly and steadily making his way up the rankings!! his game of choice is usually an fps, with his default usually being csgo. or something like that. he enjoys the straightforward nature of it. and teabagging his opponents when he's in the mood to be a little shit.

during these livestreams he's met many a different player, some friendlier than the regular silence or automatic irritated mood that most seemed to have- or some russian guy screaming words into the mic that was anyone's guess as to what it meant.

and while interacting with said teammates is always a promising aspect of entertainment, ino wasn't one to remember most of these interactions, save for a few especially distinct ones.

one such occasion is when he meets you. you've got your mic on, which is always more appealing for ino than having to communicate via typing or reading chats, and even better is the almost instant connection that the two of you make. you giggle at his silly username, he indignantly defends his love for drain gang, and the rest is history.

one match played together turns into a friend request, which turns into becoming a party, which turns into playing duos, which turns into goving each other your discords, which turns into many more rounds which extend way after ino ends his stream.

it was merely a start to this new... something, but with the way that ino caught himself laughing a little too hard at your mildly funny jokes, he had a feeling that it would turn into something much more.

so when he boots up his pc the next day, it's not much surprise to him that there's some giddy emotion that he feels when he says a message from you

'wanna play? had a lot of fun last night w u :D'

he couldn't type out a response fast enough to contain his excitement.

⋆˚࿔ jjk masterlist

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ... or, try reading hopelessly devoted to you

[angelicsoulic]

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ skin amaretto ⊹ megan skiendiel

⊹ ࣪ ˖ synopsis during your first flamenco dance class, you feel a beautiful girl’s eyes on you the whole time, a game of looks and a shared dance takes place between you two, and maybe more…

⊹ ࣪ ˖ disclaimer megan skiendiel x fem! dancer! reader, absolutely fluff, flirty

⊹ ࣪ ˖ song playing gabriela - katseye (got slightly inspired by it)

the moment you stepped into the flamenco studio, you felt like you’d stepped into another world

the room smelled like wood polish and sweat, the floor shone under the dim lights, and the rhythmic claps of the teacher echoed like a heartbeat

you were nervous, obviously. you had no idea how to dance flamenco. but you had always wanted to. something about the power of it, the control, the fire in each step. so you signed up. and now here you were — in a long red dress, the hem just grazing your ankles, feeling very much like you didn’t belong

that’s when you felt it :

eyes

someone was watching me

you turned casually — too casually, probably — and spotted her leaning against the mirror-lined wall. her dress was also red, but deeper, almost wine-coloured, and it clung to her like it was made for her. long dark and pink hair was pinned loosely, curls falling around her face like she didn't even try, but they landed perfectly anyway

her eyes met yours

and you swear, you forgot what feet were

she didn't look away, she smirked

so you did the only thing your overwhelmed brain could do : you looked away, then looked back. a little game

she caught on immediately. a glance. a turn. a look over the shoulder. it was stupid, playful, almost childish. but it made your heart race like you were in the middle of a ballroom, not an adult dance class

suddenly, the teacher clapped her hands. “¡oye! you’ll be dancing in pairs tonight! flamenco is about connection — mirar a tu pareja, sentirla. feel your partner”

people shuffled around, unsure who to choose. you didn’t move and neither did the girl

then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she stepped towards you. her heels made sharp clicks against the floor. she stopped in front of you and tilted her head just slightly

“dance with me?” she asked, her voice low and soft, but certain

you nodded. “yeah, definitely, yes”

you faced each other. you could feel the heat coming off her skin when you two moved. her hand grazed yours just long enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. her eyes never left yours for long. you forgot we were supposed to be learning

“is this your first class?” she asked between steps, spinning elegantly and coming back to you like gravity

“yeah,” you said, trying to keep up. “is it obvious?”

she smiled. “only in the cute way”

you laughed, nearly missed the next beat

“what about you?” you asked

she shrugged. “second, but i practiced a lot. you’re doing fine”

“liar”

“maybe” her eyes glinted, playful again. “but only a little”

you two danced through the class like that — in sync, off beat, laughing quietly, flirting without saying too much. the teacher gave you a few looks, but you think she knew better than to interrupt whatever it was you were starting

when the final music ended, you were breathless, and not just from the dancing. people began grabbing their bags, saying their goodbyes, heading out into the night

you were still catching your breath when she touched your arm

“i’m Megan, by the way” she said

you blinked, stupidly. “right. i’m—uh, sorry—yeah, i’m Y/N”

“Y/N,” she repeated. “that fits”

you tilted your head. “does it?”

she stepped closer, that same half-smirk playing on her lips. “you going to let me leave here wondering if i’ll ever see you again, Y/N?”

you smiled back, pulse still in flamenco rhythm. “not if you ask for my number”

“i was hoping you'd say that”

and then goes shared numbers, shared laughs too, before you and megan leave the flamenco room and make your way outside, you both share a last goodbye, before you could hear from her, in a soft voice

“see you next time, sweetheart”

it was simple, yet enough for your heart to beat faster…

[crazziforazzi]

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today. 

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said 

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun. 

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite. 

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8. 

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm. 

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍. 

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

And then there it was: KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?" Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game. Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey. Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself? 

Finally, she typed: Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Sarh: Girl. Morgan: She is mad. KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭 Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀 Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately. 

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin. 

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double  through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing. 

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant. 

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip. 

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

[solarstranger]

a/n. wrote this for my drabble writing game but ended up liking it a lot so i'm posting this as an official drabble lol. all thanks to @lostwrlds for the wonderful prompt (i.e., 'honeyed') <3 this is also inspired by my love for the sun, which is a central motif behind my url and blog theme. particularly, this scene revolves around the left image in my current pinned post, which is such a stunning photo. i hope you enjoy this! (0.9k)

c.w. very slightly suggestive themes.

“let me just—”

from where he’s standing at the side—conveniently shielded in the shadows and topless with a fresh shirt slung over his shoulder—bakugou watches you carefully, features riddled with skepticism you refuse to acknowledge as you tinker with the tripod, trying to set the legs at the perfect height.

“there,” you finally announce, satisfied, leaning back so you can admire the contraption in front of you, perched at the top of which is your camera.

“are you sure this is gonna work?” bakugou asks beside you, eyeing you as you pull out your phone to check your hair through your reflection.

at that, you don’t say anything for a beat, focus solely trained on patting down the stray strands, before deciding that this is as good as it’s gonna get and pocketing the device. you then turn to and reach for bakugou, who only lets you fix his hair in anticipatory silence, gaze never leaving your face as you tousle his notoriously unruly locks into place.

“it will,” you reassure him with a smile after a minute, pulling away with a nod that is more for yourself than him. “the sun’s bright enough.”

“whatever you say,” bakugou replies coolly, before tossing the shirt messily to the side. and when you only shoot him a deadpan look: “i’m gonna wear it afterwards, anyway.”

you frown. “you’re not gonna wear it for the photo?”

bakugou pauses for a moment. “nah.”

“…you do know we’re keeping this pg, right?” you chuckle, which makes him flame almost instantaneously.

“of course, dumbass,” he spews, masking his embarrassment with anger the way he always does when you tease him. “it’s just hot, is all.”

“sure,” you quip, and you have to fight to bite back a laugh at the way he sputters in response.

“i was thinking—” you cut him off before he can say anything more, biting your lip to suppress your grin, “we stand at this spot,” you say, pointing to the sunlit space a few feet away from both of you, “and we can, i don’t know, kiss or something.”

“kiss?” he chokes—so blatantly surprised—you’d think the man has never touched your lips, let alone shoved his tongue in your mouth a million times before.

“unless you have a better pose in mind?” you retort defensively, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “and be quick about it,” you say—almost snap, “the sun’s almost setting.”

“okay, okay,” he relents promptly, stepping towards the small, sundrenched area, tugging you along with him by your wrist until you’re standing face-to-face and smack dab behind the camera, at which he glances. “is it on already?”

“yeah. wait, i’ll just set the timer—”

you quickly approach the tripod and crouch down to peer at the screen, making a few clicks before you finally tap the capture button, and the telltale sound of the timer counting down immediately resounds throughout the airbnb, breaking the suspenseful silence.

you instantly straighten up just as bakugou beckons you towards him, and you waste no time in running towards the pro-hero until you’re standing right in front of him, both of you bathed in the honeyed yellow of the sunlight piercing through the beach-facing windows of your room.

and for a brief moment, you freeze. you’ve always known bakugou was beautiful—it was one of the many things that first drew you towards him, after all—that is, before you eventually found out about the even more beautiful things inside of him that made you fall in love with him even more.

but now, as he stands still in front of you, pale skin and ash-blonde hair and bright, crimson eyes all reflecting the sunset bursting through the screens of your window, you can’t help but stare.

because how did you get so lucky?

“hey.”

at the sound of bakugou’s familiar, gruff voice, you startle, and only then do you remember that you still have a picture to pose for.

bakugou doesn’t wait for you to gather your bearings, taking it upon himself to grab your arms and loop them around his neck, before placing his firm hands on your hips. then, he smirks, an all-too-familiar expression that almost always means ‘kiss me’, and so you do.

kiss him.

lifting yourself on your tippy toes, you crane your neck to meet him, closing your eyes just as you press your lips onto his, the camera shutter going off the moment you do as if on cue.

you let your mouths linger against each other for another beat before you finally make the move to pull away, smiling brightly. bakugou smiles back at you, a shy one he reserves for you and moments like these— a smile that stays on as you step back and detach the camera from the tripod, swiftly clicking on the gallery button.

and you all but gasp when you’re greeted with the artful image of your intertwined silhouettes surrounded by sunlight, just as bakugou barks out a delighted laugh.

you turn to regard bakugou with a look that says, ‘are you seeing this?!’, to which the pro-hero only nods, chuckling. you grin, turning back to study the picture, although bakugou doesn’t follow suit.

instead, he only lets his gaze stay trained on your face, a proud look on his face.

because while you were wondering how you got so lucky, he was already busy being the lucky one.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Hold Me (More Like That)

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, fluff, pre-established relationship, lotta smut (oral m! receiving, p in v sex)

Summary/Warnings: Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

Author's Note: Sorta request from an anon! I wanna be thrown around so bad you guys don't even know.

Word Count: 3.3k

“I bet I could beat you in a fight.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“I could.” You push up on Dean’s chest, glaring at him in the shifting light of the TV. “You don’t believe in me.”

A small smile plays on Dean’s lips, but he doesn’t look away from the movie. “Never said that. I’m pretty damn sure I agreed with you-“

“Yeah, but you said sure.” You drop your tone to mimic his, and that gets his attention. “That’s how you say sure when you don’t really agree, Dean, I know you-“

“Alright.” Dean catches your finger as you poke his chest. “I don’t think you could beat me in a fight, baby. You win.”

You whack his chest, and his grin only grows. 

“That what you wanted to hear?”

“You know it’s not-“

“Then you want me to keep lyin’?”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, I want you to admit I’d beat you.”

“Okay.” Dean shrugs, kissing your knuckles before turning back to the TV. “You’d beat me. You’d kick my ass, Sammy would have to drive me to the hospital, and- Oof-“

You’d climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and bracing your hands on his shoulders. Dean raises his brows with a half amused, half befuddled expression, and his hands fly to your hips in half a second.

He could push you off—easily, too—but he won’t. 

You really want him to. 

“I bet I could beat you.” You lean down until your noses are almost bumping. “In a fight.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Dean hums your name, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles on the bare skin under your shirt. “What’re you doing?”

You shrug. “Trying to make you take me seriously.”

“I always take you seriously-“

“No. You don’t think I could beat you.”

For a man you know looks for any reason to jump your bones—you’ve seen him walk you back against a wall because the wind blew up your skirt, and he needs to check you’re okay—Dean is impressively confused about what’s happening. He just keeps looking at you in confusion, holding you firm enough by your hips you know he’s not going to take your bait and toss you around. You’re going to have to step it up. 

You love him. He’s adorable and sweet and trying really hard to be a good boyfriend, to the point that you feel sort of bad about what’s about to happen, but you’ll get over it. Call it vengeance for when he tried to prove he could change a tire faster than you could, and it was just an excuse to fuck you on the hood of the car. 

“C’mon.” You drag his hands off your hips, pinning them to the couch, and he doesn’t fight you at all. “I can win, Dean.”

“Yeah, you could-“

“Stop agreeing with me-“

He snorts, putting on a weak, mock show of trying to push out of your grip, but mostly just flexing his arms and making the heat in your core spark. “Look, sweetheart, you’re stronger-“

“I didn’t say I was stronger,” you grind down onto him, disguising it as a just a shift of your body, and Dean’s jaw twitches slightly. “I said I could beat you.”

You grind again, and he lets out a long, slow breath. 

Progress.

“You want the truth, baby?” He gives you a pointed look, still not struggling against you, and you nod. 

“I could-“

“No, you couldn’t.” Dean shrugs, and to sort of obviously prove his point, pushes just one hand out of your hold to wrap around your waist. “Not ‘cause I don’t think you’re strong, or smart, or sexy as fuck when you kick ass. But I would beat you. I’ve beaten Sam, and he’s a fuckin’ Sasquatch. It’s my freakin’ job-“

“It’s my job, too-“

“It’s your job when we’re real short on hands.” Dean eyes narrow, and that was the right button. He doesn’t like the maybe you should hunt more conversation. “And we’re not.”

You raise your brows. “So I couldn’t beat you because I don’t hunt?”

“Yes- No-“ He sighs, hauling you a little further up his chest. “You just couldn’t beat me, baby, I promise-“

“Prove it.”

Dean frowns at you. “What?”

“If you think I can’t beat you.” You grab his arm around you—he lets you move it again, but that’s fine, you don’t actually care about winning—and pin it back down. “Then prove it.”

“I’m not gonna fight you, sweetheart-“

You shrug. “Then I win. And if I can beat Dean Winchester in a fight, maybe I should hunt more-“

That does it. Your words turn into a yelp as Dean flips you over like it’s nothing, pinning your hands over your head and pressing his hips down to keep you pinned to the couch. You have to take a quick breath to stop from caving right away, but you can see his muscles rippling through his shirt and his eyes shamelessly scanning your form below him, and he’s half-hard already and pressed right into your thigh-

“I don’t know what goin’ on with you.” His voice is a half growl, and the sound almost vibrates through your body. “But I can beat you, babygirl. And you fuckin’ hate hunting-“

“Maybe I just miss you when you’re gone,” you challenge, hooking your leg around him and flipping him back over with a grunt. “You always leave me, De, and I get lonely-“

He snorts, standing up with you almost thrown over his should. “I call you every day, smartass, and I never hear you complaining when you cum from just me talkin’ to you.”

“Not the- fuck-“ You’re trying to squirm away as he walks through the halls of the bunker—the movie long forgotten—but it’s not working in your favor. “It’s not the same-“

“Then you can come on a few hunts and stay in the hotel.”

He needs to stop being so rational and sweet. “No, I want to hunt-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Dean-“

You squeak as he drops you onto the mattress, standing over you with a glower. 

“You don’t want to hunt,” he grunts your name, grabbing your face between his hands with an adoring, vaguely annoyed expression. “You hate it, you always get mad about blood on your clothing- Hell, you get pissed about blood on my clothing-“

“I’m over it.” You lie quickly, and throw all your weight into pulling Dean down. He lands on the mattress with a grunt, and you crawl back on top of him with a grin. “I can beat you, Dean. You haven’t proven I can’t.”

He shakes his head. “I told you I’m not fighting you, sweetheart-“

“Cause you’ll lose.”

“I-“ His eyes narrow on yours, right as you wiggle slightly, and you know that expression.

You won.

“If I beat you, you drop the hunting thing.”

You nod quickly, and don’t even get the chance to say deal before Dean’s moving. He flips your back over with practiced ease, and he probably could’ve won right there, but you’re determined to put on a mock show. So when his hand go to pin both of yours, you worm then against his chest and shove right into his gut. It catches him off guard, just enough for you to roll away and scramble up onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Dean grunts, and rises up on his knees before dropping onto his side, just enough to knock the wind slightly out of your chest, and pry you off his neck. You try to roll away, but he’s—somehow—faster, and catches you by the waist, hauling you right up into his lap and pinning your arms behind your back with one hand, the other grabbing your jaw to keep your gaze trapped on his. 

And you’ve lost. It was only a few seconds of fighting, but you lost dramatically. 

In Dean’s eyes, at least, you lost.

But you feel a little high, right now. Dean’s big and warm and all around you, touching you everywhere with his chest pressed right against your breasts and his legs wrapped around you to keep you pinned to him. There’s a building, almost mind-numbing ache for him between your thighs, and you can feel his muscles every time he shifts, and he barely out of breath but you’re a giggling, needy mess his arms, and-

You can see the exact moment it hits him. He blinks at you for a second, his grip tightening on your jaw just enough to pull out a tiny, soft moan, and his cock twitches against your leg.

“You’re fucking-“ He cuts himself off with a groan and shake of his head. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart, if you wanted to be fucked, you coulda told me.”

You shake your head, still beaming at him like an idiot. “Better when you mean it. I- I wanna feel you, Dean, please-“

“Please, what?” He hums, squeezing your jaw again, right as he thrusts up against your clothed cunt. “Please fuck you? Toss you around? Or should I make you wait, for giving me a damn heart attack about hunting?”

You flush, and shake your head. “I’m sorry, I just- You weren’t getting it and I- I wanted-“

“I know what you wanted.” Dean shrugs, grinning down at you. “You wanted me to touch you, didn’t you.”

You nod desperately, and he’s so close. His lips brushing over yours, his grip on you tight and perfect and god-

“You wanna touch me, babygirl?” His question is a low, teasing hum, his hips jerking up again to make sure you can feel how hard he is, and a high, needy moan escapes your lips. 

“Dean, please-“

He shakes his head, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Answer the question, sweetheart-“

“Yes- I do, I need it-“

“Yeah, you do.” He mutters, his hand on your jaw dragging down to rest lightly on your throat. “Lie down.”

You scramble back the second Dean lets go of you, settling into the pillows and giving him your prettiest, most hopeful doe-eyed look. He just chuckles, peeling his shirt and jeans at a painfully slow speed, and gives you a pointed expression. He doesn’t have to say it aloud to know what he’s asking. You know him well enough.

“Not those,” he grunts when you go for your panties, the rest of your clothing now discarded onto the floor. “Wanna rip them off you.”

You sigh, pouting up at him, and it hard not to get dizzy from his attention—standing at the edge of the bed, all strength and softness, stroking his cock to the sight of you below him—but you manage. “You always rip them off of me, Dean, I’m going to run out of underwear-“

“Good.” He mutters, starting to prowl over you with an almost feral grin, and you roll your eyes.

“Dean-“

“Don’t worry, baby.” He hums, and your protests about the panties die in your throat as he stops right over you, pressing his thick cock right on your lower lip. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

You hum, blinking hopefully up at him as you open your mouth, and he nods. Dean’s hand tangles in your hair as he slides into your mouth, and you moan shamelessly around him, making his hips jerk and his dick press right against the back of your throat. 

“Fuck,” Dean groans your name, and you suck on him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as he pulls slightly out. “You’re gonna choke, you can’t- Shit-“

It’s too easy to whine and run your tongue up his shaft, and he ruts into your mouth with a groan. 

“God- You’re-“ He glares down at you, and you return it with an innocent expression. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You just blink at him sweetly, grabbing his thighs, and trying to guide him deeper into your mouth, and his brows raise, his voice suddenly a slight rasp.

“More, baby?” 

You hum, already grinding into the sheets from the feeling of him heavy in your mouth and the intensity of his gaze, and Dean groans. 

“You gotta stop me if it’s too much-“ You swallow around him, and his words turn into a loud moan that goes straight between your legs.

The leash Dean’s been keeping on his movements snaps, and your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure as he starts to fuck your mouth. You can feel his gaze as the lewd sounds of his balls slapping your chin and his cock sliding in and out of your lips fills the room. Your nails are digging into his thighs, and your breathing is heavy through your nose, but it feels so good.

There’s all the power of him over you, making you lightheaded and your pussy start to clench around nothing every time he groans your name. You can taste the salt of his precum on your tongue whenever you manage to flick it over the head of him, and when you whimper around him, he always pulls all the way out before slamming back it and groaning your name. 

He’s getting close. You can feel it in the growing sloppiness of his thrusts and the tightness of his grip on your hair. So you double your effort and start to suck him off best you can, but all you can really remember how to do is wiggle and moan-

Dean pulls aways with groan, and your eyes flutter open to see him looking down at you with borderline wonder, his arm braced on the headboard above you and his chest heaving.

“You’re too good at that.” He mutters, moving his hand from your hair to wipe a little bit of drool over your cheek. “Almost came in your mouth, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth again, sticking your tongue out, and he groans, leaning back with a shake of his head. 

“Need to fuck you,” he grunts, shifting so your caged below his arms, his brow pressed against yours. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘till you can’t walk, baby. That sound good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, spreading your legs as wide as you can. “Good. Touch me, Dean, I- I need you-“

“I know you do.” Rough, warm fingers dance on your panties, teasing on your inner thigh for a second before ripping them away, and running over your pussy. “So fucking wet for me, babygirl, need it that bad?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes, please-“

Dean cuts you off with a long, sloppy kiss, and you gasp his name into his mouth, grinding onto the palm of his hand in chance of any relief.

“You wanna try and wrestle again?” He hums, rubbing his hand right over your clit. “Or you gonna let me take care of my girl.”

“Take care.” Your voice is barely a breath, but you might fly out of your mind if he doesn’t really, properly fuck you. “Dean, your cock, I need it-“

His hand moves away, but you don’t get a moment to complain before Dean’s shoving himself into you with one rough movement, and your back is arching off the bed.

“That’s right, baby.” His voice is a teasing coo, but you don’t really care. He’s earned it, and it feels so good, being filled up and split open with him all over you and kissing up your neck- “You’re so fuckin’ tight, son of a bitch-“

“Dean.” You gasp, and his mouth crashes back over yours, kissing you into the pillows until you’re limp in his arms, only fluttering desperately around his cock. “Move-“

He groans into your mouth, and your breath hitches in your throat as he slams into you. You wrap your arms around him tight enough to strangle him, just he doesn’t even flinch, just moaning your name and repeating the movement once more. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, then starts to fuck you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

Sometimes, Dean likes to sit up and watch you come apart below him, or flip you over and fuck you into the mattress. But he knows what you need right now is to just keep feeling him, everywhere, and he’s perfect so that’s exactly what he gives you. Almost holding you off the mattress like it’s nothing, fucking into your pussy with a feverish pace, until your head is falling back with pleasure as he hits that deep, painfully needy spot deep inside you. 

His lips attach to your throat, biting and sucking small marks that make your mouth fall open in a silent scream, and your start to grind onto him. Trying to get your clit to rub on his abdomen, because you’re so fucking close-

Dean grabs your ankles, shifting your around below him without ever breaking pace, and only once you’re securely hanging off his body does his arm wrap around your waist and-

You spasm as his fingers find your clit and start to rub tight, firm circles, and you cum with a scream of his name. He just groans, fucking into you harder as you spasm around his cock, and you’re not coming down. Dean pushes your back down onto the mattress, slams his lips back over yours and angling your hips further up, and you stare up at him as he just keeps fucking you. Your orgasm crests into another one, and there’s a strange, new heat building in your core that’s hot and tight, and-

Dean slams hip hips at the right angle to almost bruise your g-spot, right as his fingers on your clit pinch, and your body goes loose as the coil snaps. Something wet is gushing out of you and running between your legs, and Dean’s jaw is clenched as he drops his brow to yours, his eyes fluttering as he tenses over you.

“Dean.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair. “Please. On me.”

He stares at you for barely a second before giving a tight nod, and sitting up on his knees. He pulls out with his hand braced on your hip, and it’s a beautiful sight. Dean beating his cock into his hand at the sight of you wrecked and fucked out, thick white cum shooting over your stomach and cunt as he cums with a moan of your name. 

He collapses over you with a grunt, and you hum happily, your fingers shooting into his hair. 

“That what you wanted, baby?” He hums into your ear, and you nod.

“Perfect. Thank you, my love.” 

He grunts as your kiss the side of his head, shifting down to bury his face between your breasts. 

“Love you too.” He grumbles, wrapping his around your body, and you beam up at the ceiling. “Even when you play dumb tricks.”

“I think you liked that trick.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But next time, just freakin’ ask me to fuck you stupid.”

You hum. “Dean?”

He grunts, and you tug on his hair, forcing his gaze up to yours. 

“Can you fuck me stupid.”

His lips twitch and he grabs your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. “Jesus, sweetheart-“

“Please?” You flutter your lashes at him, and he sighs. 

“Gimme ten. In the shower?”

You give him an amused look. “You just wanna cum on me again.”

“Yep.” He grins up at you. “You love it.”

“I do.” You mumble. “But you like it when I play dumb tricks.”

He rolls his eyes, but hauls your upright, standing with you cradled in his arms and a kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetheart. But I think I just like you.”

End Note: It's probably good for my productiveness that Dean isn't real. I'd never get anything done again.

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Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[sapphicstrawcore]

✄ Modern loser!sevika au: Headcanons pt3

—college version!

I’m such a dumb fuck I forgot to add the tags so I’m writing it again 😍

part one, part two, part three

masterlist ᰔ

At first, she wanted to study mechanical engineering. But through time with her mech arm, she decided it’s not bc she lives with a prosthetic that it means she wants her entire academic identity wrapped up in it. So— math major Sevika, there she is.

She likes maths, one of the only class she didn’t fail and actually almost enjoyed. She’s a good student, and was okay in highschool, but her grades in college are so much better for some reasons. Maybe it’s because she can do whatever she wants in her own student life. Like she’s more free and alone in her dorm so she can study in peace and all… she likes college better than she liked highschool. She didn’t like highschool actually.

Her short hair was a complete accident. But the thing is— she was fully sober.

It was the night right before her first day in college. She tried to tie up her hair like she always used to—but now? Her prosthetic fingers won’t grip the elastic right. It kept slipping. She’s was trying not to cry. Tried again. Failed again. So she went crazy and just cut it all until she realized in the mirror of her small bathroom how terrible it looked. But fuck it, at least she didn’t have to tie it up anymore.

It was one of her most and worst loser moment.

So when she shows up to class like everything was fine and someone asks her if it was her own choice or— “yeah, it was.”

When you catch her nervously tugging the back of her hoodie to hide how bad the cut is, and it’s kind of… heartbreakingly cute? Ridiculous but tenderly so.

If someone’s sitting there? she’ll just hover until they leave. It’s her spot now.

She always has big-ass over-ear headphones on. Not Beats—like, vintage Sony or something clunky.

College ? She’s not there to flirt, she’s not there to vibe, she’s not even there to “find herself.” Nah she came to college to shut up, study, and survive. But sometimes when she has three hours of the same class she just can’t anymore and play games too cause all the students are so tired of this shit.

The first two hours are good. She’s focused, on the verge of renaming herself Oppenheimer. But the third ? She can’t. She silently pulls out her Nintendo Switch from her ratty backpack like she’s committing a federal crime. No shame at all though— Just pops in headphones and starts playing Breath of the Wild, Hades, or Hollow Knight. Something chill to help her survive the last two hours.

Loser Sevika but Ykw ? College change her just a little bit— and she joins the baseball team of her uni:

She’s not a team player at first. Hates the locker room noise. Barely speaks at practice. But when she hits the ball? Her form is raw, unpolished but explosive.

The coach sees her swing once and didn’t hesitate.

Big ass tank woman she is doesn’t even like running bases, she just wants to hit and stand around. But even if she’s quite the weird frightening girl of her team, the other girls respect and some of them quite like her.

During finals week it’s more like it’s her final week. Her desk is a graveyard of crumpled cans: Monster, Red Bull, whatever cheap energy drink the vending machine sells. She drinks them warm, psycho.

She keeps forgetting to eat, but somehow doesn’t forget to smoke ?? She’ll disappear for 6 minutes, come back reeking of Marlboros and renewed rage.

Her handwriting becomes illegible by the third day. One professor calls her “enigmatic.” The others say “concerning.”

dividers @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug, @riotstemple29

[iitslera]

stay here ✶ JJ Maybank

english isn’t my first lenguaje, I think emotional vulnerability, implied past hardship, soft angst, hurt/comfort.

                            ──  ✦  ──

The old fan buzzed lazily in the corner, spinning just enough to move the hot summer air. Outside, the sky was a dark blue ink, the palm trees just shadows against the night. Inside, the heat still clung to the walls of the chateau like it didn’t know the day was over.

"You should sleep in the bed," you said for the third time, turning to look at him.

JJ was on the floor, lying on a beat-up old blanket that barely covered the wooden boards. He was using his backpack as a pillow, arms crossed behind his head like this was totally normal, like he wasn’t clearly suffering.

"And I already told you no," he replied with a half-smile, not even opening his eyes.

"JJ…" you sighed, sitting up on the mattress. "You're gonna wake up with your neck twisted and your back wrecked."

"I’ve slept in worse places, princess," he joked, cracking one eye open to glance at you.

You exhaled, frustrated. You were staying at the chateau because your family had gone out of town, and JJ insisted on keeping you company. The night had started lighthearted—card games, a little stolen beer from John B’s fridge—but when it came time to sleep, JJ had stubbornly refused to share the bed.

"I don’t want you to think I’m trying anything," he’d said quietly, eyes serious for once.

But now, watching him sprawled out awkwardly, his blond curls messy, his long legs bent at weird angles, something in your chest tugged a little.

"You’re gonna wake up cursing me tomorrow for letting you sleep down there," you tried again.

"You didn’t force me," he said with a tired little laugh.

You didn’t respond right away. The fan kept spinning. The heat pressed against your skin. JJ looked relaxed, but you knew him better than that. When he got really still and said “it’s fine,” it almost never was.

"JJ," you whispered. "Why won’t you just sleep up here? Just sleep. I promise I won’t hog the blankets or kick you."

He opened his eyes again and stared at you. That look he gave you… like he was searching for words and couldn’t find them. Like he had some invisible fear stuck in his throat he didn’t know how to name.

"Because I like you too much," he said suddenly. Not a whisper. A confession.

You froze. So did he.

JJ sat up, arms resting on his knees, eyes on the floor like he’d just dropped a bomb. Like he was bracing himself for whatever came next. But you didn’t say anything. You just scooted over on the mattress and patted the space beside you gently.

"Then come sleep here," you said softly. "If you like me… stay."

He looked up slowly, almost like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. And then, without saying a word, he got to his feet. He sat down on the bed first, awkward and hesitant, like he was still doubting himself. Then he laid down beside you, leaving a careful amount of space between you, lying stiff on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Minutes passed. Quiet. Just the fan, the distant sound of crickets, and the rapid beat of your heart.

Until you turned. And looked at him.

"You comfortable now?"

"Much more," he said, turning to face you.

In the darkness, his eyes glinted. He didn’t touch you. Not even a brush of skin. But the silence between you was charged, humming with something unspoken, something fragile and dangerous and beautiful.

"JJ…" you whispered, barely breathing. "I’ve had feelings for you, too. For a while."

He didn’t respond with words. He just inched closer, just enough for his forehead to rest gently against yours, his fingers slowly intertwining with yours under the covers.

"Then I’m gonna stay here every night you’ll let me," he murmured.

And for the first time in a long, long while, JJ Maybank slept soundly. With you.

No fear. No act. Just him. And you.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

my favorite uncles!

uncle! kim mingyu ll uncle! kwon soonyoung ll dad! choi seungcheol ll 6k words

: the art of being a girl dad

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows as Seungcheol double-checked his overnight bag for the third time. His wife stood beside him, smoothing down their five-year-old daughter’s unruly hair while Naeun sat cross-legged on the counter, swinging her legs and observing her parents with the keen eyes of someone who knew something exciting was about to happen.

“Are you sure Mingyu and Soonyoung can handle her?” his wife asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer would be entertaining rather than reassuring.

Seungcheol paused his bag-checking ritual. “Define ‘handle.’”

“Daddy,” Naeun interjected with the patience of someone far older than her five years, “you’re being dramatic again. Uncle Mingyu makes the best pancakes, and Uncle Soonyoung lets me win at video games.”

“He doesn’t let you win,” Seungcheol corrected, zipping up his bag. “You actually beat him. There’s a difference.”

Naeun grinned, revealing a gap where her front tooth used to be. “I know.”

The doorbell rang, followed immediately by enthusiastic knocking that could only belong to one person. Kkuma, Seungcheol’s fluffy white dog, launched into a series of excited barks and spun in circles near the door.

“That’s Uncle Soonyoung’s knock,” Naeun announced, sliding off the counter with practiced ease. “Uncle Mingyu knocks like this—” She demonstrated three polite, evenly-spaced knocks. “But Uncle Soonyoung knocks like he’s trying to break down the door.”

“Accurate,” Seungcheol’s wife laughed, heading toward the front door.

The door opened to reveal Mingyu and Soonyoung, both carrying suspiciously large bags and wearing expressions that immediately made Seungcheol nervous.

“Uncle Mingyu! Uncle Soonyoung!” Naeun launched herself at the two men, who caught her in a practiced sandwich hug.

“Princess Naeun!” Soonyoung declared, lifting her up and spinning her around. “Ready for the most epic day ever?”

“What’s in the bags?” she asked, eyeing their supplies with interest.

Mingyu and Soonyoung exchanged a look that parents everywhere would recognize as trouble.

“Supplies,” Mingyu said diplomatically.

“What kind of supplies?” Seungcheol asked, his instincts kicking in.

“Fun supplies,” Soonyoung answered, which was somehow both completely honest and utterly unhelpful.

Naeun wiggled out of Soonyoung’s arms and immediately began investigating their bags. “Is this art stuff? And… is that a tent?”

“It’s a small tent,” Mingyu said quickly. “For indoor camping. Very safe. Very contained.”

Seungcheol’s wife placed a calming hand on his arm. “They’ll be fine. Naeun’s smart, and despite appearances, Mingyu and Soonyoung are responsible adults.”

“Despite appearances?” Soonyoung protested. “I’m hurt. Wounded. Devastated.”

“You’re wearing a tiger-print hoodie and light-up sneakers,” Naeun pointed out. “And it’s not even Halloween.”

“These are my Saturday shoes,” Soonyoung defended. “They have excellent arch support.”

After final hugs, promises to send updates, and a comprehensive list of emergency contacts, Seungcheol and his wife finally left for their weekend getaway. The house fell quiet for exactly three seconds before Naeun clapped her hands together.

“Okay! First order of business: what’s actually in those bags?”

Twenty minutes later, the living room looked like a craft store had exploded. Mingyu had indeed brought art supplies, but his definition of “art supplies” was apparently quite broad. There were paints, markers, glue sticks, construction paper, pipe cleaners, googly eyes, and what appeared to be enough stickers to decorate a small building.

Soonyoung’s contribution was equally impressive: the promised indoor tent, several board games, a container of homemade slime, fairy lights, and a bluetooth speaker currently playing what he called “adventure music.”

“This is like Christmas,” Naeun said, sitting in the middle of the chaos with Kkuma curled up beside her. “But with more potential for glitter.”

“We haven’t even opened the glitter yet,” Mingyu pointed out.

“The glitter stays closed,” Soonyoung said firmly. “I made that mistake exactly once. Found glitter in my hair for three months.”

They settled on the floor to make friendship bracelets, with Naeun patiently explaining proper technique while Mingyu approached the task with methodical precision and Soonyoung treated it like a competitive sport.

“It’s not about speed, Uncle Soonyoung,” Naeun said as he fumbled with the strings for the fourth time. “It’s about the friendship.”

“But what if I could make friendship bracelets really, really fast?”

“Would you want a friendship bracelet that someone made really fast, or one that someone made with love?” she asked, channeling wisdom beyond her years.

Soonyoung paused his frantic braiding. “That’s… actually a really good point.”

“Naeun’s full of good points,” Mingyu said, working on what was shaping up to be a tiny masterpiece. “She gets it from both her parents.”

“Team effort,” Naeun added. “Mom says Dad’s good at making decisions, but she’s good at making sure they’re the right decisions.”

As if summoned by the mention of teamwork, Kkuma padded over to investigate their progress, sniffing delicately at each bracelet before gently taking one of Soonyoung’s loose strings in her mouth.

“Hey!” Soonyoung protested. “That’s my bracelet!”

“I think she wants to help,” Naeun giggled. “Or she’s trying to save us from your terrible braiding.”

“It’s abstract,” Soonyoung declared, holding up his creation that looked more like a colorful bird’s nest. “Very avant-garde.”

“It’s very you,” Naeun said diplomatically. “Oh! We should make something for Kkuma too! She feels left out when I make things for everyone else.”

They spent the next hour creating a small red bandana decorated with tiny paw prints, which Kkuma accepted with dignified resignation, shaking herself until it sat at a jaunty angle that somehow made her look even more adorable.

“She looks very fashionable,” Naeun declared. “Don’t you think so, Kkuma?”

Kkuma’s response was to trot over to her water bowl, the bandana fluttering behind her like a tiny flag.

“I think that’s her way of saying she loves it,” Soonyoung interpreted.

“Or her way of saying she’s tolerating it because she loves us,” Mingyu added.

“Same thing,” Naeun said cheerfully. “Can we go to the park now? Kkuma needs to show off her new bandana.”

The park was bustling with Saturday afternoon activity. Naeun immediately gravitated toward the swings while Kkuma settled in a shady spot to supervise, her new bandana attracting admiring glances from passersby.

“Push me high enough to see the whole park, but not so high that Kkuma gets worried,” Naeun instructed as Soonyoung took position behind her swing.

“That’s very specific criteria,” he said, beginning to push.

“Kkuma has anxiety about heights,” she explained seriously. “I can tell by her face.”

They moved through the playground equipment with Naeun providing running commentary on her technique and progress. “I made it one more monkey bar than last time,” she announced after dropping down from the bars. “Mom says it’s okay to try new things and change your mind about what you like.”

“Your mom’s very wise,” Mingyu said, taking pictures to send to her parents later.

“She is. She told me that Uncle Soonyoung used to want to be a professional soccer player before he became a dance teacher.”

Soonyoung looked surprised. “She told you that?”

“She said it’s a good example of how people can be good at lots of different things, and sometimes what makes you happy changes.” Naeun bounced on her toes. “Can we play frisbee now?”

What followed was less a game of frisbee and more a demonstration of various incorrect throwing techniques, with Kkuma providing enthusiastic but unhelpful assistance.

“The trick,” Naeun explained after watching Soonyoung’s throw sail into a tree, “is to aim for where you want it to go, not where you think it’s going to go.”

“That’s very philosophical,” Mingyu said, managing a perfect throw.

“I learned it from Uncle Joshua” she said, catching the frisbee. “He’s very philosophical about everything.”

“Both deep thoughts and enthusiastic thoughts are important,” she continued seriously. “You need deep thoughts for important stuff, and enthusiastic thoughts for fun stuff.”

“What kind of thoughts do you have?” Soonyoung asked, genuinely curious.

“Mixed thoughts. Like, I think deeply about fun stuff and enthusiastically about important stuff. I get it from both my parents.”

After working up an appetite, they headed to a dog-friendly café with outdoor seating. Naeun ordered hot chocolate despite the warm weather (“Hot chocolate is good at any temperature”), while the uncles opted for iced drinks and what Soonyoung called “dangerous pastries.”

“Do you ever get scared when you’re teaching dance classes?” Naeun asked Soonyoung as they settled at their table.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Especially with new students or when we’re performing.”

“What do you do when you get scared?”

“I remember that I’m not alone. I have good friends like Uncle Mingyu, and I remember that people want me to succeed.” He paused thoughtfully. “What scares you?”

“Big kids at school, mostly. And sometimes when Mommy and Daddy go out.” She brightened. “But not when I stay with you two. You’re not scary at all.”

“If you ever get scared when we’re not around, you can think about us being there with you,” Soonyoung suggested. “Like imagining Uncle Mingyu giving you one of his perfect hugs.”

“Your hugs are different but still really good,” she told Mingyu, leaning against his arm. “Daddy’s hugs are safe and strong, like everything’s going to be okay. Your hugs are warm and gentle, like you’re really happy to see me.”

“I am really happy to see you,” Mingyu said softly. “Always.”

Kkuma had become something of a local celebrity, accepting pets and compliments on her bandana with regal grace. “She gets it from Daddy,” Naeun observed. “He’s good with people too.”

“Your dad’s an excellent manager at his company,” Mingyu agreed. “He makes everyone feel valued.”

“That’s why he’s a good leader. You can’t lead people who don’t trust you, and people won’t trust you if you don’t care about them.”

Both uncles stared at her in amazement.

“Did your dad tell you that?” Soonyoung asked.

“No, I figured it out myself from watching him with everyone at work parties.”

By the time they returned home, they were ready for their indoor camping adventure. Setting up the tent proved more challenging than expected, with Naeun serving as official instruction reader.

“Uncle Soonyoung, that pole goes the other way,” she said patiently. “And Uncle Mingyu, I think you’re holding it upside down.”

“How can a tent pole be upside down?” Mingyu asked.

“Everything can be upside down if you try hard enough,” she replied wisely.

Eventually they erected something recognizably tent-shaped, complete with fairy lights and a cozy interior of pillows and blankets. Kkuma assessed the situation from her spot on the couch and apparently decided luxury was preferable to adventure.

“Not everyone’s cut out for the adventurous life,” Naeun said generously when Kkuma declined to join them.

They spent the evening telling stories inside their tent. Naeun shared “The Great Playground Mystery” about helping a shy kindergartener share her secret artwork, while Mingyu recounted his disastrous attempt at gourmet pizza that resulted in what he called “edible garden center cuisine.”

“Uncle Seokmin tried a bite,” Soonyoung added. “He was very polite, but his face gave him away.”

“Uncle Seokmin’s terrible at hiding his feelings,” Naeun giggled. “His face shows everything he’s thinking.”

The next morning brought pancakes (Mingyu’s specialty) and plans for grocery shopping to restock supplies for their final evening together.

“We need ingredients for dinner,” Mingyu explained as they prepared to leave. “What sounds good?”

“Something we can all make together,” Naeun suggested. “Like tacos! Everyone can choose their own toppings.”

The grocery store was busier than expected for a Sunday morning. They made it through produce and dairy without incident, with Naeun riding in the cart and providing commentary on their selections.

“We should get the fancy cheese,” she declared. “It’s a special occasion.”

“What makes it special?” Soonyoung asked, comparing prices.

“I’m spending the whole weekend with my two favorite uncles. That’s pretty special.”

“Only two favorites?” Mingyu teased. “What about Uncle Jeonghan?”

“Uncle Jeonghan’s in a different category,” she said seriously. “He’s my favorite troublemaker uncle. You two are my favorite adventure uncles.”

They were debating taco shell options when Soonyoung’s phone rang. “It’s your parents,” he told Naeun. “Want to say hi?”

“Daddy!” Naeun’s face lit up when Soonyoung put the call on speaker. “Are you having fun on your trip?”

“We are, sweetheart. Are you being good for Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung?”

“I’m being excellent,” she said proudly. “We made friendship bracelets and went to the park and had a café adventure and did indoor camping and now we’re getting taco supplies!”

“Wow, that sounds like quite an adventure,” her mother’s voice came through the phone. “What was your favorite part?”

“All of it! Oh, and I made a new friend at the park yesterday. His name is Sian and he’s six and he has a really cool bike with streamers on the handlebars.”

Soonyoung, who had been nodding along cheerfully, suddenly realized what was happening. Through the phone, they could hear Seungcheol’s voice sharpen with interest.

“A new friend?” he asked, and Mingyu shot Soonyoung a warning look. “A boy?”

“Yeah! He was at the playground and his mom was there too,” Naeun continued innocently. “Sian taught me how to do this cool trick on the monkey bars, and I taught him how to braid friendship bracelets. His mom said maybe we could have a playdate sometime!”

There was a telling pause on the other end of the line. “What kind of trick on the monkey bars?” Seungcheol’s voice had taken on what Mingyu recognized as his interrogation tone.

“Just swinging and stuff, Daddy. Nothing dangerous,” Naeun said, slightly confused by his serious tone. “Sian’s really nice. He shared his animal crackers with me and he didn’t even laugh when I fell off the swings.”

“He didn’t help you up when you fell, did he?” Seungcheol asked, and his wife could be heard quietly sighing in the background.

“Well, yeah, he helped me brush the dirt off my dress and everything. He’s a good friend, Daddy.”

“Seungcheol,” his wife’s voice came through more clearly now, obviously closer to the phone.

“I’m just asking questions,” Seungcheol defended. “So this Sian boy, how tall is he? Does he seem… I don’t know, mature for his age?”

“Daddy, he’s six,” Naeun said with the exasperated tone of someone much older. “He still thinks girls have cooties except for me because I’m cool.”

Soonyoung tried to lighten the mood. “See? Nothing to worry about. Just innocent playground friendship—”

“And his mom wants to set up playdates,” Seungcheol continued, completely ignoring Soonyoung. “Did she ask a lot of questions about our family? About where we live?”

“Seungcheol, she’s five,” his wife said firmly, clearly having taken the phone. “And he’s six. They’re children.”

“I know, but—”

“Hi boys,” Naeun’s mom continued, her voice warm but with an edge that suggested she was handling her husband. “Sounds like you’re having wonderful adventures. We’ll let you get back to your evening.”

“But I want to know more about this Sian kid,” Seungcheol could be heard protesting in the background. “What if he’s one of those kids who’s a bad influence? What if he teaches her to climb too high or—”

“We’ll see you tonight, sweetheart,” Naeun’s mom said pointedly. “Be good for your uncles.”

The call ended, leaving the three of them staring at the phone.

“Is Daddy mad about Sian?” Naeun asked, her voice small.

“He’s not mad, sweetheart,” Mingyu said gently. “He just… worries about you. A lot.”

“But Sian’s nice! He even said I was the smartest girl in the whole playground,” Naeun said, getting upset. “And he promised to teach me how to ride his bike with the streamers.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu exchanged looks.

“Oh no,” Soonyoung muttered. “Wait until he hears about the bike riding lessons.”

“Why does Daddy get so weird when I have friends?” Naeun asked, genuinely confused.

“Because he loves you very much,” Mingyu explained carefully. “And sometimes when daddies love their little girls a lot, they get a little… protective. Even about friends.”

“That’s silly,” Naeun declared. “Sian’s just a kid like me.”

“We know that,” Soonyoung said. “Your dad will figure it out too. Eventually.”

“Mommy will explain it to him,” Naeun said confidently. “She’s good at making Daddy be normal again.”

They continued shopping, with Soonyoung looking increasingly nervous about the inevitable confrontation when her parents returned. It was in the cereal aisle that disaster struck.

“Can we get the colorful cereal?” Naeun asked, pointing to a display of sugar-laden breakfast options.

“Your parents said no sugar cereal,” Mingyu said apologetically.

“What about the one with the toy inside?”

“Still sugar cereal.”

“The one with the cartoon character?”

“Definitely sugar cereal.”

Naeun sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’m going to look at all the options so I can dream about them.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung were debating the merits of various healthy cereals when they realized the commentary from the peanut gallery had stopped. They turned to find the spot where Naeun had been standing completely empty.

“Naeun?” Mingyu called, looking around the immediate area.

“She was just here,” Soonyoung said, panic creeping into his voice. “Naeun!”

They split up, checking the adjoining aisles. The grocery store suddenly seemed enormous, full of places a small person could wander off to or get lost in.

“Excuse me,” Mingyu approached a store employee. “We’re looking for a little girl, five years old, dark hair, pink shirt. Have you seen her?”

“I’ll call security,” the employee said immediately. “What’s her name?”

“Naeun. Choi Naeun.”

Within minutes, they had a small team helping search, and an announcement went out over the store’s PA system. Soonyoung was practically hyperventilating.

“Seungcheol is going to kill me,” he kept repeating. “We lost his daughter. We lost Naeun. He’s going to actually murder me.”

“We’re going to find her,” Mingyu said firmly, though his own voice was tight with worry. “She’s smart. She knows not to leave the store.”

It was a security guard who found her fifteen minutes later in the pet supply aisle, sitting cross-legged on the floor and having what appeared to be a serious conversation with a display of dog toys.

“Naeun!” Both uncles rushed over, and she looked up in surprise.

“Oh, hi! I was just explaining to these toys that Kkuma would probably like the squeaky hamburger, but she might be too dignified for the rubber chicken.”

“You can’t just wander off like that!” Soonyoung said, his relief making him sound sharper than he intended. “We were terrified!”

Naeun’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I saw the pet stuff and wanted to find something special for Kkuma, and I thought you’d find me right away.”

Mingyu knelt down to her level. “We know you didn’t mean to scare us, but when we couldn’t find you, we got really worried. Your parents trust us to keep you safe.”

“I didn’t think about that,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to surprise Kkuma.”

“Next time, tell us where you’re going, okay?” Soonyoung said, his voice back to its normal gentle tone. “We can look at pet toys together.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Can we still get something for Kkuma?”

They spent another ten minutes in the pet aisle, with Naeun carefully considering each toy option before settling on a plush bone that squeaked when squeezed. “It’s dignified but still fun,” she explained.

The rest of the shopping trip passed without incident, though both uncles kept her within arm’s reach. It wasn’t until they were back home, unpacking groceries and preparing for taco night, that Soonyoung’s phone buzzed with a text.

“It’s your dad,” he told Naeun, reading the message. “He says, and I quote, ‘We need to talk about playground friends when I get home.’”

“He’s not actually mad,” Naeun said confidently. “If he was really mad, he would have called. Texts mean he’s just being dramatic.”

“I hope you’re right,” Soonyoung said fervently.

“Daddy will understand once Mommy explains it to him,” Naeun said with the confidence of someone who understood family dynamics. “Now, can we start making tacos? I’m starving.”

The evening passed peacefully with taco assembly, more indoor camping, and a movie night featuring animated films and a very content Kkuma chewing on her new squeaky bone. Naeun fell asleep during the second movie, curled up between her uncles in their makeshift tent fort.

“She’s amazing,” Mingyu said quietly, adjusting a blanket around her small form.

“She really is,” Soonyoung agreed. “Smart, funny, kind… Seungcheol and his wife did something right.”

“They did. And so did we, I think. Despite the grocery store incident.”

“And the accidental matchmaking revelation.”

“That too.”

When Seungcheol and his wife returned that evening, they found their daughter fast asleep in a pillow fort, flanked by two exhausted but happy uncles. Kkuma was curled up nearby, her new toy within easy reach and her bandana still stylishly askew.

“How did it go?” Naeun’s mother asked quietly.

“She’s incredible,” Mingyu said. “Smart, funny, wise beyond her years.”

“We only lost her once,” Soonyoung added, then immediately looked like he regretted saying anything.

“You what?” Seungcheol’s protective instincts flared immediately.

“Five minutes in the grocery store,” Mingyu said quickly. “She wandered to the pet aisle to find a toy for Kkuma. Security helped us find her, and she was completely safe.”

“These things happen,” Naeun’s mother said diplomatically, shooting her husband a look. “And clearly everything worked out fine.”

Seungcheol looked like he wanted to say more, but his sleeping daughter chose that moment to stir and mumble something about friendship bracelets in her sleep.

“Now,” he said instead, his voice taking on that dangerous parental tone again, “about this playground friend situation…”

“His name is Sian,” Soonyoung said quickly. “He’s six, very polite, good at monkey bars. He seemed nice.”

“Nice,” Seungcheol repeated.

Naeun’s mother laughed quietly. “Seungcheol, leave the poor men alone. It sounds like they had a wonderful weekend.”

“We did,” Naeun’s sleepy voice piped up from the tent. “The best weekend ever. Can Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung babysit again soon?”

“We’ll see,” Seungcheol said, but his expression had softened considerably at seeing his daughter’s happy face.

“And can I have another playdate with Sian? He promised to teach me how to ride a bike with no training wheels.”

“We’ll… discuss it,” Seungcheol said carefully.

“That means yes,” Naeun informed her uncles confidently. “Daddy just needs time to get used to the idea that I’m growing up.”

“I’m not ready for you to grow up,” Seungcheol said, settling down next to the tent to give his daughter a proper hug.

“That’s okay, Daddy. Growing up is scary for parents too. But you’ll figure it out. You’re really good at taking care of people.”

“When did you get so wise?” he asked, smoothing her hair.

“I learned from the best,” she said, snuggling into his arms. “I have the most amazing family.”

Later, after Naeun had been transferred to her own bed and the living room had been restored to its normal state, the adults sat around the kitchen table sharing stories from the weekend.

“She really is something special,” Soonyoung said. “The way she thinks about things, how kind she is to everyone…”

“She gets that from both of you,” Mingyu told the parents. “But she’s definitely her own person too.”

“About this Sian situation,” Seungcheol began, and his wife immediately put a hand on his arm.

“Let it go,” she said gently. “She’s five. She made a friend. This is normal childhood stuff.”

“But—”

“No buts. Our daughter is growing up, and that means making friends and having social interactions. Would you rather she be shy and isolated?”

“No,” Seungcheol admitted reluctantly.

“Then trust her judgment. And trust your friends’ judgment. They took excellent care of her.”

“We really did,” Soonyoung said. “Even with the grocery store thing. She’s smart and careful and knows how to handle herself.”

“The grocery store thing?” Naeun’s mother asked.

“Nothing major,” Mingyu said quickly. “She just wandered off to look at dog toys for about five minutes. Security helped us find her.”

“And she wasn’t scared or upset?”

“No, she was completely calm. Just focused on finding the perfect toy for Kkuma.”

“That sounds like our daughter,” she laughed. “Single-minded determination.”

“She gets that from her father,” Soonyoung said, grinning at Seungcheol.

“Hey!”

“It’s a compliment,” Mingyu assured him. “Determination is a good trait. She’s going to do amazing things when she grows up.”

“Speaking of which,” Naeun’s mother said, “she wants to know if you’d both be willing to babysit again sometime. This weekend was apparently ‘the best adventure ever.’”

“Absolutely,” both uncles said simultaneously.

“But maybe next time we’ll stick to activities that don’t involve grocery stores,” Soonyoung added.

“Or playground meet-cutes,” Seungcheol said pointedly.

“That wasn’t planned!” Soonyoung protested. “It just happened! Kids make friends!”

“I know,” Seungcheol sighed. “I’m just not ready for her to start growing up so fast. Soon she’ll be asking about boys and sleepovers, and then what?”

“She’s five,” his wife reminded him gently. “Right now she still thinks the highlight of her day is sharing animal crackers and making perfect braids. That’s five-year-old priorities.”

“For now,” Seungcheol muttered

“For now is all we can handle,” she said wisely. “And for now, we have two wonderful friends who love our daughter and gave her an amazing weekend full of adventures and memories.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said, looking at Mingyu and Soonyoung seriously. “Really. I know I get protective, but… she means everything to us.”

“She means everything to us too,” Mingyu said simply. “She’s special, and we’re honored you trust us with her.”

“Plus,” Soonyoung added with a grin, “she’s way more fun than most of our adult friends. Did you know she has a theory about ant society that’s actually quite sophisticated?”

“She told you the ant theory too?” Naeun’s mother laughed. “She’s been working on that one for weeks.”

“It’s actually really insightful,” Mingyu said. “She has a whole philosophy about teamwork and community organization.”

“That’s our girl,” Seungcheol said proudly. “Always thinking.”

As the evening wound down and the uncles prepared to leave, Naeun appeared in the kitchen doorway in her pajamas, rubbing sleepy eyes.

“Are Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung leaving?” she asked.

“We are, sweetheart,” Mingyu said, crouching down for a hug. “But we’ll see you again soon.”

“And next time maybe we can have that playdate with Sian,” she said hopefully, looking at her father.

“Maybe,” Seungcheol said, and everyone could tell he was genuinely considering it.

“Definitely maybe, or just maybe maybe?” she pressed.

“Definitely maybe,” he conceded, and she beamed.

“I love you, Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung,” she said, giving them both fierce hugs. “Thank you for the best weekend ever.”

“We love you too, Princess,” Soonyoung said, his voice slightly rough with emotion. “Sweet dreams.”

As they drove home, both uncles were quiet for a while, processing the weekend’s adventures.

“Think Seungcheol will actually let her have that playdate?” Soonyoung finally asked.

“Eventually,” Mingyu said. “He’s protective, but he’s not unreasonable. And his wife will talk sense into him.”

“Good. Naeun deserves to have friends her own age.”

“She does. Though I have to say, hanging out with a five-year-old for a weekend was more fun than I expected.”

“Right? She’s like this perfect combination of innocent and wise. And hilarious.”

“Think they’ll ask us to babysit again?”

“Definitely. Despite the grocery store incident and the accidental matchmaking revelation.”

“We should probably plan better next time.”

“Probably. But you know what? Even with the chaos, it was pretty perfect.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu agreed, smiling as he thought about Naeun’s gap-toothed grin and her theories about friendship bracelets and ant societies. “It really was.”

The next morning, Seungcheol woke up to find a carefully folded piece of paper slipped under his bedroom door. On it, in Naeun’s careful five-year-old handwriting, was a short note: “Dear Daddy, Thank you for letting me have the best weekend with Uncle Mingyu and Uncle Soonyoung. They took very good care of me and Kkuma.”

Attached to the note was a friendship bracelet made from pink and blue strings, slightly crooked but clearly made with love.

Seungcheol smiled despite himself. His daughter was growing up, making friends, and forming her own opinions about the world. It was terrifying and wonderful and exactly what he wanted for her.

He slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, right next to his watch, and made his way to the kitchen where the sound of gentle laughter already filled the morning air.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Oh Say It Firsr~

Synopsis: You’re quiet. She’s chaos in a hoodie and iced coffee. Every morning, Hanni slides into the seat beside you, pokes at your cheeks, and ruins your peace with that smile she knows melts you. But one day, you look back—and this time, she’s the one caught staring. Turns out, she’s not the only one who knows how to play. And maybe, just maybe, one of you is about to say it first.

Word Count: 800+

Hanni Pham X M!Reader

a/n: my last fic for this week y’all!! i’ll miss you guys TT

It always starts the same way.

You sit at your desk. Quiet. Half-focused. Hanni walks in—late, as usual—but no one calls her out. Not because she’s sneaky. Just because somehow, she makes late look cool.

She doesn’t go straight to her seat.

She makes a stop. Always.

At yours.

“Morning,” she says, placing her iced coffee down right on top of your notebook.

“Morning,” you mumble, trying not to look directly at her. That never works out.

“You forgot your pen yesterday,” she adds, casually pulling it from her pocket and placing it beside your hand.

You blink. “You… kept that?”

She shrugs. “It’s a good pen.”

She doesn’t leave.

She just stares.

Like she’s waiting for you to say something. Or maybe waiting for you to combust.

You glance up—just a second—and she smiles.

You look away. Immediately.

Her smile widens. You don’t see it, but you feel it.

“You always look like you’re hiding something,” she teases, pulling up a chair to sit beside you even though her seat is two rows down.

“I’m not,” you say.

“Uh-huh. So why are you red?”

“I’m not red.”

“You’re red,” she insists, poking your cheek with the back of her pen. “Look at that. Warm to the touch.”

“Hanni—”

“You talk a lot of big game, you know,” she says, leaning in a little. “I heard you call yourself smooth the other day.”

You groan. “That was a joke.”

“Was it?” Her voice drops—just enough to make the hairs on your neck stand.

“You were saying something about being confident?”

“I was—”

“Confident people don’t choke when I smile,” she says sweetly.

You swallow. Wrong move.

Because she’s smiling now. Bright. Close. Dangerous.

You fumble for a response, any comeback that won’t sound like you’re dying inside. But all that comes out is—

“…You’re so annoying.”

“Yet,” she grins, getting up and taking her iced coffee back, “you let me sit here every morning.”

She walks to her seat like nothing happened.

You stare down at your notes, heart pounding. Still red. Still ruined.

The pen she returned is still warm.

Class drags.

Your brain? Still somewhere between the imprint of her smile and the way she said confident people don’t choke when I smile. That line had been replaying in your head for over an hour now.

But you’ve been patient.

Because today… you noticed something.

Every time the professor turns to the board, every time there’s a lull in the lesson—you catch her.

Glancing at you.

Not in an obvious way. Not with that teasing smirk she’s known for. Just… soft. Curious.

Like she’s checking if you’re okay.

Like she’s wondering if she went too far earlier.

So the next time it happens—you don’t look away.

You look back.

Eyes steady. Brows raised. A quiet challenge.

She freezes.

Just for half a second.

That’s all you need.

After class, she takes her time packing up. You wait by the door, hands in your pockets, pretending to check your phone.

When she finally walks past you, you fall into step beside her.

No words at first. Just your sneakers and hers, tapping against the tiled hallway in sync.

Then you say it. Calm. Neutral.

“You were looking at me earlier.”

She snorts. “No, I wasn’t.”

You shrug. “I saw you.”

“Maybe you were just hoping I was.”

You grin. “That sounds like something someone who got caught would say.”

She pauses. One beat. Two.

Then shoots you a sideways glance. “Don’t push it.”

But her ears—just slightly—have turned pink.

You press on.

“It’s fine, by the way.”

“What is?”

“That you like me.”

She scoffs. “Excuse me?”

You keep walking. “It’s obvious. I mean, you flirt a lot. You sit beside me even though your assigned seat is nowhere near me. You always steal my food but somehow return my pens.”

“I return your pens because you forget them every single day.”

“And you saved the one with the rubber grip. My favorite.”

She glares. But she’s smiling too.

And now you’re the one leaning in slightly, dropping your voice just enough.

“Admit it, you like me.”

She opens her mouth, ready to fire back—

Then stops.

Her eyes flick to yours.

And suddenly, she’s quiet.

The hallway feels longer. Brighter. Louder somehow.

Then—barely audible, almost playful, almost serious—she says:

“You first.”

[kxsagi]

Okay I'll leave you alone now but also a nagi x reader where he comes homw to her all sad and depressed because I hate the idea of nagi going back to his old and lonely life before Reo uhgghgggghgg

“𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭?”

a/n: title is a lyric from “space song” by beach house i LOVE that song with a burning passion

you hear the front door click open and close with barely a sound – no enthusiastic “i’m home,” no grumble about being tired, not even a sigh. just the soft shuffle of shoes being kicked off, and then silence. 

that’s how you know something’s wrong. 

you peek your head around the kitchen doorway and see nagi standing there, slouched like a shadow, bag slipping off one shoulder, staring down at nothing like it said something mean to him. he looks… small. not in size, but in that dimmed star kind of way. like someone pressed pause on his glow. 

“sei?” you ask, gently, stepping closer. 

he doesn’t look up. just lets his bag slide to the floor with a quiet thud, then walks past you without a word, straight to the couch where he collapses face-first into a cushion. 

you trail after him and sit on the floor beside him, resting your arms on the edge of the couch. “what’s going on?” 

he stays silent for a beat. then another. and then a muffled voice comes out from under the cushion: “i miss when everything was simple.” 

your chest tightens. not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. slow, tired, the kind of tired that isn’t about sleep. 

“before what?” you ask softly. 

he turns his head so one eye peeks out at you from the pillow. “before everything got complicated. before the pressure. before people started expecting me to be a genius all the time. before i had to be more.” 

he doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the echoes of something deeper in it – before reo, before connection, before love. before he let anyone into his world and had something to lose. 

you climb up onto the couch beside him and gently run your fingers through his messy white hair. “you don’t have to be anything more than what you are with me, sei. you know that, right?” 

he doesn’t answer. he just turns his face into your stomach and wraps his arms around your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself to something that won’t disappear. 

“sometimes i think i’d be better off just going back to how things were,” he mumbles against you, voice small and bitter. “just games, food, sleep. no feelings. no pressure. no… hurt.” 

that one hurts you. 

so you press a kiss to the top of his head and whisper, “then why does your voice shake when you say that?” 

he goes quiet again. and then, in the softest whisper: 

“because i don’t want to be that alone again.” 

you pull him closer, hold him like he’s something fragile and precious (because he is), and press your cheek to his head. “you won’t be. not with me here. not ever again. even if you don’t want to talk, even if you’re tired, even if you forget how to care for a while, i’ll still be here. i’m not scared of the quiet parts of you.” 

he exhales. it’s shaky. like the storm inside him just softened into rain. 

“… you’re annoying,” he mutters after a pause, muffled again. “persistent.” 

you smile, not letting go. “and you’re dramatic.” 

he doesn’t argue. just lays there, curled into you like a puzzle piece finally back where it belongs. and you sit with him, letting the silence stretch out – not empty this time, but full. full of quiet comfort. full of the promise that no matter how dark it gets, he doesn’t have to go back to being a ghost of himself. 

not when you’re here to remind him what it means to live. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[hakusins]

♡ - Chase (Grim) (R21+) ♡ - For @fraternum-momentum (hope you enjoy it mel ♡) Warnings: mentions of torture, mild torture, obsessive behavior, degrading speech, and more!

How long has this been going on? Perhaps hours, maybe even days at this point - but who are you to keep track of it? After all, it can even be a year and you wouldn’t know any better. 

All you are aware of at the moment, was the hard tile floor underneath you as the larger man forces you to the ground by the heel of his boot. Heavy and flat, he presses down onto your stomach as he leans over you. His shadow completely engulfing your body, and in the dim red light of his ‘enclosure’, Grim would gaze upon you with eyes that seemed to glow a poisonous green color. 

“Got you again, puppy.” 

Lowering himself down, he would purposefully apply further pressure on your stomach as he lowers himself down, getting closer until his face was far closer with yours. He’ll even dig his heel further into your gut to wrench out that beautiful little whine and wheeze from you, just the way he likes it. 

“I’m starting to think you actually want to get caught, puppy. Am I right? Why else are you making it so pathetically easy for me to catch you?” He would ask, when he knows full well why you’re so easy to get caught. Your ankle would thrum with pain to remind you.

“I’m starting to get bored you know, with how sloppy you’ve gotten. You don’t mind me spicing things up, do you?” 

Re-adjusting himself above you, Grim would take off his boot from your stomach, finally easing your discomfort in some way. But now, he had decided to straddle your middle, his weight now placed fully on your torso. Your head still spinning from the pain and exhaustion, you don’t even get to fully register what exactly is happening until his large calloused hands had wrapped themselves around your neck, both thumbs bent to apply pressure to your trachea. “Don’t worry puppy, I’m not gonna actually kill you - just wanna see the face you make as you fight for breath.” It was crash, it was insane - he was utterly and horribly mad! Grim knew this - no he was fully aware, no reasonable adult man with a sane mind would do it. It was so fortunate that he was insane right? 

He was insane, right? Therefore, this should be expected. This should be okay. 

In your last bit of breath, you try to beg him - to appeal to him in some way. It was short and soft, but you ask if he can let you go.

Grim would pause, his green eyes widen in surprise as this was the first time you’ve actually spoken tonight during your Playdate. There was a beat of silence as he would watch you with an unreadable gaze, an unknown emotion swirling in his eyes. You’d half expect him to go insane like he did last time, that led to your throbbing ankle now. 

“Hm? What’s that, baby?” He asks, as if he fully didn’t hear you - maybe it was a challenge, maybe he was truly unsure if he heard the right words. Regardless, despite the fact that he is still pressing his thumbs down onto your neck like that, you repeat your plea to him. Only to be met with a smug, sadistic smile - his maddening red smeared make up only serving to make it look far more twisted and torn than it was. 

“Oh baby, - PFT-! You don’t mean that, oh of course not. You wanna play with me right?” Did it matter if you’re shaking your head? One hand finally left your neck, relieving some of the pressure, but now your face has been yanked close to Grim’s, where your cheek were rubbing together, his red lipstick smearing itself onto your face as he breathes right against you. His eyes - his eyes did not blink once as he stares right into your own. “Of course you don’t mean that, baby. Why would you want to leave me? Is it cause you’ve gotten bored? Have I been too mean to you? I’ll let you win some games, alright?” 

He would finally pause to finally reposition his face, tip of his nose pressing against your own as he gazes his eyes downwards to you, “No more of this nonsense about ‘going home’, okay? Your new home is right here.”

[pandalorian36]

Spencer Reid x (g.n)reader [Part 1]

Part 1 of 2

The members of the BAU have noticed a change in Spencer and are trying to reach the botttom of it. Discovering that there is a new name in his phone and a new home screen they have only manged to catch a glimps off. it has now become a game of who can work it out first. None of them are expecting you an energetic artist who is outgoing quite the opposite to Spencers usual quite demenor.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, SFW, fluffy romance. Word count: 2213

Spencer's phone bleeps again which has been happening at regular intervals over the last few months. Spencer smiles in response, eyes softening, the first few times he got a dopey grin on his face often spinning in his office chair as he typed a response now, he just smiles eyes bright. Garcia makes her way across the office handing out files pausing by Morgans desk where he and Emily are in deep discussion glancing over at Spencer who is once again lost in his phone.

"Who do you think he's texting?

"I don't know but it must be the same person it’s been going on for months now."

Morgan grins noticing the tech analysist "Hey baby girl you know anything?" she sighs dramatically shaking her head "Only that he recently changed is home screen to a photo of two people one was definitely him, but I didn't get a good look at the other."

Emily grins calling out "Who you texting Reid?" Spencer seems to jump out a trance hastily puts his phone down cheeks flushing "No one." Morgan smirks "Reid are you dating someone?"

Garcia grins "You know I can find out." Spencer shakes his head "It’s nothing." JJ wanders over "What's nothing?" Garcia giggles "Spencer is seeing someone."

"Really? Do we know them? Can we meet them?" Spencer’s cheeks go a deeper shade of red "I'm not...I mean..." he groans burying his head in his hands while his phone buzzes on the desk. He scrambles managing to grab it before any of his team members can see the name already knowing who it will be.

"Oh, come on Reid tell us." JJ pleads while Spencer shakes his head slightly in defeat cheeks coloured "We've been dating for a year; you don't know them." dramatic gasps go around the room a chorus of "A year!?" Morgan grins "So are we going to meet this mystery person of yours?" Spencer grins "Nope." he is saved from further questioning when Hotch calls them all into the conference room.

"Do we not even get a name? What do they do?" Garcia questions as they sit down, Hotch and Rossi look at the group confused "Did we miss something?" Emily grins "Reid has a mystery partner." Rossi chuckles glancing at the flustered agent "Are we going to meet them?" Spencer groans running a hand through his hair looking at all the eager faces around him "I'll think about it."

That evening he returns home to your shared apartment finding your bike parked outside. You greet him enthusiastically when he opens the door appearing out of the kitchen with flour down your shirt and smeared on your cheek "Hey Spence, how was your day?" he smiles melting into your arms, nothing beats coming home to you and your embrace. "It was good. The team kind off found out about you today."

You chuckle kissing him lightly "You know I have no problem with that. It’s completely up to you love." he nods watching you move about the kitchen "I don't know if I'm ready, they're going to question you. I don't want to scare you." You take dinner out the oven putting it on the side before wrapping your arms around his waist pulling him close "Nothing can scare me away from you Spence. I will do whatever you are comfortable with you know that right?" he nods resting his forehead against yours "I love you."

"I love you too." pecking his lips you turn back around dishing up the food onto plates "I finished that book you recommended it was excellent." Spencer beams "Really? You liked it?" you nod picking up the plates "It was excellent. Oh, and I found that documentary on Rome you were talking about we can watch it tonight if you like?"

"Really?" the excitement is visible on his face as you make your way through to the lounge settling on the sofa. Once you finish eating Spencer moves closer laying his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair. "I would like if you met them. My team I mean, they're kind of like an extended family."

"I would be honoured to meet them." Spencer smiles brightly "It means you can visit me at work. Not that I don't enjoy visiting you, I mean I love visiting you in the workshop but..." you cut of his rambling with a gentle kiss "I would love to come and visit." he scrunches up his nose slightly making you laugh "I'll drop by sometime next week?" Spencer nods "I'd like that."

The next few days at the BAU he is bombarded with questions about you. He decides to keep quiet about your visit and skids around the questions not giving anything away. He is sat working on some files when Morgan perches on the edge of his desk pushing his chair back "Alright pretty boy we want some answers. How have you kept this quiet for a year? Who is this person?"

Spencer goes to answer however his entire face lights up when someone walks out the lift a bag slung over their shoulder bike helmet in hand "Y/N." you spot him and make your way over grinning "Hey Spence. I bought your lunch you left it in the fridge."

He gives you a dopey smile taking the bag from your outstretched hands "Thank you." he kisses your cheek gently blushing slightly as Morgan stares open mouthed. "Y/N this is Derek." you grin wiping your hands on your trousers before holding it out "Nice to meet you. Sorry about my attire I only get an hour out the shop didn't have time to change."

Derek takes a second to take in what you are wearing; worn cargo trousers, combat boots, a plaid shirt with burns littering the fabric, sawdust and paint stuck in patches and a very worn leather jacket. Shaking his head slightly he takes your outstretched hand "Nice to meet you. Spencer has told us nothing." Emily and JJ quickly make their way over introducing themselves Garcia hurrying in from her office seconds later "Derek messaged. Where are they?"

Spencer groans embarrassed as Garica joins the group beaming "Hi I'm Penelope." you grin taking her hand "Pleasure to meet you. It’s good to have faces for names." Emily chuckles "So they get to hear about us but we don't hear anything about them?"

You laugh wrapping an arm around spencer’s waist "He only mentioned you in passing, doesn't really discuss work at home." The final two members of the team wander overlooking confused at the gathering "Oh hello Mr Hotchner." everyone looks at you confused as Hotch smiles warmly "Y/N." he looks between Spencer and you realisation dawning on both his and Rossi’s faces while Spencer looks confused "You never mentioned you knew Hotch?"

"You only call him Hotch, never really made the connection," they laugh "I go into schools to teach art and woodwork; I've taught at Jacks school several times."

Garcia beams "You're a teacher?"

"Only part time. I work for an independent business making bespoke furniture for people. Mostly woodwork but some metal as well. I love it."

Morgan looks confused "How did you and Spencer meet? No offence meant." Spencer blushes while you grin squeezing his waist gently "We met in a bookshop. He knocked a book on my head and was so flustered it was adorable. He took me out for coffee as an apology and turned out we had similar interests."

Garcia squeals "That is adorable." You glance down at your watch groaning "Shoot I'm gonna be late back." Grabbing your bike helmet from Spencer’s desk you kiss him swiftly "See you tonight. It was lovely meeting you all" with a smile and a wave your gone.

Everyone rounds on Spencer Garcia beams "I approve now excuse me I am going to do some very legal snooping." she scampers away followed by Emily and JJ. Rossi pats the young doctor on the shoulder "You should invite them to our next gathering." Morgan grins whistling "Never would have thought you would have gone for a biker."

Spencer shrugs "I warned them about the dangers but," he blushes slightly "It’s actually quite fun." Morgan laughs "You got on their bike?" Spencer shrugs slightly "I trust Y/N with my life." Morgan grins "You're smitten." Spencer blushes but doesn't fight the accusation.

Your visits become a regular occurrence spending lunch breaks with Spencer and the rest of the team who have taken an instant liking too you looking forward to your visits almost as much as Spencer. One evening you are invited to join the team at a bar after a long case. You decide on taking a cab finding them all inside a few drinks in.

Spencer beams and stands practically tripping into your arms "It's Y/N. I love Y/N. I love you." you chuckle kissing him softly "How much have you drank Spence?"

"Not that much." Morgan chuckles "Three beers and a couple of shots." you roll your eyes helping him sit back down "He very rarely drinks." Emily and JJ appear laughing "Hey Y/N."

"Hey. How did the case go?" they both sit Hotch smiling slightly "We were lucky. It went well."

"Thats good." Spencer is dragged onto the dance floor by Emily and Garcia leaving you at the table with Hotch, Rossi, Morgan and JJ.

"Its good to see him so happy." JJ smiles brightly "You've done him a lot of good." you grin watching Spencer dance around warmth spreading through your chest "I can't imagine life without him." Rossi grins "Should we expecting an invite any time soon?" you chuckle shaking your head a blush rising on your cheeks "I don't know maybe." You watch him dance around while JJ asks, "How was your holiday?"

"Oh, it was excellent. Spencer and I spent most of it going to museums and bookshops. I've never really spent time in Paris before, so it was lovely. Oh and I found the jewellery shop where my dad bought my mums engagement ring." JJ squeals "Oh my god did you buy a ring?" you glance over at Spencer grinning "Maybe."

The gathered agents all smile brightly watching the drunk doctor whom they are all very fond off. Morgan chuckles "Don't tell Garcia she might explode with excitement."

Spencer stumbles back over to the table collapsing by your side "Can we go home now?" Morgan chuckles "You didn't bring your bike, did you?" you laugh shaking your head "No I took a cab. Wasn't risking that. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

You help Spencer into the cab as he clings to your arm humming a soft tune "Y/N I've got a big secret."

"Really?" he grins nodding "I can't tell you though because its a secret." the cab pulls up outside your apartment and you pay the driver before helping Spencer out and too the front door "I love you." you chuckle brushing the hair out of his face "Love you too Spence."

"I'm gonna marry you one day." blushing you lock the door behind the two of you helping him through to the bedroom "Really?" he nods "But I still can't tell you my secret." you take out pyjamas helping Spencer change before grabbing a glass of water making him drink it all before helping him into bed "N/N?"

"Yea?" "Still can't tell you. It’s a secret." Laughing you slide into bed next to him kissing his forehead gently "Get some sleep Spence."

The next morning Spencer groans burying his head under the duvet "Erghh." "There's water and aspirin on the nightstand." he sticks his head up blinking at the sunlight "Do I have to go in today?" you nod picking up his phone showing him the messages "Fraid so. I've made breakfast and got your bag ready all you have to do is shower."

"You're amazing." you chuckle "I try my best." Spencer emerges from the shower looking slightly better he accepts the coffee gratefully leaning against the kitchen counter "Did I say anything weird last night?"

"How do you mean?" he shakes his head slightly rubbing his eyes "I don't know I just have this feeling I said something I shouldn't have." you wrap your arms around his waist gently kissing his cheek then the tip of his nose "All you said is you have a secret that you can't share with me but you didn't say what it was." he looks confused a moment before shaking his head slightly "I have no idea."

"Don't forget we have date night Saturday." he nods "I already told Hotch I can't work over the weekend so unless something major comes up I am all yours." you grin kissing him gently "Sounds perfect." Both your alarms start going causing you to jump apart "Do you want a lift to work?"

"Not today I'll get the subway."

"Alright. Have a good day Spence." kissing him once more you disappear grabbing your bag and jacket as you leave shouting "Love you." as you exit. Spencer puts his empty coffee cup away and grabs his things slowly making his way out the apartment. Thank god he didn't say anything last night he would hate to ruin his proposal plans. 

Part 2 here

[painted-bees]

I've mentioned a few times that Raf doesn't have a very fond opinion of Margie's parents [even...or maybe especially...after meeting them and seeing first-hand how they regard her and her passions, and choices, and accomplishments, etc], and he can't really connect with her older sister genuinely, because she's just...incapable of being normal about him, apparently.

But Raf gets along really, really well with Margie's younger brother, Benji. Benji's just a chill autistic guy who lives with the parents, smokes weed and plays video games when he doesn't have work. He's never really had to grow up and doesn't want to--but is a hard worker despite this. So long as you tell him what to do, he'll just do it without complaining--even if the task is insane. And he'll do a good job of it. He and Raf have this in common lmao (though Raf has his own initiatives/goals that he'll prioritise and is a lot more proactive--whereas Benji very much needs to be put in front of a task or have a goal dictated to him by someone else, as he won't take that initiative himself.)

Like Margie, Benji sees Raf as Just A Guy... and, like Margie, suffers a lot of second hand embarassment over the weird fixation/intense vibes their older sister, Liza, presents in her behavior towards Raf. Benji's room doubles as a place for Raf to hide when he needs some space--because Benji's energy doesn't sap the life out of him the way the rest of Margie's family does. They'll just hit a bong, sit back, listen to Iron Maiden or Judas Priest or w/e on Benji's sweet stereo system and Raf is chill to just watch Benji play whatever game he's got going on the playstation.

Thanks to this, Raf gets to know Benji better than he gets to know any other member of Margie's family, and they get talking about a lot of different things.

One of the conversations that sticks with him, I think, is one where Benji explains that he and Margie always swore off the whole "growing up" thing and agreed they'd always act like kids together without letting the world turn them into bitter, boring, joyless adults. As kids, they attribute "growing up" with all the things that made their older sister and parents kinda unfun and difficult to relate to.

When Margie was kicked out of the house and made to live on her own, Benji was genuinely concerned that the world was just gonna beat all the fun and joy out of her, and that she'd come back home one day as a dull, boring, joyless adult that he barely recognized. And he thanks Raf for finding her out there and giving her a place where she doesn't have to be anything other than Margie.

Usually Raf would argue that Margie has grown up...quite significantly--even just during the time he's known her. But he recognizes that this isn't what Benji means when he talks about "growing up" and "adulthood". Benji's definition of 'being an adult' is more akin to Raf's experience with adulthood; poisoned by pessimism, burnout, characterized by passionless incurioisity and bogged down by an oppressive, unyeilding self-loathing and fatigue. All due to the fruitless endeavor of trying to fullfill an impossible role imposed upon him by the uncaring population of his environment.

In honesty, the very first thing he noticed about Margie--before he had even heard her play music--was a certain je ne sais quoi, a joyful whimsy, youthful gentleness, whatever the hell you want to call it. It's what spurred him to reach out to her in the train station, very first time they met.

It was hard to imagine Margie without it. In truth, once Raf had sensed it, he didn't want to let it go. It was a subconscious thing, he didn't understand what he was dealing with at the time. But he'd have never agreed to go for coffee nor to meet with her again--if not for that precious sense of raw joy and wonder that she emitted so effortlessly. It was an endangered animal to him. And ever since meeting her, his life has become centered around preserving and nourishing it in her--and recapturing it within himself.

He has no way of knowing if Margie could have ever lost it, regardless of whether he showed up in her life or not. He errs towards the belief that she'd have always retained it--it's just too much a core part of her personality to bend to the environment like that. But he's really happy to have the luck--and the means--to foster and feed that part of her. Benji will never be without his fun-loving, joyful dorky sister. Raf hopes the same is true for himself, as well.

[crystallizedday]

So since I’m a loser who can’t beat the secret bosses

I thought I could make some use out of my save files by getting the pipis in chapter 3 & recording the noises it makes for myself (since I’ve only ever seen the Vinesauce clip showcasing it, & I dunno if anyone else has done this)

Since Tumblr is stinky & won’t let me post clips separately, have this compilation of a few key things I found while recording lil Eggie’s “tweeting.”

Considering pipis are a reference to the Pokémon “bad egg” glitch, I’m not surprised by the choice of sound.

What I AM surprised about is the pitch shifts it (or I guess she) does, almost like her tone itself is shifting.

I dunno if the tweeting noise is SUPPOSED to get distorted when entering a new room, but either way, it definitely gives off the feeling that this pipis is not exactly

SUPPOSED to be

Which

Ya know

Is the whole point OWMWOSMOWMDODXKO

Additionally, I was shocked to hear the tweeting stop once the player enters specific locations. Is it cause the S rank & the parental lock rooms lead to endgame areas? Is it cause the poor thing doesn’t like being reminded of her traumatized dads?

I dunno.

I also wanted to see if anything were to happen if I brought the lil thing back to the room we got her from.

There’s nothing of interest aside from the lack of music, so sampling the noises is a lot easier to do in this room (assuming I don’t just… mute the music for the entire game, but why would I do that? >:/)

Also also

As I was trying to fiddle with my laptop’s recording set up (cause it wasn’t recording audio at first)

I SWEAR I heard the lil thing make a sound similar to Spamton’s “Hey Every” jingle, but I couldn’t get the audio for it.

So

Uh

If any of you have the time

& the lack of sanity

Please fact check my buffoonery.

I’d love to know if the lil pipis just

HAS Spamton’s jingle.

That would be so cute…