#and there seems to be a pattern to the storms but since they build in the distance while i'm usually busy with something else

[sparklingblu]

A Christmas Carol

Ft. Sakura, Yunjin and Kazuha (and a slither of Irene)

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

This is my christmas fic. Not really jolly but well..

The first snow of December fell lazily, like the sky itself had decided to procrastinate. Arbor's edge, a town that always felt too small and too big at the same time, was cloaked in a thin blanket of white. The streetlamps casted ghastly glows on the street jostling with cheerful people but to you, it felt more like a reminder that the holiday season was here, whether you wanted it or not.

You sat in the corner booth of a diner you were too lazy to memorize the name, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone lukewarm. The spoon scraped the bottom of the cup as you stir it mindlessly, having nothing better to do with your hands. Christmas music droned softly through the speakers - some old crooner crooning about snow and mistletoes. You hated mistletoes. Maybe you hated the way it made you remember her.

"Pie?" the waitress asked, her voice chipier in a way that made your teeth ache. Her name tag read Heather, and there was a spring of plastic holly pinned to her apron. Her smile was the kind that stretched too wide, like she's worried her friendliness wouldn't show.

You shook your head. "Just the coffee"

She hestiated for a second then jingled off back to the counter, her fake earrings chiming faintly. The lines on your face seemed to be etched deeper in the black surface of the coffee, swirling like a vortex from your stirs.

Outside, the street was alive with people bundled in scarves and parkas, carrying their holiday groceries and laughing at things you couldn't hear. The light strung along the buildings blinked in unison, a rhythm you found unnervingly cheerful. You sighed and turned your attention back to the window where frost patterns crept across the glass like a map to nowhere.

The coffee had gone cold, but you kept sipping it, more out of habit than need. It's a silent rebellion against the idea that you should leave and go home, where an old friend called emptiness awaited. You knew the routine too well: the dead silence of the apartment, the hum of the fridges compensating for the lack of conversation.

Somewhere behind the counter, Heather laughed like a blissful hyena at someone's joke. Mixed with the clinks of dishes, it's enough to make you feel more like a ghost than a person.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:14 PM. Too early to call it a night but too late to do anything useful. The snow outside was starting to pick up, accumulating in thick layers that turns sidewalks into slick ribbons of slush. People were retreating into their homes, the streets emptying except for the occasional cars that passed by, their headlights cutting through the dark.

The bell above the diner's door jingled but you barely glanced up. Another customer. Someone you probably didn't know. Someone passing through. But the change their presence brought is unmistakable. You felt a shift in the air, like the pressure had dropped. The way it does before a storm.

"Pretty cold, huh?" Heather's voice rang out, too bright for her own good. You caught a glimpse of the new arrival from the corner of your eyes: a woman in a red velvet dress with white fur trim along the neckline and the hem. Like someone who just returns from a Christmas themed costume party. It's a wonder how she's able to withstand the cold in such a short dress.

You didn't mean to stare but something about her caught you. Maybe it was the way she strides without a hint of jolly christmas spirit - unlike most people this time of the year. Or it's the primal instinct of a male to indulge in the presence of a female. Either way, your eyes were fixed.

She slid into the booth and sat perfectly still, like she belonged here. She must know you had been staring because she returns your gaze with an intensity no less than yours. And you were breathtaken.

There could be two reasons for this. Actually, three.

The other party is monstrously ugly.

The other party is otherworldly beautiful.

You have gotten so drunk that you have started hallucinating.

Considering coffee was the only thing you had had the whole day, the second option is valid for this matter. Her face is angelic in a way angels could never be. From her dark irises to the curve of her chin, everything screams God's favorite. Maybe someone upstairs have decided to brought a blessing to your miserable holiday.

"Ethan Collaway" she said, voice soft but unyielding.

Your heart dropped. You had never met her. You were sure of it.

"Do I know you?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

The woman tilts her head slightly, as if she's amused by your question. "Not yet"

You blinked, trying to make sense of her words. She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms like she's disappointed by your confusion.

"Not yet?" you repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means" she smiled faintly. "that we are about to get very well acquainted. But there's no need to rush. Finish your coffee first"

You glanced down at the cup, now completely cold. "I think I'm done"

She raised an eyebrow, her expression hovering between pity and amusement. "Suit yourself. But you will regret wasting the small comforts later. You always do"

You shifted uneasily at her words. "Okay" you said. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I know more than your name, Ethan" she leans forward now, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment everything seemed to fade away - the hum of conversation, the clink of dishes, even Heather's festive laughter faded away, leaving only you and her in isolation.

"I know the weigh you carry" she continued, voice impossibly steady. "I know you sit in that apartment of yours, staring at walls that have nothing to say. Trying to fill the void in your heart with alcohol when you know there's only one person who can do the job. And I know you yearn for a second chance. An opportunity to set things right again" she pauses, breathe in. "But it's too late, isn't it? People regrets only when things are broken and can't be repaired. And when you hear laughter, like the kind outside this window" - she gestured towards the frost covered glass - "you tell yourself it's just noise. But deep down, you wonder what it feels like to laugh like that again. To feel loved.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "Listen. I don't know what game you're trying to play but-"

"No games" she interrupted. "Just the truth. And here's another: tonight is the first step. A choice, really. Stay as you are - alone and bitter - or take a chance on something different"

Your laugh came out shriller than you intended, the kind of defensiveness that only comes when someone hits a nerve. "Different? You speak like you're the Ghost of Christmas Past or something"

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Close. But I prefer Irene"

Before you can respond, the bell above the diner chimed again. You turned instinctively, expecting to see a customer. Instead, the room seemed to shift again, the air growing colder despite the warmth of the heater. When you looked back at the woman, she weren't there anymore.

She was standing beside you now, so close that her voice seemed to pierce right into your ears.

"Pay attention, Ethan" she warned, voice commanding. "The clock is ticking"

And just like that, the lights flickered, and everything went dark.

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The diner completely dissolved into blackness so complete it felt like falling into a void. For a moment, the only sound you could hear is the faint hum of your own pulse, racing so fast as if to catch up with reality.

Then a light appeared - small at first but quickly growing into a warm glow that engulfed everything. You blinked, trying to shield your eyes. But the action is not needed. Because this light didn't sting. It was different - soft and familiar.

When your vision cleared, you found yourself in an apartment. The smell of stale air filled your nose, mixed with the faint, phantom trace of something like jasmine. Or lavender. Something entirely hers.

This was your apartment, unmistakably. But it's a stark contrast to the mess it was now. The walls were bright with fresh paint. Not a trace of cobwebs or dust. The stacks of books were stacked neatly on a table. Everything was so neat. So in order. So her.

"It's funny" the woman, now known as Irene, mused behind you. "How this place had looked habitable. Like an actual home"

Reluctantly, you moved to a familiar spot by the couch - that spot you'd always leave your shoes no matter how much she grumbled about it. You looked up and there it was: The past you and Sakura.

She was standing at the kitchen counter, her hair falling in loose strands around her shoulders, a soft grin on her lips. She wore one of your oversized sweaters, sleeves too long for her hands but she didn't seem to mind it. She was holding a mug of something - probably tea - and she was laughing. At you.

"No, no, Ethan" she was saying in the familiar voice you had missed so much it hit you square in the chest when you heard it again. "You don't just pour the milk first. That's sacrilege. It's tea making 101"

You were standing across from her, arms crossed in mock defiant. "It tastes the same either way. You are just being picky"

She gasped, feigning outrage. "Picky? That's rich coming from a guy who needs his peanut butter spread to the edge on every sandwich"

You grinned then, leaning against the counter. "Details matter"

"And yet, you still don't understand tea", she teased, sipping from her mug. The light in her eyes shone brighter when she smiles - its warmth never failing to pull you in, no matter how bad your day was.

"See how she spoke so softly" Irene said behind the present you. "Even your stubbornness seemed smaller when she spoke"

The scene shifted like a film cutting to the next reel. Now, it was the couch - your couch, where the cushions were sunken just slightly on her sides. She was curled up against you, a book opened in her lap - probably Edgar Allan Poe - that neither of you were reading. Her fingers traced invisible patterns on your forearm, and your head rested lightly against hers.

"I think this is my favorite spot" she muttered, her fingers pausing their journey across your skin.

"Here?" you asked, shifting slightly to look at her.

"Here. There. Anywhere. With you" she answered, her eyes meeting yours like a silent dare for you to argue.

You didn't. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your forehead lightly against hers. A small gesture, but it mattered the world to you.

"Do you ever think about the future" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your hand brushing her cheek. "The future as in....?"

"As in us" she said, pulling back just enough to search your face. "Where we'll go. What we'll be"

"I think" you answered carefully, slowly. "that whenever we end up, I'll be fine as long as it's with you"

A laugh bubbled out of her, her cheeks tinted rosy with a blush. "That's too smooth. Did you practice that in the mirror?"

"No" you said, smiling despite yourself. "Now I'm glad I didn't screw it up"

She kissed you then - not hurried or desperate, but softly, like she was trying to memorize the shape of your lips against her. It's the kind of kiss that lingered forever long after it ceased.

The memory faded then, just as quickly as it had come. But your mind continued to play out the scene.

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Fragment 1

"Mhmm, babe. Ugh, don't stop" Sakura's slender frame writhed beneath you as your cock entered and re-entered her wet slit in a steady rhythm. The old couch sunk and creak with each thrust you made, adding to the symphony of her beautiful moans. Unlike the soft, tender girl she mostly was, Sakura was vocal at sex - never failing to express her gratitude when your huge cock stretched her out. The neighbors next doors must be accustomed to the sound by now. You doubt these walls are thick enough to silence her pleas not to stop. You couldn't care less. Not now.

"Fuck. You are stretching me out so good. Don't stop babe. Oh My God" Sakura cried out as you gave her a particularly hard thrust, your tip kissing her cunt. And more curses and moans followed as you continued to hammer her cunt relentlessly. "Fuck. Fuck. Don't stop" she begs, her nails digging into your back. "Fuck me harder babe. Stretch my tight pussy with your huge cock"

See. This is what you loved about her. She's an angel, really but when you two got up close and personal, that angel is banished, fallen from grace. Instead, a demon possessed her. The kind that can't get enough of your huge cock stirring up her insides over and over. Always begging for more. Never satisfied. No matter how much you breed her.

Her walls clenched around you, milking your shaft as you took her over and over. You were as desperate as her for this. Because the feeling of her warm wet hole twitching around you was like nothing else. And she would say the same way about how good you filled her up. She already did, actually.

"You are so fucking tight, Sakura" you grunted as Sakura's pussy continued to squeeze you like a vice. "I'm going to ruin this little cunt. You are gonna be so full when I'm done with you"

"Yes, yea. Fuck me harder" Sakura screamed, her perky tits bouncing in your face. Unable to resist the sight, you lean down, putting one of her stiff nipples into your mouth. A jolt resonated through her body as you bite down gently, kneading the soft flesh between your teeth. "Make me your dirty little slut"

Who would think the girl who said nothing but sweet words to you would be begging to be your slut? But it's no longer a surprise, rrally. You have learned enough about Sakura's versatility. Forever your angel. Occasionally your slut.

"Fuck. You are going to make me cum" Sakura cried between each breath you took away with your brutal thrusts. Sweat had accumulated on her skin from the relentless pounding she took, dripping in clear streaks. Her eyes, dilated and hazy, did a better job than her words to speak about the onslaught of pleasure she's under.

Sakura's pussy is no easy hole to stretch but your hips kept bucking, as though driven by a supernatural force. You didn't care about how sore you must be the next morning nor how she wouldn't be able to walk for days after you were done. All you care about was this: the collision between your pelvises each time you make contact . The action itself more romantic to you than any tender gesture. This is connection- you two becoming one.

"i'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cummingggg" Sakura repeated the words like a mantra as she creamed on your cock, her back curving gracefully as her legs trembled. The way her walls pulsated around you as her juice gushed out was enough to send you over the edge. Soon, you were following her in the flight of bliss, pumping spurt after spurt of your warm load into her welcoming cunt.

It took a few more slow thrusts before you finally extracted your shaft out of Sakura's now spent hole. Your cum dripped out of her in a white streak as soon as the stuffing is removed. It stained the couch. Just like countless other times.

You studied Sakura's face, which now wore a peaceful, dormant mask. Her chest rised and fell steadily with her breath and her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Still, she doesn't fail to give you that warm smile that looked out of place in her current state. "You came a lot" she panted, then "I love you"

You didn't know if it's possible to replace lust with love right after sex but in that moment, you seemed to. "I love you too, Sakura. Always"

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You blinked, coming back to your senses and turned to Irene, your throat tight. "Why are you showing me this?"

Irene's expression was unreadable. "Because she gave you something too good for you. Something you don't know how to hold. And you have been letting it slip through your fingers ever since"

You clenched your fists, the pain in your chest unbearble. "What do you want me to do? Go back? Fix it? It's too late. She's gone"

"Gone" she agreed, her voice soft. "But not forgotten. Maybe that's the problem"

Once again, the world blurred away into a swirl of white and green. When it settled again, you are standing on a path, flanked on both sides by tall, snow-dusted pines. The air was crisp, just the right amount of cold to be cozy. Snow fell steadily, softening the edges around everything - the lmapposts, the branches, the footprints trailing along the path.

And then you saw them.

You and Sakura.

She was walking slightly ahead, bundled in a red scarf and a cream coat that rebelled against the snowflakes. Her breath misted in the air as she turned to you - her younger self - her cheeks pink from the cold.

"Ethan, you are walking like a tortoise" she called, wearing that same warm smile. "It's not that slippery"

"Maybe I just don't want to catch up" younger you replied, voice light though his hands were fidgeting in the coat pockets.

Sakura rolled her eyes but she slowed down just enough to fall into steps beside you. The way she glanced at you then - curious expectant - was so small a gesture but it carried a familiarity that you could feel even now, watching from the sidelines.

"You've been so quiet all night" she nudged him with her elbow. "Something's wrong?"

The younger you hesitated, breath hitching. He stopped walking, snow crunching under his boots as he turned to face her.

"Okay" he answered, exhaling a cloud of white. "I have something to tell you. And it's probably the stupidest thing ever. But please bear with me for a moment....alright?"

Sakura blinked, surprised but her smile didn't falter. "Okay....?" she answered, drawing out each syllable carefully.

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a small, crumpled spring of mistletoe. He held it awkwardly in his hands, trying to keep them from trembling as he offered the mistletoe to Sakura.

"This" he began, swallowing hard. "is how I planned to say this. But I'm gonna do it anyway" You exhaled, meeting her gaze. "I love you, Sakura"

Everything was still for a moment. The world silent except for the steady rhythm of falling snowflakes. Then Sakura's eyes widened, breath hitching.

"Look. I know this is stupid. I totally get it if you don't-"

"No" Skaura interrupted. Then she smiled. She smiled? "You are an idiot"

"What?" the younger you blinked, puzzled.

"You are an idiot" she repeated, her smile growing wider. "You do realize you are supposed to hold that mistletoe above my head, right?"

"So...does it mean-"

He was unable to finish his question because he was instantly silenced by Sakura's lips that muffled his next words. The kiss was gentle at first but it quickly deepened into something fervorous - like their whole lives had been leading up to this moment and they were finally claiming what's rightfully theirs.

Your heart felt like it's being pierced through and through but you didn't tear your gaze away. You can still feel the cold bite of the air, the softness of her lips, the phantom warmth that lingered long after.

"Can't you see what you were destined for?" Irene asked but you can't formulate an answer, your throat tight with emotions. "You gave your heart to her that night. And she returned it with hers. For a while, at least"

You turned away from the scene, your voice thick. "And then I fucked everything up"

Irene didn't reply, only watching as the younger you and Sakura pulled apart, bursting out in laughter.

"You made a promise to her that night" Irene finally said. "One you let yourself forget"

The words lingered in the frozen air as the memory began to blur, snow swirling around you in a sudden, dizzying storm. Soon, everything is enveloped by a torrent of white.

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When your eyes came back into focus, you found yourself back in your apartment. Your breath caught in your throar. It was the old spit again - the couch - but this time, it was alive with a different kind of atmosphere. The heater hummed faintly, filling the silence and the warm light of a bedside lamp illuminated the small, familiar place. It's nothing unfamiliar.

Except that it wasn't Sakura's voice or presence that filled the room.

On the couch, sprawled out with heavy limbs is none other than yourself. The past you. Your shirt was half undone, and a woman who wasn't Sakura lied beside you, her sleek black dress painting an image of a vixen in the dim light. She leaned into you, her lips brushing against your jaw as you tilted your head back, your smile faint but unmistakable.

The present you stepped closer, stomach twisting in horror at the piece of memory you had tried to bury for so long. No. Not this.

"Please..." you begged, already knowing what's about to unfold. "Take me somewhere else"

But Irene stood firm behind you, her gaze unyielding. "This is what you must see"

The woman reached for a glass of wine on the table, tilting it ever so slightly as she swirled it with practiced ease. The way the liquid slosh around was almost hypnotic. "You are so tense" she commented as she runs her palm across your bare chest. "Sakura doesn't take care of you like this, does she?"

The past you flinched, sheathing your smile but you didn't pull away. "It's complicated" you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

"Is it?" the woman replied, her tone sharp. "Or are you too scared to admit I'm better than her?"

She leaned in, so close that her breath tickled your neck. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?" She blew a puff of hot air into your ears, the sensation unexpected but not unwelcomed. "You are never satisfied...."

You glanced at her, putting on a smile to hide your internal conflict. "It's not that simple"

"Isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head so that her hair fell over your shoulder in a pool of midnight silk. "You deserve someone better, Ethan. Someone who knows exactly what you need..."

Your gaze dropped to your laps. "That wouldn't be fair. She's....she's good to me"

The woman's lips curved into sly smile as she set down the glass back on the table. "Good isn't always enough, is it?" her voice dropped to a whisper, words brushing against your ear. "Don't you want more, Ethan? Don't you want me?"

"Don't..." you swallowed hard, resolve wavering as she shifted closer, her legs brushing against yours.

"Tell me" A kiss on your neck, leaving a crimson mark of her lipstick. "Who's better at this?" Another to your jaw. "Riding you. Blowing you. Being your good little....slut?" The last one was a soft brush to your ears that left you drunk in blissful sensations. More. You needed more.

"I can't..." the past you began, voice barely audible.

"Shhh, it's okay" she brought a finger to your lips, silencing you. "It's ok, Ethan. She doesn't have to know"

The present you clenched your fist, gritting your teeth. "Stop this. I fucked up, alright? I don't need to see it again"

"You traded your morals for momentary pleasure. And in doing so, you killed what you had with her"

You looked away, no longer able to comprehend the rewind of your mistakes. You have seen enough. Enough to make you feel like putting a bullet right through your head. But the human's mind worked in mysterious ways. Because it always fails to erase the memories people want to forget the most.

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Fragment 2

Her name was Yunjin. You remembered now. No, that's a lie. You have always remembered. She was a new hire in your company and things started off innocently enough. But to argue, most affairs usually do.

If confidence have a living embodiment, it would be Yunjin. She was sharp angles and quick wit, wearing ambition like a second skin. It's all evident in the way her heels clicked with purpose as she moved through the office.

It all began with a project, one where you and her were on the same team. Despite the endless nights of meetings and paperwork, Yunjin never seemed to falter, always keeping her cool. You admired that about her. And it should have stopped there. Pure innocent admiration.

Her communication skills were no less remarkable. She was easy to talk to, quick to joke, know exactly how to lighten the mood when the pressure becomes too much. Maybe that's what made you finally crumble.

On that fateful evening, you found yourself alone in the conference room after most of the office had emptied out. You were nursing a cup of tea, papers and stationary strewn across the table.

As if on cue, Yunjin entered the moment you lifted the hem of the cup to your lips like she wanted to ensure you couldn't interrupt her greetings.

"You look like you are about to collapse" she commented, leaning back in a chair close to yours with a smirk. She was in her usual office attire - white top and black overcoat paired with a pencil skirt of the same color so that when she crossed her thighs, her pale skin inevitably stood out.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence" you replied, setting the cup back down on the table.

She laughed, a low throaty sound. "Ethan. You are the reason this project just didn't crush and burn, you know?"

You let out an awkward chuckle, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. "It was a team effort"

"Sure" she said, leaning in - her top hanging just loosely enough to reveal a hint of clevage and you swalllow at the sight. It was wrong. But you are only human afterall. "But not everyone could've done what you did"

She inched even more closer and you told yourself that the hand she had come to place on your arm was nothing more than a gesture of companionship. But you couldn't deny the way it made something inside you stir. It's not love. Far from it. But it's equally intoxicating.

You cleared your throat, trying to find your footing. "You are giving me too much credit. It's a team effort"

"Humble, too. I like that" You shivered at the feel of her other hand that had come to rest on your leg. She's doing nothing more than simply placing her smooth palms on the fabric of your trousers. Yet, you can already felt your mamba growing rigid - her touch electric. A few more minutes of this and your boxers wouldn't be able to hide your erection.

You tried to focus on anything else - the clock on the wall, the stack of papers on your desk - but it was impossible to ignore the way she leaned forward, the curve of her collarbone catching the light.

"You know" she said, her tone playful. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You take care of everyone else but who take care of you?"

Sakura. That's who. But at that moment, you are at a lost for words. You tried to say her name out loud but the deep vortex of Yunjin's irises had pulled you in and every rational thought you had had been thrown out of the window.

You didn't know how it happened. When it happened. Everything passed by in a whirlwind of need and lust. The moment you came back to your senses, Yunjin was sprawled out on the long wooden table of the conference room. Everything on it has been shoved down to the floor. By you or her, you couldn't remember. You were looming right above her and you could only wish the table is strong enough to support both of your weights.

Your whole body was bare save for the unbuttoned shirt that hanged loosely on your frame. Yunjin's no different. Her overcoat had been casted away and her top was gone, revealing her perky tits. Your eyes wondered from the bent of her throat, down the planes of of her bare chest, all the way to her toned midriff, finally coming to rest on the nirvana between her legs, barred only by flimsy panties.

You felt your cock throbbing already - a sign of desperateness. All that occupied your mind was how Yunjin would feel around you when you finally penetrated her. She wouldn't fit around you like a glove instantly like Sakura does. But you didn't doubt you can mold this new hole to the shape of your cock. You have all the required qualities.

"Are you just gonna watch?" Yunjin reminded, shifting her body just a tad bit slightly to get comfortable on the hard surface. She didn't need to told you twice, your body is already aching enough for hers.

She let out the faintest of moans when you spread open her thighs, your eyes glinting with a predatory hunger - the kind only Yunjin can satisfy.

"You're mine now" The words of a mad man, fueled by lust. "And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight"

Yunjin moaned, arching her back as you ground your cock against her clothed pussy. You could already feel the moistness of her juice seeping through the fabric and the dark spot on her panties grew even bigger when you gave your tip a couple of rub on it.

"Words mean nothing" Yunjin replied, crossing her arms behind your neck as you leaned in even closer. "Prove it. Show me how well you can stretch out my tight little pussy"

There, it would have been easy to blame it all on Yunjin, that she was the one who initiated the act and made you think of nothing but about pounding her to oblivion. But that wouldn't be fair because there was still a silver of semblance left in you even then. It's microscopic and easily clouded by lust. But right at that moment you were about to cross the boundary of no return, a tiny voice remined you of her - of Sakura. It told you how much she put her trust in you. How she expected you to do the same thing. That you were betraying her trust by doing what you were going to do next. You should have stopped then. You could have.

But you couldn't.

With a grunt, you tore Yunjin's panties away, baring her dripping cunt to your hungry gaze. There was no time for foreplay. Foreplay is for slow romantic sex, which this isn't.

You slammed your cock into her tight heat with one brutal thrust and her walls opened up willingly. There's no doubt this bitch had taken poundings before. Not a chance she's a virgin with a hole this used. But still, somehow someway, it retained its tightness - so tight it almost seemed natural.

"Fuck you are so tight" you groaned, pulling back and slamming back in, earning a jolt through her body. "I'm going to fuck your brains out. Until your hole become so loose it needs a cock to stuff it shut"

Yunjin screamed, her nails digging into your back as you pounded into her over and over. The table creaked beneath you, threatening to give way under the force of your thrusts.

"Yes, yes! Fuck me harder" she cried, wrapping her legs around your waist. "Ruin me with your big fat cock. Make me forget my own name"

You obliged, slamming into her pussy with wild abandon. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin and the wet squelch of her cunt as you fucked her hard and fast. But it's not all about the way she's milking your shaft with her walls. It's also the vision - the sight before you. Yunjin can and will get anything she want. There's no doubt. The way she hold herself - so calm and composed is enough to make others drip with envy. But right now, under the onslaught of your beastly thrust that rapidly violated her hole, moaning and groaning words of submission, she is no longer the confident woman. Instead, it's a desperate whore that craved your cock whose pussy is being claimed.

"Fuck. You are probably the biggest cock I have ever take" Yunjin praised, though it's hard to say with her rolled-up eyes. "You are gonna have to exclude me from the meeting tomorrow. I don't think I can -"

Yunjin was instantly silenced as all ten fingers of yours closed around her throat, depriving her of oxygen. But she deserved it. With the way she acted like your cock's the best thing in the world.

"What were you saying?" you asked. Yunjin could only make incoherent sounds as her mouth stayed agape like a fish on land. This wouldn't be painful to her. You know that much. Actually, it will turn on this slut even more.

Sakura could never. You thought. Despite her taste for rough sex, Sakura couldn't go this extreme. One time, you slapped her face in the heat of the moment and that girl actually got all teary.

No. Why were you comparing? Why were you even thinking about her?

"Tell me bitch" You asked again. No answer. Just more ragged breaths. As if to compensate for her silence, Yunjin's walls clenched around you even more, trying to answer with their tightness that she, indeed, was enjoying this. Yunjin stayed true to her words: "Words mean nothing". She's trying to prove herself through action.

Just when you thought Yunjin was going to pass out from the lack of air, her body tensed up as she creamed herself on your cock. The climax was unexpected as she wasn't given any chance to warn you. But you welcomed it gladly with more bucks of your hips as you prolong her bliss as long as possible.

Finally, Yunjin came down from her high and you released your hold on her neck, leaving a faint red mark that told the story of your dominance.

"I'm not done yet. You know that, right?" Your reminder wasn't needed. Yunjin had recovered in seconds, now getting on all fours as she leveled her face with your cock.

"Let me clean you up" she said before diving down on your cock. Soon, you found out her pussy isn't the only hole she can utilize to full potential. The warmth that enveloped your length brought you a different kind of pleasure. You tilt your head back, exhaling as you relish in the feeling of her tongue tracing every inch. How many heads had she given? You have no idea. But anyone could guess the number's easily a double digit if they were in your shoes.

She slurped on the cock like it's the tastiest thing in the world. Maybe it's the taste of her own juice on your shaft. Or maybe, she's just a cock depraved whore. Either way, you got the same treatment.

She didn't take you all the way - keeping half of you in her mouth while her hands stroked what her mouth couldn't reach. And there was no combination more lethal as each pair of stroke and lick send a shockwave through your core that have your toes curling.

"Mhmm" Yunjin licked her lips as she released you from her mouth. She looked up at you with dazed eyes as her hand keeps pumping your cock, spreading her drool from base to shaft. "Look how much you are twitching. You're gonna cum?"

She's wasting her words on a question you both knew the answer to. But you couldn't deny it was extremely hot. Who doesn't like a pretty girl worshipping their cocks?

Your simple nod was enough to let her proceed, as she took you back into the heat of her mouth. This time, she didn't make use of her hands. Instead, she impaled herself on your cock - taking it all the way down her throat. A loud gag escaped as it breached her gag reflex until her nose was pressed against your pelvis.

"Fuck" you cursed. She was bent down all the way in this position, her back curved and ass raised. And you didn't miss the chance to grab a feel of her buttocks, earning a moan that resonated through your mamba. A string of glag glag glag bounced around the room as Yunjin continued to fuck her throat on your cock over and over. A puddle of her drool has formed on the table. You made a mental note to clean it up. There's not much reasonable excuses for a pool of drool.

Sakura could never. There's the thought again. Don't be mistaken. Sakura blows your cock very well. To be honest, she loves it as much as you do. Especially, when you filled her mouth with your cum. But her throat wasn't meant for brutal use like Yunjin's was.

Does it matter? No. Stop thinking about Sakura.

The familiar knot unraveled in your stomach. You could no longer hold back as you pumped spurts after spurts of your thick load down Yunjin's throat. And she took it very welll, keeping your cock stuffed down her throat as she held it there like a good girl.

She finally released your cock with a loud pop, strings of saliva still connecting it to her mouth. "Thanks for the big load" Yunjin said while she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You really needed that, huh?"

Do you? Now no longer clouded by the mist of lust, doubts started to fill the gaps where the past passion had been. Wrong. This is all wrong. What have you done? How are you gonna face Sakura again?

This is a one time thing. Yes. A mistake made by unmonitored desires. It can't be undone. But it can be stopped. No one have to know. Sakura doesn't have to know. You will forget it over a couple shots. You wouldl be better next time.

But you weren't.

And in the end, you only had yourself to blame.

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You grounded yourself back to reality. No use crying over spilled milk. You have lived with regret your whole life. What use is it to worsen the pain?

You were still in the apartment, though now it was empty, the furniture gone, the walls stripped bare.

Irene stood a few feet away, silent as ever, watching you with that same unflinching gaze.

You staggered back, running a hand through your hair. "You didn't need to show me that" you said. "I know what I did"

Irene tilted her head slightly, a gesture bordering on pity. "Knowing is not the same as understanding" she said, her voice a distant echo.

You shook your head, clenching your fists to the side. "There's nothing to understand. I regret it, ok? Isn't that enough?"

"Is it?" Irene asked, stepping closer. "Or do you regret being caught more than the act itself? Do you regret the pain you caused her or do you regret the pain it left in you?"

Her words hit too close to home and you turned away, staring at the faded imprint of a picture frame that once hung on the wall - a reminder of what this place had once been. You could still hear the echo of Sakura's laughter that had resonated in this room.

"This is what you traded for a moment of weakness" Irene's voice appeared once more. "An emptiness that echoes in your heart, in your life. And you know very well it's your own fault. Yet, you let it spiral"

You swallowed hard, trying to find your next words. With difficulty, you managed to speak through your tight vocal cords. "It doesn't matter" you said, voice trembling. "I can't change it. I can't undo what I did"

"No" Irene agreed. "But you can confront it. You can stop running from the truth, no matter how ugly it is"

You turned back to her, searching for something in her otherworldly features - absolution, maybe, an answer to all of this. But all you found was her cold, unyielding gaze.

"What now?" you asked quietly.

Irene extended a hand, and the apartment faded around you, replaced by the faint flicker of something new.

"Now" she said. "we see the consequences of your actions"

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The world crumbled and rebuilt around you in the form of a late autumn evening. The air was crisp but heavy, carrying the scent of leaves and the distant promise of winter. A stark contrast to the snow-draped beauty of the Christmas night when you first confessed to Sakura.

Now, autumn loomed like an unwelcome guest. The trees lining the path were skeleteal, their branches gnarled and reaching out to the gray sky like twisted hands. The ground was a mess of fallen golden leaves.

Sakura stood across the past you, her arms crossed against the chill, though it was obvious it wasn't the cold that's making her shiver. Her scarf - a pastel pink you had bought her for Christmas long ago - coiled around her neck elegantly.

"Say it" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Say it Ethan"

"Kkura, I-"

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped, her sharp voice cutting through the still autumn evening. The brittle leaves crunched as she shifted her weight. "Just...don't. Please"

She looked at you for a fleeting moment, and for a heartbeat, she resembled the Sakura from that snowy christmas - the one whom you had poured your heart out to, the one who had said 'yes'. But now, the light in her eyes was a gone, replaced by a storm of pain and anger.

"Let me hear it from you" she whispered, her voice on the edge of breaking. "Don't make me piece it together from hints and whispers. Please"

You dropped your gaze, deeming yourself no longer worthy to hold hers. The autumn wind picks up and the leaves swirl as if to mock your silence.

"It was a mistake" you muttered, voice barely audible.

"A mistake?" she repeated, her laugh bitter and wounded. "You don't acidentally cheat on someone Ethan. You don't just trip and fall into someone's bed"

You were once again remined of the pine-lined path, her standing there with snowflakes in her hair, her laughter so carefree like she's the happiest person on earth. Now, that warmth was nothing but lost, extinguished by you.

"It didn't mean anything" you pleaded, voice desperate. "I swear it didn't mean anything ,Kkura"

She shook her head, the motion quick, like she was trying to expel you from her memory. "Do you even understand what you have done? What you have taken from me?"

"I-"

"No. Let me tell you" she interrupted, her tone gaining strength as her eyes glistened. "You have taken every moment I trusted you, every second I thought was safe with you, and you have crushed them Ethan. What did I do wrong? What part of me wasn't enough?"

"Stop" you whispered, voice trembling. "Just stop"

"No" she said firmly, leaves crunching beneath her boots as she steps closer. "You don't get to ask me for anything after this. Not now. Not ever"

You looked at her then, really looked. And the pain in her face tore through your heart like a thousand daggers.

"Sakura, please" you begged, scrambling for scraps. "I regret all of it, ok? I regret everything. Please, I-"

She let out a hollow laugh, one that seemed to make the dying branches overhead shattered. "Funny how regret comes too late"

Sakura took a step back, her shoulders stiff, her hands trembling as she wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck. She hesitated for a moment, before looking at you straight in the eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Ethan" she said coldly, the words laced with brutal finality. "I hope it was worth it"

And then she walked away, her form growing smaller in the dying twilight until she had been reduced to nothing but a distant dream. The rustle of the wind reflected the hollow of your own regret.

The present you watched, unable to cry, unable to make a sound. Because you knew it was your very own actions which have lead to this. Do criminals cry over the unspeakable deeds they have commited?

"There" Irene's voice appeared once more. "Winter held promise. Autumn held loss. And you let it all fall away"

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You didn't even notice the shift in scenery this time - your mind too exhausted with emotions. What Irene wanted to show you, you didn't care anymore. You had seen enough. Seeing more will bring nothing but pain.

But you stared at the new scene before you like a lifeless ghost.

It was your apartment, again. You wanted to burn the place down at this point. Maybe the pain will crumbled to ashes that way. Anything to escape the ever nagging regret.

It was Christmas time - the fist Christmas without Sakura. The scent of her baked cookies and the hum of hers to Last Christmas was nowhere to be found, though the song played on lazily from an unattended television nearby. The sound of traffic beyond the windows seem more melodic.

The you of that very moment? On the bed, tangled in sheets but there's nothign cozy about that. You looked like a corpse, still and unmoving - lost in thought. Your bare body does nothing to aid cancel out the vision.

But you weren't alone. No. Though you actually were, deep down, your physical self weren't. The woman lying next to you is unfamiliar in ways that only someone you're totally ignorant of would be. Her name escaped you, though it had been exchanged over shots at the bar you didn't even like. She was asleep, her bare shoulder peaking out the tangle of sheets.

You searched her face for a few moments, trying to find something firm in those beautiful features but only finding emptiness. You sat up, swinging your numb legs last night had taken a toll on and ran your fingers through your nest of hair. The room smelled faintly of her perfume - too strong for your taste. Nothing like the clean, subtle one Sakura always wore.

Sakura.

You pressed your palms to your face, trying to ground yourself - make peace with reality and escaped the past - but the pain has d rooted deep inside, growing deeper each day. And your worst enemy had become yourself.

"Does it feel better?" Irene asked, studying the confusion flashing across your eyes. "To indulge in the pleasure of the flesh - a momentary escape from reality. But it never fills the void, does it? It only digs it deeper"

You didn't answer. Not because you have no words but because you are too tired. Too tired with yourself.

"Look, Ethan. This is your present. A hollow bed. A hollow life"

Just then, the girl in your bed stirred and shifted and you caught a clear view of her face, though curtained by her silky locks. It's not Yunjin, no. You had parted ways long ago. This one will soon follow the same fate. Your head pounded and so did your heart. There, you are reminded again.

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Fragment 3

The thing about one-night stands is they are supposed to last for a night and then forgotten. But that title wouldn't suit Kazuha because this was the third night you found yourself with this beauty. Maybe, this is a new addiction apart from the countless shots you had downed in the bar. Or maybe, it's the way she sucked your cock so well on your very own bed.

"Mmph...does it...feel...good...." Kazuha asked through slurps and licks as she feasts on your cock - tongue swirling around your slit before poking your tip to the inner wall of her cheeks, making it bulge. Her face there - ruined so perfectly with mascara running down her eyes and drool spilling from her lips only served to earns a grunt from you. Not to mention her bare body, ass raised to show off her thick cheeks.

"Mhmm...I think I'm doing good" Kazuha deciphered the answer herself as she released your cock from her warm hole. "Look at all this precum. You like my pretty mouth on your cock that bad, huh?"

The answer was unnecessary and Kazuha proceed to plant kisses along your throbbing shaft before coming back up to collect the precum from your leaking slit, all the while maintaning eye contact.

"Can't wait to taste your thick load" she muttered dreamily as she swallowed you again. The pleasure that flooded your brain was phenomenal and you had to try not to buck your hips. Kazuha had already demanded to be the one in charge. And you didn't want to left cockblocked.

Kazuha seemed to sense your desperateness because she took more than half of your shaft into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked the life out of you.

"Kazuha...fuck. Don't stop" you mumbled, your body in absolute bliss. And she didn't plan to. Because she liked choking on your cock as much as you loved fucking her pretty little mouth.

She went deep, lodging your meat into her throat. She held it there, eyes unblinking as she watched your distorted face of a victim of lust. The tightness and the warmth was like nothing, squeezing your shaft in all the right ways. Kazuha was born to be a cocksucker. No doubt.

She finally drew back, gliding her lips up across your meat until it came off with a pop, a string of drool still clinging to your slit.

"Now are you gonna fuck my face or what?" she asked, and that instantly became your favorite question in this hollow life.

"Gladly" you answered as you held her hair in a makeshift pony tail, lowering it gently until your tip has disappeaered into her moist lips. Her eyes gleamed, a silent challenge. And you are not the one to back down from challenege.

You immediately starts dunking her head on your cock again and again and again, obscene gags escaping her throat as your tip speared into her oral hole. A couple strands of her raven locks ame undone, falling and sticking with drool to her face.

"You like it, hmm? You like me using your throat like a fleshlight, you cocksucking bitch" you asked as Kazuha can only respond in more gags and chokes. Her eyes water, the tears mixed with the mascara flowing in tiny rivers across her cheeks - an absolute vision of a slut. Did she wear it on purpose so that it paint her when you fuck her face?

Her throat is brusied by now, no matter how strong of a throat of steel she possesed, no girl came out of this kind of pounding unscathed. But she didn't seem to care because she took it like a champ as you use her mouth like your very own sextoy. Afterall, this is what she asked for.

You let her go for a moment, pulling her face off your cock in one swift pull. She gasped, drool spilling in waterfalls as she huffed like a bitch in heat.

"You really didn't hold back, huh." she asked, voice raw from the brutal thrusts. "I bet you are addicted to my throat. Wouldn't be surprised if you can no longer cum from your hands alone"

"You talked too much for a cock drunk whore" you complimented her as you tighten the grip on her hair, making her scalp burn. "Now, suck me off until I feed you that load you so desperately crave"

"Mhmm, with pleasure" No more words were needed after that as Kazuha dived back down on your cock, devouring it like the cock hungry beast she is. It's messy and sloppy. She no longer choked on your cock but the way she's slobbering all over the upper half of your length was more than enough to make you levitate.

Her hands cockscrewed what her mouth couldn't reach while she bobbed her head up and down as she fucked her face on your cock. If her face was messy then, it was even messier now - a filthy canvas of drool and tears and mascara. The picture of a pretty woman so degraded finally made you break.

Kazuha moaned around your cock as you erupted in her mouth, sending shots after shots of your hot thick load down her throat. And she didn't let up, sucking you through your bliss with undiminishing fervour.

After what felt like an endless ride of bliss, she finally pulled you out of her mouth but not before giving your spent rod a couple licks.

"Didn't I do good, daddy?" she asked, the name sending a shiver down your spine.

But as soon as the bliss is over, the regret came. Sakura. You never knew how much power she held over you. How badly you needed her. Kazuha's blowjob was mind numbing but not enough to numb the ever-growing pain in your heart. But if sex could make you forget it for just a moment, you will gladly took it.

Kazuha wriggled her ass in a suggestive rhythm, oblivious to your inner thoughts. "Daddy, can you fuck my ass next?"

Anything to block out the pain.

Really, anything would be ok.

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You blinked, and suddenly, you were back to the present - the diner. It was still the same place, same scent of coffee and grease lingering in the air but the weight in your heart felt heavier, like it might crush you entirely.

Irene was back in her initia position across you in her booth, studying you with those cold eyes tht betray no feelings.

"You've seen it" she said, shifting in her seat and her christmas-themed dress didn't look so awkward to you anymore. "What you've lost. What you've become"

You tighten your fists on the table. "I know okay? I fucked up really bad. And I'm suffering the consequences. Happy?"

She raised any eyebrow. "Do you? Because knowing is not the same as doing"

You looked away, your gaze landing on the window. The streets were deprived of life now and the snow fell as relentlessly as ever, enveloping the world in white. You wished you could see the beauty in it once more.

"What am I supposed to do?" you asked, your voice low. "I can't just undo everything"

"No" Irene agreed, leaning forward. "But you can decide what you will do next"

Your jaw tightened. "And what am I supposed to do? She's gone. She hates me. There'a no coming back from that"

Irene'a gaze softened just slighty. "Sakura's wounds might not be yours to heal, Ethan. Some damage can't be undone. But your life - your choices - they are all yours. You can keep running from them, hiding youself in regret and pain or you can face them"

Somewhere distant, Heather's hyena laugh erupted again though this time, you envied her. When was the last time you can laugh like that?

"And what does that even look like?" you asked, throat tightened.

Irene gestured to the diner around her. "That's not for me to tell you. But you have already knew the answer, don't you? You always have"

You stared at her, a realization sinking deep into your heart. "You are saying I should go for her"

Irene tilted her head. "I'm saying you need to stop running from yourself. Whether that means going to Sakura or not....it's up to you. But if you don't, you will stay here" She gestured vaguely, encompassing more than just the diner. "A hollowed out version of yourself. Is this what you want?"

You studied your reflection in the murky surface of the cold cup of coffee. You had seemed to age in minutes. Was it the weight of revisiting the memories you had locked up for so long?

"No" you whispered. "This ia not what I want"

Irene leaned back, gaze unwavering. "Then decide, Ethan. You can't rewrite the past, but you can write the next chapter"

For a long moment, you were silent, staring out of the window at the dark, snowy Christmas night.

When you looked up, the ghost was gone.

The diner had grown quiet, save for the ocassional clinking of utensils. The clock indicated 11 sharp. Time had flown in a blink.

Just as you decided to leave, the bell on the dier doll rang again, welcoming a new arrival. You didn't want to look up. Enough hocus pocus for one night. But you did anyway. And you are not sure if you should be glad or regret that you did.

"Sakura?"

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Happy Holdiays Everyone.

[puck-luck]

airline affection | cole caufield

warnings: drinking (tequila), sex with a stranger, protected p in v (me breaking my pattern fr), fingering, handjob, semi-public sex, hair pulling, mentions of a round 2 but not explored in this fic (will probably not be explored in a part 2 either because i like how this fic ends), use of Y/N (my least fav)

pairing: cole caufield x fem!reader

summary: cole caufield and fem!reader basically join the mile high club, despite their feet being on the earth.

wc: 3,772

There are a lot of things that you hate about winter storms. The number one thing, though, is when it delays your plane. You’re usually impatient in airports. The energy in these buildings seems to spark something in you that just makes you restless. You’re almost always checking the time and your eTicket to make sure nothing changed since the last time you checked it a minute prior. You’re running through your checklist of to-dos and making sure you have everything you need in case your flight gets so delayed that you need to book a hotel. 

You’re already pretty sure that you won’t make your connection, although the three-hour layover between landing and departure was a nice cushion. It’s not like your flight has been delayed by much, anyway. It’s just an hour. You’ll still have time. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can sprint across the airport and still make it with plenty of time to spare. 

If not, getting a hotel in Montréal for the night wouldn’t be too bad. The city seems interesting enough, though… knowing yourself, you probably won’t venture out of the airport and hotel if you are stuck there for the night. You’ll want to get on the first flight out since you’re already anxious to get home, so you’ll just bite the bullet and go to bed early.

The minutes continue to drag on and you watch your layover grow slimmer and slimmer, until you know it’s futile to make it from one terminal to the next. Especially once the gate agent behind the desk turns on the microphone and you hear his voice, automatically more grating because of the news he presents, announce that the plane has been delayed another forty minutes. He can’t help it, but you still wish you could go over and tear into him and vent out all of your frustrations.

You instead stand up and drag your carry on behind you towards the airport bar about a hundred feet from your gate. You snag a seat at the dark, polished wooden bartop, tucking your carry on between your stool and the bar itself. Even though you don’t believe anyone would actually steal your carry on while it’s right by your side, you take the precaution anyway… even if it makes you uncomfortable. You order a drink from their specialty cocktails– something with tequila and lime and pineapple– and seethe to yourself.

When you lift your eyes to the mirror behind the bar, nestled behind rows of liquor bottles, you catch a glimpse of a strong jaw and a pointed nose. You double take at the tousled mop of hair on this man’s head and linger on the dimples bracketing his glowing smile. 

You can’t feel bad or angry when you’re looking at a smile like that. 

He’s with a group of guys, drinks in hand, and they’re laughing. You can’t tell if this guy was the person who made the joke that sparked the chortles around his table or if he’s laughing along with something one of his friends said. 

Lifting his glass of beer to his mouth, the man happens to catch your eye in the mirror.

You blush and duck your head, startled that you were caught staring at this guy. You stare at the rim of your glass and trace the condensation on the side, letting a dewdrop gather on your fingertip and seep into the miniscule ridges that define your touch. 

After enough time has passed, you dare to peek at this guy again.

His gaze was waiting for you. His grin changes imperceptively, neither growing softer nor wider but changing somehow, and he lifts his glass in a tiny toat. It’s an acknowledgement of your stare and a casual ‘hi,’ should you choose to take it.

You feel yourself blushing again and lift your hand in a miniature wave before you pinch your bottom lip between your thumb and index finger to tame the change in your expression. You’ve never been good at controlling your face, especially not when a cute boy is going out of his way to notice you. It’s not like this never happens, but you still get a flutter in your stomach whenever it does.

You sip from your straw, gulping down a couple of moutfuls of your drink. To entertain yourself, and to avoid looking in the mirror again lest you make eye contact with this guy, you pull out your phone. You’re fully intending to text the group chat with your closest friends, saying that there’s a hot guy behind you in the airport bar, when you notice the aforementioned hot guy taking the seat to your right.

“Hi,” the man says. His voice has a distinct quality to it– not in a bad way. It just sounds like all of his words come from the back of his throat. His pitch is lower than you expected. Just from one word, you can tell that he talks with the confidence of a much taller man.

“Hi,” you reply. You take a sip of your drink after speaking. 

“Are you a nervous flier?” he asks.

You eye him, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He gestures to the drink in your hand. “You’ve been downing that thing. Trying to get a buzz before your flight takes off?”

“Oh,” you say lamely. You shake your drink, the ice cubes clinking in the glass. “Not really. I’m just annoyed. Delays, you know. I’m drinking in memoriam of my connecting flight.”

The man laughs, to your surprise. That wasn’t even a good joke, but here he is. He raises his glass, holding it out to yours and clinking the rims together. “In honor of your connection,” he says, then raises his glass to his lips. He raises an eyebrow and you do the same after stalling for a brief moment.

You’re not even in a good outfit. You’re in airport clothes, just leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, plus a baseball cap so no one sees how greasy your hair is underneath the cap, and this guy with– holy shit– massive fucking biceps is flirting with you. He’s leaning close to you, too, and he smells nice. Old Spice, maybe. 

“So, how long until your flight?”

You look at the time on your phone. “Thirty minutes.”

“Cool.” He nods. “Can I get you another drink?”

You consider the offer. 

“Or,” he lowers his voice to a whisper and brings his mouth close to your ear. “If you’re interested, I could provide you with another kind of stress relief.”

Your mouth gapes as he pulls away and fixes you with a confident, yet kind smile in the face of such a flagrant offer. 

“Think about it,” he murmurs. He catches the eye of the bartender. “Two chilled Casamigos blanco shots, please, under Suzuki.” When the bartender turns to pour the shots for him, the guy turns back to you. “A confidence boost. I’ll be over there, with the guys. Come find me if you want to make good on that second offer.” He takes one of the small glasses from the bar and clinks it with yours before heading back to his table. 

You stare at him, swiveling in your stool as he goes. Your jaw is still hanging open. It’s only once this guy– whose first name you still don’t know, by the way, except that it might be Suzuki?– returns to his table that you right yourself in your seat and touch the shot before you. 

You whip out your phone and take a picture of the shot. Hot guy in airport just bought me this shot and offered to have sex with me???? You type with frantic fingers, sending the message to the group chat you’d been planning to text before the man came over and made a move on you.

Your friends are well aware that your flight was delayed. They have been waiting for an update and this one is more than welcome, simply because of how dramatic and unexpected it is. 

send pic!! One of your friends replies, which the other friend emphasizes.

You’re able to snipe the man through the mirror of the bar, pretending like you’re taking a picture of the liquor selection. If they zoom in, your friends will be able to see his side profile and judge it accordingly.

Good enough for an airport crush, the second friend says.

you’ll basically be a member of the mile high club if you do it, says the first. 

You pocket your phone and fix your eyes again on the shot before you. It’s acclimating to the room temperature of the bar, but you can still see sharp shards of ice floating in the clear liquid. 

Fuck it. 

You take the shot and close your tab. Why shouldn’t you fuck this dude? How many people can say they’ve hooked up with an airport crush rather than losing them to distance and time? It’s not like you’ll ever see this guy again. You take a brisk, short breath and set your jaw. 

Once again dragging your carry on behind you, you approach his table and tap his shoulder.

Immediately his face splits with a smile. “I hope this is a good sign.”

“Let’s go,” you say without room to argue. You sound a lot more confident than you feel, but you’re also riding on the absurdity of the situation. You’re about to have sex in an airport. With a stranger. That goes against every rule of stranger danger that you’ve ever learned.

“You can leave your carry on with the guys,” he says. “They’ll watch it.”

You grip the handle. Leaving your luggage with a bunch of randos is where you draw the line. “No, I think I’ll bring it with me.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. C’mon.” He takes your other hand and leads you out of the bar, looking both ways before darting to the right. 

A hundred feet later, he’s locking the door to the single-stall family bathroom and pushing you up against it.

“What if someone knocks?” you ask.

“We’ll be quick,” he says, not answering your question. He kisses you before you can speak again.

Like everything that this man has done so far, the kiss is sudden and surprising. He overwhelms you and, while in the first second your eyes had grown wide in shock, your eyelids flutter shut and you melt into the kiss. 

His tongue prods at the seam of your lips and you welcome him in, tasting the beer that lingers in his mouth. He is quick, like he promises– his hand is making its way past your waistband and when he touches the band of your panties, you jerk back.

“Wait,” you say. 

The man pauses, his hand drawing back up to your stomach and resting there.

“What’s your name?”

He cracks a smile. “You scared me for a sec there. I’m Cole.” He lifts his hand from your stomach and finds your right hand, fitting them together in a handshake even though it’s a weird angle. “What’s yours?”

“Y/N,” you reply. 

Cole drops your hand and lets out a little chuckle. “Cute. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.” You put a hand on the hair at the nape of Cole’s neck. “As you were, soldier.”

There’s no time to cringe at the statement before Cole is kissing you again and inching his fingers into your panties. He’s laughing at the little nickname you uttered, his kisses growing shorter and sweeter as his mouth moves with his chuckles. 

You don’t speak much after that, but Cole does make a litany of quiet moans and sighs tumble from your mouth. 

His fingers are blunt and certain with each movement. Cole’s cock presses into your hip as he touches you. With the constraints of your panties, because he hasn’t taken your leggings or underwear off, the pads of his digits flick over your clit and draw wetness and slick from your pussy. 

Within minutes, the digits are making their way to your entrance. It is not slow and reverent like you have experienced in the past, but you like that. You like that Cole is kissing you as his fingers work inside of you with a singular purpose– to open you up and prepare you to take his cock. 

Your legs are shaky and weak when Cole adds a second finger to your heat, then a third. They’re pushing inside of you, pushing in and out and thrusting until your hole has stretched to fit him. His tongue has moved to your jawline, tracing down the column of your neck and leaving wet kisses in the wake of the trail.

Unable to handle all of the pleasure he’s giving you without doing much at all, and unable to bear the uselessness that you feel while his hands are busy and yours are not, you push your hand down the front of his pants and grasp his length. 

Cole smiles into your skin and sucks a hickey just above the collar of your sweatshirt. 

You grip the member, feeling the hot flesh rub against your palm when you fist it. You try to picture Cole’s cock from touch alone, feeling the ridges and veins press into your grasp. Your thumb and index finger circle the crown of his cock, following the curve on the underside of the cockhead that reflects his cupid’s bow though not nearly as prominent.You come up to his very tip then all the way back down, feeling the soft thatch of hair at the base. He fits comfortably in your hand and there’s still room for you to move up and down, and you relish in the choked groan that he paints into the crook of your neck.

His efforts double when you touch him, which makes you work harder, and then it just becomes a competition. You try to beat each other out to see who can relent first, but it just dissolves into a fit of laughter when you realize what the other person is doing.

Cole guides you toward the sink with his other hand pressing into your side, finally working his hand around to pull your leggings down. He struggles since his fingers are still buried in your cunt and your hand is rather distracting as it pulls on his cock, but he eventually manages to get the tight fabric down to your mid-thigh. 

“How’s this going to work?” you ask, your bare behind coming into contact with the cold sink. You jump a bit and reach for the paper towel dispenser with your free hand, tugging a few sheets loose so that you can lay them on the edge of the sink and put a barrier between your body and the germs.

“Gonna bend you over a bit, if that’s okay,” Cole says. His words are certain, although he’s sure to check with you and make sure it’ll be comfortable.

“Okay,” you agree, allowing him to turn you around. You lay the paper towels down and lean against the sink, bending at the hinge of your hips. You look at Cole in the mirror and grin. 

He matches you. You watch him shove a hand into his pocket, coming back with a condom. He tears the wrapper and rolls the silicon onto himself. He slides his cock between your ass cheeks and thrusts slowly, just to feel the way that you grip him. After a couple of smooth movements, he brings his tip to your entrance and breaches the tight ring, which had drawn back into itself when Cole removed his fingers.

His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, keeping you in place. You’re grateful for the touch because you do lurch forward when he buries his cock into your pussy, thrusting forward until his abdomen is flush with your behind. Without his hand holding your neck, you probably would have knocked your forehead into the mirror hanging on this airport bathroom wall.

“Careful,” Cole murmurs with a tilted smirk. “Can’t have you getting a concussion on me, Y/N.”

“Maybe be gentler,” you bite back without any heat brewing behind your words. 

“You want me to be gentle?” Cole asks. He draws out of you as slowly as he can, then fucks back into you at the same pace. It’s so slow that all the pleasure is lost on you– it just feels like something mechanical is filling you and leaving you. You know he’s just being difficult and even though you’re stubborn, it still makes you go back on your request.

“No, I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, pushing your hips back. “Really fuck me.”

“Good,” Cole says. “Hold on.”

You fit your hands around the curves of the sink, gripping the slippery fake-marble as best you can. You watch Cole in the mirror. 

There’s something poetic about that– you spotted him in the mirror of the bar less than twenty minutes ago and now you’re watching him draw out of your pussy until just his tip remains. 

He bites down on his lower lip as he thrusts forward, finding a brutal rhythm. His hand goes from your neck to your shoulder, his fingertips curling over to the front of your body and digging into the flesh above your collarbone. He keeps you more securely in this place in this position, even pulling you back to meet his thrusts. 

A strand of hair, wavy and delicate, falls over his forehead. His cheeks dimple as his face contorts through the movements. He’ll grimace and grit his teeth, but you know it’s not because of pain or anything negative. He’s doing his best to stay quiet, you think, just like you are. The door of this bathroom separates you from the gates and the hoards of people traveling to a new destination and none of them want to hear two people having sex– except, you know, a perv. There are bound to be a few in the crowds. Still– you don’t want them to hear you.

There’s a vein in Cole’s neck that is popping out from the hyper-focus he has on your body. He’s looking down, eyes fixed on the space where your body welcomes his driving hips and his unrelenting cock. 

Punishing thrust after punishing thrust has you hurtling towards orgasm. In this position, and with Cole pulling you back onto his cock, he’s hitting all the spots inside of you that have your stomach turning and clenching and twisting. It doesn’t help that the edge of the sink is digging into your abdomen and applying pressure.

“Can feel you getting tighter,” Cole grits out. “Come on, Y/N. Come.”

His voice is tight when he speaks, like he’s trying to hold himself together until you unravel. The timbre is hot as hell and you let out an involuntary whimper, dipping your head.

Cole brings his other hand to your hair and yanks your head back up. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, narrowed like he didn’t want you to look away from him even though he wasn’t looking at you, and the jerk of pain on your scalp sends you over the edge.

You come, entrance spasming around Cole’s shaft as the climax takes over you. Your jaw drops and your eyelids flutter. 

Cole loosens his grip on your hair and your head falls forward– he allows it this time. His hand comes to your hip and keeps you steady, along with the hand on your shoulder, as he chases his own orgasm. You ride out the aftershocks and Cole prolongs them, if only a little bit. He bucks forward a few times before you can feel his cock twitching and spurting cum into the rubber wrapped around him.

After coming, Cole fills you with hard thrusts four or five times. Then, he draws out of your heat and removes the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the trashcan. He covers it with a layer of paper towels before returning to you and wiping you clean. 

You’re the one to draw your panties and leggings up, feeling satiated. It’s clear that you’ve been fucked, knowing your own body, but you don’t feel like you’re gaping. There’s a dull energy around your core, but it’s indescribable. 

Cole tucks his cock away and reaches behind you to put a bit of soap on his hands, then hip-bumps you out of the way to have full use of the sink. He grins at you through the mirror.

You hover awkwardly for a chance to wash your own hands. As you do, Cole comes behind you and kisses your cheek.

“That was fun,” he says.

You hum, agreeing with a nod.

“Have a safe flight,” Cole bids you before he slips from the bathroom. 

It’s probably better that you’re leaving at different times; you wait a few minutes before nonchalantly leaving the room yourself. There’s no one nearby that is giving you a second look and you’re astonished that no one knocked on the door while you were fucked thoroughly by a stranger– yeah, you’re still on that– but you also feel a bit proud. You did something wild and no one is the wiser.

You head back to your gate with your carry on wheeling along behind you, finding a seat and waiting less than five minutes before you board. You’re in one of the first few groups because you’re insane about checking in and being on time. It also helps that you’ve been flying on this airline forever and you have a boatload of rewards points. 

As you’re fastening your seatbelt in your window seat near the wings, the same one you always choose, a familiar voice greets you.

“Would you look at that,” Cole says. He lifts his carry on into the overhead compartment and double-checks the row number. “What are the chances that we’re sitting together too, Y/N?”

Your face floods with heat and you immediately know that there’s a red blush coating your horrified expression. You were operating under the impression that you’d never see Cole again… and now you have to spend a whole flight beside him.

“What do you think about round 2?” Cole asks in a low voice, sly and conniving. He leans back after the proposal, dimples as deep as you’ve ever seen them. He fastens his own seatbelt and knocks his knee against yours.

The universe might be out to get you.

But you might take him up on that offer too.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 23: stormy night

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You were sitting comfortably on your sofa, watching who knows what on TV while listening to the shower blending with the storm raging outside.

Unfortunately for your boyfriend, the weather event had caused a power outage in his building, so he called you to see if he could spend the night with you. He needed to shower, iron his clothes in the morning, charge his phone, and review some work files, making it impossible to do those tasks in the dark.

They say that the misfortune of some is the fortune of others, for although your boyfriend had to step out of his comfort zone, you were extremely grateful that he was there. You hated storms; they always made you very nervous, and you usually couldn’t sleep when one was raging outside. That’s why you were happy.

Maybe it was a somewhat archaic idea; however, having your man at home made you feel extremely safe and protected.

You were covered with a gray diamond-patterned blanket, waiting for the hot chocolate in your kettle to finish boiling when you heard the sound of water in the bathroom stop. You knew that Spencer was probably too tired to want anything more than a quiet night, so when you headed toward the bathroom, you did so with no other intention.

You knocked twice, just as a matter of courtesy, and he opened the door. He was wearing a red robe with a black trim, and in his hands rested a brown towel that he was likely about to use to dry his hair.

As soon as he saw you, he asked if something was wrong, given your anxious expression. You still hadn’t dared to tell him about your fear of storms, so he couldn’t know.

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to see you,” you replied, moving closer to him to try to hug him.

“You’re going to get soaked,” he murmured. Still, he didn’t reject the contact.

“You’re so warm; how is that possible if you just showered?”

“The water. While cold temperatures have some extra health benefits, I always shower with hot water because it helps reduce tension in the muscles and relaxes me. It’s like… a moment to disconnect from everything.”

“I hope I’m not ruining it,” you murmured, looking up to meet his eyes.

The height difference between you was something that had always driven you crazy, especially the way he looked at you—with so much love.

“Not at all. You’re actually improving it.” You were about to say something else when a thunderclap resonated in the distance, making you jump into your boyfriend’s arms “Are you scared?”

“A little,” you replied tersely. You didn’t want to look silly in front of him, plus it was a rather childish fear. “The storms, the thunder, and all that… they startle me. That’s all.”

“Did you know it's called astraphobia? The irrational fear of thunder, lightning, and storms in general,” he began to ramble. “It’s a fairly common phobia that can cause intense anxiety or even panic when people experience a storm, particularly electrical ones.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“But you shouldn’t be afraid; storms are part of the natural cycle of the Earth and help balance the atmosphere, providing water for plants and refreshing the air. Although lightning may seem dangerous, it’s very rare for it to strike a person since it generally falls on high points like trees or buildings. As for the sound of thunder, while loud, it can’t cause physical harm, as it’s just rapidly expanding air. Being at home is one of the safest places to be, as buildings are designed to withstand storms and safely discharge lightning energy…”

“Honey,” you interrupted him. Your hands went up to his neck. “You don’t have to fix it with science. Sometimes, I just want to hear that everything will be okay.”

The man felt embarrassed for rambling on about it, but to make up for it, he leaned down to give you a soft kiss.

“Everything is fine, baby. I’ll be with you.”

Another thunderclap resonated, and even though you felt uncomfortable, being with him made it more bearable.

“What would I do without my handsome, strong, and protective man?”

“Are you talking about me? Or are you cheating on me with someone else?”

You rolled your eyes at his joke and tried to walk away, but he pulled you back to ask for a kiss. You didn’t resist, of course.

“I made hot chocolate. Do you want a cup?”

“Uh-huh. Let me get dressed, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

You went to the kitchen to meticulously prepare a couple of cups with the drink and made sure to include marshmallows, as he liked. Additionally, you added pumpkin spice that you had specifically bought for his visits, knowing it was one of his favorite flavors of autumn.

When Spencer came out, dressed in pajamas that looked too comfortable and warm, you felt happy watching him. You had already placed his cup on the desk where he would be setting up, where several files and notebooks were already resting.

He thanked you with a kiss on the forehead and took a seat, not daring to lie on the couch next to you because he knew he wouldn’t get up again after that.

“Do you need help with anything?” you offered, even if you knew it was probably work too complex for you to do.

“No, it’s not necessary. But if you want, you can stay and keep me company while I work. I’d feel much better,” he replied.

You hummed in agreement and settled back into the armchair, beginning to sip from your cup while keeping the TV off, knowing that Spencer was bothered by noise when he was working. You felt a bit like an intruder in his workspace, but the idea of having him close calmed you.

As Spencer reviewed the printed files, you decided to watch him. His expression was one of concentration, with his brow slightly furrowed and his jaw clenched. It was evident that he was absorbed in his world of research, perhaps analyzing a recent case or reviewing the reports he had received.

You remained silent for quite some time until your curiosity grew, and you dared to ask:

“Is it a lot of work?”

“Kind of. I need to check a couple of details before sending a summary to the office,” he replied without taking his eyes off the paper. The familiarity in his voice gave you a sense of connection, even though you weren’t directly interacting.

“Difficult case?”

“A bit. There are many variables involved. I’m trying to break down the information to make it easier to understand. Sometimes work can be a puzzle,” he said, and although he seemed immersed in his task, there was a tone of passion in his voice that made you admire him even more.

That said, you decided not to interrupt him while he continued working. In his world, he could be a bit more reserved, and while you wanted to know more, you also understood that he needed his space.

As time passed, the rain continued to hit the windows, creating an enveloping atmosphere. Spencer seemed completely absorbed in his task, and at some point, he looked up at you and smiled, albeit briefly, before returning to his concentration. It was a simple gesture, but it made you feel included in his world, even though he was focused on something else.

“You know? I’m glad I came here,” Spencer suddenly said, breaking the calm. “I mean, not just because of the electricity, but sometimes work can be exhausting, and… I know, I feel overwhelmed, like I have a million things on my mind. But when I’m with you, I feel like I can set all that aside. It’s like your presence gives me a breather.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for that sincerity that had always captivated you. It was a vulnerable moment, and you felt grateful for his trust. Without saying anything, you got up and went to him to sit on his lap, letting him wrap his arm around your waist.

You both remained silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the night and each other’s closeness. But it was also evident that the day had been long for him. You noticed the tension in his body manifesting in his posture (despite having showered), as his shoulders were slumped, and his gaze, though still bright, showed signs of fatigue.

“You're not done yet?” you asked softly, running your hands through his still slightly damp hair. You had bought him a conditioner that smelled delightful and gave a silky feel.

“I did. I just need to sign off on the file to submit it at the office tomorrow.”

The vulnerability in his voice resonated with you.

“Do you want us to go to bed then?” you suggested, even though you felt there was more you could share.

Your boyfriend nodded with his eyes closed, a clear sign of exhaustion, and you promised him you’d be with him as soon as you finished tidying up in the kitchen. Spencer organized the desk, and once everything was ready, both of you headed to the bedroom. It was a cozy space, with the lights off, and the sound of the storm could be heard through the window. You got into bed, and he quickly joined you.

When he wrapped his arms around you from behind, the warmth of his body enveloped you and you felt all the tension you had built up during the storm melt away. You nestled against him, enjoying the sensation of his closeness.

“I like being here with you,” he murmured as he wrapped his arm around you. Spencer took a moment to breathe deeply, as if he were grateful for the small moment you had “I always have trouble falling asleep, but with you in my arms, it’s not so difficult"

The sincerity of your boyfriend moved you, and you felt him place a soft kiss on your shoulder, to which you responded by leaning closer to him.

You both stayed silent for a while, listening to the sound of the rain beginning to diminish. The tranquility of the night was like a blanket wrapping around you.

Finally, as the heaviness of sleep started to assail you, you felt the weight of the day fade away.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said in a whisper, feeling the peace his presence brought you. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he replied.

And as his eyes closed, you realized that despite the storms raging outside, there was a place where you both felt safe and comfortable.

[take-it-on-the-run]

Angels Bowling

Castiel x Reader

You hated the drafty motel the four of you were hunkered down in. You hated the rolling thunder crashing against the shaky windows even more.

Word Count: 1k

Tags: Fear of thunderstorms comfort, thunderstorms, Cas is a sweetie pie, this is really my first fic without angst as a main plot point, fluff, comfort, weighted blanket, noise cancelling headphones, back tracing, Sam & Dean are slumped in the background

Characters: Castiel, Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! I was wondering if I could drop in a request. May I request either a Sam, Dean or even Cas x reader where it's like, reader seems anxious abt something (set in a motel btw with established relationship) and after like half an hour of patiently waiting for reader to mention whatever bothers her by herself, they finally pry and find out she's scared of thunderstorms, while there's one fast approaching? (I don't remember if you write smut, but maybe could it end up as a fluffy, reassuring comfort smut? Maybe during the storm, under the covers to distract and comfort reader)."

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate, @butterclove, @blxssxmsposts, @aonungsfreak, @Inkmonster21, @alyxsanchez-pines, @jaes-last-words, @superlegend216

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: Darryl Rahn title. Guys, I feel like Dean in the way my writing inspo came back from the dead. This has been sitting in my drafts ever since the request came in and suddenly I loaded up Tumblr and decided I needed to write something. Again, if writing stories that took off from the request was a competition, I think I'd win. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy despite it sitting in my inbox for forever. First Castiel fic!! This is also my first fic of 2025, and I hope I can write a little more before the year ends (if we're being realistic here). Unbeta'd, every mistake is mine, and make sure to read those tags! Also, thank you to everyone who joined my tag list!!!

Castiel Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

You hated the drafty motel the four of you were hunkered down in.

You hated the rolling thunder crashing against the shaky windows even more.

Neither Dean, Sam, nor your angel boyfriend seemed to mind the borderline hurricane that was occurring. You could understand Cas’ lack of reaction, having probably been around when they were created, but you expected something from the other humans in the room.

You’d been trying to break in the new boots Sam got you for a birthday gift, but climbing through wire fences and dirt hiking trails created blisters on every surface of your feet. You and Dean had found the vampire nest taking local boys and churning their bodies out like cattle and returned before the first drop of rain hit the pavement.

Overall, you thought the hunt had gone abnormally well.

That was until the rain started to pick up into heavy thunderstorm territory.

Neither of your hunting partners commented on the building weather, but you couldn’t help but ignore their voices and focus on the booming crash of rain, rattling you to the bone. Before you could turn to Cas for some semblance of support, the flap of his wings briefly muffled the torrential downpour.

You quickly curled up on the motel’s lumpy mattress, back facing the window and head covered with musty sheets. Dean had offered to sleep on the ground so neither of you had to share a bed, which you appreciated because if you had to share with either of them at that moment, you were sure you’d be clinging to them out of pure fear.

It wasn’t that you were a jumpy person, or had some story in particular that made thunderstorms so damn scary; it was simply the fact that they were loud, disruptive, and unpredictable.

Monsters were predictable. Learning their patterns, studying their habits, and taking them out was easier than breathing. You’d held the power to take away the fears of so many people, only to cower under your covers hours later because of some rain.

At least when you were in the bunker, you could hunker down in your room, the noise of the sky falling on your head blocked by thick concrete and the reassurance of dozens of protective magical sigils. In an off-road motel thirty minutes from any major towns, all you could do was silently hope that Cas heard the prayers you were throwing his way.

He must’ve, as the flap of his wings briefly drowned out the Winchesters’ snoring, and you felt the bed dip down next to you.

“Cas?” You asked, still tucked under the covers of the bed. You lifted your head up, and saw your boyfriend taking his trench coat, suit jacket, and shoes off before slipping under the covers next to you.

“Hey,” his gruff voice said as he shifted in the bed, “I’m sorry I had to leave for a second. I wanted to grab some stuff for you.”

You creased your brows as he reached behind him revealing the noise canceling headphones you had in your nightstand, combined with a giant weighted blanket you were pretty sure came from Sam’s room.

“I remember you telling me these help, so,” he raised the headphones up, gently placing them behind your ears so you could still hear him. The weighting blanket came down next, putting pressure on your body enough for it to feel like a giant hug.

“Cas, this is so thoughtful, I mean I didn’t think you’d even remember me saying that stuff.”

“You do know it’s almost impossible for an angel to forget things, right? I mean, I am the size of your Chrysler building and all.”

You laughed, shifting your weight to your elbow as you scooted closer to him.

“Do you mind spooning, and doing that thing where you trace things on my back?” You asked softly, your boyfriends eyes gentle and soothing as a humble smile crossed his lips.

“Of course.” He opened his form and you tucked yourself into him, facing to the wall without the window. His hand gently lifted the back of your shirt, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before lightly tracing random shapes across your back.

“You know, my mom always told me-” your own yawn interrupted your quiet voice, “-that the thunder and the rain was just angels bowling. Is there any truth to that?”

Cas chuckled, drawing out the letters B-O-W-L-I-N-G on your back.

“No, not really. From what I remember, without the rain, water would just get stuck on the ground and end up flooding large parts of the Earth. God ended up making the clouds to soak up all that rain,” he tapped the tips of his fingers down your back to simulate raindrops, “and the lightning and thunder just sort of followed.”

“So you’re telling me there’s no big bowling alley in heaven?”

“No, there definitely is, there’s just no correlation between that and the thunder.” Cas scooted closer to you, slipping one hand across your waist and resuming the tracing with the other.

3-0-0

“Three hundred?” You asked.

“My bowling score in heaven. Actually, that’s most of the angels’ score, save for a few.”

“You’re kidding.” You said with a lightened tone.

“No, actually, I was pretty good. Too bad heaven didn’t have a uh- a bowling team.”

He traced more numbers on your back.

1-0-9

“Who’s was that?”

“Metatron's. Always was a sore loser when he came down from writing to play.”

The both of you laughed softly, Cas resuming the soft, senseless shapes on your skin to soothe you.

“When are you-” you yawned “-you going to head out?”

“I’m perfectly comfortable right here for tonight.”

“Cas,” you try to turn over to face him, but the gentle hand across your waist kept you in place, “you don’t sleep. I know that. You can’t just lay here all night.”

He pressed another kiss to your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, “yes, I can. Please try to get some rest now.”

You hummed in agreeance, bringing your headphones from behind your ears, the thunder you forgot about for a brief moment now completely drowned out by the comforting pressure on your ears.

“I love you,” you whisper, eyes drooping closed while Cas keeps tracing.

D-I-T-T-O

[system-to-the-madness]

Ice - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 2 582 Warnings: kidnapping, injury, war Summary: After kidnapping the Avatar at the Northpole, Zuko has an unexpected encounter with the person he was longing to see the most A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part Two of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you), Part One is here Dividers: original by @thecutestgrotto edit by me (colour only)

Zuko sat on the cold ground of the ice cave, his gaze absentmindedly pointed towards the cave’s exit, where a snowstorm kept raging on.  If it weren’t for that storm, he long could have gotten the Avatar back to the ship, the Avatar, who lay unconscious and tied up on the floor just a few feet away. But instead, he was stuck here, in this ice dessert.

How had people ever thought it would be a good idea to build a life up here, so far North? There was nothing here but freezing cold sea, ice and snow. Sure, he knew the territory of the Fire Nation was not necessarily more inviting; most of it was rough stone and dusty ground.

But it had not always been that way. Hundreds of years ago, there had been blooming gardens and tall forests, thriving on the nutrient rich ash the volcanoes spit out. When Fire Lord Sozin had declared the war, the gardens and fields with flowers had been neglected until everything had died or been paved over. Once beautiful parks had been turned into training centres for soldiers. The forests had been cleared to access the iron in the ground and to use the wood for firing up the engines.

Zuko vividly remembered the images in his schoolbooks about the “sacrifice of meaningless aesthetics for the great cause of uniting the world underneath the banner of the Fire Nation”. It had never seemed quite right to him, but he had known better than to question his ancestors’ decisions. Maybe that was why he enjoyed the trips to Ember Island so much: Because there was still nature there.

The storm outside carried snowflakes past the entrance, and in his slowly but surely sleepy mind, he was certain the white, glimmering crystals arranged themselves to your likeliness. A few weeks ago, the idea that his sleep deprived mind taunted him by recognizing your face in all kinds of unrelated patterns, clouds, stars, waves, had terrified him. Now it was almost comforting, imagining the snowflakes to form that face that had burned itself into his memory.

He hadn’t seen you since he had broken you and the Avatar out of Zhao’s prison. While he had run into the Avatar’s little gang of run-aways, you never seemed to have been around. Maybe you had split from the group, maybe you had recognized that betraying your Nation by helping their number one enemy was not the best choice in life. And while Zuko wanted to be satisfied with this explanation, he couldn’t help that empty feeling in his chest that told him that he might never see you again. If you had still been traveling with the Avatar, he could have met you again, but if you had left, the chances of finding you were close to zero. Sure, he knew what you looked like and what your name was. But unlike the Avatar, you wouldn’t stir up as much attention, which meant people wouldn’t notice you, the same way he barely had taken notice of you before getting you out of that cell. Which again in turn meant that when people didn’t notice you, nobody would be able to point him towards where you were.

Zuko shook his head. Was he seriously considering searching for you, someone who, without a second thought had betrayed their nation? He had captured the Avatar; his path was set. He only would have to get him onto a ship now and sail back to the Fire Nation. There he would hand over the boy to his father, who would welcome him home with open arms, and make him his right-hand man, as Zuko had always dreamt of being. He would get to sleep in his bed again, cool, silken sheets wrapping around his body and would get to eat all his favourite foods again.

Still, he knew that your face would haunt him forever, the way you had stood over these guards who you had defeated. The same way your cry would always haunt him, when he had burnt you. He hadn’t meant to, and he wished he could tell you that he hadn’t intended to hurt you. But he never had gotten the chance.

After he had been knocked out on the escape from Zhao, he had woken up in a forest, on a pile of leaves. The Avatar had talked to him, about old friends from the Fire Nation, but Zuko’s entire focus had been on you, who had sat curled in on yourself next to the Avatar. A stripe of orange cloth, doubtlessly from the Avatar’s clothing, had been wrapped around your left arm where Zuko had burnt you in his clumsy attempt to save you from the attacking Fire Benders. You hadn’t looked at him, but even from where he had been laying, it had been obvious, that you had been exhausted. Your eyes had seemed sunken in, you had looked sickly, and even from the distance Zuko had been able to see that you were shaking.

When the Avatar’s words had driven rage into Zuko’s blood, and he had tried attacking the boy, the two of you had simply disappeared. The Avatar had grabbed you as if you didn’t weight more than a small child even though you were taller than him, and together you had disappeared in the branches of the tall trees and Zuko had been left to wonder when or if he would ever get to see your eyes again.

When or if he would ever get to see you look at him with anything other than shock, fear or hatred.

Zuko was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the Avatar struggling against his restraints. So that little bastard was awake. Quickly Zuko jumped to his feet.

“Welcome back,” Zuko said, glaring at the small body wringing on the ground of the ice cave.

“It’s good to be back,” the Avatar responded, and before Zuko knew what had happened, he was thrown backwards against the wall behind him, his back forcefully knocking into the ice, making pain shoot through his skull and stars dance before his eyes.

As quickly as his aching body allowed, Zuko scrambled back to his feet, chasing after the Avatar, who had made it outside already, trying to wriggle across the snow.

“That won't be enough to escape,” Zuko hissed, pulling the Avatar up by his shirt. He wouldn’t let that kid escape again. He was the only way Zuko would ever get to go home; he needed the Avatar.

A familiar sound above him alerted Zuko even before the Avatar exclaimed: “Appa!”

No, no there was no way. He wouldn’t give up this chance. He had learnt from the past run-ins with the Avatar’s friends. They wouldn’t best him this time. Not now, that he finally had the Avatar so tightly in his grasp, not now, that he was so close to finally going home.

The Sky Bison landed a few meters away in the snow, and the Water Tribe girl jumped down from the beast’s back. But for a moment, just a short moment, Zuko’s attention was on something entirely different, someone different. From behind the saddle of the Sky Bison, a familiar pair of eyes stared at him, familiar hair whipping in the wind. So, you had not left the Avatar’s company, you just hadn’t been close by during the other encounters the group had had with Zuko since your escape from Zhao.

Zuko felt a weight fall off his shoulders. You were here, and you were okay. Even just from the short glance he gave you, he could tell that you were in far better shape than the last time he had seen you in that forest. You seemed to have recovered well after the strain of your imprisonment.

His attention focused back on the Water Tribe girl, who was glaring daggers at him in the dark, moon-lit snow desert. Pushing the Avatar aside, Zuko lifted his hands, ready to fight.

“Here for a rematch,” he challenged. There was no way he would make it home with the Avatar without defeating his annoying, little girlfriend and the others first. Even if it meant fighting against and hurting you again, he had to do it. He couldn’t let you – or anyone else – stand in his way, not when he finally would get the chance to go home.

“Trust me Zuko, it's not going to be much of a match.”

He wanted to scuff at the girl’s words, but before he could, he suddenly was lifted into the air. He only had a moment to realise what was happening. They were surrounded by snow; snow was just hard water. He had challenged a Water Bender while she was in her element and he in the one that was furthest from his bending skill. Which, objectively speaking, was an awful idea. But still, how was she so powerful that she could just throw him around like this? Had he lost so much of his skill? And if he lost this match, they would take the Avatar back with them, would take his only way to go home. He couldn’t let them take that from him, not again. Not after all these years he had spent chasing after the Avatar in the desperate hope to finally go-

The next moment he crashed into the ground, and everything turned black.

Zuko crashed into the ground and a moment later Sokka had already reached Aang, cutting his restraints with his boomerang.

“Hey, this is some quality robe,” he shouted, holding up the cut rope to show you, while you and Yue stayed seated on Appa’s back.

“We need to get to the oasis; the spirits are in trouble,” Aang explained while he undid the rope that tied together his ankles, before running over to Appa and floating himself onto his usual position between the Sky Bison’s horns, while Sokka came running back to settle down in the saddle next to Yue.

Concerned, your eyes flickered back to the Fire Nation prince. He was laying motionless in the snow where Katara had dropped him. You sure didn’t like him, and he had tried kidnapping Aang on more occasions than you could remember. The world would certainly be a better place without him in it, trying to chase all of you down the whole time. But he didn’t deserve being left behind in the snow desert like this. He was unconscious, and who knew for how long. You couldn’t just let him freeze out here.

You were about to speak up, when Aang’s voice sounded over the harsh wind.

“Wait,” he said, making you look at him. His eyes were focused on the unconscious boy laying in the snow. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“Sure we can,” Sokka disagreed. “Let's go.”

“No, if we leave him, he'll die,” Aang responded stubbornly.

 “We don’t know how long he’ll be unconscious for,” you added. “He might freeze if we leave him.”

Aang jumped off Appa, and down into the snow, grabbing Zuko and Air Bending them both back onto Appa’s back.

“Yeah, this makes a lot of sense,” Sokka complained sarcastically. “Let's bring the guy who's constantly trying to kill us.”

Appa took off with a slight growl and Aang dropped Zuko right into your lap, startling you.

“Let’s tie his hands at least,” Sokka whined, holding up the rope with which Aang had previously been tied up.

Rolling your eyes, you shifted the unconscious Prince out of your lap. He was kind of pretty, you thought, as you watched Sokka tie him up. The scar that covered half of the left side of his face was the trace of a bad burn, far worse than the handprint he had left behind on your arm, but it did little to lessen his beauty. The truth was, he had a beautiful face, soft features. If his hair hadn’t mostly been shaven, he might look almost gentle.

Quickly you chased the thought away. Sokka was right, Zuko had tried to kill you and your friends on multiple occasions. You shouldn’t be thinking about him as casually as this. But he had also saved yours and Aang’s life, even though if things had gone according to his plan, you probably would not have escaped. And still… you had a feeling there was more to his story than you were aware of at the moment.

Everything was hazy around him, the ground swaying underneath his body, soft, uneven movements. His wrists hurt, he realized, but his body felt too weak to even try to struggle against the rope that bound his hands. Being unable to move at all, he kept his eyes closed, listening to his surroundings instead. There was the rushing of wind, and the distant sound of people talking, of young people talking. Where was he? What had happened to him? The material he was laying on seemed to be leather, and the swaying was too soft to be that of a boat. Was he on an animal’s back? The ground seemed surprisingly even, not bent as it would have been had it been the saddle of an ostrich horse.

A searing pain shot through his head. Maybe thinking wasn’t the best way to solve the question of where he was right now. So instead, he carefully blinked open his eyes. Above him, the night sky opened up with thousands of stars glimmering in the dark, only a few clouds occasionally interrupting the seemingly endless abys of sparkling darkness. The sight was dizzying, making his head spin. And then suddenly someone leant over him. Zuko still felt so out of it, that he didn’t even flinch as the face appeared above him, the face that had kept haunting him in the past weeks as he had tried catching up to the Avatar.

“You better stay down,” you warned him, but the words barely registered in Zuko’s mind that was too preoccupied by processing just how beautiful you looked above him. The light of the moon reflected in your eyes, making them shimmer like a deep lake in which he only would have been all too happy to drown. Night wind whipped through your hair, pulling at your strands and blowing them over your face. A cut ran across your cheek, red and fresh, the blood barely dried.

A wave of anger shot through Zuko. Who had dared touching, dared hurting you? But then your voice pulled his focus away from the small wound again.

“Stay down,” you repeated.

Zuko’s eyes focused on your lips, the way they formed around the words. Soft looking, smooth lips, that made him wonder if you had ever kissed anyone before. Certainly you had. He couldn’t be the first to notice just how beautiful you were. And you weren’t just beautiful. You were a warrior, you knew how to handle yourself in a fight, you didn’t give up easily and pushed through hardship, no matter how exhausted you were. This much he had learnt from the short time he had spent with you during that prison escape. And you were stubborn and clever and if the look in your eyes as you watched him being barely able to keep his eyes open was anything to go by, you were also kind and sensible. You were perfect.

That was his last thought before he fell unconscious again.

Next Chapter (11. Oct. 2024) | Masterlist

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...): @ghoststookourlifes @ashcal99 @4acoffee @pxrplewalnxt @toomuchboredd @banished--prince @oddobsessionbutotay @makik0 @joysflower @hamdehlesmis @mitski9328373 @angstylittleb1tch @lovecalll

[sulumuns-dootah]

WHB Kings meeting their Obey Me! counterparts

A/N: I try to not pit/compare these two games against each other, but as someone who was into Obey Me! (and still is) and found out about WHB thanks to it, i need to get this out of my system.

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

The scenario is that OM!Solomon messed up some spell and made Obey Me! and What in Hell is bad? universes interconnect and our demon kings get to meet their other version. (I only included those kings that we've already met in WHB - when we get Belphie and Asmo, I might make part 2)

      ༺☆༻

Lucifer

Their meeting is the calmest and most civilised out of all of them.

They don't really talk outside of formal greeting and some polite small talk

Oh, but on the inside? OM!Lucifer is internally appalled by the amount of skin that's WHB!Lucifer showing

WHB!Lucifer is really wondering who this Diavolo guy is, since OM!Lucifer managed to mention him in their little small talk about ten times

OM!Lucifer excuses himself after some time to go make sure his brothers don't do anything stupid while meeting their counterpart

      ༺☆༻

Mammon

Oh

Oh no

This can go in two ways: OM!Mammon's ego gets absolutely crushed (there seems to be a pattern with WHB!Mammon) and just doesn't talk at all, just moping around while trying to look intimidating or he tries to get some treasures off WHB!Mammon since they're technically the same guy and he can definitely trust that he won't sell it to repay his debts

In the second case OM!Lucifer storms in and stops any of his attempts

That entertains WHB!Mammon though, and so he does give OM!Mammon some worthless (read: expensive, but not that rare) treasures

That lights up OM!Mammon's eyes and he doesn't shut up about it for the next century

      ༺☆༻

Leviathan

Well this goes even worse than the Mammons meeting

OM!Leviathan tries to keep his composure, but fails

The envy is strong in this one and some Lovecraftian horrors might get summoned

OM!Leviathan now has more reasons to put himself down, good luck OM!MC with this one

WHB!Leviathan has a hard time believing that that's him from different universe. What went wrong?

But it does make him feel better. He was worried that this other Leviathan would look better than him and beat him at one of the things he's best at

If OM!Lucifer manages to calm OM!Leviathan, they might be able to bond over their use of bathtubs, but no promises

      ༺☆༻

Beelzebub

WHB!Beelzebub expected a lot, but not this

He's not horny? He just loves to eat food so much he even eats inedible objects like pillars of buildings?

Though, he does now wonder how that tastes

OM!Beelzebub tries to not judge WHB!Beelzebub just based on looks, but can't help himself to see how thin he is. Does he even eat at all?

Also, what are those gemstones and how would they taste?

The huge word 'FEED' on WHB!Beelzebub's coat reminds him that he hasn't eaten in a while

The moment WHB!Beelzebub mentions about his hobby in cooking, OM!Beelzebub is on board and on the way to the nearest kitchen

Interestingly enough, the aphrodisiac effects don't seem to be working on OM!Beelzebub, so he just enjoys the meal, but secretly wishes it was Barbatos' cooking instead

      ༺☆༻

Satan

'What do you mean Lucifer is your father?'

These two have hard time accepting that they're technically the same demon.

WHB!Satan is disappointed. He expected someone more scary than horned chicken impersonator. What's that boa about? How do you fight angels in that?

OM!Satan tries to stay calm and not loose his temper when WHB!Satan teases his about his clothing. Somehow he manages.

WHB!Satan is surprisingly more talkative than with most demons. They're the same demon after all and therefore they face the same difficulties, no?

OM!Satan is glad to hear that his other self is favored by his people. The pain kink though? He could do without knowing that, really.

      ༺☆༻

A bonus! ^^

Barbatos

OM!Barbatos is trying to stay as calm and professional as possible, but can't help but wonder what on earth is that noose for

When he finds out it's to show loyalty for his master, he gets calmer

When he finds out that it does actually gets used for hanging, he's back to slight panic mode

WHB!Barbatos doesn't like OM!Barbatos from the beginning. How does one absorb sunlight in so much clothes? No wonder he's so pale and seemingly tired all the time.

All these gloomy colors make him sad. It's almost like this other Barbatos sucked all the color out of the room.

OM!Barbatos is appaled to find out about WHB!Barbatos' interests, but feels intrigued. If the sun ever came up in Devildom, he would try sunbathing, albeit more modestly dressed.

[ahqkas]

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind. 

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

[l1v-jzn]

thesis of the damned au — geum seong je #5

pairing: geum seong je x reader

genre: psychological thriller, dark academia, slow-burn romance, supernatural mystery, alternate universe (au)

summary: you transfer to an elite private university on a prestigious academic scholarship. Everyone there seems to know each other. Secret handshakes. Closed doors. Whispers you’re not invited to.

you meet Geum Seong je—sharp-tongued, perpetually late, smirking like he knows every secret in the building. He’s brilliant, bored, and definitely hiding something. Rumors say he wrote a paper so controversial it was buried by the faculty.

you find it. It’s not just a thesis. It’s a manifesto. Buried in it… are clues. To a secret society. To a missing student. To a crime that never made it into the newspapers.

and you?? You’re the only one smart and reckless enough to keep up with him.

taglist (only for this series): @mishh2728 @ellaaa505 @heeknow @ruruyinn @yinyangcchii (please just comment here if you want to be tagged only for this series)

— Previous Part — — Next Part —

“…Ready for lesson three?”

The words didn’t echo. They settled. Like ash falling in the aftermath of something burned too fast.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. It felt like if you even breathed wrong, the thing outside would know. Would hear it, like radar pinging off your fear.

You pressed yourself against the wall instinctively, eyes wide, the room suddenly smaller than it had ever been. The shadows in the corners had shape now—real or imagined, you didn’t know, and couldn’t afford to guess.

Seong Je hadn’t moved. Not a single muscle. But he was vibrating with tension. A storm packed into a frame too still. His grip on the lighter had gone white-knuckled. His face was unreadable—but not empty. It was loaded. Like a trigger pulled halfway. Like his brain was racing through every possibility and finding none of them survivable.

“Don’t speak,” he murmured, and his voice sounded like it’d been pulled through gravel. He wasn’t warning you. He was pleading.

From behind the door, there came a sound. Thump. Something leaned on it.

Not a bang. Not an impact. Just… weight. Then another sound. Breath. But not from lungs. It was wet. Ragged. Like something exhaling through teeth that weren’t meant for air.

Seong Je moved at last, gently pulling you behind him, positioning himself between you and the door. The warmth of his back against your chest was the only thing anchoring you. You clung to the fabric of his hoodie without thinking, fingertips digging in as if that could keep the thing outside at bay.

You whispered, barely audible: “It knows we’re in here.” He nodded once. “It’s known since before it knocked.”

The breath on the other side grew closer. More deliberate. Then suddenly it laughed. Short. Stuttering. Like a child pretending to understand humor. Like it had heard laughter once and tried to replicate it with a mouth that didn’t bend the right way.

“Lesson three…” it crooned, voice crackling now, distorted like a warped cassette tape being fed through a broken machine. “Time to listen.”

CRACK. The sound was sharp and sudden. The peephole—the one he’d covered with the charm—splintered from the other side.

The paper sizzled. Smoke began to curl from its edges.

Seong Je’s hand shot out. He clapped his palm over it like he could hold it in place by sheer will. The light from the lighter flickered erratically in his other hand, casting shadows that leapt across his face in strange, shivering patterns.

Then—something changed. The temperature in the room dropped so fast it made your teeth ache. The window behind you fogged. From the inside.

Every surface seemed to pull back, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Even the air stopped moving.

And the voice came again. Not from the door. From behind you.

“…Je?”

You whipped around, heart slamming into your ribs. But no one was there. Just the curtain. Billowing slightly. But the window was closed.

Your stomach turned. You knew the rules. You knew doors could be watched, could be sealed.

But windows? Not protected. Not covered.

Seong Je spun too, eyes landing on the curtain. His expression turned to ice. He ran. One second he was beside you, the next he had yanked the curtain wide—Nothing. Just glass.

But a handprint bloomed on the other side. Small. Pale. Wrong. Too many fingers. Palm stretched too wide. And slowly, impossibly—another handprint. Then another. Then a face. Pressed to the glass. Eyes too dark. Mouth not smiling—but too wide anyway. The skin rippling like it was wearing a face it hadn’t quite figured out.

You backed away, mouth open in a silent scream. Your legs hit the edge of the bed, and you almost collapsed.

Seong Je didn’t look away. He was muttering again. Not panicked. Precise. As if reciting from memory—like the words had been etched into him long ago.

Then, without warning—he snapped his fingers.

The salt ring on the floor ignited in a blaze of white light, flaring up like a line of fire across the boundary.

The glass shattered outward. And the thing—was gone. Not a trace.

Just the whine of wind curling through the open window and the smell of something burned. Sweet. Rotting.

Silence returned. Real silence this time. The kind with space to breathe. You stared at the window, shaking.

And Seong Je? He didn't look relieved. He looked worse.

Not pale—no. If anything, color had returned to his face, but not in a good way. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch just beneath his cheekbone. A storm brewed behind his glasses, the lenses catching the moonlight that filtered in through the shattered window. The left side of his face was painted in silver—sharp angles and shadows made harsher by the glow, like he’d been carved from light and tension.

His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t move. They were locked on the space where the thing had been—wasn’t—but somehow still lingered. Behind the glasses, his expression wasn’t just tense. It was haunted. Like someone who’d recognized the shape of a nightmare and realized it had a name after all.

And for the first time, he looked not just like someone who’d seen this before—but someone who’d barely survived it. “That wasn’t lesson three,” he said.

His voice shook now. “That was just the introduction.”

The room was still again for a minute. Not safe. But still.

Like the storm had passed—only to hunker down just beyond the treeline, waiting for you to open the door again.

You sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you like it was exhaling too. Your hands trembled in your lap, fingertips cold from the aftermath of that thing's visit. You could still feel the ghost of it on your skin. Like static clinging to your bones.

Across from you, Seong Je leaned against the wall. He’d dropped the lighter somewhere along the way. His eyes were half-lidded, not from calm, but from sheer exhaustion. His chest rose and fell in shallow, measured breaths. Like he was trying very hard not to lose control.

Silence stretched between you again, but now it was something you needed.

It felt… fragile. Like a soap bubble balancing on the moment. One wrong word, and it’d pop—and bring the thing back with it.

Finally, after what felt like hours—but might’ve been minutes—you whispered, “Is this normal?” Your voice barely made it past your lips.

He let out a sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. A sound that said: God, I wish I could lie to you right now.

“No,” he said. His voice was rough. Raw. “If this was normal, I’d be dead.”

That got your attention. He glanced at you, almost sheepishly. Like someone who knew he was about to say something insane, and hated that it was true.

“I’ve seen signs. Mimics. I’ve seen creatures slip through the cracks between places. I’ve even banished a few.”

He looked down at his hands. Flexed them once. Still shaking. “But I’ve never had one knock on my door. Say my name. That’s not hunting. That’s… intimacy.”

Your skin crawled. “Why you?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at you then.

And you saw it. Not bravado. Not mystery. Just a guy. Barely older than you. Terrified in all the same ways—but pretending he wasn’t so you didn’t fall apart. It made your chest ache in a strange way.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, almost like he forgot to.

You blinked. The question felt unreal.

But somehow—oddly—you were. Not okay in the way that meant “good.” But in the way that meant still standing. Still here. “I think so,” you said softly.

He nodded once. “Good. We’ll need that.”

Then he stood. Walked to the shattered window. Looked out into the night. It was quiet again. City lights twinkled like stars below. Nothing moved.

But you both knew the thing wasn’t gone. Just waiting.

And when he turned back to you, his expression had changed. Resolved. “We rest now,” he said, voice low. “Lesson three comes at dawn.”

Seong Je’s Dorm — 3:03 a.m

The broken window had been covered, hastily—an old sheet tacked over it with thumbtacks and prayer. It fluttered gently with every breeze, and every time it moved, you both glanced up like a conditioned reflex. A mutual, unspoken rhythm of wariness.

The room still felt heavy. Like the walls remembered. Like the air hadn’t forgotten what had touched it.

You were curled on the side of the bed now, blanket clutched high, watching the shadows flicker across the ceiling. Not moving. Barely blinking. Just existing, in the rawest sense of the word.

Seong Je sat on the floor across from you, back against the closet, knees drawn up, head tilted toward the door like he could hear something beyond it.

Neither of you said it out loud—but you were both too scared to sleep alone.

He hadn’t lit another cigarette. He just held the lighter. Turning it in his fingers, absently. Like a charm. Like something familiar. His thumb hovered near the spark wheel, but never flicked it. It was just movement—something to do. Something to keep the hands from trembling too much.

You watched him for a long time. The tension in his jaw. The way his shoulders refused to relax, even now. He wasn’t resting. He was waiting.

“…You don’t have to stay awake all night,” you murmured.

He glanced at you—eyes dark, but softer now. Still cautious. But not cold. “I know.” He took a deep breath. “But I will.”

You didn’t thank him. You just nodded. That kind of loyalty didn’t need gratitude. It just needed presence.

After a while, the room settled. The cold didn’t bite as sharply. The silence started to feel like yours again.

And somehow, without realizing when, your body began to let go. Piece by piece. Your breath evened. Your thoughts stopped racing.

Sleep came like fog—quiet, creeping, uninvited. But not unwelcome.

Seong Je’s Dorm | Avemhall Hallway — 4:03 a.m

The night passed in fragments. You didn’t sleep—not really. You drifted.

Floated in and out of consciousness like a paper boat on black water, every sound dragging you back up from the deep. The creak of wood. The occasional wind curling through the broken window. Once, you swore you heard your own name whispered from inside the walls.

But Seong Je had stayed awake. You saw him in the dim firelight more than once, sitting by the window, a knife on one knee, scribbled notes and strange symbols open in a battered leather journal beside him. He was muttering to himself. Repeating certain words like they were passwords. Some were in Korean. Some… weren’t in any language you knew.

When your eyes opened again—the sky outside still dark.The kind that doesn’t promise safety. Just change.

Seong Je turned to you. His face was shadowed, but something in his expression had shifted. Not softer. Not harder. It was ready.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We don’t stay here once the light hits the floor.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He reached over to tap a long, thin crack in the salt ring. “Salt’s only protection as long as the veil’s thin. And dawn…” He nodded toward the window. “Dawn thickens it. Closes things. Makes the hidden things move.”

You didn’t question it. Just grabbed your jacket, still draped over the desk chair, and moved like your body was remembering how to be useful again.

Seong Je slung a messenger bag over one shoulder—its contents clinking softly with glass and metal—and tossed something to you.

A charm. A coin with a hole in the center. Threaded on a red string.

“For your pocket,” he said. “Don’t hang it. Hide it. It works better if it feels forgotten.”

You slipped it into your jeans as he pulled the journal from the floor and flipped it open to a page marked with a fingerprint that wasn’t ink. It looked burned into the parchment.

“Lesson three,” he murmured. “We begin with names.” You frowned. “You mean mine?”

“No.” He looked at you, serious. “Its.”

The air went still. Again. But different this time. Like the world was bracing.

“Why do we need its name?” you asked, voice small but steady.

He walked to the door. Pressed one hand to it. Closed his eyes. “Because names bind. Names break. Names banish.” he continued, “And because that thing already knows yours.”

You inhaled sharply—but he opened the door before you could speak.

The hallway beyond was empty. Daylight creeping in through the high windows. Peaceful.

But something felt off. Like walking through a house you’d only ever seen in dreams. Familiar, and yet… waiting.

Seong Je glanced back at you. “Ready?”

You squared your shoulders. Heart pounding. Voice dry. “Nope.”

Seong Je didn’t wait for a real answer. He stepped out, hoodie sleeve brushing yours as he passed—warm, grounding. Too fast. Too fleeting. You followed. Had to.

The corridor stretched ahead—quiet, doused in late sunrise that barely reached the scuffed floors. The linoleum gleamed in places where too many shoes had scuffed it, where bleach and old blood might’ve kissed in the past and left no trace but shine. You and Seong Je stood in the middle of it, side by side, like two characters in a dream right before it turns into a nightmare.

The silence wasn't empty. It watched. Every window up above filtered in light like stained glass—burning gold on your skin, but cold where it hit the walls. The air held weight, like it remembered things too ancient to name.

You glanced at him. He hadn’t spoken again since the door. His jaw was tight. Focused. Like his brain was running ahead of the conversation, already five moves deeper into the problem or the danger.

“Hey,” you said, just to break the quiet. “When you said… it knows my name. You mean my real name, right?”

He stopped walking. You almost bumped into him. He turned, finally meeting your eyes, hands in his pockets. His expression—half-hard, half-haunted—shifted when he met your eyes. “That file you found,” he said. “MJ’s.” You nodded slowly, “What about it?”

His jaw tensed. Not like he was angry—like he was trying to decide how much truth you were ready to hear.

He took his hands out of his pockets. Ran one through his hair. The other hung by his side, flexing once, then stilling. “You didn’t open all of it,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “I looked through every page.”

He shook his head. “Not the real part. Not the sealed file in the back.”

Your blood ran cold. You remembered it now—thick paper, clipped shut with a strip of red wax. You hadn’t dared break it. It felt… wrong to. Like touching something sacred. Or cursed.

Seong Je’s gaze dropped to the floor for a second, and when he looked back up at you, there was something raw in his eyes. “They kept names in there. Real names. The ones you weren’t born with, but were given when you were marked.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your mouth had gone dry.

He watched you, carefully. Gently. “Those names… they’re anchors. They tie a person to a place. A memory. A curse. Sometimes a thing. If it knows yours, it doesn’t need permission anymore. It doesn’t need to knock.”

You swallowed hard. The hallway you stood in felt narrower suddenly. As if the walls had been listening too. “So someone read mine aloud?”

“No,” he said, and there was something sharp in his voice now. “Worse.”

“What?”

He hesitated. Then answered in one word, flat and final, “Someone wrote it down.”

The silence after that felt loud. You wanted to deny it, wanted to laugh, scream, anything—but the sick feeling curling in your gut said it was true. All of it. Your voice shook. “But… who would’ve—”

“MJ,” he said. No hesitation now. Just steel. “I think she found it. I think she opened the file and read it. Wrote it down. And then—” He stopped.

“And then what?”

He looked away. You took a step forward. “And then what, Seong Je?”

“She vanished.”

The words hit you like a slap. You froze. You barely remembered her. A face in passing. Always quiet, always scribbling things into notebooks no one else got to see. A whisper of a girl. And now, maybe—not even that. “You think she—” you started, but couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I think,” he said softly, “whatever’s outside the door that time… it doesn’t want to take you. Not yet.”

“Then what does it want?”

He looked back at you, expression dark. Unflinching. “It wants you to listen.” he continued, “To learn.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “And if I don’t?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because suddenly you could feel it again—somewhere far off, behind the walls, below the floorboards, in the invisible places. Waiting. Smiling. Practicing your name like a mantra.

You stared at him, the hallway stretching out long and empty ahead of you. The air felt thick again—like the world had started listening too closely.

Your voice came out quieter this time, barely a breath, but sharp enough to pierce, “So… Myeong Joo was the one calling you from behind the door that night?”

The moment snapped. Like time stepped back. Like the walls held their breath.

Seong Je didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. His eyes flicked toward you, but they didn’t really see you for a second. They were far away. Back there again—back in his dorm, with the flickering lighter and the cold that crept in under the door.

He swallowed, hard. His throat worked around the words before he said them. “She used to sound like that.”

Just six words. But his voice cracked somewhere in the middle, like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to say them out loud.

“At first… I thought maybe—” He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. Turned slightly, not to look at you, but to look away. “But it wasn’t her anymore.”

The hallway, once dim, now glowed with the pale hush of sunrise—soft gold bleeding in through the towering windows that lined one side of the corridor. They stretched from floor to ceiling, glass fogged slightly from the cool night still clinging to the edges of dawn.

Light slanted through in long, uneven streaks. Not warm. Not yet. Just bright enough to show you everything you maybe didn’t want to see.

The shadows cast weren’t comforting. They were too tall. Too thin. Twisted just wrong. Yours. His. But distorted—like they were being remembered by something that hadn’t quite forgotten the dark. Dust floated in the beams like ash in still water.

Everything felt... hushed. Not quiet in a peaceful way, but in the way you’d expect a church to be quiet after something sacred has broken.

The world hadn’t quite woken up. And neither had whatever was watching.

Your pulse echoed in your ears like footsteps that weren’t yours. “Then what was it?” you asked.

He finally looked at you. And when he did—it wasn’t fear in his eyes. It was grief. Fierce. Quiet. Bone-deep.

“It was something wearing her voice. Something that remembered how she sounded when she laughed. When she got mad at me for taking the last can of coffee. When she snuck out to the roof and made me promise not to tell anyone.”

You watched his face shift—moment by moment—as memory gave way to mourning.

“She was still in there,” he said softly. “At least, at first. But it wasn’t her anymore.”

The silence pressed in like water from all sides.

You wanted to reach out, say something, but the words stayed stuck. Heavy in your mouth. “She was your friend,” you said at last.

“No.” His voice dropped. “She was my partner.”

That word landed with weight. Like it mattered more than a friend. More than anything.

“We were supposed to watch each other’s backs,” he said. “She told me she found something. Said she was getting closer. Said it had to do with the names. With...” He paused. Looked at you again. “With you.”

You froze. Your chest went tight. “Me?”

“She didn’t say your name. Just called you ‘the one with the echo.’ Said something was following you—said it had marked you. I told her to wait. I told her not to dig. And then the line went dead.”

There it was. The cold again. Flooding your chest. Crawling up your spine like frostbite.

“But if it was her voice,” you whispered, “why knock?”

Seong Je’s jaw tensed. He looked away, but not like he was hiding. More like he was trying to keep himself from shattering. “Because part of her still remembers the rules.”

You stared at him. And finally, finally you understood. That voice behind the door hadn’t been threatening. It had been… familiar. Sweet. Gentle. Soft. It had sounded like home. Because that’s how it gets you. Not with claws. But with comfort. It waits for your trust. It waits for recognition.

And you suddenly realized—that’s why Seong Je hadn’t spoken that night. Because the moment he did…It might’ve stepped inside.

The silence between you held for a long, long moment.

Then he exhaled. Shook himself once, like shedding something. “We have to move.”

You swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “Where are we going?”

Seong Je’s gaze flicked toward the window—toward the growing light that still looked too sharp to be safe. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Seong Je turned—slowly—back to face you.

The light from the rising sun caught him sideways, tracing soft lines down the edge of his face. And for a heartbeat, he didn’t look like the boy who smirked at danger or shrugged off ghosts. He looked tired. Raw. Human.

But something in his eyes had changed. There was a weight there. Not fear—not anymore. Something steadier. Fiercer. Like a vow had just settled into his bones.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet. But it carried like a promise. “To the archive,” he said. Then he paused. Just a breath.

And when he met your eyes again—really met them—it was like he was trying to memorize you. Like if he looked long enough, he could hold you here. In this hallway. In this moment. Safe.

That look—It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was something unspoken. Gentle. Protective. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said and maybe didn’t know how to. Then, softer—but firmer, “Together this time.”

And that was it. The moment cracked open. Like light through a locked door. Like maybe—just maybe—if the world was falling apart, at least you wouldn't be doing it alone.

And for the first time since all of this started—you realized: He was afraid. But he wasn’t going to let you go in alone. Not anymore. Not ever again.

You followed him, steps echoing too loud in the corridor. But underneath? Something was awake. And it knew your name.

5 parts ain't enough, I guess 😩. Should I publish this Series on Wattpad?? Also the Bite The Blade?? ✊🏻😔 P.S i'm not good at making book covers 🥀🥀

© l1v-jzn

[multidimensionalguidance]

The Astrology Behind: The 27 Club

We already know the dreadful and looming stories behind this phenomenon that occurs the most within the music and entertainment industry. A great number of deaths and tragic events that seemed to follow gifted individuals as a fated promise.

Although we know that a great majority passed away due to drugs and unhealthy lifestyle choices, there's also some that had unexpected accidents. Now, for those who study astrology and understand that every age activates certain houses/themes this will seem like a very clear pattern.

In terms of house profections, during the age of 27 our 4th house lights up like a lightbulb ready to come through with the lessons and experiences that match the natal planets, lord, sign, ruling nakshatra, and transit planets as well.

When we think of scary and dark periods we tend to associate them with the profections years that match the 8th and 12th house ( 19, 23, 31, 35, and so on) under the assumption that the 4th house is just a cozy corner, yet the overwhelming number of individuals who lose their life around the ages that fall into this house is rather shocking.

The 4th house rules our home, heritage, mother, ancestry, childhood, parents, sense of security, inner life, emotions, happiness, nourishment, etc. These are the topics that come to life during those years, and often times, the ones that leave the strongest mark in our lives.

For most individuals reaching the ages of 15 or 27 arrives with harsh realizations and lessons associated to the lack of emotional and physical security that we might have or feel within ourselves or at home. At 15 we freshly enter the teenage experience of feeling like an outsider at home, as if we don't fit or belong with our family anymore, and as if the innocence of childhood feels long gone. This is where we turn to being a "rebel" and start seeking nourishment outside of what we've been taught within the confinements of home.

By the time we circle back into this house at 27, getting closer to the taste of 30 which is ruled by the 7th house (long term relationships, commitment, others, etc), we start to re-live yet again what "home" and "nourishment" truly feels like for us as adults who are more experienced at life than a 15 year old.

We realize that the perceived freedom of our early 20's was an illusion, and that what has shaped us into who we are by that point was everything we experienced within the privacy of our inner or private world. All the traumas created at home or by our parents. All the overwhelming expectations of what a family of our own might feel like, what long term commitment means to us, and how close or far we are from breaking generational wounds.

All of this can feel maddening and make us isolate from the world into our shells, as if turning into the crustaceans that represent the sign of Cancer. Since the turmoil is associated with our deepest parts, being unable to find a peaceful resolution within our stormy oceans can lead us to drowning within our waters. It makes us forget that right after the storm is when the sun comes out to bring joy, happiness, fun, pleasure, and good fortune (5th house profection). It's a turning point for all of us within our journey.

It comes with no surprise for a lot of celebrities whose private lives and inner world are exposed for everyone to see to be driven towards unhealthy coping mechanisms. A path to self destruction. Now, not all cases are alike and in some scenarios its accidents in their homeland or related to water.

At any case, they are difficult situations which threaten our inner safety and sense of security. It shakes our emotional foundations and forces us to build from scratch a real sense of "I'm safe in my body, mind, and the environment that I cohabit with others". It's all about learning how to regulate ourselves and not allowing our traumas to keep us from the good things life has to offer.

I'll use Amy Winehouse as an example:

Her 4th house was ruled by Leo with her Sun and Mercury in Uttara Phalguni sitting there. She had to relive and experience themes related to her fame, father, talent, children, creative, romance, self expression, and how it all tied to the way she handled her 4th house themes.

Uttara Phalguni in particular usually stands out or feels deeply interested in music, dancing and yoga. Aryaman, the deity of Uttara Phalguni nakshatra, is the god of patronage, union and is considered as the chief amongst the ancestors. They are deeply affected and involved in relationships.

One of the symbols that rules this nakshatra is the back legs of the bed or a platform. I'll focus on the latter simply because most of the time its only people who wield some sort of power or gift who get to stand on a platform of any kind. Additionally, they also tend to deal a lot with the karma of the father, and not always on the positive end of it.

She had battled with addictions to alcohol and other substances her entire life, but it only got progressively worse after she met the man who would eventually become her future husband. It was said that shortly after meeting him her personality changed and she started to indulge in other vices, such as cocaine and crack (which he knowingly admitted to introducing to her).

On top of it, her own father who had a heavy influence on her (as it usually is for 99% of Leo's) wasn't supportive towards her health when she needed it the most. It was the behavior of her parents and their tumultuous marriage that shaped the way she perceived home, safety, and nourishment. This is even more noticeable with the ruler of her 4th house falling sitting in its own house.

It was the lack of support from home and damaging patterns that made her repeat the same generational curses which inevitably lead her to drowning in her own inner world. She clearly used substances as a coping mechanism (like most do). A way to escape reality and attempt to find safety, even if it only led to more pain and disregulation.

By the end, her difficulties on dealing with these themes became even more noticeable after she divorced her husband and went on a downward spiral that didn't even allow her to perform.

Her story, specifically around the last moments, shows us how impactful and difficult 4th house profections can truly be. Alike to other artist or famous individuals, by the end of their lives (27) a lot of those themes appear over and over again until they can no longer bare with them or find a peaceful and healthy resolution.

So, if you're currently going through or about to enter this house profection, just remember to take it slow and practice as much emotional regulation as possible. Go near water bodies to relax. Seek help from individuals who can heal your mind, body, and spirit, be it professionally or not. And finally, remember that you are not your childhood traumas or wounds.

Thanks for reading <3

Check out my services and testimonials for personal readings (plus more).

Xox

Mary from multidimensionalguidance

[writingforstraykids]

The Power Outage

Pairing: Chanlix x femReader

Word Count: 984

Summary: During a storm, you're suddenly in the dark with your boyfriends. You all try to make the most of it.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, cuddles, soft!chan, soft!felix, confessions, first kiss, teasing

A/N: I hope you like it lovey🥺🤭@miuracha

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The evening sky was already darkening when you heard the distant rumble of thunder. A storm was brewing, the kind that would take a while. Chan and Felix were sprawled on the couch, lost in their thoughts. Chan was tracing patterns on the coffee table, a clear sign of his deepening worries. Felix, always the light of your trio, had his eyes fixed on the window, watching the sky.

“Looks like a big one,” Felix murmured his voice a soft echo in the room.

You moved to sit between them, taking each of their hands in yours. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a storm," you giggled softly. 

But as if on cue, the lights flickered, then died, plunging the room into darkness. A collective sigh escaped the three of you, a mix of frustration and resignation. Power outages were rare but always unwelcome. None of you was a fan of sitting in the dark, unable to do anything productive, and waiting around until the lights went back on. 

Felix fumbled around for his phone, the flashlight cutting through the darkness. “Well, this is cozy,” he tried to joke, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. They wanted to watch a couple of movies tonight since both Chan and him had a day off tomorrow. 

Chan’s brow furrowed, the weight of the world seeming to press down on him as so often. “I had so much work to do,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His laptop wouldn't make it that long anymore. 

You squeezed his hand, offering silent support. You knew how much pressure he put on himself, always striving to be the best leader, artist, and partner. “Let’s make the most of it,” you suggested softly.

Felix’s face lit up with an idea. “Storytime!” he exclaimed. “We’ll each tell a story. No lights, no distractions. Just us and our imaginations.”

Chan seemed hesitant at first, but at your encouraging nod, he gave in. “Alright. But I’m going first, and it’s going to be a scary one.”

The stories began, each taking turns. Chan’s tale was indeed scary, filled with ghosts and unexplained noises that made Felix jump, and the two of you giggle at him. Felix’s story, in contrast, was a fun adventure full of strange creatures and magical lands. Your story was a sweet one, a tale of love and hope that left you all feeling a bit warmer inside and made you scoot closer to each other. As the stories ended, the storm outside grew stronger, the rain hitting against the windows like a scary symphony. 

Felix was the first to break the comfortable silence. "You know, I'm actually glad the power's out," he whispered, his voice soft but earnest.

Chan turned towards him, a question in his eyes. "Why's that?"

"Because it's moments like these... when everything else fades away, that I remember what's truly important," Felix explained, his gaze flickering between Chan and you. "Us, together, making the best of any situation."

You felt her heart swell at his words, and you leaned in to kiss Felix's cheek gently. "You're such a sap," you teased, but your voice was thick with emotion.

Chan let out a small chuckle, his earlier tension easing. "He's right, though. We get so caught up in the rush of our lives that we forget these quiet moments. I'm grateful for this... for both of you."

The storm outside raged on, but the atmosphere was warm and gentle inside. You shared stories of their past, dreams for the future, and little confessions that only came out in the safety of darkness.

The storm began to lighten as the hours passed, the rain growing soft. The power, however, showed no signs of returning. You suggested building a pillow fort, to which your boys agreed almost immediately. You gathered some blankets and pillows, building a small sanctuary in the middle of the living room.

Inside your fort, the outside world felt miles away. You spoke in hushed tones, shared gentle touches, and let the simplicity of the moment embrace you.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," Felix whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

You felt a pang of longing at his words, knowing that this cocoon of warmth and love couldn't shield you from the world forever. "We'll always have moments like this, no matter what happens outside," you reassured him, your hand finding his in the dark.

Chan, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up, his voice steady and certain. "We'll make time for this. For us. No matter how busy we get, we need these moments to remind us why we're doing all of it in the first place."

Your agreement was a silent vow, a promise to cherish and prioritize these shared experiences and sparks of joy amidst the chaos of your busy lives.

As the night progressed, the storm finally ceased. The power was still out, but in your little fort, it hardly mattered. You lay together, a tangle of limbs and soft breaths, drifting towards sleep with hearts full of gratitude.

Feeling the steady breathing of Felix and you, Chan realized that this was what true strength felt like. Not the neverending demands of his professional life but the gentle, unwavering support of the people he loved.

Nestled between the two most important people in his life, Felix let go of his usual excitement, finding peace in the quiet.

And you, the heart of your little trio, felt a deep sense of happiness, knowing that everything was perfect in this small, fleeting moment.

As sleep took over, the power flickered back to life, the lights casting a soft glow on the peaceful scene. But inside your fort, shielded from the world, you stayed in this blissful darkness, proof of the power of your love and connection in the midst of life's storms.

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[perfectlychaoticcupcake]

Chapter 1 of Frostheim Gossip Girl AU

Please don't have high expectations. This is the first time in about five to six years that I have actually managed to write.

I feel like I mellowed Kaito out. He seems to be OOC. Please let me know of any changes I can make as I'm working on chapters two and three. I tried my best to make MC as generic as possible, so I apologize if I made her in my own image too much.

My feet hurt. They’ve been scrunched in these cheap, black kitten heels for eight hours. I shouldn’t complain, though. The job market is… bleak… for lack of a better word, so I can suffer through the pain brought on by my uniform. I can’t deny the fact that my feet do hurt.

Accompanying these suede torture devices are nylon black tights that bunch at my waist, underneath my forest green flower-patterned knee-length dress. A heart-shaped diamond necklace is the only piece of jewelry I’m wearing. My hair is tied up into a half-up with a black bow and my ends curled. My makeup looks natural, and my nails are soft pink.

I’m currently walking to my destination a few blocks away from my job. I’m meeting up with someone, a man, this morning. I quickly pull out my phone to check the time. The lock screen reads a little after six and I pick up my pace to be on time.

I’ve only met this man a few times, mainly at social events a mutual friend host. Said mutual approached me two days ago, asking if I would like to join this man for breakfast. From what I’ve seen and heard, he seems to be decent, so I figured one date couldn’t hurt.

I never really cared enough to date before. Finding a partner, experiencing love, settling with someone were never interesting prospects to me. Growing up, no one was ever interested in me, either. I turned twenty-three recently and I wished for new opportunities and experiences when I blew out my candles, so I’m taking the chance. I reasoned to myself, asking: What’s the harm of sharing breakfast with someone new? I couldn’t answer myself properly.

Strangely enough, I’m not nervous. My heart is beating at its normal pace. The symptoms of nervousness such as clammy hands, sweaty pits, and butterflies are not present. I feel perfectly alright today. ‘This is a good sign’, I tell myself.

The town is starting to wake up. Vehicles are cruising past me heading to work, school, home. Flickering streetlights show me a clear sidewalk, keeping me mostly safe from the others. The wind is blowing towards me, tousling my curls. A car honking from a few feet behind me startled me, causing me to turn back suddenly. I don’t see anything happening, except for the sky beginning to turn blue.

Getting closer, the harsh lights of the ‘50s style diner illuminate the few cars parked outside. A strip of electric blue LEDs spans the crevices where the roof meets the outside walls, continuing around the building. A generic Amazon ‘Open’ sign hangs in the window to the right of the entrance door. On the outside, it is painted a boring cream color and there’s cracks in the concrete foundation. The yellow lines and handicap markings are faded, leaving behind residue. The big, circular sign displaying ‘Mystery Diner’ is missing a few lightbulbs, probably blown out by the recent storms.

My phone chiming from inside my black Juicy Couture shoulder bag breaks me from my stupor. I had to stop and dig it out since it somehow made its way to the bottom. Feeling it between my wallet and some other junk, I see it light up with a message notification.

‘I’m out front’, the screen reads. I squinted my eyes a little to find my reason for being out early. Once I catch sight of him, I step forward.

Standing to the side of the entrance, casting a shadow on the sidewalk, is my date. Ruffled blond hair guides my eyes to meet green ones. Freckles dot his cheeks, emphasizing a bashful smile. An attractive smile housing perfectly straight white teeth.

He has his right arm raised to wave me down and I see he’s wearing a comfortable outfit. A silver weather breaker is layered over a white hoodie with an unfamiliar blue logo. Black slacks and green tennis shoes cover his lower half. Small silver hoops and a ring on his left thumb completes his look.

“Hi, I’m MC”, I greet with a small smile once I reach him. “Hey, I’m Kaito”, he greeted back. “Let’s head inside.” Like a gentleman, he opened the door for me to enter first. “Thank you.”

“Just you two?” asked the man behind the counter. “Yes.”

“Great. Follow me.” The waiter who seemed close in age to me led us to a booth in front of the windows. He had messy brown hair and a resting bitch face, but I would to if I had to wear that blue and white striped top.

“How’s right here?” he sighed exasperatedly.

“Perfect thank you.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Just water please.”

“Same here.”

“Okay.” He walked away quickly.

It was silent at our table for a few seconds before Kaito broke it.

“Sheesh what’s up with him.” He started flipping through the menu.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed I’m guessing.” I responded while also browsing.

“You didn’t wait long, did you?” I’d feel awful if I made him wait.

“No, no. I arrived a few minutes before you did. Did you walk far?” He asked me in concern as well.

“No, my work’s just down the street.” I pointed in that general direction.

“Yeah, you work at that new hotel, right? Frosthiem?”

“Yeah… how’d you know?” My eyebrows scrunched slightly together.

He went to answer when Ren, the waiter, set down our drinks.

“Know what you want?” He pulled a notepad and pen from his red apron.

We quickly chose something from the menu.

“I’ll have the veggie omelet please.” I shut my menu and set it down in front of Ren.

“Okay. And you?”

“I’ll have the pancake platter with bacon.”

“That’ll be out shortly.” Ren took the menus and shuffled away.

Another awkward silence ensued as we stared at each other.

“So…” I trailed off as I racked my brain for a conversation topic.

“So…” Kaito followed my lead. “Oh,” he perked up, “you asked me a question.”

“Yeah, I did.” I totally forgot.

“Anna mentioned it when she was telling me about you.” He started fiddling with the straw wrappers.

 “Anna talked about me?” I asked in slight surprise. “What did she say?” I sat up straighter.

“Just the basics, you know, name, age, and job. Why? Did you not want her to?”

“Oh, no. It’s just… she doesn’t like me that much.”

“Huh, that’s weird. She overheard Luca and I talking and joined in. You sure you two aren’t friends? She talked highly of you.”

“We’re just acquaintances.” I took a sip of my water.

Anna is the cousin of our mutual friend Luca, the one who set us up. I tried my best to connect with her since I was new and wanted some girlfriends, but she remained distant. She’s five foot seven with chestnut brown hair and complimentary brown eyes. She has beautiful pale, unscarred skin that puts me to shame. She’s more reserved than Luca, but from what I was told, she’s always been that way.

“Don’t worry, she’s not friends with me either.” He took a sip of his water, and I followed.

“She’s not? I figured she’d be since you’ve known them for a while.”

He shook his head. “No. I met Luca a couple months before you did actually.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.” He nodded his head. “I was supposed to apply for your job, too.”

That took me by surprise. “Sorry for taking your job, I guess.” I scratched behind my head awkwardly.

He huffed a bit. “Nah, I didn’t want it.”

“Oh, okay. I won’t feel as bad then.” I trailed off.

“What else should we talk about?”

“Nice weather we’re having.” Ah, the age-old classic.

“A nice break from the thunderstorms. Although that wind is still harsh.”

“Did you get any damage? There were a bunch of shingles in my apartment’s parking lot after the big one on Tuesday.”

I shook my head. “Nah, just some branches and twigs that blew in. I honestly didn’t think the wind was that strong, but I was the images of that casino.”

“A couple of the lobby windows were blown out right? I don’t think it was the wind.”

“Why do you say that?” My glass is half empty at this point.

He leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “The owners of that casino are shady as hell. I hear they get up to all sorts of trouble, but they have a lawyer on payroll, so they get away with shit.”

I leaned closer as well. “Really? I’ve never been there.”

“I wouldn’t go near that place if I were you.”

“Have you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you been there before?”

“What? No! I don’t like those kinds of places at all.” My left eyebrow raised at his sudden high pitch.

“Look food’s here.”

Ren walked out carrying a red tray holding two white plates.

“Egg omelet?”

“Here.” I slightly raised my dominant hand.

Sitting in front of me was a standard dinner plate embellished with a classic omelet stuffed to the brim with cherry tomatoes, spinach and mushrooms. On the side were two pieces of toast.

“Pancake platter.”

Kaito’s plate had a couple of stacked pancakes, two bacon strips and two fried eggs. A syrup bottle was sat next to his plate as well.

“Enjoy...” Ren huffed and walked back to his spot behind his counter.

“Let’s eat.” Kaito and I picked up our forks and dug in.

I cut out a piece from one end of my omelet, gathering a perfect blend of egg and vegetables on my fork. Strings of melted cheese followed my fork into my awaiting mouth. Chewing carefully, I suddenly tasted some spices.

“This has a kick to it.” I said after I swallowed.

“Really?” Kaito had a slice of pancake on his fork.

“Hmm.” I nodded my head in response since I already had another mouth full. “You should try it.” I pushed my plate closer to him.

He quickly cut off another piece as I grabbed a piece of toast and some jam from the condiments rack by the windowsill.

“Wow.” He coughed a bit. “That is spicy. Good, but spicy.” He pushed his plate towards the middle of the table. “Wanna try mine?”

I never actually ate here before, so I shrugged my shoulders and cut a piece of pancake. Pure sugar interacted with my tastebuds causing me to drink some water. “That is sweet.”

He nodded his head in agreement.

Not much else happened during our meal. We ended up sharing, splitting our food equally between us. I much preferred the fried eggs over my omelet since it was cooked with a little bit of salt and pepper. The bacon wasn’t bad, just greasy like usual. The toast was a little burnt, but it softened after sitting with jam on it.

Kaito paid and tried to cheer Ren up with a joke, but it didn’t land. He just stared at us, so we hurried out of there. He didn’t have access to a car, but he was kind enough to walk me back to my apartment. To my surprise, he lives a couple blocks away from me, so we exchanged schedules to hang out sometime. I told him that I’m a homebody, so he can come over anytime.

I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face. I had a good time with Kaito and would like to go out again soon. Maybe I can have a relationship.

[homestuckreplay]

gardenGnostic alien theory [not clickbait]

(page 696-706)

9/25, 9/26, 9/27/2009 Wheel Spins: Parent Bad :(, Captchalogue Lore, Dramatic Irony Verdict: ❌ NO LONGER RELEVANT ❌

Gonna say something controversial but true: Can Town needs more cans. WV keeps introducing non-can elements, such as ‘roads’ and ‘trees’ and ‘splodgy chessboard’ and it’s just not very can-focused anymore. It is still the most adorably charming way to deliver a major lore dump that I have ever seen, and so deeply cryptic.

WV visually talks us through the cosmology of Sburb in a very similar way to Nannasprite a few hundred pages ago. Of course, WV was listening to Nannasprite’s exposition, so could be recreating what they’ve heard – but it seems like they have extra information, too. This Nannasprite lore is the part of the comic I most often go back to and reread so I guess grandmotherly wisdom is real.

NANNASPRITE: One [orb] goes down, to a kingdom entrenched in darkness. The other, up, to a kingdom basking in light! (p.424)

These kingdoms basking in light and darkness are definitely the ‘luminous planet’ (p.702) and ‘ominous planet’ (p.704) WV draws, although Nannasprite doesn’t mention any moons, and WV is certain of these. The ominous planet is ‘beyond an impenetrable veil of darkness’, which is what John sees when he gazes into the abyss below his house. Presumably the luminous planet is something he will reach on his way to Skaia if he begins to build up through the gates – since the forces of light are charged with Skaia’s protection.

NANNASPRITE: [The Medium] is where we are now! A realm that is a ring of pure void, dividing light and darkness. (p.421)

The four planets without satellites WV draws (p.703) are part of the Medium – more specifically, I think that small parts of these planets have been transported to the Medium. The lower left planet looks like Earth being hit by a giant meteor, so, could the other three be planets that have been destroyed by Skaian technology in different ways? The red planet (Mars?) has been enveloped by a large gray dust storm while the colorful planet and the black planet (Venus and Mercury?) both have strange clouds in orbit. If the Incipisphere is a realm that’s not part of Earth or its flow of time, it makes sense that other planets would be affected by it too, and that other planets with intelligent life might try to draw on Skaia’s power if they discovered it. Four planets, and four screens on WV’s monitor.

I think Rose and Dave are definitely from the same Earth as John but I could totally believe that GG is from a different planet. Rose’s ‘So, shall I expect a green package dropped to my house via airmail from whatever screwball cranny of the globe you're tucked into?’ becomes a great line if GG is not from this globe at all. So, maybe WV figuring out how to view other screens on the monitor is our lead-in to actually meeting GG and discovering what’s up with her.

NANNASPRITE: The Four Spires are situated above a throne, and these two thrones preside over the two respective Sovereign Powers! (p.424)

These Sovereign Powers must be the kings that WV detests so much. On this same page, the animation shows a chessboard – first a 3x3 with just the white and black kings, but as the orbs reach the spires of the light and dark kingdoms, the chessboard becomes a 12x12 (bigger than a standard chessboard) with a whole bunch of extra pieces, which roughly – but not perfectly – correspond to the pieces on an actual chessboard. This is the ‘stage’ that the forces of light and darkness duel on, and is clearly a place WV has either spent time in or spent time watching, because the chessboard is ‘the only logical pattern that occurs to [them]’ (p.697). So WV was in combat? Or possibly had someone close to them who was in combat, since they don’t seem designed for violence, and were forced to lose that person to this war?

NANNASPRITE: This is a war that the forces of light are always destined to lose, without exception! (p.424)

This line hits a little different after meeting WV. They would have won the war. Their side was fated to succeed, but something was important enough to them that they betrayed their king and their planet and voluntarily resigned themself to wandering in rags? I really think they have a more complicated history than we’re let in on right now. There’s a trope I’ve seen in books and movies where a child who has been through something traumatic doesn’t talk about it, but a teacher or carer figures it out through art the kid has drawn. I don’t know how based in reality this trope is, but I’m thinking about it in the way the ‘ominous planet’ is hidden behind pipes and coils of rope and massive messy smears of motor oil, compared to the lovingly crafted clouds of the rest of the scene.

Also, my can research paid off, because I am 99.9% sure that the mayonnaise (the only food from WV’s stash not found canned in real life) was put there so that they could make the ‘MAYOR’ sash. Planted because the (likely reader-submitted) commands ‘Clear out all the cans inside the purple machine’ (p.681) and ‘Become the mayor of Can Town’ (p.685) fit so well together. I kinda love the thought of three people’s brains in different places momentarily being on the exact same wavelength and creating this cute moment.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 27: Migraine

cw: migraine, self depreciation, emeto, gory descriptions

previous

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 787

=~=~=

Shades of violet and blinding green swirled around him like storm clouds, spewing lightning and egging on the pain in his head. Hunter hugged his pillow tighter, willing the color to go away. Didn't do shit. The more he thought about wanting it gone, the stronger it got, like it was trying to spite him.

A new wave hit—white fire behind his eyes, his own brain screaming—and he bit down on the cushion until his jaw started to burn.

It hadn't been this bad since… since… the beginning. Since the test that activated his implant in the first place, since he'd crawled out of the burning lab, blinded by agony, the smell of smoke the only thing that kept him moving forward.

Had he overused it finding Manak? Every time he leaned into the patterns, used them, the headaches seemed to get worse.

If he did break his brain finding that arrogant asshole, he wouldn't fucking regret it. He'd made his choice, and Manak wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't.

He needed me. All the brains in the world, and in the end, he needed me, Hunter told himself through the next bout of searing pain, screaming into the pillow as it reached a new sharpness.

He wished he would just pass out. He wished—

“Harbor.”

Speak of the fuckin devil.

It was hard to keep from whimpering at the sudden sound, words somehow both blurred by the colors and sharpened by them, driving into his temple like a spike.

“What?” he managed to spit out, trying to blink past the cloying rainbow to get a look at Manak’s color. He was expecting the usual. Irritation, red and swirling. Can you shut up? Some of us want to sleep.

Instead, he was a neutral forest green, darkness clouding his throat and shoulders, misty red pain hovering around his knee.

The mist had been a lot thicker when he'd found him; flecks of red mingling with real blood, his green darkened to almost black. Brightening at the center when Hunter made himself known, when he carried him away. Manak never brightened around him before, never.

You did save his life. Even Manak would appreciate that, dumbass.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard…” He frowned, steps clicking as he moved closer to Hunter's bed. Crutches. He hadn't even noticed them until now. Manak shouldn’t be up. He should be sleeping, getting better, but somehow Hunter'd managed to fuck up what should've been the easy part.

“Fine,” Hunter choked out. “Just. Implant bullshit.” Power came at a cost. Anyone who picked up a comicbook knew that. So whatever, it was fine. He'd ride it out. He just wished it didn't feel like his head was going to explode.

“Do you want some pain medication?”

“Doesn't work.” The orange ones just made him nauseous, and everything else didn't reach his head. The only way he'd ever shut it up was through booze, and he doubted there was any of that on this tiny compound.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Help. Why would Manak want to help? Did he feel like he owed him? That had to be it. There was no other reason he'd still be in the room, no other reason he'd bother to check on Hunter in the first place.

“You can go away,” he said, and the words came out choked. A fresh pain was building, brighter than the sun, aching, stinging, burning, growing. Like a new star was trying to form in his fucking skull. Agony too loud to hear his own voice, Hunter only realized he was screaming when his lungs started to burn from the lack of air, throat aching from overuse.

He couldn't get away, no escape, the pain was him, he'd have to cut open his skull and let his brains spill out, had to relieve pressure, had to—

Everything went away.

Not for long enough. The pain came back as a dull ache, pounding like a drum in his head. It was hard to breathe at first, hard to see. His mouth tasted like battery acid, bile on his tongue, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything but the implant. Cold metal and brain tissue.

“Are you with me?”

He was sitting up. Hunched forwards a little, arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe.”

Hunter more choked than inhaled. His body felt shaky and bloodless, head floating in a sea of hurt.

Manak was holding him, a cool hand rubbing his back, Hunter’s puke down the front of his perfect sweater.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, the word barely more than a gurgle.

“Just breathe.”

He tried.

[phyripo]

Hello! I'm very late but from the prompt list, would you be able to write EstLiet with prompts 3 and 33? No worries if you're not up for it or no longer accepting asks though! <3

3. "Kiss me." 33. "You're cute with glasses."

No problem! Luckily, I didn't read the entirety of Return of the King before writing this, like I did a couple of years ago, so no high fantasy :) Instead, here's a romcom, featuring a Wacky Supporting Cast™ consisting of almost all of Eastern Europe, more talk of budgets than I expected, and a play I made up!

Names are pretty straightforward, I guess, (I write about these characters often enough) but since they almost never show up: Kveta is Czechia and Zdeno is Slovakia. I hope you like it <3

Send me a pairing and a number and I'll write you a fic!

.

“Join the community theatre, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”

As Tolys enters the theatre’s modest kitchen, he identifies the source of the grumbling as Eduard, who is scrubbing his hands at the sink and doesn’t seem to have noticed him.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t ask the sound guy to paint, Borisov,” Eduard continues to himself.

“I see you’ve started monologuing too,” Tolys says, smiling when Eduard jumps in surprise, splashing water around. There is, somehow, a streak of red paint in his pale blond hair.

“It’s tempting,” Eduard tells Tolys while he walks over to make some coffee. “Is Raivis still going?”

“No, Dragos is doing his weird accent again and Erzsébet is yelling at him, as usual.” Tolys shrugs at Eduard’s incredulous look, with his eyebrows disappearing behind his hair. “It’s part of the charm.”

With a laugh, Eduard dries his hands. There is still some paint on his long fingers, flecks of gold and white over an old ink stain.

“And what do you do, Tolys?”

“Hm?”

“Well,” he says, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter and adjusting his glasses, “Raivis monologues, Erzsébet yells at people, Stefan keeps telling me I’m bad at painting. What’s your thing?”

Tolys doesn’t think he has a thing, but he tucks his hair behind one ear and says, “I guess you’ll have to find out,” so that Eduard raises an intrigued eyebrow and leans a little closer to him.

“I look forward to it,” he replies. “Any chance you can help paint the sets?”

Picking up his cup of coffee from the awful coffee machine he himself donated to the rickety community theatre building years ago, Tolys gestures for Eduard to lead the way. They pass through the main hall, where they speedwalk away from Erzsébet trying to drag them into her argument with Dragos about his ridiculous fake accent, and into a side-room turned workshop. The air is heavy with paint fumes.

Immediately, Stefan Borisov pushes a paintbrush into Eduard’s hand, all the while telling him he sucks at painting.

“I’m an accountant!” Eduard protests indignantly.

“Good, maybe you can find out why I have almost no budget.”

In response, Eduard rolls his eyes, and turns to a large plywood slab that must be a background, half-painted in some abstract pattern.

“What exactly… Is it?” Tolys asks him, and gets a grimace in return.

“I’ve been told it’s art deco, since the play takes place in the twenties.”

“Alright.” He tilts his head. “Well, I’m sure you have other talents.”

Stefan snorts on the other side of the room. Eduard narrows his light eyes at Tolys, who smiles into his coffee. It’s been nice, having someone new in the group who’s not yet used to the general chaos that is the theatre. Especially nice since Eduard has taken all the weirdness in stride so far. And, of course, since Tolys was immediately mesmerized by the man’s eyes when they were introduced, and Eduard has seemed more than happy to let him explain things so he could see much more of them—of all of him.

“I have plenty of talents, Tolys,” he says now. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Hm. I look forward to that.”

Just then, Erzsébet storms into the room, agitatedly waving her hands.

“This is all your fault, Borisov!” she shouts. “You let him do his stupid accent one time—”

Stefan blithely continues measuring plywood, so Tolys sighs and tells her he’ll come talk to Dragos.

Not that it will help.

-

Now that they’re a good while into preparations for this autumn’s play at the community theatre, there are finally things to do for Tolys, and for Eduard. The two of them are in charge of lighting and sound respectively, but have mostly been helping Stefan with the sets until the cast’s blocking was close to finished.

This evening after he got home from work, Tolys had been quite eager to get to the theatre if just to spend time in his control box with Eduard, but he hasn’t been able to find the man anywhere.

Not, at least, until he walks into a dressing room.

“Not to interrupt…” he starts slowly. “Feliks, you know he’s not in the play, right?”

In a corner of the room, Eduard is sitting stiffly in a folding chair, blond hair pulled back from his face with a bandana. He’s squinting in Tolys’s direction, his sea-green eyes even more striking than usual because they’re, for some reason, framed by dark eyeliner. Something has surely happened to his eyebrows as well, but Tolys has no idea what.

Feliks swivels to him on his saddle chair, pointing a thing of mascara his way.

“No, but!” He gestures at Eduard, who squints some more. “He’s got a very similar complexion to Raivis and I need to know what works, and Raivis is too busy doing stress monologues.”

Raivis is currently, as far as Tolys is aware, trying to teach Zdeno to longboard in the parking lot, much to Erzsébet’s dismay, but it’s a fair point otherwise.

“Are you done now?” Eduard asks Feliks faintly.

“No! Sit still.”

Tolys tries to shoot Eduard a reassuring smile but gets no reaction, and that’s when he realizes that the man isn’t wearing his glasses. And that, even more than the eyeliner, is what’s making his eyes stand out so much. He watches with fascination while Feliks puts the mascara on Eduard, who looks terrified the entire time. Having been part of several plays now, including as an actor, Tolys has come to realize that more makeup always seems to be needed than he expects beforehand.

“Is mascara really dependent on complexion?” he asks nonetheless. Feliks just grins and winks at him over his shoulder, and then tells Eduard he’s finished. Standing, he snaps his fingers.

“Tolys, what do you think?”

“I think…”

Eduard seems terrified to blink.

“Well, he looks very handsome.”

With a dramatic sigh, Feliks elbows Tolys in the side and rolls his eyes when he looks over, obviously amused.

“Can I put my glasses back on?” asks Eduard.

“Yeah, sure. I’m gonna go see if Raivis has some time to spare!” Feliks waltzes out of the dressing room with a jaunty salute.

“If Raivis has time, why did you need—” Frowning, Eduard crosses his arms.

Tolys walks over, spotting the man’s wire-rimmed glasses sitting on a table. He picks them up and hands them to Eduard, who smiles gratefully as he puts them on.

“I feel like an idiot,” he says morosely, standing up and looking in a mirror.

“Don’t worry, Feliks putting makeup on crew members is basically tradition. That’s his thing, I guess.” Even when, as they do, the roles change and someone else is in charge of the makeup. “Besides, I do think you look nice.”

“Nice, hm?” Eduard pulls the bandana from his hair. “That’s a step down from handsome.”

“I believe I said very handsome,” Tolys replies, feeling his face heat.

“Is that your thing?”

“Huh?” Handsome, tall men? Those certainly are. At least some of them.

“Compliments.” Eduard smiles, a slight mischievous edge to it that is exacerbated by the eyeliner, which makes him look roguish. Tolys didn’t realize that was his thing, but he has to admit, it’s working. He blinks, Eduard’s response filtering through to him. Compliments?

“Only when I mean them.”

“Alright, good to know,” Eduard says softly. And then, “Hold on, how am I going to get this off my face? I don’t own any makeup remover!”

“Surely there’s some around here?”

They both look at the array of bottles and brushes Feliks has left behind. Eduard pushes his glasses up and squares his shoulders.

“Right.”

They find the remover and some cotton pads quickly enough. Sighing, Eduard takes his glasses off again and leans very close to a mirror to start to wipe the makeup off.

“How did Feliks rope you into this, anyway?” Tolys asks, sitting down on Feliks’s chair.

“He said he had ‘experiments’ to do.”

“And you just went along with it?”

“Well, I didn’t know! And I’m not afraid of experiments.”

“I guess that’s good to know.”

Eduard chuckles. As he leans on the table with one hand, Tolys’s eye is drawn to the lean muscle in his forearm, moving under the pale skin. He wonders at it; surely, an accountant shouldn’t have such nice arms.

“You’re left-handed,” he observes, clearing his throat. Eduard hums as he scrubs furiously at one eye with a cotton pad.

“Yeah. Oh, I wanted to ask you something.” He picks up another cotton pad. The eyeliner has smudged everywhere, which is also very distracting.

“Yes?”

“Do you play any instruments?”

“Oh, not really. Learned to play the recorder in school, like everyone 20 years ago, but nothing since. Why do you ask?”

“I had this idea.” He switches to his other eye. Cringes. “Oh my god, that is very unpleasant.” He’s tearing up, and Tolys can’t help but laugh a little. “No, shut up. I hate when things are in my eyes. I swear I nearly had a panic attack when I tried contact lenses.”

“I’m sorry, that’s fair,” Tolys says, even if he’s still a little amused. “Anyway, I think… I think you’re cute with glasses, so that’s alright.”

For a moment, Eduard is silent, although Tolys can see him smiling in the reflection even as he scrubs makeup away.

“It’s cute now, is it?” he eventually asks, and picks up yet another cotton pad.

“Better or worse than nice?”

“It’s all great,” he says earnestly, still smiling.

“I’m glad.” Tolys pushes a hand through his hair, suddenly quite warm. “What was that about musical instruments?”

Wiping a last, clean, cotton pad across his face, Eduard puts his glasses back on and leans back against the table. Feliks would probably call it a vanity, but it really isn’t; it used to be a set piece, several years ago. When Eduard crosses his arms, the muscles in his arms move again, distractingly.

“I was thinking about background music. Or at least some musical stings. But I barely have the budget for stock sound effects, after getting that new microphone.”

The old microphone broke during the spring play’s last showing; Erzsébet needed to shout all her lines. Luckily, she’s very good at shouting.

“So you want us to do the music?”

“If there are enough instruments among everyone. I play a couple myself, and I can compose some things…”

“So those are some of the talents you mentioned?”

 Eduard laughs, uncrossing his arms to grip the edge of the table. His hair is still a little wilder than usual, when it is very straight down his forehead, and the scrubbing at his face has left him flushed, and Tolys would love to see more of that. He’d also love to know just how strong his arms actually are. If he could push them down, maybe, if just to watch the muscles work.

“What instruments do you play?” he asks instead.

“Mostly piano, or keyboard.”

With those long fingers? That makes sense. Oh, that might be where the muscles come in.

“I think Feliks plays the piano.”

“Organ, actually,” Feliks interjects from where he’s appeared back in the doorway, Raivis trailing behind.

Eduard jumps, rattling the table. Feliks snaps his fingers at the both of them.

“Get out of here. I’ve got experiments to conduct.”

“Godspeed, Raivis,” Eduard mutters. Raivis shrugs, and Feliks winks at Tolys again as he leaves the dressing room.

-

When Tolys enters the theatre, Iryna is singing. Apparently, she’s still upset they’re not doing a musical. This time, however, there is someone singing with her. It isn’t her sister, or Raivis, who is a great singer, but this voice is too deep to be his. Tolys knows Stefan can sing but just doesn’t, and so he has no idea who to expect until he opens the doors, leaving the summer heat outside, and sees that it is Eduard, who’s also playing the keyboard that’s somehow always left unattended somewhere in the building.

He has a very pleasant voice, a steady counter to Iryna’s nearly operatic vocals. It takes a moment for Tolys to realize that the song they’re singing is about the play, although most of the lyrics are pretty nonsensical. Are they making it up on the spot?

“Ah, Tolys,” says Kveta, apparently unimpressed as she enters the hall behind him. Eduard glances over and smiles, but his hands don’t falter on the keyboard.

Tolys greets Kveta. She taps his arm, and he reluctantly looks at her instead of at Eduard’s elegant fingers, or his arms. They’re very nice.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?”

“Are you doing experiments, too?” he asks her warily, eyeing her sharp eyeliner as she rolls her eyes.

“I just need a hand. I know you can sew.”

He can, so he follows her to the side room that’s been designated her workshop. It’s a little overwhelming in here, to be honest. With Kveta in charge of costumes, it was bound to be. Technically, she and Feliks share responsibility for makeup and wardrobe, and they are, from a creative standpoint, the best choices among them by far. Tolys does think the look of the play may end up outshining the actual play, though.

Kveta tells him to sew a trim to a dress that he thinks is for Nadzeya’s villain character, which is easy enough, so he sets to work at the sewing machine.

After a while, both Iryna and Eduard wander into the room, chatting amicably.

“Great!” Kveta says happily. “Iryna, I’ve finished the modifications to your suit.” She gestures her over, leaving Eduard to wander to Tolys’s corner of the room. Tolys looks up when he’s finished the trim.

“So, you sew,” Eduard says, sounding… Impressed.

“And you sing, apparently.”

Eduard shrugs, pushing his glasses up.

“That’s another talent. I can see why you volunteered to do the sound.” Tolys cuts the thread and flips the dress right-side-out.

“Well, I don’t think any of my many other talents would be useful at a theatre,” Eduard says, deadpan. He looks around at the explosion of fabrics and colors in the room. “Actually, I think I know where the budget went.”

“Yeah, we really shouldn’t have given Kveta free rein. There should be someone overseeing everything. Maybe for next year’s spring play.”

Iryna emerges, and Kveta makes a delighted noise that makes everyone smile.

“Maybe a little free rein,” Tolys amends. Iryna truly looks as though she’s stepped out of the 1920s. He holds both thumbs up at her, and she beams, and then he turns to Eduard, asking, “Do we have something to do?”

“Right, yes! Erzsébet wants to do the big reveal scene with Nadzeya and Raivis, and I think it will need lots of dramatic lighting.”

“Exciting.” He follows the man out of the dressing room. Eduard looks over his shoulder, curiosity in his eyes.

“Any reason in particular you know how to sew?”

“I, ah…” Tolys pushes a hand through his hair. “I do historical re-enactments. It’s very useful for that.”

“Really?” Eduard pauses in front of the door to their sound-and-lighting box, which is sure to be unbearably hot in the summer evening. He looks with something like wonder down at Tolys, which isn’t the reaction he’s used to receiving. “You know, I’ve always wanted to try that, it’s fascinating!”

“Yeah?” Tolys smiles. “Well, you know, everyone’s welcome. I’d be happy to help out.”

“What sort of time period do you… Re-enact?”

“Late medieval, mostly. I, ah, I’ve done archery since I was a teenager, and that’s the main reason I went in the beginning.”

“Archery,” Eduard says wonderingly, looking down at Tolys’s arms. “That’s very nice.”

“Any reason in particular you know how to sing, Eduard?”

“Ha!” He opens the door to the box, which does, unfortunately, feel like a sauna, so Tolys puts a chair in front of it to keep it open. “Mostly dumb luck.”

Fair enough. That reminds Tolys, though…

“Are you having any luck with the music thing?” he asks as they take their places behind the control panel overlooking the hall. Despite the general state of the building and possible misdistribution of the budget, the box is quite well-appointed. Tolys has never done lighting before, but he understands now why Zdeno was doing whole laser shows last spring; it’s very tempting to press all the buttons.

“Yes!” Eduard says enthusiastically. “Have you ever heard Dragos play the violin? He’s very good.”

“Really?” Tolys had no idea.

“And I wanted some jazz elements in there, you know, since it’s the twenties,” he continues. “No one has a trumpet, sadly, but Luca plays the saxophone, so that’s great.”

“Ah, yes, everyone knows about Luca’s saxophone. Dragos won’t shut up about it.”

Eduard snorts, putting his headphones on one ear so he can hear what’s happening on stage.

“He’s just proud of his brother.” Abruptly, he takes his headphones off again and swivels to Tolys, expression serious. “I have to ask. What’s the deal with Kveta and Zdeno? Are they related or married or what?”

Tolys laughs out loud, leaning back in his chair. “They do it on purpose, I swear! Every time someone new joins, they get confused. They’re siblings.”

“Real family affair around here, isn’t it?” Eduard asks, lips twitching with laughter as he puts his headphones on once more.

“You’re here because of your cousin,” Tolys reminds him.

“Yes, and she’s yelling at Dragos again. Also, I hope my brother never joins; he’s a horror fanatic.”

Oh no, that’s a bad idea. Tolys spent ages washing fake blood out of rented costumes a few years ago. Damn Dragos and his obsession with vampires. And Stefan, who had let him do his outrageous accent.

 “Okay, ready,” Eduard is saying over the loudspeakers, so that it echoes through the empty hall. Tolys puts his headphones on as well and gets ready to push buttons.

-

“That looks really nice, actually!” Tolys enthuses, stepping back from the stage to take in the whole set.

“There’s no need to sound so surprised about it,” Stefan grumbles even as he gazes proudly at his work. Much like Kveta and Feliks, Stefan is the right person for this role, and he can actually work within a budget.

“Well, he saw me painting,” Eduard rationalizes. He’s sitting on the edge of the stage and typing on a laptop.

“I’ve heard you have other talents,” Stefan says dryly. “Right. Erzsébet! Give me a hand!”

She stomps onstage from the wings. Tolys hops up to sit next to Eduard, peering at his screen, from which he gleans nothing. It’s either accounting or music production, both of which might as well be magic to him. There are lots of colors.

Eduard glances at Tolys, the screen reflecting in his glasses, opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, and then he shifts ever so slightly, until his thigh presses barely into Tolys’s. It’s a small, seemingly innocent movement that has Tolys’s heart skipping a beat anyway. Ever since the first time they met, he thinks they’ve both been aware that something could be there. It feels very much like it’s a matter of time, and he’s happy to let it play out.

“Anything I can help with?” he asks, knowing it’s probably futile.

“You can take a listen later and tell me what you think.”

“I don’t know anything about music.”

“That’s nonsense.” Eduard smiles at him. He’s close enough that Tolys notices he smells pleasantly like baked goods.

“Hey, Ed, can you come over here a second?” Erzsébet asks from behind them. “I have some questions.”

Nodding and throwing Tolys an apologetic smile, Eduard puts his laptop aside and clambers to his feet to go with his cousin. She’s the only one who calls him Ed; Tolys wonders if the man would mind if he did.

Feliks comes walking up to the stage, looking at his phone until he spots Tolys. For some reason, he’s wearing one of Luca’s costumes. One for when he’s a villainous henchman. Luca has a lot of roles; they really need more people to join.

“How’s it going with the new guy?” Feliks asks. He puts both elbows on the edge of the stage so he can lean his chin in his hands and look up at Tolys.

“He’s doing great, I think!”

“Sorry, I should’ve been more clear.” Feliks gestures with one hand. “How’s it going with your seduction of the new guy?”

“Seduction?”

“Courting?” he suggests, grinning, and then grinning even wider when Raivis, who is also wearing one of Luca’s costumes, comes up from the other side and says, “Wooing, surely.”

“Ooh!” Feliks snaps his fingers. “Romancing!”

“Guys,” Tolys says, looking back over his shoulder. “What is this, high school?”

“It feels like it sometimes,” Raivis says.

“You must’ve done a lot of very long presentations, then,” Feliks replies. Turns back to Tolys. “And I was homeschooled. Anyway, I’m not blaming you. He’s cute.”

“Very tall,” Raivis puts in, nodding sagely, as if that isn’t the first thing anyone would notice about Eduard. Well, aside from his eyes. Tolys puts both his hands over his warm face.

“No, like, really! I support you!” Feliks insists. “I just want to know how it’s going!”

“You want to gossip about it with Erzsébet, is what you mean,” Tolys mutters into his hands. “Look, it’s… It’s going. I’m not sure where yet, but it is.”

“Cryptic,” Raivis comments, while Feliks just sighs dramatically, although he’s grinning when Tolys looks at him, not unkindly. They’ve been friends for a long time, and he supposes it’s nice to know Feliks approves. Over the years, he’s proven quite insightful when it comes to his taste in men.

“Hey,” comes Eduard’s voice from behind Tolys once more, and one of the man’s hands lands gently on his right shoulder, “is there a reason everyone’s wearing Luca’s clothes?”

“Experiments,” Raivis just says, which makes Eduard chuckle warmly. He puts his other hand on Tolys’s left shoulder, long fingers gently pressing down, and Tolys bites his lip when Raivis quirks his eyebrows at him.

As Eduard thanks Feliks for his help with the music, Tolys leans his head back a little bit, and he can feel Eduard shift in response, until one of the man’s thumbs swipes over the collar of his T-shirt and across the bare skin of his neck. Surely, he must be able to feel Tolys’s pulse thundering?

“Right.” Eduard clears his throat. He pushes down briefly, so Tolys tilts his head further back to look up at him, meeting those sea-green eyes. What little hair Tolys has left out of his ponytail falls away from his face.

Eduard blinks, fingers curling against Tolys’s shoulders. Then, he smiles.

“Want to listen to some musical stings?” he asks, leaning down just a little bit.

“Sure.”

Stepping back, Eduard offers a hand to Tolys to help him up, which Tolys takes and uses to step close to him. In response, he only gets another smile, and Eduard bends down to retrieve his laptop, then gestures for him to come along.

“It really is going, huh?” Feliks asks. Raivis snorts, and Tolys laughs softly.

“It is,” he confirms, and follows Eduard to their box.

-

Somehow, things manage to get more chaotic as opening night approaches, but Tolys is certain it will all come together in the end, as it always seems to do. Luca’s doing all his costume changes in time now, Raivis has stopped his nervous monologuing, Dragos isn’t doing the accent anymore, and Iryna has remembered she’s supposed to act, not sing.

Nadzeya and Zdeno were already doing well, even if they both seemed disinterested at first.

All the budget going to costumes was worth it, Tolys thinks. Obviously, Kveta is just as concerned with historical accuracy as he is when it comes to his re-enactments.

It’s a shame, though, that Eduard won’t be wearing one of those nice suits Raivis has; Tolys has taken to imagining him in a waistcoat.

“Can I offer you some cake in this trying time?” the man in question is asking now, holding a Tupperware out to Tolys. Though he isn’t in a waistcoat, he has a nice blue shirt on, the sleeves distractingly rolled up to his elbows.

“Huh?”

“I made some cake,” Eduard elaborates. “Nothing fancy.”

Tolys gratefully takes a slice of cake, smiling up at him.

They’re in the foyer of the theatre, watching people come in—mostly family—to watch the dress rehearsal. There really isn’t any reason for there to be an audience during the dress rehearsal, but it’s a tradition started long before Tolys joined that everyone’s family and friends would show up to watch. This is also the reason, he thinks, that they have a relatively large number of siblings at the community theatre.

He waves at his mother as she arrives, and she blows him a kiss.

“Your mother?” Eduard asks, sounding amused. Tolys refuses to be embarrassed. Sure, he’s thirty-one, but he loves his mom.

“It’s for good luck,” he says.

“That’s nice. My brother gave me the finger.”

Tolys laughs at Eduard’s pained look, narrowly avoiding spraying cake crumbs everywhere.

“This is very good,” he says instead, swallowing. “Another talent, is it?”

“What, baking? I think that that’s more of an acquired skill.”

“There are people at re-enactments who make all these old recipes, over a fire and everything,” Tolys tells him, and Eduard lights up.

“That sounds so interesting!”

“Yeah, it’s…” Tolys smiles helplessly, a little taken aback by the full force of his enthusiasm. “I’d be happy to take you. You can borrow something of mine, even.”

Eduard’s gaze sweeps down Tolys’s body in a way that’s certainly not assessing if his clothes would fit, and Tolys shoves the last bit of cake into his mouth.

“That sounds great, I’ll have to take you up on that.” Eduard checks his watch. “We should go get ready now, though.”

They make their way to their box, the entrance to which is in an empty corridor outside the theatre hall. Tolys takes a deep breath, and Eduard turns to him, hand on the door handle.

“Are you nervous?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Not… Really. Not for myself, at least.” Tolys pushes a hand through his hair and looks up at Eduard to catch him blinking somewhat dazedly down at him. “I suppose I could always use…” He trails off, suddenly embarrassed.

Eduard raises his eyebrows, stepping closer and touching his arm briefly.

“What?”

“I was going to say… I could always use some more luck.”

Parting his lips, Eduard gazes down at him, until he smiles slowly.

“Well, certainly I could help with that. I have so many talents, after all.”

“You—” Tolys laughs, and then decides, might as well—it’s where it’s all been going—and reaches for Eduard’s collar, which reveals the dip of his throat, to fold his fingers into it. The man’s eyes widen, but he is still smiling. He touches Tolys’s arms again, this time lingering.

“Maybe I could sing you a song,” he muses teasingly. “Or write a piece of—”

“Eduard?”

“Hm?” He leans down when Tolys gently tugs at his collar, fingers trailing up his forearms.

“Kiss me already.”

He does, leaning down until Tolys meets him halfway, turning his face into the gentle slide of his lips. It’s soft, but it sparks through Tolys nonetheless, especially when Eduard pulls him closer by the waist until their bodies are touching.

“So…” Eduard starts, straightening just slightly and looking down with half-lidded eyes. “Another talent?”

Tolys grins. “That’s pretty presumptuous, Eduard.” He slides his hands up and around his neck, pulling him down again while he laughs.

This time, he catches Eduard’s bottom lip between his own briefly, which gets him a surprised little sound, Eduard’s fingers flexing on his waist, before the man tilts his head and parts his lips. It’s definitely going, Tolys thinks, pushing his fingers into Eduard’s hair.

He can’t tell how long they just stand there in the warm corridor, kissing slowly; all he knows is that Eduard looks beautifully flushed when they finally part, and somehow his glasses have been knocked askew. Tolys untangles one hand from his hair to right them.

“Yeah, cute,” he mumbles. Eduard laughs, eyes bright.

“Is that enough luck?” he asks.

“I suppose we’ll have to see.” Tolys blinks. “Uh, we really should get in there.”

“Right!”

They untangle themselves hurriedly. Tolys fixes Eduard’s collar, which makes him grin.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” he asks as they enter their dimly-lit box and take their places. “Your thing. It’s being helpful.”

“Eduard, I have many things.” Tolys quirks his eyebrows at him, and puts his headphones on.

-

“Oh my god, they’re both doing the accent,” Eduard says, distraught. “Tolys, is it normal for dress rehearsal to be such a mess?”

“Not… This much,” he replies, mostly very amused. Dragos and Nadzeya, who play the main villains, somehow sound both more menacing and absolutely ridiculous at the same time.

Earlier, Zdeno tripped over nothing and took Iryna down as well, and that apparently had been distressing enough that Raivis started stress-monologuing until they shut down both light and sound to end the scene. Then, Eduard had played one of his jazzy stings but somehow much too loud, and even the two of them had heard Erzsébet yell, “What the hell?” in shock.

At least, it’s almost time for the intermission. It won’t be as long as when they do actual performances, the next few weeks, but it’s something. The audience, at least, seem to think the accent is hilarious.

“They probably won’t do it again,” he tells Eduard, who is by now standing up and leaning forward over his control panel as if to see the stage better.

“No, because Erzsébet will murder them.”

“Could be.” Tolys changes the lights for the last scene, which is, unfortunately, one where Raivis speaks a lot and therefore has a high chance of monologue.

Honestly, it’s pretty impressive, the way he stays in-character as the prince the whole time.

“There he goes,” Eduard muses, gesturing.

Tolys decides to center the spotlight on Raivis, and Eduard laughs, glancing his way.

“I guess it wasn’t enough luck.”

“Well.” Deciding not to think too much about it, Tolys stands. He’s delighted when Eduard turns around eagerly, slouching against the control panels so that he can easily crowd close to him and kiss him again.

Now, Eduard pushes one hand into Tolys’s hair, and Tolys grasps his hips where they rest against the table, slotting their legs together. Eduard makes a hoarse noise in the back of his throat when Tolys swipes his tongue over his lips, and he puts his hand on the control panel as he pushes back. Tolys presses his own hand over Eduard’s, and they’re definitely pushing buttons but he’s not sure he cares, not when Eduard’s long fingers are tangling in his hair frantically and the edge of his glasses digs into Tolys’s nose and he gasps into his mouth when Tolys slides his other hand up until his fingers brush heated skin.

Tolys lets his hand linger when he pulls back to look up at Eduard’s flushed face. Then, he glances at the stage, where lights are swirling in a pattern he’s sure he never programmed and Raivis is still speaking over a rising wave of sound, somehow steadily.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Eduard asks, lips against his temple, his breath hot on his skin.

“Oh no,” Tolys replies, grinning up at him. “It’s very good.”

With both hands, he pushes every single slider down as Raivis’s monologue crescendoes, and then he tugs Eduard away from the control panels.

“I think we need a lot more luck for after the intermission.”

-

“It’s going, huh?” Feliks asks.

“It’s going,” Tolys confirms with a grin.

“Yeah, I thought so. Your shirt is inside-out.”

fin.

[hoonieyun]

ritual chapter four: let me go

ritual chapter four: let me go

ʚ⁺˖↪ masterlist

warnings: mentions of death, terror, murder, horror, violence, near death experiences, manipulation, home invasion, sadism, suicide attempt, depression, overall 18+

word count: 6113

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sim jaeyun, jake, iron grip, searing pain, ribbon of death, and sinister sadist.

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it has been a month since you had moved into your new home and you thought that by now you would’ve fallen into a routine but everyday that passes by it seems that it only gets harder and harder to get through it all. you weren’t sure where this wave of depression came from but it just hit you like a truck one day and has lasted for almost a week now.

you weren’t sure what to do to shake this feeling away. it was moments like this that you really wished that your parents were still around. your mom had a way with words that just instantly pulled you away from under any gray cloud that seemed to storm over you and your dad had a way of making you laugh so hard your jaw would begin to hurt as tears fell from your eyes. 

it wasn’t until a tear drop landed on the framed photo of you and your parents did you notice that you were crying. you felt like you had been crying almost every day since you moved into this new place. it was surprisingly a beautiful day outside so you fought through the sadness that has shrouded you to enjoy the warm feeling of the sun on your skin. you remembered that your apartment offered a rooftop amenity for its residents to lounge and hang out whenever they pleased. 

as you stepped into the elevator and pressed the rooftop button, a cold chill washes over you and that all familiar feeling of being watched comes back. you hadn’t felt like you were being watched lately but whenever you’ve had to step out of your apartment to grab the mail or take out the trash or really late at night when you wander to your kitchen for a glass of water in the dark, it feels like there is a pair of eyes burning a whole into the back of your head. you had even begun doing yoga and journaling to help soothe your worries and troubles but that only lasted a few days. 

the elevator dings once you’ve arrived at the rooftop, you take a deep breath. ready to accept the warm air and sunshine but you’re met with gray clouds that have hidden the sun away. you were confused on how the weather could instantly change in just the last few minutes but you figured that since you were there already you might as well take a gander at what the rooftop had and see if this was a place you could go to when you needed to clear your mind. the rooftop layout was simple but it offered a lot of space, enough to throw a party for a large group of people or to host the number of residents that lived in your building. 

wandering around the rooftop and touching the miscellaneous things that served as decor, the weather only seemed to get chillier the longer you were up there. several throw pillows were laid out across the various couches and chairs with tacky patterns, tables with plastic floral centerpieces that softly blew with the cold wind, and a fire pit in the center of the rooftop that offered a temporary warmth. you thought to yourself why anyone would spend time up here in the cold over a fire pit when they could just be in the comfort of their home under a blanket. something you wished you were doing right now after the failure of coming to the rooftop for some sun. 

the longer you spent up on the roof the more you felt drained, you weren’t sure if it was the complete 180 the weather did or the elevation or what but it seemed like it only made you feel more depressed. you looked up at the sky, hoping that the clouds would miraculously move and the sun would start to peek through but nothing. it even felt like the clouds got darker. 

you began to walk towards the rooftop entrance and back to the elevator when a whisper that sounded awfully similar to your mother’s voice passed by. you whipped your head around at the voice but found nothing. the rooftop still had no other people, it was just you, the tacky furniture, and the cold stale air that seemed to get colder the longer you lingered. just as you were about to continue walking back inside, you heard the voice once again and this time it was a lot louder than before. you swore you weren’t going crazy so you decided to do a lap around the rooftop as if that was going to help you find the owner of the voice that was playing tricks on you when there wasn’t necessarily anywhere to hide. 

the longer you waited for the voice to reappear, the more it felt like you were actually going crazy, calling out to it as if it’ll respond but everytime you did the only thing you heard was the soft whistling of the wind. you find yourself hunched over the railing of the rooftop, your vision directed to the ground that was 10 stories down. an intrusive thought swims its way into your mind as you weigh the outcome if you were to dive and plunge into the solid concrete below. you didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from but the longer you thought about them the stronger the urge became. 

you didn’t even realize it but you had climbed over the railing and were now just holding onto the railing from behind. had you let go and took one step forward you would be plummeting to the ground. just as your fingers slip off the railing, a soft pair of hands find themselves on your wrists, pulling you back over and onto the right and safe side of the railing. away from impending doom. 

the abrupt action causes you to snap out of your depressive trance and you lock eyes with the person who just saved your life. his hands that were once grasping your arms, were now snaked around your waist as he turned you around to face him. your breathing stabilizes and in a second you are brushing yourself off and pulling yourself out of the stranger’s grasp. 

“are you okay? it looked like you were going to jump-” the stranger began to say but you cut him off. “and what about it? it’s none of your business.” you say as you storm off, brushing past him as you shake your head and rub your temples. although you were grateful that the fateful stranger saved you, you weren’t completely sure why you lashed out at him. you enter the building once again and the man enters behind you as you wait for the elevator, the air between the two of you is awkward and you can tell the man was itching to say something. 

just as the man opens his mouth to speak, the elevator dings, interrupting him. the two of you file into the elevator and when you press the button for your apartment, you realize that he hadn’t done the same. “what floor?” you mumble and he seems to beam at the interaction like he was glad that you had said something to him even if it was just two words. “3 please and thank you!” the man says, laying the politeness on thick, maybe as a way to get on your good side after you had let him have it outside. 

the elevator ride seems to go on longer than usual and the awkward tension in the enclosed metal space seems to get thicker. “sorry for what i said out there. i’m kind of going through it right now…” you mutter softly without making eye contact with the stranger, afraid of the embarrassment and shame of lashing out on someone, let alone someone you didn’t even know. when he doesn’t respond right away you look over at him and he’s just smiling at you. “it’s alright. i’m just glad i stopped you from making a horrible decision, is all.” he says and it warms your heart that although you had initially been rude to him he only met you with kindness. your small smile spreads on your face as the elevator dings, indicating it has arrived on your floor. 

when the elevator doors open and you step out, you quickly turn around when he calls out to you, “it’s nice to meet you y/n! my name is jake by the way. i’ll see you around!” jake says in a rushed tone as the elevator doors close at him. you smile at him and for once this whole week, the smile was genuine and you had forgotten all the reasons why you were so ready to end it all just moments ago. you were so focused on this new found “relationship” with jake that you hadn’t even realized he knew your name before you had even told him. 

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as jake saunters into his apartment, while closing his front door, his two brothers, heeseung and jay, appear behind him. “that’s not like you.” jay says, suspicion in his eyes as he watches the younger. jake turns around and looks at his two brothers staring at him with their arms crossed. “what isn’t like me?” jake asks, playing dumb.

“trying to get closer to our sacrifice by being… kind.” jay elaborates and jake snorts at his comment. “i’m nice… just when i want to be.” jake says walking past his two older brother’s and plopping onto his couch. “just make sure you get the job done.” heeseung says before turning into a cloud of black smoke and fading away. jake shimmies into the couch, trying to get comfortable, closing his eyes to get a nap in, but jay’s stare is enough to make him uncomfortable even if he wasn’t human. 

“do you mind?” jake says, eyes still closed as he’s found a comfortable position on his couch to take a nap. jay somehow appears right beside jake, looking down at his brother, gaze on him only intensifying. “i’m watching you.” jay says and jake opens one eye with a brow raise. “you’re always watching.” jake retorts at his brother's statement which wasn’t anything new as jay had the ability of being omniscient. jay suddenly yanks jake up from his position by the collar of his shirt, “don’t test me.” jay says, threatening his younger brother. jake doesn’t respond but as his hand wraps around jays arm that was hoisting him up by the collar, a searing pain begins to burn on jay’s skin; causing him to drop jake back onto the couch. a smirk spread on the younger’s face like he was proud of the pain he had caused his older brother. 

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after returning to your apartment, you decide to call it a night earlier than usual. you had no energy after the events on the rooftop but your thoughts were soon occupied with jake rather than another near death experience. you were starting to believe this place was bad luck with all the times you almost died but after meeting jake you genuinely thought things were going to start turning around. oh, how wrong you were. 

observing yourself in the mirror after a quick shower was something you had avoided recently. if not because you constantly felt like you were being watched, you avoided looking at yourself in the mirror because you hated the way you looked. the bags under your eyes seemed to sink deeper and have grown darker, your skin had become dull in color, and you could just tell that your body was starting to reflect the neglectful way you had been treating it. 

as you stretched your body around you soon realized red marks spread across your arms and waist. after giving the bathroom mirror a wipe to remove the condensation and to get a better look, it seemed like the marks resembled burns; even though you hadn’t burnt yourself. like most nights, you chose to ignore your insecurities and brushed off the marks on your skin. choosing to believe that maybe it was just a small rash from stress or your skin reacting a weird way to your clothes. any reason you could find so that your mind would stop thinking about it.

pulling your blanket all the way up to your chin and releasing a shiver, you soon found yourself drifting off to sleep, a smile on your face as thoughts of jake blend into your dreams. 

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you wake up gasping for air in the middle of the night. a dream that started out normal had suddenly turned into you fighting for your life as an unknown assailant wraps their hands around your throat in hopes of crushing your windpipes and omitting you from breathing in any oxygen. a mixture of coughs and heavy breathing fill your bedroom as you sit up, your hands instantly fly to your neck as a source of safety to ensure that no one was actually choking you. 

looking around the room in a frantic frenzy, you find no one as you rub your neck softly, the feeling of the person’s hands tightening around your throat felt so real. you close your eyes as your breath stabilizes. you try to fall back asleep but you fail as all you have on your mind is the image of the unknown figure who tried to kill you in your dreams. 

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with your eyelids getting heavy, you were finally settling back into a slumber, but it was soon interrupted as the sunlight found its way through the smallest crack within your curtains. you tried to ignore the light and block it by pulling your blanket over your hair but the action itself takes you out of the comfort of your slumber and your mind is now too proactive to even think about the state of sleep you were on the cusp of. 

after closing your eyes and hoping that the sleep would find its way back in, you chose to just get out of bed, the lack of sleep and exhaustian somehow being the only thing keeping you up. your feet, heavy with exhaustian, dragged across your floor as you made your way into the bathroom. you passed the mirror, eyes barely open, as you hop in the shower. the scalding hot water burning your skin in the best way possible. 

you didn’t want to leave the shower because of the warmth and as you expected, as soon as you stepped out of the shower; the cold air nipped at your skin. you would typically walk by the mirror without even giving it a glance but something compelled you. as your gaze fell onto the fogged up mirror, you swiped the moisture away and realized the red marks on your arms from the night before had further progressed. going from a bright red blemish to a deeper more purple red. 

like it was a bruise. 

your eyes trail from the bruises on your arms to its reflection in the mirror, then to the dark bruises around your waist, and to your shock, bruises that had spread over your neck and throat. your hands instantly fly to your neck and although the bruises aren’t necessarily painful when you touch them; there’s a lingering sensation. 

like when someone grips your skin a little too hard and the skin in that area starts to feel like it’s being poked by pins and needles. the bruises were all the same color but different shapes and sizes. if someone saw you it would look like you had just gotten into a fight with someone or maybe even hit by a car. 

or perhaps like you had just fallen from a heightened point. 

you weren’t sure what to do with the new additions that now adorned your skin so you chose to cover up. deciding to wear a long sleever turtleneck to hide away even though you weren’t going to be seen by anyone. 

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you set out for the day, it felt like you haven’t left your apartment or went past the building’s dumpster since you had gotten in town. you ran a few errands, getting groceries, checking out restaurants and cafes in the neigborhood, and overall trying to get familiar with the city. something you should’ve done a while ago. 

the city was surprisingly busy, filled with people who made the same decision as you, to run errands in hopes that because it was a weekday in the middle of the week, everyone else would be too busy with work or other responsibilities. you had finished your errands fairly quickly, your day in the town became a quick one after you decided that grabbing groceries and other necessities would be all that you needed to do. you’d check out all of the different restaurants and cafes another day when it wasn’t so busy. 

after putting your groceries in your trunk, a store comes into view as you close your trunk shut, a bright purple led sign that seemed to glow brightly even though it was midday. a fortune teller. you didn’t really believe in these things but you also didn’t not believe in them. something inside of you ushered you to the direction of the small storefront. the entrance being an old wooden door that fit perfectly for an establishment that did fortune telling. a small bell dings above the door as you enter and an old lady peers from the corner. you weren’t sure what to expect but this lady is exactly who you would think of as the person running the place. 

she had various patterened fabrics draped around her and a colorful skirt that had little gems and jewels that would reflect the light. she greeted you, but not with a normal greeting. 

“there’s someone trying to contact you child…” she says, annpuncing her observation even though you haven't even said anything to her. you gave her a confused look and she waved you over to sit across from her. as you take your seat she unsheathes a crystal ball that was previously hidden by a dark velvet fabric. the crystal ball seemed to lure you in, like it was calling out to you, she snaps her fingers and you break out of your trance. 

the lady shut her eyes and began to wave her hands in a rhythmic motion over the ball. you weren’t sure if you should just sit there in silence or say something but before you could even form a sentence, she began to speak again. “your future is clouded, you must watch out for what ties you to this earth, for it can easily cut you away from it.” she says, eyes slowly opening so she could see your reaction. you didn’t know what to make of her words so you stood up and muttered a small thank you. before you could turn away and leave, she grabs your wrist and puts something in your hands. you didn’t bother to look at the object in your hands until you got back into your car. a small dagger, no longer than 5 inches, with a snake wrapped around it. the snake's eyes were a red gem and it glistened in the sunlight. a part of you was a bit creeped out by it but you chose to just stash it away in your pocket. 

it begins to rain just as you’re parking your car. you quickly grab your groceries from the trunk and tiptoe to the lobby and just as you’re about to enter the building, you slip on a puddle. you quickly shut your eyes and brace for impact but suddenly a pair of toned arms are wrapped around you. when you slowly open your eyes, you’re met with a soft pair of smiling eyes, jake is looking at you with a warm smile. 

“i’ve got you.” jake says as he hauls you back up onto your feet. he picks up your groceries that have fell out of the bag and makes sure you’re alright. you give him a tighlipped smile and mutter a small thank you. too embarrassed to prolong the moment so you quickly shuffle into the elevator so you could hide away in your apartment. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

it seemed like every time you were in a small moment of distress, jake was there to save the day. 

when you almost fell off the roof.

when you slipped in the lobby.

another time when you were taking out the trash in the middle of the night and a person speeding by on their motorcycle almost hit you but jake suddenly appeared and pulled you off the street and into his arms, like a safety net.

the most recent moment being the incident in the elevator. you were making your way down to the lobby when the elevator stops at jake’s floor. as the door opens and you’re greeted with jake, the elevator suddenly drops a few inches and the lights flicker. you look at jake with a concerned look and when the elevator shakes again, you become frightful at the idea that the elevator would soon plummet to the first floor. 

jake, almost instantly, extends out his hand and you quickly grab it. he pulls you out of the elevator and as soon as you’re completely out of the metal box, the elevator falls to the ground floor. 

you fall on top of jake as he saves you. his arm around your waist to make sure you’re secure and safe as the two of you make contact with the floor. both of you out of breath and shaken up from the near death experience. 

you and jake stare into one another’s eyes and a smile spreads across his face. “you alright?” he asks, his thick australian accent causing butterflies in your stomach. you pull yourself off of him and the two of you get back onto your feet. “this is so embarrassing.” you say, brushing yourself off and jake chuckles at you. 

“don’t worry about it, love. happy to be your knight in shining arm.” jake says jokingly. you smile at his joke, not taking it seriously but you soon think about all the instances that he was your knight in shining armor. 

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you’re in bed, once again trying to fall asleep, but the tingling feeling on your skin is keeping you up. the bruises on your skin eventually disappeared but every other few days they reappeared and seemed to just become more painful every time they returned. you angrily tore off your blanket to head to the bathroom and observe the marks on your skin that felt like they were burning you. 

you stumble into the bathroom, sloppily switching the lights on, and standing in front of the mirror. you felt like your skin was beginning to burn and the pain was becoming unbearable. you tore off your clothes to get a better view of the marks and your eyes widened at the sight of your body. deep red bruises scattered across your body, much worse than the first time you noticed them, only now it left a burning sensation. if you even touched them in the slightest or blew onto it, it burned even more. 

your bottom lip quivered at the pain and you stood there staring at yourself unsure of what to do next. you frantically looked for oinment in your medicine cabinet and lathered it all over your skin. occasionally letting out grunts of pain as your hands grazed over the blistering bruise marks on your skin. you quickly put your clothes back on and grabbed your keys and jacket, deciding to rush over to the nearest emergency room in your city. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

the drive to the e.r. was quick. good news, you were able to be seen by a medical professional as soon as you got there. bad news, they didn’t have an answer as to why or where the blemishes came from. they offered you a topical cream and some antibiotics in hopes that it would help with the pain, leaving you with advice and to just hope that it’ll go away on its own. 

you were only at the e.r. for about an hour and a half when the doctor dismissed you with well regards and a speedy recovery. you walked back to your car, skin feeling less irritated, but the sensation of pins and needles still remained on your skin. with a slam of your car door, you sat down in the driver’s seat with a huff. a mixture of anger, pain, and exhaustian taking over your body as you settle into your seat and put the key into the ignition. you didn’t know what to do or what to think but your mind suddenly goes to the exact moment you first noticed the marks.

and the next time.

and the next.

and the next.

all of which all had a similar and reoccuring factor. it was all after you had a bout of vulnerability that would’ve led to a great amount of pain. and each time; jake miraculously appeared and saved you. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

jake watched you creep towards the ledge of the roof. legs climbing over the railing and he smiled at the sight. excitement bubbling inside of him at the thought of you being so vulnerable and that he would be able to witness you in such a weak state. 

as he sees your fingers leave the metal railing, he charges towards you and pulls you to safety.

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

jake watched you, an adoring smile on his face as you tried your best to balance the groceries in your arms while trying to run inside and away from the run. he watched intently as you slipped on the puddle at the front of the lobby. just moments before, he left the front door open for a few moments to give the rain the opportunity to find its way inside and create the puddle. laughing to himself as he imagined you falling to the ground after slipping. 

just as he sees your body become parralel to the ground and the quick moment you are off your feet, jake materializes and catches you. offering you a warm smile that held something more sinister behind it. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

jake was surprised to see you out so late at night. he watched you from his bedroom window as you took out the trash. although it wasn’t a part of his plan, jake wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to mess with you and strike fear inside of that pretty little head of yours. 

he watches, eyes following a man on a motorcycle just up the street and in the exact moment right before he collides with your unsuspecting body, jake appears and pulls you into his arms. once again saving you from danger. a smile spreads onto his face as you make your way back inside, amused at the idea of you being so naive and clueless. every vulnerable moment you’ve had was like entertainment to him. 

when he got back inside, heeseung was also walking in; a helmet in his arms as he arrived. jake scoffs and laughs at him. “thanks man.” jake says and heeseung shoots him a confused glare. unaware that he just helped him create a bit of chaos that would surely traumatize you. 

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the elevator almost killing you also wasn’t a part of his plan and quite frankly he was very glad to have been there to save you or else their plans for the ritual wouldn’t have come to fruition. everytime he has saved you, jake embraces every moment of it. every moment that he touched you, he savored, and would crave. thinking about the next time he would get to do it again. 

each traumatic moment you endured through a shroud of vulnerability was all a part of jake’s plan to contribute to the brother’s plan to break you down. each time he touched you, it would leave a mark on your skin and the longer and more traumatic the event, the worse the burns and bruises would progress. 

like the marks on your body caused by jake were a physical representation of the trauma he was inflicting onto you. and he loved every second of it. 

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jake found his way into your apartment as soon as you ran out. he assumed that in your frantic and urgent state, you forgot to lock the door, so he helped himself inside. 

he tried to recall jay’s words of how your apartment looked and where to dig through to try and find the diary. the object that the brother’s have been looking for since you had moved it but have failed to obtain. 

jake sifted through every part of your apartment that jay suggested and even in areas that weren’t on that list. just before he was about to give up, jake’s eyes just so happened to trail over your bookshelf and there he found the leather bound diary amongst all of your books. his usual smile now plastered onto his face as he grabs the book from your shelf. jake taps his fingers on the cold leather but halts in his spot when he turns around and is faced with you. 

he hadn’t heard you come in and he mentally scolds himself for not locking the door much like you did. a surprised but fearful expression on your face as you find jake in your living room. 

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you trudged towards your apartment as you exited the elevator and when you go to reach for your keys in your bag, you find that your door is ajar. you crept inside and a gasp escapes your mouth as you seen jake turn around in the middle of your apartment; holding the diary that you had seen so many other times before. 

“wh- what are you doing in here?” you ask, voice slightly trembling as you recall all of the moments with jake before. now realizing that there was a strong possibility that he may be the cause of the burns and bruises that covered your skin.

you slowly make your way around the living room, afraid of what jake might do, but all he does is watch you from his spot in your living room. his once soft eyes now a deep shade of red, similar to the color of the marks on your skin. jake seems to be watching you like a preator and you were his prey. waiting for you to make your first move so he can pounce onto you. 

with a quick movement to your shelf, you grab a flower vase and throw it at him but he instantly dodges it. leaping over the couch and landing on top of you. his hands were now gripping your wrist with so much strength and soon the familiar feeling of your skin burning came back; proving your assumptions to be correct that jake was the cause of the burns and bruises as you watch the deep red color spread across your arms and darken the veins under your skin. 

you shriek in pain as jake smiles at your agony, his grip only getting tighter. he switches from holding each of your hands with both of his and now holds them above your hand with just one of his hands as he reaches for something in his pocket. he pulls out a white ribbon and admires you for a second.

“i love seeing you like this. so vulnerable and suffering.” he says, his face now merely inches from yours. you jolt your head forward, making contact with jake’s nose with your forehead and he winces at the pain. he shakes off the pain and begins to wrap your wrists with the white ribbon, now angry at your abrupt action. “you shouldn’t have done that, love.” jake says as he finishes tying your hands together. 

he sits you up once he’s done tying your hands and goes back to where he previously stood and bent over to pick up the diary. “you know y/n, you shouldn’t fight us off so much. just give in.” jake says as he picks up the broken pieces of the vase. “fuck, that’s sharp.” jake says as he brings his thumb up to his mouth to suck the blood after he cut himself on a shard of the vase. 

sharp.

you remember that the fortune teller had given you a knife so you reached for your jacket pocket as best as you could without alarming jake. he glances over at you and stop, thinking he has caught you but he turns away and you return to the knife. you flipped open the blade and began to cut at the ribbon but the more friction your skin felt against the ribbon, the more it seemed to burn you. you bit your lip to surpress the painful grunts and once the ribbon had finally torn, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

jake had his back facing you as he threw away the shards of glass into your trashbin. unaware that you had freed yourself and were now creeping up behind him. just as you raised your hand that had the knife in it, jay materializes into the room and tackles you to the ground. causing jake to stumble forward at the sudden commotion. 

jay was now atop of you and you feel a sense of deja vu, like you had been in the position before. he grabs a hold of your face and forces your eyes to bore into his. “sleep.” jay simply says and you become limp in his grasp as slumber quickly takes over your body. 

he sighs and gets to work on erasing your memory of the altercation, all the while scolding jake for not being more observant of your actions. “she really is a feisty one.” jake says, walking over to jay and helping him up. 

“i can see why you like her.” he adds and jay just rolls his eyes at his brother, not bothering to respond. 

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the boys were now all gathered inside of your apartment. heeseung, jay, and jake stand around your coffee table staring down at the diary. the three of them glad to have finally gotten their hands on it. 

“we should burn it.” jake says and heeseung rolls his eyes at him after reminding him what happened when you tried that when you first got there. 

“let’s just lock it away where no one can find it.” jay says, picking up the diary. when he tried to flip through the pages, the book begins to burn brightly and suddenly disintegrates into ash.

the boys, dumbfounded, begin to bicker amongst themselves. jake blaming jay for ruining the diary, jay retorting that it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t do anything, and heeseung trying to get his two brothers to stop arguing. 

sunghoon saunters into your living room, briefly looking around as he’s had the least amount of time in there in comparison to his brothers. “alright!” he says, voicing booming into the room, catching the attention of his three older brothers. 

he walks past his brothers and picks you up from the couch. your limp and unconscious body now in his arms, “i’ll take care of the rest. go prepare the ritual site.” he says. he begins to walk away and athough he was the youngest of the four of them; they all followed his order, like he had some authority over them. 

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sunghoon softly lays you down onto your bed. adjusting your pillow and pulling the covers over you to make sure you’re comfortable.

he brushes a few stray hairs off of your face and takes in your beauty. “soon.” he says with a pause. 

“soon, you’ll be ours.” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

a kiss that doesn’t go unseen by jay as he watches it all happen through his omnicient vision. 

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I'll show you different ( Joel Miller x reader) part 6

summary : peach finds out her father had a visitor . tommy plays cupid as they two begin to get closer she even lets joel know he makes her safe , the new dynamic of living with other and a new job things are looking up til she sees her ex is leaving reminders that he's still around but now she not scared now she is down right pissed .

warnings : this series mentions domestic abuse , harassing themes. there is some fluffy moments too

previous part

By time joel dropped the girls off not sparing his ex wife a glance as he talked to her new husband a little, the man wasn’t the brightest bunny in the cage but joel got along with him and sort of felt sorry for the poor fucker . one last hug and kiss to the girls heads they went on their way and joel headed  home  knowing peach would be there . usually the though of her waiting at home for him would of made him excited and rushing home but giving the circumstances it didn’t allow it although he would be lying if he didn’t say that her being there either way made him happy . knowing the woman he cared so much for was up in his house afraid of some monster who couldn’t get  the word no through his skull , john almost relief when she agreed to stay in the millers too that man went through so much to lose more they both did . maybe he could do just that … maybe he could make it not so bad for two people that shouldn’t be treated such away and yet still their nightmare is not even close to over. 

She sat on sofa , her eyes barely even looking at the screen it was looking to the house .. to her house almost waiting to see him there , waiting for him to boldly show the monster he truly was but she knew he was smart . knew he was going to wait for the right moment.  In the fucked up shit storm of it all he made her father seem like an angel yes what her father had done was depraved and fucked up but he was a drunk and god knows what else  where as her ex husband he was sober as a judge when he done what he done and enjoyed it . that smile she could remember it so clear as day as if he was standing in front of her there and then . he enjoy his torture , the way he broke her down to almost nothing that even now she was still trying to build herself back up .  piece by piece  like she was building a house brick by brick. It was funny she almost crumbled almost gave up and the miller brothers true to the construction work held her up and kept her standing . something like this friendship was a rarity it was something she wasn’t used to people going out their own way to be there for her .  the headlights snapped her from her thoughts almost like she was a deer stuck in them . 

“ it’s just joel peach” tommy patted her hand as she relaxed  back into the sofa . 

“ actually it’s the sherif” she finally said she wanted to say he listened to the pattern of the engines knowing who it was so if she heard one that wasn’t familiar she would be ready. To tommy shock it was the sherif standing hat in hand on their porch . 

“ peach darling can i talk to you” he called in as tommy moved to the side .  

“ what is it now axe murderer on the loose and i’m his next target” she huffed making tommy chuckled . 

“ actually my brother in law  called your daddy got a visitor , he don’t get them so he sent over the picture” he smiled sadly showing her father a face she not seen since she was running for her life sitting with the man that made her fear her life . 

“ you got to be kidding me they’re teaming up on me” she scoffed throwing the picture down. 

“ actually know your daddy told em to fuck off well to that effect  but he ain’t helping him” the sherif explained. “ but i thought you should know either way”.

“Any good news for me like your gonna get him ?” she asked softly . 

“ actually i got the restraining order held up here so if he does come close to you i can charge him” he smiled. “ or maybe hurt him in the process , you ok here  need me send a deputy to watch over you” he asked softly. 

“ she’s fine here we got her” joel's voice call their attention to him.

“ well you got my cell darling ok even if it a cat outside your scared call me” he added nodding to the men as joel shook his hand as he left . “ who’s hungry” he smiled holding up the bag of take away one of her favourite , one he remembered her telling him was one of the things she missed being home. Small things she told him seem to lock in his mind , her favorite beer or soda in his fridge but it wasn’t one way even tommy remark she always had the shit joel drank in her  ice box or refrigerator . 

“ ok so i’m going to eat mine in my room , watch that new series on HBO so i’ll leave ya to it” tommy winked grabbing his food and heading up the stairs fastest hes ever did before.

“ wanna watch a movie?” she asked softly unsure of really what to say giving it wasn’t her house and well she frankly she enjoyed being in his company.

“ well of course not this shit jesus that boys obsessed with zombie shit” joel chuckled as she looked to the screen she didn’t even realize what she was pretending to be watching .  “ come on we watch something decent fer a change “ he smiled patted the sofa as she shyly sat back to the spot on the feel the fabric over her legs and joel calling tommy some colorful words . 

Finally the two sat watching or pretending to watch some movie he picked , her eyes slipping to look at joel every so often unbeknownst to  her the man was doing the very exact thing . Some where in the middle of the movie he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder  . looking down he couldn’t help feel the air in his throat stuck  she looked completely and utterly beautiful even when she was sleeping .  the softest snore that came from her pillowy plush lips , her lashes on her cheeks , the little rise and fall of her chest and the peaceful look on her face . He didn’t wanna move , hell even breathe if it meant disrupting the slumber she was in .  yet he did once he heard the footstep on the stair he easily move so he could stand up and lift her up  only see tommy passing them by . 

“ she out cold want me bring her , don’t fuck up your back old man “ he teased . 

“ funny jokes for days , move  she needs her rest” joel huffed and gruff as he headed for the stairs and not once she stirred awake only to nuzzle in his chest she was like a damn kitten looking for affection .  he didn’t go to the girls room for some reason he brain wasn’t thinking in that moment  as he walked straight to his only to realize once he placed her on his bed . guilt in his stomach as he couldn’t stop the thought she belonged there how she fit so perfectly in his space.  He  was just about to turn leave her there til he felt the soft skin of her palm and a slight tug. 

“ stay please” she almost whispered as he nodded pulling away heading into his  bathroom changing into a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt . even in her tired state she couldn’t help but stare at the man before her  , she felt safe , she felt safe with joel it was buzzing around her head til the words slipped out of her mouth not even realizing it  did . 

“ huh?” he asked ,  he heard her and selfishly he wanted to hear it again . 

“ i feel safe.. With you” she smiled tired moving over giving him some space to get in . 

Wordless he got in the bed not caring how selfish it was all he wanted was to feel her close , feel here near . wrapping his arm around her frame and holding her close to his chest and ghost of a kiss on her head when he mumbled out a “ goodnight darling”  . 

She woke that morning probably first time in a long time refreshed  and actually feeling like she had a full night sleep which the irony of it all to be in danger for her to sleep so good.  She sat up looking at the man snoring away beside her and suddenly she wasn’t thinking of it all , in that moment she was enjoying her little fantasy mind of being so close to a man she could only dream of . she quickly and quietly made her way of the room not to disturb him as she crept down the stair looking into the fridge to see the exact thing she was looking for  making her way around the kitchen in search of more when she heard a clearing of a throat behind her.

“ imagine my surprise to see if you wanted coffee i couldn’t find you anywhere …well except in my brothers bed” tommy smirked . 

“ nothing happened .. don’t scare me like that i’m making breakfast so show me where everything is” she  glared at the man looking at terrifying as a puppy in his eyes. Helping her get the things needed as she set on her task watching the pan ignoring the almost bruising gaze he had on her dying to know how it happened and what happened. But she barely looked his way trying to will her cheeks not to light up in the redness til she smelt the familiar smell  hit her nose and the hand on her hip a sleepy joel reached up grabbing a couple of cups . a sleepy smile on his face that had her cheeks flushed and her eyes looking down at the pan with smile on her face . the almost domestic side of it all as tommy watched smiling maybe it wouldn’t take long after all . 

It was almost a week being in the millers soft touches and flirty back and forth it was  unlike her and yet it came so naturally when she was around joel miller . even though it was to keep an eye on her she didn't mind working in the office on site she got to see her grandfather even more and she got to see joel all the time too . she almost forgot the monster following her til one morning she walked out to her car seeing tommy and joel standing worried when she looked seeing her car scratched up  and whore sprayed painted into the side of it . it was were she could see it , it was letting her know he was watching in the shadows waiting for his perfect time to strike . Letting her know he wasn’t going to give up . she looked at the car , the first thing that was truly hers after first escaping , now in a state  and desecrated with slander on the metal . it was just a possession she thought but it felt more to her even if it was just a possession it was hers and he ruined it . it wasn’t fear that coursed her veins it was anger she was sick of this man ruining her , her life and now the things she loved . it was anger that she was sick of being afraid , sick of being a punching bag of life and it’s shitty humans in it . she was sick of it all and this time she wasn’t going to let them win this time , she was done being the victim and she was going to make sure he knew that .  she wasn't going to cower no more if anything she would stand up and end it all herself .

part 7

taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981