#didn't have that much gas in the tank!

[occasional-yan-stuff]

fuck i need more of that yandere kipnapper x yandere reader pleaseeeeeee

Hi anon! Life has been hectic so it's taken me a little to get to your ask! This post is also dedicated to @schneidersumbrella who also requested a follow up!

Yandere!Kidnapper X Gn!Yandere!Reader Pt. 2

Pt. 1

Details: mutual obsession, gift giving, kidnapper is controlling, reader is shy, fluff, kidnapper is a tease

warnings: obsessive behaviors, possessive behaviors, stalking, break ins, dubiously consensual touching, PDA

Everything changed after you started dating him. He started leaving you gifts on your front porch every morning. Stuffed animals, flowers, candy, old clothes, a lock of your hair, even pictures of you from his collection. By analyzing the pictures he gave you, you could figure out where the security camera in his room was and cover it up. Sneaking into his room had gotten so awkward after finding out he knew you were doing it. This felt like a good compromise.

You rolled around in his bed, and smelled his things, and stole the clothes he had left out, just like you had before you were dating. It was heaven. It was safe. You thought you'd be able to do this as much as you liked, but the next time you sneaked in, the place where the camera once was now had only a sticky note with the words 'I want to see you' and a drawing of an eye. The message was clear. He liked watching you in his room and you had no choice but to let him. You didn't mind too much, though. It was nice to know he would go as far as to move his security camera just because he wanted to see you.

There were times you would wake up and he would be there in your bed, fast asleep, arms around you. It was a bit surprising and it always gave you a lump in your throat. You never knew quite what to do. You just froze up, attempting to stay as still as possible in the hopes of not waking him. Gradually, however, you would always relax into him and let him hold you until he woke up and made you breakfast. It was always one of your favorites, always something he knew was your favorite from reading your journal. You loved to stand there and watch him cook, see the way his strong hands moved and how his skin glistened slightly from the heat. He really was an angel.

Sometimes, you would even repay the favor, sneaking into his home in the wee hours of the morning and making delicious meals for him. You would always leave before he woke up, of course. It was far nicer to do things for him than to actually be perceived doing it. That was the opposite of his view on things though. He loved PDA, or maybe it was just the way you reacted to it that he loved.

You never quite got over the way his touch gave you goosebumps. No matter how many times he teased you or held you close on the subway, or stared down a guy who was looking at you, it always gave you a rush. His attention was a drug. He was everything. He was all you needed and you were all that he needed.

[altarboysalteredboys]

i think i have to talk to my advisor about medical withdrawal.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[simonsrileyhusband]

(the word panties is used to describe something reader uses but still gender neutral)

nsfw

pervy neighbor simon who isnt around very often, but when he is he always finds and excuse to talk to you.

simon will fix your shower, carry the gas tank into your kitchen, fix broken doors, anything. he will always say something is odd about your place and that he will come tomorrow to fix it. and being the cute and kind person that you are, you always cook/bake him something, as a thank you.

simon will always warn you about leaving your door and windows closed at night, you never know what creepy guys are lurking around (him).

little did you know that your missing underweare was inside of his nightstand, hiden in his pocket as he left your apartment with a sweet thank you cupcake on his hand.

you also werent aware that his room was right next to yours, and he could hear you touching yourself every night when he left.

simon who lies to you, and says thay he lost his keys and the change of lock will be done at monday, too bad its friday night and he doesn't have anywere to sleep.

"oh~ you could sleep here... i have plenty of space."

"oh no, i couldn't, i don't want to bother you."

"It's fine, you always do so much for me."

simon, who sleeps on his underware because 'all of his clothes are locked inside his flat', he smiles at your blush. you give him a few of your pillows and a blanket.

2 hours has passed and simon has not been able to close his eyes. his hard dick pressed against the soft blanket you gave him, your scent filling his nose. he cant control himself, he goes to your bathroom, a soft pair of used panties wrap around his dick, soft grunts and moans of your name leaving his mouth.

the next morning, when you wake up to the smell of coffee he smiled at you, pretending that he didn't hear you moaning his name from the bathroom.

[strawberrylemonadeswagtourney]

please consider helping a disabled lesbian survive until she can escape her abusive household

you can read more about what i’ve been dealing with here if you’re interested

i’m reapplying for SNAP, and i’m applying for medicaid. the idea is that if i’m not paying for food and medical costs, i’ll actually be able to save up and get the hell out of here. but until then, i’m going to need some extra help. 

living in this house is an actual nightmare. my dad nearly broke my door down earlier in a fit of rage because someone got into his liquor and he automatically assumes that everything is me, even though i’ve made it very clear that i have no desire to drink, ever. 

i just wanted to get out of the house for a minute but when i got in my car today, i was met with the wonderful sight of zero miles to empty – someone had taken my car and used it without my knowledge and didn't even bother putting anything back in the tank. my bank account is in the negative due to an automatic payment coming out, so i couldn’t even go and get gas. it’s hard not to feel hopeless when i’m thousands of dollars in debt and the people in my life are doing everything in their power to make my situation worse.

please consider commissioning me, my commissions are pay what you want so it’s very affordable! if you want to support me otherwise, you can find my links below. please spread this post around if you can’t help financially, i would really appreciate it so so much. thank you for reading

commissions post p-yp-l c-sh-pp k-fi

[eveningcherryblossoms]

It's A Beta Life, Not A Better Life | Part 12

A platonic yandere Batfam x neglected beta reader story

In the future, you might wonder what would've happened if you hadn't presented as a beta. If you hadn't instantly known that you would've been claimed with or without your consent by the very pack that had been neglecting you for years, and felt nothing but disgust and rage at the prospect, compelling you to train yourself hard in case you'd need to fight or escape them.

As an alpha or omega, however 'superior' your gender was, with you still half-assing everything you did... How likely was you to escape Joker?

For the time being, however, you didn't have a moment to spare to wonder about what-ifs. You had a murderous clown school reject to fend off with your beta life on the line.

Luckily, your inhaler was still in hand. Without a second thought, you hurled it straight at Joker's face, hitting him square between the eyes and shutting his demented laughter off like clicking the mute button. You sprang to your–thankfully not bare–feet, heedless of glass shards around, and leaped to snatch a fire extinguisher hung on a nearby wall.

Joker–the damn Joker himself currently in your apartment–had just recovered from the inhaler you threw, and was starting to cackle again while taking out a gun. Naturally, you did not give him time to react before unleashing a storm of foam from the extinguisher. With both hands occupied you used your right foot to disarm him as well, knowing Joker of all people wouldn't hesitate to shoot blindly.

Then as a cherry on top, while Joker was letting out a combination of wheezes, cackles, and gags that raised the hair on your arms, once the fire extinguisher was empty you smashed the tank on his face again. While you kicked his abdomen with all your bodily strength, sending the clown crashing out of your already broken window. You pettily hoped the sharp edges hurt him in a fatal spot. Or a dozen.

He broke the window of the apartment you got from your mother, damn that clown!

Still, no time to waste. Not even to bask at the realization that you just beat the Joker himself–knowing your luck and having heard rumours of him, you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even bruise after falling down headfirst three floors anyway.

You had a more terrifying group to escape from.

With one hand you used the Gotham Watch app to alert the authority of Joker being in your area. With your other hand you grabbed the gun Joker had dropped that you made him drop, wow and, after checking it over and finding out that it had surprisingly normal bullets instead of acid or else something equally demented, thrust it into your go-to duffle bag. You tucked your phone back in your pocket, zipped up your jacket, pulled up the hood, and put a gas mask on.

Done. Now, what to do? Where to go? Your mind whirled calculating every option's pros and cons.

Staying in Gotham was out of the question now that the cat was out of the bag. You felt a pang thinking of the life you'd built here, of Duke your first fellow beta friend not that he knew about it, but you had to prioritize your safety. Everything else came later.

The closest cities were, respectively, Bludhaven and Metropolis. After months of keeping Dick–fuck, Dick was Nightwing, wasn't he? No wonder your chosen distraction was so effective, he had to do so much more as the city's sole protector instead of a mere police consultant!–distracted with a series of exposés involving the BPD and other authorities there, you knew Bludhaven as well as you knew Gotham. At the same time, you knew how Bludhaven was: a den of corruption worse than even the supposed Crime Capital of the World. And the cases you'd exposed there so far always included betas as the victims. So–no, thank you.

Metropolis was a bit farther, across the bay. You could easily reach it by ferry, but that'd leave a trace. Even if you were to pay the staff extra to not put down your name, the other passengers might remember you. You had ensured that your disguise could fool your classmates who saw you daily, but could you risk it?

Your heart sank remembering how you'd trained, you'd researched, you'd done everything you could in order to get away before the Waynes could claim you. But you only did so anticipating that they were a wealthy and well-connected but fundamentally civilian pack. Not the freaking Bat pack of all things.

Shaking your head, you continued thinking while riding your bike. (You got a fake license and there was every chance that no one would care about that in this situation.) Should you risk it by lying low here, after all? It would be logical to assume you'd run out of town after–wait, no, the Waynes the Bats they had no idea you knew they knew, didn't they?

They'd be chasing after you now that they knew, or at the very least suspected what you were. Or in Damian's case, now that he–

You turned sharply at a corner, spotting Joker's goons, but only constant training kept you from crashing from fear remembering his intention.

Focus, you firmly reminded yourself. Definitely no coming back to the manor, you had nothing worth coming back for there anyway. And no returning to school, not only Jason snitched to Bruce about you attending Park Row High but you just realized he had to be the Red Hood, whose goons had been keeping an eye on you whenever you were in Crime Alley. Actually you should avoid the whole Crime Alley. For all you knew, Jason the Red Hood had ordered his goons to look for and capture you.

Tears of frustration sprang to your eyes. You wiped them angrily. No use in crying, hadn't you learned that lesson soon after your mother died?

You sped up your bike, tearing through the busy thoroughfare. Rain had fallen, sudden and hard, every drop of water hitting you painfully. Vehicles around you turned on their lights, white and red and yellow, while the brighter red light of alarm indicating emergency due to Arkham breakout flooded everything every few seconds. From left and right, front and back people were sounding their horns in panic, the loudness rivalling that of the emergency sirens. And of course, the smell. Carbon monoxide from the vehicles and the rain mingled with the scent of everyone that seeped if not barrelled through their scent blockers.

Your head ached. You could scarcely breathe.

No, wait. It wasn't just the mix of scents tinged with fear and sorrow and anger making you overwhelmed. Through your rearview mirrors, you caught a glimpse of them. With dread, you turned around.

A Joker-painted van. Joker's goons. No Joker himself, but arguably his worst invention: Joker gas. Dozens of metal balls containing it thrown by the clown-faced goons.

Your eyes zoomed in on one of the metal balls. As if in slow motion, it expanded, revealing holes through which green-tinted gas began flowing.

You screamed, "JOKER GAS!!! MASK UP!!!"

Everyone broke into pandemonium.

You revved your engine and made another turn, narrowly missing colliding with a car. You drove away from the fumes and the HAHAHA!!! behind you, heart pounding and hands trembling. Why was everything like this?!

After many mindless twists and turns, dodging attacks and riots and most importantly the Bats, somehow you found yourself at the bay. Was this a hint from your subconscious as to what you really wanted? A sign from above? Metropolis, clean and sparkling and suspiciously peaceful-looking even without Gotham under attack from Joker for comparison, towered at the distant horizon.

You gripped your bike's handlebars, hesitant. When you heard even more laughter induced by Joker gas–how many people did that bastard clown torture into insanity to obey his orders, seriously?!–you wanted so badly to deafen your ears and hide.

Yeah, that was it. Not only were there the Bats being your official family and now taking interest in you after nine years' neglect, there was also the Joker. You should leave Gotham now.

Having decided so, like Lot's wife, you still looked back.

And turned to stone spotting a familiar yellow t-shirt worn by an unconscious dark-skinned boy, being dragged by two Joker goons into a nearby van.

By the time you realized it, you already made a U-turn, riding at full speed to chase after the van. Forgetting Metropolis, risking every prospect of escape, disregarding your supposedly prioritized safety–all in order to save your friend Duke.

You guys: (leave replies wanting to be adopted/kidnapped by Joker)

me: (writes reader beating Joker then going to rescue Duke instead)

Yes, yes I know that Lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt not stone. I suddenly have a cold and I swear the runny nose would be the death of me, I couldn't bother rewriting that sentence with Medusa or whatever else 🙏

Why am I sick omg, I even used my cute pink-flowered transparent umbrella while buying groceries in the rain yesterday? 😭

This chapter took me wayyy too long to write bc I got so many ideas I wanted to add and couldn't decide which plot to choose 😔 Hope it's an okay read and pls leave asks and replies to motivate me 🙏💕

P. S. Sorry guys I'm not adding more on the taglist bc some of the latter names can't be clicked so idk if it works or how to fix it 💔 If you could instruct me tho I'd def add more of you guys that wanna be tagged 💕

Taglist: @randomlyappearingartist @bellethesleepypotato @nirvanaxx1942 @tenswife @galaxypurplerose @shycreatorreview @cupid73 @time-shardz @mikusamsan @simpingpandas @kore-of-the-underworld @elmichi0 @mirabilis-polaris @farsketch @altumsomnum @hai-there-how-are-you @vanessa-boo @ashjade19 @yandere-enthusiast @a-lurking-fae @hyperfixatedcatlover @leeiasure @luckynemi @lowkeyjarrr @lunoorbonoor @deathbynarcisstick @tacendxx @staarflowerr @anonlikesfics @magical-panda2 @whognuthis @arwenyukiamoto @hon3ydewcaram3l @lilyalone @jazzyspaceghost @teabutnerdy @bunbunbread @darktrashpoetry @conqcakes @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @unrelatedlily @ciatin @ratchetprime211 @mybones537 @anonasatoruu @vikkus-main @shqyou @sitepathos @ee-1ovelifedownthedrain @totallynotacat13 @ratterpatter @hayourdadgon

[dcxdpdabbles]

Can we have more of “Demon and Angel Brat”? I love those demon twins so much, also I’m wondering how the Phantom family is hadling this, are Sam and Tucker also in to this? Does Jazz approves this prank? (Wondering how Dani or Dan will fut in this too)

Danny gets a phone call.

Damian knew his brother's real life would eventually burst the bubble on their fun, but he was not expecting it to be broken this soon into their prank.

The Fentons, of course, knew of their little joke and had been fine with having to speak to Danny in secret. Since their cover story was that Danny was too sick to be anything but support for the Bats- and even then, he would sometimes head to bed early if he wasn't feeling well- it was easy to find a little corner of the Manor for Danny to call home. Though that was usually at three in the morning, the Fentons didn't seem to mind.

Mr. and Mrs. Fenton even gave ideas to have Danny act out in order to scare the Waynes. Mr. Fenton's favorite was making Drake panic by making Danny suggest they do "Dark Magic" then have it turn out to be harmless fun.

Like claiming to want to make love potions for Dowd and then just making some homemade juice for the teenager. Drake looked like he was having a heart attack when Danny busted out potion bottles and edible glitter.

Mrs Fenton, on the other hand, wanted to focus more on logical details. She asked Danny to make wild claims about what he was allowed to do in the Manor. Since Danny supposedly didn't go out much, she felt that he needed to create great memories around the Manor, and thus Danny convinced whoever happened to be walking by to play games with him.

Thomas had pushed Danny on an office chair for almost four hours while his brother pretended to be an airplane pilot. Damian had later seen Thomas, Brown, and Cain pretending to be a prince and two princess trapped at the top of the stairs as if they were locked away in a tower while Danny fought imaginary knights down below.

He thinks Cain only went along with it because she got to wear a big puffy pink dress. Father had ordered costumes for Danny to play with after his brother got back from the history museum with Todd.

Damian knows Todd and Father were also still attempting to pressure the history museum into installing fake historical events that Danny made up. It wasn't going well, but they were making a decent effort.

Still all this fun had only been over the course of two weeks and that seemed to be far too long for Danny's friends.

Thus, the phone call arrived in the middle of dinner with the entire family twisting towards the "sick" twin. Danny stared at this phone, looking as if he had forgotten it could ring before he clicked the call to connect.

""Excuse me I need to take this." He held it up to his ear while standing from table. "Hey Tuck. What's up?"

Damian watches his brother walk out of the room, tugging along his gas tank and heart pack like it was second nature. The large dining room door closes behind him with a soft click, and a few blissful of seconds follow, before everyone starts demanding answers.

"Who's Tuck?" Ricard accused as Damian dabbed his mouth with napkin "Why is this Tuck calling Danny?"

Now Damian could say the truth, could make it easier on his brother and the family, even he liked a laugh every once in a while. After all he was a twin to a mischievous prankster.

"Tuck, is Danny's ridiculous nickname for Tucker Foley. He's Danny's ex" Damian revealed with a hand wave. The family's faces darken (except for Cain and Alfred. One because she knows he's lying, and the other because he thinks it's healthy to date) "Danny broke up with him after their summer fling, and now Foley is dating their other friend, Samantha Manson. Between you and I, Foley and Manson are carrying a torch for Danny and are likely attempting to include them in a throuple."

"I want everything you can find on Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson," Father snaps at Drake, who already had his tablet out and typing a storm on his travel keyboard. Thankfully, Danny had gotten Gordon to fake a Gotham tech camp so his two friends could visit him in the city soon.

It was so Damian could get to know his friends and so that all three could have a break from ghost hunting, but this would be entertaining to watch.

Damian sips his tea, watching Brown and Todd hiss threats under their breaths while Thomas actively cracks his knuckles. He only did that when he was feeling particularly violent.

Drake lets out a noise that he has only ever heard him make when he's about to blow up a building. He twists his tablet around, banging his other hand on the tabletop aggressively. "Bruce, I think things with Foley were more serious than is appropriate for Danny. He's only fourteen!"

It took every ounce of his training not to burst out laughing. On Drake's tablet is a photo of Danny and Foley cuddling while asleep on the floor. It was posted by Manson with the caption "We made some interesting discoveries tonight!"

He knows she meant the purple back gorilla, but the poor girl just didn't have a way with words like she thought she did.

It's that moment that Danny wanders back in, wearing his normal bright and innocent smile. "Tucker and Sam are coming to Gotham. They want to hang out with me at Lover's Lane!"

Damian slams a hand over his mouth, just barely stopping himself from spewing his tea across the table as his family bristles. Lover's Lane was the best spot in all of Gotham to see the city's lights and had some of the best public gardens. A sight people from a small town like Amity Park would adore to see.

It also earned the nickname Lover's Lane for a very obvious reason, but Damian feels Danny has forgotten that part.

"You are not-"

"-Going to want to meet them wearing the same old clothes. Why don't I take you shopping after you finish eating Master Danny" Alfred cuts father off mid rant, sending everyone a stern glare when the family's all look ready to argue "After all, if your friends who clearly remember how much fun they have with you, it would be a pity to have them erase those good memories with a wardrobe malfunction."

Damian should tell his father to give that man a raise.

[hoseoksluna]

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader 

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors. 

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow. 

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing. 

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed. 

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along. 

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you. 

Multiple times. 

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date. 

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl. 

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind. 

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong. 

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream. 

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him. 

You didn’t do what the others did. 

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside. 

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code. 

And so did you. 

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists. 

He did it because he unreservedly loved you. 

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music. 

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him. 

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing. 

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours. 

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight. 

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe. 

A different star. A special one. 

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck. 

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants. 

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song. 

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that? 

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust. 

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing? 

This can easily be his very last night alive. 

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up. 

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass. 

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad. 

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once. 

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better. 

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit. 

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction. 

The fucker is grinning. 

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger. 

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer. 

He needs you and he tells you. 

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts. 

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.” 

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully. 

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders. 

He knows why you did that. 

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious. 

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you. 

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?” 

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face. 

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast. 

Too fast for his liking. 

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek. 

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness. 

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made. 

One he will pay for. 

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch. 

One hit for your dignity. 

A second one for your tears. 

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed. 

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?” 

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill. 

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest. 

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face. 

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right. 

But his body doesn’t listen. 

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears. 

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God. 

But nothing happens.

Radio silence. 

White noise. 

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable. 

He begins to pray with his own voice. 

Because there’s nothing else to do. 

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her. 

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible. 

The ringing lessens. 

And then his lips move. 

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it. 

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body. 

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home. 

To solitude. 

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give. 

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him. 

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car. 

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you. 

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head. 

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held. 

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet. 

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that. 

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is. 

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.” 

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now. 

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission. 

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either. 

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him. 

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.” 

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life. 

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you. 

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound. 

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it. 

“What happened? Tell me.” 

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body. 

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you. 

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car. 

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash. 

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene. 

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you. 

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. 

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture. 

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole. 

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly. 

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him. 

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes. 

Letting himself be taken care of by you. 

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode. 

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe. 

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful. 

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely. 

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite. 

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it. 

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food. 

You can handle it. 

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh. 

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you. 

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all. 

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble. 

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.” 

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers. 

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner. 

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you. 

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst. 

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down. 

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange. 

It’s an expression of his servitude to you. 

Of his lessening and your heightening. 

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self. 

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere. 

He is at home. 

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt. 

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling. 

And he lets you know. 

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue. 

And he stops—just to beg for those words. 

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.” 

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden. 

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable. 

You help him remember. 

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.” 

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God. 

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you. 

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do. 

He invites you in. 

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm. 

And it just makes him hungrier. 

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy. 

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come. 

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore. 

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations. 

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face. 

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens. 

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.” 

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it. 

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all. 

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.” 

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen. 

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland. 

He thinks it would be an honor. 

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship. 

Everything is new. 

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.” 

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him. 

Not all the way, though. 

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for. 

You do take him all the way. 

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home. 

Heady, oriental and feminine. 

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock. 

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus. 

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something. 

He hasn’t put a condom on. 

“Wait.” 

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well. 

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes. 

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?” 

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him. 

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes. 

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material. 

Gently. 

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you. 

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger. 

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him. 

Peasant with his queen. 

You ride him like it. 

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation. 

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing. 

One more thing and he’s done. 

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.” 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.” 

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth. 

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are. 

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way. 

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.” 

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back. 

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple. 

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. 

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss. 

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you. 

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love. 

And you give it to him. 

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly. 

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize. 

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you. 

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.” 

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity. 

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you. 

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.” 

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.” 

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips. 

Gentle. 

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.” 

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it. 

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat. 

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted. 

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream. 

And you’re there when he wakes up. 

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[bixbythemartian]

50+ Ways to Annoy the Death Witch

Chapter 2: Actually do a Necromancy

<<First Next> Latest>>

Callahan insisted we go back for his broken side mirror, which he fortunately found quickly enough that I didn't get too aggravated about the sideline, and then we headed to the gas station.

By the time we got there, the sun was high in the sky, as the day heated up. My eye throbbed, and exhaustion was quickly catching up to me, so I headed in to put five bucks in the boys’ tank, and grab an energy drink.

When I headed back out, Callahan was chatting with the boys, who'd already started fueling up.

When I got to the truck, he pulled me into the conversation, even though I was kinda hoping I could just jump into the truck and ignore them.

I'm not great with people, is the thing, they seemed like nice enough kids.

“This is Miss Tabitha Greene, by the way. Tabitha, this is Jacob and Dylan Matthews.” He pointed to each kid.

Jacob was the older one with pinky-peach hair, and Dylan was the younger one with the box dye black look.

“And you two do this kind of thing a lot,” Jacob said, apparently continuing their earlier conversation.

“About once or twice a year,” Callahan said.

I nodded. “It’s for the whole country, not just here,” I said. “It’s not that common. And it’s mostly just sad people who miss people they love, and that’s usually pretty easy to rectify.”

“Well we didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “And there wasn’t much love lost between Mom and them, before you ask.”

“You don’t have any aunts or uncles on that side?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jacob said.

“But it wasn’t us,” Dylan said.

“Just because your mom and grandparents didn't get along very well- death can change people’s priorities,” I said.

“I’m not saying Mom didn’t do it,” Jacob said. “I’m saying, if she did, it wasn’t out of love.”

Dylan nodded.

“Now, you don’t know about-”

“I’m real sorry to hear that,” I said, running over Callahan, who was definitely about to some whole ‘don’t you love your mother’ spiel that I was happy to spare the boys. “Is there another reason you can think where she might wanna talk to her folks again, though?"

The brothers glanced at each other. “Mom thinks that they had a bunch of money that nobody found,” Dylan said, after a minute. “Like, buried in the yard, or something.”

I nodded.

“Do you still live at your grandparent’s?” Callahan asked.

“We sold it a while back, to pay for the nursing home for Grandma,” Jacob said. “Grandpa died last year, and she wasn’t doing okay on her own.”

Callahan turned and looked at their pretty new, fairly nice SUV. “Was there money buried in the yard?” he asked, turning back to them.

Both boys looked at each other.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the answer.

“I genuinely don’t give a damn. But if she has good reason to think there’s money buried in the yard, we should probably go to your grandparent’s place first, and see what there is to see.”

“Using the dead as free labor and sources of information is also really normal,” I said.

“I’ll give you the address,” Jacob said, after a minute. “We’ll show you the way.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Callahan said.

“Do you know the folks who live there now?” I asked.

“Nah,” Jacob said. “Grandma found someone who sold it, and told us where to dig before we moved everything out. I don’t know what she did with the taxes, but I think it was the last spell she had in her. Everything was all smoothed over. Then... she just kinda faded, after that. Mom can’t know about the money, though, she’ll never leave us alone. It’s supposed to take care of us for a while. Hopefully long enough for Dylan to get through school.”

“We won’t say anything,” Callahan promised. “Do you know where she is?”

Dylan shook his head. “We haven’t heard from her in a few months, most of a year. But that’s- I mean, she disappears for a while, shows back up. Sometimes she swears she’s cleaned up, but if she is, she never stays clean for long.”

“What’s her thing? Meth?” I asked. I wasn't trying to be mean, it's just really common.

He nodded. “Among other things, but mostly meth.”

“How long do you go without hearing from her?” Callahan asked. “Is this normal?”

“Months, sometimes a year or more. She kinda just shows up when she needs money or a place to crash,” Jacob said. “But we don’t let her crash with us anymore. She’s got to find somewhere else." He sighed. "I’m not even sure she knows Grandma’s dead, actually.”

“I tried to call her,” Dylan said. “But her phone was cut off again. I mean- I hope she’s okay, but- she’s not our job, you know?”

“I know,” I said. “Get us that address, we’ll meet you there, okay?”

Callahan dug his phone out so Jacob could recite the address to him, and then we headed out.

I can’t tell you how long the drive was, I fell asleep basically as soon as we were on the highway. Next thing I knew, Callahan was shaking me awake, dragging me out of sticky sleep.

I hadn’t even opened my Monster.

“C’mon, Tabby Cat.” “Are you allergic to calling me by my name?” I asked, rubbing my face. I just wanted to go back to sleep. “Fuck.”

“Is it such a crime for me to express my fondness for you through whimsical nicknames?” he asked. “Here.” He held his hand out.

I looked at him, struggling to keep my eyes open, not sure what he was offering.

“I can give you a little boost. If you want. You look half-dead yourself, and we’ve got a lot of day left.”

My first instinct was to say no, but he’d never offered this before. Although I think it’s the first time he’s been around me after I’ve used a lot of juice, so it probably just hadn’t come up before. “Do I just take your hand?”

“Nobody ever done this for you before?” He asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m basically a hermit.”

“Yeah, take my hand, and a deep breath.”

I was very uncertain but, as much as he’s annoyed me over the years, I did trust that he wouldn’t hurt me.

I took his hand, and the breath wasn’t really voluntary.

It wasn’t quite like being electrocuted, but it wasn’t not like that, either. It was like you could be electrocuted by a cold wind, maybe. It was like being electrocuted, if that felt like swallowing a mouthful of crushed ice very suddenly.

It didn’t hurt, but it was very sudden, and bracing in a way I hadn’t expected.

It made me shivery all over, for a second.

“Alright?”

I nodded. “I’m awake, now,” I said.

“Good.” He squeezed my hand before he let go, and we got out.

It took an act of force not to shake my hand or rub it or be weird about it, I just grabbed my backpack and stuck the offending hand in my pocket.

Been a long damned time since anybody’d held my hand, and I wasn’t going to have weird feelings about Callahan, for Christ’s sake.

Just a little touch starved, that’s all.

The boys were waiting, looking nervous. “Stay right here,” he told them, and we walked up to the house.

It looked like your bog standard ranch style house, built sometime in the 70s. They’re really common out here. The brick had been painted with some sort of off white, which did sort of personally offend me, but what the hell? It wasn’t my house.

Had one of those high wooden privacy fences for the immediate back yard, it looked pretty new.

There were what I would bet used to be flower beds that ran along the front of the house, but they’d been filled in with pea gravel and nothing else, not even the odd decorative stone. I probed to see if I could sense anything, but there was nothing.

The porch had an old straw Welcome mat, and the door was painted a sort of powdery gray blue. There were no other decorations, which I thought was a bit odd.

I did see one of those hide-a-key rocks up in the corner of one of the flower beds, just poking up through the gravel. I don’t think I’d have noticed it if I hadn’t been marveling at the lack of ornamentation. The flower beds were edged in stone, and this was kind of tucked under the stone.

There was also one of those doorbell cameras, and a security camera was hanging under the light on the garage. Light looked to be on a motion sensor. There was also a security sticker in the window, but on further notice, it was just a warning that there was a doorbell security camera.

Callahan walked right up to the door and knocked. He did prefer the direct approach but, in fairness to him, it usually paid off. I followed, mostly because I’m nosier than I am anti-social.

A tall woman who looked to be- well, look, I don’t know. Maybe ten, fifteen years older than me? I’m not good at guessing ages, but maybe in her mid fifties?

She had that kind of golden pearly blonde hair color that ‘ladies of a certain age’ dye their hair to disguise that it’s going gray. It looked fine on her, she carried blonde well. Kinda tan, blue eyes. Pretty, older woman who wasn't quite elderly.

She sneered as soon as she saw us.

Callahan, however, is not now nor ever was a man to be deterred by someone who is not pleased to see him, as I can personally attest. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I know this is an odd question, but has someone come around, and tried to break into your backyard?”

She blinked at us, taken aback enough that it knocked the sneer off her face for a second.

I could see, in her eyes, she knew what we were asking about.

“Yes,” she said, after a long moment of looking us over and deciding dealing with us was acceptable. “Some crazy woman, a couple of times, right after we moved in. That first month. I called the cops, but she left before they got here. That’s been it. Why? That’s an oddly specific thing to ask about.” She gave me a particularly hard look.

Hm. I wonder if their mom is short.

“Well, their mom is… we’re trying to figure out where she is,” he said, pointing to the boys. “She’s kind of hard to get hold of, but we need her to sign some paperwork. You haven’t seen her, lately? Or have anything odd going on in your yard?”

She crossed her arms, shook her head. “What’s her obsession with the yard?” she asked.

“Her folks used to live here, and they buried a time capsule in the yard with some beanie babies or something in it, she thinks it’ll be worth a damn if it’s dug up,” he said. “Have you seen anything lately? Even just… you know, someone lurkin?”

“Nobody’s been here who shouldn’t be,” she said. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

“If I leave a number with you-”

“If I see her, I’m calling the cops. You can deal with her then.” She shut the door.

“Well,” I said. “Huh.”

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said.

We headed out to the truck- we’d parked on the street. When I looked back at the house, she was on the phone, peering out a window at us.

She twitched the curtain shut when she saw me glance.

“I bet I know why the cops took a while to get here,” I said.

“Yeah, she definitely seems like she likes to chat to dispatch, don’t she?” Callahan asked, as we came close enough to talk to the boys without yelling.

“Nothing?” Jacob asked.

“No, and she’s definitely the kind of person who’d kick up a fuss about strangers digging in her yard,” I said. “Apparently your mom was out here a couple of times right after they moved in, but-”

He sighed. “That sounds like her. But not since?”

“No.”

“Sorry, boys. This is a dead end. We’ll meet you at the graveyard,” Callahan said, and we got back in the truck and headed out, though he waited to start driving until the boys pulled out.

He’s that kind of guy. He’s never dropped me off anywhere without waiting until I was in the door before he left.

“We might have to come back and check her yard in the dark,” he said. “Depends on what we find at the cemetery.”

“Oh, joy,” I said. I agreed, though. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve snuck into someone’s yard. Or the second.

A lot of people panic and bury bodies in the yard or basement or whatever.

“Yeah. We’ll probably need to do some spell making, I don’t think I’m kitted out for a break in.”

I nodded. “I have a couple of ‘don’t look at me’ spells, but nothing more complicated than that, and I saw at least two cameras out front, she could easily have more,” I said. "Probably not tonight."

“Yeah, it’s a look before you leap kind of situation.” There is some magic that interferes with cameras, but glamours of any kind don’t work on them- cameras don’t have a mind to be altered, they tended to see reality. You have to block them, or disable them. “High fence around the back yard, did you notice?”

“Yep. Looked new, I think. The flower beds were all empty, nothing decorative, just the gravel.”

“No root systems, or nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing that I could feel. Could be they had some kind of minor disaster and just ripped everything out and are waiting for the spring, or something.

He nodded. “I think once we hit the graveyard, our next priority has got to be tracking their mom down. We’ll save the yard for last resort.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that really feels like the key to this whole thing.” Also, I hated nothing more than talking to the cops, and that was basically guaranteed if we had to get into this lady’s yard.

We lapsed into silence, as he drove, following the boys.

“Does it really bother you when I call you Tabby?” The question seemed to burst out of him. “It’s hard to tell when you’re genuinely being mad at me, but we’ve known each other for years. I’m just being friendly.” He really seemed upset about it.

I was kind of taken aback by how upset he was, actually. “It’s hard to take someone being that familiar with me when that person regularly accuses me of atrocious things,” I said. “You call me a necromancer and accuse me of doing foul things to my neighbor’s chickens out of one side of your mouth, and call me by nickname out of the other? It doesn’t feel friendly, it feels patronizing.”

“I’m- I swear, I’m jokin, mostly.”

“Mostly,” I said.

“Well-”

“Like I haven’t had people say that shit to me my whole fuckin life. It’s not funny, Callahan, it pisses me off.”

“But it’s me! I don’t mean anything by it.”

I cannot stand that whiny ass thing he does when he’s wrong and he knows it. “Yes, you do. You may not mean much by it, but you do mean something by it. You do think that one day I am gonna snap and start doing heinous shit. So you always ask, you always gotta get your digs in, you always gotta make sure I know that you’re a fuckin threat to me. One call to the council and I’m bound up, yeah?”

“Oh, come on, Tabitha,” he said. “That’s not-”

“And we haven’t ‘known each other for years’. We’ve spent about 2, 3 months in each other’s presence over the course of… I don’t know, 7 or 8 years, I guess? We don’t hang out, and we’re not friends. You don’t even call me when you’re gonna come out to visit, because you think I’ll take off, or some shit. You treat me like a murderer in waiting, not a colleague, not a friend. No, I don’t like it when you call me Tabby.”

“Well,” he said. “Fine!” He sounded really upset. "Then I won't!"

I tipped my head back against the seat, fucking annoyed. Of course, this is somehow my fault.

Look, it’s not like I hate him or anything. I actually think he’s overall a decent guy, and once I’ve told him it wasn’t me, he drops it. He always believes me.

I trust him, to the extent that I trust anybody.

But the fact that we have to do the same damned song and dance every fuckin time, and then he acts like I’m being a big old grouchy bitch for fun, instead of being genuinely frustrated that I have to drop everything on no notice to help him out after being accused of raising the dead.

He has my number! He could just call me and ask me to drive out to Macomb and give him a hand. I would, I could use the money! I always do it even when he's pissed me off, if he asked me nicely, I think we might actually manage to get through a job without at least one of these little fuckin tiffs.

So, obviously, I spent the rest of our drive quietly stewing, and I think it’s a fairly reasonable guess to say the same was true of him. But we did get to the cemetery.

It was a dinky little cemetery in the middle of nowhere. It’s just a flat spot where they bury people between pastures, to be quite honest. There’s a fence, chain link, but not particularly tall. Both entrances had signs over the entrance, and there were fences they could gate shut. A particularly determined toddler could scale this fence without too much trouble.

I could see the graves in question- I was pretty sure, anyway. It wasn’t a large graveyard, and there was police tape set up on some of those metal stakes, though the police tape had already started to tatter in the wind. There was also a mound of earth right there.

It’s May in Oklahoma, what can you do? Wind’s gonna blow.

The boys turned into the cemetery, and we followed. I gently probed at the magic in the area.

It was sloshing like crazy, churning and shifting and moving enough that I almost immediately got motion sick, which never happened to me. I’d never seen this before, usually something like this felt more like an open would, bleeding and painful.

Before I got the chance to tell Callahan to stop so I could get out, he was stopping, and I scrambled for my belt, dropping out of the truck and falling to my knees, gagging in the grass besides the little bitty ‘road’ (grassy lane with twin lines of worn in tire tracks) that we were on.

“Shit a brick,” I heard him say, and it wasn’t a second or two before he was next to me, rubbing my back as I gagged and spat and gagged and spat, and finally puked up a little bit of bile.

I hadn’t even had the damned energy drink, I remembered.

I sucked magic in, trying to soothe myself, trying to settle the churning. Pushing magic back out. Like breathing, in and out.

“Do we have water?” I asked Callahan. My voice was hoarse, and I fucking hated how close to tears I sounded.

“We got some, Miss Tabby,” Dylan said, running back to their truck, and coming back with a kinda cold bottle, unopened.

“Bless you, hon,” I told him, rinsing and spitting, before gulping several big gulps, and taking some deep breaths. “So, bad news,” I told Callahan. “This is a new thing, I don’t know what this is, but this is new feeling, the magic’s- it made me motion sick, it’s heaving and churning and-” I sniffed. I was not gonna cry in front of these boys.

He nodded. “You feeling up to looking at the graves?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I wasn't sure, but I needed to, anyway.

“Here,” he took my arm, helped me stand up. He kept his hand on my back as I walked over to the graves- he’d never done that before, but I’ll admit, I took comfort in it.

The graves were- they were null. Like a dead battery. No leaking, no remnants- gone.

They were rectangles left in the dirt- the cops had scooped out the coffins, it looked like, or the boys had had them pulled out, so their grandparents could be reburied.

But that wouldn’t do it. There’d be lingering magic, here, and in the dirt. Not just of the grandparents, but of all the other things in the dirt- bugs and such.

Not from the bodies, they were sealed up, but. You know. It’s dirt. There’s bugs, often dead ones. There should have been something.

But it was gone.

Someone had, with extreme care and precision, extracted every last drop of death magic from those two graves, and nowhere else in the cemetery.

This wasn’t some upset kid or a teenager who’d gotten into some old books. This was the real deal.

This was a Necromancer.

<<First Next> Latest>>

If you read this and enjoyed it, maybe you want to help out and contribute to my ko-fi? I'm disabled and that's the best way for me to earn a living right now! Check out my masterpost for other fiction.

[unknown-cold]

It's funny and weird at the same time how some people call Caitlyn's Evil Cop, or Bad Character, Dictator or whatever. SHE IS NOT!!

Like let's be serious guys, we never saw her kill an innocent person, even when my friend saw the show he is not a fan of Arcane but he saw a lot of comments about it and I also urged him to watch it after all the excitement around it when I asked him about his opinion on the show and especially the character of Caitlyn he told me, he expected after all the posts and comments about her that she would go to Zaun and kill people with her gun he didn't expect that she just wears a costume that looks like a vampire and looks tough and mean, she would get this much hate. He even asked me why people don't talk or blame Ambessa isn't she the main reason behind most of the problems in this season and also Singed or even Silco and his allies?

I couldn't answer him except that people have double standards and are hypocrites because their criticism of Caitlyn's character is not because she did one bad thing but because she is from Piltover and an enforcer. I'm sure if Caitlyn was from Zaun and did worse things they would sympathize with her and love her, so their criticism is so hypocritical and has double standards. In short, their criticism of a character is not because she did bad things, but because of who she is and where she is from.

They forget that silco and his allies kills a lot of people and children, mainly people from the undercity, even kids and he was pay enforcers to kill anyone who opposed him. And in LOL have put a mini game on the clien and there you could find out that Silco use kids as lab rat to test the chem tanks.

If you're really mad at Caitlyn for her bad actions, so why do you sympathize with these criminals??

Btw, I'm glad Caitlyn took them down. They deserved it, for what they did to the Zaun people during Silco's 7 years of rule. He kills an entire family just to control Zaun and flooding an entire city with shimmer.

And I'm sure now someone will come and tell me that Caitlyn used the gas on all of Zaun and killed people with it. Seriously idiot where did you get this? Can you show me a picture from the show that people died because of grey, and if it's true then the characters must are talking about it, that Caitlyn uses grey to kill innocent people. So this claim is not true, we saw at the beginning of episode 3 how Caitlyn used the gas strategically and not randomly and Amanda confirmed that. So she used it to catch gangs there. Bc seriously, 5 people wouldn't go to catch hundreds of gang members that easily, and also if one of the people got hurt Ekko would have talked about it and we know that Ekko is the most loyal person to his people, so even Ekko himself didn't complain about using grey, he and Scar were talking about the gangs that were working with Silco, and they didn't care about gas, why? Because this gas didn't hurt them.

This is clear evidence. What more do you want? The writers confirmed and even in the art book, it is written that Caitlyn used it to take down the Chem-Barons goons and not to eliminate the Zaun people as some stupid claim.

Even if it hurt them and that using it was an evil act, why didn't you say this when Jinx used it on Piltover and injured innocent people, women and children, she didn't target enforcers for example, Jinx use the Grey randomly unlike Caitlyn, but is anyone talking about this? Of course not. And worse when I saw comments saying that Jinx should blow up Piltover again and eliminate the people of Piltover. Like some people have shown their true colors, that they don't care if a character did something bad or good, all they care about is who this character is.

And because Jinx is from Zaun and they have every right to do bad things, but Piltover doesn't even if they do good things they are still bad, what a shallow and ridiculous thinking. some Arcane fandom are probably the most stupid fandom nowadays, to them everyone from Zaun is a perfect angel who never do nothing wrong, everyone from Piltover is a monster with no feelings

The show is not black and white there is not one side is good and another side is bad, that only exists in Disney movies, go and watch it if you are this kind of boring and traditional storytelling.

Arcane proves every day that this show is not for everyone and if you want to enjoy it you have to open your mind well and be open-minded, and most importantly put politics and real life issues aside, and enjoy this fantasy world with flawed characters and good writing. (This show is not designed to solve political issues at the end of the day. It is a show based on a video game)

So there is no need to take this show seriously and insult people and spread false allegations about people who love a fictional character just to feel that you are morally superior, do not see that you look like asshole 🙂

[daemonbrain]

a/n: Shamelessly inspired by the fact I hit a curb, ran a stop sign, and almost hit a mailbox within 5 minutes of each other. So I present to you Graves x reader who can't drive! Feel free to drop a comment 🫶

Phillip Graves who loves exactly three things: His shadows, his truck, and his girl.

The downside? He has to keep the three things as far from each other as possible.

He would be damned if he let his pretty girlfriend know about all the questionable things he did for work. All you needed to know was he handled things, brought home the bread, and came crawling right on back as soon as he could.

But as he sat in the passenger seat of his F-150, he knew damn well he'd tell you every shady dealing or national secret him and his shadows have ever learnt to get you the hell away from the wheel.

He thought it was a joke when you hopped into the drivers seat! You had booked a reservation for some sushi place you liked and he had taken a little too long to get ready, only hurrying down when he heard the yell of his name.

"I'm comin', i'm going!" He mumbled.

You stood ready by the door with a smile. You dangled his keys in front of your face and to be entirely honest Phill didn't pay attention to a word you said.

How could he? Your hair all done up, a nice pair of heels, and a dress he's never seen before but is sure that it's somewhere on his bank statement. Too much time staring at your moving mouth, not enough time on it.

Interrupting you mid-sentance, he pulls you in for a gentle kiss. When your hands went to caress the stubble on his cheek, he responded with a groan and a bite on your lower lip, feeling his heart beat with fondness for the lovely lady in front of him.

Pulling away only a fraction, you look up at him with those eyes he could never resist.

"Is that a yes then?" You said, excitement clear in your tone.

Leaning back in, he presses his mouth to yours again. After a moment he digs his fingers to your waist, causing you to swat at his arm.

"Earth to Phill?! Yes or no?" You repeated. Groaning, he rolled his eyes and reluctantly separated from your body.

"Whatever you want sweetheart."

Which is how he finds himself in this precarious position. It was no ones fault but his own and now he was gonna pay big time. You had hopped right into the drivers seat leaving your dumbfounded partner to connect the dots on his own.

He should have objected thinking back, he really really should have. Commander Phillip Graves who has been around the globe, shot at, and knocked around more times than he can count did not want to deal with the fallback of wrangling you out of there.

When you reached your hand out to switch the gear, instead of holding the break like you should've, the loud sound of the engine revving blasted in his ears as you pressed the accelerator. You jolted in your seat, instinctually grabbing his forearm.

"Baby! You hit the gas."

Upon seeing his widened eyes, you couldn't help but chuckle. Laughing it off, you apologize and start up the truck.

At least that incident was stationary. It got so much worse.

"Shit, that was a trashcan."

"Phill turn up the music. That ambulance siren is distracting me."

"Did I just roll that stop sign?"

He was gonna die in this metal box. The two things he loved most were going to kill him. Phillip Graves death by bomb? No, Phillip Graves death by his wonderful girlfriends horrible driving.

In fact, he'd probably have a better chance if he had been in that tank than with you.

"Hon you're uh- this is a 35 zone and you're goin' 58."

You made a pfft sound and waved him off. Gosh he really wished you kept both of your hands tight on that wheel at this speed (at any speed really).

"Those things are like suggestions. This could totally be like a 45." You said.

"You'd still be- oomph!" Phillip was interrupted by his body being jerked against his seatbelt. Without a moments delay, his arm shot across your chest to keep you firmly pressed to the back of the seat.

Without a second of acknowledgment you slap the steering wheel with a scoff.

"Come on, that was bullshit! Hardly enough time to stop." You complained while staring at the shine of the red traffic light.

"Well maybe if you-"

Nope. Not gonna do that. He didn't even have a chance to raise his voice a note higher before you were glowering his way. No thank you ma'am.

"Nothin'. You're right. Bullshit."

He would hide the keys away from you from now on. He'd dig through your purse when you went to the washroom and snatch them up before you'd even have the chance to ask to drive home.

If Phill was gonna die any other way than old age amongst the horde of kids and grand-babies y'all would have together one day, it was not gonna be because you flung him into a fuckin' electrical pole.

Suddenly, the truck began to move faster...

and faster...

The moment he heard your squeal, his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Phill! Phill my heel is stuck-" The panic in your voice was palpable, the sight of cars in the distance coming closer in view by the second. Tears had begun to gather at your lash line in alarm.

With the reflexes as a man with his own PMC, his unclicks his seatbelt and practically flings himself over the console. Grabbing your foot, he jiggles it from the wedge it trapped itself and pushed on to the break you had made no attempt to use.

Another hard stop, but one made just in time before any collision could take place. Snapping out of your stupor, you allow the truck to slowly roll for a moment while a red faced Phillip looked at you with fury that knew no bounds.

"Pull over."

With a grimace, you attempted to reply. Only to have Phill grab the wheel and fully turn you to the side of the road, signaling and all.

Clicking on the emergency lights as he opens, exits, and closes his door while you still reeled from your miiiiinor incident.

Opening your door, his stern expression warranted no argument as he held a hand out to help you down.

"Out right now. No buts or nothin'."

Hastily complying, you slip your palm into his and scampered to the passenger seat.

After you buckled your seatbelt in and Phill had time to huff and rejoin the road, he uses his free hand to grab on to yours and press a tender kiss to your knuckles while keeping his blue eyes stubbornly fixed forward.

…

Safe to say you let him play his own music this time.

[madebyrolo]

𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺

Jj Maybank x reader

she/her

Dating jj has its up and downs. Growing up with an abusive father and no mother figure had him feeling alone, never feeling comfortable or lovable. Once he meets y/n his walls slowly start to come down but it takes awhile for him to accept he matters.

Obx masterlist

⋆｡⋆｡° 𓆉*ੈ‧₊˚ ༘⋆

As y/n laid with Jj in the hamock of John Bs. chateau, Jj stared at her in awe. Taking in every inch of her. If you were to put a 13 year old boy right beside him you wouldn't know which was which.

He didn't have much but one thing he did have was you, and it was worth more than anything in the world.

Call him a kook because he was rich in love.

He was happy. You were by far the best person he’s ever met on Kildare island, though don’t tell John B that.

══════════════════════

Y/n and Jj limbs were tangled in the hammock

They have been laying together almost all afternoon, you would be surprised that Jj hasn’t taken a nap yet.

You guys were talking the day away, like how you were able to score more hours at the small boutique you worked at. How Jj almost convinced a kooks dog to go home with him (thankfully he called you to show the cute little guy and you were table to talk some sense into him.)

But mainly it was you doing the talking, Jj just watched and listened. But he was fine with that.

He watched you in awe, with love and lust filmed eyes

He knew your face too well. Every emotion, muscle movement, the “imperfections”. He practically studied it and Jj doesn’t even own a single book.

He knew the way your eyes lit up when you would get happy or excited. How your brows scrunched when you were confused. The bite marks on your lips when you would get confused.

You would tell Jj everything and anything

Telling the blonde every small little details about your day knowing Jj didnt have to know how long it took the duck to cross the street.

The way you couldn’t tell a story without forgetting a small detail and making it 10x more longer than it needed to be.

The way your tounge would slip and stuttered on words.

He just always looked at you with stars in his eyes.

As you continued to talk you mention about your encounter at the gas station earlier today.

“So after I dropped off my brother at practice I stopped to get gas, I just hate how he has to be good enough for a team all the way on Figure 8.” You huff

“The funny thing is that when I was filling up this dude pulled up with his truck right beside me.”

Jj immediately perked up.

“He was talking to me, making convo for some reason. It wasn’t too bad I guess he was nice, but then started making some flirty comments. He was trying to hint on taking me on a date but thankfully my tank filled up right on time.” You told Jj

“Oh um I bet that was uncomfortable for you I’m sorry.” He said as he was more uncomfortable with it.

“It wasn’t bad. He was nice with it unlike the others just straight up being douchebags” you rolled your eyes.

“He even offered to pay my gas but I wouldn’t let him. I should’ve tho it was like $80 bucks”’ you smile to yourself trying to make heart of the situation

“Did you get his name?” Jj asked starting to feel a bit queezy.

“Jj it doesn’t matter anyways. I don’t want you to get into fights, you know I hate it.” You knew what would happen if Jj were to find out

“Yea whatever come on tell me who it is. We’re supposed to tell each other everything yeah ?” He moved your chin to look at him, with his brow cocking

“Ugh fine. But don’t go starting something okay?” You said trying to plead with him

“it was topper” you say lowly

Just by hearing the first syllable he immediately started fuming

“Topper!? Really ? Oh my god that man has balls” he said removing you from him

“Jj please dont-” you winced

“he knows we’re together why would he even try it?” He said getting defensive

“His whole friend group is quite literally obsessed with us, he would’ve, should’ve know we are together? This wouldn’t even be his first time hitting on you, and yet still getting rejected!” the blonde chuckled while putting his shoes on

“He’s been trying even before we got together, hasn’t he gotten a clue?” Jj now walking out the hammock

“Jj where are you going ?” You complained

“Look we’re pouges? He clearly knows that. He hates us for god sakes. He a kook, why would they go after pouge, let alone one they hate. Are they bored with what they have? ‘anything they want yet, crave what’s not theirs.” jj said clearly angry and jealous.

You saw him headed towards the woods.

“Jj please dont go” you said attempting to get out the hammock without rolling off.

“Topper, the kooks in general, they don’t matter to us. They shouldn’t” you raised your voice as the boy disappeared in the trees.

Y/n finally gets out, she puts her shoes on trying to follow the boy she lost vision of.

As she followed the trail she ended up in deep in the middle of the woods but no sign of Jj.

She kept walking hoping to find him somewhere, it wasn’t hard to hide but how far can he go? She continued walking getting closer to the edge of the island near the bay.

After 10 minutes of walking though twigs and hopefully not poison ivy, she found him.

He was sitting on a small abandoned old boat, covered in grime on the outside but perfectly clean on the inside with blankets. Now knowing he’s been here before.

“Hey Jay” you said walking up to him. He was laying on the floor of the boat with his vape on his chest.

He didn’t say anything, he just gave a nod and just stared at the sky. Clearly lost in thoughts, sadness lingering his eyes.

“Jj please. Whats wrong ? Talk to me.” you asked

You joined him in the boat, sitting beside him. You placed your hand on his head, stroking his blonde locks.

He didn’t budge, just laid there hopelessly. She gave him a couple of minutes to wind down before she asked anything.

“Jj we promised to tell eachother everything.” You pleaded with the boy grabbing his hands tangling your fingers putting them into your lap.

“I just find it funny that they want everything. Even when it’s not theirs.” He said with his jaw locking.

“They claim to hate us pouges. Treat us like scum, yet they are so obsessed with you. I don’t get it?” He said with a breathily laugh

“Make it make sense am I right?” He tried to mask he sadness with humor like always does.

“Jj they’re kooks, they’re hungry for anything they can put their hands on.” You said trying to ease him

“It doesn’t matter-”

“but it does ! It matters y/n?!” He raised his voice.

Jj sits ups

“They absolutely hate us, especially me and John B. I don’t know if them flirting with you is just to get me but if it is, it’s working.”

“Jj you know I would never, ever leave you. Not for money, not for looks, not for anything.” Now you grab his heading turning it to you.

“I love you Jj. I would never let anything or anyone come between us, and I know you wouldn’t too.”

He searched your eyes looking to see if you were just saying that to shut him up or telling the truth.

And you were.

but he just couldn’t bare the fact that other people had eyes on you. On His girl.

Jj loved you. He made sure to tell you every second he could.

He was greatful to have you in his life.

He felt like he was in denial or living in his dreams knowing that you wait for me just outside of his sleep.

Just trying to understand his fucked up life.

He didn't have much but he had you.

He was happy for a spilt second. He believed you. You loved him and he loved you. Everyone saw it.

John B and Sarah were sick of how in love you guys were, and they were engaged.

Thoughts now lingering in his head what he would ever do if he lost you.

Knowing you had the eyes of everyone including kooks on you.

You reassured him everytime something bother him.

He knows how easy it is for people to leave him.

But it ripped his soul out knowing you could leave him. That it was an option.

He knew topper, and hell even Rafe had eyes at one point had eyes on her. On his Y/n.

They were rich, smart, handsome, confident, even going to church every Sunday. The “safe”option.

They were everything he wasn’t.

“Can’t even blame him” jj said putting his head down, whipping his mouth with his tounge sticking his cheek.

“What? Jj what do you mean?” you ask him

“Look at you y/n…” he started

“You’re so smart, you’re like at the top of our class. So nice it’s literally giving me a sweet tooth just sitting here. You’re just so perfect.”

“You help take care of your brother when your mom either works days shifts so she’s home when you guys are. You literally volunteer anytime you can. You can get a paycheck but you don’t care about the money when you know how much it can help others. You are the most kind hearted person I know, you don’t take anyone’s shit. You stand up for yourself, I even saw you smack John b for making a joke about Sarah his own girlfriend .”

“Fiancé, She’s still a human, fucking or not it was disrespectful.”

“You aren’t like me. You’re loving and caring, you spend your time helping others. I just can’t understand how you can even consider me the person you love.”

“Jj i don’t believe any of the stuff-”

“Why me? Am I just a charity cost? A bet between you and topper who is just teasing me, or-“

“Jj enough! I’m not going to sit here and hear you talk so terribly about yourself !”

“You may not think you’re a good guy but I see it everyday! When my car breaks down you fix it, when I need help with my brother you come swooping in. When I’m sick you’re immediately at my door step with snacks and medicine. Hell you even made me the most delicious homemade soup and we all know you can’t cook for shit. You pick me up,offer me rides, watch movies I know you hate.” You give him a soft smile just adoring the boy

“And you love me. I hate to admit but I was jealous of all the hooks up before me” you say embarrassed

“But I know how hard it is for you to open up and just to let people in. I know how hard it is for you to trust anyone and yet you gave me the chance”

Jj now looks at you with guilt in his eyes

“We may not give each other silver jewelry, but you gave me your heart. That’s worth more than anything in the world.” You caress his face

“I love you Jj, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind being stuck with you forever” you joke

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just want to make sure you’re happy with, or without me. I love you i truly do. I just have a hard time accepting it.”

“It’s okay. I just don’t need you changing up on me. Just remember that you can always talk to me” you push his hair out his face.

“What if I were to change your last name” he smirks looking down at your lips

“See, there’s the Jj I know.” You were relieved that he was happy again

“I’m sorry for making you think we weren’t okay. I just can’t help that -”

“That you were talking nonsense? That you equally obsessed with me as them, what if you guys are in love with each other and I’m the joke?” You joke with him

“Please, he would be lucky to to get with me” Jj says grabbing your hands

“Guess im the luckiest of them all huh?” You look down at his lips

“Just like a beautiful boy with Steve Carrel” Jj joked making a reference from when you made him watch the film.

“My beautiful boy.” you say leaning in for a kiss

But before Jj could connect your lips he backs up.

“Wait you never answered me. What if I were to give you the title of Mrs.Maybank ” He smiled

“Doesn’t sound too bad” you said leaning back in

“Might have to do. I like it a lot.” you smile

“Good because you didn’t have a choice either way….”

═════════════════════

Ahh sorry for being not posting anything in months !!

Haven’t had any motivation or ideas but here’s a cute little Jj Maybank story :)

[lokilysolbitch]

wait okay so. if you stop viewing adhd as a focus issue and frame it as a internal dopamine functions aren't working issue. and if you need dopamine to do things. then. instead of thinking how can i make myself focus. you can just think how do i get external dopamine sources to make my brain machine go.

im not focusing because im not getting my internal reward im biologically supposed to get. that's why im unmotivated. i brush my teeth and i get no internal sense of satisfaction. so now i don't want to brush my teeth. if i'm not getting an internal sense of satisfaction for doing things then most tasks feel worthless. which can look like or turn into depression.

but then i find one source or one task with a bunch of dopamine like a certain fidget or hobby (recently it's been diamond painting for me) and suddenly im fine again because my brain is no longer starving. suddenly i can focus on my lectures playing in the background when im getting little hits of external dopamine from putting diamonds in the right spot. im getting the sense of satisfaction that everyone else was already getting.

or like. one day im trying to read a textbook and the words are just. not getting into my brain. so i give up and play genshin for a bit. i get dopamine in my brain. i turn back to the textbook. and suddenly. i can read again. i read for a few minutes and i'm not comprehending it anymore. i play genshin for a few minutes and then turn back to the textbook. and then i can read again. again.

people have already been saying this but it really clicked yesterday when i was trying to read a textbook for a class i love bc it's connected to a special interest but i didn't like the current chapter topic. so i wasn't getting any dopamine from the content. and of course i wasn't getting any dopamine from the act of completing the task of reading. and i was trying to think of ways i needed to multitask to focus. but i noticed i kept switching from tiktok to reading which helped. like id watch some tiktoks and there would be like a mental feeling of "okay we're at 100%" and is just toss my phone and start reading. like i didn't have to tear myself away from it.

i was literally feeding my brain. and just stopped once i got full. like putting gas in the car.

that's why i only use things if they have pretty colors or some sort of pleasing sensory input. that's where my dopamines coming from. that's why a sticker chart and playing music while brushing my teeth helped so much. to give me the sense of satisfaction i wasn't getting from my own brain.

that's why giving myself the rewards at the end of tasks didn't always work. you can't reward a car with gas if the tank is empty. i needed the dopamine to start the tasks, and more dopamine intermittently to continue longer tasks.

anyways. i'm gonna stop holding off from doing fun shit until after i finish tasks. bc in hindsight i always did better work when i put the fun stuff first. and i'm gonna stop wasting time waiting for my brain car to go when the tank was empty the whole time.

i left mid post for a little bit and came back and i didn't proofread this and it's also unfinished but i'm posting it now bc. i have DID i don't member exactly what i was tryna say. and personally i'm not reading all that.

TLDR: stop treating adhd like it's mainly a focus issue. treat it like dopamine is an external resource and it acts as gas for your brain car. how can i focus better❌ what satisfying thing can i do to help my brain initiate/focus on this task✅

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joel's arrival in Jackson has the past twenty years of memories spilling into his mind like an uncontrollable flood of pain and regret.

Warnings: Langauge in line with the show, child death, Joel has a peeping tom moment, but we'll have to forgive him. Mentions of virginity.

Word Count: 3.5k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Winter 2023

Joel swears his heart has stopped the moment his eyes meet yours. His name falls from your lips and suddenly he's 35 again, laughing with you in coffee shops and holding you close on his couch during movie nights.

How long had his subconscious wished for over the years? How long had he been yearning like this?

Here you are in Jackson, right in front of him. You're a mere 15 feet from him, dressed in oversized overalls and an old winter coat that's seen better days.

Thick rubber boots are on your feet, giving you the illusion you're taller than you truly are.

Even as you stand there, a shovel in your hands as you clear a horse's stall, you're breathtaking.

Joel stumbles a bit as Ellie's words fall on deaf ears. You're looking at him, examining the man before you. Joel feels the way your eyes slink across his face and down his body, almost as if you didn't recognize him.

He finds himself doing the same to you. Trying to put two and two together. Joel's brain tries to replace the version of you that stands before him with the one that has been living in his mind for the past twenty years.

You had been immortal in his eyes. Forever fresh in your youth, a spirited twenty-something who'd captured his heart oh so long ago.

But now he sees he's wrong in that aspect. The beginnings of wrinkles have started in at your eyes, he can see the faintest of smile lines on your face. If he squints he can even see the beginnings of greys in your hairline. Yes, you're different, yet still so familiar.

"Joel? Hello? Do you know her?" Ellie's voice has him nearly jumping out of skin.

His tongue darts out from his mouth to wet his lips, guilt wells up in his chest, guilt from the past and for what he's about to say. It damn near breaks his heart, but the words come anyway, like vomit he can't control,

"No, I don't know her."

August 29, 2003

The past week had been a blur for Joel. Running around to different job sites and soccer practices and games had both his truck's gas tank and him running on empty.

He hadn't had much time to talk to you recently. Either you'd been busy or he had been. Be it classes or work, responsibilities were catching up to both of you.

Joel had read all your texts and listened to your voicemails. Your girlish voice filled his ears as you left inhumanly long messages to tell him about your entire day. From annoying professors to the fat squirrel that slept in the tree outside your window, you told him your days as if he'd been there as well.

"My birthday is today! I got pizza coming and cheap beer. See you later!"

Your warm voice fills Joel's room as he listens to your message from earlier today. He sighs and falls back onto his bed, his phone beeping to let him know the message was done.

You were so forgiving. Joel knew so many women who'd wring their man a new one if they'd been half as busy as he was this past week.

Your gentle and forgiving nature only reminded him of your youth. How truly young and impressionable you were turning out to be.

Joel ran a hand across his weary face. What the fuck was he doing? Messing around with some college kid? Taking her virginity and then practically playing house with her and Sarah for crying out loud.

Guilt swarmed in his chest as he jumped into the shower, hoping the warm water would clear his head.

It was going on eight thirty by the time he was dried off and dressed.

Joel sat in the driver's seat of his truck, the engine idling loudly as he willed his hand to shift the gear into reverse.

He couldn't do this. He was sure of it now as his sharp gaze stared back in the rearview mirror.

Joel was certain he'd ruin your life if he stuck by your side, fear of his own feelings had him moving. He pulled the keys from the ignition and exited his truck. Slamming the door behind him, he fumbled with the keys to his front door, his mind only replaying one thing.

This was all for the best. For you and for him.

October 2, 2003

He couldn't breathe. It was as if the entire universe was trying to strangle him alive.

His head throbbed as he tried to block out the loud clamor of the military. The whirl of helicopters and the rumble of tanks filled his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Warm blood filled the fresh bandage someone had wrapped around his head just a few moments ago. The wound on his head burned as he squeezed tighter.

Perhaps if he could just shut his eyes tight enough, the nightmare would be over. The smell of diesel filled his nose as he clenched his fists at his side.

If he prayed hard enough, it'd be gone, all of it, the military, the horrible wound on his head, the snarl of whatever monsters were lurking outside this First Aid tent he was stuck lying under.

Joel wanted to go home, to Sarah. He wanted to eat pancakes and watch movies on his couch until she fell asleep in his lap. He wanted to drink coffee while Sarah read the Saturday cartoons in the paper, laughing at the ones she loved.

He wanted to spin you around his kitchen in the middle of the night again, dancing to music only the two of you heard. He missed the sweet smell of your perfume and how it'd cling to the sheets after you left his side to get up for the day.

Joel couldn't breathe, the universe was choking him, strangling him alive, and all he wanted was to go home, home to his girls.

Boston, Fall 2022

Tepid water ran over his hands as he tried to clean the blood from his knuckles. He could hear Tess, rummaging around their tiny apartment, most likely looking for something to take the swelling out of Joe's right hand.

"We've got Asprin that expired back in 06'." She said, entering the bathroom, "Unless you wanted to dip into our stash."

Joel thinks about the large bag of pills under their bed and he shakes his head, They'll need all of those to make enough to buy that battery they'd been after for so long.

He pops an Asprin and lets her bandage his hand, trying to ignore the way his skin stings when she pours a bit of whiskey over the wounds.

"Next time don't do this." She sighs as she finishes dressing his knuckles.

"I wasn't the one who started it." Joel hums

Tess rolls her eyes at his comment.

"You could just walk away, y'know." She points out

"And let the entire QZ think they can get away with talking about you like that? About any woman like that? Those guys are-"

"They're like 17, Joel. Weren't even alive when the world ended. Beating them to a pulp isn't solving anything." Tess chastizes

Joel lets out a slight grunt before following her out of the bathroom. He knew she was right, there wasn't a point in beating up a few kids who didn't know their manners.

"Gonna go look for a new pair of boots, mine are shot." He says as he wanders over to the door, "Y'need anything?"

Her loud no fills his ears as he shuts the door behind him.

The Boston QZ is littered with colorful leaves as Joel walks along the sidewalk. FEDRA officers walk along "patrolling" the area.

The loud whoop of two young kids has his ears perking up as a loud hiss and yelp of an animal follow.

Joel peers down an alleyway to find two young kids, looming over a black cat. They tug at the animal's tail as it swats at them.

"Hey."

The gruffness of his voice bounces off the surrounding buildings. They turn to look at him before glancing at each other.

"Leave it."

The kids scamper off and Joel is met with big green eyes and a loud meow, as if the animal is thanking him.

The cat pads over and slinks between his legs, rubbing its face against Joel's shins. He sighs deeply and bends down a bit, listening to the way his knees pop as he scratches behind the animal's ears. He tries to think of the last time he saw an animal this gentle, had to have been back before everything fell to shit.

The fuzzy image of a fat black cat with green eyes and a gold and green collar fills his mind, followed by the soft cooing of a voice that haunts Joel only in the middle of the night once Tess has fallen asleep.

Joel recoils from the cat as if it's burned him somehow. It meows again but Joel ignores it. He turns from the alley and back onto the main sidewalk. His head spins as if he's got a bad case of vertigo.

You're everywhere all at once. As if it's magic you've taken over Boston. You take over his mind for the first time in so many years. The cool fall breeze sings your name as the trees dance with the idea of you. His head swarms as he tries to push it all back.

The memories, your laughter, your scent, you, it's as if you're back, back from the dead to taunt him. God, he had buried you so long ago, he'd let you go the way he'd let Sarah go. Back in Texas, he'd left both of you there, sitting in the past, untouched and undisturbed by what life was now.

You were a storm he'd never see the end of.

November 2023

Ellie watches as the warm light from the campfire reflects off Joel's face. They were in the middle of no where and her companion and protector had finally given in to the idea of heat in the cold November night.

"You ever have a girlfriend? Or wife?" Ellie asks, her bold voice filling the silence.

It had been a question nagging at her for a while now. Joel just seemed so solitary. She couldn't imagine him with anyone like that.

Joel shoots her a look from across the fire.

She hesitates for a moment before continuing, "Or boyfriend?"

Joel gives her another look as if she's truly losing it. Maybe she was, after all, she'd been stuck with him for months now, and traveling the country was enough to make anyone go mad.

He takes a deep breath before fixing his eyes on the burning logs in front of them.

"I've...had both. Wife, girlfriend."

Ellie feels her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The girlfriend thing wasn't all that shocking considering Joel had been alive before the world was fucked.

"Got married young." Joel sighs, "Got divorced maybe a year after that."

"Oh, shit, sorry." Ellie finds herself saying, suddenly feeling bad about asking.

Joel shakes his head, and his gruff voice fills the air, dismissing her worries, "Doesn't matter now."

Ellie slowly nods and her eyes scan Joel's face. She can tell he's holding something back.

"What about the girlfriend?" She asks, the words tumbling out, "Were you and Tess...?"

Joel huffs a breath, still not looking at her, "Tess and I...we....forget about it."

Ellie nods again, figuring he'd want to drop the subject now. Joel didn't like talking about his past with her.

"Only ever had one girlfriend that ever really mattered. Screwed it up though, right before the world went to shit too. " He said staring into the flames as if they'd come to life and jump out to burn him. "She uh...she was really the only relationship that actually mattered to me."

Even above his wife?

Ellie kept that thought in, contrary to popular belief, she did have a filter.

"What happened to her?" She asks instead, curious as to where this mystery girl was now.

"I don't know." Joel says sadly, "She uh...I haven't seen her since before the outbreak. Just always presumed she was y'know...gone."

Ellie nods sympathetically, "Maybe it's better like that...you've only got the good memories of her then."

A beat of silence passes between the two of them before Joel's eyes finally leave the fire and meet Ellie's.

"Yeah...maybe." He sighs

Winter 2023

You watch from a crack in your curtains as Maria shows Joel and the girl to their home. How convenient it was that she had placed him right across the street from you.

Maria knew your history with Joel. Tommy had spilled the beans after arriving in Jackson a few years ago. God, he was annoying sometimes.

You remembered the day Tommy had walked through the gates of Jackson. You had nearly fainted when you saw the younger Miller brother alive and well before you.

You had always hoped he and Joel had survived. Of course, the new world was unpredictable and you never truly knew what happened to them.

The news of Sarah had shattered your heart into a million pieces. Tommy had told you over two steaming mugs of coffee in your house one day. Her name fell from his lips like it was some forbidden word, he'd get in trouble for saying. You couldn't bear to ask how Joel had handled it, you knew how much he'd loved his daughter.

Tommy had slowly walked you through how he and Joel ended up in Boston, and then eventually how he ran off to join the Fireflies and how he'd ended up here.

So many times he'd tried to beckon you to the radio to talk to Joel, who still thought you were dead. You'd pleaded with Tommy not to tell him you were still among the living.

So many years had passed yet you still couldn't process the enigma that was Joel Miller.

Joel couldn't sleep. The soft fabric of the mattress should've lulled him right off yet here he was, tossing and turning beneath the soft sheets.

He slipped out of bed and past Ellie's room. He could hear her snores through the closed door. At least one of them was getting rest, and frankly, she deserved it more than him.

He sat on his front porch step in the cold night air. Across the street, he could see the upstairs lights glow from your home. Tommy had told him you were across the way if he needed anything.

Joel had wanted to kill his brother for not saying anything about you. Tommy had just raised his hands in innocence and told him to talk to you before pointing the accusation at anyone.

Joel watched with wide eyes as you suddenly appeared. One of the illuminated windows turned out to be your bathroom.

He felt a nervous trickle of sweat roll down his back. He should go inside yet it was as if someone had glued his ass to the porch step.

He watched as you stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around your body as you brushed through your wet hair. It was longer than it used to be. Joel recalled that you'd had it tied neatly back earlier but now it was free, framing your face nicely. He couldn't help but wonder if it was still as soft as it was so many years ago when he used to card his fingers through it after you fell asleep beside him.

His brain once again urged him to go inside, were you even aware that your bathroom curtains were sheer? He'd have to tell you, after all, you deserved to have privacy.

Joel felt his heart squeeze as he watched the way you went about your nighttime routine. Brushing your hair and your teeth before reaching for some small pot of what looked like homemade moisturizer.

You were as beautiful as he remembered in all of the dreams that had visited him over the years. It was as if you were a ghost returning from the dead and back to his life, breathing fresh air into it.

He turns away in shame when you drop your towel to dry off. What the fuck was he doing, staring into your window like some creep? He's lucky you didn't spot him and shout out your window to all of Jackson that their newest edition, Joel Miller, was a pervert.

By the time he's gathered the courage to look back up, the light is off and you're gone. Joel lets out a long sigh, his breath mingling in the cool air.

What the fuck was he going to do now?

Next Part

Joel: Woah someone needs to tell reader about her sheer curtains!

Also Joel: I should sit and watch...right???

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly @orcasoul @snowlycanroc @freythecrazyfae

@person-005

[x-oly-x]

Can You Hear Me? [ Seungmin ]

Ghost!Seungmin x Fem!reader

Masterlist

Cw: Brief description of bloodstains. Unknowingly being watched. Swearing (light). ⤑ wc: 4.9k

ׂ╰┈➤ You were going insane, you had to be. That was the only plausible explanation for the constant, sudden appearances of Seungmin, your new neighbour. He constantly popped in and out of your house whenever he wanted, always making sure to disappear whenever anyone else was around... Almost like a ghost.

Moving to a new city was always stressful, but moving across the country after a messy breakup with little to nothing to your name really upped the stakes. It quickly turns what should have been an easy 4 to 5 hour drive into a fun adventure where you get to live off cup noodles and play chicken with your cars gas tank. Who will run out of steam first, you or the hunk of metal you depended on?

At some points, it was bleak. Like being stranded in the middle of an abandoned village, bleak. Somehow, against all odds, you found yourself rolling through Seoul, the loud city quieting as you all but dragged your car to the near-abandoned outskirts and into the neighbourhood you would hopefully call home. The tall, modern skyscrapers faded out into decaying cottages, old homes that hadn't seen any work in decades. Older women watched from their windows, cold eyes filled with judgment as you rolled by, their husbands likely at work or long dead.

You tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere, keeping your eyes straight and avoiding making any potentially challenging glances, but that didn't stop the community from staring at you as you finally rolled up to the decrepit, subdivided house. It had most certainly seen better days, with old wooden panels bloated and buckling. Most of the clay giwa tiles had cracked and shifted away, revealing the thin layering beneath. The small seating area out front was crumbling, a rotted sunning seat sitting on the side opposite yours. The entire area smelled of mildew and smog, clogging your car with the stench despite the refresher hanging by the window. Just staring at the house made you feel sad, sympathetic to the loss of life it had endured. Then again, that was the only reason you were even able to afford to live there.

With old-aged buildings came sleezy landlords and cheap prices, cheap enough for you to outright buy half of the divided home, finally owning something you could fully call yours. You had been interested in the whole house, but the old man had adamantly denied its availability. He spoke low, broken Korean, which made it hard to understand him, so in the end you just gave up, figuring that someone else was likely already living there. Hopefully, they were nice enough, considering you now shared multiple walls with them.

Gathering up as much courage and energy as you could muster, you finally shifted the car into park and began to climb out, nose wrinkling as the smell intensified. The path to the house looked daunting, tiles loose and uneven, but with one last resigned sigh, you grabbed the first few bags and headed towards your new abode. Each step up the disintegrating steps felt like it could be your last, croaking lowly underfoot and bowing. You attempted to avoid the floorboard junctions, where the wood looked weakest, and stumbled to find the key stashed away in your pocket. Low curses passed by your lips as you fumbled, only looking up when you could have sworn you felt eyes on you.

The key was clutched in your hand, still shoved deep in the bag, when you glanced around, hoping to catch whatever peeping tom was enjoying your misery so much. Yet no one was there. Even the grannies sitting in the windows were gone. Still, the pressure of someone staring persisted, making you shiver and your hands shake slightly as you finally placed the key into the lock.

The door creaked like an ancient crypt when you finally got it open, groaning under your weight when you slammed your shoulder against it to move the rusted joints. The assault of dust and mildew almost made you crawl back, unexpectedly filling every inch of your mouth and nose. Quickly, you covered them with the sleeve of your sweater, eyes slightly watery as you fought back a cough. Honestly, the inside of the home wasn't much better than the out, exhibiting the same apocalyptic decay. Cheap wallpaper peeled away from the bloated wood, an ugly shade of faded yellow and smelling of smoke and booze. Across the floor, empty beer bottles and half-smoked cigarettes were scattered, likely from some teens long before you bought the place. It appeared that the landlord hadn't even attempted to make it look livable, but I suppose you get what you pay for.

Too distracted by the disaster in front of you, you failed to notice a shadow shifting in the corner, unseen eyes narrowed down at you. The same intense pressure from earlier persisted, but you were too far gone in planning the great purging of your new home to notice. The figure floated from room to room as you walked, careful not to get too close but never letting you leave its sight. It watched with untrusting eyes as you shuffled about, kicking the bottles closer into a pile and dropping your bags off by what used to be the seating area. Low, displeased mutterances left your pouting lips as you continued to walk, the same disaster greeting you with each turn.

The sight of the bedroom was the final straw, full-on cursing escaping as you stormed back towards the door, nearly running directly into the invisible figure. He jumped back, glaring eyes widening at your vocabulary, before he shifted away from the scene. Outside, you groaned and muttered, hands falling against your face and pulling down. The amount of hard work that needed to be done within that house was already draining the little battery life you had left. The bedroom was a complete disaster zone, with disgusting paraphernalia scattered across the floor and mouse droppings accompanying it. The window was cracked and jacked open with what appeared to be an old crowbar, ruling the lock completely broken. The room was completely unusable until you found a way to keep it closed, and with all the trash scattered around it, you wouldn't be able to sleep there tonight anyway.

The back seat of your car called to you like a desperate lover, reminding you that you could sleep on it for one more night. Who cares about what the old neighbors thought? After all, what were a few more rumours to your already stellar first impression on the neighbourhood? The thought of having to sleep upon the pigstye that was your floor sent shivers down your spine, even with the roll-up futon acting as a barrier. It was decided; you'd put everything into the house tonight and start the cleaning sweep tomorrow when you had a bit more energy. Well, at least enough energy to not crash out and burn the place down as you began to clean.

With one final sigh, and a deep breath of the miraculously less vomit-inducing air outside, you gathered up another row of boxes and trudged back into the war zone. The invisible figure watched the entire fiasco, scoffing as you battled with boxes full of books and artwork. He watched from the upper window as you stumbled over broken tiles and cursed into the open air without care for the elders peaking from their homes. It wasn't long before the sun began to set and you stepped from the house once again.

Unexpectantly, though, you turned to lock the door before shuffling off towards your car. The man watched, expecting you to start it and drive off with loud music blaring from your stereo, announcing your departure. Instead, you opened the back seat and pulled out a folded futon, laying it across the dirty seats of your own car and stumbling to climb inside. He almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous you looked, struggling to get the door closed. Instead, his face remained impassive.

You, having finally closed the stubborn door, huffed and collapsed back against the old cloth beneath you, eyes staring up at the worn ceiling before flickering outside. As you did, you caught the slight movement from one of the windows above, a low shadow shifting, its humanoid shape too blurry to make details of. The man, likely your neighbour, looked down at you with what appeared to be judgment, his head tilted like a dog. Embarrassment flooded your veins briefly before another emotion quickly overtook it. Huffling, you stuck your middle finger up at the voyeur, who appeared completely unbothered before he finally stepped away, leaving your brows furrowed.

"What an asshole."

──── ୨୧ ────

The night had certainly not treated you well, muscles taunt and sore when you finally clambered out of the car. You probably looked like a haggard mess, yesterdays clothes shifted to the side, and your hair greasy, but all you could do was smile and wave at the older occupants who were trying desperately to ignore you. The house loomed before you, a reminder of the absolute chaos that needed to be tamed, so with one last groan of resentment, you trudged into the home and began to get to work.

It took forever, the whole day filled with nothing but sweat and tears. You'd gathered at least 3 bags of trash just after the first hour and another bag full of just beer bottles. Your gloved hands itched from the slime sticking to them, and you had stumbled across far too many stained erotic magazines for your comfort. Even after hours of scrubbing against the floor, a slight sticky residue remained in some places, prompting you to huff and move your cheap shelves to block those areas off.

By the time the sun had crested into evening, your arms felt like they were going to fall off and your new home was finally starting to look livable again. The rag clung to your palm and hung heavily at your side as you looked around, eyes only finding more and more work to do. During your sweep, you suddenly froze, staring towards the door as a man leaned against it. He wasn't talking, seemingly taking his own inventory of the place, until you screamed and threw the dirty rag at him.

Quickly dodging before it could wetly slap against his face, the brunette looked back towards you with equally shocked eyes. "What the hell?"

"What the hell, me? You scoffed, reaching out for the bottle of bleach like a weapon. "What the fuck are you doing in here, you perv!"

Mr. Mystery-man looked back towards the doorway, then you, a few times before he pointed a finger at his chest. "Me? You can se-" Suddenly pausing, like a switch had been flicked, he straightened up and his shocked expression was quickly hidden. "Well, sorry if you didn't hear me come in. Such rude manners."

Your jaw dropped at his informality, "What? Who the hell enters a house that isn't theirs uninvited?"

The man raised a brow before pointing out into the hall. "You left your door open."

Glancing behind him, you cheeks warmed as you realised you had in fact left the old door open, a wide view of the porch unabstructed. "Well, "You cleared your throat, "That still isn't an invite to walk into someones home like you own the place. Who even are you?"

"Kim Seungmin, your..." He trailed off for a second, contemplating before finally landing on, "neighbour."

Your nose scrunched slightly. "So you're the creep who was watching me in my car last night."

Unashamedly, Seungmin shrugged. "Just making sure you weren't some creep planning to burn the place down." He then looked around and tilted his head with a fake-looking innocent smile. "I'm honestly still not convinced you aren't"

"Hey! Would I really torture myself for hours just to burn the place down?" Seungmin shrugged again, gathering his senses and sauntering further in like he owned the place. His eyes ghosted over the books on your shelves with false interest, careful not to touch anything. Careful not to disrupt whatever power that was letting his form stay corporeal for that long.

It was odd having a full-on conversation after so long stuck in one-sided silence, nostalgic in a way that it made his heart clench and his stomach flip. It didn't help that you were quite the odd being, nothing like the grumpy old women who wandered the streets or the scandalous teens who used the house for their parties. You were so... human. So authentic. It was like a breath of fresh air after being buried in a cave for so long.

"Who knows what the lady cursing into the night and sleeping in her car is capable of." His grin widened as you huffed in offense, finally putting the spray bottle down and facing him with your hands on your hips.

"Did you see this place? I would have contracted the plague and died if I'd slept here among the rubbish. At least my car seat doesn't have the chance of giving me an STD just by sitting on it." Your hands frantically gestured to the magazines in the corner and the disarray of your home.

Seungmin actually laughed, large puppy grin stretched painfully across his cheeks. Hell, it had been far too long since he had smiled, let alone laughed aloud. It was so freeing, completely opposite to the dark haze that usually infected his mind, but the dull buzzing beneath his skin reminded him of its temporary nature. "Whatever you say, neighbour."The man turned around, sending you a casual wave of dismissal. "Make sure to close your door next time, eh ___?"

You made a noise of offense, head whipping back around to give the all too casual neighbour a piece of your mind, but he was somehow already gone. The mysterious neighbour left no evidence of his abrupt presence, no lingering cologne or wobbly books. It was as if he had never existed in the first place, blinking in and out of reality within a blink. "What a weirdo."

You were so confused by your new neighbour and his unique demeanor that you had failed to notice one odd thing; you had never told him your name.

──── ୨୧ ────

Over the next few weeks, you learned two things: one, your neighborhood was filled with cryptic old ladies, and two, Seungmin had a nasty habit of disappearing without notice. Those two things combined really led to some unfortunate circumstances, painting you out to be the block nutcase when you rambled off at him, only to suddenly turn around and realise he had stepped back inside from the porch.

The two of you had slowly gotten closer, fueled mainly by the apparent lack of boundaries and dry humor. More often than not, you'd turn around and find him popped into your living room, lounging against the couch or watching whatever drama show you had put on the TV. Despite your insistence on some boundaries, Seungmin acted like a lost puppy, glued to your heels and yelping out unhelpful input on your artworks. It was starting to grow on you, no matter how much you tried to deny it, the man was endeering and hard to hate with his little cheeky grin and dark eyes.

To Seungmin, though, you were far more than just someone he enjoyed tormenting. He'd never tell you, of course, but you were everything that kept him going now. Gone were the days spent staring into the darkness of his boarded-up room, begging to be released from his pain. His spirit felt lighter now, more alive than it had in years.

Of course, he had tried to see how far this new corporeal form could last, but an embarrassing attempted greeting of a woman passing quickly told him everything he needed to know. For some reason, unknown to him and lingering on his every thought, you were still the only person who could see him. The only person with whom he could interact. Everyone else still only saw the invisible hauntings, scrambling in fear when he accidentally moved a chair or stood by the curtain too long.

But Seungmin didn't mind. If he were to have one person to talk to, he was glad it was you. You, with all your fake annoyance, didn't mind his dry humor. You didn't seem to mind him ghosting (pun intended) after you from room to room. Naturally, you had no idea he still followed you long after his energy depleted and left him invisible once more, but what you didn't know wouldn't kill you. He hadn't even meant to make it a habit, but once he arrived back in that damned room, where his blood still visibly stained against the flooring, he knew he couldn't stay away.

It was too dark, the reminder of death too suffocating. With you, there was light - life - to be seen. He finally felt real, not like he was just floating through time, but like he was alive. He wished to reach out and touch the warmth of your skin, feel your pulse beat under his fingertips. But he couldn't, so instead he basked within your presence, content for the time being. Unfortunately, even with all the joys he had experienced in the last few weeks, Seungmin wasn't delusional enough to believe it would last forever. The neighborhood was still filled with elders who knew his story, the true story, and believed that he haunted the house. They weren't wrong - clearly - but it wasn't going to be long before someone finally broke and told you.

When that inevitably happened, Seungmin wasn't sure what he could do. Would you believe them? Scream and run away like so many others did before they even stepped foot into the house? He didn't think his heart, beating or not, could take the sight of you leaving for good. But there would be no way to stop you. His soul was tethered to the house, where he drew his last breath, now his prison for eternity. The furthest he could reach was the delapidated seating area out front.

So instead, Seungmin resigned himself to his fate, filling each day with comfort before someone inevitably burned it all down.

──── ୨୧ ────

As you tended, or at least tried, to the little herb garden out front of your house, a sudden ice-cold hand engulfed your shoulder and sent you scrambling back with a choked scream. The culprate, an older woman with a willowy frame, looked undeterred by your lack of grace and instead simply stared at you with harsh, dead eyes.

Frantically, you tried to calm your heart before you passed out and stuttered out a weak apology. "Hello, sorry ma'am." Licking your lips, you glanced around to see if anyone else was there. "Is there something you need?"

The woman simply stared, gaze unnerving before she looked away and up at the house before you. "You need to leave."

Her voice was raspy, cruel and confusing as you stuttered again. "Excuse me?"

"You need to leave before he gets you too." Her attention drifted from the windows and back into your soul. "If you don't, you're going to die."

Each word she spoke felt like another puzzle, pushing you furtehr from an answer as you scrambled to stand. "Sorry? I don't think I understand."

Her gaze narrowed as she hobbled closer, still looking back every once and a while like the house was going to come alive and eat her. "A ghost, the ghost. He's going to drive you mad."

"Ghost? Ma'am, there's no such thing - do you need help?" You tried to approach again, thinking that the only plausible answer was that the older woman before you was having a crisis. Honestly, ghosts? You knew older generations often believed in the occult, but your house hadn't shown any stereotypical signs of haunting.

The granny nearly hissed, sneering up at you as she began hobbling away, muttering, "Foolish girl. Dead before midnight. Stupid youth," leaving you absolutely gobsmacked.

"What the fuck?" The whole situation left a bad taste in your mouth, just odd enough to stick to your skin like a layer of sweat. Even as you tried to get back into gardening, it kept coming to the surface and flowing through your mind to a point where you simply threw down your shovel and ran inside to get away from the prying eyes.

"Ghosts!? Is she high?" You stormed through your house, feet still clad in boots and likely caking mud across the floor. Unfortunately for future you, you were much too occupied cursing the older woman to ever care for your floors. Cabinets squeaked open and slammed closed as you tried to find something to drink, adding to the intense atmosphere. "And to call me a fool, when she was spouting off death prophecies!? HA."

Seungmin, having been drawn from his typical spiralling by the noise, watched in fascination as you paced. "You okay?"

Too caught up in your frustration, you didn't even jump at his sudden appearance, only glaring quickly. "Our neighbors are insane."

"You're just realising that? We're surrounded by old people, it's kind of inevitable."

You brushed off his attempt at humour, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "This woman just approached me out of nowhere and started ranting about ghosts and death. She said something in the house was going to kill me! Insanity, right?"

Seungmin's blood would have turned cold if he still had any, teasing smile wilting ever so slightly as the g-word escaped your mouth. "Yeah, crazy." He weakly coughed out.

His odd tone immediately caught your attention, pausing the little crisis you had spiralled into and making your eyes search his form. The usual laid-back posture was weakened, his spine curved as if to make himself smaller, and his puppy grin was wilting with each minute. He looked skeptical in his agreement.

"Seungmin?" You moved closer. "Do you honestly believe in ghosts?"

The man stumbled back, "Of course not. Like you said, she was probably just superstitious and thought all the party noises were from spirits." His laughter came out forced, an obvious cover-up that had your brows furrowing. In the time you'd gotten to know him, Seungmin never really gave off the vibe of someone who believed in the supernatural. He'd laugh and mock the characters on the screen, tease you when you watched scary stories. Never had he seemed so skiddish around the topic.

A small bit of regret lined your stomach, suddenly realizing how offensive your anger may have sounded. "If you do, that's fine, I just meant-"

"I know what you meant," Seungmin hurried out, trying desperately to turn the conversation away from ghosts in general, "And I really don't. I just have to get back to my place soon, just popped in to make sure you were still alive." He smiled, so fake it hurt. Your worried expression persisted, and if he could, the man would have been sweating buckets. "Honestly, ___, she was probably just a paranoid old woman."

You stared for a few more seconds, trying to find a string to pull on his lie, but ultimately sighed and turned back around to grab a glass for water. "It was just weird, Minnie, and so random too. You should have seen-" Like he had a habit of doing, Seungmin had once again disappeared when your back was turned, invisible to the eye but still watching.

Your face scrunched, breath hitched before anger overtook your whole body. "That asshole." Slamming the cup down, you stormed out the front door, prompting the ghost to scramble after you. "Seungmin, get your ass out here!" You stopped in front of his door, the same door he constantly told you to never open. He had made up some fake story of it coming off the hinges most of the time, but in reality, it was the only thing keeping his secret a secret.

"___" He scrabbled to gather the energy to form again, basically teleporting behind you when he finally buzzed into reality. "Hey, I said to leave that alone." But it was too late, and as a ghost, he had no power to stop you.

One last slam of your shoulder sent dust flying, the door heaving heavily and bouncing off the wall as you stumbled. It assaulted your nostrils and made you cough frantically, eyes blurry and body swaying. The smell was immediate, even worse than what your own house had been at the beginning. Light weakly filtered through the dust-covered windows, barely highlighting the sections of mold growing in the corners and the spider webs covering every inch of the room.

Your knees shook as you stepped closer, lungs struggling to combat everything filtering through, but you couldn't stop. The furniture was roughly torn and strewn across the floor, but one thing really drew you in. At first, you had thought it was just a spot of water damage, yet with each inch closer, you could see you were certainly wrong. It was brown - no not brown, it was a muddy crimson, tinged red when the light hit it just right. Blood. Blood seeped and stained into the floorboards beside the carpet, a large pool too much for a simple injury.

Your throat felt painfully dry, desperate vocals trying to break through as you scanned the clearly abandoned scene before you. "Seun... Seungmin?"

"I didn't want you to find out like this." His voice was merely whispered behind you, barely standing in his doorway when you slowly turned to face him. His eyes looked teary, scanning the abandoned home he had once lived in with a heavy heart.

Your mind reeled in denial, trying desperately to find some type of reasonable explanation, but as the sun shifted in the sky and shone against his back, your throat closed up. You had never noticed how pale he was before, too distracted by sarcastic quips, but as soon as the sun shone, you realised he wasn't just pale, he was semi-transparent. His skin glinted slightly, and through the faded veins, you could see the path behind him.

Your mouth opened and closed, unable to form a coherant thought as it spiralled from the revilation. Seungmin was a ... "Ghost?"

His face scrunched at the cracked tone, visibly flinching back. "You're dead?" You continued, feeling lightheaded. "How-?"

"I don't know." His own voice cracked, body daring to move closer against his will. "I woke up one day unable to leave, my body on the floor and police around the house."

You desperately swallowed, trying to suck in any moisture to make speaking less painful. "When?"

"Over a decade ago."

Your thoughts jumped between possibilities; the old lady's warnings clashed with the image you had begun to associate with Seungmin. Was he a killer? Could he, the same man who whined when you changed the channel, be capable of that?

As if reading your mind, Seungmin quickly shook his head. "I don't know what that lady was talking about; no one's ever died here other than me, I swear. I'm not dangerous, just..."

"Dead." You finished, body weak and threatening collapse. The brunette could only nod, watching sadly as your body began to shut down, slumping against the dirty wall. The last 10 minutes had entirely changed your life's view, challenged and broken beliefs, while also shaking up the entire foundation of your relationship with the man. It was too much for your brain to handle, and where you should have felt fear, you simply felt numb.

"Where do we go from here then?" You finally whispered as the minutes of silence stretched on.

Seungmin sighed, "I expect you'll move away."

You couldn't deny the thought had crossed your mind in the fit of madness, when the fear had first hit. But now, you weren't so sure. To begin, you had basically nothing to your name, buying out your half of the house with your last dollar. Even if you wanted to run, you couldn't afford it. Additionally, you found yourself knowing you'd miss the man ghost beside you if you left.

He hadn't hurt you, made no move to cause your demise just like it had been done to him. All he had done was make you laugh, becoming a central friend in a time where you so desperately needed one. You couldn't just leave him alone. "No."

Seungmin's head jolted, eyes wide. "No?"

Again, you shook your head, finally pushing yourself to your feet. "No. I'll be staying - I have to stay. After all," You pulled the strongest smile you could muster onto your face. "Who else is going to annoy you in your never-ending afterlife?"

Seungmin let out a sound, half laugh, half sob. "Okay." He grinned too. "I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that."

A strong laugh echoed through the abandoned room as you began to move towards the door, "Live with it?"

If he could, Seungmin would have pushed you, but instead, he just moved the rug to the side and watched gleefully as you tripped. To everyone else, it likely looked like you were going mad, stumbling out with cobwebs in your hair and laughing into the open air. But you couldn't care less. For now, it was just the two of you - one living and one dead - basking in each other's presence and getting ready to face whatever the future may bring.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Vertin's Fear as seen in 2.1

I have a previous post discussing her fear, but I figured as stuff in CN come out in Global I can revamp the older analysis and such

Sooo, Global safe analysis of Vertin's fear as seen in 2.1! (SPOILERS for 2.1 event story, idk its self-explanatory, amazing event, eep sheep, go play or watch a streamer play)

In short - Tuesday was correct about Vertin's fear, however lacked the true context to why she feared the Storm, and was seemingly haunted by the voices of children. It seems the extent of her influence/ the baby's is to provoke images and sounds of these fears, a type of mimcry of those fears and through the person's own reaction to them does she figure out that person's fear and further exploit it.

One way to think about it would be Tuesday pointing towards the lighter and the gas tank, that person lights it themselves and sets everything blaze, while Tuesday simply watches/ enables the action without lifting a finger.

Alright. Whats Vertin's fear?

The fear of giving false hope, a false salvation to those she promised to save and fear that she cause another incident like the Breakaway to happen again. That helplessness in knowing you brought a promise you could never bring to that person, no matter how hard you tried.Not exactly one to one, rather making someone believe in salvation, only for it to be wiped away at the last second.

Sound familiar?

🍊

Back in Book 3, even if exaggerated Vertin probably did have a flashback to the Breakaway after Schneider was reversed. Remember, Regulus was the first person Vertin had saved from the Storm, the first successful test. Vertin believed that she could also save Druvis, Sotheby and Schnieder. We know that only two of them would make it. Why didn't Schnieder appear in some form? She was always the trigger to that trauma of the Breakaway Incident, never the cause.

I find this interesting when Vertin talks to the illusions, a familiarity. She has the tendency to brush away, repress and ignore pain: either the classic "im fine", the hat completely obscuring her face or back in Breakaway completely dissociating from her surroundings entirely.

Vertin has never been an expressive person, even more after becoming the Timekeeper so shes already become guarded against that memory of failing those she cares about, the SPDM kids must have been the first, but as we have seen since will not be the last. Maybe shes often haunted by The Ring and Isabella and the rest of the kids back in the Breakaway, while shes clearly better at overcoming these small moments they linger.

Notice in this line Vertin's voice breaks a little here, its quite subtle but noticeable.

The Umbrella is the reason why Vertin recovers so quickly, her fear was based on that inability to save everyone, the suitcase would only save arcanist. The Umbrella could ensure both humans and arcanists could brave the Storm with her. Had Tuesday or had Vertin visited the motel before 1.9, maybe things would have been different.

The fear that Tuesday enjoys so much is the ones that linger, remain embedded in one's psyche that can truly never be overcome. Vertin probably will never truly get over the guilt of failing countless many, even if events were outside of her control. At the very least now she has means to combat that fear, to be shielded from the Storm.

(i might talk about the tone shift between Jessica and Tuesday later, but have this more refined version of the CN analysis)