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pearlessance · 9 months ago

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A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really.

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him.

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner.

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse.

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs.

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you.

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer.

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer.

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals.

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips.

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked.

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down.

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden.

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet.

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold.

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

“Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.”

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel .

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you.

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does .

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want.

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it.

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you.

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life.

You wait. And wait. And wait .

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day.

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you.

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation.

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day.

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle.

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead.

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night.

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you.

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run.

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far.

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area.

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold.

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now.

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest.

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin, raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily.

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it.

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face.

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel.

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast .

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs.

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in.

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most.

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him .

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing.

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again.

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions.

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you.

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it.

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure.

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to.

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck.

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?”

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you.

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.”

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose.

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

#joel miller #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 fanfic #joel tlou #joel the last of us #ao3 writer #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #smut #halloween

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creamecafe · 7 months ago

Note

Heyyy there I saw your post about allowing a request for various squid game characters. Can I request Hwang In-ho/front man?

Partner! Reader x Hwang In-ho/Front man

Like s/o doesn't know anything about the games and In-ho just have a whole nother identity just for her. She knows that In-ho goes on a business trip for 7 days and then comes back like nothing happens. And just before In-ho leaves for the "business trip" they have fluff moments and In-ho tries his best to keep her out of his other life

🫶🫶🫶

Secrets I have held in my heart

Summary: What the requests says

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho x GN!Reader

Warnings: none just fluff and maybe feelings of guilt, bathing together but it's NOT smut

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting this! I hope you enjoy it! I also tried making my own dividers. It's not the best, but if I make one that's decent I'll post them for people to use

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Hwang In-Ho was an interesting man. But he was yours. Your friends and family say they find him to be scary or something off about him. But you can't see him anything else than what he is, a caring husband who makes sure to provide well for you.

He tells you that his job is working at a sales company of always testing new products for people and surveying so you really thought nothing of it. Majority of the time he would go on business trips for at least a week. He never told you where he was going but you never wanted to bother him so much.

It was three days before he left and he always made sure to spend all his time with you. Taking you out to eat at your favorite place, watching your favorite movies, cooking and taking naps together.

Doing these things with you made him happy, but he also felt bad about lying about his work to you. He knew that your perspective and love would change because of that.

He didn't want to lose you because of that. But he also couldn't lose his job.

Today was the last day he would be spending time with you and he wants to make the most of it. You woke up with breakfast in bed. Your favorite.

"Don't worry about work sweetheart, I called in sick for you."

You smiled knowing you were really going to spend the day with him together

After you finish your breakfast, you two would take a warm bath together. Nothing sexual, just you two holding each other and making small talk.

Then it would be you guys just watching TV and cuddling with each other.

He really loves you so much. It was hard keeping his double life from you. But all that mattered was that you were safe and anything that you knew could put you in danger.

A few hours have passed and he ordered take out on your favorite restaurant. There it was again, just talking and him saying he's going to miss you

Before you knew it, it was time for you both to go to sleep. You were sad knowing that the next morning he would be gone.

Both of you guys were wrapped up in each other, cuddling and innocence of you two sleeping together meant so much to him.

The next morning came and he had to get ready to leave. You helped him prepare the stuff he needed, suits, snacks, and a goodbye kiss.

"Promise you'll text me everyday to at least make sure you're alight?"

"I promise my darling."

Both of you smiled at this and kissed each other as he was heading to his taxi. He looked back at you and waved to you.

You waved back and soon the car drove off.

When he was in the car, he pulled out his phone with a text message asking if he was on his way. He responded and then took something out of the pocket from his jacket. It was a picture of you. It would at least be a reminder of everything he's doing for you to have the best life possible even if you didn't know.

It would be a few hours before he had to put his love aside for you and keep focus on the bigger picture.

#creamecafe #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #no spoilers #hwang in ho #front man #player 001 #squid game x reader

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dontlookatmytmntcollection · 1 year ago

Text

SOCIAL BATTERIES

Do the boys REALLY like people that much?

Character studies.

Going from the most Extroverted to the least.

- 🟠 -

Mikey is THE definition of an extrovert

Suprise, suprise.

I keep thinking about him making fun of Casey constantly, and his fist bump with Vern, or him working the crowd on Halloween. And his eye rolls at Raph and Leo

Can be annoying af and play dumb, but half the time he knows way more than he let's on. And it's SUPER hard to get him angry.

Would be in a fraternity tbh. And like, seven sport teams.

The world is a lesser place with him cooped up away from it.

He's a HUGE teaser and talker. Loves to flirt and prank and play the vibes.

He's a NATRUAL at it

Give him ONE conversation. ONE chance, and he can get literally anyone out of their shell.

Loves having April or Casey or Vern around. Loves teasing them or harassing them tbh.

The bigger his social circle, the better his life.

Is usually a HUGE buffer between humans and his grumpy, tired brothers.

He would be the LIFE of the party. Would be an excellent host of an event, because he'd be everywhere talking to everyone. Remembering everyone by name and face, introducing people to one another, so on and so forth.

He would have multiple friend groups everywhere he goes, with all sorts of different types of people.

Out of his brothers, I see Mikey having the body count tbh

Also probably jumped into a relationship too soon and got hurt early on. He'll be way more ready for the next one.

He has SO MUCH TEXTING TO DO.

His favorite is snap chat.

The BEST out of all his brothers at reading social cues and body language. By FAR.

Can find something to talk about with ANYONE

He's been wishing to socialize his WHOLE LIFE. So he DO!

Probably the only one that can confront and process trauma in a healthy manner.

Not at all afraid of deeper, more meaningful conversations.

Often finds himself the one initiating deep conversations with people who need it the most (his brothers).

He knows there is a time and place for problem solving. And sometimes you just gotta sit with your feels.

Something his brothers STRUGGLE WITH

- 🟣 -

Donatello might not be EXTROVERTED but he is outgoing.

Second to Mikey, everyone in his family has a close relationship with Donnie.

Super caring and fun and inquisitive with everyone he meets.

He'll be down for ANYTHING. Sports, games, cooking, drives, crafts, working out, adventures or pranks or geeky movie nights.

He might not always be good at INICIATING these with strangers but he loves going along with stuff.

Loves showing people his projects and stuff and letting people use them or have them.

Will be there for his friends the instant they ask.

At a party he'd be in another room having a conversation with two or three people.

But I also see him hanging around girls a little more than guys. Finds the girlies to be easier company than guys.

He's been on discord for YEARS. He had human friends before even Mikey did.

But.

He's HYPERVIGALANT of the vibe

Extreme empath.

He does NOT like confrontation.

A HUGE people pleaser.

Feels he's stepping on eggshells around his loved ones and friends. In an effort to keep them happy.

He's a sensitive guy.

If he's told to shut up or be quiet, especially if he's excited or talking outloud- he's modified. He WILL shut up. For a while.

His brothers know this. While they get exasperated sometimes, they rarely interrupt him.

Does NOT like gossip. Don't gossip with him, he hates it

Makes him feel gross and mean.

Hates when people are upset or sad in any way.

When vibes get rough he does not cope well. Often chooses to avoid or straight up leave.

When things get heated he gets overstimulated quickly.

If he can't leave, he shuts down. He won't talk and if he does it's very quiet

Doesn't know how to help or address emotional things either. He prefers to let it go and just move on, leaving stuff unaddressed.

He's an outgoing and pleasant guy, but he definitely doesn't mix with everyone.

- 🔴 -

Meeting Raphael is a terrifying experience.

Because he talks and looks at you like he hates you already.

But he doesn't hate people.

He just sucks at them.

Raph wants a normal life just as badly as Mikey does.

Raphs love language is harassment???

He shows his love by annoying his loved ones. Or through teasing and banter. Or wrestling his bros to the ground or pull them into rough hugs.

However

When he meets new people he isn't there to make FRIENDS.

He's there to let you know that if you bullshit with his family you're gonna get whooped.

So he will posture and glare and tower and maybe even roll his neck or crack knuckles to anyone.

Literally anyone.

Remember how rude he was to April?

So when he can't do any of that- no banter, no pranks, no wrestling and no INTIMIDATING-

He is COMPLETELY at everyone's mercy

Put him in a group of girls, or take him to a party or a bar. ANYTHING out of his comfort zone.

He's very awkward.

Only because he's kinda quiet

And honestly SUPER shy.

Wants to be liked SUPER badly.

He doesn't know how to make friends. At all

Flirt with Raph. I dare you.

You'd terrify him

Is the type of guy at a party to stick to the side of someone he knows and never. Leave. It.

But he finds out he gets along with blue collar guys the most.

And Raph has this super power

He can detect if you're a good or bad character super quickly. Much quicker than everyone else in his family. Like, one conversation in.

Not that he really believes himself. He thinks everyone's out to get him. or his family

If he's not making fun of you, you know he doesn't like you.

Is the type of guy to have quality over quantity relationships.

Hates texting. Honestly hates social media and technology beyond like...insta reels or something. He doesn't like sitting on his phone or video games all the much. Half because he breaks things easily or gets easily frustrated at leaning how to work it.

Rather be doing something active or working on a car or build something or carve stuff.

Might not be as outgoing as Donnie or Mikey, but if people manage to ACTIALLY get him to do something fun, he is ALL IN and having a BLAST.

The kinda guy to crash at his friends house and just chill.

He recharges when he's in proximity of his loved ones. Not always SOCIALIZING but having his people close.

-🔵-

Our REAL introvert

He struggles to socialize even with his BROTHERS

Who are the only people in the world he allows himself to be even semi relaxed around

A conversation with anyone other than his dad and brothers is the opposite of a relaxing/easy activity.

He's honorable, polite, and formal.

But Leo is and EXTREMLY cold character.

Sometimes even a bit cruel and scary to strangers.

Has a weird habit of wrapping his arm kindly around someone he's about to hurt

Struggles to see even April as more than an 'asset' or 'person dad holds dear'

Doesn't see Vern as a friend. Doesn't see Casey as a friend.

Leo is the only turtle April doesn't have a strong connection to. Not out of lack of trying.

Tolerates social situations only if he falls into a leading (controlling) role.

Doesn't like large groups of people.

Very quiet otherwise.

Struggles to initiate activities with his brothers.

He sucks at it.

He is always receptive to when they reach out to him though

And kinda has a fear of getting turned down. Getting turned down by his brothers makes him sick to his stomach.

Not that he admits it.

He also doesn't handle rejection with any grace. Gets just a LITTLE pushy to make you either feel bad or like he's in charge

His brothers still gotta tolerate him being a little bossy and stuck up and a fun-sucker while they hang out with him. They know he can't help it.

But Leo is super relieved every single time they invite him to do something.

What would Leo be like at a party? Leo never WENT to the party. And if he DID, he'd be outside, trying to soak in the quiet. Listening to the party from out here.

or hug him, or just express somehow they still want him around or like him. Or love him. Because those moments are getting rarer and rarer the older they get.

He's completely alone other than his dad. At least he's thought so his whole life

Would be the one petting the cat. Or dog. Not the type to go LOOKING for it, but if it came to him, he would.

Yes, he texts, but never outside of absolute necessity. Or if his brothers remind him of April's birthday.

He likes to read

Even if Donnie, Mikey and Raph are together in the lair having fun, Leo is often by himself somewhere else.

He recharges alone. He does calligraphy and he sketches SOMETIMES. Little stick figures fighting with space guns or something.

But a lot of what he reads are super geeky stuff. Like star wars novels or manga.

But don't tell anyone.

Splinter is his preferred company. He adores time with his dad. He'll spar and train and talk with his dad often.

Doesn't care about having friends but he wants a girlfriend SUPER badly. More than all three of his brothers combined

Being alone with him sucks if you like to talk. He gives you a LOOK that SCREAMS shut the fuck up.

It takes EXTREMLY specific personalities to get Leo a little soft for them. A quiet person with a good sense of humor.

And the likely hood he'll ever get out to find and meet them is next to none existent.

But hey

Even after like, ALL OF THIS

It's not hard to get Leo to smile

#tmnt leonardo #bayverse #leonardo #tmnt bayverse #my writing #tmnt x reader #raphael #donatello #tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #bayverse tmnt #bayverse leonardo #bayverse donatello #bayverse raphael #bayverse turtles

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vaadazen-codes · 1 year ago

Text

How To Get Started Making Visual Novels

Wanna make a visual novel? Or maybe you've seen games like Our Life, Blooming Panic, Doki Doki Literature Club, etc. and wanna make something like that? Good news, here's a very basic beginners guide on how to get started in renpy and what you need to know going in! Before you start, I highly recommend looking at my last post about writing a script for renpy just to make it easier on you!

LONG POST AHEAD

Obviously, our first step is downloading it from their website

thankfully, its right on the home page of their site. Follow basica program installation steps and run the program. I highly recommend pinning it to your task bar to make it easier to access.

From there, you're met with the renpy app, it's a little daunting at first but let's talk about what all these buttons are for.

Projects

This part is simple, it just lists the current projects in the chosen directory. You probably won't have any in there of your own. You should still see Tutorial and The Question!

Both of those default projects are super helpful in their own ways, i highly recommend testing out the tutorial and playing around with it just to get comfortable with some of the basics.

Create New Project

The first step to actually making your game into a game!

You'll be met with a prompt letting you know that the project is being made in English and that you can change it. You can click Continue.

From here, you'll be asked to input a project name! Put in your games title, or even a placeholder title since this Information can be changed later! (this is also the title the folder will be in your file browser, be sure to name it something you won't overlook)

Now we get to choose our resolution!

If you have no idea what to choose, go for 1920x1080! This is the standard size for most computer monitors and laptops, but it will still display with moderately decent quality on 4k monitors too!

You can choose 3840x2160 as well. This is 2x the measurements of the default, with the same ration. These dimensions are considered 4k. Keep in mind, your image files will be bigger and can cause the game to have a larger size to download.

Now we get to choose our color scheme!

Renpy has some simple default options with the 'light mode' colors being the bottom two rows, and the 'dark mode' colors being the toop two rows.

You can pick anything here, but I like to choose something that matches my projects vibes/colors better. Mostly because depending on how in depth you go with the ui, it minimizes the amount of changes I need to make later.

Click continue and give it a minute. Note: If it says "not responding" wait a moment without clicking anything. It can sometimes freeze briefly during the process.

Now we should be back at our home screen, with our new project showing. Let's talk about allll that stuff on the right now.

Open Directory

This just opens that particular folder in your local file explorer!

game - is all the game files, so your folders for images, audio, saves, and your game files like your script, screens, and more.

base - this is the folder that the game folder is inside of. You can also find the errors and log txt files in here.

images - takes you to your main images folder. This is where you wanna put all of your NON gui images, like your sprites, backgrounds, and CGs. You can create folders inside of this and still call them in the script later. EX: a folder for backgrounds , a folder for sprites for character a, a seperate folder for spirtes for character b, etc.

audio - Takes you to the default audio folder. This is empty, but you can put all your music and sound effects here!

gui - brings up the folder containing all of the default renpy gui. It's a good place to start/ reference for sizes if you want to hand draw your UI pieces like your text box!

Edit File

Simple enough, this is just where you can open your code files in whatever text/code editor you have installed.

Script.rpy - where all of your story and characters live. This is the file you'll spend most of your time in at first

Options.rpy - Contains mostly simple information, like project name and version. There aren't a ton of things in here you need to look at. There is also some lines of code that help 'archive' certain files by file type so that they can't be seen by players digging in code however. Fun if you want to hide some images in there for later or if you just dont want someone seeing how messy your files are. We've all been there

Gui.rpy - where all of the easy customization happens. Here you can change font colors, hover colors, fonts, font sizes, and then the alignment and placement of all of your text! Like your dialogue and names, the height of text buttons, etc. It more or less sets the defaults for a lot of these unless you choose to change them later.

Screens.rpy - undeniably my favorite, this is where all of the UI is laid out for the different screens in your game, like the main menu, game menu, quick menu, choice menu, etc. You can add custom screens too if you want, but I always make my own seperate file for these.

Open Project - this just opens all of those files at once in the code editor. Super handy if you make extra files like I do for certain things.

Actions

last but not least, our actions.

Navigate Script - This feature is underrated in my honest opinion, it's super handy for help debugging! In renpy you can comment with # before a line. However, if you do #TODO and type something after it, it saves it as a note! You can view these TODO's here as well as easily navigate to when certain screens are called, where different labels are (super great if your game is long, and more. It saves some scrolling.

Check Script (Lint) - also super duper handy for debugging some basic things. It also tells you your word count! But its handy for letting you know about some errors that might throw up. I like using it to look for sprites I may or may not have mispelled, because they show up in there too.

Change/Update GUI - Nifty, though once you start customizing GUI on your own, it isn't as useful. You can reset the project at any point and regenerate the image files here. This updates all those defaults we talked about earlier.

Delete Persistent - this just helps you delete any persistent data between play throughs on your end. I like to use it when making a lot of changes while testing the game, so that I can reboot the game fresh.

Force Recompile - Full disclosure, as many games as I've made and as long as I've been using Renpy, i have never used this feature. I searched to see what it does and this is the general consesus: Normally renpy tries to be smart about compiling code (creating .rpyc files) and only compiles .rpy files with changes. This is to speed up the process since compiling takes time. Sometimes you can make changes that renpy don't pick up on and therefore won't recompile. In these cases you can run force recompile to force it. Another solution (if you know what file is affected) is to delete that specific. rpyc file.

The rest of your options on this right hand side are how you make executable builds for your game that people can download to extract and play later!

Sorry gang! that was a whole lot of text obviously the last button "Launch Project" launches an uncompiled version of the project for you to play and test as you go! Hang in tight because my next post is about how to utilize github for renpy, so you can collaborate easier!

#renpy #renpy game #renpy visual novel #vndev #visual novel dev #otome dev #vn dev

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dudeimjustagirll · 1 month ago

Text

Wally West x Reader (General HCs)!

Relationship Dynamics

Wally is drawn to warmth. He’s surrounded by so much chaos—battles, missions, loss—that he gravitates toward people who make him feel calm and steady. Whether you’re equally energetic or more reserved, he notices how you make space for him to slow down.

He’s loyal to a fault. Once he falls for you, that’s it. He’s all in. He’s the type to remember tiny details about your day, show up when you don’t even ask, and back you up even when he doesn’t fully understand the situation. Not out of blind trust—but because he believes in you.

Wally masks a lot of his emotional depth behind jokes, but with you, it starts to slip. Over time, he becomes more open, more serious, more vulnerable. You’re one of the few people who gets to see that version of him.

Everyday Life & Domestic Stuff

He always brings you food. Just because he’s already thinking about you. If you mentioned craving a milkshake once in passing, it’ll show up at your door the next day. He’ll zip across the city—or even the globe—to find the perfect one. “You said strawberry, right? With the tiny chocolate chips?”

Wally’s a terrible cook, but he tries his best leave him be. You’ll wake up to the smell of burnt toast and the sound of him swearing softly. “No no no—why is the egg green??” You’ll find him in the kitchen wearing your apron and looking proud of a plate of aggressively charred pancakes. You eat them anyway.

When he’s not running missions or helping out at STAR Labs, he crashes hard. He curls up next to you—on the couch, in bed, wherever you are—and knocks out in minutes. You’ve learned to just let him be. Sometimes you wake up to him tucked under your arm, fast asleep with his hand still lightly holding yours.

His brain actually, genuinely moves at light speed (and sometimes you just need to let the boy talk). Like, it always starts with something innocent. Like a sunset. Or the way your drink has condensation. And suddenly he's explaining the thermodynamic relationship between entropy and cold sodas with the enthusiasm of a child discovering dinosaurs for the first time. You don’t always follow every word— especially when he starts talking faster than you're able to comprehend, but you love the way his eyes light up. The way his hands move while he talks. You just let him go until he pauses and says, “Wait, was I rambling?” And all you have to do is smile and say, “No, I like it when you get nerdy.”

Shocker, He's also absolutely terrifying at trivia nights And the worst part? he dosen't even mean to be. God help anyone who has to go against him in a trivia round.

Wally also has this quiet, steady dream of adopting a dog. Not a spur-of-the-moment thing—he’s researched breeds, rescue shelters, training methods, the whole nine yards. He even knows how different dogs perceive time compared to humans (and speedsters).

You catch him scrolling through adoption profiles on his phone when he thinks you're asleep. Or casually dropping hints like, “You know, we’ve got more than enough room for a medium-sized mutt. Just saying.”

His ideal dog? A scrappy rescue with big ears and a bigger personality. Something with a little mischief and a lot of heart. He wants to name it something like “Newton” or “Bolt.”

When you finally say, “Yeah… let’s do it. Let’s get a dog,” you’ve never seen someone move that fast to clean the apartment, puppy-proof the furniture, and text six different shelters.

And he’s so good with it. Walks, training, cuddles—he goes full dog dad mode. You’ll find them napping together on the couch, tangled in a blanket, Wally drooling slightly while the dog lies across his chest.

Affection & Intimacy

He touches like he’s making sure you’re still there. A hand on your waist when you’re standing together, fingers brushing your knuckles under the table, his thumb drawing soft circles along your arm when you’re sitting in silence. It’s instinctive, comforting. He doesn’t even realize how often he reaches for you until you’re gone.

He’s protective, but not overbearing. He trusts your strength, but he’s also ready to drop everything the moment you’re in danger. The first time he thought he lost you—during a mission gone wrong, a comm that cut out for too long—he didn’t sleep for three days. When he finally saw you again, he couldn’t speak. He just hugged you and didn’t let go.

Wally expresses love through acts of service and attention. He’ll fix your broken tech, run your errands in seconds, reorganize your entire bookshelf because “you always say you can’t find anything.” He listens more than people give him credit for. He notices.

He also treats your birthday as this huuuuge deal. He has a mental countdown running the moment it hits 00:00 on the day after. He’ll be brushing his teeth like, “Okay. Six weeks. That’s enough time to find out where they sell those rare orchids you like. In bloom. Ethically sourced. Delivered by hand.”

The night before? He barely sleeps. You’ll wake up at 12:01am with him hovering, sheepish and giddy, whispering, “Can I say it now?” And when you nod, he tackles you in a hug and just goes, “Happy birthday, babe"

He will run to another country for your favorite flower. You once joked that no one could ever find that specific lilac-pink tulip hybrid from the small stand in Rome you saw once in a picture. He left a note on the fridge that said “brb” and was back within twenty minutes, holding a single perfect tulip with a stupidly proud smile.

The gift is always personal. It might be handmade, like a wearable piece of tech that fixes a problem you didn’t even know he noticed. Or a scrapbook of all the places you’ve been together, annotated with tiny comments like “You tripped on this sidewalk but blamed the curb. It absolutely was your fault.”

He’s so deeply in love that he doesn’t always know how to sit still in it. He’s constantly trying to show it,through affection, through gestures, through just being there. Loving you feels like momentum he can’t (and doesn’t want to) stop.

But he also respects your space. If you ever say “I need a minute,” he doesn’t take it personally. He just kisses your temple, says “okay,” and waits. Not in another room. Not across town. Just close enough to be near you, without pushing.

He knows he talks fast, moves fast, lives fast. But he never lets that become something that leaves you behind. He slows down—literally—for you. Holds eye contact longer. Kisses you like time doesn’t exist. Lets silences stretch between you not because he’s run out of things to say, but because you deserve every second.

Emotional Stuff

He’s scared of being forgotten. Of not being fast enough. Strong enough. Worth enough. He covers it up with sarcasm and snappy comebacks, but every now and then, he breaks a little. You’re the person he turns to in those moments, just to remind him he’s not alone.

When he says "I love you," it's quiet. Not rushed. It’s in the way he looks at you like you’re the safest place he’s ever known. In the way he slows down for you when he doesn’t slow down for anyone else.

You help him stay grounded. And he helps you remember how joyful love can be—how even in the middle of chaos, someone can still make you laugh until your stomach hurts, or bring you ice cream at 3am just because you looked sad.

He has favorite parts of the day—and they’re always the little things

Waking up next to you when the sun hasn’t fully risen, and your face is squished against the pillow, and his arm is numb under your weight but he doesn’t dare move it. Those are the mornings he swears he could stay still forever.

Doing chores together—laundry, dishes, groceries—feels like a team mission but without the pressure. You fold; he tries to keep up. He makes a game of it. You spray him with the sink hose once, and it’s forever your inside joke.

Errands with you are his favorite date. You’ll be like, “let’s stop by the post office, then Target,” and suddenly he’s walking beside you holding a basket of snacks and petting every dog in sight like he’s in a romcom montage. He tells you every single thing he sees that reminds him of you. (“You’d look hot in this sweater.” “This mug is your vibe. Should I get it? No reason. Just because.”)

Finally, while with you, his definition of romance completely changes

He used to think big gestures mattered most. Huge declarations, dramatic speeches, fireworks in the sky. Now? He just wants to make you breakfast without burning the toast. He wants to carry your bag home when you're tired. He wants to memorize the way you like your pasta cooked and get it right every time.

He’ll watch you paint your nails, knit, play Stardew, scroll Pinterest for hours—and he’ll sit right next to you, happy to be in your orbit. He likes hearing your voice narrate whatever you're doing, even if it's the most boring task alive.

He gets giddy over domestic milestones. First grocery list. First shared key. First time you fall asleep on him mid-Netflix. It all gets saved in his mental “our life” folder, next to every important speedster memory he has.

Tl;Dr: This guy's so down bad, it's actually atrocious.

#wally west x you #wally west x reader #Wally West HeadCannons #wally west fluff

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morbethgames · 1 year ago

Text

NEW UPDATE IS OUT!

I’M FREE! FREEEEEE! 32 MOSTLY UNIQUE VARIATIONS OF INTIMATE SCENES DONE!

Clears throat

So, like stated above, the update is out! I’ll leave a list of patch notes, but this is majorly a bigger one for Alzarez and Lance romancers. The Lance extra story “Movie and Dessert” is being released with this update. You will need to replay the game. I’m sorry about that. BUT it’s because I added in new variables to the train scene so that stuff said there could possibly be brought up in this new scene! Reactivity, yay!

Along with that, you’ll get to read Alvarez’s flashback scene which is the actual end of Chapter 4. Along with a lot of little goodies. All in all, there was about… 44k-45k words added into this update? 40k of them are entirely optional and only happen if you choose to hang out with Lance after Alvarez’s flashback scene scene.

Not gonna lie, 1 variation in I was confident it would take two weeks. 8 variations in I was a bit tired but still energized to get this scene done. 16 variations in I had to step away for a couple of days to not let my brain melt. By the time I hit mid-twenties in variation for this scene, I was finding myself thinking that it just. wasn’t. worth it.

I have no idea if I’ll make the other intimate scenes this branching. It was honestly a lot of work. Like, a lot, it it was so fatiguing after a while, but I knew I had to get it done. IT’s also the reason I paused my patreon this month, because it wouldn’t be fair to charge people for something that they’re not getting early as promised in the rewards. This took way longer than I thought, so I wanted to just release it to everyone at once.

I do hope you guys enjoy it, and without further ado, here are the patch notes for this update.

Stay Brilliant, -Vi

Patch Notes:

“Movie and Dessert” Lance Extra Scene is finished.

Alvarez Flashback scene is finished.

Added a Text Box Investigation Tab in the Stats Screen.

You are now able to toggle between Text Box Investigations and regular choice script gameplay for TBI sequences.

You can now view the Text Box Investigation tutorial at any time via the stats screen.

Removed the Text Box Investigation Tutorial from chapter 4.

Added an option in the beginning of the game to Fade To Black during intimate scenes.

You can now pick asexual and aromantic as separate options, and they are not tied to each other.

Grammar edits and fixes (thank you to all who report them).

🛡️Patreon | Forum Page | Demo Link🛡️

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werezmastarbucks · 28 days ago

Text

snowball pt2

incarnations masterlist

part one

obsessive, deranged, stalker!yoongi x f!complicit!reader

in which, no matter what you do, you can't seem to escape him

word count: 9015

music: can't get over you by joji, haunting by halsey, basic needs by jonathan davis

author's note: supplied all childhood memories by myself, lol. not funny. a little funny. sorry for yapping but i need you to know that i wrote both parts in one day and speedran into a burnout like i, personally, went through all the abuse.

warnings: violence, casual threats of violence towards the reader (although it never gets to it), toxic relationship, obsessive behaviour, yoongi has rage episodes; smut, voyeurism, intense jealousy, hardcore stalking, codependent, dysfunctional relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, abuse? unhappy-happy ending

The mental health has been degrading since the breakup. The built-up trauma of being watched, being observed and controlled, gave you monstorus paranoia which now makes you check your stuff three times a day.

Has the shampoo bottle moved a millimeter? You check the soil of the plants for dryness, putting your finger inside, in case someone watered it without you. You keep a to-buy list of things stuck on the fridge and carry the pen with you at all times, making sure there are no other pens left at home.

Sometimes it feels like things go missing. Pieces of clothing; you find them later on the couch where you left them. The light coming through the cluttered old balcony (wooden, full of the previous tennants' stuff you have no idea about) plays shadows on the walls, so you keep the curtains closed.

The narrow memory of Yoongi's obsessive presence is like a crack on the wall, a thin scar on your forearm; he is a demon, not hated enough and thus, scary. You watch the streets around and gradually, way slower than you hoped for, start losing caution.

People like him, you think with jealousy, tend to lose focus. They are bright and agonizing like a short flame, and they often move on. You wonder who his next victim might be. Wonder if changing laptops helped, or he still could hack your web camera again, because you use the same accounts.

The last year of university begins; thankfully you miss him there, too. He graduated the previous spring. You hope the waters of life carry Yoongi far away from you, because you still get nightmares in which the white figure is standing above your bed like an alien, like a poltergeist. In the first six months without him, you develop the fear of quiet, unexpected noises; and then you also discover he was right. You are forgetful. You skip meals. You bump into things. Toilet paper stops respawning by itself in your bathroom; sheets need changing; and kitchen needs cleaning.

You catch a stare similar to his, from above the mask, in a public place, and the whiplash of the mix of emotions takes away your good mood. Danger and desire. Missing him and hating him. For a whole year you grapple with the existence in which nobody worships the ground you walk on. Nobody goes through your phone. Nobody makes your muscles twitch.

You almost move on.

─────────────── ✧

Namjoon has finally moved out of his mother's house and bought himself a tiny cosy apartment in Jangang-dong with some generous family help. Which reminded you that you have zero contact with yours. Whatever is happening to your sweet little sister, you don't know. She has entered the university and barely texts you anymore.

Without Yoongi, really, you don't have truly loyal people in your life. That is not to say you need him back.

You don't. You know you don't. You agree with your brain when it says so. All the logic and self-preservation instincts make it clear as day.

Then why are you staring. Through the cigarette smoke whirling in hairy vortices, pale, soft, you see Yoongi, also pale and soft - and - bigger. That's the first thing you notice. Not even the girl on his lap. Still student business, although all of you are far beyond graduation. Still the same company of people. Still the same drinks. Yoongi is new. First of all, he shouldn't be here at all; you dart to Namjoon, clinging to his shoulder, and Namjoon is clearly trying to hide his face from you.

"Sorry... I'm sorry. I haven't seen him in months either. Y/N, I didn't know if he would come or not..."

You don't even say anything, just look into his frightened eyes. The buzzcut of Namjoon is glistening with sweat, prettily; it's dense in the room; about twenty people are crammed inside the tiny space. The words pour out of him under your gaze even though you look up.

"It wasn't a secret. Party wasn't a secret. I simply told my pals the address, and... I guess someone still speaks to him".

You never asked anybody to throw Yoongi out of their lives. The looks on Namjoon and Hoseok's faces were quite enough for you to understand that they will have the dignity.

It shouldn't be surprising though, if it's about Yoongi. Yoongi is a shimmering snake. He will always find a way.

Your skin crawls like suddenly dozens of tiny fruit flies cling to it. You hide behind Namjoon for a while, your palms around his round bicep. Yoongi doesn't pay attention to you; he simply exists inside an armchair. His shoulders are bigger. His chest has grown. He is buffer, bigger, softer somehow. His snow-white hair like the center of gravitation. You have no idea who the girl is. Should you tell her? Make a scene? Grab her by the shoulder and tell her Yoongi will put hidden cameras inside her apartment and will visit her place when she's not at home to lie in her bed and do her laundry? Should you make that of yourself?

"Stop staring", Namjoon mumbles.

It's a relief. He doesn't look your way and doesn't look for you. The root of your tongue goes dry. You stroll into the kitchen, tracing the wall, trying to keep your facial expression in check. It's a relief, you tell yourself. Yes, it's a relief: he has leached onto someone else. Later, when everybody gets much more drunk than now, you should catch the girl and lead her away and doesn't matter what she thinks about you. You need to warn her. Yes you need to warn her, and take her eyeballs out with a hot teaspoon. The roots of his white hair are going slightly dark again. Yoongi can be very charming when he works you; his nods are art. He maintains the eye contact, keeps his mouth slightly open, moves his chin like he means it. His intelligent mouth curls into a sexy shape. You walk into the kitchen and look for water bottles, and check the stove out of habit. Namjoon is made of the same material as you. Breaks things. Forgets about open fire. Leaves the fridge door open. A walking catastrophe. You are too similar to ever fall in love.

You reach for the pitcher and then get a glass out of the cupboard. Hand nervously scratches the neck, too hard, grooming you into peace.

No, it's just funny that he used to spend every waking moment trying to consume you, and now he has a new girlfriend. It's funny, that's all.

You gulp water, trying to drown those stupidly obvious thoughts that betray the pathetic weakness of you. Stare into the black mirror of the microwave with smudges of fat on it. Then the white floats into reflection behind you, and leans against the wall. Like the fire entering.

"Oof, very awkward", he stretches his vowels. You bite the glass edge and then unclench your jaws to turn around.

"Seeing your ex at the party".

Yoongi is glowing. His cheekbones are becoming more protruded like he lost weight even though he did literally the opposite. He keeps his hands behind his back, the inner sides of his elbows shot with the same blue veins that cover his dick. You sigh with a shudder. Stupid bitch.

"I'd say sus", you manage. He slightly raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. Then says,

"Oh, yeah. I need to apologize, probably. Sorry. I must have left a crazy impression, ha ha".

His chuckle is low and unreadable. Yoongi pushes himself off the wall and walks to the counter, and you move away, looking at him from under the brow.

"I hope you're doing okay though. I know I was acting totally crazy. Sorry. It's trauma".

He is carrying his new body with the nonchalance of a tiger. Goes through Namjoon's fridge the same way he used to go through yours. Like it's his place. Every place he goes, he acts that way. If you can find a way to slither into a space, you don't even need to claim it.

You tug at the painful spot on your upper lip, tearing the skin off.

"You seem adequate".

"I had therapy for a year. Getting over you, and stuff".

He doesn't look at you directly. The corners of his lips are slightly upturned with half-moons while he is reading the back side of a plastic pack of pineapple slices. He shakes it at you:

"Expired last week. Namjoon is so silly, I can't".

"Still have the caretaker complex. Therapy didn't help", you hammer, still walking backwards, until you press yourself into the window sill.

"Hey, it's not an easy thing to fix. At least I am trying".

It sounds weirdly like a jab at you. Yoongi looks at your face. He doesn't seem desperate. Doesn't seem needy. There's no heated glint in his eyes like before. He looks... calm. Collected. Polite.

"Are you really... okay?" you ask. Your eyes dart to the hand that's holding the expired pineapple slices. Fingers look normal. Yoongi catches your gaze and shows you:

"Yeah, everything's healed. Lucky. You know, I kind of need them".

He wiggles his fingers in the air, and you look away. You know your face is heating every passing second.

"Well, I am glad. Honestly, I didn't expect to see you".

"I missed these parties", he says simply. Then his girl enters the kitchen and immediately goes for his broad shoulders. Yoongi has always had a well-balanced, wide frame. Now it's magnified. Now. He looks irresistible.

She coos something to him, paying you no attention, and he bows his head, letting the hair fall on his eyes. The glimpse of the old, feral Yoongi.

Your heart is eerily empty. You leave the kitchen lighter. Now, you are a ghost. Why does it feel like you lost something?

The night becomes tighter like a python's gut. The room squeezes. You watch everybody dance. Yoongi is inescapable, gleaming. His hands on her body. She is in danger.

The party doesn't seem fun anymore. You take three more shots with Hoseok, who observes you with quiet caution and says nothing. Doesn't like your snappy character. His bony wrists only push tiny glasses towards you, then he nods, and you drink up. Once he is distracted by another song that he agrees with, he gives you a window to escape. It's perfect: Yoongi is gone from the room, probably making out with the girl. You slither among people, ignore Namjoon's weak call. Everybody is too drunk. You try to spot her wine-red dress on your way out, half-heartedly, then leave.

Climbing down two stairs is a challenge on wobbling knees. You do it slowly, without a hurry. You have no idea why you are so rattled, so furious about everything. Alcohol multiplying the awful things boiling in your mind. You push the entrance door open and step into the cool autumn air, and take a deep breath, only to swallow a handful of cigarette smoke.

You cough softly, and the white catches your eye.

Yoongi is leaning against the wall again, light bomber on his shoulders.

"Leaving?" he asks. The chthonic flesh-eating monster trying to act normal. You sway on your two feet. And you're not even wearing heels. There's a hickey on the side of his neck and a tired frown in between his lips, sharing space with the cigarette.

"Yeah", you say. Your eyes can't unclutch him. You try your upper lip with the tip of your tongue, and it's salty.

"You need a lift?"

You scoff. Yoongi smiles in unison, agreeing with whatever is on your mind. Yes, yes, stupid, he used to say. Of course, of course.

"Your girlfriend?"

"We met tonight. Here. She's not my girlfriend", he replies simply, without any disdain, not trying to prove anything.

"You gotta be honest", you press, shifting all weight to the left to steady yourself. Yoongi nods lightly, smoke leaving his mouth like a soul.

"Are you really normal now?"

"That's philosophical. Me being abnormal was always your opinion".

"Don't bullshit".

"Why? It's not like you're going to give me another chance?"

The music booms from up above through the open window of Namjoon's living room. You wonder why the neighbours haven't called the police yet. You notice Yoongi's free hand in the pocket of his bomber, fidgeting with something. Imagine it to be a knife.

"I have to go".

"I can drive you".

It's not urging, or pressing. It's a polite offer. Repeated twice.

"I saw you drink".

"I had one beer".

Yoongi stabs the cigarette against the new yellow paint of the wall. The building has been completed three years ago, it's a freshly born dwelling. The cigarette leaves a stark black spot and glows pale orange on the ground. He walks over to you but moves past, slightly changing the constitution of air around you. He smells like smoke, and sweet cologne vaguely resembling your own perfume.

"Come, I got a new car".

You shouldn't follow him, stupid bitch. His broad back in dark-blue bomber floats against the parking lot.

"You got a job?"

"Of course", he booms gently. Your feet start moving. Head is smoky with alcohol. With the night. Jeans tight around you. You are making a mistake, but he is your mistake. Nobody else's.

"How's the lotus spa going?"

Yoongi walks towards a silver car which you can't identify in the dark, and unlocks it. The lights blink like a warning. He opens the door for you and waits.

"It's in the future".

The cover of the night hides everything. Dissipating orange light from Namjoon's windows has no power here, in the twilight zone of an almost made decision. You touch the cold metal of the door, swiping your fingers up and down, and he clocks your hesitation.

"You don't have to go. Just thought to save you some money, night fares are insane", he says. Yoongi looks away, his throat shining in the blue darkness. You realize the street lamps don't work. You get into the car.

He drives with one hand resting on his lap; if it even knows how to do it. The hand that once shattered a glass bus stop and dripped blood. The hand that got stuck in between the door and the door frame. Hand that wrapped so lovingly around your throat, that balanced you every time you'd stumble. The hand that installed a surveillance device in your kitchen and stole items from your house, and never returned them.

"You feel alright?"

"Yeah".

"Your eyes are rolling".

The old Yoongi would scold you for drinking so much that you sway in the passenger seat. He would call you a lightweight. The new buff Yoongi with his fashionable bomber giving a special silky glint to his skin is driving quietly, shaking the hair away from his eyes. And in a twisted, serene old habit, you reach out and - what are you doing, stupid bitch - push the bangs away, scared that he doesn't, in fact, see around when it's like this. You think of the notion of Yoongi going through the life with the white curtain on his eyes. By the end of your, hmm, relationship, he did reveal them. Now he is fluffy and closed up again. Yoongi doesn't flinch, doesn't even acknowledge it.

"What job did you get?"

"Architectural designer in GBM".

The name of an insanely wealthy company leaves his lips like it's seven eleven. But Yoongi was made for these things. His satanic determination in studies was always clear. What's scarier was, it all came to him so easily. He never struggled with academic stuff. The human... was what he lacked in.

"That's pretty cool".

He nods like it's obvious. Still doesn't call you dummy. It even feels off.

He doesn't ask anything about you. He doesn't stare. Now you almost feel pathetic for touching his hair.

Another thing you totally miss is that he doesn't even ask where you live. You stupid, stupid cunt.

He simply drives you home to the other side of the city, into your new rented apartment with the wooden corridor, and parks in the lot in front of the building, and you drop your head back for a moment. You get out of the car quickly not to share this space with him, so egocentric that you fail to notice the obvious. Only when Yoongi leaves the car as well, does your head snap to him:

"Where are you going?"

"Calm down. You're drunk. To the entrance".

You stroll across the parking lot full of someone's cars. People are sleeping. This new building is smaller, quieter. The neighbours haven't known a Yoongi who bangs on your door regularly, who yells and shouts, and makes you yell and shout, too, in the bedroom. He follows you silently, and you punch in the code to the entrance door, and finally your alarms wake up half-willingly, the baseline self-preservation signals.

Yoongi pulls the door open above your head. His smell envelops you: hard, bitter, sweet, dense, all at the same time.

"Yoongi", you want to say his name firmly, like it's a derogatory term, but it comes out whiney and submissive. He is towering above you, eyes hooded in the lack of expression. White hair shining.

"What?"

"That girl who isn't your girlfriend", you slur, "doesn't even know you left?"

"I don't know her name", he pauses, "did it work though?"

His hand slides painfully slowly, on the edge of the door, until it touches your fingers, and you flinch them away.

"Don't tell me you did it on purpose", you wince. Your foot trips against the step, and Yoongi catches you by the waist. Cinematic. Nauseating. You remember his grab vividly, and yes, it's different now. He is bigger now, and it's the worst thing. You notice all the worst things.

"I did. Shit, it was great seeing you simmer", he whispers. He pushes you both into the building, and the door starts closing slowly, slowly, painfully slowly, like a mouth. You don't look at it. All your own animal wants to do it sink its teeth into Yoongi. For a good while you've been hiding your nature.

"You're still stuck on me", you mutter, accusingly.

"And you're still pretending to hate it", Yoongi grabs the railing and pulls you up the stairs, but you stop him on the fourth step. The new skin slides off him like sheep's fur. The bend of his elbow urges you to move on, your fingers sliding off the silky shoulder.

"The only thing I dislike about you?" he mutters, his mouth barely moving. The light that finally goes up in the stairwell almost blinds you, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. In this, it becomes clear that Yoongi is trying to drag you up without making it completely forced. You spin in his grab like it's a dance, balancing on the narrow steps, and his hand only grips your elbow now. Yoongi returns and pushes you against the hard greenish wall; inadequate, unpretty pale colour; but it goes well with white. He must be a little drunk after all, because he doesn't finish the phrase. His mouth forces itself on you, and you struggle for a good two seconds before recognizing his tongue.

Yoongi doesn't kiss; he devours you. He presses his head forwards, demanding the entrance, and then chokes you with tenderness, tilting your head back. He is trying to reach your throat from the inside, tracing your own trembling tongue. He is the ocean you don't have to leave. He only wants you. He whispers that: i only want you, like he's complaining: am I asking for too much? Your skeleton rattles inside, deprived of him for a whole year, every single system of your body working against your better judgement. So maybe you should screw it. You were meant to be. His small quick teeth never bite you to draw blood, but rather, to gently rehearse the day he finally gets to eat you. It takes a couple of minutes to get to the second floor, it's like in a movie; two mouths unable to get unstuck. You can't even hear the code beeping: the door simply opens, and he pushes you inside. The quiet, untouched darkness of the corridor welcomes him as he reaches for your thighs and squeezes them. It's a cataclysm. As soon as the door closes, he unzips his jeans and guides your hand inside, and you grab his dick, pulling out a soft moan out of him. It's still his trademark pleading. Stroke me, touch me, love me.

Yoongi kisses your wrist before pulling your top over your head, and immediately gets to your breast. Warm, safe, bee nest mouth bites too hard, and you shriek with pain, and he licks it softly to soothe it. What were the odds you'd meet him at Namjoon's house warming party? Yoongi doesn't fuck, he ambushes. You don't see any value in stifling your moans, harmonizing neatly, because it's one thing you never lied to yourself about. You feel so much smaller against him now, and it doesn't help. He could destroy you. Your tongue punches against the lower lip and gets outside, you feel like you're crumbling to pieces. The wetness of a whole year drips down in between your hips clashing together. It's sobering up. Sensitivity returns, and limbs go numb.

"This is fucking heaven", his tongue sanitizes your throat before allowing the teeth to bite. As you scream, you tighten around him, trying to bring legs together, but Yoongi is in between them, and he groans. Slow? Fast? You get what you want. He punches his thighs against yours until it hurts, then twirls you to your stomach and gets you on all fours. His body is fluid around you, like he's orbiting something. He nuzzles his face into your hair, moving his head, and it feels so good like he's never touched you before. All matter is knocked out of your head. Brain shut down. It's just juices, friction, pressure, love. Yoongi keeps repeating: my girl, my girl, my girl, like he is convincing himself. You have no idea what he's been doing for a year, but you sure haven't been fucked like that. Haven't been fucked at all. You think you and Yoongi invented sex, actually. It didn't exist before this. Your two animals kissing on the mouths, celebrating together. It's not you, it's them who kept magnetizing towards each other. Yes, that is easier to accept. His hand traces your arched spine and ends up on the side of the ass. A sonorous slap. Another one. The biting pain makes you feel everything more clearly. Then he cums inside, and the construction of you collapses, knees week, dysfunctional. He kisses it. Everything. As soon as your brain restarts, it advises: it was probably a mistake. Yoongi is licking the pink spot on your ass that he hit, like a kitten, with the tip of his tongue. You've never been loved before.

In the morning, you find him on your chest, his heavy head pressing on the rib cage, so much that it wakes you up. You push him off yourself and slide down instead, and he folds his arms around you through the sleep. Several hours later the day is breaking pale cold air in the bedroom with sunrays, and it burns your face.

The first thing you decide is that you can't go back to him. Wow, morning clarity is debilitating. You see his spider body, even more unbeatable than before. Yoongi has that cunning sweetness in his face, because it's kinda pinchable, and the cheeks are so soft. And it's a perfect disguise: he looks too cute. But when you think of the things he's doing, that mask turns insidious.

You try to slip out of the bed, but his clutch is iron even when he's unconscious. You look down at his hands. Half-fist as usual, short, trimmed, clean nails. The arms are like stubborn bush branches, trapping you in place.

"I want to pee", you whisper.

"Pee on my face", he mumbles, barely moving his lips. He crunches his nose when your movements become too disruptive to his snoozing. Before finally releasing you, he tightens the grip.

Everything in between legs burns. Muscles are sore, and the only thing they need is return into bed, but you force yourself to go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

This action brings up a huge question from under the sand of your mind. It's like the cameras all over again. It's like morning nausea. You put the glass back on the table and stare around the kitchen, the paranoia a forever chip on your shoulder. Calm down, you whisper to yourself. Knowing that it's the swamp you danced into happily yesterday. Are there cameras in your kitchen? Are there cameras in your bathroom?

Who unlocked the door to your apartment last night?

You can't remember. All you remember is animalistic desire. The need. The feeling of, if I don't let him in now, I'll die. Two things can be true at once: you are meant to be, you and Yoongi. He is your person. And he is clinically insane.

You walk back into the bedroom, where he is strategically putting on his jeans. The left side of his hair is flat because of the pillow, and he ruffles it with force.

"Yoongi".

You must have met before, in another lifetime: the way his name sounds in your mouth is too practiced. It lands neatly on your tongue like it belongs there. The same with yours. He lifts his eyes and walks around the bed.

"Now what? God, I just woke up".

His eyes are fixated on your right breast where a small bruise begins to form. He looks around and pulls your house robe from the floor. Untidy, the old Yoongi would say.

"Get dressed, or I'll drag you back to bed".

He puts the robe over your shoulders looking at you with such loving eyes that for a second you are ready to believe it's you that's slightly schizophrenic. He can't just leave it be once you put your arms through the sleeves; he drags his palm down your arm, fingers playing with your wrist.

"Who unlocked the door?"

He tilts his head forward and kisses you on the forehead.

But doesn't reply.

You try to remember. At the kiss, your memory fails. You remember the feeling. The light. Being pushed against the surface. Then, corridor.

Yoongi leaves the bedroom and strolls towards the kitchen, hanging his head low. You see he is rubbing something on his stomach.

"Snowball head".

He halts to a stop. Yoongi looks like a leopard now. The muscles in his shoulders lean and round. The neck looks stronger. His eyes peek at you through the hair.

"You're asking idiotic questions like before?" he hisses, "Instead of using your head, as usual?"

You grab the hems of your robe, closing yourself off.

"What does it matter who punched in the code?" he turns back to you. That white demon from your dreams.

"You never bothered to change it, and you've lived here for a whole year. Not a single time has it occurred to you to switch between them since you've moved away specifically to hide from me".

Boom. Just like that, the illusion of home dries down and evaporates like mist in the evening.

You don't want to stutter even though your hands give away the tremor.

"You've been here?"

"When?"

Your chin tilts forward.

"At all?"

"You expected me to just leave you alone or something?"

Yoongi throws it like it's a slight accusation, and goes into the kitchen.

But the plants stayed dry.

Floor moves under your feet slowly, carrying you after him. The jeans without the belt slide down under his stomach, and he pulls them up a little, then bows, looking inside the fridge. You fall onto a chair and feel scared of touching the table.

"Don't fuck with me".

"Yoongi..."

He snaps.

Yoongi swings the fridge door closed, and it bashes, opens again and rests half-open, while he stands up and turns to you.

"You are looking for things to complain about", he doesn't yell, he sizzles. "All the times I came round, I haven't even touched you a single time".

Your jaw unhinges and falls down, horror clouding your eyes.

They weren't dreams.

You didn't dream him up. He was there, in the room. White ghost against the bed. Your Yoongi. This is not dating, it's haunting. There was no break up, no year gap. Not to him. Yoongi rakes his hair with his hand, and you look at the knife resting on the counter to his left. The tender spot under his arm, in between top ribs, is asking to be stabbed.

"Get the fuck out", you get up.

"Don't even dream about it", his voice is bitter. You tug on his arm, trying to pull him away from the fridge. He closes it with his foot. Shakes off your hand. You grab again.

"What are you trying to do, baby?" he laughs. "You will throw me out? Again?"

He hasn't asked how you've been because he was there. He saw everything with his own eyes.

"Are there cameras?"

"No, I don't need them", he continues to laugh. Yoongi lets you drag him into the corridor, then loses his patience. Your fingers catch the air. His hand wraps around your throat. And finally, it's that one ring of the bell that should've sounded years ago. It's not the usual neck hold that fixates you in place. He starts squeezing.

"Stop pushing. Me away".

He skips the pleasantries of rhetoric questions and threats. He treats it like you're being problematic about a reasonable demand.

"We have been blessed with the love that doesn't even come to normal people sometimes", he grunts, "do you realize how rare it is? I found you within a week because I fucking read your mind".

"You are deeply unwell", you choke out, your hands scratching against his chest in an almost begging manner.

His eyes search your face, and he loosens the grab a little when the colour of it turns a little red. But doesn't let go.

"There's no shame in belonging to someone like you".

You mouth,

"Go".

Yoongi shakes you like you're a toy that refuses to work. The back of your head meets the wall, and he instantly puts his other palm against it. You kick. Then your fist collides with his unexpecting stomach, and he lets go.

You hold yourself against the wall and move towards the living room. He has to go. You run across the room and crash into the balcony door. Yank it open, and Yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. His weight makes you both step up, and you plunge into the wooden balcony, into the sun.

"He-" his hand slaps your face closed, covering the mouth. You hang from his arm, trying to scratch it, but you forget that Yoongi hasn't cared about pain since he was a child. Nothing can hurt him. Not your rejection, not your nails, not your fist. You mean nothing and everything to him. In a fit of delirious amusement, he bites your neck through your hair, giggling into your ear. You try to kick his shin but with your bare foot, it's ineffective.

"Stop fooling around and talk to me", he chuckles. Yoongi turns his head and spots a pile of someone else's old shit. Some garments, clothes, so old that they even smell. When you employ an elbow, to avoid being hit, he pushes you lightly to the side, and you fall there. Yoongi gets distracted by your leg ending with something he likes very much, as the skirt of the robe gets pulled up. He gets to his knees.

The barrier is so old that there are creases inside the wood. It's more of a hand-made cover, several square planks smashed together under the banister. When Yoongi's hand grabs your knee, you kick him in the chest with the other foot. He stumbles back. All his weight shifts, making him tip. He weighs a little more now - maybe around seventy kilograms? Not a small boy anymore. His back crashes through the barrier, taking it with him. He falls like a real man, without crying. And thumps on the ground, on top of the wooden pieces, three and a half meters down.

You don't even look; first thing you do is push yourself up and crawl out into the living room and run for the phone. Someone in the building opens a window.

You call the police, going through his clothes in your bedroom, looking for the car keys to make sure he won't get away.

Although maybe it's better if he does.

When you return to the balcony, you step carefully and crane your neck to look out. Of course, he's not there. You can't see any blood. His car is still parked in front of the building, although there are several silver ones. And you never bothered to check which one is his.

You sit by the wall, shaking, until the police arrive, and you tell them: my ex has followed me from the previous apartment where he had installed a camera in the kitchen to watch me.

Now, he has been visiting me, most likely at night, because he found out the code to the door.

The flat still smells like him everywhere. He'd been stealing things, too. I threw him off the balcony when he tried to forcefully eat me out after admitting the stalking.

The police say that it's the usual stuff. Shit happens. Lock your door for the night, they advise. If he reports the violence, you might be brought in for questioning, because you shouldn't throw people off balconies, no matter how they employ their mouths.

You collapse the next day on your way to work and spend a week at the hospital. Mental breakdown.

You spend a shit ton of money on therapy Yoongi never bothered with.

─────────────── ✧

Depression comes to you in the shape of irritation at everybody around you.

Two years later, the longer his absence, the stronger your fear grows. Yoongi can't just have disappeared, right, but it's a trick he does the best. You move from one flat to another every two months. You get a mechanic lock with the single key you always carry with you, even when you sleep. You don't meet new people but instead try to ground yourself in your family, or rather, the only member of it, who is still interested: your little sister. Too shy to text first. Too little to understand what's happening to you. You never talk about him. You don't need anybody to tell you that you've gone nuts; therapist does it well. You need someone to just be there.

You cut off everybody you knew from the university, even Namjoon and Hoseok, and feel awful about it, exhausted. After two years of running through Seoul and mapping it, leaving crumbs for everyone to see, you move away to Ilsan where your sister studies. But even then, you don't see each other very often. You install cameras yourself now: a black motionless eye in the bedroom; then watch yourself sleep in the morning, searching for snowy glow in the shot.

Yoongi is gone. This gaping hole smothers you with an unspoken promise of revenge. You don't even know how badly he fell back then - whether he can still walk. What happened to him. You don't get spooked anymore, don't get startled by blonde hair; you're quietly waiting for the day he shows up, to kill him. Live again? You can only do it when you know he is not there, anywhere.

You have no idea if what he's told you about his family, was true. That he had an alcoholic father and the mother that would make him beg for forgiveness on his knees, for every small mistake. That he was a lonely child at school, too small to even be bullied, just invisible. You always doubted half of it, because Yoongi always knew to push your buttons, almost like a real animal, a cat, that adjusts the sound of its meowing to soothe a human ear.

You are like that old dude from Jeepers Creepers 3, who sits with the shotgun, waiting to blow the demon down once it twitches again.

You miss the way he touched you like you were the most delicate, the most beautiful thing in the world. You could tear yourself apart.

Psychologist says it's an extreme case of codependent abusive relationship and that Yoongi most likely has borderline personality disorder and OCD. You scoff at that. You know he is an incubus.

You work from home; don't show up on the street a lot. All deliveries brought to you are under your name. Your apartment is untidy and messy, and owned only by you. No one steps inside, and there's no alien smells. Not bitter, not sweet, not the love. No hatred in your heart. Just readiness.

Mending relationships you'd neglected for years is an ungrateful business. Especially if it's your family. When your mother texts you that there's a gathering, it's not a happy message, a call to get together to catch up. To her, it's a chore, and you wouldn't even go if your sister weren't there. The last time you saw her, she was a worn out graduate, given up fencing and all her old hobbies, just trying to cope with her demanding major and friendship problems. It was a year ago. Once you moved to Ilsan, she had welcomed you and vanished again, leaving you on read for months. Guess you can't ask for more after being such a rotten creature that only gravitates towards the worst people.

You would've worn an armour if you had some, to family gatherings.

It's the most unpleasant faces you've ever seen in your life, all looking at you like you are shit. Mother eyes you up and down, and you recall how you had to kneel before her when you were little, begging for forgiveness. You'd never told Yoongi that; always wondered if it was a coincidence. Not really anybody knows that, except you and her.

She has a softer stare for the younger version of you, that didn't disappoint; from the other side of the big living room, you see the back of the head of your sister, and how the corners of mother's eyes relax, and lids go a little down.

"Did dad text you?" is all she asks. You say no.

"Uncle Namgil is here", she warns. Guess it's her version of taking care. Uncle Namgil liked to carry you around by your ankle when you were small enough to be carried. Almost dislocated your hip every single time, shaking you like a cat. You know well to stay away from him, even now.

"Minjae?"

The cousin who kissed you french style when you were ten.

"No".

She nods at your sister and smiles at her warmly. You get an uneven glass tilt. Once the girl turns and waves at you, lifts her arm, the cardigan on her body stretches, and you notice a belly.

"Oh shit", you utter before you can stop yourself.

"She is six months pregnant", mom explains.

You walk towards each other, and you hug her. She is still the same strong girl with shy eyes telling you things she isn't capable of pronouncing. Now she avoids looking at you, rather usual stuff. You need to nudge her a little, though. Having a baby is no small deed.

"Nani", you coo. The little nickname you gave her when she was little. You never call her the full name. "Congratulations".

She smiles, wrapping her palms around her belly. Then blushes slightly.

The relatives chat around. It's always a fine concussion of a reminder, how many there are, of you. Sister squeezes your hand shortly in gratitude.

"I'm sorry we didn't speak more".

It's a very vague apology. 'Didn't speak more' sounds like an unfinished conversation from yesterday, not a full six months of ghosting you. But you can't stay mad at her for long. You look around, seeing if anybody else is surprised by her growing belly. If there are the typical accusatory glances at you, blaming you for making your younger sister take the burden because you are just so selfish. Your mother asks her about the boyfriend softly.

"Boyfriend?" you ask, surprised, "you're not married?"

She shrugs.

"It was a happy accident".

Her eyes shine with what you know is infatuation.

"Where is he? Has he come with you today?"

She opens her mouth and says nothing at first, but her stare is direct. Your convoluted mind halts, waiting for a response. The voices of your family a hiss of the sea around. The room is yellow.

What enters the living room is black.

"I should've told you", her throat convulses, eyes bulge a little. All features indicate that she is feeling guilty. You look down at her stomach, then back at her face, then again, behind her shoulder.

Because your battered brain refuses to register.

"Sorry", she whispers quickly.

His hand lies on her shoulder, and you stare at the fingers with clean, short nails.

Yoongi is all black, like a swan that's undergone a transition.

He is happy, as well.

"Hi".

Your mother is mesmerized by the handsomness of this dude. He has a trendy cut with sidebangs, an there's a silver earring in his ear, but it just suits him so well. Black shirt is ironed, you know she did it. Yoongi bites his lower lip shyly. His eyes are revealed, and your mom drowns in them. It's in the genes. She can't not see the perfect slant. You bet she is almost fainting at the realization her grandchild will have these eyes.

It's a callback to his kitchen greeting: wow, that's awkward.

It's what you say now, to deelectrify the air. Yoongi's gaze darts to you like he doesn't recognize you. Nani's face gets flushed.

"We used to date", you explain to your mother. She opens her mouth, confused. Nani twists out of his hand gently. And takes the mother's arm.

"We should leave them for a while".

Throws you another cautious look. You had not a single idea this girl was capable of being a cunt. Not a single idea.

She lingers for a moment, looking at him, then at you, then purses her lips and leads mom away.

Yoongi looks at her like he would rather slash his veins that let her go. You feel your eyes go cold.

Seeing him in black is so weird, it's so... it's like you've accidentally jumped into a parallel dimension. You study his hair, shiny, black like his jacket.

"Is this your natural colour?" you don't know why you whisper.

It's the first thing you tell him after three years.

By the way, he doesn't look crippled.

Is this the same person at all?

When he opens his mouth, you recognize the voice.

"Yeah. Why?"

You can't remove the frown from in between your eyebrows.

"You've seen my teeange pictures".

You blink the paralysis off.

Yoongi orbits you a little, choosing an angle, then stands by your side, like you're both observing the living room.

"I have a great family", he sighs, "so many people".

Finally, the ice-cold spear of understanding slides down your guts and settles there, where Nani grows his parasite.

"You fucked my sister?"

He raises his eyebrows at the vulgarity of that. He is slowly changing his young adult face to his man face. It's rougher. Still handsome to the point of annoyance. Cheeks soft. But the white is drained. It's mute.

"She has your eyes", he deadpans.

"That all you got to tell me?"

Yoongi grins a little. There are small creases at the corners of his eyes. He must work a lot.

"One thousand, one hundred sixteen days", he replies. His eyes travel across your face. "And you finally don't fuck around".

"Walk with me".

You turn and make your way into the kitchen that's across the living room, down the corridor and to the left. Nani and mom are sat on the couch and watch you two, a little scared for some reason.

Yoongi strolls behind you soundlessly.

You rake your hair, it helps you think. Yoongi closes the door behind him and gets distracted by the little vase with candy. You stop at the knife stand, staring at it like it knocks all thoughts out of your head.

"You'll be an aunt soon", he says from behind you. Traces his finger on the table as if checking if your mother is as dirty as you are. You barely ever dusted.

"It's a boy".

"I don't believe it. Is it really yours?"

You turn with a swing to face him. He's a crow now. A levelled-up creature.

"Yeah, it's mine. I had lots of sex with her".

You cover your nose like you're ready to vomit.

"When did you start it?"

"About a year ago".

"And before?"

"Huh?"

He is playing fool now. Direct and annoyed Yoongi is taking his time pulling the nerves out of you.

"Where have you been before? It's been three years".

He smirks with his teeth, and takes a step towards you like he likes something in your voice.

"Why are you asking? I was working. I need to provide for my family. While you were drowning in your own shit, I got really loaded and ready to procreate".

He says it with mercy, a soft tilt of the head, a hand ready to catch you.

The balcony flight really cemented your unbalanced seats in this fucking spectacle. It's true. You've been surviving. Him, his aftershock, and then, without him. Bizarre. Your life started revolving around him.

Yoongi sighs through his nose and holds himself against the counter. Looms above you the way he likes to.

"You can't have Nani".

"Oh, shit", he whines, "I can't have you, I can't have Nani. Who am I allowed to have? Your mom?"

He observes you like he actually considers it.

"I actually might get a shot with her".

You chuckle at the cold delivery, so obscenely empty that there's an echo inside your ribs.

You turn slightly, and grab the knife from the stand. It's a good, broad knife with a sturdy black handle. Nothing white anymore, it's all coming together.

"Take off your jacket".

Yoongi obeys, disinterested. He puts the jacket on the high stool and gets back in front of you, eyes slightly curious about the thing in your hand.

"It's bad timing. I am proposing tonight".

He acquired a new expression. It's a condescending smile. His triangular, softly oval face is clean, pale, with the eyes oozing black like never before. He has the capacity to be very safe for the right people.

"You shouldn't have gone for my sister".

"I won't deny it's all about you", he notes softly. The words low, dipped in careful reproach, "but don't get cocky about it. You've hurt me twice".

You raise your hand, and he doesn't react, at all. His eyes, you realize, are so focused on you, like he is drinking the image of you.

What if he hasn't watched you these three years? And hadn't seen you? And whatever's happening now - this stillness, is the waves drawing away from the shore?

Your limbs go numb. Yoongi's mouth is raw pink. The times when he had breakfast on your kitchen, masturbated to you walking around the apartment unaware, and went through your phone, feel so simple now. Almost nostalgic.

"Yoongi", you call, to test the waters. You look where you should - at his hand, suddenly forming into a fist, thumb shaking.

"Why did you choose me?"

His eyes stare through you.

"Did you know I can recognize your smell?"

"I can recognize yours, too", you shake your head dismissively. The knife still limp between you.

"No. At distance. Like a trail. I think we're soulmates".

You have no jabs to throw. You lift the knife and stick it to his chest. Yoongi grabs your wrist.

"At least go for the heart, my love. And good luck; if you think I won't hunt you down in the next life..."

He swirls it sideways so that the tip goes in between the ribs.

Betrayal is what you can't forgive. Not dying the hair is alright. His natural colour makes him more mature. Makes him blend in. Perhaps he has got tired of being the snowball head.

Gaining weight made him look like an apex predator. Strong structure of his jaw gradually lifts into the cheekbones that give up his old blood. The animal bows its head at you and drops the hand, asking for nothing. You have no idea what's going on in his head. You know nothing goes on in yours. Nothing to report.

You press the knife in, and Yoongi helps, keeping himself in place with the hand clutching the counter edge. Bright kitchen light is atrociously yellow. It takes some force to drive it through him, but once you get it going, it gets easier. There's a nasty crack, and he gasps quietly. His chin drops like he wants to watch. Yoongi stumbles forward, and the last thing he does is kiss you. You haven't kissed him for three years. His mouth is warm, like the forest nest where you can hide. Sweat immediately appears above his upper lip, and you lick it clean.

Yoongi falls on the floor.

Then the knife hand clunks against the tiles.

Then, people come in. They scream. Nani screams the loudest. Mother goes pale. Blood. Jail. Death.

No, rewind back.

You let yourself soak in the scene, calculating, your head goes light.

It's not even the jail that stops you, but another, second best thing: the world without Yoongi. The whole rest of your life without him on your scent.

His hand still grabbing your wrist. He calls you pretty. To give him a kiss, you have to cut the distance with the knife.

You press it harder, just to let the anger out, and Yoongi lowers his eyes, unimpressed. Probably far from the pain level to even notice for him.

You press until the tip penetrates his skin and tears the black shirt just a little, then your upper lip twitches in anger.

You throw the knife on the counter.

He kisses you, pressing you against the hard edge, the bulge in his trousers nudging you in the thigh. Some things never change with Yoongi. His hand cradles the back of your head, and you feel loved, the way only a stupid, capricious bitch can be loved, that earned the love of a demon.

You grab his chin hard, digging into the jaws, and feel his teeth with the fingertips. He looks a little funny like this, like a kissable twink again.

"You will never see her again. You never hurt her again".

"Oh, Nani is screwed for life", he promises, with a sigh. "You made me do it".

"And you stop gaslighting me about every little thing", you utter through your teeth.

He bites his lip like he bites his tongue. His eyes come alive. The animal is sniffing you.

"Get your things", he suggests, "we should leave now".

You nod. Half way out of the kitchen, you turn. Yoongi is tapping his chest, lower lip pulled up, and with the other hand, feeling for his jacket.

"You care about the baby at all?"

He shakes his head.

"We could take it from her, but it's undercooked..."

You suck the air through your teeth and shake the door handle before opening the door.

You walk through the living room, shooting one empty glance at your sister.

She looks at you, her hands crossed on her lap. You wonder to yourself if she was manipulated into it; seems way too pliable, even for her.

Whatever. This is utterly your world.

You leave the house and take extra pleasure out of bumping your shoulder into uncle Namgil.

Yoongi emerges five minutes later into the street full of icicle teeth. You have no idea what car he has now, so you just linger outside, away from your mother's house, where, if they throw something out the window, it won't make you.

He waves his hand in an order, and you don't move. Yoongi frowns, but there's a smirk in it. Punches his cheek with his tongue, walks over, gets your elbow. And then crooks his neck and kisses you again, the steam leaving your mouths. The street is muted and white, covered in funeral snow crust; like pieces of his old hair, spread out. Yoongi is a black stain, impossible to lose again. He leads you to a big chocolate-brown Hyundai and gets the door for you.

"What did you tell them?"

"Not to search for us".

You throw a look at the house. Someone is watching from the window.

He drives calmly, one hand resting on his lap. Once he makes sure where you need to go, the hand crawls over to yours, and takes your palm, lovingly. Nobody ever quite mustered the tenderness with which Yoongi always touches you. Like only he knows the code to your door. Like he kills the competition and fucks the copies of you. The fingers interlock, and you think to yourself, if you keep him close, nobody else will get hurt.

You wonder if the lotus-shaped spa is ready.

─────────────── ✧

You rub your eye carefully and adjust the lamp light from your phone. Laptop is on your knees on top of the blanket. Yoongi is in the same bed with you, an elbow away, drawing something on his iPad. He really likes drawing things. It's always some structures; he doesn't draw people. Except for you. He draws you, and buildings. Staircases, lintels, slabs. Like an engineer. And balustrades, pediments and columns, like an architect. Eyes, wrists, ears, hips. Like Yoongi. You rub your eye again, and he says,

"You work too much".

Your hand stops clicking the keyboard. You look at the time. Almost made it a whole half an hour without his comments. Almost done.

You glare at him, tilting head, brows up.

He smirks.

"What? You don't need all that. Ever since we moved in together, you started working more".

It's because you finally got your peace of mind and therefore, productivity increased.

"It's like you're trying to prove something".

He looks away from his intricate, angular black and white molding and peeks at you from under the black hair.

"Because everything I do is about you", you sneer gently. He goes back to his work.

"Well, everything I do is about you. But I'm a fool for hoping my ministrations would be reciprocated".

"If the both of us acted like this", you sigh, "we wouldn't leave the house and nothing would get done".

"By you. I am proactive".

You decide it's best to leave him hanging. He is irritating when he is on his superiority wave. Yoongi loses interest in his drawing when he spots the time. You realize the work is done when he puts the iPad and the pen away, and his hand reaches for your laptop.

"No, no! Not finished".

The tip of his tongue helps him concentrate on catching you. You turn on your side. His fingers clutch the lid of the computer.

"I am your husband. Be with me".

"You're not my husband".

The silent, lazy struggle doesn't leave your square in the bed.

"I will be. Give it to me".

Yoongi is pressing his weight against your free hand, trapping it under, and yanks the laptop away.

"I mean it", you press, slightly angry. You need to win this at least once. You need to know that he sees a human in you, still.

"I don't care".

You sit up, let go of the laptop and go limp. Yoongi hates that the most. Fighting is exciting. But total surrender with no expression on your face is something he is powerless against.

He whines tiredly.

"Come on".

He walks around the bed and puts your laptop on the desk, then gets inside, under the blanket, on your side, sitting on top of your knees. Then stretches his body like a cat, straddling you. Tries to look inside your eyes.

"Y/N".

"You don't care. Fine. Go to sleep".

"Tsk".

You stare through him knowing that it will drive him up the wall in no time.

"I don't mean it like that".

"Uh-huh".

That's the worst part. He totally means it like that. He always means he doesn't care what you think as long as he knows better.

He doesn't think you need to work at all. What has he been breaking his back for then? You should just be a good girl. Enjoy the fruit of his labour. Stay pretty. Stare into his eyes.

Yoongi slides his thighs, taking you with him. His hips are incredibly strong for someone who's never been fucked by a man. You are forced on your back, and he grabs your face, plumping your lips.

"I say things to make you mad, you know that".

Two things can be true at the same time. You press into his cut. One little wound: empty eyes; and he is going desperate.

"If I really didn't care, my dick would be in that mouth four times every day", he narrates, and it's twistedly funny.

"If I didn't care about what you say, I wouldn't memorize every single thing you say, every day".

You wait another minute and blink as surrender. Good enough. His fingers relax a little. His back muscles do, too. Yoongi presses a kiss on your cheek, light like a touch of a moonray. He hovers, moves his lips to the corner of your mouth as an apology but doesn't go further. Begs for permission.

"We're going to Namjoon's party?"

He opens his eyes and lifts himself a little. Your hand swipes through his hair. It's been a new hobby; longer locks are like a coping mechanism for you.

"Do you want to?"

You shrug. Saying you miss Namjoon's smiling face with dimples would be stirring new shit when Yoongi has just demonstrated such outstanding capability for being pliant.

"I want to see everybody. You ever cared about them?"

"Parties?" he curves his lips into a lopsided shape.

"Namjoon and Hobi".

"Oh. I like them. They are the only two people from uni I didn't hate".

You gasp.

"And me?"

Life is unfair. Two disgusting people like you get to enjoy the bliss of being together in a huge, warm bed, while other, less corrupted souls go through their lives struggling.

Well, those souls maybe should've worked better and become architects.

"You... are barely a person", he concludes seriously.

"Weird, I always thought the same thing about you".

"Wow", Yoongi rolls his eyes. "We are so-o quirky".

He drops down, and your hands wrap around his head. He is corporeal, at least when in your grasp.

taglist: @mar-lo-pap , @benyhime

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi angst

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boytearscore · 11 months ago

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why can’t i hate you? — matt sturniolo & chris sturniolo.

summary: being best friends with chris and nick meant the world to you, it also meant you had to deal with their brother’s hate, rudeness, eye rolls, mean comments and coldness all the time. but that didn’t bother you, in fact, it was actually always a pleasure to annoy the shit out of him constantly.

warnings: swearing, enemies to lovers, best friends to lovers, love triangle (not threesome), toxic behavior, angst, comedy, possible smut and of course, strong female lead. TW for this chapter: mention of panic attack.)

taglist: @sleepysturniolo, @soshere, @spideylovin, @calisturniolo, @ilovecheese09, @ncm9696 , @klaus223492, @freshloveforthefit (thank you so much for the support, girls 💋)

author’s note: i’d like to say, this is by far the hardest chapter i’ve written. it was so intense and emotional but i hope you guys enjoy it. (feedbacks, comments and anything else are welcome, feel free to speak your mind) that’s it, see ya! chapter one here, chapter two here

chapter three.

after much thinking, you decided to go home and cool off, just the thought of making nick and chris uncomfortable because their brother was a dick make you blood boil.

you texted the group of you three telling them you had some stuff to do and needed to leave early, but that you’d see them soon.

chris was the first one to reply, you were still driving home when his message popped up but you didn’t want to be distracted, so you conclude it’s best to reply later.

as you passed by the tall buildings and palm trees of LA, your mind just went away with thoughts of matthew.

no guy looked at you that way before, sure, a few did hate you for past relationships and even because you always hold them accountable when they do shitty things.

but the coldness of matt’s eyes, there was so much hate, it was almost like he’s holding in something else.

jealousy? you think to yourself but shakes your head right away.

not a fucking chance.

all you know is that his attempts to hurt you didn’t and will not work in the future. the only thing bothering you is not being able to read him as much as you do to all the other guys. there’s a blockage and your curiosity to find out more was actually growing bigger now that he seemed way too angry about you flirting with chris.

finally, you get home, opening the door and throwing the keys on the couch. you go straight to bed, getting yourself comfortable on the between the sheets and buffing loudly. you hear another beep.

oh shit, chris. you thought grabbing your phone immediately, he didn’t reply on the group chat, but sent you a private message.

“did you go home because of what happened earlier?”

you frown, does he know about your argument with matt? fuck, that could not happen, things would get messy and really awkward.

but then another message popped up.

“sorry, i couldn’t control myself… you’re too tempting.”

you let out a huge sigh of relief, smiling at your phone and responding to him.

“trust me, it was very hard to leave after what you did, christopher. but there's indeed an emergency, don’t worry.”

you lied for the first time to chris and a sinking feeling weighed your heart, maybe one day you’d be able to tell him about what actually happened, but that’s not the right time yet.

“hahaha, i guess you should walk on me getting out of the shower more then. ;)”

you smile again, it was so adorable to see chris’ bold and confident side. it was also fucking hot.

“so i can win and make you blush again? pfft, that’d be boring.”

chris types for a while and then stops, then types again and you chuckled, he’s still the cute guy you knew.

“you’re lucky we weren’t in my room, the only reason why i didn’t bend you over that wall and fucked you right there was because one of my stupid brothers could catch us.”

you stare at the message for a couple seconds, the smile turning into an amused smirk. so this is the same guy who facetimes you until he can fall asleep after watching a horror movie?

an exciting feeling took over your whole body, but then you read the last sentence.

''one of my stupid brothers could catch us.”

you close your eyes and the image of matt stabbing you with his gaze is all over your head again.

this was starting to piss you off, you never really thought about matthew that much. he was just annoying and kind of there while you hangout with your best friends, but now? even flirting with someone else over text, you can’t help but think of him.

this is not over.

before you could respond chris, you dozed off.

your phone is suddenly buzzing, you open your eyes confused, the room was already pitch black and then you check the time, it’s 3AM.

“who the fuck is calling at 3AM?” you murmured to yourself but got your answer right away. ”matt?” you almost yell, getting up off the bed and staring at the contact calling.

what he could possibly want from you at 3AM? was he determined to annoy you this much? you roll your eyes and wait for it to go straight to voicemail, expecting him to give up, but then he actually sent you a voice message.

“hey…” his voice was shaken, breathless. and you frowned confused. “chris and nick are out for tonight and…” he stops again and you hear a sob. “i need to take my anxiety medication but i can’t get up. i hate to ask you this but… can you please help me?”

“i’ll be there in 10.”

you immediately text him without thinking twice, leaving your room and grabbing the keys on the couch.

on the way to the triplets house, your mind raced just as much as your heart. you forgot about the argument from this morning, all you wanted to do is get there before anything bad could happen.

after 15 minutes, you finally get there using your spare key to open the house. it was quiet, dark and you could hear low sobs and shaky breaths close to the living room wall. you rush to the cabinet, grabbing his pills and getting a cup of water, following the noise and soon finding matthew on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest, you bend over touching his shoulder and he grabs your hand abruptly, looking at you with a terrified expression. his eyes were swollen and moist, his lips were red from biting it hard and you could feel his whole grip shaking around your hand.

“do not touch me.” he yells but loses strength, leaning over the wall still holding your arm which makes you fall next to him. his eyes widened and he almost looked like he was about to apologise but then he glared at your hand holding his medication. “how did you know where it was?”

“nick.” you reply, and he stays quiet for a while. his grip still on your hand, but you didn’t even notice it. “he told me about what happened years ago…”

he remains quiet, just breathing heavily, his gaze focused on the ceiling of the living room, you also stayed quiet. the pain in his lost eyes made your heart ache, suddenly he loosened his grip and you watched him stretch his hand. you frowned and he rolled his eyes.

“the medication.” he says and you give to him, he takes the cup of water from your other hand and shug all of it after putting the pill into his mouth.

and that’s when shit happens.

you don’t know why, but you feel the urge to hug him. all these years of anger, annoyance and rudeness meant so much less when you just saw how much pain he was feeling. sure, nothing excuses his behaviour, but you imagined the way those kids treated him, the reason why he changed so much and why he refused to talk about it even with the people he trusted the most.

he was just a little kid, for god sake.

and so you do it.

you wrap your arms around him and he tries to push you away. “what the fuck are you doing?” he yells, and you hug him tighter.

“it’s not your fault, matt.” you whisper.

“what are you talking about? get off of me!” he still protested and you repeated again, this time a little louder.

“it’s not your fault. none of this is.”

and then he stops fighting against your hug, you hear loud sobs, his body shaking and his arms squeezing around your waist, he lets his head fall on your shoulder. your hand reaches his hair, gently caressing it and the other rubbing his back.

“i…” he tries to speak but all it came out was loud whimpers, and you hug him even tighter.

“i know…” you tell him quietly.

both of you stayed that way for a while, your arms and hands giving him warmth and comfort. he eventually calms down and when you feel him lift his head up loosening the hug, you look at him and he stares at you, a few tears still falling and you can’t help but wipe them with your fingers. the contact of you skin makes matt close his eyes, he puts a hand over yours and let a huge sigh out.

“why?” he asks, still with his eyes closed.

“what do you mean?” you tilt your head to the side, confused.

“why are you being nice to me when i'm nothing but a jerk to you all the time?” he opens his eyes and stares at you with an expression you’ve never seen before on his face.

you think for a second, biting your lips. matthew is staring at you intensely waiting for a response.

“i don’t know…” you confess. “i just don’t like to see you in pain, that’s all.”

“but why?” he questions you again, this time, he pressed your hand harder against his face.

“because i know how it feels.” you blurt it out without thinking and he doesn’t react, nodding his head quietly.

“fuck…” he finally speaks, avoiding your gaze for the first time that night. he huffs looking at you again, slowly getting closer, now you are inches from each other faces. “you’re the worst.” he mutters, shutting his eyes hard and keeping your palm against his cheek. he lets out another huff of breath and then speaks. “you make me feel... weird."

you grab his face with both hands and make him stare at your eyes, he was still crying.

“tell me how you feel, matt.” you whisper, at this point your chest was about to explode with strong heartbeats. “open your heart to me, i’m not gonna hurt you…” you continue, looking at his teary eyes. “i promise.”

matthew place both of his hand over yours and hesitates a little, you fingers gently rubbing his cheeks and he finally open his mouth to speak when you hear the front door opening.

“matt?” a yell makes both of you turn to the front door, chris and nick just arrived.

they stare at you on the ground and nick rushes over to see what’s happening, while chris is just staring at your hands on his brothers face and his over yours, feeling a mixture of jealousy and worry.

“the fuck happen to you?” nick asks, and you get away from matthew like you just woke up from a trance. you glance at chris by the front door and notice his weird expression, but decide to not think about it since a lot is happening at the moment.

“just had a panic attack.” he shrugs, getting up from the ground and looking at you. “she helped me, i’m okay.”

chris and nick turn to you with eyebrows raised, like they just heard the most absurd thing ever.

“now that i’m not needed anymore…” you pick up the keys from the counter and head to the door not wanting to explain things not even you understand, but chris grabs your arm, you could see his jaw clenched.

“you should’ve called us.” he’s still holding you, but staring at matt who seemed to be back at his usual nonchalant self again. “not her.”

“thought you said you guys were staying the night there. didn’t want to bother your little vacation.” you feel the grip on your arm getting tighter and that infuriates you.

“are you done?” you ask chris angrily and he finally looks at you, immediately letting your arm go. “that’s what i thought.”

you turn to nick waving goodbye, he mutters “i’ll text you later” and you leave without looking at chris or matt.

what the hell just happened?

it’s all you could think on the way home while your phone was blowing up with messages from chris.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #strong female lead #strong female protagonist #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris and matt #love triangle #enemies to lovers #best friends to lovers #fanfic #fanfiction #sturniolo triplets

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moviememokeeper · 6 months ago

Note

this is mostly self indulgent but--

im a person who has really bad memory and ive been thinking about how ironic it was that i liked reca (major understatement) since hes a memokeeper who probably remembers everything hes ever known. so ive been thinking: what if he had a s/o with really bad memory? this has probably been thought of before but i THINK i have only seen few things about it.

hed be perfect honestly and damn if i dont need someone who can and will remind me of everything i forget like taking my very important meds. or preventing me from accidentally skipping meals. or even sleeping at the right hour because i completely lack a sense of time.

but it also feels super bad to forget everything and even things you actively want to remember like bonding moments. so he would definitely take SO many photos and videos of you and keep them in a super secret stash to show you later. or put 200% of his effort into making the most love filled movies about you and him painted in the most beautiful light- and his bias toward you really shows because theyre always the movies people discuss the most. (i dont know if he would be That biased but its a silly thought. if you want to make it sillier imagine him putting so much effort that he comes home physically disheveled lol)

feel free to add thoughts... its 4 am and im so sleepy it took me 30 mins to make this coherent enough to undsrstand but reca is roaming in my brain rrrrg mr. recaaaaa...

So, I wrote a response to this back when I first received it, but then my dumbass forgot to save it in my drafts 😭

ANYWAY

This is honestly so real, I’m forgetful asf as well 😭

- He’d leave sticky notes all over the house in places he KNOWS you’ll find it to remind of you of important stuff

- the sticky notes also contain a lot of little heartfelt messages <3

- And SO. MANY. NICKNAMES. He’s the type to constantly call you “darling” “love” “sweetheart” etc. he also comes up with very ridiculous nicknames sometimes to make you laugh, they get worse as times goes on

- little texts/phone calls throughout the day to see how you’re doing and remind you of stuff

As for bigger events

Like you said this man definitely has a huge stash of photos and videos

- he keeps little things he finds during your dates (for example a pebble, a keychain, etc.) as little reminders of what you guys did together

- he also compiles all his pictures into a scrapbook

- It details when the picture was taken, what you guys were doing, his thoughts on said day, and a whole lot of compliments

- he doesn’t get upset if you forget something, he just thinks of new ways to help you remember y’know

- ALSO with him being a memokeeper, what’s stopping him from playing his own memories of the event like a movie for you to watch?

This man is a hopeless romantic I swear

#mr reca #honkai star rail #hsr #mr reca hsr #hsr mr reca #mr reca x reader #mr reca/reader #honkai star rail x reader #memo speaks #y/n

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bigmpregnm · 5 months ago

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Up & Down - Part 4

[Story Collection] | [Part 3] [●] [Part 5]

We couldn’t be happier as the weeks passed. Spencer faced many challenges, but we were so in love with the idea of having babies together that his face was permanently adorned with a broad smile. When December started, Spencer was almost 16 weeks pregnant, and his weight was only a few pounds from 400 pounds. His belly stuck out about 8 inches from his former flat abdomen, making it impossible to hide his growing gut.

Even when Spencer wore oversized hoodies and jackets, his belly would stretch the fabric, hinting at his round abdomen, leaving me excited and horny. I loved how much bigger he was getting because, apart from his belly, some other parts of his body were also thickening. His butt looked fuller, straining his pants. His chest looked somewhat rounder and softer, and we knew it was all due to his overeating. He had strange cravings for high-calorie foods and carbs, things he had avoided for years before finding out he was pregnant.

He often texted me while I was at work, asking me for burgers or french fries, donuts, and fried chicken. He had a favorite place to get the fried chicken from, and even though they could deliver it to our apartment, he was somewhat needy, demanding that I bring it personally after work. When I arrived home every evening, I carried several bags of fast food for my big guy. My favorite moment of the day was when he sat beside me on the couch to devour it all right before my eyes. Others wouldn’t give those moments a thought, but I loved them.

Spencer laid on his back, resting his head on my lap. He went through several pieces of fried chicken like he hadn’t eaten in days, and I could only smile. I reached for his bare belly and rubbed it while Spencer continued eating. He often said he wanted big and healthy babies, insisting he had to eat a lot to grow our babies big and strong like him. I laughed and leaned to kiss his lips, marveling at how he was glowing and bursting with joy.

“You look stunning. Did you know that?” I said, caressing his belly while he ate the last piece of chicken.

“Hmm, I think I look like a pig,” he said, chuckling without pausing his eating.

“Well, you’re the prettiest pig ever,” I replied, rubbing small circles over his taut belly.

Spencer smiled, winking at me. “Thanks for filling my stomach with all this food. You’re the best,” he patted his round belly before sitting up. “Now you gotta fill me up in other ways,” he added, a lustful grin spreading on his face as he eyed my crotch.

I laughed and quickly removed my pants, revealing my big, hard dick. “You’re such a greedy pig; you knew that?” I replied playfully, “I’m all yours, big guy. Bring your insatiable butt over here and ride me all night long.”

“Hmm, some respect, Owen; I’m carrying your children,” Spencer said, rubbing his belly and laughing as he approached to sit on my lap facing me. He guided my dick to his ass and sat heavily, taking in my foot-long cock in a single move. I smiled and moved my hands to his belly, caressing its taut skin and marveling at the fact that my babies were growing there. As he started bouncing up and down on my dick, hypnotizing me, his moans grew louder. I wouldn’t change those moments for anything else.

Our routine revolved around Spencer’s pregnancy for the next few weeks. We still attended classes, but as the holiday break approached, our minds drifted farther from school stuff. Considering Spencer’s belly was growing faster than we expected, we decided it was better if he dropped out of college for the next semester. We loved how big Spencer was getting, but we had to be careful to avoid stares or suspicious comments. Spencer noticed some of his classmates staring at his belly. We couldn’t blame them. Those stares were the proof we needed to decide to hide Spencer for the rest of the pregnancy.

When he reached the 16-week mark, the same day we saw the number “400” on the scale, the winter break was only a week away, and another challenge arose. Each of our parents insisted on us going home for the holidays. We had never missed a family gathering but didn’t feel ready to tell them about Spencer’s pregnancy. I thought my parents could be somewhat understanding because they knew I was gay and I wasn’t the guy carrying eight babies. But Spencer’s parents were a whole different story because, even though they knew he was bi, they thought it was just a phase and that he would end up marrying a girl.

As the days passed and the holidays approached, I noticed Spencer’s attitude toward me changing. He wasn’t the loving and sweet guy I loved so much, but he turned colder and more serious. He even asked me to give him some space, so we slept in different rooms, which hadn’t happened since we found out he was pregnant. I knew he was nervous and couldn’t blame him, so I tried to be understanding.

However, even though we weren’t sharing a bed, his demands never stopped; they only became more intense. His classes were over for the year, so he stayed home the whole day. The anxiety caused by the impending revelation to our parents only increased Spencer’s hunger, and he even wanted me to sneak away from my job whenever he texted me to bring him candy or drinks. I couldn’t fulfill those requests because I couldn’t leave my workplace during my shift, but he didn’t understand.

“Where have you been?” Spencer shouted one evening as I arrived from my shift, two days before we left to visit our parents. He was naked on the couch, eating a bowl of ice cream, his eyes red from crying. “I’ve been starving to death all afternoon. You put these babies in me, and now you can’t fulfill your responsibilities.”

I froze by the door, taking in the scene and processing his words. “What are you talking about? I left about... five hours ago,” I replied, a bit angry at his complaint. “Also, I doubt you’ll starve to death if you don’t eat for a few hours. Look at you.”

“Are you calling me fat?” He replied, looking evidently offended.

I laughed out loud and stood before him. “You can’t be serious?” I said, taking the bowl of ice cream from his hands. “What are you? A woman going through menopause? What’s wrong with you?” I said it without thinking about my words before they escaped my mouth, regretting them immediately.

“I’m pregnant with your babies,” he said, tears running down his face. “I’m fat because of you. My parents will disown me because of you. That’s what’s wrong with me.” He stood up surprisingly quickly, considering his size and condition. I saw his massive frame cast a shadow over me as he approached.

“No, Spencer. I didn’t mean to say that aloud. Look, I get you’re scared of your parents’ reaction, but...” I began, but he looked furious and hurt. His face was red with anger while tears streamed down his cheeks.

“You didn’t want to say it aloud, but you think it,” he firmly said.

“Spencer, I don’t think you’re fat. You look stunning. You’re perfect,” I replied, caressing his face. I felt like the Hulk’s girlfriend trying to calm the green monster down. I smiled, pulling Spencer into a quick kiss and making him sigh. “Spencer Collins, you’re not fat. But if you were fat, I would love you the same. I wouldn’t mind having some soft spots to squeeze on your body.”

Spencer chuckled and hugged me tight, leaning in to rest his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Owen. I… I… I’m scared. When you didn’t come when I asked you to come, I felt like you didn’t care about me, and...”

“Hey, hey, stop it there. I won’t let you complete that sentence,” I said as I hugged Spencer tight. “I didn’t come because I was at work, and you know we need the money. But I’d swim through the Pacific Ocean twice to get to you if you were in trouble.”

Spencer only rested his head on my shoulder for what felt like an eternity, and I felt some tears still escaping his eyes. “Would you sleep with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone. And... I want you there when I tell my parents about the twins and these eight babies.”

“I’m not leaving your side, now or ever. You’re mine, and I’m yours.” I smiled, caressing his back. “Also, our 10 coming babies are my responsibility, as much as yours.”

We cuddled tightly that night, talking about our plans for the future. We knew our parents would likely cut any financial help they gave us because it was for school expenses. It was a huge problem. We knew we had a lot of things to pay for and buy very soon, considering the twins were due in April. The woman Spencer got pregnant was willing to give up on all her rights over the babies, and I wanted to adopt them as mine. But we needed to cover the legal expenses of the process.

We had too many things to worry about but still had to make more sacrifices. Spencer was already dropping out of school, at least temporarily, and the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that it was for the best if I did the same. I was the only one earning any money, and with a part-time job, it wasn’t much. Dropping out of school meant I would have the time to get a full-time job to support Spencer and our 10 coming babies. We left for the holidays, aware that college was out of near-future plans.

Spencer wore several layers of baggy clothes when we arrived at his parent’s house. However, his parents immediately noticed his belly when we arrived. He was 411 pounds on Christmas Eve, and his belly stuck out about 10 inches from his rib cage; even though his thick pecs helped him conceal his belly’s actual size, it was impossible to hide.

“What happened to you?” His dad asked when he saw Spencer. Mr. Collins wasn’t a mean man, but he was a perfectionist. He loved his son and hugged him tight, but he playfully made some remarks about Spencer’s weight gain, making my big guy blush.

His mom was a bit more harsh, requesting that he start a diet after the holidays, but even then, she immediately offered him a slice of pie. I stood by Spencer’s side because we wanted to tell our families as soon as possible. So, we sat with our pie on their dining table, with his parents asking many questions about school. Spencer was sweating, even though the house and the whole town were cold. I reached for his hand under the table, making him gasp, and his parents noticed, exchanging surprised stares.

“Mom, Dad, I have something important to tell you,” Spencer began, taking a deep breath. “Where do I start?” He said this, looking at me. “I’ll start with something I should’ve told you a while ago. Owen and I... we’re boyfriends. I love him, and he loves me more than I deserve.” Spencer looked at his parents, who didn’t move for a few seconds.

“Spencer, we understood when you told us you liked girls and boys. It wasn’t that bad; we only want you to be happy. But… You also know we’ve always wanted grandchildren, and... with all respect, Owen can’t give you a family,” Mr. Collins said, making me chuckle.

“I know. I’m well aware Owen can’t give me kids, but...” Spencer continued, taking another deep breath. “A few months ago, I cheated on him with a girl, and she ended up pregnant. She’s 26 weeks pregnant with twins. And I’m the father,” he said, and his parents froze again.

“That’s... unexpected, but... is Owen okay with this? I’m not understanding,” Ms. Collins said, looking at me and waiting for my reaction.

“There’s something else. This woman doesn’t want to keep the babies, so I’ll raise them with Owen. He will be their dad as much as I am,” Spencer said, his parents more and more silent as he continued talking. “And there’s something else. Mom, Dad. I… We’re not only having twins. A few weeks ago, I was sick, so I went to the doctor, and he found out I have... How do I say this? I... have a womb, and... I’m pregnant. Owen and I are expecting octuplets.”

Spencer’s parents turned pale but didn’t believe him. They initially thought he was joking. Then, they thought Spencer was losing his mind. When I assured them that Spencer was telling the truth, they thought I was also crazy. The room turned into a chaotic mess of arguments from his parents, trying to convince Spencer that he was not pregnant. His dad even said I was responsible for their son going crazy.

Spencer left the room while his parents were still freaking out, and I immediately followed him. He sat on the couch, crying, so I approached and wrapped my arms around him, caressing his belly. I knew he was nervous and sad, but I assured him over and over again that everything would be alright.

“We only need each other and our babies, okay?” I said this, kissing his cheek and sliding my hand under his shirt to rub his taut belly.

Strangely enough, seeing us hugging on the couch was the proof Spencer’s parents needed to believe our story. His mom asked him to lift up his hoodie and shirt, and for an unknown reason, she immediately believed our story when she saw Spencer’s belly. His dad looked reluctant but slowly approached and tightly hugged Spencer. They shared a sweet hug, and Ms. Collins pulled me into it. Their warm expressions of love made me smile.

“You better take good care of my son,” Ms. Collins told me when we broke the hug.

“And you better get married. My grandchildren won’t grow up outside of marriage,” Mr. Collins said, making Spencer and I blush.

I had considered marrying Spencer, but I always expected him to ask the questions first. However, things were different now that he was carrying my kids. The rest of the evening was filled with questions and concerns from Spencer’s parents. Learning that he was dropping out of school, at least until he had given birth, made them freak out again. My lack of a stable job to support our “family” was an issue for Mr. Collins. However, their concerns only led them to promise to give us some financial help and to pay for all the legal expenses for the adoption process of the twins.

Things were great with Spencer’s family. However, my parents had a different reaction. They freaked out big time and requested that I leave Spencer immediately. They said Spencer was crazy—as expected—and my dad insisted I didn’t have to pay for anything. They insisted the twins weren’t my responsibility, so I could run away without remorse. My mom was hysterical when I told her I was dropping out of college to get a full-time job; she was literally shaking as she talked about me throwing my future into the trash can.

I didn’t expect them to react like that. However, they reluctantly accepted my decision when they saw I was determined to stay with Spencer. They still retired the financial support they gave me, but at least they didn’t kick us away. Spencer was evidently sad because of my parents’ reaction. But while we hugged in his bed that night, with his parents’ permission, I assured him that everything would be alright.

Considering Spencer’s parents were willing to pay for a lawyer to follow the adoption process, I immediately contacted someone I knew. I explained our situation, telling the lawyer we wanted the twins’ last name to be “Collins-Richards.” The lawyer responded I couldn’t give the babies my last name because I wasn’t married to Spencer. The only way for me to adopt them as mine was if Spencer and I got married. It wasn’t a big deal, but I was sad. Those babies were also mine, and for some legal shit, they couldn’t have my last name.

Then, as we returned to our apartment after the holidays, our relationship was better than ever. Things started somewhat improving. We dropped out of college, but I found a job that paid enough to help with our expenses. Spencer’s parents sent us money to buy food and prenatal vitamins for Spencer, even though I knew he didn’t need them. And surprisingly, my parents kept sending me money, even though they were still somewhat mad. My mom texted me that they would still support me on the condition that I would continue college after the babies were born. I obviously accepted.

Seeing how things were working fine after a pretty emotionally unstable December, I made a decision on the first few days of the New Year. One that I knew was the right thing to do.

On January 7th, the day Spencer reached 20 weeks pregnant, I woke up very early and left him soundly asleep in bed. I observed his thick body and smiled. He was 424 pounds as of the night before, and his belly protruded 12 inches from his ribcage, a round, firm dome that made me gasp with excitement. His whole body was thicker and softer, making him look enormous. His skin was tender, and some spots were sensitive, and I loved to tease him.

I had a surprise for Spencer that morning. I needed to get everything ready before he woke up, which wouldn’t take a long time, considering he had to empty his bladder frequently. I added decorations to our living room and put on my best suit. Everything looked perfect.

I got in position when Spencer went from his room to the bathroom. I heard his heavy footsteps approaching a few minutes later. I took a deep breath, smiling broadly.

“Owen? Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked as he entered the living room, fully naked, with his right hand atop his belly and his left hand on the small of his back. He looked stunning, even though he was half asleep.

“Spencer Collins, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and now I know this is the right thing to do,” I said, kneeling before him, leaving him speechless. “I’ve looked for the definition of perfection in a dictionary, and the words can’t describe what perfection is. However, I find the true meaning of what perfection is whenever I look at you. When you smile, my knees go weak. When you laugh, my heart beats faster. When you rub your belly, I realize we’ve defied everything to create our babies. With each passing day, I realize that you, Spencer Collins, are the living definition of perfection. And I want to spend the rest of my life tied to you. Would you give me the honor to marry you?” I asked, lifting up a small red box with a ring.

“Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you,” he responded, approaching to kiss me while tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to propose, but I didn’t know how to do it.”

“You only had to ask, and I would’ve surrendered immediately,” I responded between kisses as I slid the ring onto his finger. “My body, my heart, and my soul—everything I am—is already yours.”

“And I’m totally yours. Even my womb is yours,” Spencer responded, chuckling as he guided my hands to his belly. “These babies will have the best dad in the world.”

“They’ll have the best dads,” I said as we continued kissing. “Now, let’s get you dressed up. Your suit won’t fit like before, but we’ll manage. We have an appointment in about two hours to get married.”

“Wait, how did you know I was accepting?” Spencer playfully said, winking at me.

“I knew. You can’t resist me, big guy,” I responded, slapping his butt as we went to his room to dress him up. We still had to face challenges, but I knew everything would be alright.

...

#mpreg #mpreg story

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scrapplescribbles · 29 days ago

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Intro to Fairfable

second (prettier) edition :D (i took way too long to finally post this cause i did a lot of overthinking 😭)

You've heard the myths. Most of you just think they're made up.

Humans tend to neglect the wisdom that all legends are based in truth, that some things are beyond science. That maybe fairy tales aren't fantasy.

There is another world that exists alongside your own. Its name matters little. Its people are familiar. All that is required of you is to look into Those Places—you know the ones I mean—and let them take you there. However, since the Other Folk are not particularly fond of intruders, let this story suffice as your window into their lives. Things are changing in their world. In a realm of myth and magic, what better place to begin than the most ordinary?

If you've made it this far, I'm gonna hope you're at least a little interested. And prepared for a long ass yap. If things go the way I want them to and we get Fairfable off the ground, it will grow into a full-fledged indie animated series. Unfortunately, I can't animate, and even if I were to start learning several years ago, I can't animate a whole multi-season show by myself. The closest thing I have to a production team is my self-recruited friend to help write some episodes and my cousin who knows that at some point within the next couple years he's gonna get a text saying he's gonna help me make music for Not Hazbin Hotel. I would start getting more people together to work on it, but I just graduated high school and am using pretty much every cent I have access to to pay for college. Not optimal conditions for creating an entirely new show from scratch. But it has pages and pages worth of ideas in Google Docs, so we're getting somewhere, at least (I say, knowing full well that I spend most of my "writing" time watching youtube video essays and blasting music into my ears.)

I have a lot of goals for this. It's pretty character-driven, but it does have a bigger overarching plot tied to deeper lore (duh, I have a ton of mythology and magic stuff to work with.) This show is supposed to be fun but serious when it needs to be. It's also proudly queer (take one look at its creator 💀) and full of neurodivergent representation. Also, I want it to be a musical because I'm a music-loving theater kid. Fight me. (Actually don't I have the strength of an angry toothpick)

There's comedy. There's symbolism. Ironically, there's humanity, but art is supposed to reflect the world it's created in. There's love in every bit of this project, and if that ever fails to show through, I've failed as a writer. The cast is diverse in its stories and in its characters' flaws, and I'm doing my best to make them feel like real people in spite of the fact that they're fantasy creatures. Let it be known that I am a sucker for found family and any story about characters helping each other heal wounds from their past and grow into better people. I LOVE me some good wholesome healing. That's what this is. It gets serious because some characters deal with real serious trauma, and I do not plan on making light of people's trauma. But they find time to laugh, y'know?

There are still a lot of things I need to figure out. Any part of the story or the characters or anything could change at any time. I'm also always learning, whether it be through experience (after all, as of this summer I'll only have 18 years of it) or research. But, as I do with anything I write, I love to have fun with it. Jokes and shitposts always have a home on this blog and in my heart (as long as they're not offensive or maliciously ignorant, of course.) Anyway, I think I'm getting dangerously close to reaching a point where I don't make sense anymore, so let's move on.

Characters

the main focus of this project. for the people who have seen a million of these intros already im sorry lmao its for the new people. also i will add pictures when i get the motivation and im happy with the results (i do have some half-finished thumbnails so yippee!! let's see if i get any further with that!)

Nema (she/her)

Nema's always been different.

Over the years, her "gift" has earned her a reputation. Not that she ever went around telling everyone about it, but, when you occasionally mutter vague prophecies and randomly zone out in the middle of sentences, it's kind of hard to hide. No one has a clue why she's plagued by these visions. All she knows is that too many of them have come true, and people always focus on that instead of just plain old Nema.

But then again, sometimes she gets a feeling. Just like she did the day she popped her head out of the water and really took a look at the old abandoned treehouse. Just like she did the day she met Lynx, Sal, Zing, and Shailyn. And, for once, it didn't feel ominous and foreboding. She doesn't know where fate will take her. But maybe, for once, it's going somewhere good.

Lynx (she/her)

A cat with a mission and a patience that wears thinner by the day.

It's been months since Lynx began her search for somewhere to move out. Sure, of course she loves her family, but love doesn't give you Lynx's parents' seemingly magical tolerance for screaming children scurrying around an absolutely cramped den. She's glad she had the experience of living there, but it's high time for a less overstimulating change of pace.

The only problem is that the places with neon mold creatures stuck in the drywall and mandrake infestations are the only ones Lynx can afford on her own, and she'd feel bad asking her parents for money. She's gonna need a roommate or two to share the financial burden. Or three. Or four, if you want to count the fairy. But for the four of them who do know how money works, this tree seems weirdly perfect (aside from the overgrown-ness.) Only one question is on Lynx's mind: is this too good to be true, or has the bull finally stopped shitting?

Zing (pronouns? yeah those are cool)

Zing, shapeshifter, at your service.

Zing has always prided themself on their ability to make friends. It's easy when you're a walking party trick with the charm and impeccable sense of style to match. But even a free spirit has to settle down sometime. This ragtag band of individuals too broke to afford housing on their own seems like the perfect opportunity to set up a home base. And, of course, the individuals themselves are intriguing, to say the least.

Nema's quiet. Shy. But nice once you get her talking. Makes you wonder what she's hiding. Shailyn's friendly. She just seems curious. You have to be careful with your words around her, but that's nothing Zing isn't already on top of. Lynx and Sal will be tougher to crack—Sal especially. But nothing like a challenge! At least that's what Zing is telling themself.

Shailyn (she/her)

New people. Interesting.

The tree hasn't been inhabited for years—a long time when it comes to the shorter-lived creatures of this world. So one can imagine the fairy's surprise when she popped in one day to check on her plants, only to discover people there.

Typically, the fairy likes to keep to herself. She likes this tree—the old, abandoned, living building fascinates her, and she finds it a delightful place to spend her time. But she did always suppose it was only a matter of time before others came. They're curious little beings. And, while they're here, this seems to be as good a time as any to socialize.

Sal (he/him)

Finally.

For what seems like far too long, Sal has been looking for somewhere to go. He doesn't care where, how, or who with, as long as he doesn't have to deal with his mother constantly breathing down his neck anymore. All he wants is real independence, and now he finally has a chance to have it.

Of course, he'd rather not have to live with fairy tricks in his own home. She seems odd, even for a fairy. But, it's still a house, and at least the other people don't seem too bad. Lynx and Nema are cool. Zing seems like a bit of a wild card, but whatever. Things are different now. Sal can deal with it. Whatever may happen.

Content Warnings

these are here because they're important to the stories and development of the characters. even though i personally have not experienced many of these things, i still want to raise awareness and fight stigma around mental health issues and trauma. you'll see a lot of "non-graphic mentions of/allusions to" in this list. that's exactly what i mean—no more, no less. i will update this as i learn more and as the show itself changes. if there are problems with the way fairfable approaches any of these topics, i would appreciate constructive criticism in order to keep these depictions as respectful and realistic as possible. lots of love to anyone affected by these issues <3

cursing/strong language

a bit of non-gory violence

homophobia from society and from family

non-graphic mentions of the past death of a parent that happened when the character was young

emotional abuse/manipulation from a parent/family member

mentions of/allusions to past suicidal thoughts

non-graphic mentions of/allusions to past SH

past and current non-physical self-destructive behavior

non-graphic mentions of/allusions to SA

mentions of/allusions to past toxic relationships ranging from familial to platonic to romantic/sexual

Conclusion

So that's the gist of it, I think. Thanks for being here; it means a lot :)

Asks and comments are always welcome if there's anything you want to say or know more about. (🙏🙏 Please guys I really like talking and the more specific the question the better cause I feel like every time I get a generalized question like "what are you working on?" or "free token to talk about your wips!" I just say the same things over and over again. Not that I don't appreciate the asks; I just don't wanna bore y'all and myself 😭)

Fairfable Taglist!

these are the real ones 🔥🔥 lmk if you want to be added/removed

@foxgloves-garden @novaluna7189 @generation-of-vipers @woodlandstarz13 @peculiardragon22

dividers from here :)

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #wip #queer writers #artists on tumblr #fantasy #contemporary fantasy #my writing #my ocs #my wips #writing community #writing process #intro post #wip intro #fairfable #scrapple is scribbling

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kikyoupdates · 6 months ago

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Bloodthirst ⭑˚💋⭑ 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑑

bnha x vampire!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, my vampire!reader, slowburn

As punishment for your sins, you, a young vampire, are banished — not just from your home, but to a different world entirely. Now, you find yourself in a foreign place where Quirks and heroes are the norm. In addition to coming to terms with your new life, you must also face your greatest challenge: controlling your massive thirst for blood.

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It was a few days into your stay in this new world, and you’d finally managed to get your hands on the magical device known as a cellphone.

“How does it work?” you asked, eyes wide as you looked it over from all angles. You tapped on its screen, but nothing happened. “Mine doesn’t light up the way the others do. Did they sell us a faulty product?”

Izuku giggled. “It’ll turn on, don’t worry. You just need to plug it in so it can charge, like this... and you hold down the power button for it to start up.”

He fiddled with a cable that plugged directly into the device on one end, then into the wall, through what Izuku had called an “outlet”. You weren’t familiar with any of this stuff, so it may as well have been sorcery to you.

But true to Izuku’s words, the phone’s screen eventually lit up, and all sorts of vibrant colors and patterns soon graced your eyes.

“Wow!” you gushed. “How does it do that? It looks so cool!”

“This is just where technology is at in this world,” Izuku shrugged. “Cellphones used to be a lot more basic, just for making calls and sending texts, but now they’ve become mini computers. They can do a lot of really sophisticated stuff.”

“What’s a computer?”

“Ah... right. I guess I should have expected that.” He pointed towards the end of his room, towards what looked to be another screen, but way bigger than the cellphone’s. “Computers are devices that are really smart. They’re programmed that way. You can look up all kinds of information with them, play games, watch videos... there’s really no end to the possibilities. Cellphones are really convenient because they act like computers, but they’re portable, so you can carry them around with you wherever you go. It’s pretty neat, huh?”

“This is life-changing,” you mumbled breathlessly.

Izuku laughed. “Yeah, you could definitely say that. Here, I’ll teach you how to use your phone. It sounds more complicated than it actually is, I promise.”

That was what he said, but it sure didn’t turn out that way for you. There were so many different little features on screen. Some of them did things when you tapped on them; others didn’t. Izuku was doing his best to show you how everything worked, but it was such a staggering difference from what you were used to that it was just too much to take in all at once.

Not only that, but you quickly realized you had another problem.

“For the time being, I’m going to add myself as a contact,” Izuku said. He tapped on the screen a few times—not that you could really make sense of it—then eventually passed the phone back to you, smiling brightly. “See? You have your first contact now. That’s my name right there.”

You blinked. “What does it say?”

“Hm? What do you mean? It’s my name. Midoriya Izuku.”

“No, I mean... I can tell there’s something written there, but I can’t read it. The symbols don’t make any sense to me.”

Panic was quick to creep onto Izuku’s expression. “You can’t read kanji? Or hiragana? But... you’ve been speaking in fluent Japanese this entire time.”

“I’m not even really sure how that happened either. It might be a side-effect of the spell that brought me to this world, but I was able to understand the language pretty quickly just by hearing it a few times. I definitely don’t know how to read or write, though.”

“Oh, well... that’s not good,” Izuku swallowed, and it was clear that he was putting it lightly. For better or worse, this country, Japan, was your home now. You were kind of screwed if you didn’t have the ability to grasp written forms of communication.

Izuku pursed his lips, clearly lost in thought, then grabbed a blank piece of paper and placed it front of you. He’d brought some pencils as well.

“Try writing your name,” he suggested. “If you were able to understand our language just by being exposed to it, maybe it’s the same with reading and writing too. Maybe it’ll come to you much quicker than you think.”

You decided there was no harm in trying, so you did just that.

“This is how you write my name,” you smiled proudly, lifting up the paper so that Izuku could see it better.

Regretfully, he just looked even more worried than before. “I-I’ve definitely never seen anything like this before,” he stammered. “I’m pretty sure there’s no language like this anywhere on Earth. Then again, I guess that’s not surprising, since you’re literally from a whole different world...”

You frowned, then took another peek back at the contact Izuku had saved on your phone. No matter how hard you tried, you failed to understand how the symbols he’d inputted were meant to translate. You were lucky to have grasped the spoken language right away, otherwise you would’ve probably been speaking in gibberish on the streets and people would have thought you were insane. Unfortunately, as for reading and writing, it looked like you were going to have to learn it the hard way.

“I’ll do my best to teach you the basics,” Izuku reassured. “But, um... while you’re here, I think it’d be good to consider going to school. You’ll learn everything you need there. And there’s a limit to what I can teach you all on my own.”

“School sounds fun,” you beamed.

“Have you been to school before?”

“Not really. My parents hired various tutors to teach me academics back at home.”

“R-Right. I guess royalty have a different way of doing things. But,” he perked up, “I’m sure you probably received a really solid education, so you’ll have no trouble picking things up here. It might seem intimidating at first, but you’re smart, [Name]. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“How do you know that I’m smart?” you asked.

“Well... aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

You both stared at each other for a good while. Clearly, this was a stalemate.

“Anyways!” Izuku continued. “I’m going to start with the foundation of all the basics. And you can learn to write your name while we’re doing this. It’ll be a good first step.”

You gripped your pencil tight and nodded, eager to learn.

Japanese was hard. Actually, you supposed you should say that learning a new language from scratch was hard in and of itself, but based on what Izuku had told you, Japanese was one of the most difficult languages to learn in this world—especially for a non-native speaker.

So, yeah. That was great.

Even so, you weren’t deterred in the slightest. It wasn’t like there was much you could do about it, after all. Moving to a different country all of a sudden certainly wasn’t an option, plus, you weren’t willing to sever your connection with Izuku either. This was your home now, and you had a good feeling about this place. You just needed to put in the effort to make it your own.

Izuku did what he could to teach you, but attending school was obviously the most efficient approach. Actually getting into school, however, was a different matter altogether. You’d initially been thinking that your stay with Izuku would be a temporary one, but you were already afraid of being separated from him. You didn’t know what you would do if you were left alone. Teenagers like you weren’t allowed to live on their own, so most likely, you would end up being placed in an orphanage since no one was around to take care of you.

Frankly speaking, you hated the thought of that, so you decided to pull out all the stops and come clean to Inko.

“I’m from a different world,” you blurted all too suddenly over dinner. Izuku’s food quite literally fell out of his mouth from shock, and Inko gave you a funny look, although she didn’t seem too worked up over it. She probably just thought you were saying silly things as a joke.

“Is this some sort of reference I’m not getting?” she frowned.

“N-No,” you said sheepishly. “I’m really telling the truth. I didn’t want you to try and contact the police or anything because I don’t even have a family to return to. At least, not in this world. I ended up here one day, and Izuku was nice enough to help me out when I had nowhere to go. I was thinking of keeping this a secret because I figured I would only be staying here for a little while... but I’m honestly scared to leave. I don’t know where I’ll go.”

Inko probably still didn’t believe you, but her expression seemed more solemn now.

“[Name],” she said gently. “What’s going on at home? You can tell me. No matter what it is, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe.”

Ah. She still thought you came from a complicated family, and probably assumed you didn’t want to go back home to be around your parents. If you went with that story, though, at some point, you worried she really would get the authorities involved.

No. Even if it was a long-shot, you needed to convince her. She was Izuku’s mom, and he already knew your secret. You just hoped that even though she was an adult, she wouldn’t dismiss you as some troubled teen making up excuses.

“[Name], wait,” Izuku mumbled, but you’d already stepped out of your chair and begun moving closer to Inko.

She watched, looking confused beyond measure, as you opened up your mouth and revealed your teeth, which sharpened into fangs. You knew it would probably take more than this to convince her, but it was a start, at least.

“I’m a vampire,” you said. “I need to drink blood to survive. My world is very different from this one, filled with all kinds of creatures and different species that don’t exist over here.”

Inko swallowed uncomfortably. “[Name], I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but I really, really want you to be honest with me. You don’t need to make up stories. What exactly is going on with you and your family?”

“I wish it was a story,” you sighed heavily. “My parents aren’t with me. They’re back in my old world. Vampires like me are pretty strong and heal quickly too. Don’t you think it’s weird how fast my injuries healed up? I got hurt pretty bad, two days in a row, but I’m already as good as new.”

Instead of giving you a direct answer, Inko glanced towards her son, who had gone awfully quiet.

“Izuku,” she frowned. She seemed to be searching his expression for some sort of explanation. “[Name], what is she—?”

“She’s telling the truth,” Izuku mumbled. “Mom, I know it all sounds super ridiculous, but I don’t like to lie to you. [Name] doesn’t even know how to read or write. Not just in Japanese, but in any language, for that matter. She has no clue about how technology works either. You could ask her when the second World War took place, or even what it is, and she wouldn’t have a clue.”

Inko’s bottom lip trembled. “What the... t-this is all sounding very strange, you two. Izuku! Are you sure your friend is alright? This a serious matter, so I’m begging you, don’t play games with me.”

“It’s not a game, mom. We’re serious.”

“About vampires? But that’s just not possible.”

“I could show you if you want,” you offered. “Izuku’s let me drink his blood before, back when I really needed it.”

Oops. Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say to a mother, especially when it involved her own son, but Izuku backed up your statement with a hasty nod—all the while blushing profusely.

“My parents don’t exist in this world,” you continued, looking a bit more dejected now. “I promise I’m not lying. I didn’t even know about Quirks or any of that until Izuku explained them to me. You could call just about all the police in the country, but I can guarantee that nobody will be able to register me anywhere. It’s a crazy situation, and I know how it sounds, but it is the truth.”

She’d gone completely silent, and you were actually a bit worried that she was going to turn you in and have you committed to some sort of mental institution, but thankfully, Inko really was Izuku’s mom. She was kind to a fault.

Her shoulders sagged. “Goodness... I-I don’t even know what to say. Okay, then. Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe you. I would still want some sort of proof.”

“Hm... you could wait it out for a little while and see how close I’ll get to dying if I don’t drink any blood?”

Both Inko and Izuku stared back at you in abject terror. Okay, so that suggestion was a dud.

“I could hurt myself really bad and then show you how quickly I heal up once I do drink blood?”

Strange. They didn’t seem too keen on that one either.

“In that case, I’m fresh out of ideas,” you shrugged.

“Mom, we’re really telling the truth,” Izuku insisted. “I don’t even know if it can really be proven, but [Name] knows nothing about our world. It just doesn’t seem like something that would be possible unless she wasn’t actually from here. She has nowhere to go. If you call the cops, social services, or whatever... she’ll be alone. And afraid. And I really don’t want that for her."

Inko stared at you for a few good moments. Out of nowhere, she gripped you by the shoulders and squeezed down tight.

“I’ll only ask this one more time,” she said sternly. “Your family... they haven’t done anything to make you too afraid to go back home? Enough that you would make up a crazy story like this to convince me to let you stay?”

You smiled. “Nope. I’m not scared of my parents. I can’t say they’re as nice as you, but I didn’t leave home voluntarily. One day, I’m going to find a way to get back to my world, no matter what it takes.”

Inko let out a shuddering breath. “It... really doesn’t look like you’re lying. At the very least, I can’t see it in your eyes. Or maybe you’re just a terribly good liar and have me completely fooled. Oh, alright. If you really have nowhere else to go, and since you’re the first friend Izuku’s had in a long time... then, yes. You can keep staying here with us.”

It hardly took a second for you and Izuku to break out into cheers.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, rushing towards your friend and wrapping him in a big hug. He reacted with a nervous little squeak and a bright red flush, the way he always did, but he too seemed to share your enthusiasm. “We get to stay together,” you grinned. “I don’t have to leave and find somewhere else to live! I’m so happy!”

“Y-Yeah!” he beamed back. “This is great news! Thank you so much, mom! Thank you for helping us out.”

Inko smiled warmly. “It was worth it just to see the looks on your faces, if nothing else. I still don’t even know what I believe... but I can tell [Name] is a good girl. For now, that’s more than enough.”

“Oh, right,” Izuku blinked in realization. “She needs to attend school. That’s the whole reason she wanted to tell you the truth. If she goes to school with me, she can learn a whole lot more about our world this way. I’m trying to teach her as much as I can, but it’s harder than I expected.”

“School? Well, I can try enrolling her into your middle school, but I’m pretty sure I’d have to be her legal guardian for that to work.” Inko nibbled on her lower lip. “It’ll be difficult to obtain those documents, especially if there’s no record of [Name] to begin with. I’m not sure how it’ll go.”

“It’s worth a shot,” you grinned, completely unbothered.

You were on cloud nine right now, and it was going to be damn hard to dash your spirits. Which was why, the very next day, you dressed up all pretty in one of your new outfits and made a prompt visit to Izuku’s middle school, which you would hopefully be attending soon.

Both Inko and Izuku had come along with you, naturally, and you found yourself face to face with the school’s principal.

Currently, he was staring down at your admission documents with a puzzled expression. “Different last name, I see. Mrs. Midoriya, do you have legal guardianship of this child?”

“N-Not yet,” Inko stammered out. “But she’s been staying at our home for the last little while. I can provide proof of our living conditions, and she’s been properly taken care of.”

“Well, can you get in contact with the child’s family?”

“My whole family’s dead,” you chimed in—a bit too eagerly, perhaps. “Izuku and his mom are, um... very, very, very distant friends of one of my late relatives, so they took me in.”

The principal gave you a look of disbelief. “Uh-huh. Well, my hands are tied here. It sounds like a complicated situation, but I can’t very well allow someone to enroll a child that they don’t have legal custody of. Sort out the matter in court first, and try to transfer in later.”

From what Izuku had told you, these legal matters could take a long time, and quite frankly, you didn’t feel like waiting. There was also the issue of getting other people involved. You didn’t need anyone poking their nose into your business and realizing how many things about you just didn’t add up. It would raise a whole lot of undue suspicion. Worst case scenario, the authorities would take you away from Izuku by force.

There was no chance you were going to let that happen. But thankfully, you had an idea.

Admittedly, a reckless one.

You turned towards Izuku and Inko with a smile. “Do you two mind waiting outside for a minute? I just want to try and talk to this nice man on my own.”

“Sorry, kid,” the principal sighed. “No matter what you say to me, my answer will be the same. I’m not looking to get in trouble with the law.”

Your smile didn’t drop, and although Izuku and Inko were staring at you with visible confusion, you still gestured for them to leave the room first.

Once you were finally alone with the principal, you leaned across the desk. “Sorry about this,” you mumbled quietly.

“Huh? What are you—?”

You grabbed him by the arm before he could get a proper reply out, then sunk your fangs into his skin. He briefly yelped out from the pain, of course, but you didn’t drink very much blood from him. You didn’t need a lot. After all, you had a different purpose in mind.

“You’re crazy,” he winced. “Absolutely crazy. I’m really going to call the police now.”

“Don’t you dare,” you ordered, and the man’s hand dropped right as he reached for his phone. You could feel your head throbbing, the way it always did when you tried to use this technique, but at least it seemed to be working. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” you smiled. “You’re going to let me attend this school, and the same class as Izuku, too. You’re not going to stir up a fuss and demand that Inko shows you the paperwork, and you’re also not going to tell anyone about what just happened. You’re going to forget I ever bit you, actually. All you need to do is approve my enrollment, and that’s that.”

You snapped your fingers, and just like that, the hypnosis came undone.

“W-What?” he blinked, glancing all over the place in confusion. “I was just... what did I...?”

“You were just about to celebrate the fact that I’m starting classes tomorrow,” you beamed. “Right?”

He stared at you for a few moments, with a vague look of understanding, but eventually nodded his head, suddenly much more sure of himself.

“Oh, yes!” he beamed. “That’s right. [Last Name][Name]… ah, perfect. Yes, it looks like everything I need is in order. And you can start classes as early as tomorrow, you said?”

“Yep! I’m super excited to meet everyone and make tons of friends!”

“That’s a good attitude to have. I’m thrilled to welcome you to your new school, [Name]. I’m sure the other members of our faculty will feel the same way once they find out.”

“Awesome! I’ll get plenty of sleep tonight, so that I can be ready for school bright and early,” you grinned. “Thanks so much for everything, Mr. Nice Principal. It was lovely to meet you!”

The principal chuckled softly and waved you off, up until you left his office. Only once the door fully shut did he allow himself to wince, then rolled up his sleeve and furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Are these... bite marks? How in the world...”

Back on your side of the door, Izuku was all over you, fretting incessantly. “[N-Name], are you okay? It sounded like he got angry with you for a moment... we thought we heard yelling. As expected, it’s a no-go, huh?”

“What are you talking about? He approved my admission.”

“Eh?”

Both Izuku and Inko were staring at you in bewilderment. Your head was still aching quite a bit, and it would probably continue to do so for a little while, but it was worth it. You normally hated putting people under the effects of your hypnosis after drinking some of their blood. It felt like a slimy thing to do, and it kind of was, but you really wanted to go to school with Izuku. It was just this one time. Just this once.

“Don’t worry about it,” you grinned. “I have my ways.”

You said that, but you’d been lucky that it had even worked, since you weren’t very good at using hypnosis to begin with. Maybe this was fate, though. There was that saying that everything happened for a reason, after all.

Izuku peered over at you while you walked through the halls, his eyes slowly narrowing. “Um... [Name]. That’s not blood on your lips... is it?”

“Hehe. Oopsie.”

“What did you do?!”

It wasn’t at all uncommon that Katsuki found himself in a bad mood, but he’d been in an especially bad mood these past couple of days.

And it was all your damn fault.

Finding out that Izuku had somehow made a friend was already irritating enough, but to make matters even worse, you’d gotten on his damn nerves and challenged him to a fight. A fight that hadn’t gone as planned, as much as he hated to admit it. He’d underestimated you. Clearly, you were a lot stronger than you looked, which begged the question as to why you hung out with that goddamn loser.

Then again, you seemed to be one hell of a weirdo yourself. Katsuki still shuddered every now and then when he remembered the way you’d greedily slurped up his blood. Seriously, who did that?

My shitty mom screamed at me for hours after I got back home looking all beat-up like that... fucking hell. If I ever see that bitch again, I’m gonna make her regret messing with me.

Katsuki rubbed at his bruised face and grimaced. Class was as damn boring as always, and it didn’t help that he could see that shitty nerd fidgeting in his seat out of the corner of his eye. What the hell did he have to be so restless about? It was fucking creepy.

“Ahem,” the teacher said, clearing his throat all of a sudden. “It’s a bit unexpected during this time of year, but I’d like to take a moment to introduce a new student to our class. Everyone please be sure to give her a warm welcome. You can come in now, by the way!”

The door slid open, and Katsuki yawned loudly, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. As if he could care less about whichever extra was joining the class.

“Hi, everyone!”

Katsuki’s eyes widened. That voice. He knew that voice.

A pathetic wheeze left his mouth, and he couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped nearly all the way to the ground. There was no way. There was just no way.

And yet there you were, grinning and waving at everyone, with so much as a care in the world.

It was only until your eyes locked with his that your expression changed, but it didn’t shift into discomfort or fear.

Instead, you openly smirked at him.

“You fucking bitch!” Katsuki roared, slamming his palms down on the table loud enough that everyone turned their heads.

The teacher gave him a cross look. “Come on, Bakugou. Let’s not start this early in the morning. Be nice to your new classmate.”

“That’s right,” you kept on smirking. “I’m excited to be friends with everyone, including you. Don’t you feel the same way?”

Katsuki officially had a new person on his shit list.

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