#working through some stuff and having fun with it!

[jupiterpilgrim]

Someone Like You

Sohyun x Xinyu x male reader

word count: 19K

You push open the door with your shoulder, bag sliding down your arm, earbuds still in, still humming the chorus of the track you were half-distractedly mouthing on the walk back. The apartment’s dim, only the low yellow glow from the kitchen light pooling under the cabinets. It smells faintly like miso and something fried earlier (maybe tofu?) and, ironically, this reminds you that you forgot something. It doesn’t hit you immediately, what you forgot. But then your eyes sweep the counter.

Empty.

The fridge hisses softly when you open it. Half a carton of milk. Some eggs. A bottle of kimchi you’re not brave enough to open. And a lonely, suspicious cucumber. Then you freeze.

Okay. Right.

You were supposed to get groceries today. Actually, you were supposed to get them yesterday too, but Xinyu cornered you after the club meeting and asked for help lifting some stuff into storage—by which she meant do all the hard work while I pretend to supervise. Time got slippery. You left campus past dark and told yourself you’d make a list tomorrow.

Well, tomorrow was today. Now today is too late.

You step out of the kitchen just as Sohyun emerges from her room, barefoot, wearing that oversized sweatshirt she lives in when she’s in a mood. Dark grey, sleeves too long, hair twisted up with two pens stabbing through the knot like she’s some sort of overworked librarian assassin. Her expression is unreadable, which is bad. It’s when she gets unreadable that you know she’s very much read you and is probably two sentences away from verbal murder.

“You didn’t go, did you?” she says. No hello. Just sharp and low. Fair enough...

You fidget, rubbing the back of your neck. “I… got distracted. Club ran long.”

Her eyes flick down to your bag. No plastic handles sticking out, no clinking bottles or leafy greens peeking. She leans her weight to one hip and folds her arms slowly, like she’s savoring the drama of the moment.

“Distracted,” she repeats. “Again.”

“It’s just the second time—”

“The second time this week,” she cuts in, and now you’re pretty sure she’s not even mad about the food. There’s something else threading underneath, something prickly and a little tired.

You drop your bag by the couch and step closer, sheepish. “I know, I know. I really meant to, I just—club stuff’s been a lot. We’re organizing that charity auction and planning the art zine printing and—”

“You’re in a crafts club, not national defense,” she mutters, turning toward the kitchen, but slower than usual, like she’s waiting for you to say something worth staying for.

“It’s called ‘Hands On’,” you remind her, trailing after. “And it’s pretty fun, actually. We’re doing embroidery on vintage denim this week.”

That earns a glance, just a flash over her shoulder, one brow twitching. “So now you’re too busy learning how to sew flowers onto someone’s ass to remember your basic responsibilities?”

You shift on your feet. “You make it sound so much lamer than it is.”

“I didn’t have to try.”

You watch her pull out the rice cooker, expression smoothing into that blank practiced calm she wears when she’s trying not to let irritation sound like concern. The rice cooker clicks, and it suddenly feels very loud in the silence you left hanging.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say quickly, guilt tightening your throat. “Let me cook this weekend.”

She pauses, dead silent. Then slowly turns, both arms now crossed tighter, chin tilted.

“You.”

“Me.”

“You want to cook.”

“For us, yeah.”

“You nearly set the toaster on fire trying to make Pop-Tarts.”

“That was one time. And I was sleepy.”

“You boiled water in a frying pan.”

“I couldn’t find the kettle!”

“It was next to the stove.”

You press your palms together like you’re about to pray. “C’mon. Let me try. I’ll find recipes online. I’ll watch a tutorial or something. I’ll even write down a shopping list this time.”

Her eyes narrow. “You're gonna write down one egg, one cup rice, plus one extinguisher?”

You groan and sag onto the counter dramatically, forehead thunking against the cool laminate. “Have some faith in me, Sohyun.”

“I do, that’s why I don’t want to die.”

You lift your head and grin at her, and she falters. There’s a twitch at the edge of her mouth like she’s fighting it, but her arms are still crossed and her eyes are still doing that sharp thing they do when she’s trying to seem unimpressed. She fails. She always fails.

“You’ve got that face on again,” you say.

“What face.”

“The grumpy ‘my idiot roommate is testing my will to live’ face. I don’t like that face. Gimme a better one.”

She turns away a little, her hip brushing the counter, but you catch the way her lips almost curve. You lean in slightly.

“C’mon, just a little one. Gimme a smile. I’ll even do the grocery run tomorrow and the day after.”

“That’s your responsibility anyway,” she mumbles, but softer.

“Yeah, but I’ll do it extra good. Promise. Just smile.”

She tries to keep her mouth straight, but it’s not fair, because you’re looking at her like a puppy that dropped its leash and still thinks it deserves a treat. And you know what you’re doing; weaponizing that whole innocent soft-boy thing, but it works. She finally lets one side of her mouth curl up, barely, like a crack of sunlight through clouds.

“There,” you say, triumphant, and point like it’s proof. “That’s the one. See? You look way less murdery when you do that.”

“Shut up,” she says, but she doesn’t move away when you lean against the counter beside her. Her shoulder is warm against yours, and she doesn’t pull away. You can feel her relaxing, even if she keeps up the grumble.

“Seriously though,” you say. “Thanks for cooking all the time. I know I suck at adulting. I’ll get better.”

“Yeah, well. Someone has to keep your malnourished ass alive.”

You laugh, and she pretends like that wasn’t a compliment buried in salt. The silence after isn’t tense anymore. It’s familiar. She leans over to rinse some rice, and you stay close, watching the way her fingers move, the easy rhythm of someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s kind of hypnotic. You catch yourself staring a little too long and glance away, ears warm.

“You know,” you say, just to fill the quiet, “Xinyu said she wants to teach me how to make handmade dumplings. Apparently she’s some kind of food goddess outside of club stuff.”

You don’t notice how still Sohyun goes. How her shoulders tighten just slightly. You’re busy thinking about how Xinyu had smiled at you when she said it, the way she tilted her head and asked if your hands were good with dough. Like she was measuring your answer with something hungrier than curiosity.

You don’t notice the way Sohyun’s grip on the strainer shifts. Or the small exhale she lets out, short and flat. But you do catch the quiet that follows your sentence. Heavy again. And not the good kind.

You glance over. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, too fast. “Sounds like she’s keeping you real busy lately.”

“I guess? I mean, she’s just super involved in everything. She’s got all these ideas. And people really listen to her. It’s kinda cool.”

She hums, then dumps the rice into the cooker with a clatter that sounds more aggressive than necessary.

“Cool,” she repeats under her breath, but you don’t catch the tone.

You yawn and stretch your arms above your head. “Anyway. I’m gonna shower before dinner. Thanks for not killing me.”

“No promises,” she mutters.

As you disappear down the hall, you don’t see the look she gives the kitchen doorway. Not angry. Not exactly sad, either. Just a look like someone watching a window slowly shut on something they hadn’t even realized they were leaning out of. The rice cooker beeps behind her, forgotten. Her reflection stares back at her in the microwave door, and she doesn’t like what she sees there.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is too crisp for how warm your neck feels under the collar of your hoodie. Your econ professor dragged out the last five minutes of class with a winding tangent about inflation and donuts, and your brain’s still foggy from trying to stay awake. The hallway hums with the usual end-of-class shuffle—backpacks zipping, shoes squeaking on linoleum, someone laughing too loudly down the hall, the flick of water bottles being opened like a chorus of bored seals. You dig your phone out of your pocket, thumb tapping out a quick message to Sohyun to let her know you might head home soon—and then you hear your name.

Not called. Sung.

“Heeeey!”

You don’t even get the full chance to turn around before something soft and perfume-sweet hooks around your elbow and starts pulling. It’s instinct, at this point. You don’t even resist. You know that voice, and sure enough, there she is: Xinyu. In a velvet jacket the color of overripe cherries, hair twisted in a high braid that bounces with every movement, eyes bright with some new scheme. She's wearing high heels, which emphasizes her height (1.74cm, and she doesn't even need the heels to be taller than you).

“You have legs. You’re walking. Perfect. C’mon,” she says, already dragging you past two people in the hall who double-take like they’re seeing something illegal.

“Uh—hi? What—what’s going on?” You try to plant your feet but she’s stronger than she looks. “I actually need to get home kinda early—”

“It’ll be quick,” she chirps, which you immediately recognize as a lie, the same way Sohyun always does when you tell her you’ll “just check something real fast.” Xinyu gives you a sideways glance, all long lashes and a grin that should be registered as a performance-enhancing drug. “We’ve got a situation and you, my sweet dumb boy, are just the man to solve it.”

“I never agreed to—wait, what situation?”

“You’ll see,” she hums.

That’s how it always starts.

She marches you through campus like she’s late to a parade, and you end up outside the “Hands On” club room (formerly the Sad Little Arts Supply Closet), now upgraded with banners, fairy lights, a suggestion box shaped like a gumball machine, and one extremely passive-aggressive cactus on the windowsill that someone (probably Xinyu) glued googly eyes onto. The room smells like fabric glue and lavender cleaning spray. You can already tell something’s going on. Half the tables have fabric swatches and scissors laid out, while the other half are in chaos—cardboard boxes, paper stacks, craft knives, sticky notes everywhere like a crime scene made by a kindergarten teacher.

Xinyu kicks the door shut with her heel, and immediately spins to face you, hands clasped dramatically.

“Emergency,” she declares. “Our treasurer—bless his little heart—forgot to print half the zine inserts for tomorrow’s showcase. And he left town to visit his boyfriend and won’t be back until Monday.”

You blink. “Okay. And that involves me… how?”

She gives you a look, then grabs a stack of prints and holds them out with both hands, like she’s offering an ancient tome. “We need to trim the inserts, fold them, and pair them with the right zine covers tonight. I would do it myself, but I’m already running final checklists, and I need someone with…” She pauses, eyes dragging slowly down you in a way that makes your spine twitch. “…delicate hands.”

You’re not even sure what that means, but it works embarrassingly well. You shift your weight awkwardly, try not to smile, fail.

“I’ve got readings to do, though,” you mumble, still reaching for the stack anyway.

She leans in, nose almost bumping yours. “Just thirty minutes.”

You know it’s going to be at least two hours. But you’re already sitting down.

You work through the inserts like a factory line, trying not to get glue on your hoodie, trying even harder not to look too happy that she keeps hovering over your shoulder. Every few minutes she passes behind you, laying a hand on your back, leaning to read something over your shoulder, her perfume brushing against your cheek—light and heady, like peonies dipped in honey. When you mess up the first fold, she just laughs and reaches over to fix it, her fingers brushing yours deliberately.

“See? You’ve got the touch,” she says after you finish the third stack, peeking at your neat line of trimmed edges. “You’re careful. Precise. You’d make a good production lead.”

You pause, scissors halfway through a page. “Production what?”

“For the club.” She spins one of the folding chairs around and straddles it backwards, arms folded over the backrest like she’s about to make a TED talk. “We need someone to manage all the materials and oversee project prep days. It’s not super intense, just a couple meetings, task lists, making sure stuff gets done right. I’ve been doing it all myself, but honestly, you’re way more organized than I expected.”

“Uh. Thanks?” You’re not even sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.

She grins. “I'm serious! You’ve got this sort of… reliable energy. Like the kind of guy who double-checks the batteries before a camping trip.”

“Are you saying I’m boring?”

“No,” she says, tipping her head. “I’m saying you’re hot in a very unexpectedly domestic way.”

Your brain short-circuits a little. You drop a sheet. She laughs.

“That’s not—what even is that?”

“Means I could leave you alone in a room with a pet bunny and a glue gun and not worry about either of them dying.”

“…That is the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“And yet you’re still blushing.”

You turn your head away, trying to pretend you’re not. You totally are.

The idea of the position swirls in your head now, even as you keep folding. You picture being in charge of something, even something this small. Making lists. Making things run. Sohyun would probably laugh if she heard it. Or roll her eyes. Or both. Still. There's something weirdly satisfying about the idea of being useful like that. And then there’s the fact that it means more time here. Around her. Around this energy that makes you feel like you’re slightly floating, like maybe you matter in a way you hadn’t thought about before.

“I dunno,” you say. “I’ve never done anything like that before. And I’m still learning how the club works…”

“I’ll help you,” she says immediately. “Seriously. I wouldn’t throw you in alone. I just need someone I trust. And you’ve got this chill thing going on that keeps people from freaking out. I like that.”

You feel your ears heat again.

“I’ll think about it,” you say.

She pouts, and it’s completely weaponized. “But I need you.”

You choke on your breath.

She leans closer across the table. “Please? You’d be perfect. You’re already half in love with this place anyway.”

“I am not.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “You’re literally here folding paper on a Friday night.”

“…Point taken.”

She smiles then, something soft but electric, and somehow the room feels warmer. She taps the side of your hand lightly with a fingernail.

“Just say yes.”

You hesitate.

But it’s barely even hesitation.

“Okay,” you mumble, and you look down because her smile makes it hard to breathe right.

“I knew you would,” she says, sing-song and smug.

You keep working, heartbeat annoyingly loud, the sound of scissors and paper and her humming filling the room like you’ve stepped into a whole different orbit. Something not quite safe. But not bad, either. Just new.

And when you finally look at your phone later—two hours later—you realize you never texted Sohyun back.

—

You fumble with your keys at the door like they’ve suddenly become a math problem, plastic bags hanging heavy off your wrists, sleeves bunched up, hoodie damp with the sweat of a rushed walk to the market. You’re late. Not “forgot the time” late; actual late. Like, over-an-hour-past-the-“I’ll be home by six”-mark late. And that’s with the shortcut through the back alley that smells vaguely like wet cardboard and moldy pizza. You exhale, brace yourself, and nudge the door open with your foot.

Inside’s warm, lit up with the kitchen lights already on, even though you’d planned to turn them on yourself, cook like a responsible adult for once, surprise Sohyun with your flawless (okay, barely functional) culinary debut. Instead, there’s quiet rustling in the living room and the telltale smell of rice already cooking.

Damn.

“Sohyun,” you call out quickly, pushing in and kicking the door shut behind you. “Wait—don’t cook, I’m doing it! I swear!”

She appears before you can get another sentence out, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room with her arms folded like she’s on break from interrogating someone. That same sweatshirt again, sleeves half covering her hands, her hair up in one of those loose, tired buns that somehow makes her look even more intimidating. She doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you.

You lift the bags. “Groceries. All of ‘em. Even got the brand of gochujang you like and those overpriced Belgian chocolate bars you keep ‘not liking’ but always finish.”

That gets her eyebrow twitching upward, just a little. But the frown’s still hanging around her mouth.

“I said I’d cook,” you add. “I didn’t forget this time.”

“You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry. There was… stuff. At the club. Unexpected stuff.”

She doesn’t ask what. She just moves aside so you can shuffle into the kitchen and start unpacking the bags. Vegetables. Noodles. Chicken. Soy sauce. Two bars of that milk chocolate with sea salt she thinks you don’t notice her hoarding in the freezer like contraband. She watches silently as you line things up on the counter, sleeves rolled up like you’re about to operate instead of cook.

“Okay,” you exhale, trying to sound confident and not like you’re internally googling how to dice an onion without making it look like a hate crime. “Tonight, we are making… stir-fried noodles. With chicken. And bok choy.”

Sohyun leans against the doorframe, arms still crossed. “You’re stir-frying something.”

“Technically, yes.”

She watches you wrestle the chicken out of its package like it’s a test of your moral fiber.

“You know,” she says after a long moment, “the whole point of you cooking was to not make me do anything.”

“I got this.”

You do not got this. Five minutes later you’re trying to figure out which knife is for chicken and which is for not-dying, when Sohyun lets out a sigh and walks over. She ties her hair up tighter, grabs a cutting board without a word, and starts slicing the bok choy with precision so sharp it’s almost smug.

“Hey—” you protest, “I said I got this.”

“You said a lot of things,” she mutters. “At this rate, we’ll be eating at midnight.”

You shut up and just let her work beside you. There’s something comforting about it, the shared silence while you both prep, the sound of knives on wood, the little clatter of bottles and bowls. You glance over at her hands a few times—how practiced they are, how she moves like she’s not even thinking about it. You’ve never been able to do anything that confidently. Not like her.

She doesn’t look at you when she speaks next. Her tone’s quiet. Even. Too even.

“So. This ‘unexpected stuff’ at the club.”

You clear your throat. “Just Xinyu stuff.

“Of course.”

“She needed help setting up some print stuff for the showcase tomorrow. I told her I couldn’t stay long, but…”

“But you stayed anyway.”

You hesitate. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

You glance up. She’s slicing scallions now, but her hands have slowed, like she’s not as calm as she wants to sound.

“She just needed help.”

Sohyun sets the knife down, finally looks at you.

“She always needs help, doesn’t she?”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sohyun wipes her hands on a dish towel. “It means girls like her know exactly what they’re doing when they lean in too close and smile too wide and ask for just one little favor. And boys like you—”

“—what about boys like me?” you cut in, more defensive than you expected.

She studies you. “You’re too nice. Too soft. You think people mean what they say when they smile at you.”

Your chest tightens, and you try to laugh it off. “You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to,” she says flatly. “I’ve seen enough. You come home late. You forget things. You’re too tired to eat sometimes. All because some pretty girl with glitter in her hair asks you to fold paper and run errands and smile on command.”

“She’s not using me,” you say, voice low now, trying to keep your hands busy with the noodles, but your pulse is skipping. “We’re friends. She values me. I’m not just—help. She made me a production lead.”

Sohyun lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “Wow. Production lead. That sounds very real.”

You grit your teeth. “You don’t know what it’s like there. The club’s fun. I like it. I feel… useful. Like I matter.”

“You do matter,” she snaps. “Here. With me. But you’re so damn caught up in being liked by her that you don’t see what she’s doing.”

You flinch, then stare down at the noodles, hands cold even over the heat of the pan.

“She’s really nice to me,” you mumble. “She listens. She laughs at my jokes. She makes me feel seen. Maybe you just… don’t get along with people like that.”

Her silence is louder than the stovetop now. You don’t dare look up. You keep stirring, even though the sauce is starting to bubble too fast, even though the smell is getting sharper. Sohyun says nothing for a long time.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter.

“She doesn’t see you,” she says. “She sees what she can get from you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You just stand there, heat rising from the stove, from your face, from the sudden shift in the air around you.

“Let's just... finish cooking, okay?” you finally say, and the conversation ends.

The dinner isn’t bad. It’s not amazing either—one of the noodles is suspiciously crunchy and the sauce might be a little too salty—but it’s edible, and you didn’t set off the smoke detector, so it counts as a win. The kind of win where no one cheers but nobody dies. You both eat cross-legged on the couch, bowls balanced in your laps, watching something vague and unmemorable play out on the TV. Neither of you really pays attention. The show is just there to fill the silence you haven’t figured out how to cross again yet.

She’s quiet. Not in the usual way, where she’s half-ignoring you because she’s pretending to be annoyed. This is the kind of quiet where she doesn’t pick at your uneven chopstick technique, or sigh when you slouch too far forward like a sad noodle boy. She just eats. Occasionally glances at the screen. Mostly doesn’t look at you.

It’s your fault. You know that. You didn’t mean to shut her out, but the conversation from earlier is still coiled up tight in your chest like a knotted cord you can’t unkink. You know she meant well. You also know you didn’t want to hear it. And now it’s sitting between you like a third roommate with bad vibes and no rent.

You stab a stray noodle in the bowl and swirl it for no reason. Then, out of nowhere, you blurt it.

“Hey, uh… do you wanna go to the movies this weekend?”

Sohyun blinks. Turns her head slowly. “What?”

You cough and set your bowl down on the coffee table, feigning casual like you haven’t just rerouted the entire tone of the evening. “That movie. The weird indie horror-romance one you wouldn’t shut up about. You said it’s finally playing at that little theater downtown, right?”

She narrows her eyes like she suspects a trap. “That movie?”

“Yeah. That one with the girl who falls in love with a ghost that might’ve murdered her aunt.”

“You said that sounded dumb.”

“I’ve since developed taste.”

Her eyes flick down to your empty bowl, then back to your face, skeptical. “You wanna go see it. With me.”

“Yes.”

“At the theater.”

“Yes.”

“You, willingly, sitting through a movie where people talk in metaphors and cry in bathtubs for two hours.”

“Yes.”

She stares a second longer, then slowly sets her own bowl down.

“…Are you dying?”

You laugh, relieved that the wall between you starts to crack. “No. I just figured it’s been a while, you know? Since we went anywhere together. Just us.”

She looks at you, and this time it’s different. Softer. A little surprised. Her shoulders uncoil, just slightly.

“Yeah,” she says after a beat. “Yeah, I guess it has.”

You shift closer on the couch, knees brushing. She doesn’t pull away.

“I miss that,” you say quietly. “You and me. Hanging out. You making fun of my popcorn choices and stealing half of it anyway.”

“I don’t steal,” she mutters, glancing away. “You just let me take it.”

“Exactly,” you say, and you slide your hand over hers before you can overthink it. Just resting your palm on top of hers, fingers curling a little, not gripping, just—being there.

She flinches slightly at the contact, just a twitch, but she doesn’t pull back. She lets your fingers settle against hers, warm and tentative, and when you look up at her, she’s not smirking. Not scoffing. Her eyes are flicking down where your hands meet like it’s something foreign and strange and maybe a little fragile.

“You’re my best friend,” you say, simple and true. “You matter a lot to me.”

Her lips part slightly. Her brows lift, and for a second you think she might laugh it off or tell you you’re being cheesy or stupid—but she doesn’t. She just exhales, like maybe something heavy has been sitting in her chest too.

“You matter to me too,” she says.

You smile at her, and this time when your thumb brushes her knuckle, she doesn’t tense. She lets it happen. Lets you stay close. The show keeps playing in the background, some scene with a car chase and overly dramatic soundtrack cues, but you don’t hear it. Not really.

She shifts her hand slightly and laces her fingers with yours. Not fully. Not completely confident. But enough.

“Don’t be late to the theater,” she says softly. “Or I will eat all your popcorn.”

“Fair,” you say, and your heart’s beating like you’ve just run a mile uphill, but your smile won’t quit.

Neither will hers, even as she tries to hide it by turning toward the screen again.

And when she finally squeezes your hand, once, gently… you squeeze back.

—

The week grinds on like a slow, dull blade; long days of lectures that won’t end and projects that never feel done, your hands always on something, always organizing, always fixing. The new position in the club sounded cool when Xinyu pitched it, sounded manageable, even kind of important. And it is. But it's also constant. There’s always something that needs adjusting. A deadline that wasn’t clear. A last-minute supply shortage. Someone who forgot to RSVP to a workshop and now wants to be squeezed in. You spend most of your hours between classes running around campus, typing messages with one hand and juggling printouts with the other. It’s not that you hate it. It’s just… a lot.

And you’ve been deliberately keeping it at arm’s length this week. Showing up when you need to. Doing what’s necessary. But not lingering. Not letting yourself fall into the way Xinyu looks at you when you're both the last ones in the room. Not letting yourself chase that high that comes from being the center of her attention. You're just packing your things at the edge of the classroom when the scent hits you before the voice. Vanilla, sharp berry, something flirtatious. You freeze for half a second before you even look up.

“There you are,” Xinyu says, leaning against the frame of the door like it’s a movie scene. Skirt just high enough to register, blouse knotted loosely at the waist, hair done up in a half-messy twist that probably took twenty minutes to make look that accidental. She’s smiling at you like she caught you doing something bad and she’s this close to forgiving you for it.

“Hey,” you say, more cautious than casual.

“Got a minute?” She pushes off the door with one heel, strides into your personal space like she owns it, which (let’s face it) she kind of does when she wants to. “Just wanted to run a couple updates by you for the zine drop next week. Also, did you see my text?”

You blink. “Uh, I think so? About the schedule?”

“No,” she says, stepping even closer, voice lowering just enough to pull your gaze to her mouth. “The one I sent yesterday. About the mixer tonight.”

You shake your head. “I’ve been a little swamped. Haven’t had time to check.”

Her smile flickers, momentarily amused, maybe faintly disappointed. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve been kind of... scarce this week.”

You shift your bag on your shoulder, trying not to notice the way her eyes track the movement. “I’ve just had a lot going on. Assignments, you know. Life.”

“Sure,” she says, tilting her head. “But it’s not like you to dip right after meetings. And I miss my favorite assistant-slash-handyman-slash-pretty boy.”

That catches you off guard. You cough and glance toward the hallway.

She’s teasing, obviously.

Probably.

Right?

“I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to,” you say, trying to stay focused. “I’ve just been trying to keep my head down and not burn out.”

She studies you for a second, like she’s assessing whether that’s the whole truth. “Mhm. So you’re saying you could come to the mixer tonight but you won’t.”

You laugh nervously. “I already have plans.”

That gets her attention. “Plans?” she repeats, lifting an eyebrow. “With who?”

You hesitate. A beat too long.

“…My roommate,” you say. “Sohyun.”

Her mouth lifts at one corner, interested now in a way that’s different; not just playful, but… analytical.

“Sohyun…” she echoes. “That name’s familiar. I think I’ve seen her around. Quiet girl? Moles on the face? Always in a hoodie?”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“Didn’t know you two were that close.”

You try to shrug it off, but your grip on your bag strap tightens. “We live together. We hang out sometimes. She’s just—she’s my friend.”

Xinyu steps closer. Close enough you can smell her perfume again, soft and sweet, like fruit ripened in summer heat. Her fingers trail lightly across your forearm.

“Just your friend,” she murmurs.

You nod, throat dry. “Yeah.”

Her eyes drag over your face like she’s reading a secret written across your skin. She doesn’t blink. Her fingers pause, then curl lightly around your wrist.

“That’s good,” she says, voice velvet-wrapped. “Because you already have an owner.”

Your breath catches. “I—what?”

She doesn’t give you time to untangle the meaning. She just leans forward and kisses you.

It’s soft at first, almost testing. Her lips barely brush yours, but the sensation is instantly overwhelming. Sweet gloss. A breath of warm air. Her fingers sliding up, into your hair, pulling you a half-step deeper before you even realize you're leaning in. Everything disappears, noise, time, the fluorescent hallway lights, it’s just her, kissing you like she’s claiming something that already belonged to her.

You don’t move. You can’t move. Your thoughts are scattering like coins in water.

When she finally pulls back, her face is still inches from yours, her breath warm and her smile damn near criminal.

“You’re cute when you look like you’ve been unplugged,” she says, brushing your jaw with the back of her knuckle. “But don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

You swallow, hard. “I don’t…”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t really know what that meant.”

She laughs. “It means I’m making a reservation, baby. You’re mine.”

You look at her, dumbstruck, heart slamming in your ribs.

Then, before you can collect yourself, she adds, “So, since you’re blowing me off for your roommate tonight, how about you make it up to me.”

“…How?”

She leans in again, lips just by your ear now.

“Ask me out. Just you and me. No club stuff. No excuses.”

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You should say no. You should stall. But instead—

“…Okay. I will.”

Her smile goes wide and adorable.

“Good boy.”

She kisses your cheek this time, softer, lighter, but somehow more dangerous, and then turns on her heel and disappears down the hall, skirt swinging, a melody of casual destruction.

You’re left standing in the doorway of your classroom, the taste of her still on your lips, your phone buzzing with a new message that you already know is from her.

And somehow, all you can think about now is how the hell you’re going to face Sohyun tonight.

—

You get to the theater with barely a minute to spare, which is honestly a miracle considering your brain's been running on static ever since Xinyu kissed you. You’ve been replaying it like some kind of forbidden cutscene you unlocked by accident. Her perfume is still clinging to your hoodie. Your lips still feel weirdly aware, like your body hasn’t updated the rest of itself on what happened. You texted Sohyun that you were on your way while your fingers were still slightly shaking.

And now she’s standing in front of the ticket kiosk, scrolling on her phone, her expression neutral until she hears your footsteps. She looks up, and her face softens the way it always does when she sees you: shoulders relaxing, lips almost smiling. She’s got her hair down tonight, not tied up like usual, and her eyeliner’s a little sharper than usual, like she put in effort but didn’t want to make it obvious. It kind of punches the air out of your lungs.

“You made it,” she says.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you manage, trying to keep your tone level.

She squints. “You okay? You look like you just ran from a house fire.”

“I’m fine. Just, uh…” You rub the back of your neck, laughing awkwardly. “Got caught up with something right before I left. But I’m good now. Totally good.”

She walks beside you toward the entrance, and the moment you get close, she stops short. Her nose twitches. Her brow furrows slightly.

“Hold up,” she says, sniffing the air near your shoulder. “What is that?”

You freeze. “What’s what?”

“That smell. Are you wearing perfume?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What? No. No, no. It’s, uh… probably just my deodorant. I bought a new one. It’s got like, weird… berry something in it. Or… lavender? Maybe both? I don’t know.”

She stares at you like you just said your skin naturally emits essential oils. “You smell like someone else. Like a girl."

You try not to sweat. “Maybe I brushed past someone on the train. Or—maybe someone at the mall sprayed a tester thing. I mean, you know how people get with free samples.”

Sohyun doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press further. Not directly. Just narrows her eyes and says, “Uh-huh,” before moving toward the theater doors again.

You scramble to change the subject, reaching for something, anything. “Hey, by the way… you look really beautiful tonight.”

That gets her attention. She stops walking again. Turns slowly.

“What?”

You blink. “I mean it. You look nice. Really nice. It’s the eyeliner or the hair or maybe both. I dunno. You just do.”

Now her expression isn’t suspicious, exactly. More like… confused. Like you just threw her off balance in a way she wasn’t expecting. She gives you a side glance, narrowing her eyes again.

“Okay, what’s going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, holding your hands up like you’re being accused of a crime. “I’m allowed to compliment my best friend, right?”

She mutters something like “Not when you’re acting weird about it,” but she walks ahead and scans the tickets, so you follow her into the dark theater, hoping the blackness will hide how flushed you probably are.

You sit next to her, the movie already starting with a low, ambient hum that fills the space between you. But you’re not really there. Not fully.

Your body is sitting beside Sohyun, her knee occasionally brushing yours, the bucket of popcorn between you smelling like synthetic butter and warm salt. But your mind keeps flashing back to the moment in the hallway earlier today—Xinyu leaning in, her lips brushing yours, her voice low and possessive, calling you hers. That look in her eyes like she meant it. Like she wanted you. Not just to help with her club plans, not just to make things run smoothly. You. Specifically you.

You sit still, trying to focus on the film, but the plot flows over you like mist—haunting music, characters whispering in shadowy rooms, a scene with someone walking backwards in slow motion. You’re lost in the echo of what Xinyu said.

You already have an owner.

You don’t know what to make of it. But it didn’t feel fake. It didn’t feel like she was playing. It felt like something real. Like maybe Sohyun was wrong. Maybe Xinyu does care about you. Maybe all the flirtation and teasing wasn’t just a way to get you to fold papers and haul supplies. Maybe she likes you. For you.

But then you glance sideways. Sohyun’s eyes are on the screen, but she’s smiling. Just a little. The kind of smile you only catch if you’re watching her close, when something in the movie hits right, or when she’s just happy to be there beside you, no pressure, no performance. Just… happy.

You feel it then. Not guilt, exactly. Something messier. Like being caught between two currents pulling in opposite directions. Xinyu’s kiss still burns on your lips. But Sohyun’s hand, resting on the armrest beside yours, feels like something familiar. Something safe.

So you just keep sitting there, the film flickering over both of you, your brain too full and too loud to hear much of anything.

But Sohyun leans slightly toward you halfway through the film, and whispers, “Thanks for coming with me.”

You nod, quiet. “Of course.”

She nudges you lightly with her shoulder. “Even if your deodorant smells suspiciously like high-end seduction.”

You laugh under your breath, and it breaks the tension in your chest a little. She doesn’t ask more.

And you’re not sure where this is all going. But for now, you’re here. With her. Sharing popcorn. Sharing silence. Sharing something you still haven’t named.

But despite all this, somehow, tonight is going well.

Or at least you're pretending it is.

—

It starts subtly. A slow gravitational shift. One day you’re just helping Xinyu reorganize the storage shelves in the club room, joking about how half the boxes are labeled with inside jokes only she understands, and the next, it’s just the two of you sitting cross-legged on the carpet, eating overpriced takeout while she flips through proofs and playfully feeds you shrimp tempura with her chopsticks. Time begins to bend differently around her. Hours pass like they’re minutes when she’s smiling at you like that, fingers trailing casually along your thigh while she talks about themes for the next zine, her head tilted, eyes lit like you’re the only one who gets to hear this part of her.

You try not to let it show too much outside the club room. It’s not like you’re trying to hide it, but there’s something about it that feels too new, too bright to be touched by other people’s opinions.

Especially Sohyun’s.

So you don’t say anything about the kisses stolen behind closed doors or the way Xinyu's hand slips into yours when no one’s looking. But you talk about her. A lot. More than usual. Like you’re hoping repetition will turn perception. Like you’re trying to overwrite Sohyun’s skepticism with enough evidence that she’ll finally admit she was wrong.

At first, you don’t notice how often you bring her up. Like during dinner one night, when Sohyun’s plating kimchi stew and you’re scrolling through your phone with a dumb grin.

“She’s seriously so funny,” you say, half-laughing to yourself. “Yesterday she was trying to teach me how to make those little origami frogs and I kept screwing them up, so she made a whole sad frog funeral out of my mess-ups. Like full-on folded a little casket. It was so dumb, but I couldn’t stop laughing.”

Sohyun glances up from the pot, slow, expression unreadable. “Sounds… elaborate.”

“Yeah, but like, in a cute way,” you say, scooping rice into your bowl. “She’s got this energy that makes everything more fun. Even boring stuff. Like she turned budget planning into a game last week. Made me guess prices on glitter and glue sticks like it was a quiz show.”

“She ever let you win?”

You grin. “Only when I look extra pitiful.”

Sohyun doesn’t laugh. She just places your bowl in front of you without comment, her eyes flicking down to the table as she settles into her seat. You don’t catch the way her fingers tense around her chopsticks before she starts eating.

You miss other signs too. Like how she doesn’t look up when you come home late anymore. Or how she doesn’t ask what you were up to. You used to tell her without prompting, but now your nights are wrapped in something private—lipstick on your neck, her breath on your ear, Xinyu pressing you against clubroom cabinets with that smug little grin that makes your thoughts scatter like dice.

You stop watching movies with Sohyun. Not intentionally. It just slips away. The time you spent together starts shrinking, edged out by late-night print meetings, gallery walks with Xinyu that turn into half-drunken conversations on park benches, and slow kisses that taste like watermelon gum and heat. You keep saying you’ll reschedule movie night. You never do.

Sohyun doesn’t press. But she notices.

She notices how you start smiling at your phone more than usual. How your hoodie comes home smelling like something not yours. She notices how you hesitate when she asks how your day went, how you mention Xinyu’s name like it’s a punctuation mark in every other sentence.

“Did she ask you to talk about her this much,” Sohyun mutters one night.

“What?”

She doesn’t repeat herself. Just stares at the screen. Her shoulders stiff.

You shift on the couch. “I just think maybe she’s not how you assumed, that’s all.”

Sohyun’s jaw tightens, her eyes still on the flickering movie neither of you are watching. “Maybe.”

“She’s been… really kind to me,” you add. “She listens. She gets it. I dunno. It’s just nice having someone who really sees you, y’know?”

There’s a pause. A breath. A sound like something small and invisible breaking.

“I thought I did,” she says quietly.

You turn to her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Forget it.”

You don’t push. And that’s the worst part. You used to. But now Xinyu’s kisses are still on your collar, her texts still open on your screen, little cartoon hearts trailing in your thoughts like an afterimage.

You’re floating. Orbiting. And you don’t see the way Sohyun’s been left behind on the ground, staring at your back like she’s watching a spaceship disappear into a sky that never once asked her to come along.

—

One month has passed.

She’s not surprised when you’re late. That’s just how it is now.

The first few times, she was. At least enough to stay up, waiting in the living room with a show paused halfway through and her phone resting face-up on the armrest. But that phase passed. It’s like training a cat to come home by midnight—you can try, but if it keeps slipping out the window, eventually you stop wasting your breath.

Now it’s routine. You say you’ll be home by eight. She hears the door creak at eleven. You always have a reason. Club stuff. Project stuff. Xinyu needing help. Xinyu needing you. And Sohyun tells herself not to care. She tells herself she’s just your roommate. She tells herself that if she keeps her expectations low enough, they won’t disappoint her when they inevitably fall short.

But tonight is different.

You didn’t say you'd be out late. You said you'd be back in time for dinner. Even said you'd help her prep. She made an actual list. Took the rice out early. Washed vegetables like she believed you.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

Nine o'clock. She tries to study. Fails.

Ten o'clock. She scrolls social media and refreshes your chat twice, looking for a dot that never shows up.

At eleven, she sends a message:

you good?

At midnight:

where are you

No reply.

She starts imagining things she doesn't want to imagine. Hospital beds. Car crashes. You ditching your phone somewhere and bleeding out behind a dumpster. All of it stupid, dramatic, and totally possible in the late-night silence of a too-quiet apartment. She walks the loop from the kitchen to the living room and back again like pacing will keep her from thinking. At 1 a.m. she gives up and goes to her room, sits in bed with the lights off and your chat open on her phone like it might suddenly ping alive and make her look dumb for worrying.

You don’t reply.

Not even the seen-check mark.

She stares at the glow of the screen, the little timestamp beneath her last message like it’s laughing at her.

At 3:04 a.m, the door clicks.

She hears it, obviously. She’s been awake for hours, lying still in the dark, breathing shallow like that might trick her thoughts into falling asleep. The lock turns slowly, like you’re trying not to make a sound. The door swings open with that telltale rubbery groan (it’s always the left hinge) and then soft footsteps. Your footsteps.

She doesn’t move.

You shuffle into the hallway. Then your door clicks shut, soft. No lights turned on. No message sent. No “hey, sorry I’m late.” Just… slipping in like a kid past curfew. Quiet as guilt.

She stares at her ceiling. Her room smells like night cream and too much unsaid.

Something’s wrong. Not in the usual way.

You didn’t just get caught up. You’re hiding something.

She sits up finally, swings her legs over the side of the bed, but doesn’t turn on the light. She just sits there in the dark, jaw clenched, fists curling in her lap.

It’s Xinyu. Of course it’s Xinyu.

Something about that girl makes Sohyun’s skin crawl. Too perfect. Too polished. Too practiced with the way she laughs like music and touches everyone like they’re already hers. And she could see it happening—could see the way you lit up around her, how your eyes chased Xinyu’s every move like a dog waiting for scraps. At first, Sohyun thought it was a phase. Something shallow. A crush that’d fizzle out like most of yours did.

But then the quiet started. The missed dinners. The unread messages. The new deodorant that didn’t smell like you. The way your eyes would dart when she said Xinyu’s name, like it was a window she could see through.

Now, tonight, the way you came in like a stranger. That was the crack that let everything pour in.

She should be angry. She wants to be angry. But what’s worse is this ache: this quiet, hollow ache in her chest like she’s watching something slip out of her hands she never got to call hers in the first place.

You were hers. Not hers-hers. Not officially. But still. Hers in the way you always came to her first. Hers in the way your laugh sounded different when it was just them. Hers in the way you’d watch her cook with that dumb soft look and try not to say anything because you didn’t want to sound sappy. She misses that.

She misses you.

Now all she has is the memory of your footsteps in the dark and the smell of that other girl on your clothes.

And she’s not sure how much longer she can pretend not to notice.

—

Sohyun wakes up earlier than usual. Not because she wants to. Her eyes just snap open like they’re waiting for an answer to a question she didn’t get to ask. The clock on her nightstand says 6:34, and her room is blue and gray and quiet, with the early light crawling across the floorboards like it’s sneaking in on tiptoe. Her pillow still smells faintly like conditioner and sleep and the night she wasted waiting for you to come home. She kicks the blanket off. Her skin’s cold but her chest’s hotter than it should be. A low, smoldering kind of heat that simmers behind the ribs. Not anger. Not yet. Something more corrosive.

You’re already in the kitchen when she steps out. Acting like everything’s fine. Like nothing happened. Even visibly exhausted, you’ve got that dumb, disarming half-smile on, and your hoodie’s zipped all the way up like you think it makes you look more innocent. Like you think you’re just gonna pour some cereal, mumble something about class starting at eight, and coast through the morning without her noticing the parts of you that don’t match.

"Morning," you say. Your tone is chipper. Fake. She hates it. “I made coffee for you.”

She doesn’t ask anything. She doesn’t snap. She just grabs a mug, fills it with that bitter cheap instant coffee you somehow never notice tastes like burnt pennies, and sits at the table. You start rambling.

“I didn’t get a chance to reply last night. My phone died. I was at a friend’s place. We were just hanging out. Time got away from me, you know how it is.”

She hums. Not in agreement. Just to fill space.

“It wasn’t even that late,” you say. “I mean, okay, yeah, technically it was late, but it’s not like—nothing bad happened or anything. Just lost track.”

She keeps sipping her coffee, expression unreadable. Like the mug is more interesting than your entire explanation.

You wait for her to say something. She doesn’t. You keep going. Nervous filler. You always do that when you’re lying.

“I mean, I didn’t even realize what time it was. It was like, wow, already past two? Crazy. And by then I figured I’d just crash and not wake anyone up.”

She sets the mug down too hard. It clinks against the wood laminate. She looks at you, expression flat. “It’s okay.”

That’s it. Just that. No inflection. Not even a glare. You nod awkwardly and start preparing your cereal.

—

The walk to campus is dead quiet. You both step in sync without thinking, but there’s no music between you. No shared earbuds. No small talk. Just footsteps and a silence that stretches so long it starts to feel like another person walking beside you, tall and heavy and suffocating.

At the entrance gate, you break off first. “See you later, yeah?” you say.

Sohyun just nods. You turn. And she watches you go.

But today’s different.

Today she’s not going to sit back. Today she’s done playing passive-aggressive roommate, done standing still while something she doesn’t want to name slips out of reach. Today she’s going to find out. For real. Whatever it is—whatever this thing is between you and Xinyu—she needs to see it. Even if it breaks her.

She heads toward your building at a brisk pace, hoodie pulled low, headphones in with nothing playing. Just for the look. Just to blend in. She waits across the quad from your classroom entrance, leaning against a column like she’s texting, like she belongs there, like her heart isn’t pounding in her ears so loud she feels it in her teeth.

You come out a minute later, backpack slung lazy on one shoulder, head ducked, scrolling your phone. She steps into motion before you can see her. You don’t look back. You don’t notice. She follows you across the paved paths, past vending machines and sleepy undergrads, keeping enough distance to look like she’s just going the same way. No one glances at her twice.

And then she sees her. Xinyu.

Bright red jacket. Short skirt and cropped top, quite inappropriate for the academic environment. Hair curled just-so, like she stepped out of an ad. Leaning against a bench with one ankle crossed over the other like she’s waiting for her date. You slow. She smiles. Arms open.

“There you are!” she chirps, pulling you in.

It’s not just a hug. Sohyun knows what hugs are. This one’s got linger. This one’s got fingertips sliding up your back like they’re trying to memorize every bone. You look caught off guard, but you don’t move away.

Sohyun slinks closer, behind the sculpture garden wall. She crouches low, right by the rhododendron hedge that stinks faintly of wet bark and cheap fertilizer. Her hands are cold.

"We need to go to the club immediately,” she says.

“I thought the club was closed today,” you reply.

Xinyu laughs, and it’s musical and full of knowing. “Exactly. It’s closed. No one’s gonna be there.”

You hesitate. “But like… isn’t that why we shouldn’t go?”

“Aw,” she coos, dragging her nail down your sleeve, “you’re so cute when you’re trying to be good. Come on, just a little visit. I forgot my notebook and I need to do some sketches. Besides—” she lowers her voice, “I like the place better when it’s empty. More room to spread out. More room to play.”

Sohyun’s stomach flips.

You laugh nervously. “I guess… I mean, if you really need help—”

“I always need help,” she says, and leans close again. “And you’re so good with your hands.”

It’s like someone punched the breath out of Sohyun’s lungs. She watches you scratch your neck, look away, not quite answering. But you’re not pulling away either. You’re not protesting. You’re blushing. She’s got her hooks in and she knows it. Sohyun can see it all from here, every smug flick of Xinyu’s lashes, every calculated little lean and brush.

She swallows hard. Her fingers are clenched so tight her knuckles hurt.

No. She’s not letting this slide.

She bolts before she can hear anything else. Takes the side path, sneakers hitting concrete in bursts, weaving through the back courtyards toward the old art building. The clubroom’s there, tucked in behind the supply annex. Her legs burn by the time she reaches it.

The door’s unlocked. Wide open. And inside, a janitor’s sweeping like this is just another fucking Tuesday.

“Excuse me!” she says, breathless, jogging in. The janitor looks up.

“There’s—someone from the admin office looking for you,” she lies, no hesitation. “Something about a sink backup on the second floor? They said it was urgent.”

He sighs. “Again?” and drops the broom.

As he walks out, Sohyun holds the door open like a good little helper, then slips in behind him and closes it tight.

The silence is huge.

The air’s cooler inside. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead. The clubroom’s a controlled mess—tables littered with fabric scraps, zine proofs, glue sticks half-melted from overuse. It smells like paper and lavender and too many secrets.

She moves fast, eyes scanning for hiding spots. Under the table? No, too exposed. Behind the supply shelves? Not unless she wants to get spotted immediately. Then—there. In the back corner, half-concealed behind stacked poster rolls and bins of foam letters: a janitor’s closet. She darts over and yanks it open.

Coats. Wire hangers. A mop bucket. Miscellaneous crap. She slides in anyway, curling herself into the shadow between a metal cabinet and a box labeled “event props.” Her heart’s still racing.

She pulls the door mostly shut, leaving just a sliver to breathe through.

And now… she waits.

Every creak of the floor outside makes her flinch. Her phone vibrates. One buzz. It’s a message from you.

Hey, forgot to ask—do we have soy sauce left at home or should I pick some up?

She stares at the screen, thumb hovering. Doesn’t answer. Just locks it again and grips the edge of a crate until her nails dig in.

You’re coming. With her. With Xinyu. To this room. This space.

She doesn’t know what’s about to happen. She just knows she has to see it.

She has to know

A few minutes later, she hears footsteps, accompanied by an irritating giggle that she can already imagine who it belongs to.

You enter the club with Xinyu. The door clicks behind you with a soft, unmistakable snap. The kind that doesn’t come from a casual tug—no, it’s deliberate. You hear the rustle of keys before you even process the sound of the lock sliding into place, and that does something to the air. Traps it. Slows it down. Makes it feel heavier somehow.

Xinyu twirls the lanyard on her finger once, lets it slap lightly against her thigh, then drops the keys into her bag without ceremony. “There,” she says, all sugar and satisfaction. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

You laugh nervously, glancing at the darkened windows. The blinds are half-drawn, a few strips of light slicing across the tables. “You really didn’t have to lock it.”

“Didn’t I?” she says, tilting her head like she’s daring you to disagree. “What if someone wandered in? What if they got the wrong idea?”

You blink. “I mean—if someone walked in, they’d… kinda get the right idea.”

She giggles, high and soft, stepping in close enough that your backpack bumps the wall behind you. Her perfume’s even stronger in here. Berries and danger. She plants both hands on your chest and leans in, the weight of her grin dragging everything out of orbit.

“You really are cute when you’re flustered.”

You swallow.

“We’ve gotta be quick, though,” she says, letting her palms slide down your hoodie, slow and teasing. She pulls back a bit and throws her bag on the floor, then slowly takes off her jacket. “I told my friend I was going to grab a notebook. Don’t want her wondering why I’m gone long enough to start a new semester.”

She kisses you before you can answer. Fast. Hot. Hungry. Like her mouth’s been waiting all morning and now she’s starved for it. Her lips crash against yours in that wild way only Xinyu seems capable of—reckless and commanding, tongue slipping in like she owns the space. Your brain stutters. Her hands drag lower. One slips under your hoodie, nails brushing skin. The other works on the strap of your backpack, removing one at a time until it falls to the floor with a loud thud in the confined space.

And in the closet, twenty feet away, behind a stack of mismatched poster tubes and event bins, Sohyun goes still.

She doesn’t even remember breathing.

But she hears it all.

That kiss isn’t innocent. That kiss is confirmation. That kiss is a final answer to a question she wasn’t ready to ask—and it lands like a brick in the hollow center of her stomach.

Xinyu breaks from you with a little satisfied sound, her lips glossy, eyes bright. “So…” she purrs, brushing your jaw with the back of her hand, “what’d you think of last night?”

You smile, stupid and a little dazed. “It was… amazing.”

Sohyun’s hands clench.

She doesn’t need details. Her brain fills in the blanks. Too many of them. Her imagination paints things she never wanted to see—your hoodie balled on the floor, Xinyu astride you, laughing into your neck, your voice shaking in ways she’s never heard. The thought turns her breath into knives.

Xinyu hums in satisfaction, then drops her gaze—and her fingers.

They land on the waistband of your jeans.

You tense, glancing at the locked door. “Wait—here?”

“It’ll be fast,” she whispers, eyes already glinting. “You’re already hard.”

She says it like she’s proud of herself. Like you being turned on is a trophy she’s just picked up off the shelf. Her fingers fumble with your button, then unzip skillfully. She sinks down onto her knees, casual as anything.

Sohyun’s heart is in her throat.

She watches from that narrow slit between the door and the wall. She sees your pants drop to your ankles. Sees Xinyu’s hands slide up your thighs. Sees the gleam of her smile when she notices the outline straining through your underwear.

You shift, uncomfortable. “Hey, uh… maybe we shouldn’t keep staying out so late. I got home really late last night. I think Sohyun’s starting to get suspicious.”

Xinyu’s head tilts as she hooks her fingers in your waistband. “So?”

You blink. “I just—don’t want her to worry, that’s all.”

She laughs. Laughs. Like you told her a joke. “She’s not your mother.”

“No, but—she’s my best friend. I don’t want her to think I’m—lying or something.”

That makes Xinyu pause. Just for a second. Then her smile sharpens.

“She doesn’t get a say in this,” she says, and her hands tug your underwear down in one quick, fluid motion.

Sohyun sees everything. And it burns.

Your cock springs free, flushed, twitching with the tension of the moment. You make a small sound in your throat, embarrassed and eager all at once. Xinyu just beams.

“Aww, you really missed me, huh?” she coos.

You try to answer but you can’t form words. Not when her fingers wrap around the base, smooth and practiced, stroking once, twice. Your knees buckle a little.

“She’s not gonna come between us,” she adds softly, voice low now, as she leans in, breath hot against the head. “I don’t care who she is.”

“Don’t say that,” you murmur, but it’s weak. Shaky. “Sohyun’s not just… some random girl.”

Xinyu’s eyes flick up. “Sure,” she says, tone mocking. “She’s your 'best friend'. Whatever.” Then she opens her mouth and takes you in.

You gasp. Sohyun nearly doubles over.

The sound is unmistakable. Wet. Slow. She sees the way Xinyu hollows her cheeks, her jaw working, the obscene slide of her lips over you like she’s savoring every inch. Her hand moves in tandem, twisting just right, guiding every pull and suck. She doesn’t blink. Just stares up at you while she sucks you like she’s devouring you, like she knows she owns you now and she’s showing it.

Your fingers tangle in her hair. Your head tips back.

“S-Shit—” you whisper, trembling. “That’s… fuck…”

Xinyu moans around you, like praise is her favorite meal.

And Sohyun sits in the dark, biting her hand to keep from screaming.

Her lips glide down the length of you slow, savoring, wet heat enveloping inch by inch like she wants to claim it. She doesn’t gag—she adjusts, angle tilting, jaw relaxing, one hand bracing at your thigh while the other strokes the base with a rhythm that makes your knees wobble. Every pass of her tongue along the underside feels like it’s wired directly into your spine, like she’s flipping switches you didn’t know you had.

And she loves it. Every reaction. Every twitch of your hips, the shallow breath you try to hold back, the soft curse you can’t keep from slipping out.

Above her, you brace against the table edge with one hand, the other still threaded in her hair, not pulling, just trying to anchor yourself because she’s looking up at you through lashes dark with mischief, mouth full of your cock like it’s where she was meant to be. Like she planned this moment every time she leaned too close in club meetings or brushed your arm on the walk back from the coffee shop.

From the closet, through that sliver of space, Sohyun sees everything.

The bob of Xinyu’s head, the shine on her chin, the way your hips twitch forward helplessly when she lets her tongue swirl the tip and then slides back down again, steady, smooth, obscene. Sohyun’s fingers are curled into her jeans now, nails biting deep through the denim. Her legs are cramped, but she doesn’t move. She can’t. Every instinct screams to throw the door open and drag you out, but her body’s paralyzed with it—betrayal folded in silence.

You make a sound, soft and hoarse—something between a gasp and a whimper. Xinyu hums, and the vibration along your shaft sends a full-body shiver through you. She pulls off just enough to stroke you with her fist, wrist flicking expertly, thumb swiping the bead of precum from your slit before leaning in again—only this time, lower.

You flinch, surprised, as her lips brush your balls.

Her tongue darts out. A single slow lick, teasing. Then another. Then she shifts lower and takes one in her mouth.

Your breath catches.

“Fuck—Xinyu—”

She giggles, muffled, then pulls off, tongue trailing over your skin like she’s tasting you for notes of sweetness. “Mm,” she says, tilting her face just enough for you to see the smug curve of her smile. “Bet she doesn’t do that.”

There’s a pause.

You hesitate. It’s barely a breath.

“…She doesn’t,” you admit, low, shame threaded through the moan that slips out next as her mouth seals over you again.

Sohyun flinches like she’s been hit.

It’s the confirmation she never wanted—real, raw, echoing in your voice, in your hips tilting forward like you need this, like this is something you never got at home.

Xinyu switches sides, tongue painting lazy circles as her fingers resume their slow pump. “I knew it,” she purrs. “She acts all tough, but she wouldn’t dare get on her knees for you, would she?”

You shake your head, lips parted. Your reply is barely audible, wrecked: “No…”

“Mm,” she hums again, hot breath teasing your spit-slick skin. “Guess that’s my job now, huh?”

You can’t even speak.

She shifts again—one hand stroking, the other cradling under you as her mouth wraps around both balls, tongue massaging them gently, rolling with practiced pressure that makes your thighs tense. You groan, deep in your chest, and she moans with you, reveling in the sound, the twitch she feels under her tongue, the way your body gives itself up to her touch.

Your head falls back.

She’s not just sucking you off. She’s showing off.

For you. For herself. And unknowingly—for the girl hidden in a closet, heart shattering beat by beat.

Sohyun watches your hips rock forward slightly, the way you bite your lip to muffle the next sound. The way your hand trembles on the table. You’re trying so hard not to fall apart, and failing beautifully.

Your hand slides against the tabletop, blindly reaching for something—balance, maybe—but there’s nothing steady in you right now. Not with the way Xinyu's mouth keeps working you like she's drawing a map with her tongue, etching you into memory with every slow, deliberate swirl. She’s focused, almost clinical, except her eyes betray her—hungry, gleaming, dark with satisfaction every time your hips jerk, every time a new sound punches out of your throat and hangs too loud in the still air.

“Fuck—Xinyu,” you breathe, the syllables sticky with pleasure, broken by a stuttering inhale. “That feels so good.”

Her lips pop off your tip with a wet little sound, tongue dragging around it in slow circles, teasing. She smiles as she laps again, feather-light at first, then firmer, lashing under the head like she’s tasting something sweet she refuses to finish too soon.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, kissing it. “I love this cock. So thick… god, you don’t even know what you do to me.”

You twitch under her touch, body caught between surrender and overload. Your thighs are tight, your hands shaky, and she’s not slowing down. She wraps her lips around the tip again, deeper this time, sucking just enough to make your breath catch and your knees knock. One hand strokes the base with a slow rhythm while the other rests flat on your stomach, possessive, like she’s holding you in place. Your moans are barely controlled now, soft, breathy things slipping past your lips no matter how hard you try to stay quiet.

In the closet, Sohyun has both hands clamped over her mouth now, but it’s not enough. Her body is shaking. Her teeth are pressed so deep into her palm she doesn’t notice the sting anymore—not until her tongue tastes iron and she realizes her lip is bleeding too. Her eyes are wide, unblinking, locked on the sight of you crumbling under Xinyu’s mouth, on your hands fisting the edge of the table, the way your face is flushed and twitching and so vulnerable.

Then Xinyu pulls back with a wet gasp and a string of spit connects her lips to you. She wipes it with the back of her hand, smirking.

“Shit,” she says, laughing breathlessly. “You’re soaked. I made a mess.”

She doesn’t apologize. She’s proud of it.

Then her expression shifts. Her hands find your hoodie, tugging. “C’mon. Lie down for me.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

She tugs harder. “Down. Now.”

And you obey. You let her guide you down onto the storage cushions scattered across the clubroom floor—the ones usually used for sitting during brainstorm sessions and awkward icebreakers. Today, they’re something else. They’re the mattress beneath your back, the soft collapse beneath your spine as Xinyu hovers over you like a second atmosphere. You barely get your balance before she swings a leg over you and straddles your hips, skirt hiked up already, panties visible in that indecent half-off way that says she planned this down to the hour.

She reaches between her thighs, fingers hooking the waistband to the side. No hesitation. No modesty.

“I wasn’t even gonna wear this skirt today,” she says, her grin downright feral. “But then I woke up and thought… damn, I really want to ride him. And this one makes it easy.”

Your mouth is dry. You can’t speak. Can barely breathe. The visual is too much—the way she sits on your waist, head tilted, hair framing her flushed cheeks. She grips you in one hand again, lining you up against the heat of her, rubbing once—twice—and your whole body jumps like you’ve been shocked.

In the closet, Sohyun is crumbling. Quietly. Violently.

She presses her head back against the wall, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Her eyes are glassy now, not blinking. She watches Xinyu lean forward, planting a hand on your chest as her hips shift just slightly, aligning.

And for Sohyun, the moment cracks. She can’t breathe. Her stomach’s twisted into something unrecognizable. Her hand tastes like blood and skin and the sharp edge of a truth she can’t swallow.

She wants to leave. She wants to scream. She wants to rip the door open and yell your name and tear the whole thing down before it happens. But her body won’t move. Her knees are pins and needles, her vision blurry, her throat full of something that feels like grief and fury mashed into pulp.

And you—flat on your back, arms limp at your sides, chest heaving—you’re watching Xinyu like she’s the only thing that exists right now.

The room smells like heat now. Like sweat and arousal and perfume and that undercurrent of something you don’t recognize but Sohyun does. The smell of losing. Of being replaced.

And Xinyu’s voice cuts through the haze one more time, with that damn victorious purr in every syllable.

“You ready for me, baby?”

The moment she sinks down on you is like being swallowed by heat. Her walls clamp tight, velvet-slick and impossibly wet, and she exhales sharp through her teeth like she’s savoring every inch of stretch. Her thighs flex around your hips, body settling flush against yours, cunt wrapped like a vice around your cock. Warm, pulsing, obscene. You feel it in your knees, in the back of your throat, in the way your eyes blur a little just trying to hold on to the sensation. And she leans in, hands pressed to your chest, nails dragging lightly over your hoodie as she grins down at you—smug, flushed, dangerous.

“Feel that?” she whispers, grinding slow just to make sure you do. “That’s how wet I am for you.”

You nod like you’re in a trance, breath hitched, brain short-circuiting. She rocks her hips once, slow and deep, and your head tips back involuntarily, shoulders hitting the cold vinyl of the clubroom floor. The contrast is dizzying—your back chilled, your cock engulfed in heat. She rolls her hips again, faster this time, and you gasp, hips twitching up into her as she smiles that smile like she’s already won. Because she has. She knows exactly what she’s doing to you, the way her pussy clenches around you just when you think you’ve caught your breath.

“Fuck,” you mutter, hands flying up to brace her waist, fingers digging into her skin like it’ll keep you grounded.

“Mmm, yeah,” she purrs, rolling her hips again, faster now. “You love this. You love how tight I am. How I drip for you. You felt it last night, didn’t you?”

She leans closer, breasts pressing to your chest as she whispers hot against your ear. “That little black set I wore? The garter straps? The thigh-highs? All for you. I was soaked before you even touched me. So wet I could’ve made a mess of my sheets just grinding on your thigh. You remember how I moaned when you slid in? Remember how I told you you were deeper than anyone ever managed to get?”

You remember. God, you remember everything. The way her back arched as she bounced on your cock, the way her fingers tangled in her sheets, how she grabbed your wrists and held your hands against her hips like she didn’t want to let you pull out even if you tried. And it was hot—filthy, desperate, everything you’d never imagined yourself doing until she peeled you open and found all your soft spots.

But then you thought about Sohyun.

You didn’t mean to. It just… happened. Mid-thrust, mid-kiss, some flicker of guilt or curiosity or whatever sick alchemy lives in your gut. You’d pictured her. Not in a voyeur kind of way. Just… wondered. Wondered what her expression would be if she walked in. What her mouth would say. What her eyes would do. And worse, you’d wondered what it would be like if it were her riding you instead—her body flushed and stretched around your cock, her breathy little sighs instead of Xinyu’s practiced moans, her thighs trembling from the effort of keeping rhythm. That made your heart trip into your throat.

And now—now you’re thinking it again. You’re balls-deep in Xinyu, she’s rolling her hips like she’s trying to milk every drop out of you, and your fucking mind is betraying you. You’re picturing Sohyun in her ratty sleep shirt, hair undone, lip bitten, thighs spread across your hips like she’s scared of how much she needs it. You imagine her looking down at you, eyes wide and terrified and wanting, her cunt sucking you in like she doesn’t know how to stop. You imagine her voice cracking as she begs you not to stop, not to leave her like this, not when she finally has you.

The heat in your stomach coils tighter, shame blooming just beneath it.

And Xinyu notices.

“Where’d you go, baby?” she asks, cupping your face in both hands, her pace never faltering, slick heat grinding down on you with maddening precision. “You were staring right through me for a second. Thinking about something?”

You swallow thick. Shake your head. “No, I just—fuck. You feel amazing.”

She beams like it’s the truth. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s just buried under everything you’re not saying.

“Yeah?” she breathes, sitting upright again, her hands sliding down to pull at her top. She yanks it up and over her head in one swift motion, discarding it behind her like it doesn’t matter. Beneath it—no bra, just smooth skin, delicate collarbones and two perfect, pert breasts. Small enough to fit your palms. Nipples a flushed pink that draws your eyes like magnets.

“Wanna touch?” she asks, knowing damn well you do.

You nod, helpless, and she grabs your wrists, places your hands on her chest with a soft, teasing drag. The moment your thumbs brush her nipples she exhales, hips stuttering on your cock.

“Fuck, yes,” she moans, arching into your hands. “Squeeze them. Harder.”

You do. Palms cupping the weight of her, fingers kneading just the way she likes—gently at first, then rougher when she rolls her hips harder, when she grinds your cock deep inside her like she’s chasing something. Her thighs flex with every bounce, every motion building pressure in your spine. Her nipples pebble under your touch. She grabs your wrists again, pushes them tighter to her chest, pinning you in place as she rides harder now, breath catching with every impact.

“You’re so deep,” she pants, eyes fluttering closed. “I can feel you everywhere. Stretching me so fucking good, baby. God, I wish you could feel what I’m feeling. I’m soaked. I’m flooding your cock. You like that? You like how fucking needy I get for you?”

You groan, jaw tight, hips twitching up to meet her rhythm. You’ve stopped thinking. You’ve stopped pretending you can think. She’s taking everything from you with every roll of her hips, every clench of her cunt, every filthy word that drips off her tongue like sugar laced with venom.

And yet. The back of your mind still tugs. Still whispers.

What would Sohyun think, if she saw this? If she saw your face like this, your body bucking like you’re begging to be used? If she knew how Xinyu talks to you, fucks you, owns you?

What would she do if she saw you like this—flushed, trembling, helpless under another woman’s cunt?

Would she be jealous?

Would she be angry?

Would she want to be in Xinyu's place?

You can’t answer. You don’t get the chance.

Xinyu's pace shifts, frantic now, like something inside her snapped and all that sweet control she loved dangling over you is burning up fast. Her thighs tighten around your waist, nails digging into your shoulders, her whole body chasing friction like a starved thing. Every grind, every desperate rock of her hips sends jolts through your cock, your thighs, up your spine until you can’t even tell where your body ends and hers begins. Wet heat floods down your shaft, slick sounds filling the little space between you like they’re mocking the frantic, filthy rhythm you’ve fallen into.

She leans in, mouth crushing to yours, open, gasping, biting at your bottom lip like she can’t get close enough. Her breath is ragged, her kiss messy, spit-slick and desperate as her cunt clenches around you with every grind. She breaks the kiss for a second, forehead pressed to yours, breath hitching in short, punched gasps.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” she pants, rolling her hips harder, faster, dragging you deeper every time she slams down. “You’re gonna make me cum. You feel that? You feel how fucking close I am?”

You nod, choking on your own breath. She’s trembling already, muscles shivering under your hands, pussy squeezing your cock so tight it makes your toes curl.

“Please—don’t stop—” she gasps against your mouth, and you hear the cracks in her usually-smooth voice, raw and honest in a way you barely ever hear.

You grab her hips, holding her still for a second, and start thrusting up into her, not gentle now—grinding her down onto you, meeting every desperate rut of her hips with a brutal snap of your own.

“Oh my God, oh my God, fuck—” she sobs, hands scrabbling for purchase at your shoulders, nails raking down your back through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Right there—right fucking there—!”

You don’t stop. You can’t. Your hips slam up into her again and again, cock punching deep inside her soaked cunt, the friction so blindingly good it’s all you can feel, all you can think about. Her walls flutter around you, squeezing tight, milking you, dragging you right to the edge with her.

Then her whole body locks up—legs clamping tight, back arching, head thrown back as she cums hard around you, mouth open in a silent scream. You feel her pussy clamp and pulse and flood hot around your cock, feel her thighs quivering against your sides as you keep pounding up into her, wringing every last spasm out of her until she collapses against you, boneless, panting.

She kisses you then, messy and open-mouthed, tongue sliding into your mouth like she’s trying to pull the breath out of you, hands fisting in your hair. The kiss is wild, uncontrolled, full of leftover shudders as her body rides the aftershocks. She sucks on your tongue, then bites your bottom lip, hard enough to sting, pulling back with a look that’s pure wrecked satisfaction.

“Fuck—you’re not done yet,” she says, grinning breathless against your mouth.

Before you can even catch your breath, she gets off you, stands up and grabs your wrists, pulls you up with surprising strength, practically dragging you toward the desk nearby, knocking over a half-empty box of markers in her haste. They scatter across the floor, forgotten.

She hops up onto the edge of the desk, legs falling open wide, skirt bunched up around her hips, panties obscenely pulled aside. Her cunt is glistening, flushed, still twitching around nothing, and she leans back on her hands, spreading herself shamelessly for you, watching you with dark, lazy hunger.

“C’mere, baby,” she purrs, crooking a finger.

You step between her legs, hands automatically gripping the backs of her thighs, and she grabs your cock, still slick with her cum, throbbing painfully hard, and lines you up, dragging the flushed head along her soaked folds before nudging you right back in.

You don’t ease in. You shove.

Hard.

Her mouth drops open in a guttural, broken sound as you bottom out in one brutal thrust, your hips slamming flush against her ass, your cock stretching her already-sensitive pussy wide again. Her whole body jolts with it, legs wrapping around your waist tight, holding you there, buried deep.

“Fuck yes—” she gasps, nails digging into the edge of the desk for leverage. “God, you feel so fucking good—”

You grab her hips, fingers digging bruises into soft skin, and start pounding into her, desk creaking loudly under the assault. Every thrust drives a choked little noise from her throat, her small tits bouncing with the force of it, her hair falling wild around her flushed, wrecked face.

“You’re so good, baby,” she babbles between gasps, clinging to the desk as you fuck her raw. “You’re—god, you’re perfect—you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep—ahh—keep fucking me like that!”

You bare your teeth, thrusting harder, faster, hips snapping against her ass with every vicious stroke. The wet sound of you hammering into her fills the room, loud and filthy, the slap of your skin against hers echoing off the walls. Her head tips back, exposing the long line of her throat, and you can’t resist leaning down, biting at her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat on your tongue.

She’s trembling again already, thighs quaking against your hips, every muscle in her body winding tighter, tighter, tighter. Her hands scramble for you, clutching your hoodie, your shoulders, anything she can reach, mouth working helplessly like she wants to say something but can’t get the words out past the way you’re fucking her.

“Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop—!” she wails, legs locking around you again, trapping you deep as you hammer into her without mercy.

Sohyun, hidden behind that narrow closet crack, can barely breathe. She closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tight it hurts, but the sounds slip in anyway, wrapping around her like smoke, curling in her lungs until she’s drowning in it.

She hears you fucking Xinyu hard enough to shake the table. She hears the desperate slap of skin, the thick wet noises between her thighs, the broken little sobs and gasps you can’t hold back anymore. Every low moan you spill is another nail in her heart. Every grunt, every hitched breath, every whisper of "Fuck, you’re so tight," slices deeper, and she grips the shelf beside her to keep from making a sound, knuckles bone-white.

And you... you’re so far gone you don’t even notice the world outside the space between your bodies. Xinyu’s pussy is swallowing you, so wet you can hear it every time you thrust back in, obscene and filthy and perfect. She clings to you, arms around your shoulders, nails dragging trails of fire down your back as you rut into her harder, faster, chasing the edge you can feel roaring up your spine.

"Fuck—fuck, I’m close," you pant against her throat, voice wrecked, hips stuttering from the effort of holding back.

Xinyu shudders all around you, grinding her hips, milking you with every twist and clench of her desperate cunt. She grabs your face, kissing you hard, sloppy, messy with need, lips sliding against yours as she gasps:

"Cum for me, baby. Please. I want it—I want you to cum for me."

You groan deep in your chest, every muscle tightening, your hands flying down to her waist, grinding her harder onto your cock, feeling that tight, soaked pussy fluttering in urgent little spasms.

"I want it in my mouth," she whimpers into your ear. "Please. Let me taste you."

That snaps what little control you had. You pull out quick, almost shaking with the effort not to cum right then, and your cock slaps wetly against her folds, gliding in her slickness. You drag the thick, swollen head up her entrance, tease her clit with it, grinding, slapping your tip against her until she shivers and gasps, legs falling wide open, fingers clutching at the edge of the desk like she’s about to fly apart.

Your hand wraps tight around your slick cock, jerking it fast and desperate, smearing her juices all over yourself as you stroke. Xinyu drops immediately to her knees, eager, mouth open, eyes wide and hazy with lust. She grabs the base of your cock with one hand, stroking in rhythm with yours, her other hand cupping your balls, massaging them gently.

She looks up at you with that wicked grin just as she leans forward, wraps her lips around the head, and sucks. Hard. Heat and suction explode through you, and your hips jerk forward helplessly. She moans low in her throat, dragging her tongue along the underside of your cock as she bobs her head, saliva glistening at the corners of her mouth, dribbling down your shaft.

She works you like she’s starving for it, alternating between sucking you deep into her mouth and stroking with her fist, twisting just right. The sight of her—kneeling in front of you, cheeks hollowing, spit and slick glistening all over her chin—drives you wild.

Your balls tighten, your thighs tremble, and you grab her hair, trying to warn her, but she just groans in approval, mouth sliding lower, tongue lashing the sensitive underside of your cock.

"X-Xinyu, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—"

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips wrapped tight around the tip, hand still jerking your slick cock, and she nods. Wants it. Wants it bad.

You grip her hair tight as your body locks up and you cum hard, first shot hitting the back of her throat. She doesn’t even flinch. Just hums around you, swallowing every thick, hot spurt, milking you with her mouth and hand as you pulse and shudder against her. Jet after jet, the orgasm tearing through you so violently your knees nearly buckle.

She keeps going until you’re spent, gently sucking the last drops from your twitching cock, then pulls back slowly with a wet pop. She kisses the tip, soft and almost reverent, tongue flicking lazily across it like she’s tasting her victory.

You lean back against the desk, heart hammering, chest heaving, body flushed and trembling.

She stands, fixing her panties between trembling thighs, smoothing down her skirt, picking up the top on the floor. Her cheeks are pink, her lips swollen, her hair wild—and she’s never looked more satisfied.

You fumble to tuck yourself back into your pants, fingers clumsy. Your mind’s fogged with the aftermath. Xinyu steps closer, hands sliding up your chest, resting lightly at your shoulders. Her eyes soften, her mouth tilts into something small and unsure. She looks nervous. That’s rare. She’s always so sure. So in control.

"Hey," she says. “I meant what I said last night, y’know.”

You blink, still trying to catch up. “What?”

She presses her forehead lightly to yours, her hands sliding down to hold your waist, grounding you.

"I’ve never met anyone like you," she says, slow, like she’s scared if she rushes it’ll shatter. “You’re not like the guys I’m used to. All the ones before—they were assholes. Hot, but... just bad news. Guys who wanted me but didn’t actually care about me.”

She leans back, searching your face, biting her lip.

"But you—you’re different. You’re real. You’re sweet. You listen. You treat me like I actually matter."

You swallow hard, heart tripping over itself. You weren’t ready for this. You didn’t expect this.

She smiles, small and nervous, and asks it before you can even think of something to say.

"I want you to be my boyfriend. For real. Like… properly mine. Will you?"

You stare at her—this beautiful, messy, fiery girl who just swallowed your cum like it was candy, who rode you like you were hers before the words ever left her mouth. And something inside you wrenches.

Because you should say yes.

You should want to say yes.

But all you can feel is that gnawing hesitation. That pull. That confusion. That whisper of another name, another face, someone standing just outside this moment, invisible and heavy in the space between your breaths.

Sohyun.

You think about her without meaning to. Think about the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention. The way her hand lingers too long when she passes you something. The way she squeezed your hand that night when you invited her to the movies.

You don’t know what you feel. You don’t know what’s real yet. You’re drowning in it.

And it shows.

Xinyu’s face flickers—just for a second. That bright, hopeful light dimming when you hesitate too long.

"I..." You rub the back of your neck, avoiding her eyes. "I just... I need some time to think. Please."

The silence after that is awkward.

She steps back, schooling her face into something neutral, but you can see the crack underneath. The disappointment. The sting. She nods once, slow.

"Okay," she says, and her voice is tight. "Okay. Take your time."

You want to apologize. You want to say something to make it better. But nothing fits. Nothing fixes this.

She grabs her bag from the floor, brushes her hair back, pulls her walls up fast and neat like she’s practiced it a thousand times before.

"See you around," she says, almost breezy, almost real.

And then she’s gone, slipping out the door and leaving you standing there in the wreckage of what you almost had.

You stare at the empty space where she stood, heart pounding, stomach twisting.

You don’t see the faint sliver of movement behind the closet door.

You don’t see the way Sohyun presses her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the sound inside.

Because she heard it all.

And for the first time in weeks, she has hope.

A brutal, aching hope.

Because you didn’t say yes.

You didn’t choose someone else.

Not yet.

And maybe… there’s still a chance you’ll choose her.

—

You drag yourself up the stairs like your body’s filled with sand, the keys slipping in your sweaty palm as you jam them into the lock and stumble inside. The apartment lights are off except for the thin line of glow leaking out from under Sohyun’s bedroom door. You shut the door behind you with a quiet click, kicking your shoes off, backpack sliding down your shoulder and thudding against the floor. Your whole body aches. Not just from exhaustion but from the weight of everything swimming in your head; Xinyu’s kiss still burning on your mouth, her words still echoing under your skin, the guilt, the confusion, the stupid tangled mess you couldn’t figure out if you tried. You sigh, pressing your back to the door for a second, head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut like maybe if you stood still enough, long enough, the world would stop spinning.

You don't notice the shape in the corner until it moves, a small shift of shadow peeling itself away from the wall. Your eyes fly open, heart lurching into your throat. Sohyun’s there—leaning against the wall, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her face half-hidden by her hair, her body tensed up in a way that sets your nerves on edge instantly.

“Jesus—” you blurt, breath hitching from the scare. You try to laugh it off, give her a sheepish little grin even though your pulse is hammering. “You scared the hell outta me. I thought you were asleep.”

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. Her eyes stay locked on yours, too still, too serious. It sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

“We need to talk,” she says, and her tone is wrong, lower, tighter, with a tremble hidden deep under the words that makes your stomach twist.

You straighten a little, stepping forward slowly like she’s a spooked animal you don’t want to startle. “What... what happened?” you ask.

She holds your gaze for a long moment. So long it starts to physically hurt, like she’s looking right through your skin, peeling you open piece by piece. You can see it in her eyes—fear, yes, but something else too. Something desperate, clawing at the edges of her.

“I know,” she finally says. “About you and Xinyu.”

You blink, mouth opening then closing uselessly, your brain scrambling to process it.

“How—” you start, but she cuts you off, shaking her head once, sharp and final.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It doesn’t matter how I know.”

You’re thrown completely off balance now, stumbling for footing you don’t have. You shift awkwardly, running a hand through your hair, trying to piece together something—anything—to say.

“I was going to tell you,” you mumble finally, and it’s the lamest excuse you’ve ever heard even as it leaves your mouth. “I just... didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Her laugh is short and humorless, a little broken thing that cuts through you sharper than any shout could have. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice rising just a little, enough to make your throat close up. “You didn’t. You could have. So why didn’t you?”

You hesitate, weight shifting from foot to foot, wishing desperately for some door, some window, some hole to crawl into and disappear. But there’s no escape. There’s only her, standing there, waiting for your answer like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“I was scared,” you admit finally, the words thick in your throat. “I didn’t know what you’d think. I knew you’d disapprove. I knew you wouldn’t... approve of me and her.”

Her arms tighten around herself, nails digging into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her lips press together, trembling, and she looks down at the floor for a second.

“Why do you care so much what I think?” she asks, and her voice is small and raw, like she’s asking herself more than you.

You swallow hard. “I... I don’t know.”

But you do know. Somewhere deep down, you’ve always known. You’ve just never had the guts to admit it.

She lets the silence drag, heavy and awful between you. Then she looks up, and there’s something shattering in her eyes—it makes you want to cry.

“You’re right,” she says quietly. “I would have disapproved.”

You open your mouth to speak, to apologize again, but she cuts you off with a sharp shake of her head, eyes wet now, shining in the dim light.

“Do you want to know why?” she asks.

You nod, too scared to say anything.

“Because I love you,” she says, and it bursts out of her like a dam breaking, like she’s been holding it back for years and can’t anymore. “I love you, you idiot! I’ve loved you for so fucking long it hurts!”

You just stand there, stunned into uselessness, your heart hammering in your chest, your breath stuck somewhere between a gasp and a cry.

She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, blinking furiously against the tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t even realize at first,” she says, “I thought it was just... caring. Being protective. Wanting you to be okay. But it’s not. It’s not just that. I love you. I’m in love with you. And seeing you with her—hearing you moan for her, seeing you smile because of her—”

She breaks off, a choked sob punching out of her chest, and it shatters you.

“It tore me apart,” she whispers. “Because you’re the most special person that’s ever crossed my path. And I was too much of a coward to say anything. I just kept pretending it was fine. That it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter that way.”

You move to step toward her, instinct taking over, but she flinches back half a step, and it feels like a knife between your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice cracking. “I didn’t know, I didn’t—”

“No,” she cuts you off, shaking her head violently, tears flying. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s my fault for bottling it up, for being too scared to tell you, for letting you drift away while I just... watched. I did this to myself.”

You’re breathing too hard, chest aching, head spinning with too many emotions crashing into each other at once—guilt, sorrow, confusion, this desperate, aching affection for the girl standing in front of you with her heart bleeding out at your feet.

“Maybe it’s too late,” she says, crying. “Maybe you’re already hers. Maybe you’ve already moved on.”

She wipes her face again, sniffles, pulls herself together enough to look at you—really look at you.

“But I needed you to know. I needed you to know that someone loved you. That someone loves you. That someone would’ve given anything to make you happy.”

Your feet move before your brain catches up, drawn across the small space separating you like there's a magnetic pull you can't fight anymore. Her face is still wet, tears tracking clean lines through the faint flush on her cheeks, her eyes red-rimmed but locked on you with this terrifying vulnerability you've never seen before. She doesn't flinch this time when you get close, doesn't pull away, just watches you, chest rising and falling too fast, like she’s waiting for the final blow.

You lift your hand, fingers trembling slightly, and gently, so gently, brush the tears from her cheek with your thumb. The skin there is hot, damp. Real. She closes her eyes for just a second at the contact, a shuddering breath escaping her lips.

"Sohyun," you start, and your own throat feels tight, rough, like you’ve swallowed glass. "I'm... I'm so sorry." The words feel stupidly small, inadequate for the chasm that's opened up. "I'm the coward. Not you. Me. All this time... I never said anything because... fuck, because I was terrified. Scared I'd wreck everything. Our friendship, this... us. Everything we have. It felt too important to risk, you know? Too fragile. And I kept telling myself you deserved someone... better. Someone less screwed up than me. Someone confident, someone who had their shit together, not..." You gesture vaguely at yourself, at the mess you feel like you are, the mess you've made. "Not me." You see her lips part, ready to argue, maybe ready to forgive, maybe ready to yell again, but the words are tumbling out of you now, unstoppable, a confession mirroring hers, ripping free after being locked down for so long. "Don't," you whisper, cutting her off before she can speak. "Just... let me say this."

You take a shaky breath, meeting her wide, tear-bright eyes again. "It was always you, Sohyun. Always. Even when I didn't understand it, even when I tried to ignore it. You're the one I love." The words feel huge, terrifying, but also lighter than air once spoken. "Everything. I love everything. That little smirk you get when you win an argument? Love it. The way you wear those baggy sweatshirts every day but still manage to look... incredible? Love that too. How you always know when I'm having a shit day without me saying anything? How you just show up, make me tea, sit there in silence with me until it passes? How safe you make me feel, even when you're pretending to be annoyed?" Your own eyes are getting blurry now. "I love watching you sleep," you admit and, fuck, it's like breaking a chain, a secret you’ve guarded jealously. "Because you look so calm. Peaceful. And I can just... look. At your moles." A faint blush creeps up her neck, her gaze dropping for a second before snapping back to yours, confused, waiting. "You have four on your face, you know? Like a tiny constellation. There's one here," you reach out again, finger hovering below her eyes, not quite touching, "and here, by your nose... one on your cheek... they're the most charming damn things in the world. Seriously."

Her breath hitches, a soft little gasp. She looks utterly lost now, derailed from her pain by the specific, intimate detail. "My... moles?" she echoes, bewildered. You nod, a watery smile finally touching your lips.

"Yeah. My favorite, though? The one right here." Your gaze drops to her mouth, to the tiny, perfect dark mole on the curve of her lower lip. It's always drawn your eye, a little punctuation mark on skin that looks impossibly cute. "That one..." you murmur. "God, that one's made me wonder... so many times... what it would feel like to kiss you. What you'd taste like..."

You trail off, lost for a second in the thought, in the proximity, in the sudden, intense awareness of her mouth just inches from yours. You were going to say more, try to explain the tangle of fear and longing and the stupid, paralyzing certainty that you weren't good enough, but you don't get the chance.

Because Sohyun surges forward like something inside her finally snaps. One second she's trembling, broken open, the next she's pure force, her mouth crashing onto yours with bruising intensity. It's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a raw, desperate claiming. Her lips are surprisingly soft beneath the force, tasting faintly of salt from her tears and something uniquely her, something warm and real that short-circuits your brain. Her hands fist in the front of your hoodie, yanking you closer, stumbling you backward. Your heel catches on the edge of the cheap living room rug, the world tilting sideways in a sudden, disorienting lurch. You gasp against her mouth, a startled sound swallowed by her kiss, and then you're falling, tumbling backward onto the floor with a muffled thud that knocks the wind out of you.

She lands right on top of you, straddling your hips, the impact solid and grounding even as your head spins. She doesn't miss a beat. Her mouth is still fused to yours, kissing you harder now, deeper, possessive. It's messy and frantic, teeth clashing slightly, tongues tangling with an urgency that borders on violence. Kisses that aren’t asking, they’re taking. Stealing the breath from your lungs, stealing the thoughts from your head, demanding a response you're suddenly, desperately eager to give. Her weight pressing you down, the heat of her body seeping through your clothes, the undeniable proof of her need right there against your stomach—it’s overwhelming. And then, finally, finally, your own arms come up, wrapping around her back, pulling her impossibly closer, and you kiss her back with all the pent-up fear and longing and stupid, crippling love you've kept locked away for years.

You meet her force with your own, tilting your head, deepening the kiss, letting the raw honesty of it burn away everything else. There’s no room for Xinyu, no room for doubt, no room for anything but this—Sohyun, her mouth on yours, her body pinning you down, the undeniable, explosive reality of now. The world outside the apartment fades to nothing, the only sound the ragged gasps for breath between frantic, open-mouthed kisses, the rustle of clothes, the frantic thudding of two hearts beating wildly against each other in the dim, quiet room. This isn't just a kiss; it's a collision, a confession answered, a point of no return you hadn't realized you were racing towards until you crashed right into it, tangled up with her on the floor like this is exactly where you were always supposed to end up.

After seconds that seem like hours, Sohyun finally breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough for air, her chest heaving against yours, eyes blown wide and dark, still glazed with disbelief and something fiercely possessive. Her hands frame your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones like she’s trying to memorize you. "I love you," she whispers, the words thick, raw, tumbling out again like they can't be contained. Her forehead presses against yours. "God, I love you." She kisses you again, shorter this time, desperate, sealing the words. Pulls back. "I love you." Another kiss, harder. "So much." Each declaration feels like another layer stripped away, leaving her completely bare, completely yours in this moment. The fierce intensity shifts, softening just a fraction as the reality sinks in—you're here, you're kissing her back, you feel it too.

Your heart feels like it's going to beat right out of your chest. Hearing her say it, over and over, sinks hooks into places you didn't know were still empty. You shift beneath her, hands sliding up her back, fingers tracing the knobs of her spine through the worn fabric of her sweatshirt. "Sohyun," you breathe against her lips, needing to show her, needing her to feel it. You pull back just enough to look at her, really look, and then you start mapping her face with your mouth.

Soft, adoring kisses trail along her sharp jawline, up to the curve of her cheekbone where the skin is so soft it makes you ache. You kiss the corner of her eye, tasting the lingering salt of her tears, then move lower, pressing kisses against the pulse point throbbing wildly in her neck. She melts under the attention, a soft sigh escaping her, her body going pliant against yours, head tipping back to give you better access. Her hands slide from your face down to your shoulders, gripping tight, anchoring herself as you worship her skin. Every soft press of your lips feels like rewriting history, erasing the doubt and the distance, claiming this closeness that’s always simmered just beneath the surface.

"Hey," she murmurs, her breath catching when your lips find that sensitive spot just below her ear. She nudges you gently, reluctantly pulling away just enough to meet your eyes again. There's a new urgency there, a need that burns hotter than the confession. "My room," she says, her tone suddenly low, almost husky. "Let's go to my room. Now." She pushes herself up, scrambling off you with clumsy grace, and hauls you to your feet like you weigh nothing. You don't argue, don't hesitate. You follow her lead, stumbling towards her bedroom door, hands finding each other again, lips crashing together in the hallway, clumsy and desperate and necessary. You trip over the threshold, laughing breathlessly against her mouth as she practically drags you inside, kicking the door shut behind you with her heel.

The moment the door clicks, she's tearing at your clothes. Your hoodie comes off first, yanked over your head with frantic energy, tossed carelessly onto the floor. Her eyes rake over your bare chest for a beat, hungry, before she crashes back into you, kissing you with renewed fervor. Her hands are everywhere, exploring the lines of your shoulders, the dip of your collarbones, fingers tracing patterns that make your skin prickle. While her mouth works yours, her own hands go to the waistband of her shorts—those stupidly comfortable grey jersey shorts she always wears around the apartment. She hooks her thumbs in, shoves them down her legs in one hurried motion, kicking them free. She's left in just her oversized sweatshirt and a pair of simple, pale blue cotton panties that hug the curve of her hips. You groan against her lips, the sight hitting you harder than you expected. Her thighs look so strong, so soft.

You deepen the kiss, angling her back against the wall, one hand sliding down her spine, curving possessively over the swell of her ass through the thin cotton of her panties. You squeeze gently, experimentally, and she gasps into your mouth, hips instinctively bucking against yours. "Fuck," she breathes against your lips, her hands fisting in your t-shirt now. "Yes. Need you. So much."

Her admission is raw, desperate, stripping away the last vestiges of her usual guardedness. It fuels you, ignites something fierce inside you. You break the kiss long enough to grab the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling it up and over her head just as she did yours. It snags for a second on her messy bun, and you both fumble with it, laughing brokenly before it finally comes free. And underneath… nothing. No bra. Just Sohyun. Her breasts are fuller than you’d imagined, heavier than Xinyu’s, round and pale with darker, pinkish-brown nipples already pebbled tight from the cool air or maybe just the sheer intensity of the moment. They're beautiful. Perfect. Yours.

She looks down at herself for a second, a flicker of self-consciousness crossing her face before defiant heat replaces it. Your eyes meet hers, a silent question asked and answered. You scoop her up—she's surprisingly light—and carry her the few steps to her bed, tumbling down onto the soft duvet with her. The landing is messy, tangled limbs and breathless laughter, before you settle, half-propped over her, the reality of her bare skin under your hands making your head swim. You kiss her again, slower this time, softer, trying to pour all the unsaid years of affection into it. Her hands come up to cup your face, fingers tracing your jawline, her eyes searching yours.

Then your focus shifts. Your gaze drops to her chest, to the soft rise and fall of her breathing. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the valley between her breasts, then lower your head further. One hand gently cups the soft weight of her left breast, thumb stroking the peak, feeling it harden instantly under your touch. At the same time, your mouth closes over her right nipple.

Sohyun arches off the bed with a sharp, choked cry, fingers digging into your shoulders. The sound is pure, unfiltered pleasure, and it sends a shockwave straight to your groin. You suck gently at first, teasing, swirling your tongue around the sensitive peak before drawing it deeper into the heat of your mouth.

She moans again, a long, low sound vibrating up from her chest. "Oh god... yes... fuck, that feels..." You lave the nipple, licking slow circles around the darker areola, mapping the texture with your tongue, before nibbling gently with your teeth. She whimpers, hips twitching restlessly on the mattress. "So good... oh, fuck, yes, right there... I always... always imagined..." Her sentence dissolves into another shuddering moan as you switch sides, giving the other breast the same devoted attention, sucking and licking and teasing until she's writhing beneath you. "You're perfect," you murmur against her wet skin between ministrations. "So fucking beautiful, Sohyun. Always."

Her eyes are glassy, pupils dilated, lips parted and slick. She looks completely undone, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache with tenderness and a fierce, protective desire. You trail kisses lower, down the soft curve of her stomach, your lips brushing the faint indentation of her navel. Your hand follows, palm smoothing over the warm skin, feeling the tremors running through her. Your journey stops at the waistband of her panties. Simple blue cotton, dampening noticeably at the center. The sight, the proof of her arousal, makes your own cock strain painfully against your jeans. You press a soft kiss to the damp fabric right over her mound, inhaling her scent—musky, female, intoxicating. She gasps, thighs clenching instinctively. You nudge her legs apart gently with your head, trailing feather-light kisses along the inside of her thigh, right near the edge of the fabric. The skin there is incredibly soft, sensitive. She shivers violently, a choked sound escaping her. "Please..." she whispers, unsure what she's even asking for, just knowing she needs more.

You kiss the wet patch on her panties again, letting your tongue flick out just enough to taste the dampness through the cotton. She cries out, a sharp, high sound, hips lifting slightly off the bed. You look up at her, see the flush creeping down her neck, the desperate wanting in her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, you hook your thumbs into the sides of her panties and slide them down. Over the curve of her hips, down her strong, thick thighs, catching slightly at her knees before you pull them free and toss them aside. She lies bare beneath you now, exposed, vulnerable, beautiful. Her pussy is slick, glistening, her folds plump and flushed, dark curls slightly damp. You lean down, pressing a reverent kiss to her mound, right above her clit. She lets out a strangled sob, hands flying down to fist in her own duvet. She looks wrecked, overwhelmed, needy. "Will you...?" she starts, her breath hitching. "Can I...? Please, just... sit on your face? Let me... I need you to eat me. Please." You lean closer, lips brushing her slick folds as you answer:

"Baby, that's all I fucking want.”

You don't even hesitate. You scramble backwards on the bed, shuffling until you're lying flat, head propped slightly against her pillows—pillows that smell like her shampoo and sleep. Your heart is a frantic drum against your ribs, anticipation coiling tight and low in your belly. This. This it's something you've barely let yourself fantasize about, a scenario tucked away in the darkest, neediest corners of your mind—Sohyun, taking control, overwhelming you. Being completely at her mercy. The thought alone makes your cock throb against the zipper of your jeans, a painful, demanding pressure.

You look up as she moves, crawling towards you on the bed, her expression a mixture of raw hunger and something almost like nervous determination. She straddles your chest first, knees settling on either side of your ribs, leaning down to capture your mouth in another deep, searching kiss. Her bare breasts press against your chest, warm and heavy, the peaks hard against the fabric.

"You really want this?" she whispers against your lips, pulling back just enough to search your eyes. Her own gaze is intense, burning with a need that mirrors yours.

"Fuck, yes, Sohyun," you breathe, hands coming up to grip her waist, fingers digging slightly into the soft skin there. "More than anything. Please."

A slow, predatory smile spreads across her face, chasing away the last remnants of uncertainty. This is happening. She shifts, maneuvering herself with surprising grace, turning until she's straddling your head, her bare ass hovering right above your face. The sight is dizzying—the soft curve of her cheeks, the dark curls nestled between her thighs, the glisten of her wetness catching the dim light filtering in from the hallway. It's everything. You reach up, hands sliding up her strong thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive inner skin. She shivers, letting out a soft gasp.

"God, yes... touch me," she pleads, her hips twitching.

You guide her down slowly, agonizingly slowly, until her slick folds brush against your lips. The scent hits you full force—musky, feminine, intoxicatingly Sohyun. It’s the smell of pure arousal, sharp and sweet, and it makes your head swim. This is your dream, isn't it? To be right here, underneath her, ready to worship, ready to be completely consumed by her pleasure. The idea of being dominated, smothered by the wet heat of her pussy, of her coming undone completely at your mercy while simultaneously holding all the power… It sends a jolt of pure, filthy need straight through you.

"Ready for you," you murmur against her skin, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle.

She lets out a shaky breath and lowers herself fully, settling onto your mouth with a soft sigh. The pressure is immediate, the heat shocking. Her wet folds engulf your lips, your nose, pressing intimately against your face. It’s almost too much: the closeness, the scent, the slick reality of her cunt right there. You take your first real taste, tongue darting out tentatively, exploring the plump outer lips, tracing the slick crease.

Sohyun gasps sharply, her whole body tensing. "Fuck... yes..."

Emboldened, you dive in properly. Your tongue pushes past her outer lips, finding the slick, sensitive inner folds, licking slowly, deliberately. You map her shape, tasting the unique flavor of her arousal—salty, sweet, utterly addictive. You find her clit, that hard little nub hidden beneath its hood, and swirl your tongue around it gently at first.

"Oh my god," she whimpers, fingers tangling violently in your hair, gripping tight but not pulling you away. "Right there... don't stop..."

You obey instantly, focusing your attention, sucking the sensitive bud into your mouth, worrying it gently with your lips and tongue. Her reaction is immediate, explosive. Her hips buck against your face, grinding down instinctively, seeking more pressure, more friction.

"Fuck, yes! Like that! Suck it harder!" she cries out, her earlier shyness completely incinerated by raw need. "God, you taste so fucking good... eat me like you mean it!"

You groan into her cunt, spurred on by her dirty talk, by the sheer intensity radiating off her. You suck harder, drawing more of her into your mouth, tongue working relentlessly on her clit while your lips provide constant pressure against her swollen folds. Her slickness coats your tongue, your lips, your chin, slicking the skin, making every movement smoother, hotter. She’s so wet, dripping onto your face, the taste of her flooding your senses. You love it. You fucking crave it. The feeling of being covered in her, drowned in her essence.

"That's it, baby," she pants, her hips starting to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm against your mouth. "Fuck, you're so good at this... Did you practice on someone else? Don't fucking answer that," she gasps out, contradicting herself immediately, lost in the sensation. "Just keep doing that. Lick me. Suck my clit like it's the only thing you care about."

"It is," you manage to mumble against her, tongue never faltering. "Only thing... right now... is you. Making you feel good, Sohyun."

Her hips stutter, a broken little sob escaping her lips. "Fuck... you saying my name like that... while you're... down there... God..."

She starts to ride you then, taking control just like she asked, just like you fantasized. Her movements are slow at first, tentative, testing the pressure, learning how to grind against your mouth for maximum effect. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you, holding you exactly where she wants you. The feeling of suffocation is mild at first, just the intimate pressure, the heat, the wetness sealing against your skin. But as her pace quickens, as she gets lost in the building pleasure, she presses down harder, her cunt engulfing your nose and mouth more fully. Your breathing gets shallower, restricted, but you don't panic. This is part of it. This surrender. Giving her everything, even your breath, if that's what it takes to push her over the edge.

"Oh god... oh fuck," she moans, the sounds deeper now, throatier. "It's building... fuck, don't stop... keep sucking... harder!"

You oblige, mouth working frantically now, sucking and licking with desperate abandon, chasing her orgasm alongside her. Her pussy clenches around your tongue, milking it, the muscles fluttering uncontrollably. She’s grinding faster now, rocking her hips with frantic energy, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The pressure increases. Her cunt presses down hard, sealing over your mouth, your nose, the wet heat almost overwhelming. You can barely draw breath, getting only small, desperate sips of air mixed with the heavy scent of her arousal. But the lack of oxygen just fuels the fire, heightens the sensation, pushes you closer to a different kind of edge. You feel utterly possessed by her, consumed.

"Almost there... almost... FUCK!" she screams, her body locking up.

Her hips slam down hard onto your face, grinding relentlessly, muffling your own groan of effort and ecstasy. Her inner walls spasm violently around your tongue, flooding your mouth with a thick, hot gush of her climax. The taste is intense, salty-sweet, addictive, unique. You swallow instinctively, greedily, taking all of it, wanting every last drop. She collapses forward, boneless, her full weight pressing your face into the mattress, her slick cunt still pulsing against your mouth as the aftershocks ripple through her. You're completely enveloped, blinded, breathless beneath her, tasting her release, utterly dominated.

She stays there for long moments, just panting, trembling. You lie still beneath her, heart hammering, face sticky and wet, utterly spent from the intensity of giving her that pleasure. Finally, slowly, she pushes herself up, bracing her hands on the mattress on either side of your head. Her hair is wild, sticking to her flushed cheeks, her lips swollen and red, her eyes dazed and unfocused but gleaming with a deep, sated satisfaction. She looks down at you, at your slick-covered face, and a slow, knowing smirk touches her lips.

"Wow," she breathes. "You... you really did it."

You manage a weak grin, licking your lips, tasting her. "Told you," you rasp. "Anything for you."

She leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your mouth, her kiss still tasting faintly of herself. It's intimate, proprietary. A claiming.

"Good," she murmurs against your lips. "Because we're not done yet. Not even close." Her eyes darken again, that possessive fire rekindling. "My turn to taste you.”

Sohyun pushes herself up fully, kneeling between your legs on the mattress. Her eyes, still hazy from her orgasm but sharp with renewed intent, roam over your face, lingering on your kiss-swollen lips and the faint marks she left on your neck. A possessive satisfaction flickers there. She reaches down, her hands landing on the button of your jeans. Her knuckles brush against the hard ridge straining behind the denim, and she lets out a low, appreciative hum.

"My turn," she murmurs, her gaze locking with yours. "Been wanting to do this for way too long. Way, way too long."

Her fingers work the button free with surprising dexterity, then move to the zipper, pulling it down with a slow, deliberate rasp that echoes loudly in the quiet room. She doesn't just yank your jeans off. She takes her time, hooking her fingers into the waistband, easing the stiff denim down over your hips, her touch feather-light against your skin. You lift your hips instinctively to help her. Your jeans slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You're left in just your boxers—boxers that are doing absolutely nothing to hide the thick, hard length straining beneath the fabric.

Sohyun pauses, her eyes fixed on the prominent bulge. She reaches out, tracing the rigid shape through the thin cotton with one curious finger. You twitch involuntarily, a low groan rumbling in your chest.

"Fuck," she breathes, a note of genuine awe creeping in. "I knew... I mean, I saw... before..." She glances up at you quickly, a faint blush rising on her cheeks as she remembers that moment in the club room closet, the stolen, frantic glimpse. "But seeing it like... this... Jesus."

Her gaze drops back down, captivated. She hooks her thumbs into the elastic waistband of your boxers and slowly, reverently, peels them down. Down past your hip bones, down your thighs, revealing you completely. Your cock springs free, thick and heavy, slick already with beads of pre-cum glistening under the dim light. It's undeniably large, thick-shafted, maybe even surprisingly so given your usually reserved, almost nerdy demeanor. It pulses slightly with your heartbeat, utterly exposed under her intense scrutiny.

Sohyun just stares for a long moment, her mouth slightly parted. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. This isn't like the frantic, hidden view she got before. This is up close, personal, undeniable. The sheer size and thickness of you, fully hard and demanding attention, seems to momentarily short-circuit her brain. She reaches out again, hand hovering just above you, like she's afraid to touch, afraid it might disappear.

"It's... perfect," she whispers. "God, it's so... much. And it's really... mine? Right now?"

"Yes," you manage, your throat tight. "All yours, Sohyun. Please. Touch me."

That breaks the spell. Her hesitation vanishes, replaced by a focused intensity that makes your stomach clench. She leans down, her hair falling forward, tickling your stomach as she lowers her face towards your cock. She doesn't grab it right away. Instead, she inhales deeply, breathing in your scent, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. Then, she presses a soft, tentative kiss right to the swollen, pulsing head. It’s a kiss of reverence, almost worshipful. She kisses it again, lingering, her lips incredibly soft against the sensitive skin. Then she trails kisses down the thick shaft, her warm breath ghosting over you, making you shiver uncontrollably. Her tongue darts out, tasting the slick bead of pre-cum at the tip, humming her approval deep in her throat.

"Mmm," she murmurs against your skin. "Taste good... smell good... God, you feel so hard."

She cups your balls gently in one hand, her touch surprisingly confident, weighing them, stroking the sensitive skin underneath with her thumb. You groan, hips lifting slightly off the mattress, needing more. Her other hand finally closes around the base of your shaft, her fingers wrapping snugly around the thick circumference. Her grip is firm, warm, possessive. She strokes you once, slowly, from base to head, watching your reaction with hungry eyes.

"You like that?" she asks. "Like me touching you? Holding your big, thick cock?"

"Fuck, yes," you gasp out, already close to losing it just from her touch, her words. "Please, Sohyun..."

"Shhh," she soothes, leaning down again. "Let me take care of you. Let me worship this perfect cock. You deserve it."

She starts by licking. Long, slow, wet laps all the way up the shaft, starting from the base where her fingers are wrapped tight, swirling around the thick ridge of the head, paying special attention to the sensitive slit at the very tip. Her tongue is relentless, mapping every vein, every inch, savoring the texture, the taste. She licks your balls too, darting her tongue out to trace the seam, making you gasp and buck beneath her. She seems fascinated, utterly absorbed in the act of adoration, like she's discovering a hidden treasure she can't get enough of. She alternates between licking and kissing, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the throbbing veins, occasionally taking just the very head between her lips, sucking gently, experimentally.

"So pretty," she mumbles against you, her breath hot. "So fucking hard for me. You feel so good in my hand... so heavy..."

She gathers your balls more firmly, lifting them slightly as she lowers her mouth over the head of your cock again. This time, she means business. Her lips seal tight, creating a wet suction that steals your breath. She starts to suck, slowly at first, adjusting her jaw, learning the shape and feel of you in her mouth. Her cheeks hollow slightly with the effort, her eyes fixed on yours, watching your reaction, feeding off the strangled noises clawing their way up your throat. She moans around you, a deep, guttural sound of pure pleasure—hers and yours.

"Mmmmph... fuck... so thick," she manages around you, pulling back slightly before sliding down again, taking you deeper this time.

Her pace picks up, her head starting to bob more rhythmically. She uses her hand in tandem, stroking the lower half of your shaft while her mouth works the upper half, creating an unbearable friction, a slick heat that threatens to make you explode. Her tongue works magic inside her mouth, swirling around the head, flicking against the frenulum, driving you absolutely insane. Saliva spills from the corners of her mouth, mixing with your pre-cum, coating your cock in a thick, slippery sheen. She doesn't seem to care about the mess; she seems to revel in it, smearing the wetness down your shaft with her hand, slicking up your balls until they shine.

"Drooling all over you," she gasps, pulling off for a second to look at her handiwork, eyes glazed with lust. "God, look how wet I'm making you... covering your pretty cock in my spit... you like that, baby? Like being my messy boy?"

"Yes," you choke out, nodding frantically, hands fisting in the duvet beside you. "Fuck, Sohyun, please... don't stop..."

"Never," she promises, diving back down, sucking you deeper than before, her throat muscles working as she takes as much of you as she can.

She alternates speeds, sometimes sucking slow and deep, milking you, other times bobbing her head frantically, her hair whipping against your thighs, her lips and tongue working you over with relentless abandon. She cradles your balls constantly, rubbing, squeezing gently, rolling them between her fingers, ensuring no part of you is neglected. The sounds are incredibly hot—the wet sucking noises, her low moans, your own choked gasps and pleas. She's not just giving you a blowjob; she's pouring all her love, all her pent-up longing, all her newly unleashed desire into worshiping you, pleasuring you, claiming you.

"You feel so good in my mouth," she pants, slicking her lips. "Best cock I've ever tasted... fuck, I wanna swallow you whole..."

She picks up the pace again, sensing you getting closer, her hand pumping furiously at the base while her mouth works magic on the head. Your hips are bucking off the bed now, completely involuntary, chasing the friction, begging for release. Your balls are drawn up tight, the pressure building unbearably.

"Sohyun... Sohyun, I'm gonna..." you gasp, vision starting to blur at the edges.

She hums, a deep vibration against your shaft, and pulls back just slightly, letting her lips drag slowly, wetly, all the way up to the tip. She kisses the head one last time, her tongue darting out to catch a final bead of slickness. She looks up at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, a satisfied smirk playing on her spit-slick lips. Your cock is practically vibrating in her hand, flushed, aching, coated in her saliva, impossibly hard, utterly ready.

"Good," she breathes, her gaze flicking down at your cock, then back to your eyes. "Keep it just like that for me. Hard and ready. Because now... now I need you inside me.”

Sohyun levers herself up, straddling your hips now instead of your face. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, boxing you in. Her gaze is locked on your cock, still hard and glistening, twitching slightly in anticipation. She reaches down, wrapping her fingers around the thick shaft again, her touch possessive, almost proprietary now. She strokes you slowly, deliberately, watching the way your hips lift instinctively off the bed, chasing her touch. A dark, satisfied smile curves her lips. She looks powerful like this, kneeling over you, naked from the waist down, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face, her breasts full and bare, nipples still tight and dark from your attention. The dynamic has shifted entirely. She's in control, and she knows it. And fuck, you love it.

"God, Sohyun," you gasp out, the words shaky. "I've... I've thought about this. So many times."

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, questioning, curious.

"About you," you clarify, needing her to understand. "About you being like this. On top of me. Taking charge. Riding me... dominating me..." The confession feels scandalous, ripped from the deepest, most submissive part of you, but seeing her like this, strong, determined, radiating need, makes it impossible to hold back.

A slow, understanding heat dawns in her eyes, chasing away any lingering shyness. She leans down slightly, bracing one hand on your chest, her thumb brushing your nipple through your t-shirt, making you jolt.

"Yeah?" she murmurs. "Funny. Me too."

Your breath catches. "You... you have?"

She nods, her smile turning wicked. "Oh, yeah. More times than I can count. Thinking about this..." She squeezes your cock gently, making you groan. "...this perfect, thick cock sliding inside me. Stretching me out. Filling me up." She leans closer, her lips brushing your ear. "I might have... borrowed one of your pillows a few times. When you were out late. Pretended it was you I was riding." Her confession is a hot whisper against your skin. "Imagined you were balls-deep inside me while I rode it until I came."

The image—Sohyun, alone in her room, desperate for you, grinding on your pillow—is almost too much. It makes your cock pulse painfully hard in her grip.

"Fuck, Sohyun," you choke out. "Tell me... tell me what you want."

"You," she says simply, fiercely. She lets go of you for a second, putting the panties aside. She guides the thick, wet head of your cock to her entrance, her own slickness making the contact incredibly slippery, incredibly hot. She looks down, watching intently as she aligns herself. "I want you. Inside me. Now."

With excruciating slowness, she begins to lower herself onto you. You feel the head of your cock nudge against her tight entrance, feel her slick folds parting, stretching. She gasps sharply, her eyes squeezing shut for a second as the thick ridge pushes past her outer lips, beginning to invade her.

"Oh my god... fuck..." she breathes, her hands gripping your shoulders tight enough to leave marks. "You're so... big..."

She sinks lower, inch by agonizing inch, taking you deeper. Her pussy feels incredible; impossibly tight, hot and slick and welcoming. The feeling of a body claiming something it’s desperately wanted for far too long. You groan deep in your chest, hands coming up to grip her hips, steadying her, steadying yourself. You can feel every internal ripple, every clench of her muscles as she takes you all the way down, settling onto your cock until you're buried to the hilt inside her.

She sits there for a long moment, just breathing hard, letting her body adjust to the thick invasion, letting you feel the sheer, glorious fullness of being completely sheathed inside her. Her head is tipped back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat, her expression a mixture of intense pleasure and almost unbearable sensation.

"Fuck," she sighs out, a long, shuddering sound. "Just... feeling you stretching me out... God, it's..."

"Amazing?" you supply.

She nods mutely, eyes still closed, biting her lower lip. Then, slowly, she begins to move. Just a small lift of her hips, dragging your cock almost out before sinking back down again with agonizing slowness. The friction is electric, making your toes curl.

"Like that?" she whispers, eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, yes. More."

She starts to ride you properly then, finding a rhythm. Slow and deep at first, her hips rolling deliberately, learning your shape inside her, learning how to angle herself to hit just the right spots. Her hands rest on your chest, fingers splayed, feeling your heartbeat hammer against her palms. With every downward slide, her tight channel grips you, massages you, threatens your control. With every upward pull, the sensation of dragging your thick head along her sensitive walls makes you groan aloud. Her breasts sway gently with the motion.

"Mmmm... god, you feel so good," she murmurs, her hips picking up the pace slightly. "So fucking thick inside me... filling me up completely..."

She rides you with a growing confidence, her movements becoming bolder, faster. She shifts her weight, grinding down harder, experimenting with angles, a low moan escaping her lips every time she hits a particularly good spot. Sweat begins to bead on her forehead, plastering strands of dark hair to her temples. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink, her lips parted as she pants for breath. She looks wild, primal, completely lost in the act of taking you, claiming you.

"Fuck, Sohyun, you feel incredible," you gasp out, hands tightening on her hips, tilting her slightly to drive yourself even deeper. "So tight... so wet..."

"Yeah?" she pants, a triumphant grin flashing across her face. "Like this? You like how I ride you?" She increases the pace again, hips pumping faster now, slamming down onto your cock with deliberate force. Her breasts bounce more vigorously, the sight mesmerizing. "You like watching my tits bounce while I fuck your cock?"

"Yes! Fuck, yes!" you cry out, completely overwhelmed by the sight, the sound, the feeling of her riding you with such abandon.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your shoulders, riding you harder, faster, moving into a frantic, desperate rhythm. The bed starts to shake beneath you, the only sounds the wet slap of her pussy gripping your cock, her ragged pants, your answering groans. This is frenzy. Pure, raw, unadulterated need pouring out of her as she fucks you, possessively, relentlessly. Her eyes are locked on yours, fierce and unwavering, like she's daring you to look away, daring you to think of anyone else.

"Am I...?" she gasps out between frantic thrusts, her stare pinning you down. "Am I better? Better than her?"

There’s no coyness, no game-playing like Xinyu. Just raw insecurity wrapped in fierce possessiveness. She needs to know. Needs the validation. Needs to erase the ghost of the other girl.

You meet her intense gaze without flinching, hands gripping her waist tight, pulling her down harder onto your next upward thrust.

"Yes," you say, the word ripped from your throat, raw with conviction. "Fuck, yes, Sohyun. So much better. No comparison. It's always been you. Only you."

The confirmation—that she’s better, that it’s only her—fuels Sohyun like high-octane gasoline. The frantic energy shifts, solidifying into something harder, more deliberate, more dominant. She rides you with a vengeance now, hips slamming down onto your cock, grinding her clit against your pubic bone with every brutal downward thrust. Her pace is relentless, punishing, her body slick with sweat, moving like she’s trying to fuck you right through the mattress. The wet, slapping sounds fill the room, obscene and rhythmic.

"Fuck yes," she pants, head thrown back again, eyes half-lidded with ecstasy. "That's what I needed to hear. Needed you to say it." She leans forward, bracing her hands on your shoulders again, her stare burning into you. "Now give me more. Don't just lie there like a fucking doll. Touch me. Own me."

Her demand sparks through you, overriding the pleasant haze of submission. Your hands fly up to her breasts, cupping the heavy, sweat-slicked weight. They feel incredible, full and responsive. You squeeze them firmly, kneading the soft flesh, thumbs finding her nipples, still hard, aching pebbles, and rolling them roughly between your fingers.

"Ah! Fuck—yes!" Sohyun cries out, her hips stuttering in their rhythm for a beat before slamming down even harder. "Like that! Squeeze them harder! Play with my nipples while I ride your cock! Make them sore! Fuck, yes!"

You obey instantly, pinching and tweaking her nipples, pulling gently, rewarded by her sharp gasps and the way her pussy clenches impossibly tighter around your shaft. She grinds down onto you, moaning your name, lost in the dual sensations. She rides you like she owns you, like she’s branding you with every slam of her hips, every tight clench of her cunt.

Then, her eyes snap fully open, locking onto yours with a terrifying, desperate intensity. The frantic pace slows just slightly, becoming more deliberate, each thrust deeper, more meaningful.

"I need you to come," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now. Inside me."

You falter for a second, your hands stilling on her breasts. "Sohyun... wait, are you serious? We didn't... I don't have..."

"I don't fucking care!" she cuts you off, her voice raw, almost frantic. She grips your shoulders tighter, leaning down until her face is inches from yours, her breath hot and ragged against your lips. "I don't care about condoms. I don't care about anything! I need it! I need you to fill me up. Mark me. Make me yours, understand? Breed me. Right now. Cum deep inside my pussy."

Your brain whites out for a second. Breed her. The words, the raw need behind them, the sheer possessive desperation—it hits you like a physical blow, igniting a primal heat deep in your gut you didn't know existed. The idea of planting your seed deep inside her, claiming her womb…

"Fuck, Sohyun," you choke out, overwhelmed.

"Yes!" she urges, her eyes blazing. "Every day. I want you filling me up like this every single day. This pussy?" She grinds down hard, milking a groan from you. "It's yours. Only yours. No one else ever gets to touch it. No one else gets to fuck it. No one else gets to breed it. Only you. Promise me!"

"I promise," you gasp, the words ripped from you without thought, only instinct. "Only you, Sohyun. Always."

"Good," she pants, a wild, triumphant grin spreading across her face. She throws her head back again and starts riding you with renewed, almost violent frenzy. "Fuck yes! Breed your girl! Fill my womb up with your cum! Make me swell up with it! I want your baby! Fuck, put your baby inside me now!"

Every filthy word, every desperate demand, every slam of her wet cunt onto your aching cock drives you closer and closer to the edge. The friction is unbearable, her walls clenching and milking you, her words painting pictures in your head that are setting your nerves on fire. You can feel your own climax rushing towards you now, unstoppable, a tidal wave building behind your balls.

"I'm gonna... oh god, Sohyun, I'm so close!" you cry out, hips bucking up wildly beneath her.

"Me too! Fuck, yes, me too!" she screams back. "Cum with me! Cum inside me! Breed me! Breed me now!"

She rides you faster, harder, a desperate, frantic pounding as you both chase the peak. Her moans turn into high-pitched keening sounds, her body trembling violently. You feel the tell-tale clenching deep inside her, the spasms starting just as your own orgasm rips through you.

"FUCK! SOHYUN!" you roar, your body locking up as you explode deep inside her.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum pump into her womb, filling her, coating her insides just like she demanded. You feel her pussy clench violently around your cock, milking every last drop out of you, her own orgasm crashing over her in wave after wave. She continues to ride you even as you both come, slamming down onto your still-pulsing cock, drawing out the very last shuddering spurts, her own cries echoing yours in the small room. The intensity is blinding, shattering. Your eyes roll back in your head, vision whitening out completely as the pleasure finally crests and breaks, leaving you utterly spent, trembling, muscles twitching.

Sohyun collapses forward onto your chest, boneless, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps against your sweat-slick skin. Her weight is heavy, comforting, grounding. You can feel the frantic thudding of her heart against yours, feel the faint, lingering pulses deep inside her where you just emptied yourself. You wrap your arms around her trembling body, holding her tight, burying your face in her damp hair, inhaling her scent. Neither of you speaks for a long time, just clinging to each other in the aftermath, adrift in the wreckage of shared pleasure, bound together by the intensity of what just happened.

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of two bodies recovering, hearts gradually slowing from their frantic race. Finally, she lifts her head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. Her expression is soft, unguarded, the fierce possessiveness momentarily banked by sated exhaustion and something that looks overwhelmingly like love.

"I love you," she whispers, the words quiet but solid, no desperation this time, just simple, profound truth.

Your chest aches with the force of your own feelings, a wave of tenderness washing over you, so potent it almost hurts. You lift a hand, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead, your thumb tracing the curve of her eyebrow.

"I love you too, Sohyun," you murmur, the words feeling more real, more right than anything you've ever said. "So fucking much."

A slow, beautiful smile spreads across her face, reaching her eyes, making them shine. She leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s different from the frantic, claiming kisses before—this one is slow, sweet, full of affection and the dizzying relief of finally being here, together, like this. You kiss her back gently, pouring all your affection into it, letting the kiss deepen naturally, tongues tangling lazily, exploring rediscovered territory. You stay like that for a long while, just kissing, holding each other, limbs tangled, the sticky evidence of your climax cooling between her legs and inside her. The world outside her bedroom ceases to exist; there's only the warmth of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the steady beat of her heart against yours.

But even as you drift in the peaceful afterglow, your body betrays you. Deep inside her, nestled snugly in her tight, creamy pussy, your cock gives an involuntary throb. It’s still undeniably hard, thick and heavy within her, nowhere near satisfied despite the intensity of your release. Sohyun stills, her eyes widening slightly as she feels the distinct pulse deep inside her cunt. She shifts her hips experimentally, just a tiny grind, and gasps softly as your cock throbs again in response, pressing against her sensitive inner walls. She pulls back slightly, looking down between your bodies, then up at your face with bewildered amusement.

"Seriously?" she asks, one eyebrow arching. "How the hell are you still hard? I thought I killed you."

You let out a shaky laugh, tightening your arms around her waist. "Guess not." You shift your hips slightly, letting her feel the solid length still buried inside her. "It's you, Sohyun. You drive me fucking crazy. Always have."

A pleased, almost smug flush creeps up her neck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, grinning. "Seeing you like this... hearing you... knowing you want me this bad..." You shake your head. "It does things to me."

Her smile turns predatory again, that dominant spark reigniting in her eyes. "Good." She leans down, whispering against your ear, "Because I'm not done with you yet." But before she can reclaim control entirely, a surge of boldness rises in you.

"Neither am I," you murmur, and with a surge of strength you didn't know you possessed, you roll her over.

She lets out a surprised yelp as you maneuver her beneath you, ending up positioned between her legs in the classic missionary pose. The sudden shift in dynamic makes her blink, but she doesn't fight it. Instead, a curious, excited glint enters her eyes. You brace your hands on either side of her head, leaning down to capture her mouth in another deep kiss, taking charge this time, setting the pace. Your cock slides almost fully out during the roll before you sink back into her with one smooth, deep thrust.

"Fuck!" she cries out, back arching off the bed as you fill her again. "Oh my god, that feels..."

Her pussy is impossibly sensitive now, slick and creamy with the mixture of her arousal and your own cooling cum. Every slight movement sends shivers through her, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around you instinctively. The friction is insane, almost unbearable, slicker and yet somehow tighter than before. You pull back slowly, deliberately, dragging your thick shaft along her hypersensitive walls, then thrust back in deep, hitting that spot low in her belly that makes her gasp and her toes curl.

"Still feel good?" you ask.

"Y-yes! Fuck, yes!" she pants, gripping your biceps hard. "So good... it's almost too much... so sensitive now..."

"Good," you growl, starting to fuck her with a steady, driving rhythm. "I want it to be too much. I want to make you fall apart."

You fuck her hard, hips slamming against hers, driving deep with every thrust. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you even deeper, locking you in place. She meets your rhythm, hips lifting off the bed to take every inch, her head thrashing side to side on the pillows, dark hair fanning out. Her moans are louder now, higher pitched, broken sounds torn from her throat with every impact.

"Fuck! Harder! Please, harder!" she begs, completely lost to the sensation. "Right there! Oh god, oh god, yes!"

You obey, increasing the force, pounding into her relentlessly. The sound of your bodies colliding, the wet, sloppy sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her creamy cunt, fills the room. Her breasts jiggle wildly with the force of your thrusts, the sight driving you wilder. You lean down, capturing one nipple in your mouth again, sucking hard while you continue to hammer into her.

"Ah! Fuck! Yes, please—suck them! Bite them!" she cries out deliriously.

You lave the nipple, then bite down gently, just enough to make her cry out again, her pussy clenching violently around your cock. You switch sides, giving the other nipple the same rough treatment while your hips maintain their punishing rhythm. She's trembling all over now, completely overwhelmed, on the ragged edge of another climax.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum again!" she gasps, eyes rolling back slightly. "Fuck, I can't stop it!"

"Don't stop it," you command. "Come for me again, Sohyun. Let go."

You focus your thrusts, angling slightly, grinding against her G-spot relentlessly, pushing her over the edge. Her body tenses like a drawn bowstring, muscles locking up, a high, keening whine building in her throat.

"Oh FUCK! I'm—!"

Her climax hits her like a lightning strike. Her whole body convulses, legs locking tight around your waist, back arching so high off the bed only her shoulders and heels are touching. A torrent of clear, slick fluid suddenly erupts from her, soaking the front of your body, spraying onto the sheets beneath her. She's squirting, a hot, copious gush that just keeps coming as her orgasm tears through her, wave after powerful wave. The sight, the feeling of her body spasming around you, the hot spray coating your skin, the sheer, unbridled intensity of her release—it shatters your own control completely.

"FUCK! SOHYUN!" you roar, unable to hold back any longer.

You feel your own orgasm roaring up your spine, too intense, too soon after the last one, but unstoppable. You pull out at the last second, cock slapping wetly against her drenched belly, still spasming from her squirt. You brace your hands, aiming carefully, and explode all over her chest. Thick ropes of your cum spray across her collarbones, coating her full breasts, dripping down between them. Shot after shot erupts from you, hot and heavy, until you're completely drained, collapsing forward slightly, bracing your weight on your elbows, chest heaving, heart pounding like it wants to escape your ribs.

You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath, looking down at the beautiful, glorious mess you've made of her. Sohyun lies beneath you, utterly wrecked, limbs trembling, face flushed, eyes glazed and unfocused. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, coated in your thick, white seed. The sheets beneath her are soaked from her squirt. She looks debauched, thoroughly fucked, completely claimed. And she's never looked more beautiful. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"You," you whisper, "are the most beautiful girl in the world, Sohyun. Absolutely fucking perfect."

She manages a weak, trembling smile, lifting a shaky hand to cup your cheek. Her eyes finally focus on yours, filled with so much love, so much raw emotion, it steals your breath all over again. She doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. The connection between you is palpable, electric, forged in confessions and tears and sweat and cum and squirt, solidifying into something undeniable, something unbreakable, right there in the messy aftermath on her tangled sheets.

A long, shared sigh escapes both of you almost in unison. You lie down next to her, Sohyun rests her head back on your chest, her breathing still slightly ragged, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your cum-splattered chest. You stare up at the ceiling, your own mind racing, trying to process the whirlwind of confessions, the raw intensity, the spilled fluids currently cooling on both of you and the sheets. It feels surreal, like a dream you're afraid you'll wake up from.

"Holy shit," Sohyun whispers after a long silence, her tone full of dazed wonder. "That... actually happened."

You let out a shaky laugh, tightening your arms around her. "Yeah. I... I can hardly believe it either."

She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you, her expression serious now, practical thoughts cutting through the haze of pleasure.

"Hey," she starts, biting her lip slightly. "I'm... uh... gonna need to get a morning-after pill. Just... you know..." She gestures vaguely towards her lower body, where your seed still rests deep inside her. "We kinda... really overdid it on the whole... breeding thing."

A flush creeps up your neck, embarrassment mixing with the lingering thrill of her earlier demands. You nod quickly.

"Yeah," you agree, clearing your throat. "Yeah, we definitely did. Sorry, I should have... pulled out the first time too, I just... lost it."

She shakes her head, reaching out to cup your cheek gently. "Don't apologize. I told you to. I wanted you to." A small, almost shy smile touches her lips. "It was... really good. All of it."

Relief washes over you, potent and warm. "Yeah?" You meet her gaze, searching her eyes. "I thought so too. More than good. It was... everything."

She smiles fully then, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The easy affection, the simple intimacy after the storm, feels grounding. You kiss her back, pouring all your confused, overwhelming feelings into it. After a moment, she pulls back again, her expression turning thoughtful, hesitant.

"So..." she starts, tracing the line of your jaw with a fingertip. "What... what happens now? With us?"

You shift awkwardly beneath her, suddenly very aware of your nakedness, your vulnerability. This is it. The moment you’ve simultaneously dreaded and longed for.

"Well," you begin, swallowing hard, forcing yourself to meet her searching gaze. "I was kinda hoping... um..." You fumble for the words, feeling ridiculously shy after everything you just did together. "Do you... maybe... want to be my girlfriend?"

Her breath catches, her eyes widening slightly before breaking into the most brilliant, radiant smile you’ve ever seen on her face. It lights her up from the inside out.

"Yes!" she breathes, relief flooding her features. "God, yes! Of course, I do, you idiot!"

She crashes down onto you again, capturing your mouth in a fierce, joyful kiss that tastes like hope and relief and the start of something new. You kiss her back with equal fervor, laughing against her lips, pure happiness bubbling up inside you. When she finally pulls back, breathless and beaming, her expression clouds slightly again.

"Okay, good," she says, settling back against your chest, but her fingers fidget slightly. "But... what about... Xinyu?"

You swallow hard, the name like a stone dropping into the pit of your stomach. Guilt immediately floods you, chasing away some of the euphoria. You owe Xinyu honesty, even if it’s going to hurt.

"Right," you sigh. "Yeah. I... I need to talk to her. Be straight with her." You hesitate, forcing yourself to be completely honest with Sohyun now, no more secrets. "She, uh... she actually asked me out today. Like, properly. Asked me to be her boyfriend."

"Oh," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "Really? Wow, I'm surprised… What did you say?"

"I didn't accept," you say quickly, meeting her gaze earnestly. "I told her I needed time to think. I was... confused. Uncertain." You reach up, cupping her cheek, needing her to believe you. "And now I know why, Sohyun. It was never about being confused between you two. It was about me being too scared to admit what I really wanted. Who I really loved." Your thumb strokes her cheekbone. "It's you. It's always been you."

Her eyes soften, glistening slightly, and she leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Okay," she whispers. "Just... be careful, okay? When you talk to her."

"I will," you promise.

—

The fluorescent lights of the campus bathroom hum overhead, casting a sterile glare on the tiled walls. Sohyun leans over one of the sinks, splashing cool water onto her face, trying to wash away the lingering exhaustion and the slightly dazed feeling that’s followed her all day. Everything feels different now. Knowing you feel the same way, knowing you're hers, officially... it’s like the world has tilted on its axis. She pats her face dry with a rough paper towel, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes still look a little red-rimmed, her hair is messier than usual, but there’s a softness around her mouth, a lightness in her gaze that wasn't there before. She almost smiles.

The main door swings open, letting in the muffled sounds of the hallway, and Sohyun glances up automatically. Xinyu walks in, head down, scrolling intently on her phone, her usual bright energy noticeably absent. She looks... agitated. She heads towards the mirrors further down, seemingly not noticing Sohyun at first. But then she looks up, her eyes scanning the room, and freezes mid-step as her gaze lands on Sohyun. The recognition dawns instantly.

"YOU!" Xinyu finally spits out. She drops her phone onto the counter with a clatter and points a trembling finger directly at Sohyun.

A couple of other girls who were fixing their makeup quickly gather their things, exchanging wide-eyed glances before scurrying out, leaving the heavy tension simmering between just the two of them. The door clicks shut behind them, amplifying the sudden silence.

Xinyu takes a step closer, her face pale beneath her usually perfect makeup, her eyes blazing with hurt and anger. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the reason he dumped me!"

Sohyun straightens up slowly, leaning back against the cool tile, crossing her arms defensively. Her heart pounds, but she keeps her expression carefully neutral, refusing to rise to the bait immediately.

"Dumped you?" Sohyun asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. "What breakup are you talking about? As far as I know, you and he never actually had anything official to break up from."

Xinyu recoils as if slapped, offense flashing across her features. "Excuse me? We were having something! We were figuring it out, discovering each other! It was real! He kissed me, he fucked me, he was going to be mine! Until you!" she jabs her finger towards Sohyun again, voice trembling with suppressed tears. "You got in his head! You ruined it!"

A cold wave washes over Sohyun. Hearing Xinyu talk about you fucking her, even knowing it happened, still feels like a physical blow. But she pushes the hurt down, replacing it with a steely resolve.

"He was always mine," Sohyun says.

Xinyu lets out a choked, incredulous laugh. "Always yours? That's bullshit! You've known him for years, lived with him, watched him date other people, watched me flirt with him, and you never did a damn thing! You never had the guts! And now, now that I finally decided to go for it, now that I did what you were always too scared to do, now you decide to swoop in and get in the way?"

The accusation hits home, sharp and true. Sohyun flinches slightly, the guilt churning inside her. Xinyu isn't wrong about her cowardice, about her inaction for years.

"You're right," Sohyun admits quietly, dropping her gaze for a second before forcing herself to meet Xinyu's furious stare again. "You're absolutely right. That was my mistake. My biggest fucking mistake, letting fear stop me for so long." Her jaw tightens, her own fierce possessiveness surging forward. "But I finally acted. Because I wasn't going to lose him. Not to you. Not to anyone. I would never let myself lose him."

The raw conviction in Sohyun’s declaration seems to finally break something in Xinyu. Her furious facade crumbles, shoulders slumping, tears finally spilling over and tracking messy lines down her cheeks. She wipes at them angrily with the back of her hand.

"So what now?" Xinyu asks. "Are you going to make him quit the club? Tell him he can't hang out with me anymore?" The question sounds desperate, surprisingly vulnerable. "He... he still wants to be friends. And he's really important for the zine production... We need him."

Sohyun watches her cry, a flicker of unexpected pity stirring beneath her own lingering anger and possessiveness. She remembers your hesitation earlier, your insistence that Xinyu wasn't just using you. Maybe you were right. Maybe Xinyu did have genuine feelings, however tangled up they were.

"Look," Sohyun says, sighing, her tone softening slightly. "I'm not his mother. I don't tell him what to do." She shrugs, trying for nonchalance. "And I know he actually likes that stupid crafts club, for some reason."

"It's not stupid!" Xinyu snaps automatically through her tears.

"Whatever," Sohyun dismisses with a small wave of her hand. "My point is, if he wants to keep going, that's his choice. It's fine with me." She levels a steady gaze at Xinyu. "As long as you understand the boundaries. As long as you don't try anything. At all."

Xinyu sniffs, wiping her eyes again, nodding quickly. "I won't," she promises, her voice small. "I get it. I won't."

An awkward silence hangs between them. Sohyun feels a pang of something akin to regret, not for claiming you, but for the collateral damage.

"I am sorry," Sohyun says quietly, genuinely. "Sorry you got... deluded, I guess. Caught up in the middle of all this."

Xinyu offers a watery, humorless smile, shaking her head. "It's okay. My fault, really." She lets out a shaky breath. "Rule number one: don't fall for the guy who has a female best friend with obvious unresolved history with him. Never ends well, does it?" She attempts a laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. She grabs a paper towel, dabbing at her eyes, trying to pull herself together. The confrontation seems over, leaving behind only the wreckage and the uneasy truce born from shared heartbreak over the same boy.

—

Walking into the "Hands On" club room later that day feels different. There's a knot of uncertainty low in your stomach, a leftover echo of the drama, the confrontation you know happened between Sohyun and Xinyu, and your own awkward conversation looming. You push the door open tentatively. The usual creative chaos greets you—fabric scraps littering tables, the faint smell of glue and paint, half-finished projects everywhere. Several members look up as you enter, their chatter dying down for a beat as they take you in. You can practically feel them sense the lingering tension, the potential for more trouble. A silent ripple of awareness goes through the room.

Xinyu, who was overseeing someone wrestling with a sewing machine, immediately straightens up, clapping her hands together with forced brightness.

"Alright people, less gawking, more gluing!" she calls out, her usual commanding tone back in place, though maybe a little strained around the edges. "Those zine covers aren't going to embellish themselves!"

The members quickly avert their gazes, busying themselves with their tasks, pretending they weren't just bracing for round two. You take a deep breath and approach Xinyu, stopping a few feet away, hands shoved awkwardly in your pockets.

"Hey," you manage, the word coming out quieter, shyer than you intended.

She turns, offering you a small, tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hi," she replies, equally subdued.

You shift your weight, glancing around the room before forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "Look, have you thought about what I said earlier? I just... I came to see... Am I still, like... welcome here? In the club?"

"Yes, of course," she says quickly. "Obviously. You're still production lead, aren't you?"

“Yeah. Thank you. I really enjoy being part of this club. Hmm, by the way, Sohyun told me you two talked today."

Xinyu nods, fiddling with a stray thread on her perfectly coordinated velvet jacket. "Yeah. We ran into each other." A flicker of her old cattiness surfaces as she gives a small, dismissive sniff. "Still don't really get what you see in her, honestly. She's just so... plain. Basic."

"Hey," you cut in gently but firmly. "Don't start, okay?"

Xinyu immediately holds up her hands in mock surrender, though a genuine look of apology flashes in her eyes. "Sorry! Sorry. Force of habit. Old rivalries die hard, I guess." She offers a more genuine, albeit still slightly strained, smile. "Seriously though. We're glad to still have you. I'm glad. You actually get stuff done around here."

You manage a small smile back. "So... it's not going to be weird? Between us? After everything?"

She laughs, a short, sharp sound, but it holds genuine amusement this time. "Oh, it'll probably be weird for a bit," she admits honestly. "But we'll manage. I'll just have to make you work twice as hard on club duties to make up for breaking my heart."

You laugh, the sound easing more of the tension. "Okay, that's fair."

She leans against the table beside her, her posture relaxing slightly. "Look," she says, her tone turning serious again. "I meant what I said, you know. That I liked you." She avoids your gaze for a second, staring down at her perfectly manicured nails. "Okay, fine, maybe at first I was kind of just taking advantage of how nice you are to get help with lifting boxes and shit," she confesses with a wry twist of her lips. "But somewhere along the line... I actually started to fall for the sweet, reliable guy underneath all the errand-running. You're... genuinely good. Different." She sighs dramatically. "Turns out I have a weakness for dependable soft boys who blush easily."

"Xinyu..." you start, feeling a pang of guilt again. "I'm really sorry I couldn't... feel the same way."

She waves a dismissive hand, finally meeting your eyes again, her expression resigned but composed. "Eh, it's okay. Don't sweat it." She shrugs, trying for nonchalance. "Honestly? I should've known it wasn't totally there the second you hesitated when I asked you to be my boyfriend. Nobody hesitates with me." She strikes a pose, hand on her hip, chin tilted defiantly. "I mean, hello? I'm perfect."

You can't help but laugh genuinely this time. "You're right," you agree easily. "You are pretty amazing, Xinyu."

"Damn right I am," she says, grinning, the familiar confidence flowing back into her. "Clearly you just have questionable taste." She winks. "But hey, your loss. I still want to be friends though, if you're cool with that? Awkwardness aside?"

"Yeah," you say warmly. "I'd really like that." You hold out your hand uncertainly.

She looks at it for a second, then takes it, her grip firm and decisive. A handshake. A truce. A new beginning.

"Good," she says, releasing your hand and immediately pivoting back to business mode, clapping her hands together again. "Okay, Production Lead! Less standing around looking relieved, more figuring out how we're going to afford that iridescent cardstock for the spring showcase invites..."

You listen intently as she dives into project details, pulling you back into the familiar rhythm of club tasks. And just like that, things start to feel... normal again. Different, yes. Tinged with the memory of drama and hurt feelings, but manageable. Xinyu, you realize, is great. Complicated, sharp-edged, maybe even a little ruthless sometimes, but also vibrant and passionate and, in her own way, surprisingly understanding. You're genuinely glad you can still have her in your life, even if it's just as friends wrestling over glitter glue and budget spreadsheets.

—

Later that same day, you push the apartment door open, balancing two large grocery bags against your hip. You check the clock on your phone; only 6:30 PM. You’re not late. In fact, you’re early. A small, ridiculously pleased smile spreads across your face. Adulting: achieved.

Before you can even call out, Sohyun appears from her room. She’s wearing comfy lounge pants and one of your old band t-shirts that’s way too big on her, hair pulled back loosely, face free of makeup. She stops when she sees you, sees the bags, sees the time. A slow, soft smile lights up her face—the real kind, the one that reaches her eyes and makes your heart do a stupid little flip. She walks towards you, and without a word, stands on her tiptoes and presses a sweet, welcoming kiss to your lips.

"Hey," she murmurs against your mouth. "You're home early."

"Made sure of it," you reply, kissing her back gently before setting the groceries down on the counter. "Got everything on the list. Even the fancy mushrooms."

"Ooh, fancy mushrooms," she teases, peering into the bags. "Feeling ambitious tonight?"

"Tonight," you declare, pulling out flour, yeast, cheese, and various toppings, "we are making pizza. From scratch. Together."

Sohyun raises an skeptical eyebrow, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, but the fondness in her eyes gives her away. "Oh really? We are making pizza? Or I am making pizza while you try not to set the oven on fire or mistake salt for sugar again?"

You laugh, feigning offense. "Hey! I've improved. Slightly. Maybe." You grin at her. "Okay, fine. You'll be teaching me. But we're doing it together."

And so you do. You measure flour (incorrectly at first, earning a playful swat from Sohyun), knead dough (getting more on your shirt than in the bowl), chop vegetables (under her extremely close and critical supervision), and grate cheese. She patiently guides you, corrects your technique with gentle touches and exasperated sighs that don't quite hide her amusement.

There's teasing, there's flour dusted on noses, there's comfortable silence punctuated by easy chatter. It’s chaotic and messy and absolutely perfect. Gone is the sharp-edged tension that used to simmer beneath the surface, replaced by an open affection, a shared warmth that fills the small kitchen. As you slide the misshapen but lovingly topped pizzas into the oven, Sohyun wraps her arms around your waist from behind, resting her cheek against your back. You lean back into her embrace, covering her hands with yours.

"This is nice," she murmurs.

"Yeah," you agree, turning your head slightly to kiss the top of hers. "Yeah, it really is."

You eat on the couch later, cross-legged, sharing slices of slightly burnt but delicious pizza, watching some dumb movie you'll both forget by morning. Her head rests on your shoulder, your arm draped comfortably around her, fingers idly playing with a loose strand of her hair. It feels easy. Right. Like all the broken pieces, the misunderstandings, the years of unspoken feelings, have finally clicked into place, settling into this quiet, comfortable harmony. No more secrets, no more fear, no more wondering. Just this. Just you and her, finally, simply, being together. It’s not a dramatic fireworks finale, but a soft, warm glow settling over everything, promising quiet mornings and shared dinners and the simple, profound comfort of knowing you’re finally home.

[halfmouse]

Let’s take these things one at a time, and talk about them real quick.

Cheating at school: yes, people have done that since school started existing. But generally speaking, it was by doing things like copying answers from the person in front of you or having someone else do your work for you. Having a nonsense machine do your work for you is actually worse because the answers will probably be wrong. And also cheating the old-fashioned way didn’t involve stealing en masse and draining the ocean.

Unchecked internet sources: This one is pretty much the same.

Loneliness/fictional romance/fictional companions: The big difference is that it used to be fictional companions of any type required some actual imagination. Whether through kid-style imaginary friends, roleplay, or some other means, you (and possibly someone else) had to use that nugget between your ears to create scenarios and stuff. I still do this! Never will I ever NEED to ChatGPT a conversation with Timon because I’ve got a plushie to kiss and hold hands with and an actual imagination in my head. Never will I ever NEED to ChatGPT a friend because I have imaginary friends from childhood that I decided to keep around. It’s more fun, doesn’t rely on copies of someone else’s fan fiction fed to a robot without the author’s knowledge or consent, and doesn’t drain the ocean.

Artists losing their jobs: Yes, this happened before, but not on this scale. And robots weren’t copying their work and spitting it out into a soulless and horrific piece of junk and artists weren’t being replaced by those robots.

Global warming: Yes, this was happening before, but generative AI is making it worse now.

it is very cool how before AI nobody cheated at school, people weren't paranoid and getting all their info from whatever unchecked source online, nobody was lonely and trying to fill that with whatever fictional romance or companionship, artists never lost their jobs, there was no global warming or data centers the internet was just floating around on the air don't worry about it..... anyways so sad how AI ruined everything LET'S GET MORE REACTIONARY NOWWWWWWW

[leashybebes]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @setmeatopthepyre, thank you pal. determined to use my time off to make actualy progress on allying. let's have a teeny tiny glimmer of insight. buck, baby, i'm so proud.

Turns out taking things more seriously doesn't make it less fun - Buck still loves everything about the job, but he can tell that the others on his shift have a bit more time for him now that he's decided to get his head down and treat the job like the privilege Bobby told him it is. They still have fun, still have family dinners, still joke around on their down time, and sure, he's still the probie, he still did some dumb shit when he first started, and he still makes mistakes sometimes, but he can feel them warming to him, including him more, respecting him to make calls when he needs to.

It makes him feel more and more like he's landed in the right place, and getting closer with Hen and Chim and Bobby makes him feel better about the weirdness that he feels when he hangs out with Tommy, the equal weirdness when he doesn't see him for a while. Buck can't put his finger on it, because they still talk, still catch up when they can, but it feels…different. It feels weird. Buck feels…nervous almost, which is so dumb, because he's literally been in a toilet cubicle with Tommy while he sucks a stranger's dick, they've had sex, for god's sake, Buck has literally never been closer to a friend, but it almost feels like they've started over, now that Tommy's dating Derek. Like there are suddenly rules and Buck isn't quite sure what they are.

He's determined to push through the weirdness, though, because they've got a good friendship going. So they're supposed to be getting beers after their shifts and Buck's on his way out of the station when his phone buzzes with a message.

So, don't panic. I'm in the hospital. Work stuff. I'll be fine, but need a rain check. Call you later.

Buck reads the message twice and carefully shoves down the brutal spike of anxiety before he hits call.

no pressure tags for @bidisasterevankinard, @ambernotember, @exhaustedpirate and anyone else who has goodies to share

[clairewritesfanfics]

Prisoner!Mark Grayson Origin

Pairing: Prisoner!Invincible x Reader

author's note: this was fun to write.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mild gore, violence, mild swearing

His cell was cleaner than prisons on Earth. The food was also better, not good, but at least it didn't look pre-chewed. 

When he wasn't eating or doing hard labor, he spent his day working out and reading. His dad snuck him a few books from Earth whenever he visited, as though that would make up for his shitty parenting, like he wasn't the one who beat up his own son and threw him in this godforsaken place.

Mark did give him credit though, for actually returning here every week and trying to initiate small talk. Nolan liked to share news about how fast the Empire was growing and how his newest incubator just gave birth to Mark's "brother." Mark had dozens of brothers, a few sisters, too. But he didn't care. Never bothered to ask for their names. Never even responded to his sperm donor.

He only cared about the books, and, during the rare times Nolan mentioned it, Earth.

Mark had no affection left for that ball of dirt, only for one person it housed.

But Nolan never brought you up and Mark didn't dare to say your name. Even during his most desperate moments, those times that he wanted to know that you were okay, and if not, at least surviving. Because he wasn't going to risk your life by reminding his imprisoners how much he treasures you.

Viltrumites see attachment as weakness. And despite his many so-called lovers, Nolan saw these fleeting attachments as a fun bonus, but ultimately meaningless. Even now, the only reason he persisted with his firstborn was purely out of ego. If he couldn't convince his progeny to serve the Empire then they were both worthless.

The Viltrumites do not believe in romantic love, but value propagation.

A tyranny like theirs would not hesitate to use you to get him to do their bidding. Even worse, they would probably just kill you to send a message: “There is no room for weak blood in our eternal Empire.”

It was Mark's fault. You used to catch him brooding, and would kiss and hug him, telling him that he's wrong. 

But it was all his fault. He couldn't save you in time.

To this day he could still hear your screams. Everytime he looked down at his pallid hands he could see your blood stain his palms. Some hero he was.

He couldn't even protect the most important person in his life. 

At least Viltrum, cold as it was, did not believe in waste. Mark knew you, you were a hopeful person, but also a pragmatic one. You wouldn't have joined the resistance. You would have kept your head low and stayed hidden. You just needed to survive, he repeated to himself. Both of you needed to survive.

***

Mark loved sleeping, especially since he only had four hours every night before those eardrum-wrecking alarms forced him to his feet.

He treasured those four hours. Not just for the physical rest but also because he saw you in his dreams. In the sanctuary of his mind, it was safe and he was free to love you. In his dreams, he was back on Earth, back in that one-bedroom apartment you two saved for, holding you in his arms while he hovered and twirled, waltzing together while the moonlight shone through the kitchen windows. 

But between Nolan snapping after months of silence then beating him up so badly his skull cracked and the daily sessions of electroconvulsive torture, he started losing things. Small things at first, like his sense of taste. Food was weird for him now. Without flavor, eating meals felt like chewing wet cardboard. It was annoying, but it was minor.

Then he noticed the other stuff. His hair–the wardens shaved off most of it before administering the shocks, but not a single strand grew back. His skin was pinker too, like that weird rosy complexion babies have when they’re fresh out of the womb, but there was nothing cute about Mark. 

It sucked looking like a hulking, hairless monster–actually, he hated it, but he could learn to deal with it. What he couldn’t handle was what the torture did to his brain. 

When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t see you anymore. Even when he tried his best, pounded his temples, he couldn’t recall anything solid about you. 

“I can’t remember her face,” he confessed to the only friend he made on this asteroid. “Not her hair or her eyes or her voice. I can’t–I can’t see her, Allen!” Mark keeled over the precious ores they were supposed to be harvesting.

His friend, a giant orange cyclops, grabbed his shoulders and glanced around, hoping that none of the wardens caught them talking instead of working. “Calm down.”

“No, no, no! You don’t–I can’t–I can’t forget about her, she’s everything to me. I can’t lose her–and oh, god, what if I don’t return in time? What if I don’t save her? What if I’m too late again? No, no, no…” 

“Okay. Okay, buddy, I get it.” 

***

He and Allen got separated two lightyears ago when the escape pod they stole got shot down. Mark vowed to pour a bottle for his friend, but he couldn’t stop moving. There was no looking back.

You were the only thing keeping him alive now. 

Using all of his energy, he flew straight for Earth, avoiding Viltrumite detection. It was actually quite easy compared to stealthing his way out of prison–there were fewer of the scum here.

He didn’t want to think about how he should’ve felt more devastation for the major cities that have been razed to the ground, how his old self would have fallen apart if he saw the collapsed Golden Gate Bridge and destroyed Lady Liberty. He no longer cared. Only you occupied his heart. 

Much to his relief, your neighborhood remained mostly intact. There were a few humans walking down the street. Everyone looked thinner, more haggard. More afraid.

He ignored them and found your kitchen window. He stayed in the air, floating as he thought about what to do now. It’s been… actually he isn’t sure.

Time was weird without the rising and setting sun to keep track. He knows that it has to be a year at least. 

At least.

Mark touched the window pane. His reflection stared back at him. Bald. Pink. Engorged veins and fried nerves infected every part of him like ugly, overgrown vines. 

Even if you were alive, would you remember him? Would you accept him? He didn’t know which would be better. Or worse. 

It would hurt if you didn’t remember him anymore. But if you did remember, if you still carried those memories from a happier time, and saw what he has become, and then turned him away–

He closed his fist.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. It would be better to stay as the handsome and charming ghost of your past. 

“Mark?”

His eyes widened, mirroring yours behind the glass. 

Your fingers clumsily worked the latch and pushed open the window, whispering his name again like a prayer.

“I knew you were alive! I knew it,” you cried, reaching out for him. 

He flinched and you reluctantly pulled back.

“Mark?”

His throat was dry. “I can’t believe you recognize me.”

“Of course, dummy.” You gave him a teary smile. “I’d know that kicked puppy expression anywhere. Now come inside before someone sees you.”

He hesitated and you joked, “Don’t make me drag you by the collar.”

Finally, he cracked the smallest smile and flew in. In a single motion, you shut the window, pulled the curtains and threw your arms around him. You rubbed your nose into his chest, smelling like the sun. “Tell me this is real, that I’m not dreaming right now.”

Mark didn’t return the hug immediately, he simply stood there, because if this was a dream then he was too afraid that one move would mean waking up. 

Two minutes passed and you still didn’t let go, so he finally wrapped his arms over your shoulders. 

“You’re finally home.”

He pressed his lips on the top of your head. “I’m home.”

You quivered under him, fat tears wetting his shirt. 

He palmed your cheek and gently raised your face to his. There were more lines on your forehead, darker circles around your eyes, but you were still the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. 

“I missed you, Mark.”

“I missed you, too, angel.” He grabbed both cheeks, bending down until his forehead touched yours. “You were the only thing I thought about everyday, you kept me sane. You gave me hope.” He thought about it–dying in that over-sanitized prison cell. He fantasized about how he was going to do it, too. He would’ve picked a fight with one of the guards. His father’s kind prided themselves for their cold logic, but the truth was that they were children wearing adult bodies, they were temperamental and prideful. It would have been all too easy to rile them enough to slaughter him. 

You cut off his thoughts with a desperate plea, “Promise me you will never leave me again.”

“I promise.”

“So you will stay with me? Forever?”

“Of course–”

Your arms tightened around him. “So don’t go. Don’t leave me, Mark!”

“Angel–”

“You can’t go. You promised we’d be together forever! How could you leave me? How could you–”

His ears rang. 

“Mark–

Mark Grayson.”

He blinked several times. He wasn’t in your kitchen anymore. No. That’s not right. 

He was never in your kitchen in the first place, because when he returned to Earth your building was a mountain of debris. 

He should have noticed immediately–

“Are you back with me now?” Angstrom Levy chuckled as Mark straightened his back.

He glanced at the wheelchair he dug up from the rubble. One of its wheels was missing and some of the metal parts were bent in the wrong direction. It was the wheelchair he painted in your favorite color, even as he struggled to recall your face, he never forgot how he felt when you smiled, the pure joy when you saw his gift. 

Mark touched the empty seat. The fabric was burnt but otherwise intact. “I don’t believe you.”

Angstrom smirked. “You don’t have to take my word for it, but surely, despite everything, you would believe your own father’s words.”

Mark’s hand froze. No.

He searched his memories, all those pointless conversations with Nolan–

“You’re too weak, son. Emotionally, I mean. Physically, you have great potential, I’m sure you can even surpass me.”

Mark said nothing. He ignored his father’s pacing around the cell and continued focusing on the floor.

Nolan sighed. “I figured you’d be like this.” He stopped walking and knelt down in front of his son. 

He stuck out his arm, fist clutching onto something. “One day, Mark, one day you will understand, it’s okay to have fun, but our future does not have room for broken things. You will thank me for this.” His knuckles unfurled. On his palm was a single, severed finger wearing a ring.

–the shattered fragments of his mind rearranged themselves and Mark fell to his knees and threw up.

“She’s dead, but she isn't gone. You can still get her back.” There was almost a trace of pity in Angstrom’s tone, but his malice outweighed any sympathy as he continued, “I can help you get her back, a version who isn’t broken–”

“She’s not broken!” Mark screamed, voice hoarse and angry. He panted and looked back at the wheelchair. “She’s…” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and said, “She was perfect.” 

author's note: my attempt at the "unreliable narrator," what do you think??

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Other Origins: No Goggles!Invincible Sinister!Invincible Mohawk!Invincible

[galactic-rhea]

ok but can i say how much i love your profile banner. like, besides being hillarious it also feels like, idk, an acknowledgement that anidala/vaderdala/etc is by no means perfect. it isn't. there's definitely some unhealthy behaviors (tho i'm no psychologist), but it's not irredeemable or intensly toxic. with some work (and a universe that doesnt hate them, seriously) they could be like, THE couple. I mean they kinda already are to me... couple goals. minus the infanticide.

Snskdja i think you need to see the full comic

(My partner drew it for me!)

They're pretty much mutually obssesed and codependent, their whole deal is that they bonded over trauma. These were two kids forced to grow fast and carry responsabilities beyond comprehension, in extreme danger and away from home and family, in circumstances where they weren't allowed to grow any kind of normal way of coping, and very lonely; so there isn't anything normal about them and honestly they don't need to be because they fit perfectly what the narrative needs of them, which is Space Romeo and Juliet with magic and laser guns and swords thrown around.

Their whole love story started because they both are deeply scarred and damaged individuals who were dehumanized in different ways but found solace in each other and their similar personalities, and because of their circumstances, they developed that extreme obssesion that became a brand for them and they hadn't much of a room to actually work a more normal relationship

Usually discussions about wether a ship is toxic or not (which is kinda a buzzword at this point, not pointing at you, anon! But i mean the general public, some ppl heard it once and never dropped it) are kinda reductive because it more often than not ends in a very White and black approach to the text and a very 'eh' conclusion, especially in cheesy and camp movies like SW because of course they aren't normal nor they cope on the correct ways, there wouldn't be story or much of a interesting aspect going on! Their devotion is insane and fantastical and closer to a greek myth or a Shakespeare tragedy than many of the other aspects in SW (like the politics) and they do have a positive impact on the other, and that's what's fun about it; there's no much point of comparison in real world because it simply can't be compared 1:1, but they're fun to analyze regardless because of how much of a compelling characters they are! And yet they can be very simple, narratively their concept isn't hard to grasp but you can dig so much about them with what little we have (particularly Padme has very little screentime compared to other characters, but there's still a lot to infer about her).

What's also fun about Anidala is that because SW is actually about love conquers all and all of that cheesy stuff, is also at the center of the whole story and through Luke it gets proven correct, Anidala as a relationship haunts the narrative and there's some gothic kinda vibes to it that I love. Both Anakin and Padme as characters come with SO MUCH to unpack, and so many flaws, and I have joked before that they lowkey match like puzzle pieces in such a way that they're mostly able to water down their issues, but that if they were to date someone who's more normal? It would be over, lmao.

(Now, Vaderdala, or at least my Vaderdala does take the insanity to a whole different league, theyre particularly freaky and evil in the empress padme AU lmao)

Alas, sorry for the rambling! I just love them!

[diarinn]

faster fingers

content : nagi seishiro x gn!reader, fluff, sfw, pjsk mention

a/n : first fic on this acc :x

IN NORMAL CASES, after a long day of practice Nagi would be met with the sweet sound of your voice echoing throughout the apartment, giving him a fuzzy feeling inside of him. Today though, there was nobody calling out to him when he walked through the door.

The only thing to be heard was the sound of music and tapping coming from the living room. Sliding off his shoes without placing them on the rack near the door, Nagi walks into the living room to see you moving your thumbs wildly on your phone screen.

Your back was facing him, leaning on the sofa's armrest with the only thing staring back at him was your screen, a bar steadily increasing at the top of your screen.

“What’re you playing?” Nagi asks, bending down slightly to get a better look at your screen. The sudden sound of his voice snaps you out of your trance, your phone slipping out of your hands. "Oh, did I make you lose? Whoops."

Huffing out a dramatic sigh, you tap the top right corner of your screen pausing the notes swiftly passing in along with the pause of the music. "Nothing too bad, just lost my combo for a song," you reply as Nagi casually falls onto the couch, "How was practice?"

"Same stuff as last time," he grumbles into the cushion, the sound of his muffled voice earning a small chuckle from you. "Can I try?" He lifts his head up to look at you.

"Try what?"

"The game you were playing just now, I wanna try," mimicking the swift thumb movements you were doing earlier. You smiled at how adorable he looked before exiting the song you were just playing and going into the song menu.

"Here, you can choose what song you want to play," you pat the spot closer to you before offering the phone to him. Unceremoniously pushing himself closer to you, Nagi readjusts himself to be laying on your lap and taking your phone to see the song choices.

Nagi scrolls through the songs, listening to each for a few seconds before going to a new one, "I recognize some of these." You hum at his words before he eventually settles on a song that you haven't attempted playing yet, "What level do you typically play these at?"

"Hard or expert mode, I can usually do songs that are level twenty-five max," you point to the number next to the song, which was currently level twenty-three hard mode.

Nodding at your words, Nagi chooses expert mode and immediately starts it before you can butt in, "Nagi! The songs level thirty! You're gonna die!" You say, gently tugging at the back strands of his hair.

"Nah, I'd win."

"Don't quote Gojo on me you bastard-"

You cut your own words off before you can finish, eyes immediately attached to how fast Nagi is able to tap the notes on time, not missing a single beat and knowing what to do when a flick came up. Even when it approached the especially hard parts that all players dreaded, Nagi was able to full combo the entire song at 11.3 speed.

"That was fun," was all he said cracking his two thumbs at the same time before handing you back your phone. Ruffling his hair, you didn't know if you felt immense jealousy or amazed at how easy Nagi made it seem to clear a level thirty song.

As you take back your phone, Nagi opts to turnover onto his stomach and wrap his arms around your torso instead of his original position. Staring at Hatsune Miku posing beside the big letters saying 'FULL COMBO!' in disbelief, you pinch Nagi's cheeks.

"Ow," he grumbled half-heartedly, slowly blinking up at you.

"You're so annoying Nagi, y'know that?"

"What did I do?" He nuzzles into your tummy as you play with his hair.

"I hate geniuses," you tussle the ends of his white strands.

"Stay mad that I have faster fingers than you." His words promptly earn a flick on the forehead from you.

© diarinn 2025 : please do not plagiarize, repost, or use my works for ai, thank you.

[yoiisa]

HIHI SOFIEE!! I wanted to make a request for Sakura Haruka X fem!reader (or gn!reader if you prefer) from Wind breaker.

So we all know Sakura is INCREDIBLY shy at anything slightly romantic and it goes without saying then when he enters a romantic relationship he'd be SO damn nervous and it'd take like a long ass time for him to initiate anything 💔 His s/o would probably be taking most of the first steps in their relationship.

So how about a reader who likes to tease Sakura and is pretty confident when initiating stuff but on the rare few times Sakura's the one initiating anything, they get SOO flustered its exactly like Sakura😋 And although they LOVE when Sakura's taking the lead they're too shy to say anything. The first time Sakura kisses them before they do, they almost faint from too much blood rushing to their head 💔

I will follow u home and order food for u if u write this 🙏🙏 Thank you for reading 😝

mwahaha i love writing chaotic reader fics more than anything, it's so much fun when they have actual personalities ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

➜ the idea that sakura haruka had a crush on you was first brought up to you by suo, who lives for the drama ➜ as a result of this newfound information, you take notice of sakura's behavior around you more frequently and see that suo was in fact telling the truth ➜ sakura blushes more easily around you, he always tries to keep distance between you two but still sends glances your way constantly, and his soft smiles are mostly reserved primarily for you ➜ sakura does have a crush on you ➜ what transpires is the romantic cat and mouse game of the century. after all, you also live for the drama ➜ due to his romantic sensor, sakura realizes that you know his feelings very quickly, since you start flirting with him a lot ➜ you play with his hair, you stare intently into his eyes whenever he talks to you, you purposefully brush your fingers against his whenever you get a chance to ➜ he can't stand. although he knows in the back of his mind that you're not the kinda person to do this, he can't help but feel like all your flirtations are just a way to mess with him, and you're not being serious. trauma! am i right? ➜ so to get even, he starts trying to be more bold around you ➜ he brings you small presents- trinkets he thinks you might like- and he stops trying to distant himself from you all the time. he speaks more freely to you, and brings you food a lot more now ➜ when you start acting like him, his fears of you being disingenuous are quelled, and he realizes that you do like him a lot actually ➜ it still takes some work on both of your parts to get together, but by the time it happens, suo's thirst for drama is quelled ➜ and sakura couldn't be happier to have you on his arm, even if he's a blushing mess through a lot of it

The last time you spoke to Sakura was a few days ago. He did something that spooked you so bad that you were constantly on edge. You couldn't fathom even leaving your bedroom, you were so embarrassed, but your mom still forced you out of the house every day for school. What was it that Sakura did? Tried to hold your hand. (Oh the horror!) His hand was so gentle and warm! Your felt the tiny calluses against your skin, and his fingers squeezed your skin as he closed his fingers around your hand. "W-w-what are you doing?!" you asked, your voice high pitched and squeaky. "What was that?!" Sakura blinked at you, his face going pale as you ripped your hand out of his. Suddenly, it became bright red and he shouts, "Well I . . . I- I don't know! You've been brushing your hand against mine all the time and playing with my fingers! I thought . . . I figured I'd just hold it! It's obvious you wanted me to!" You're affronted. "No I did not!" "Did too!" "Did not!" "Go away Sakura!" and you ran all the way back home. Now, you were running your hand through your hair as you walked to school, mulling over how to face Sakura after that fiasco. Should you apologize? He was right after all, you were always playing with his hands, and his hair and- You get snapped out of your thoughts as someone gets shoved in front of you. You stare down at the boy, before he straightens up and your brain shortcircuits. Sakura. "Hurry up and talk to her, we have work to do." You peer around the corner and see Kaji standing there, his hands in his pockets and his headphones around his neck, watching the two of you with an intense annoyance. Behind the white haired boy is Nirei with an exhasperated smile on his face and his hands up, and Suo with a shit eating smirk. That pirate bastard, he started all of this in the first pla- "Look," Sakura starts. You divert your attention back to him, and your heart speeds as you see how cute he looks. His cheeks are pink and his pupils dilated. In his amber eye, the glow is particularly noticeable and your heart squeezes inside your chest. He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. "You and I like each other. And don't even try to deny it because Suo already told me everything!" That fucking- You gasp softly as Sakura takes you hand in his. Warm, soft . . . He stares deep into your eyes and says deeply, "So . . . can we just cute the bullshit," his voice becomes deeper and quieter, so you have to lean in to hear him, "and date?" He's so boyish right now, the charm sending your brain reeling and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. After a few moments of silence, you manage, "Y-yeah. Let's just date." When he meets your eyes, you smile and say quietly, "Sorry for teasing you so much." He sighs and shakes his head, "It's fine . . . don't worry about-" "Alright enough. Let's go," Kaji says, grabbing Sakura by the back of his collar and dragging him away with the rest of the furin boys. You can hear Sakura yowling like a cat at how Kaji ruined the moment, and it's so adorable you can't help but giggle. That's your man now, after all.

A/N: Sakura definitely gets the worst cuteness aggression in the world. My pretty little baby!

[stars-obsession-pit]

Try this prompt

https://www.tumblr.com/rottingghosty/777731547603369984/the-realms-pr-dc-x-dp?source=share

I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea what this is that i’ve written. It originally stemmed from one singular idea for an in-universe reply post by a character, but now it’s… whatever this is. So uh… yeah.

Also I spent way too long coming up with “realistic-ish” screen names for these characters just kinda for fun despite the fact that it’s entirely pointless. If any are overlapping with real usernames, it’s purely a coincidence

…and then it sat in my drafts for a long time until i decided to post it now to clear it out

Danny hadn’t expected his Phantom social media account to become that popular.

But even more so than that he especially hadn’t expected the amount of arguing it would generate.

| replying to @\GoGoGhoul

| > my @ is not a Homestuck reference!! @\ectobiologydude

Dumb Fuck. ghosts are imprints of emotion, no shit they resemble them! Mimicry =/= sentience! I bet you think your roomba is sentient too

| replying to \@ectobiologydude

| > #1 Zatanna Fangirl @\magicalgalpalz

Okay first of all how dare you besmirch the good name of Roombas they are perfect.

But also… by that metric, how do you know *humans* are sentient? You can’t see their minds either. At some point you just gotta accept that things that *appear* sentient are good enough.

| replying to \@magicalgalpalz

| > my @ is not a Homestuck reference!! @\ectobiologydude

[meme image: “when I’m in a missing the point competition and the opponent is you”]

| replying to \@magicalgalpalz

| > my @ is not a Homestuck reference!! @\ectobiologydude

Where the fuck did I say that we’re just assuming they’re nonsentient for no reason?

There are actual scientific studies, such as https://www.giw.gov/research/… or heck here’s one from Amity itself: http://fentonworks.com/files/…

| replying to @\ectobiologydude

| > S beve @\idkag00dname

Oh yeah, because the government can always be trusted to tell the truth about things that benefit them and random individuals are never crackpots.

| replying to @\ectobiologydude

| > Phantom’s #2* fan @\ImNumberKwan

Hey man, I guess you might not have heard, but the Fentons rescinded that study.

> 🛏️ 🛏️ノ( º _ ºノ) @\debunkedbed

Why are so many people treating the # PhantomsGhosts thing like it’s real?? It’s obviously just CGI. Well done CGI, sure, but like come on y’all…

| replying to @\debunkedbed

| > a single lovingly 3d modeled cube @\brickeeeeeeee

Dude, do you have any idea how hard accurately lighting transparent stuff is? If this is CGI, I’d sell my left kidney to get whatever computer that was able to render it in a reasonable time frame

| replying to @\brickeeeeeeee

| > 🛏️ 🛏️ノ( º _ ºノ) @\debunkedbed

Oh and you know what accurately lit ghosts would look like? As long as it isn’t blatantly wrong, any way of doing it would feel equally plausible.

It’s honestly pretty genius. Heck, even their floatiness is beneficial for hiding animation errors!

| replying to @\debunkedbed

| > Phantom’s #1 fan @\DashingBaxter

@\debunkedbed @\brickeeeeeeee PHANTOM IS NOT FAKE!!!

@\OGPhantom back me up here!

> 🖥️ 🐛 @\wellwornworms

Hey does anyone else think it’s weird that Amity Park—and especially @\RealFentonWorks—hated ghosts for a while but suddenly came crawling out of the woodwork to defend them?

| replying to @\wellwornworms

| > NAME @\NAME

That’s what I’ve been saying!! Obviously they’ve all been overshadowed! That’s why the GIW is more important than ever!!!

| replying to @\NAME

| > Fenton Works Official @\RealFentonWorks

I assure you, we’re not overshadowed! In fact, our patented Specter Deflector™ (available now for purchase through our website) is able to protect people from ghostly attacks such as overshadowing!

| replying to @\RealFentonWorks

| > NAME @\NAME

THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT SOMEONE OVERSHADOWED WOULD SAY!

[enokito]

Key | Back to Basics

I still don’t know how to format on tumblr so I’m basically just copying the way Saiint does it except also I’m on my phone

Inspired by her post on what kind of small sentimental items Ken might like to keep in their pockets. I like physical security pen-testing content, therefore my Kenadian operates somewhere in between irl security bypass strategies (slipping latches, picking locks, copying keys) and minecraft escapist tech.

WC: 715 | divider

First of all, Kenadian doesn’t consider himself a very sentimental person. He’s practical above all else, and has to be – he’s an escapist, after all, and the first part of escaping involves being (at least nominally) imprisoned. He’s honed himself, like a blade, to be excellent at this one particular thing, and so he sheds all excess like water, in favor of absolute practicality. An earring can get ripped out during a particularly tricky crawl glitch or pearl clip, a necklace can get caught on something and strangle or garrote him, anything reflective can catch a glimmer of light directly into a guard’s eye and get him caught.

Second of all, items can be lost or stolen even more easily than memories, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it. The idea of coming home and feeling unfamiliar walls closing in on him, the idea of seeing a photograph of himself with his friends, and not being able to recognize any of the faces (not even his own)…

Ken avoids stuff that freaks him out, and part of honing himself like a blade means that he operates on a hair trigger. And either way he prefers his life of transience, hopping from place to place, keeping small bases knowing that they’re impermanent, passing out on a friend’s couch after a few days of going non-stop. It’s fun, he loves adventure and playing with danger, and he loves narrowly slipping through to the other side and showing up at Avatar’s place unexpectedly. Therefore, Avatar is the one with his prison escape speedrun times framed on his wall; Wato is the one with the massive folder of all his escape room blueprints, Jammin’s got a pile of his laundry at her place even though he basically wears the same hoodie and black work pants every day.

But the carabiner clipped to his belt loop to hang at his hip, a matte steel gray and perfectly innocuous, is a gift from Wifies. The keyed-alike group set of keys he still uses are from Wato and his lockpicks are from Avatar, his under door tool is from Tundra and his traveler’s hook is from Void, his RFID badges were all printed and programmed by Maximum. He even still has the pair of binoculars Cory gave him while they were together, though he doesn’t use them anymore, and has gone back to just lowering his FOV or using optifine zoom. Jammin is also more of a builder than an escape artist, but he just ends up with more dresses and skirts and high socks whenever he stays the night with her, which he’s not gonna complain about.

The point is, his closest friends catch on to what kind of items have a chance of making it into his everyday carry packs, and gift him accordingly (if Parrot catches on one of these days, he is willing to finally get rid of those binoculars in favor of a spyglass).

When he’s in the zone, the pieces of a puzzle forcing everything else out of his brain, or when he’s on really good pace for a speedrun of some gauntlet or obstacle course, or holding his breath against the wall as guards make their rounds less than a meter away, Kenadian doesn’t need to be reminded of his friends. Would really prefer not to be distracted, in fact, since a single lapse in focus could get him caught or force him to reset the room entirely. But he’s also not mad when he notices the nail polish chipping off his fingers and realizes he hasn’t talked to another person in way too long.

He might not keep a permanent residence of his own, but that means “coming home” can also mean greeting Wifies with a peck on the cheek and begging Wato to mend a tear in his hoodie from when it got caught on some dripstone, a mug of tea at Seawatt’s kitchen counter, seeing friends who don’t mind getting woken up in the middle of the night by Ken’s arrival at their back door. Ken belongs to himself before anybody else, won’t change who he is even with handcuffs around his wrists and a netherite ax held to his throat, but the people who love him don’t demand him to.

[arcticwolf144]

Harold Fry show notes

Disclaimer: this WILL contain quite significant spoilers if you don’t already know the show beware. But at the same time I also don’t explain the plot. So…it’s a mess

This will also be rather Jack Wolfe heavy but I make no pretences as to why I went to see this in the first place

- Show opens with Jack (the Balladeer) standing over Harold. They have the flower crown and the baggy knit sweater that you see in the curtain call pics and a guitar. He opens with a ballad and is introduced as the narrator or at least a figure that breaks the fourth wall and observes the story and sings it like a minstrel would

- The Balladeer also leads the ensemble for this song and there’s some very cool choreography. Not complex but very effective

- The whole opening is very Midsummer Night’s Dream vibes

- To quote an elderly lady I heard in the foyer after the show Jack is “absolutely mesmerising” and I agree. Especially in this opening number his stage presence was so strong and his movements so fluid it was incredible I genuinely cannot put it into words or explain it it was just nuts

- Main plot then begins with Harold starting his walk, and the Balladeer going along with him but at this point (other than some ensemble choreo, set rearranging etc.) no one acknowledges or interacts with him so he appears to be for the sake of the audience

- Also the guitar and the falsetto and the folk music vibes Jack Wolfe Orpheus WHEN???

- The little dog puppet that appears is ADORABLE. Maybe I’m just a wuss but omg it doesn’t even have to be a real dog for me to melt. Kudos to the puppeteer because there wasn’t a single moment where that dog was stationary and not doing doggy stuff (at one point it was just gnawing on Tarinn’s shoe and it was so sweet)

- Harold meets some interesting characters along the way and there’s some fun songs

- He also seems to deteriorate little by little, and starts telling stories about his son who he has “failed” - how he ran into the sea one time and had to be rescued, how he went to Cambridge Uni etc.

- Harold’s wife Maureen feels incredibly betrayed that he has left, and through their phone conversations we see the strain in their marriage that seems to have been there a long time

- Sister Philomena’s solo was so so beautiful

- Towards the end of act 1 another character called Wilf appears and asks to join Harold on his “pilgrimage”. He’s played by Tarinn Callender who was fantastic. Has such big, warm stage presence if that makes sense. He’s so funny and brings so much heart to the scenes

- At this point, the Balladeer suddenly flips, gets incredibly agitated and starts to directly try and talk to Harold to shut down the idea. When Harold ignores him and allows Wilf to join, the Balladeer literally goes to punch something (just hitting the air because stage safety we don’t want Jack breaking a knuckle or something) and genuinely roars with anger. Both characters hear this but pass it off as a fox

- Like huh, not just an omniscient narrator then that’s a bit funky

- Also, all through this role is the most aggressive, angry acting I’ve seen Jack do

- The Balladeer disappears

- More people come to join Harold’s journey and there’s some lovely joyful ensemble work of them all having fun together

- Midway through, the Balladeer appears again but this time on top of the barrels at the back of the stage so looming over the scene. He’s now wearing a tank top and carrying a Cambridge college scarf, and starts off crouching (the flower crown however stays on for the whole show)

- He starts to sing to Harold but the whole vocal style has changed from folky mix and falsetto to very chest-dominant and forceful. He fully turns on him, standing over the whole scene, putting on his scarf and becoming incredibly domineering and quite aggressive. Through the song he climbs down to the stage, whirls through the dancers and lunges at Harold in what kind of looks like a hug but is more like a tackle or a headlock. Harold looks like he’s choking. The Balladeer then flings himself away from him, drops his scarf into Harold’s hands and bolts off stage to Harold yelling after him and revealing that this is his son David

- End of Act 1

- I have explained this bit very badly but I’d say listen to the audio that someone was kind enough to post at the start of the week to get a sense of it it was SO effective the way the whole character changes

- Act 2 opens with the walk continuing, and Harold enjoying the company of the people with him, but also becoming increasingly troubled by flashbacks of previous interactions with his son

- Rather than being onstage the whole time like in Act 1, David now only appears at these moments. He’s now dressed in black with his Cambridge scarf, and at one point his graduation robe

- Jack’s dialogue is so well delivered the raw emotion in their performance aaaaaaa

- Harold’s wife Maureen sings a lovely solo reminiscing about how they met, and her confusion over how their marriage has turned out and whether she made the right decision to stay. During this two ensemble members take the roles of their younger selves meeting at a barn dance and it is so romantic and sweet

- Upon finding Wilf holding a packet of pills, Harold is launched into a flashback of a conversation with David, six months out of Cambridge, living at home and taking drugs. Throughout their interaction David is snide and taunting, mocking his father for being less intelligent than him, but gradually becoming more and more agitated. Eventually he breaks down completely, launches himself sobbing at Harold yelling at him to “fucking help me”, grabs him in the same way he did at the end of act 1. Harold pushes him away and he falls onto the floor, then flees offstage

- Wilf is understandably freaked out, reveals that the pills are for hayfever and is so betrayed that Harold would think he would relapse into drug use that he leaves

- Harold decides to leave the group and continue on his own

- He gets caught in a storm where David appears again, this time at the top of a large iron staircase, again looming over him. He launches into a song about all the ways Harold let him down, gradually descending down the staircase towards him

- Ensemble members hitting the stage with huge black feather beaters to mimic thunder was so effective

- Another flashback in which Harold and Maureen are frantically yelling to each other that they can’t find David. He isn’t anywhere in the house. Harold calls out for him and the scarf falls from the ceiling to land on the floor. Maureen breaks down and runs offstage cradling it

- Harold is now completely falling apart. He goes into a cafe sobbing and telling the people there that he wants his son. While he’s there he writes a letter to the girl working in the garage who inspired him to begin his walk. In it he confesses that David didn’t simply leave as he has previously said, but committed suicide. This destroyed his and Maureen’s marriage and he feels he can never come back from it. This performance by Mark Addy was absolutely gut wrenching and the lyrics for this song are so unbelievably heartbreaking

- “It’s the worst thing I have ever seen, and the first thing I see when I dream, so I don’t do much sleeping now, I just keep on wondering how I lost the only thing I can’t replace” ouch?????

- The girl brings the letter to Maureen and they have this lovely heartfelt conversation

- Harold completes his walk and says goodbye to his old friend. It was lovely how they had left such a mark on each other’s lives even though they only knew each other for a brief time and turned to each other when they hit the lowest point in their lives

- Harold sits down on the beach with David (now back in his Balladeer costume with the guitar). They have a short conversation and seem more at peace. Harold talks about how far he’s come, and David admits that he’s proud of him

- Maureen then joins Harold, having driven up (leaving the house for the first time since David’s death) to find him. They talk and resolve to move forward together

- During the final song they have a really sweet moment together, reminiscing about how they first met and paddling in the sea together

- The Balladeer leads the final song again, now much softer and friendlier

- Jack’s portrayal of David in this kind of reminded me of Aaron Tveit’s Gabe which was super interesting. There’s none of Jack’s Gabe’s insecurity, just raw anger, vengefulness and power. It was so cool seeing both performances in one day and how different Jack’s energy was for each

[sam-keeper]

Hey Look At This Comic: The Property of Hate

I don't know if any form of comics is as love with wild digital experimentation as webcomics. while even indie print comics often feel like they're opting for a more traditional and coherent look, webcomics feel like the place to be if you want people furiously twiddling the knobs and dials to see how far the machine can be pushed aesthetically. a lot of the boldest and most beautiful hypercomic experiments along these lines--stuff like NAWLZ and A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible--probably aren't anything like household names anymore, but it feels like that spirit is alive and well in contemporary webcomics.

like just take a gander at the above pages from The Property of Hate. what an incredible, juicy abundance of style! this is a comic that's not afraid to get messy with layers of effects, even to the point of sometimes being kind of hard to visually parse. this is a digital comic writ large. actually, it feels like it's doing stuff that other comics these days eschew, stuff that was more a staple of--and probably is somewhat negatively associated with--early, rough, photoshop heavy webcomics. (the fact that the Property of Hate started, I guess, in 2012 probably has something to do with both this stylistic tendency, and its love of guys in suits with objects for heads.) like, look at that layering of semitransparent text elements in the first page above. look how hard it's going on the different layer styles all mashed over one another. it's full on reveling in this look, and the effect is a lot of fun, really conveying the idea of "this little sock puppet creature, Assok, just bellowed out a wall of prerecorded sounds".

of course, it helps that the actual cartooning and paneling here is a delight:

I love the touch of having RGB, the tv object head tumblr sexyman there, extend slightly out of frame in that first panel. it does a great job of establishing the "camera" and its exaggerated perspective for the sequence of three panels, setting up the gag of having the Hero fall on RGB in the background while in the foreground Assok's head pops up (and what a great expression lol). this sequence in turn acts as the setup to the big structural break that is the bottom of the page and its wall of noise, Assok comically small at the bottom. good stuff!

that second page, a sequence in which the Hero and RGB navigate the darkness under trees under sea by... sound essence I guess? is more painterly but also has some gorgeous digital art touches. I love the way RGB's body is a grey staticky cutout that looks like a uniform texture painted onto the canvas. the whole page is so lush, especially for something so defined by a very simplified set of brush strokes sitting on deep areas of black.

and then there's this third page, crowded with neon-outlined object head guys. this style does a great job of capturing the concept of a whole city of characters who haven't reached completeness and departed for their individual works of fiction or art--outlines waiting to be filled. the color palette of this location is delightful cause it feels like a black light poster or gel pen drawn on a black backpack. and it's got that mark, again, of digital production: scope out how those outlines have clearly been drawn first then covered in glowing gradients. this is the kind of technique that breaks with the vogue for digital inking and painting emulating physical media.

that's nothing compared to the incredible rushing storm on that last page and its bedlam of filters and blending styles. fitting for a storm that threatens to erase the main characters, the page is almost unintelligibly dense with effects and textures. it's almost a bit... too much? the comic can sometimes be a bit obscurationist in both style and narrative. after reading through it all recently, I wound up skimming back through in search of pages to talk about here and found that things were clicking a LOT better for me after getting some very necessary lore dumps later in the story. nevertheless, I can't help but look at a page like this and feel kinda thrilled! it really feels like Sarah Jolley is constantly looking ways to swing for the fences with the aesthetic of the story.

the cool thing about webcomics is, you can just do that and no one can tell you not to layer on as many filters as you want!

pages from:

this post originally ran on Cohost on June 3, 2024. you can read more reviews in the Hey Look At This Comic tag and support me on Patreon.

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

Thank you for your recs!! And yes, iv read every work of yours and it’s like the best things ever and now I want more

Please share more favs!!! I worded it a bit wrong, just want good dom/sub dynamic or smth with good sprinkles of it or just poor vibes

GOD OKAY that opens my horizon a bit more. I am notoriously terrible at remembering to bookmark things i adore. But here, have some more!

five minutes by leoleaf (shorter fic, but suuuuuper hot, dom oscar)

don't lie (i want him to know) by astronautafficionado (also shorter but ALSO hot with a hefty dose of humiliation but in the fun way)

attention paid by mercutionotromeo (OKAY this technically breaks the rules as it's max f/lando/oscar, but it's SUPER hot. There is piss and intox though so if you don't like....well...i apologize then)

you are so pretty (when you're on your knees) by settsplitt (horny, hot, got some delightful humiliation in it as well)

run, rabbit, run (i've got you in my sights) by velvetburrs (GOD okay undernegotiated, freak4freak, toxic, and hot)

house of lies and pride by whichisgolden (awkward, kinda one-night-stand-ish, but hot. love oscar in this fic)

feels good (it's a heavy copacetic) by bright-and-burning (self-bondage gone wrong gone right. hotttttt)

questionably homo guidebooks series by wanderingblindly (do i even need to explain myself? cute and then hot and just...overall delightful)

when the blood is dripping by lovely_lotus (vampire oscar, orgasm denial, HOTTTTTT)

and honestly, if you haven't read it already?

learned behaviour by 1425fivefive (GOD TIERRRRRR, Oscar self orgasm denial-ing bc of one thing Lando said....gorgeous Lando charcter study)

There are SO MANY really good fics out there, I can't even rec them all, or rec enough. This is like...just stuff I've gone through in my bookmarks. As always, you can look through my fic recs tag on tumblr too...

[fafodill]

Hi! I'm new to your blog and really enjoying scrolling through it ☺️ I was wondering if you have a list of fanfic recommendations anywhere? I like your take on Snape as a character and I feel like your taste in fanfic would be impeccable. No worries if you'd rather not share though! 💛

You're so sweet, thank you! I've been back in the fandom for just a little while so I'll update this as I go but you can consider this my fanfic masterpost for now. If you like some share it with me in the comments and give the authors a kudo and a little review! <3

Severus stuff

The War of the Roses (ongoing, not yet but oh mama such sexual tension), Snirius with a Sirius POV, taking place during OotP. Sirius characterization is breathtaking: he is really fucked up after Azkaban (which I love) and we get a good look at his family trauma, his unrequited love for James and his tangled feelings about Snape. The author paints with words. It's deeply scarred, human and beautiful. I cannot tell you how obsessed I am with it.

Second Life (completed, a little smutty). Snirius post-war AU where they both live. One chapter but you will travel through time and space and clench at your chest. It's a messy (oh so messy but so beautiful) journey through life and love. You may cry. Maybe several times. You'll be ruined changed at the end of it but deeply happy.

A Patchwork Family (completed), Severitus, takes place during PoA, Draco is involved too. Amazing fic that really dives into Harry as a victim of abuse and neglect under the Dursley's care. The slow shift of dynamics is super interesting, touching and realistic. I cried a few times too, especially at the end. There's a few chapters in Severus's POV posted separately that I adore as well and a sequel.

Fate set Right (completed, implied), Snamione where she goes back in time to the Maraudeur era and I absolutely loved their Hogwarts years (the 15 first chapters). It’s very long (full re-write of the story). Very much a ‘if he had better people around him, this is what his life could have looked like’. Very impressive storytelling, some amazing ideas. Also Dumbledore is a insufferable. But brace yourself for a saga.

I'll be your Doll (completed, smut fest). Post-war Snamione. Snape got his life - and dating life - together after the war and has found a good equilibrium in his sex life. But now, there's Hermione and something hits different. You wanna blush? I sure did. Great fic which explores non-monogamous dynamics and kinky stuff.

Cursed into Temptation (completed, solo deprived smut) Solo Snape. He knows something is happening with this new colleague of his but he couldn't bring himself to follow her back to her room. Now he's alone in his quarters and can't sleep... This fic actually fueled my adoration for deprived!Snape. I love it, he's so ashamed and needy. Many sexy ideas.

Rare pairs

Spoonful of Sugar in a Nice Cold Cup of Revenge (completed), Fleamont Potter/Severus Snape… yes. Yes I know, but it’s so good. Basically teen!Snape meets Fleamont-Daddy-Green-Flag-Potter and it’s amazing I swear. No more comments your Honor, I wanted 10 more chapters.

Premature Eulogy (ongoing, a week of smut). Lucius/Severus/Narcissa. Post-war AU where Severus is supposed to appear in front of the Wizengamot under Veritaserum to defend Lucius's allegiances during the war. The line of defense? The three of them were lover back then. That's not true, but it will have to be... they have a week to make memories. Severus is extremely inexperienced but we get a super touching depiction of a healthy three way dynamic, full of smut and love. I adore them like this, you won't regret it.

Difficult to Work With (completed, metamorphmagi smut). Tonks/Moody. I will die on this hill, they're great together. Here, have a very touching (and also smutty) little fic where they're super fun and have such a great chemistry. Super cool ideas about Tonk's metamorphmagi powers. Alastor is an open-minded respectful king.

[yanderenightmare]

Saw you post about being in a rut a little while ago, but it seems like you’ve bounced back. So, question for the helpdesk, how do you fight off writer's block?

On Writer's Block!

This is a timeless question! And sort of one without any good answers, because each battle with writer’s block is different. Still, I’ll walk you through my process this time around and hope it can be of use!

I got writer’s block shortly after I finished and published my book, College Years. For a long time during this period, I’d been solely working on these twenty stories, and in the final month, I was mainly only reading, rendering, and doing very minimal actual creative writing. And so, after publishing, I was kind of stumped by needing to start everything over again and write stuff from scratch.

It was rough! That blank page is really tough, especially when the ideas just aren’t coming or the interest in whatever ideas that do come just isn’t there.

So, how did I bounce back? Well, first and foremost, I took a break. I rested my creativity and let it simmer so that it could grow restless and itchy to get back into writing. But even then, it was almost as if I’d forgotten how to write, and everything I was writing just felt forced, like I was writing something all for the sake of not feeling utterly useless.

It didn’t feel good.

I needed to identify the problem, and the problem I found was that I wasn’t really enjoying writing, even though I desperately wanted to. And why was that? Plenty of reasons. I’d been working on a really big thing, my book, and now that I was going back to smaller things again, that sense that stuff needed to be on the same level was all but stifling. In short, it was pressure.

And pressure comes in many forms. It wasn’t that I felt pressured by my followers or anything like that. It was simply that starting anew with fresh blank pages suddenly felt really daunting and, in a way, boring—and it all sort of just sapped me of energy before I’d even barely begun.

So, what did I end up doing? Well, if writing is feeling daunting, all you need to do is remind yourself that it’s anything but—at which point I decided to reintroduce myself to the art of writing from scratch.

And what does that mean? Well, it simply means going back to basics—giving yourself easy and non-risky writing exercises that allow you to play and have fun, where you reteach your imagination to do more work than the actual typing, so that it stops feeling like a chore and becomes your favorite thing to do again.

Now, there are a lot of these exercises—just search for short creative writing exercises in your search engine or on YouTube, and you’ll find tons of fun little prompts and games you can test. It’ll sort of feel like you’re back in school, but that’s the point.

You can use those standard exercises that come with time limits and prompts, or you can choose some simple ones that fit your genre better.

Here’s some I did to get into the groove again:

♡ Apex predators

The clientele of hybrid bunny reader.

This is something easy-going and fun I’ve done a lot throughout the years, which is simply to use the existing traits and characteristics of any given animal in order to characterize. 

When doing this, I like to just sit with the original animal for a while and think of all the things that are associated with them. For example, take dogs—I think hunters, pack, carnivores, police—and then boom, wouldn’t it be fun if dog hybrids were police? 

On top of that, I’m also a guilty fan of puns and idioms, so I tend to search for those types of things as well. And so, inspired by the simple idiom of dirty dog, I immediately figured hybrid dog police were all dirty cops, which in turn set the premise for the rest of the clientele… lion senators, leopard stockbrokers, vulture mobsters, reptile lawyers, etc…

♡ Yandere Days of the Week

Here, you incarnate the seven days, using things tied to each day to create a personification of that day. For example, Sundays are holy, and given their religious connotation, I made Sunday act as a missionary worker.

♡ Yandere Seven Deadly Sins.

Here, again, you incarnate the seven sins. This one might be a little easier, as they’re all already based on a core emotion or act that you can use as a focal point. 

Another similar exercise that I did years ago is assigning each character within BNHA a deadly sin. This is a bit more challenging as it really forces you to dive deep into each character and find an angle that works with the sin they’ve landed with. I remember that giving Bakugou the sin of pride wasn’t hard, but as I ran out of sins for the other characters, it steadily became harder, and I had to get really creative when I was left with no other option but to give Hawks the sin of sloth. But that was the good thing about that exercise! It really forced me to play with different angles and perspectives in order to make it work.

But anyway, summing things up. The core idea is that animals, weekdays, and deadly sins all have associations you can play with, making it fun for you to really bring forth the essence in each one.

There are plenty of other similar categorical tropes you can utilize to do this. 

I'll make it its own Prompt list for those interested!

[cassyapper]

hi do u have any favourite fics to recommend?? I'm on the hunt for something good to read and I trust reccs more than anything 👀 👀

HI ANON I'M SORRY IT TOOK ME TEN BILLION YEARS TO ANSWER THIS BUT YES I HAVE RECS rubs my hands together. i assume this is for jjba specifically noritaro so i'm gonna focus on those but if u were thinking of smth else send a follow up ask!

0. he's bad news but i'm no better by simkjrs

putting this as "0" because it is incomplete (it is the only incomplete fic i'll put on this list) but it is. THE noritaro fic. you need to understand. it is SO FUCKING. good. as expected of the ceo of jotaro kujo simkjrs but holy fucking shit. jsut so good. i dont know if it will ever be finished but what we got? jsut gold. i tink it's absolutely worth a read take it from someone who normally doesnt pick at incomplete fics. jsut so good. fuck.

literally anything by ao3 user succubused

theyre so fucking wise they are THE noritaro understander. oh my god their fics are so good. i read their entire noritaro catalogue at the beginning of lockdown in 2020 and i actually lost my fucking mind i'm a different person now from it. holy shit actually life changing. just great stuff. they understand the characters so well. really intriguing interpretations and aus ugh. so fun

2. all deine wundun by ao3 user fivour

a short fic that goes into kakyoin's pov when he lsot his eyes in the n'doul fight with some jotaro there. rlly in character i think and jsut ugh. really good. technically it's for the ova but i can see it fitting any canon iteration of jotaro and kakyoin

3. you cannot see him for the storm by ao3 user deadofdecember

a fun exploration of jotaro and kakyoin's relationship and how it develops over the journey. it's so heartrending dude. the first noritaro fics i ever read #godbless

4. heartstopper. by razzmatazzz

REALLY FUNNY AND CUTE FIC where a non-enemy standuser accidentally turns kakyoin into a frog and yeah. princess and the frog stuff. it's so funny and cute they pass frog kakyoin around in a circle trying to see what will work ugh SO funny. so cute i lvoe it

5. habits by souriswriter

very cute and good fic of kakyoin being the observant young man he is regarding jotaro while hierophant is insufferable aobut his budding crush. i love sentient stands bro

6. anything by ao3 user queenieofaces

ANOTHER CERTIFIED NORITARO UNDERSTANDING oh my GOD their fics are so good. they get jotaro particularly well and jsut UGHGHG just so fucking good. i giggle i laugh i feel sick to my stomach. truly their fics have it all. they do a really great job of showing how close they got so fast and why it makes sense

7. anything by ao3 user skysquid22

i haven't read All of skysquid's noritaro catalogue yet but of the ones I Have read, oh my god. so fucking good. they really pick at their tragedy so well it makes me so sick oughh god. but other than that they have some lihter fics that are so funny. UGH. so good

8. off script by gandmvsm

*note that you need to be logged in to read this one* post part 3, kakyoin tries and fails to propose a handful of times before he finally gets it right at the perfect imperfect moment. soo fuckin cute and sweet

9. the stars under heaven by brightwing

EXACTLY THE KIND OF FIC I WAS LOOKING FOR AFTER I FINISHED EYES OF HEAVEN STORY MODE. so fucking good. there's more going on than jsut noritaro but my GOD it's jsut. so fucking good. they get jotaro so well im so sick. ughh so good

10. crazy little thing called love by nevermordor

CUUUUUUUTEST FIC EVER where jotaro is like it's not a date. wait is it. no it's not. im so fucking stressed out right now. fucking kakyoin IT'S SO FUCKING FUNNY AND CUTE i literally cannot read it in one sitting i have to get up and pace a bit like midway through cause it is so fucking cute. jotaro is so gone for kakyoin it's so fucking CUTE. and likewise kakyoin is trying so hard to impress jotaro and make sure he has a good night UGHHH. so good

11. creep by rigmaroler

very fucking cute and funny fic about kakyoin being weird as hell and jotaro's classmates not understanding not only how jotaor puts up with it but also how he in fact enjoys it. and just general post part 3 cuteness had kakyoin lived and gone to the same school. very sweet

12. lazarus by fivour

fivour again <3 this fic is like. au where kakyoin lives and it's in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. joseph heals him w hamon. kakyoin is disorientated and in pain and scared but jotaro is there and he keeps him grounded UGH

13. mahalo by platzchen

another proposal fic <3 this time jotaro is the one on the knee. so so cute

14. brighter than sunshine by undeadarchivist

ONE OF MY FAV NORITARO FICS FUCKING EVEERRRRRRRRR oh my god it's so fucking good and cute. it's a kakyoin lives au but it starts during part 3 then spans after it. jotaro is so in love with kakyoin it makes me so sick. he LOVES HIm! nad he in turn is so loved by kakyoin in this fic it has actually made me cry. i reread it so often. SO FUCKING GOOD fuck

15. let the good times roll by nevermordor

nevermodror again <3 this fic is so funny. alcoholic joseph, avpol, noritaro, stuck in a hotel while it rains (cause it is winter). just lots of fun and very cute, rlly nice to read this one to take the edge off of some of the more serious/angsty ones on this list

16. choked out by wlwchiaki

missing scene in the sun arc while they all settle into the reality they're in in that cave star platinum dug up. jotaro and kakyoin are so young here oughh it aches. FUCKK so good

umm yeah that's what i got for now. IF you want to see more, you can check out my bookmarks on ao3 <3

[eightestmonth]

Mean girl! x Joel Miller ᝰ.ᐟ

bfd!Joel x you.

warning: nsfw. idk age gap and stuff (reader is at least 18 ok don't get my ass I just watched Heather the musical for the first time and was funny to me how mean the Heather's were) (and then I imagined a mean girl being put in place again and... well..) mean joel but like mean because he's defending his daughter..

You were a mean girl. That was for sure.

Okay, let's make it clear: you weren't a mean girl before. No. You used to be the perfect little girl with perfect little grades, a sweetheart, friends with everyone in school.

Until you started high school.

High school was different, and you realised it a little too late, but... what the hell, yeah. You moved from group to group, pushing people down to get where you wanted because that was how high school worked, whether you liked it or not.

And one of those people was... Sarah Miller.

Sarah and you had been friends since kindergarten. She was funny and kind, and all you ever had for a long time. It had always been Sarah and you. Sarah and you in the park, Sarah and you in Halloween, Sarah and you making fun of her dad. Just the two of you. Until, of course, you two reached high school, and you chose a different path.

You weren't mean to her... well, no directly to her. No in her face, at least. Damn, you saw Sarah every Saturday when your dad dragged Joel out of his cave and onto your house for beers. It was almost a ritual now. But you weren't friends. Not anymore.

You didn't think too much about it. You cared about your reputation, about being popular, while she... she played soccer.

Ugh.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᝰ.ᐟ

It started as a small joke. It was supposed to be a small joke, silly and funny around your group of friends. The objective was clear: just make fun of the whole soccer team (emphasis in whole): cut some shorts in the back, some shirts in the front... nothing too... bad, right?

It was the big game. Adults would be over to cheer for the girl's soccer team, so why wouldn't you ruin it for them? It was funny.

But then, between one of the shorts you cut, was Sarah's.

And the second Sarah kicked the first ball, the fabric gave in to show her pantie-covered ass —though, it wouldn't have been so bad if her panties hadn't been strained with blood.

You can swear to fucking God that you had never seen Sarah that much embarrassed in her entire life.

And you... kinda feel bad for her for like... three seconds before you heard the giggles around your friends. You knew your little joke had been a good one when you saw the conmotion around the adults —re: Joel Miller cradling his daughter onto his arms to get her out of there.

Sarah had been mocked about that ever since.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᝰ.ᐟ

Saturday.

You were staying home.

And your father invited Joel to drink some beers and watch the match on the new TV he bought. You momma was out with her own friends, and you felt a little pathetic for staying home with your father and his best friend.

"Where's Sarah?" You asked Joel, chewing gum like you always did.

Joel's eyes narrowed at you, and you just knew that he knew.

"Not feeling good." He simply said.

"S'a shame," you mumbled, eyes narrowing in challenge at him, and you could see how his eyes darkened. Your father hummed.

"What's a shame?" He asked, eyes fixed on the TV.

You blowed your gum in a bubble until it exploded, a plop echoing through the living room.

"Sarah had an accident in school," you explained, tone nonchalantly as you looked at your father. Then, you looked back at Joel. "Half the school saw her panties," you hummed, and by the way Joel was clenching his jaw, you were afraid he might break his teeth.

Your father looked at you, deep and serious. He knew.

Then, he looked at Joel with an apologetic gaze.

"It was intentional," Joel added, eyes fixed on yours. "She told me."

"Did she?" You mocked.

Your father looked at you again, and you knew for your own good that it was better that you leave now.

And so you did.

Yet, you barely reached the top of the stairs when a big and powerful hand was being wrapped around your throat. Tight.

You gasped, body going tense as someone shoved your small frame onto the bathroom. You tried to speak, to scream, but another hand covered your mouth quickly. You knew the smell, for sure. You knew the calloused fingers that held you tight. Joel Miller.

He didn't bother in turning on the light of the bathroom, but he held you close and tight against his big and hard body.

"You think it's funny?" he snarled on your ear. "You think you're too cool now? Just because you dress like a little bitch and hang out with little whores like you?" he continued, his voice poisoned. He tightened the grip in your throat, your body tensing further.

"I'm gonna show you what is to be real mean, you fucking whore," he threatened. "Next time you touch Sarah, I'll make sure everyone in that stupid school regrets it. You, especially," he promised.

He tightened the grip in your throat again, harder, harder until he heard your breath hitch in your throat, cutting your air supply for a moment. Just to make you feel it.

"Understood?" He asked, and you nodded quickly.

He let go of your throat, but not your body quite yet.

"Good girl," he hummed. "See what happens when you mess with the wrong girl? You had to be careful and stop acting like this, Regina George wannabe," he mocked.

Your body stayed still, heart pounding like crazy with each word that left his mouth.

He slowly slid his hand out of your mouth, letting you take a deep breath, gasping like a fish out of water.

"Say sorry," he demanded, big hand tightening on your jaw.

"Sorry," you mewled.

"Good." He stated.

When he finally let you go, your legs gave in, and you ended up splashed pathetically on your bathroom floor. You trembled under his harsh gaze, and even in the dark, you could see his cruel smirk.

He stepped back, leaving the bathroom and leaving you trembling, shaking, quivering, frightened... and excited.