#unless there is another plot twist coming

[floorpancakes]

its about perspective dont look at me

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde (Here) | Diasomnia (Here) A/N: HUZZAH YET ANOTHER SERIES FINALLY COMPLETE

Habits You Steal:

Heels (Developed): Malleus is quite tall. No, scratch that. He towers over everyone. The horns give him an added height that really sells the deal. Unless you want to crane your neck back and develop a hump? It's wise to start wearing heels.

Prose (Inherited): Malleus. We love his little riddles and mysterious aura . He obviously read the wrong script and came straight out of an early 2000s YA novel named 'Evermore' or something akin. Yet he quite literally cannot get to the point sometimes. It’s a Diasomnia thing for sure but he’s the worst of the litter. It's infuriating. On one hand, your vocabulary has vastly improved. If only he could rub off on Grim, Professor Trein would be ecstatic. The problem is that sometimes you lapse into an 18th century sonnet, and your friends give maximum shit for it. Especially Ace. No mercy.

“Apologies everyone, it’s now past twilight hour and both the prefect and I need to conclude our evening agenda. Please excuse our absence and continue to delight in the night’s festivities.”-> Dear god Malleus - just say you’re going to walk them home and that you’ll see everyone in the morning. The misunderstandings that come from using big words is worse than sounding improper.

Sleeping on your side (Developed): Malleus requires a special pillow to sleep and it's one of those long ones that is positioned center of the bed. Most nights he rests like the dead, flat on his back so his horns don't tear the cloth. Laying on his side is a challenge, but he also wants to be touching you. It's one of those scenarios where once someone who's touch starved gets a taste, they can't go back. So most nights you'll sleep on one side (doesn't matter which) with either your head on his chest or your arms wrapped around one of his. Oh yeah - you get to keep one of those fancy pillows in Ramshackle. It's stored in a spare room but grim steals it quite a bit since the quality is high. The nights Malleus isn't around, you'll wake up with Grim smothered in your arms instead. Guess the whole 'can't go back' thing doesn't apply ONLY to Malleus here.

Luck (Inherited?): Fae blessings are a thing - we have confirmation within a 'discussion' during the main plot. I won't say when to avoid spoilers. Point is, the partner of Malleus Draconia most definitely has fae favorability cast upon them. You could make a HEFTY deal with Azul if he ever found out, so maybe keep the knowledge in your back pocket for a rainy day. Maybe offer to sit by him during a game of poker? Haha, no. You're actually 100% unaware. Only other fae can sense a blessing, and Lilia isn't a snitch. Expect your luck to turn around. Perhaps not entirely, but enough for the grey hairs to stop sprouting prematurely. It's difficult for other fae and supernatural to sense who placed a blessing, but they can recognize raw power. There is only one person on campus with enough magical potency to cast such a powerful charm. All thy need is two brain cells to connect the dots (some do lack this, unfortunately). You won't be sucked into any messes such as the Ghost Bride, etc. anymore, at the very least.

"Hm? I've little to no involvement with the others in my dorm, dearest. Yet, is it not a good happenstance that they treat you with the upmost respect? Do other dorms behave so uncouth that you are wary of proper manners? Diasomnia would welcome you, all you need do is ask." <- It is technically not a lie? He's not explicitly making anyone behave a certain way, but surely the strong aura acts as a deterrent for anyone with bad intentions. It just so happens that most fae-born students reside in Diasomnia. Not that he'd take kindly to any of his acting like anything but proper gentlemen towards you. This includes Sebek, by the way. The tonal whiplash with this one is insane the moment he recognizes Malleus' magic.

Gargoyles (Inherited): There is not much to say on this topic. Malleus is the sole member of Gargoyle Studies, and while he won't force you to join? It would make him very happy. You will become accustomed to travel and find comfort in desolate places. The dewy chill in deep ruins, nature's overgrowth from time's passing - certainly Malleus revisits places he once knew held life, and have been left to deteriorate. You can't truly feel the heavy nostalgia as Malleus can, but the appreciation is still shared.

"I once deeply enjoyed the solitude of ruins. The weathering of time somehow captured in architecture. Trapped in place as the world continued to live on. Yet I now find more joy in sharing them with you, rather than basking in their atmosphere alone. It perplexes me, and yet I find no problem with it." -> Malleus discovered the happiness that comes from simply being near someone you love. He just...doesn't realize it yet? It's a difficult feeling to characterize in words. Different than with his family, certainly. The entire point of going to a ruin was to enjoy the abandoned atmosphere. Malleus cares for his family yet there is a divide. Unspoken, and unable to be crossed. His world turns while he remains at a stand still. Yet whenever he discovers a new ruin, he couldn't find that tranquility he used to. Enjoying it alone is almost unthinkable - harrowing. He can't without you, or else it feels lacking. Even if you sit together in silence, he'd be happy. He just wants you there, your reactions, your company - it brings life back to the emptiness. Leaving the place more harmonious than he found it, coating it with pleasant memories for future visits. Hopefully ones where he is not alone.

Habits He Steals:

Artistry (Developed): Malleus has plenty of time to develop skills. The resources as well. He's fearful that one day your memory will become just that - a memory. One where he cannot picture your face in his mind. Where he's the only one left who recalls your existence. Be it because you pass on, or decide to leave him prematurely and return 'home'. Even if he firmly believes that there is nowhere more 'home' for you than in Twisted Wonderland. Regardless, he doesn't trust others enough. He needs to capture your likeness on his own. With his hands rather than magic - even if using magic to do so is child's play. He does not tell anyone of this budding desire or disquiet in his heart. Not even Lilia, who's likeness is forever immortalized in textbooks. The unspoken implications are too much for Malleus to confront.

People Watching (Inherited): It’s a work-in-progress, getting Malleus to see people as…well, ‘people’ and not subjects or those he’s obligated to protect. To cure his social awkwardness, there’s a need to get him ‘loosey-goosey’ and in touch with improv. What better way than to people watch? Except you don’t just sit there with him to observe. Malleus is thrown for a loop when you start making up backstories for everyone - based on their clothes, what they might be doing, or whatever else. None of it’s true. The ideas are all super embellished and with characterization holes…but it’s fun, and it gets him to think about how specific a person’s life can become, whether they live a lengthy life or not. Something utterly pointless to do, suddenly becomes one of Malleus’ favorite pass times.

Earth Slang (Inherited): It's a give and trade scenario. He improves your vocabulary, while you do Lilia proud by being the newest gremlin on Malleus' shoulder. Rather than teaching him Twisted Wonderland slang, it's much more entertaining for him to learn Earth lingo. Which is different. It's our metaphors, legends, and phrases like 'it's raining cats and dogs'. You're going to talk in SpongeBob quotes to him and he's going to believe it's philosophical. How novel, indeed. He gets to learn more about you as a person, and you get to have a bit of fun while also fostering a language shared only amongst the two of you? Like a secret code that friends have, or lovers? Huhu. It's not hard to crack at all but still fun.

"Hm? An 'updog'? Is this another saying or legend from your world? No, I have never heard of an 'updog' anywhere in Briar Valley. What is an 'updog'? A terror of some kind?" <- Heh.

Domestic Tasks (Inherited): Be still Sebek's heart, because bro might need to be resuscitated. Malleus wants to help you. Except he's found a situation where there isn't anything he can offer? Sure, he can offer coin and trinkets. Anyone can. It also is not his place to insert himself and solve your problems. You're an independent human and he isn't foolish enough to overstep that. So? Acts of service, even if said acts are 'beneath' him. This revolves back to him simply enjoying your presence, no matter what. Since you come with him to enjoy hobbies, it's only fair he does the same. Now he doesn't fully believe that you 'like' cleaning, but it's what you do most. So he'll help hang the sheets outside and then cast wind magic so they dry faster. He'll set up security charms outside Ramshackle, and enchant the paint brushes to freshen up your fence while you both share a pot of tea on the porch. You seem happy, and even a tad amused. So he'll relinquish some pride. If only for you to smile.

“Do all without magic need to take such…’extreme’ measures to clean windows? Please do not perch on the sill like this when I am not near. Else allow me this task, a simple water spell is far more proficient and safe” -> Man catches you ONE TIME, leaning out one of the second story windows to clean the outside glass and his heart skips a beat. Not that you wouldn’t make a lovely gargoyle on the roof, but spare him. He cannot fathom why one of the ghost residents can’t do it in your stead, but Malleus much prefers your feet planted on firm flooring (who’s going to tell him about all the holes and weak floorboards in Ramshackle?)

Nicknames (Developed): Malleus ceases calling you 'Child of Man'. There are many other children of men. It just so happens to be his default when you met. You are more. Much more. Which is why you cannot be his 'Child of Man'. Malleus actually takes to calling you your name more often than not. Names are meaningful, after all. Yet he dubs you 'Mooncalf' as well.

“Mooncalves are beautiful creatures that inspire. A name given to ‘those who dream’. That is what you do, is it not? Dream, and bring novel ideas that spark life in others.”

Strength (Developed): This is quite difficult. Controlling his strength when touching another is like trying to crack an eggshell with a power-saw. Yet the more you are together, the more he desires to touch you. So he has to learn. Since if he ever injured you, Malleus would never forgive himself. Often he hovers near, guiding you yet never making direct contact. His palm hovering near the small of your back as you walk, or taking extreme care when holding your arm. He's broken more teapots than you can count, and it takes months to share a bed. The fear of hitting you in his sleep caused insomnia for days...just, goodness. Don't even start on his tail. That thing has a mind of it's own.

"Fascinating...Hm?. No, no. I am by no means upset. Quite the contrary. Could I trouble you to humor my curiosity with examples? Oho, this is a wonderful evening indeed." <- Malleus showcases one of his pointed smiles - chin grasped between thumb and index as he listens intently to his juniors go in great detail about how you've begun to resemble him. The one other students will shy away from, but little do they know just how genuinely overjoyed he is. At first they showed mild distaste for the Ramshackle Prefect daring to go after someone like Malleus Draconia, yet all know better than to admit such a thing to his face. Else pity the fool. Yet nothing could dour his mood, their formal report reading like a lovestory in his mind. It is not that he is 'naive' to your mannerisms. You are always changing - as are many - and he would not dare to make any assumptions. Yet if others are noting these subtle changes as well? Malleus is...overwhelmed. Joy, appreciation, humor, and a bit unsettled if one asked for full honesty. If you are admiring him, including him in your person, as much as he is to you? It's an intimate commitment that comes once in a lifetime for his kind. He needs to think, but for now he will enjoy the 'implications' as much as he can.

Habits you steal:

Light Feet (Inherited): The king of jump-scares, ladies and gentlemen. Lilia is quite the cheeky fellow. He wades through corridors, skulking around like a bat on the walls. Both body and humor seem to ascend to new heights with this one - who without a moment's hesitation will drag you into his schemes. You may not be able to float, but that is no excuse to clomp about like an oaf! No, my doves, the greatest joys in life come from a good thrill. Others learn to keep a keen eye out for this bat's lover, as you slink about and appear at the most random moments.

"Oho!....my, my - your stealth is improving by the day. Don't get too cocky now, else I'll be forced to show you how a professional jump-scare is done!" <- Leona KingScholar himself has threatened to stick a bell collar on you, those from Savanaclaw taking a step back as you begin to resemble the more worrisome Diasomnia residents by the day. Dropping from treetops and banisters aplenty, the trickster ghosts at Ramshackle love their new fourth (and fifth, counting the ancient bat who haunts the halls just as much as they do).

Impish Glint (Inherited): Kehehehe~ it's physically impossible not to mimic that mischief laden smile of Lilia's! It's not as intimidating without the fangs and blood-red eyes, yet still oh-so charming. Why, the bat himself finds it positively adorable. It's one thing to have others call him cute - he now gets to witness the effect first-hand. The fact others can point your resemblance to him is just an added bonus. All you're missing now is the pink streak in your hair...can he? It would make such a lovely memory!

"Well aren't you just the most fetching gremlin this world has ever seen. Come along dear, I want to stir some youthful envy!"

Nose Picking (Inherited): Just kidding lol.

Historical Info-Dumping (Developed): One can only be corrected so many times before learning a topic inside-and-out. History lessons are a breeze with a personal dictionary at your disposal. Lilia is happy to help, but get ready for long stories with his bias weaved in-between. He never outright lies though, and it's a fine evening to sit with him by firelight and talk the night away over junk food. Treat it like hearing the story of an elder veteran. Except Lila has hundreds of stories to tell. There will come a day where your knowledge abut Twisted Wonderland extends far beyond what you ever knew of Earth - and you are the person people come to for notes. Even the studious Riddle Rosehearts trusts your word-of-mouth as much as his precious texts (only for history though, fair warning).

Speed Dial Takeout (Developed): This one is self-explanatory. Lilia's curiosity in the kitchen isn't something you want to deter him from. Let bro live his life, so long as it doesn't lead to the end of yours. It took months to find the TWST equivalent of speed-dial Chinese, yet a slip to Azul along with some recipes was enough to get the ol' ball and chain rolling. The food already exists, but you just had to plant some ideas to make sure that 3am last-second-craving availability was indeed an option.

"Don't look so glum now - once the oven is fixed I'll whip up a batch of Silver's favorite Mushroom Bisque! Ah - there's no need to cry. Now where did I put those takeout menus...." <- Now it's just Lils, Silver, and yourself chilling out at midnight with some egg rolls and moo-goo-gai pan after the fourth oven's been blown up in the past year. Thank Seven Malleus worked a plan with Azul set up a chain in Briar Valley, else y'all would starved.

Briaran (Inherited) : Briar Valley is indeed a land of tradition. You don’t need to learn their language to converse with fae. Most people in TWST are Bilingual - knowing common tongue and that of their homeland. Plus there are spells to help. Very few speak the ancient dialect from hundreds of years ago, which dwindled out after the war between man and fae with the ushering of a new generation. You already speak common tongue, but as for Lilia? Fluent in multiple languages. Ancient Briaran being one he slips in from time to time. You will undoubtably pick up many phrases of Briaran. Especially when he converses with Malleus, Silver, and on occasion Sebek. The third still a beginner to his personal chagrin. It’s like being a child in an immigrant household where your elders talk in their native tongue when they don’t want you to understand the conversation, so as a kid you gradually put together meanings through context. Y’know, as they go in between languages.

"I hadn't thought it possible to fall fall deeper in love - yet as always, you continue to surprise me." <- Lilia never asked you to learn, but nothing makes him melt faster than seeing you pick it up. You’re listening to him. He won’t ever jest over this, no matter how tempting, afraid it might deter you. He adores the way you mumble words under your breath, even if they’re mispronounced. He will only interfere if you ask, and be more than willing to teach. Ask him.

Habits He Steals:

Walking (Developed): Aside from when he's cheeky and looking to have some fun? Lilia will not float near you. He prefers to walk, feet firm on the ground, his hand in yours and enjoy the sweet serenity. There isn't a need to rush. Not anymore. Strolls with Malleus are a commonly discussed subject, but with Lilia? It's less like a sonnet in steps and more akin to walking the streets on a cold, winter night. Plenty of laughter as your linked arms swing between. Somehow slowing your steps on purpose, drawing out the time shared. Even if your lungs hurt a bit and joints are stiff. You don't have to. He could easily zip you both wherever need be, but the journey is part of the fun. He's gone his entire life at differing paces - and now Lilia is happy to match his final gait alongside yours.

Repeating Others (Developed): This goes hand-in-hand with you learning Briaran. Without prompting, Lilia will often repeat things his sons just said in common tongue. Sometimes dropping context clues so you can piece things easier. Not in a way that makes it obvious for you (sparing your feelings), but definitely noticeable to others in the Valley. It's an unspoken understanding not to ask 'why' he repeats himself two maybe three times tops.

"...eh? Scuzele mele. Ne vom întâlni în trei ore pentru antrenament. Da. Pentru practică. Asigurați-vă că nu vă zăboviți, altfel veți rata antrenamentul! - why that face, Sebek? Careful or your muscles will freeze like that khee hee!" <- Does it come unnatural? Maybe, but two out of three of his conversation partners can usually pick up when you're struggling to understand something. Sebek fails, but wouldn't dare question Lilia's speech and risk offending him. Translation: "My apologies. We'll meet in three hours for practice. Yes. For practice. Make sure you don't linger, or you'll miss practice!"

Intimacy (Inherited): Lilia is cheeky with most, but not touchy-feely. Not in the way that matters. He becomes clingy. It's odd being with someone actively seeking to be at his side all the time...and yet he does not mind. Which is unheard of for the loner - he spent 700 years of solo trips, wouldn't change a single one (okay, maybe a few. He could do without some scars), but the taste of a couple's vacation? A couple's intimacy? Romanic candle-lit dinners atop the castle ramparts, legs dangling over the edge as mindless talk comes and goes. Hiking through mountains hand-in-hand. Running raids online, shouting at each other from the next room? Sipping mimosas on a cruise ship - picking out souvenirs for your family an tasting cuisine. Even if it's places he's been before...with you? It's all new.

""You know...it was quite cruel of you to leave me behind. When? On that little journey to Fleur City, of course! Be it ten years ago or not - I understood at the time that it was a decision out of your hands, and yet you hadn't brought me any souvenirs...the hurt lingers to this very day and can only be healed through another vacation, won't you be my guide this time around?"

Normalcy (Developed): Lilia actively pushes the cute bit with others. Many portray his character as two sides of one coin: Lilia the General, and Lilia the Cheeky Prankster. What you get to see is...just Lilia. Not even Lilia The Father - because even with his kids, he has a part to play. Has to set a good example. Is it corny to say that he doesn't have to act cute for you, because he trusts you'll adore him? Isn't that what love is? To truly release your guard around him and not stress? It's like how on earth we all have our work mode, family mode, public mode, and then...well, us. The person we are when in a quiet room, alone, and simply being. That is the Lilia you, and only you, get to see. Lilia wouldn't get involved with someone that couldn't bring this side out of him. The one jamming out to metal while pretzeled on the ground, sifting through his wardrobe and eating burnt crisps out of a bag with chopsticks.

Time (Developed): In his last hundred years of life, with his magic dwindling, Lilia casts a glamour that lets him physically age with you. Not technically a habit, but also something he would never have spared the energy on without you as a deciding factor. Time comes for us all. He’d rather not emphasize this to his sons more than necessary…but they’ll watch you age. In an odd way, this is Lilia’s greatest ode to you. To them. To himself. You won’t have to age alone, watching him in a standstill as he’s been the past 700 years. This is his final thrilling experience, his final adventure- to grey and feel time in his blood beyond magic.

"You are as lovely as the day we first met, dear...surely I'm just as cute too, no?" <- No matter how quick you reply, he still is the same cheeky lil shit at 780 as he was at 700. Only with one heavy case of arthritis.

Nicknames (Developed): Lilia calls you ‘Dove’ for reasons best derived on your own rather than my telling. He will also be an ass and use teasing ones like 'shnookums' and 'poppet', but dove is for the softer times. On very rare occasions he will say ‘inima mea’ which is Romanian for My Heart, also known as Briaran in the world of TWST.

"Why, thank you! Kee hee hee, is it so obvious that I adore my little dove beyond comprehension? I've finally found my 'partner-in-crime' as you kids say, and my days have not been this lively in many years. Humor the musings of this old-timer, enjoy the blessings life offers while they are within your grasp." == Those who have lived as long as Lilia in Briar Valley are witnesses to his personality change. The general from hundreds of years ago is not the same bat flying about. He's a prime example for fae and humans alike that time changes us all - and so he doesn't mind popping in to humor gossiping soldiers. If anything, he hopes his open adoration serves as an example that it's never too late to welcome sweeter things in life. Family, friends, adventure, and even the once in a lifetime 'eternal love'.

Habits you steal:

Calling Lilia ‘Dad’ (Inherited?): Not Father. Just Dad. Daddio. Peepaw. Pops. Ye old man. So informal. So funny. Lilia loves it and Silver turns red every time. One? Because you’re already thinking of him and his Father as your family. Two? Please. Please, let him breathe. Flustered is the most consistent emotion he shows aside from that graceful little smile of his, and people are starting to notice. He’s not used to such bluntness and it’s killing him. You need to be more careful! Not everyone knows about his situation! Lilia is such cheeky as shit over it and teases his son every off moment. Welcome to the Vanrogue’s, my friend. It’s a clusterf*ck. You’re going to love it.

“…N-no, I haven’t seen father since lunch. Perhaps check over near the club rooms. I can escort you before my next lesson, come along and take my hand.” -> Silver will never get used to you asking ‘Hey, have you seen Dad anywhere?’. He bites back the warning for you to lower your volume. It’s turmoil - truly. He doesn’t want you to ‘stop’ per-say…but maybe keep it in private? He adores your energy but the rumors.

Compliments (Inherited): Silver gets plenty of compliments. He’s amazing, after all. This is a habit because his reactions are priceless. Why is it developed? Because the man in question is the most wholesome being to exist. He effortlessly drops one-liners out of thin air, and then has the gull to act confused when you clutch at your chest. Silver is brutally honest when it counts. His words and his reactions are genuine. Truly priceless. His confidence desperately needs that bolstering, so much that you never go a single visit without paying him a compliment. It’s only fair. You do it until he takes them with anything other than a pass off or a denial. Even after, because appreciating Silver is the best part of your day. Congrats. You’re a simp. Big Ol’ simp - side note, being so forward for his sake has turned you confident in other aspects of life as well. Congrats on being the social one.

"Your hands are unnaturally soft for a student. Perhaps I am used to callus' from training, but yours are warm enough to feel through my gloves. I heard once that you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Yours must reflect a gentle personality, which is true - hm? What's wrong?" <-Wholesome. Fucking wholesome.

Animals (Inherited): How do you feel about woodland creatures? Would you consider raising bunnies, or leaving the window open in the mornings for songbirds to perch? The answer is yes. Always yes. Otherwise they will whack at the glass until you do. Silver is beloved by nature. Being around Silver means being around all the animals that perch at his side when he clocks out in random places. Eventually you'll be waiting with birdseed in your pocket, prepped to distract those that perch on his head. Ramshackle has multiple bird baths out in the gardens, and you've built shelters for the wildlife on campus to camp out in when they visit (always when Silver does. Coincidence? No).

Just Chilling (Developed): Not relationship-exclusive. Any time you find Silver clocked out, it’s instinctual to just drop everything and lay down next to him so it looks like you’re both chilling out. Doesn’t matter if he’s asleep for ten minutes or two hours - you don’t leave him. Not unless someone trustworthy comes to take your place.

Haircuts (Developed): A lil snip here, a chop there - and you're cutting his hair in the kitchen at 9:00pm with one of the old sheets tied loosely around his neck like a bib. All it took was one time for him to nick his ear while doing it himself, and you so graciously forced him in a chair. Now you cut both his and his father's hair. Since Lilia's a little turd, and if Silver gets a freebie than so should peepaw. Briar Valley could use another stylist, y'know. You already have two loyal clients!

"Thank you. My bangs can get in the way of my training, so I try to keep them short. Maybe I should adapt a cut similar to Kalim's?....Why are you looking at me like that?" <- Kalim's hair is adorable, but if Silver cuts off his shimmering silk-soft locks it will literally be a crime against cosmetology.

Alarms (Inherited): You sleep through alarms. There isn't much to say. Have you seen his bedroom? There's like - a dozen clocks in there. The only one that gets him up is you, usually whacking him with a pillow because no amount of love will ever make up for dealing with nonstop ringing every morning. You started off having a near heart attack on the first night. A few years down the road, and it takes about 2-4 of the clocks to go off before you're up.

The Way Of The Sword (Inherited and Developed?): Another one without much to elaborate. Silver insists on teaching you some swordsmanship. He does not play around either, and is a very stern teacher. Lilia engrained the danger of weaponry and battle into him from childhood.

"Steel your nerves. They will only impede your progress. Do not worry about anything other than my instruction while there is a blade in your hand. I am here for that." <-The sword exists to protect, but that does not mean you are invincible. He won't put you through a Knight's training - but as one of the few 'sane' people? Homie, you really need to learn some self defense. It isn't even about his feelings (although he does worry).You are a walking magnet for bad luck, and a firm understanding of defensive combat is necessary so you don't end up dead in a ditch.

Habits He Steals:

Wet Wipes (Developed) : It’s so tempting to draw on Silver when he’s complete zonked out in the ninth dimension. How he hasn’t woken up to any uh…hehe, ‘special’ and ‘totally not vulgar’ images all over him on a daily basis is an honest shock. Especially in a campus full of dudes. Some not so friendly with the whole dorm rivalry going on. Then again…maybe it’s his aura. Drawing a dick on Silver’s forehead feels like a crime punishable by Lilia’s homemade gazpacho.

"...I sense a disturbance." <- Regardless. It’s your civic duty to make him a work of art…much to Silver’s reluctant compliance. Some day’s it’s heartwarming. He’ll wake up and find little hearts on his cheeks, or a note on his collarbone. A lipstick kiss left smack center of his forehead…which takes endless scrubbing to get off before equestrian club. "Mngh...ah, you're here father? I could smell jasmine and oakwood and thought - wait, isn't that MC's pencil case?" <- Other days Silver wakes up covered in tic tac toe games with his father snickering over him and your form making a speedy guilt-ridden retreat off in the distance - and yes, Ramshackle smells of Jasmine and Oakwood. From repairs and the herbal cleanings.

You’ve Got Mail (Developed): Squirrels make good messengers. It helps that you live in a dilapidated dorm with a lovely forest not too far for them to skitter about. It would be troublesome if you lived somewhere like Heartslabyul…Riddle would never allow Silver’s animal friends to stay. Since you’re so open to suggestion, and skittering about yourself, he’s made a habit out of using the animals for communication.

"Please take this gift to them, would you? Today is a special day, I must take precautions not to forget." <- He’s not too big on phones since he might pass out and miss a call…or forget. So Silver likes to pen his notes when he can and trust his little buddies to make sure you get them. It especially helps with big events like anniversaries or days he cannot make it home.

Mints (Inherited): Someone get this man an Altoid, stat. Whatever curse is on his ass, crack open that tin and shove three strong peppermints between his teeth. They’ll spark more than just a crack of the great beyond in him. Giving Silver a tin of strong mints is like giving a Victorian child one singular sour patch kid. You carry the things around to punish Grim. Y’all know it’s bad if the living garbage disposal won’t even eat them….now if we could just somehow compress Lilia’s cooking into a pill form, we might be onto something bigger.

"This is a remedy from your world? Oh - it's candy? Maybe it will work then...thank you. I'll update you if there are any changes."

The Open End (Developed): Silver’s precautions extend to all matters, big or small. He’s trained to be Malleus’ guard since he was a little boy, going through strict training and beyond in order to match royal standards. Some might think him cold, but his father raised him to care deeply, truly, and so he is proactive in ensuring your comfort. When at the cinema, he sits in the inner seat. Both so he’s blocking you from strangers and so you can have the chair with two arm rests. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk, shares his umbrella but covers you fully at the cost of his sleeve, gives you more of the blanket at night and once gave you his shoes when yours were pinching your toes. If there are two cupcakes, he pushes you the one with more sprinkles, and he never forgets to ask how your day is.

"Are you happy today?...I see. That's good. I've been working hard to not disappoint you as a partner. It is nice to know my efforts have been yielding results." <- Ever the hard worker. Silver works on your relationship like it's training - but not in a bad way. He just doesn't want to reflect poorly on you, especially when this is new to him and tracking his performance in a relationship isn't the same as studies or physical training. He could do with some verbal affirmations, just saying.

Smelling Salts (Developed) : Silver does not want to sleep all the time. He is determined to overcome it - and you support him by suggesting method after method. Sometimes it takes an otherworldly person to bring in new ideas? Another cook in the kitchen, y'know. Can you believe that in all of Twisted Wonderland, with their fancy shmancy potions and charms, no one thought to get him military-grade smelling salts (or trigger his fight/flight by putting a bit of Lilia's pot roast in front of his nose)? His curse is potent, but it staves the episode off just enough for him to get to a bench or out of a clearing. I swear - magic spoiled these people. It's a blessing and a curse. It's no cure but he'll take anything at this point. Who knows what other ideas you might bring.

"Mm...thank you. I am lucky to have someone as wonderful as them in my life. I strive to be a good partner and influence. Your compliment makes me quite happy. I will be sure to pass on the message." <- Silver's expressions are typically difficult to read, they're so miniscule. Yet it would take a blind man to miss the way his disposition softens. One might mistake the far-away look in his eye for an incoming siesta, but no. He's merely in love and excited to tell you how appreciative he is to have you in his life. Whatever dreams he has that night, you're in them. As always.

Habits you steal:

Volume (Inherited) : Spoken like a true Queen. Literally. Sebek’s volume blasts your eardrums like a child’s screech plugged into an amplifier broadcasted over the Night Raven intercom. Mans has his vocals, there’s no doubt about it. The thing is that Sebek won’t stop until he’s been heard, so you have to get loud for him to listen. That can be hard to tone down when he’s not around, and you have to remind yourself that Epel will hear you just fine at a level 2 not 6.

"Disrespectful! My human can speak to their desire, apologize for suggesting otherwise this very instant. It is an honor to hear their voice!" <-Aye...sometimes your volume hits the frequency where people cover their ears, just as they do for him. He misinterprets this as a smite on your freedom of speech.

Gotta Keep Up (Developed): Get those legs moving prefect. Ya gotta go sonic fast. Sebek-y long legs over here moves in big strides. Big strides for his big personality. One of his steps is the equivalent to three of yours, no matter how tall or jittery you are. He will out jitter you with his Type-A pacing. You’d think he was on a mission and not on a date with how Sebek zooms through a shopping mall. Sebek, honey, we’re here to buy clothes, not race the evil sales clerk and save Malleus from the storage room.

Bookies (Inherited): You never know when you’ll be stuck waiting around or following Malleus with him. Sometimes it’s a sacrifice you have to make for some quality time together, and it’s not so bad. Malleus is cool with it, Silver’s good company, and Lilia is mildly stressful company. You could just go on your phone to pass the time, but Sebek limits your screen time. No IPad partners or brain rot on his watch. Read a book. Don’t make him quiz you, ‘cause he will.

"I have been thinking to start a book club, and you can be the first among many initiates! This week we will be reading My Liege's autobiography as sourced from the Royal Palace. I can think of no better introduction!" <- Dear god, he'll put in the request too. Stop him. You love Malleus to pieces but 600 pages on his birth alone is just destructive.

Prim and Proper (Developed): It’s a bit hilarious that he takes personal offense when you’re not groomed properly. Especially when near Malleus (of course). If you want to follow with the troupe, you need to look the part. He’d likely ask for a Diasomnia uniform on your behalf if it wasn’t against the school dress code. Secretly though? He enjoys fixing your tie, hair, etc. It makes him feel useful but that sweet emotion gets masked by a scolding.

"Tsk. It is an honor to wear this uniform. You should take precautions to ensure your appearance doesn't reflect on Lord Malleus. As his chosen friend and my partner, you are a representative of Briar Valley. Step forward and allow me to preform an inspection." <- Sebek has more than one jealous bones in his body. They’re all jealous bones. Make sure he’s the one to fix your tie and not Rosehearts, unless you want him to sulk.

Battery Pack (Developed): Lowkey? Sebek zaps you frequently. Think the electric buzz from pulling out a plug too quick. The sparkles come out when he gets very emotional - which is all the time. So…yeah, you might secretly carry ointment for that. Don’t tell him? He feels awful. Not awful enough to stay calm when you ask him to charge your phone. Jokes on him. The anger zap brought it to 100%.

Habits he steals:

Response (Developed): Sebek has this teensey-weensey annoying habit of answering on your behalf. He thinks it a way of proving his devotion. Partners are meant to know each other down to the tiniest detail, no? So when he responds correctly, it’s like he’s passing a test by knowing exactly what you’d want.

"They will do no such thing! Your childish antics will only reflect poorly on your dormitory. You will not taint them into participating in needlessly reckless activities!" <- While his intentions are pure, the act itself can be frustrating. Especially when he puts his values in your mouth when chatting with friends. It’s a work in progress, but he will still become overzealous to order your coffee or recall your schedule if asked.

Handkerchief (Developed): Exchanging handkerchief with one’s partner was a popular courting method in the past. Considering the handkerchief Sebek carries is meant for his lord, him offering it to you is a grand gesture. Especially since he does not replace it with one meant for Malleus, as this is something exclusive to lovers, and carries one from you instead. If you don’t have one? Well - expect to get one asap. Author’s authority dictates that you will not disappoint him.

"The embroidery on this handkerchief is exquisite. According to Master Lilia, it is the same style as lacework from my homeland's establishment...and it is yours. Please accept this as a token of my affections."

Portrait (Developed): Sebek keeps your picture hidden at NRC. There's one stuck between his mattress and the boxboard, one behind his ID card in his wallet, and a small portrait he keeps taped under his deckchair. He cannot properly display it like Malleus' - partially from not wanting to disrespect his Lord and partially from bein emotionally constipated. Expect the exact opposite when he is older though. Listen. Do not try to tell me this man wouldn't commission an extra-large oil painting of his spouse to hang up in his barracks room in the palace. He's literally the blueprint of a fanboy, and if there's no available merch then us nerds get to commissioning.

Escort (Developed): Sebek Zigvolt can and will sit in the husbands' chair while you try on clothes in the store. He will carry your bedazzled hot-pink purse with pride, guarding the thing like it's worth millions. You can leave your cup with this one when at a ball worry-free. You have somewhere to be and he isn't on duty? Sebek is hot on your heels. He has no shame. Better yet? He's the one shaming anyone unable to do such simple things.

Gotta Slow Down (Developed) : Pairs with 'Gotta Keep Up' as he tries to match your stubby legs. At first Sebek attributed your slow pace to a lack of stamina, but no. He's just a jitterbug. Obviously he can't tug you along or stop every other minute for you to catch up either. It's funny watching you both try and forget to consider the other. On loop, a never-ending cycle. NRC hasn't seen a pairing like this in centuries.

Chivalry is not dead (Inherited...just not from you) : Lilia fucks with him and you’re subjected to many, many odd courting attempts…some he unironically takes a liking to.

"What must I do for you to reciprocate my intentions?! I have bestowed pearls shucked with my own hands, invited you to dance under moonlight, hung dried thyme over every door and given earthly offerings to all your kin! I implore you for transparency this instant!" <- Oh...oh, His trust in your batty elder wanes for months after being tricked so cruelly. Only until you accept (out of pity?). Then he feels guilty for ever doubting Lilia and begs for forgiveness. At least life never gets boring? Haha...hah...ha...

‘My human’ (Developed) : Sebek gets hit hard with a crippling awareness for your mental well being. He defended your 'honor' once and had it thrown in his face that he calls you a human more than your own name. Old habits die hard, and he prostrates himself on the ground as an apology. He really didn’t realize it came off so derogatory. Especially considering your relationship. Felt awful. Apologized profusely. Only says it in an affectionate way or with pride now. Tacking in the ‘my’ makes it better somehow? It's a work in progress.

"An apology is in order. My actions until now were unbecoming, and I am truly repentant. I cannot begin to beg for forgiveness, knowing that my words have struck you. I was wrong. You are no mere human, you are my human. A very special one whom I could not have foreseen in this lifetime" <- You know it's bothering him when he takes a gentle tone, looking directly in your eyes with shame open on display. Responsible enough not to look away and face his wrongdoing in the face. Even after you forgive him, Sebek will carry this lesson with him forever.

Flower preference (Inherited): In the language of flowers, which means a great deal to fae kind, he goes for the one associated with your birth month. Carries a pressed one as a bookmark, changes his cologne, and places a vase of blooms by his bedside that never seem to wilt.

"It is an honor! I shall never cease striving to improve. It is only natural that my partner does the same. Your acknowledgement is noted and appreciated. Please continue to treat them well." == Insulting Sebek is a challenge. The comment could be made with the most nasty undertone, but he only hears that you're behaving like a model citizen. You must, if you are beginning to resemble him in so many ways. Hearing that you are a positive influence on him is nothing short of baseline knowledge. Of course you are? He picked you to be his partner? Honestly. If people have time to sit around and gossip, they could go do something more productive.

Habits you steal:

Acronyms (Inherited): Does this truly come as a shock? Big L on your part if so. C'mon, this is Idia we're talking about here. Bro cannot go two sentences without pullin' some quote out of his mental backlog. Since you're stuck in TWST, not watching their culturally founding shows and cartoons is a crime. You'll be speaking in pseudo-lingo like how Spongebob quotes make their own language around these parts.

"Whehehe way to debuff your charisma stat - you might want to craft some mimic gear before Professor Trein locks ya in detention....n-not that I care! It's just that I'll have to solo tonight's raid and you're the one with the rotation buffed character!" <- On one hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. That's good. Less work for Idia. On the other hand? You get all his jokes and are able to translate what he says to other people. They're totes going to make fun of you now and it'll be his fault. You'll get lingo-lashed by professors and feel burdened and - okay. He'll shut up now.

Evil Laugh Who? Villain Where? (Inherited): We all know Idia has two modes: nerdy and sofuckingarrogantheneedsacoldshower. You know exactly when he's feeling number two via his laugh. That over boisterous 'WHEE HEE HEE' which is way too high pitched to belong to a villain but perfect for when Idia's in the zone. It comes out when you're feeling especially ecstatic or embracing your inner gremlin. A bit more subdued than his, but you've seen him do it so many times that the adaptation is subconscious.

"Ah -?! What w-was?....No! NO I DIDNT SAY ANYTHING! Just hurry up before we gotta interact with more NPCS! Awahhh my blood pressure's already spiking back up..." <- He first caught it when you insisted on playing one of those cheap festival-games outside the main market in Fleur City. All he wanted was to grab a grape juice and get back to his group before they noticed he ditched, but you saw some handstitched plushies and just like in some mainstream otome, he just had to get it for you. It was easier than sitting there watching you get cheated by a sleaze. He was amidst convincing himself that he robbed you of the fun, handing the doll over while sucking down his second grape juice when he heard it - on one hand, is this what he sounds like to other people? Scratch that. No way he's this cute - wait. No. He didn't just think that -

Gatcha (Inherited): One of Idia's go-to hangouts is playing an MMO. The dude already gave you a console as a gift for what happened at S.T.Y.X. One inkling of interest towards one of his main games and he won't hesitate to build you a PC. He'll take care of the maintenance and even send over some matching accessories. Ortho will be the one to drop it off of course, but it'll already be set up with whatever games he thinks you'll want to tag-team in and some extra money to explore on your own....and thus, the addiction begins.

"Hey, press this button for me real quick. I need to test something. N-no! I'm not setting you up, uggh just do it would you?" <- Your pulls are better than his and Idia can't decide if lady luck is smiting or blessing him. On one hand? Ultra rare pulls are going to a beginner account. Yet you're more likely to keep playing this way....fate truly tests the Shroud name every day.

Night Owl (Inherited and Developed): Freedom...is powerful. As the Shrouds are responsible for Blot Control, you're left with little to do at S.T.Y.X. You can work anywhere in the facility. As a lab assistant, tech maintenance, heck even the kitchens if you want - but Idia's on that night-life and likes to work when most are asleep. So you match it. Maybe not to a T - going to bed at 6:00am and waking at 4:00pm like him - but time does get a bit disoriented in a place where the sky is simulated.

"Why're you still up? This isn't a 24hr stream, y'know. Even I'm not crazy enough to do multiple all-nighters in a row...well, I'm off for now. Wanna watch the PREMO concert from last week with me?"

Vitamins (Developed): You take them. Idia is taking them. No matter what bro says - he cannot live off the Ignihyde snack machine. Get him the kiddy gummies if you have to. You started taking vitamin D in preparation for moving to S.T.Y.X in the future. Surely they've got something better than the options at Sam's, but you won't be developing Seasonal Affective Disorder anytime soon.

Snacks (Developed): A very simple kindness. Idia uses deliveries as an excuse to get you to visit Ignihyde, and in the future that doesn't change. Expect calls to do deliveries around S.T.Y.X and run 'confidential' reports whenever he's antsy for a visit. We all know he won't explicitly ask...ah, it's reminiscent of all the bogus orders he'd put in at Sams so you'd stop by.

Habits he steals:

Financial 'Responsibility' (Inherited): You both are very bad with money - and by bad? I mean that Idia is a jerk who thinks he can solve everything with money. Minor red flag - something to address. Definitely the type to apologize by sending an unnecessarily gigantic stuffed bear or something akin since he's afraid of saying something that will make it worse. Then pray you don't say anything as he stews over a fight like 12hr simmering sauce.

"Please spare me your double-standards the next time you're shoving vitamin water in my snack stash. SRSLY, Headmaster's a worse deadbeat than I thought if you're living like this....uh, don't tell him I said that" <- On the flip side, he's also flippant with that Shroud inheritance and will buy stuff on your behalf all the time. He's the type to go 'Oh, I thought it was going to be more. You live like this?' when wiring you money for groceries (because Grim ate your allowance in tuna smh). As for how you're bad? You're just flat broke man, so he's responsibly irresponsible as a result.

Vitamins Again (Inherited): Bro. Bro, genetics are making you pale but that diet is what is making those eyebags so prominent despite having a decent skincare routine. You need Vitamin D but he needs the whole spectrum. His potassium is so low, that you'll be staring him down with a plate of cooked salmon in one hand and a bottle of vitamins in the other. Is it pushy? Sure, but you don't want him keeling over within the next decade. Eat the vitamins or it's time to raid his search history. Ortho, get them medical reports out stat.

RPG (Developed): Every chance he gets, Idia will model his MC after you in an RPG. A character customization screen HATES to see this man coming, because he will sit there for hours until it is as close to your image as the system allows. You won't even know since he plays these games solo and has photographic memory to recreate you without a reference. If caught, will deny it despite the evidence being right there. Flat out takes this to the grave.

Sour Candy (Inherited): Fun fact? Citric acid is the perfect stimulant to shock someone out of a panic attack. You find the sourest candy he can tolerate, and it does it's job. If anything it creates a placebo effect, where when Idia tastes it he'll make an association with being anything but anxious. One time he ran out while stuck in a work meeting, and Ortho had to swipe a lemon from the cafeteria.

"Eugh! Sour! Sour! My tongue's gonna shrivel up like a prune! I should have knew this was a prank -" <- Proceeds to forget why he was anxious. Stops himself mid-rant, face sours realizing that you were right, apologizes under his breath and doesn't question you again.

Protective (Developed): Idia teeters the yandere line, to be fair. He's highly protective of the things he considers worth caring about - scratch that, the things he allows himself to care about - which are few. Very, very few. His self-doubt both keep this protectiveness in line while also fueling it. He is quick to convince himself that he has little right over your person, and that it's only a matter of time before his role gets snubbed or written out. Yet the moment his position becomes threatened by something he considers inferior? He hates the thought of some noface coming along and making a muck of your life. It's not his fault if you don't realize Idia's doing just that - but he'll be damned if someone else puts their two cents in, pushing him towards a bad ending.

"Hey - so uh, totally unprompted question that you can just ignore in all honesty - but what's it like living with so many ghosts? They don't give you any trouble or anything - 'cause if they do we've got a few empty rooms over in Ignihyde....only if you wanna! I mean - we're a buncha shut ins but it's pretty quiet and stuff. Okay, fading into the background now." <- Do you remember the Ghostbride? Idia does. Vividly. He also remembers you were the only person aside from Ortho who actually wanted to help him and didn't need cohersion. Stupid move on your part but he's hyper aware of the paranormal now regardless.

Sharing a bed (Developed): Unheard of. Especially since he's stated how miserable he was sharing a dorm - Idia surprises himself with this one. Not a single person would believe just how clingy bro is - but he's only clingy because 'you're' clingy - or so Idia loves to say if anyone teases him for going back on his whole 'solo for life' rants. He goes from the whole 'eww normie love bleh bleh' to 'oh you normies just don't get it because you don't have it hwee hwee'. Look. You're the one matching his sleep schedule, making him used to sharing a bed and having something other than a pillow to curl around - he didn't want to get used to it, he was adamant that this lifestyle was an absolute no-no, but now he's ten years too deep and he's screwed.

"Snkk - funny joke, Ortho. Almost got me there with that one. Inheriting any of my skills is like welcoming a one-track path straight to doomsville. You and I both know it." == Ever observant Ortho is very eager to share all the little changes he's seen in both yourself and Idia. Especially when the latter enters self-deprecation mode and is insistent that your relationship is nearing a band ending. In truth? Idia notices. He doesn't feel entirely himself anymore, and it terrifies him. Not everyone's meant for companionship, and for a long time Idia thought he was one of them. Someone perfectly content on their own with absolutely zero need for other people. Especially those hot-shot nosy hero types that would try to fix him without asking if he wanted to be 'fixed'. Thing is? You haven't pushed him to change at all - and he's freaking out because he's not supposed to want this. You're not supposed to want him.

[bitchface24-7]

Hiii! How are you? I hope you had a wonderful day. Now, I'm here with an idea, I was thinking what if Jayce (and maybe Viktor, but I don't know how to make it work) traveled to another reality, like Ekko, but in this reality nothing of what happened happened. I mean, yeah, the explosion happens and blah blah blah, but in this world reader doesn't die (I love angst I'm sorry) and that helps Viktor not turn into the herald and try to kill everyone. I don't know, just a thought, you can use it to inspire yourself or not, that's perfectly fine. If you do write it thank you, and if you do not thank you anyways. Love your blog, keep on like that 😘

THE ONE’S THAT GOT AWAY - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: Jayce isn’t sure how he got here. Did the older Viktor he met who was a mage cast the spell wrong, was it when he and Viktor accepted fate in the cosmos, or was it his gift from the gods he no longer believes in, bringing him back to the two most important people in his life. One of them he died with. The other died much earlier.

warnings: MCD undeath (you're all alive now, hurrah! But the death with be mentioned), Jayce thinking he’s gone mad, crying, comfort, a world where EVERYONE IS ALIVE, poor Jayce; we’re so mean to him. Plot twist… Grammarly is my beta.

genre: m/f or m/m (with a realization of m/m/f or m/m/m)

p.s. Y'all just like putting my boy through the ringer!! Hopefully, he gets his peace here.

Jayce is scared. He's only in his early thirties and he's going to die. Everything is destroyed, their lab, their dreams, their future. All blowing in the wind like ashes, and the ground is stained with blood.

This was never supposed to happen. Hextech was meant to improve lives not become… what it became. You, Jayce, and Viktor were supposed to live long, happy lives. Maybe move out of the city, find a small town and live in a cozy cottage. Or even find a nice house in Piltover where you're in prime real estate. The markets and transit not too far from us.

But all of that is dead now. You died from a dormant virus in your body, it was waiting to strike when you were most happy. Your family has had it in their bloodline for years; and you didn't tell anyone.

You died in your sleep, painlessly, peacefully. Neither Jayce or Viktor knew until they went to your apartment to check on you, it wasn't like you to not come into the lab, not unless you told them before hand.

It was almost like you were sleeping. Your face was at ease, your body stiff. Jayce could lie to himself and say you were in a deep sleep, but he knew the truth. You were dead. Your chest wasn't moving, you were cold to the touch, and there was no pulse.

Viktor stood there horrified, before trying his best to find some sign of life. The more he looked, the more desperate he became. Jayce was frozen. He had finally asked you out on a date, it happened just a few days ago. You shared a kiss. Now you're dead.

Jayce silently walks to the home-phone attached to your wall and calls an ambulance, explains the situation in the most monotone voice he's ever produced, and quietly hangs the phone up; not even hearing what the phone opperator told him.

But he does hear Viktor crying, his hand over his mouth muffling sobs. Jayce walks over to him on autopilot and hugs him as tightly as he can and Viktor collapses into his arms.

They don't move until the paramedics come.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After that, everything went downhill. Sky went missing, Hextech was made into weaponry, he and Viktor’s relationship became strained, the council room explodes due to a bomb, Viktor dies, Jayce breaks his promise to destroy the hexcore, he uses it to revive Viktor, turns out Sky died due to the hexcore.

Viktor leaves.

And Jayce is all alone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor's become a herald of some kind; a messiah. Healing the ill and injured in the Under— Zaun. He talks to Jayce through Salo, mentions all his accomplishments, and wishes he had this power back then to save you.

Jayce winces.

He kills Salo and goes to the commune, he kills Viktor.

Then the Machine Herald is born.

Viktor tries to get Jayce to be his partner again, desperately missing him, and you. It doesn't work.

They fight, they reunite, they die together in a massive glow of white.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jayce jolts up from his bed, frantically patting his face and his body. What the hell is going on?

He's alive? How is he alive?! He died with Viktor in the cosmos, he shouldn't be here right now! He's panicking until a familiar hum interrupts his thoughts.

“Hi, sweetheart! I know those meetings with the council are exhausting so I brought your coffee to yo— what happened?!” You gasp, and Jayce bursts into tears. You place the mug of coffee onto the dresser and rush over to Jayce to hug him.

You're here too, you're alive. Your hair is the same, your smile is still blindingly bright, and your signature scent washes over Jayce as he sobs even harder; barely breathing.

“Oh Jayce whats wrong? Was it a nightmare? You don't have to tell me, I'm right here. I'll always be here.”

Jayce’s cries become much louder at that and you start to panic. You've never seen Jayce cry like this— ever. This is gut-wrenching to see, and you're gonna need another set of hands to help you.

“Viktor! A little assistance please!”

Jayce's cries stop momentarily but pick up when the other man enters the bedroom. He's here too. He's alive too. And he looks so good, so healthy. He still has prominent cheek bones, and he still has dark circles under his eyes; but he looks like when Jayce first met him, if not even healthier. His posture is much better, his leg brace is gone, but he's still using his cane. His hair is longer too, with the blonde highlights he briefly saw before his chest was caved in due to his hammer.

A look of confusion sits on the mans face before a brief look of understanding flashes by. So quickly that if you blinked, you would've missed it.

“Oh my loves, what’s happened?” Viktor quietly asks as he goes to Jayce's other side, completing the goup hug. Jayce has never felt more safe as he has between you two.

“I don't know,” you state, a worried furrow of your brow gives away how scared you are, “I just came into the room and he broke down. Maybe it was a nightmare?”

Viktor nods before looking imploringly at Jayce, “Maybe it could be he’s been bottling everything up and finally reached his breaking point?”

Jayce squirms under the truthful accusation, and looks anywhere but to the two of you, “Jayce! You're allowed to come to us when you need it! I thought we agreed, no more suffering in silence.”

A light shrug is what you get for your reprimand, “Its a hard habit to break.”

You coo and run you hand through his dark hair, his beard tickles your nose when you kiss his cheek, “I know sweetheart, but we’re here for you. How about this,” you offer, “I make your favourite breakfast, Viktor stays here with you and then we all eat together. Sound good?”

Jayce wants to say no. He just got you back, and he can't handle losing you again, but at Viktors look— one he's well acquainted with when he wants to talk in private. He gives in and agrees to your bargain.

You give both of them a kiss on the forehead and leave the bedroom. Keeping the door open so you can hear them if they need anything from you.

Jayce sniffles and looks at Viktor, Viktor looks back at him in understanding. “You weren't expecting this, huh? Neither was I. Luckily for me I had my panic attack last night. I was able to find journals to read to realize where I was.”

“You’re my Viktor?”

“I’m your Viktor.”

Jayce sighs, “Where the hell are we, Viktor? They're alive. We’re in a room I’ve never seen before. You're the healthiest I've ever seen you, and your hair is different.”

“What did you think about before dying?”

A long silence is held before Jayce demurely responds, “A world where the three of us were happy. In the perfect house with our perfect lives. Nothing major has gone wrong, nobodies died, there was no war, Hextech succeeded. You know… the usual.”

Viktor just looks at the man and hugs him tightly, brushing his nose into the crook of his neck, “I thought along the same line. Now we’re here; I guess this is our happy ending? For all the pain and suffering we went through.”

Jayce sighs, he feels a headache forming, “Isn’t this wrong? We’re not… we’re not their Jayce and Viktor. We could be missing years of memories that we’ll never get to know about.”

Viktor chuckles, “We’re scientists Jayce. We write everything down, besides, I got them to tell us the story of how we all got together.”

“We… all… what? Write down— what are you saying?”

Viktor looks coyly at Jayce, “We wrote everything down, like a journal. And for all of us— you two started dating, but really nothing changed. And the things you two did for one another; you did for me too. You came to the hilarious realization that, you love me too.”

Jayce quirked an eyebrow, a little offended, “Hilarious?”

“You burst into the lab startling the two of us and yelled, “ARE WE ALL DATING?!” In a panicked, frenzied tone. They just looked at you and said, “I thought we were all on the same page, guess not.” And you fainted. I almost pissed myself in laughter.”

Jayce sputters, his face going red. He’s not that oblivious, is he? He thinks back on his interactions with you, with Viktor, and with the two of you together; and comes to a startling conclusion.

“Oh… oh no. I’m an idiot. How come I never realized?!”

Viktor pats his cheek in solidarity, “You’re a very intelligent man, Jayce Talis. But that doesn’t mean you’re smart in other areas of life.”

“Oh geez. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two men hear your voice from the kitchen, “C’mon you two, breakfast is ready! We still need to get our formal wear from the tailor for the Distinguished Innovators Competition later tonight. We’re the judges this time, we can’t be late and I want to see what Powder and Ekko invented!

Jayce is gobsmacked and Viktor chuckles at him, “Turns out perfecting Hextech makes us quite famous in the science world. We’re highly sought after guest speakers at the academy, explaining our success in transportation, ventilation, plant-life, and medicine. Our lovely partner is a professor at the academy for all students mandatory English class. Powder and Ekko are their favourite student’s; but they’ll never admit it.”

Jayce feels like crying again, this time in happiness, “This is really real. This is our life now?”

“It’s really real. Now c’mon, I’d rather not get hit with a spatula because I came late to eat.” Viktor gets up, gets his cane and leaves the room. Jayce sits there stunned for a few seconds before following him, getting his mug of coffee of the dresser.

When he sees you standing there, all proud of the food you made for them, Jayce’s heart melts.

He deserves this.

You all deserve this.

And with that, he eats the most delicious breakfast he’s ever had, with two people he adores.

AHHHH!!! This idea was so good! I hope I balanced out the angst and the fluff well. This is so *mwah* love ya ❤️

[gimmethatagustd]

morals on sundays | myg

You're still in love with your ex-boyfriend. Yoongi offers some help to get over him.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: PWP, friends with benefits, post-break up, fluff, light angst, smut

Word Count: 2,177

Content Warning: Making out, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus

A/N: As usual, I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains and never proofread it, so if you see any errors, no you didn't

Soundtrack: Jessie Reyez, 6LACK - Imported

Lately, you’ve felt like disappearing – not into a crowded city street in another country or down an unlit dirt road into the unknown, but into the warm folds of Yoongi’s hoodie. You’re already halfway there, with your fingers interlaced with his, shoved into the large front pocket, and your face tucked into his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I hate taking the bus,” he curses, his words turning into a cloud that disappears into the cold air. 

“How much time do we have?” 

Yoongi turns his head, and his lips briefly touch the cold curve of your ear. 

“You’re mumbling. What’d you say?”

“How much time until it comes?” You squint up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s too warm here to want to move. 

“Can’t check the app on my phone unless you give me my hands.” 

“No.” 

Yoongi chuckles and jostles your head by bobbing his shoulders. 

“I thought our date would cheer you up.” His complaint is playful, eyes sparkling in the streetlights when he returns his gaze to the empty road. You should have gotten a taxi. 

“I’m gonna die alone. Doesn’t matter how much late-night pizza I eat or how many stupid action movies I watch,” you grumble into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“Even when the action movie lead has a super hot sex scene that’s poorly timed and irrelevant to the plot?” 

“Nope.”

“Even when the coolest guy on the entire planet was the one who took you?” Yoongi smiles cheekily, his gaze back on you. He wiggles his shoulders again, hard enough to bounce your head. 

Annoyed, you straighten up, hands still shoved in his pockets. The movie wasn’t that bad. The pizza was actually great. You’re just depressed. 

“I didn’t think it would take this long…” You whisper into the little space between your body and Yoongi’s. He knows you aren’t talking about the bus. 

Yoongi squeezes your hands inside his hoodie. The rest of you might be freezing in the winter night air, but at least Yoongi keeps your hands warm. He keeps your heart warm, too, with his sincere gaze when he looks at you. 

“You were too good for him.” 

Yoongi’s right. He’s always right. 

You’re sufficiently frozen by the time the bus finally arrives. Yoongi pays for you both because he’s trying to make life easy. No bumps in the road, no unnecessary stress. He lets you sit in a window seat so you can stare out at the blurry night scenery and have your sad main character moment for as long as it takes to get to your apartment. 

Once you arrive, he follows you inside and heads straight to the kitchen while you slump down the hall to your bedroom. The cold seeps so deeply into your bones that the sweatpants and sweater you change into barely help increase your body temperature. 

Maybe it’s because the sweatpants and sweater are your ex-boyfriend’s, and the universe wants to keep your body as cold as his heart was. 

In the kitchen, Yoongi uses a wooden spoon to stir hot chocolate in a small pot, your favorite kind that comes in a block of chocolate that melts with milk. It’s likely been years since Yoongi has made you hot chocolate. Cozy winter nights indoors were once commonplace, the two of you alternating between apartments to make each other snacks and treat cuddles like currency. The appearance of your ex put an end to the comfort you shared with Yoongi. It put an end to most things that brought you comfort. 

As you expect, Yoongi has two mugs out on the counter. You reach for yours, twisting it in your hands as you wait for him to finish. 

“Remember when Spongebob tried to become best friends with Squidward instead of Patrick?” Yoongi asks, turning off the stove. He uses a ladle to pour hot chocolate into his pink mug, then pours some into your yellow one. 

“Yes.” 

“He was Squidward. I’m just mad I didn’t get to blow up his house–” Yoongi laughs and nearly spills his drink when you smack him in the arm, “–with bubbles! With bubbles. I’m not homicidal.” 

Rolling your eyes, you set down your mug next to Yoongi’s, both drinks too hot to drink quickly. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, hooking your finger into his hoodie pocket and tugging lightly, the action absentminded. You keep your eyes cast downward because you don’t want him to see your tears if they run. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood. I know it’s been a while, but, it just… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, and everything fucking hurts…” 

Yoongi slips his fingers under your sleeve and circles your wrist, pulling your hand away from his pocket so he can lace your fingers together. They’re so much warmer now, defrosted by the heat blasting through your apartment and Yoongi’s hot chocolate. 

“Maybe you could start by not wearing his clothes?” Yoongi offers quietly. “Can’t imagine it’s easy to get over someone when you keep them on your body like that.” 

You sniffle and nod. Again, Yoongi is always right. 

“Easier said than done…” you mumble, giving him a weak smile when you finally meet his eyes. There’s something there in his expression, something that seems different. 

You don’t move away when Yoongi steps closer, even when he has you backed against the counter, even when you feel like you’re going to swallow your heart. 

“I could take them off for you,” Yoongi says softly. He lets go of your sleeve to pinch the hem of your sweater, tugging it lightly. “If you can’t do it, I can.” 

“Yeah?” You feel out of breath, maybe because you suck in your stomach when Yoongi’s fingers brush against it. 

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers sliding along your ribs as he pushes your sweater up. “So you can get over him.” 

It’s a terrible idea, but your stomach flutters when he looks at you with sleepy eyes weighed down by the late hour and lust. He bites his bottom lip, and you feel your resolve slip as easily as Yoongi’s fingers do beneath your clothes. 

“I want to.” The declaration is desperate, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare into Yoongi’s eyes with an all-consuming sadness that eats at your insides, gnawing on bones and biting holes into your lungs. “God, Yoongi, I want to.” 

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes because he’s too close and you’re too much of a coward. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. His voice is as gentle as his hands on your bare waist, his thumbs caressing your sensitive skin. 

You raise your arms for Yoongi to pull off your sweater. He’s confident when he squeezes your tits, doesn’t even seem caught off guard when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under the sweater. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you, his tongue tasting sweet from the hot chocolate when he flicks it against yours.��

“Yoongi,” you call out with an airy sigh that harmonizes nicely with the sound of him sucking open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums against the base of your throat, the vibration sending a tingling sensation straight to your clit. He keeps one hand on the counter beside your waist, caging you in, while his other hand cups your pussy over your sweatpants. 

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands immediately finding Yoongi’s firm shoulders when he starts rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers lower to press against your entrance, soaking the fabric. 

“These are his, too, right?” 

“Y-yes,” you moan as Yoongi pulls down your sweatpants, taking your underwear with them. 

You can’t say you never thought about how attractive Yoongi is; it’s hard to ignore. It’s just that Yoongi is your best friend. If anything were to happen between the two of you, you don’t know if you’d be able to survive losing him, too. You love him. 

But you also love your ex. 

It’s hard to think about that, though, with two of Yoongi’s fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. They’re long, reaching deeper than your own can when you finger yourself, always late at nice when you’re lonely. It never feels good after. The clarity always seems to hit too quickly, like being dunked in a pool of ice water. 

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since another person touched you, since you found out your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until you’ve got your head thrown back and your thighs quivering as Yoongi fucks you with his fingers. You nearly climb up the counter, both wanting him to touch you more and trying to get away because it’s too good. 

Your ex never searched for the spot that would make your legs shake, but Yoongi does. He curls his fingers against your front wall and keeps up his rhythm, moving with your body when you can’t control where it goes. 

“Fuck, right there.” You’re burning up, veins turned to lava that’s rushing toward your core as Yoongi fucks you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re on the verge of tears because you haven’t been touched in so long and you’re so lonely and you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough. 

“Wanna make you cum,” Yoongi groans, deep and gravelly, between licking a stripe up your tits and sucking your nipples. 

“Please,” you moan, “Please, I’m so close.” 

Your arousal gushes around his fingers, slicking them up and making your pussy squelch when Yoongi flutters them inside you. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, almost too hard. It stops you from bucking your hips, but you can barely stand as it is. 

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours, red from sucking your nipples until it hurt. He whispers against your lips and opens his mouth to let you suck on his tongue with a pathetic whimper. 

“Not yet, though.” 

“Wha– Yoongi, no–” It’s embarrassing how loudly you cry out when Yoongi slips his fingers out of your pussy. You feel the fire in your core simmer until you’re left with a painfully throbbing clit and your juices smeared on your inner thighs. 

“Shhh, you know I always take care of you.” Yoongi shuts you up with a bite to your bottom lip. He leans down slightly to squeeze the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto the counter. “Lean back.” 

The cold marble counter sends shivers across your body, but it can’t keep up with the heat of Yoongi’s mouth on your pussy. He kisses your lips so gently that you think you might actually cry before he pushes your thighs back, opening you up. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan as Yoongi goes straight for your clit, sucking on it as he swirls his tongue around it. You dig your hands into his hair and tug the strands hard enough to make him moan into your pussy. “Use your, use–” 

Yoongi laps at your click in quick, consistent bursts that fall in line with the tempo he’s fucking to with two fingers again. His free hand presses against your lower abdomen, keeping your body taunt so you don’t buck into his face or curl inward. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop your legs from shaking when one rests on his shoulder and the other draped over the crook of his arm. 

It’s messy and loud, Yoongi licking and sucking your pussy like he really is trying to empty your mind of everything but the way the tip of his hot, wet tongue feels swirling your clit and the stretch of his fingers when he slips a third inside you and focuses on massaging the sensitive part of your walls. It’s working. He completely consumes your senses, down to how gorgeous he looks staring at you from between your thighs. 

Your Yoongi, fingerfucking you and sucking your clit like you’re his favorite meal. 

You try not to bang your head against the counter when you finally cum, instead forcing the overwhelming energy into pulling Yoongi’s hair to keep his face in your pussy. He continues fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, to the point that you can’t lie still any longer. 

“Yoongi, oh my god, Yoongi, it’s too much,” you whimper and gasp, thighs closing around his head until he finally eases his fingers out of you. 

Strings of your arousal connect his lips with your pussy until he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, cutting them off. His bangs are pushed off his forehead and his hair sticks up from you pulling on it, but his eyes sparkle and cheeks are just as rosy as his pink, slicked-up lips. 

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning over you on the counter to kiss you. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and lets you suck your juices from it. 

You think you taste better on Yoongi’s tongue than on your ex’s.

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap @iadelicacy

[egophiliac]

ok so as someone still relatively new to TWST (and someone just taking the events as they come to EN instead of keeping up with the JP side) and as a Jack Howl simp

I am of the (CORRECT) opinion that he should absolutely get an Applepom look because... fwuffy. and hat with ear holes. and he'd be SO insistent that he's used to the cold and doesn't need it but he will take it once it's insisted on because he's polite and won't refuse Gramma Felmier

Also I think a fun twist on the "someone's sled breaks and their plushie tears so they have to come up with another idea" bit from the other event is that Jack goes wolf mode to pull the sled (because as said in his starsending wish he pulls sleds back at home on breaks to try and get faster as a wolf!)

I'm biased though because I need more Jacc in my life

Thoughts?

thank you anon for bringing the mental image of harveston Jack into my life. he would be SO fluffy...so warm...he would haul so many apples...

also while I love the imagery of him pulling the sled, I feel like that would probably get them insta-disqualified. :( unless they can somehow 1) convince the judges that this enormous talking wolf is actually a very well-made plush, and 2) get Jack to go along with it (I do think Jack would instantly respect Marja as being more alpha or whatever and would have to, like, choose between his sense of JUSTICE, or going along with cheating at this sporting event so an authority figure doesn't get mad at him) (...wait this is just the plot of episode 2 again) (DANGIT)

[ladykailitha]

Murder in the Heartland Part 1

Here it is, the most wonderfully insane idea I've ever come up with and I've had some whoppers (Steve in a mental institution and Vecna's Timeloop from Hell for example). This is still the wildest. Only that's a twist that's coming up way down the line. My wonderful discord peeps @forgottenkanji, @dreamercec, @bookworm0690 know all, but you'd have to join my discord to be in on the secret (there are other lurkers there who might know, but they might not *shrug*).

Summary: When a serial killer strikes Hawkins, the police zero in on Eddie Munson. But when the last would-be victim Robin Buckley says that it Jason Carver who was trying to kill her and not Eddie, the police are further put in their place by an anonymous tipper who did all the work they should have done instead of going after clearly innocent Eddie. So Eddie becomes a PI to find this anonymous tipper. Featuring Mystery Writer Steve, who will play into the later plot. ;)

You will see snippets of Steve as the story goes on, but it will be Eddie's story for about 2/3 of it. It is also set in canon time for reasons that will become clear as the story goes on.

~

Interviewer: I’m here with Steve Harrington who has put just put out his seven novel in the thrilling Joe Keery books, ‘The Hollow Promise’. How are you this morning?

Steve chuckled: I’m tired. I’m a writer, I spend all my nights writing and my days sleeping, so this is a little outside my normal waking hours.

Interviewer: Gosh I wish I could do that, but I chose to have a morning talk show instead. Won’t you tell the listeners about your latest book.”

Steve: It’s about a series of murders in a small town and our hero comes to town to investigate and finds a bigger mystery than he anticipated.

~

Eddie’s life went to hell the day Steve Harrington blew town. Not that he would find that out until years later. But then again people were more preoccupied with Robin Buckley swearing up and down that Jason Carver who had been trying to kill her and not Eddie than remember a kid being thrown out of his parents place for being gay so... yeah.

Well, okay, so his life had been hell a little bit before Steve blew town. But that wasn’t as interesting an opening as the day Steve blew town. So he still had a flare for the dramatic, sue him. After all it was that flare that made him become a private investigator in the first place.

When Chrissy Cunningham had been murdered just after Eddie dealt her Special K, that made him the prime suspect in her death.

Which, rude.

She had been dealing with some pretty fucked up shit. Like being queer in a small town levels of shit on top of her mom being constantly on about her weight and her boyfriend pressuring her wear a promise ring. In high school.

Then another student died. A boy on the basketball team, Patrick McKinney, who someone else claimed had bought steroids off Eddie. Which couldn’t have been true, not if it was performance enhancing drugs. He had offered to sell them to high schoolers when he first started dealing, but Rick assured him he already had someone for that.

Then another girl died. Someone Eddie hadn’t known. He knew of her. But she wasn’t even in any of his classes, in any of his senior years. She also didn’t do drugs. Hell, Molly Masters was a known Straight Edger. She wouldn’t have gone near Eddie unless she wanted to throw hands.

Which is why he was blamed for her death, actually. They insinuated that she had finally had enough of his drug dealing ways and had gone after him.

He even had an alibi for that one, not that it mattered. Playing in front of five random drunks and a stingy ass bartender wasn’t exactly as air tight as it could have been. Because as far as witnesses go, they were pretty shit.

Then Barb Holland died. And that was a kick in the teeth. He knew who she was but only in a tenuous ‘best friend of the girlfriend of the most popular boy in school’ kind of way. Eddie was starting to see the pattern, even if the cops didn’t.

Then the final one which ended in the death of Jason Carver, Chrissy’s boyfriend. Only Robin Buckley was still very much alive.

But for the those first three days, she was in a coma. So the police spun the narrative that Eddie had been trying to kill her when Jason had interrupted them; saving her life, but losing his in the process.

Until she woke up and blew the whole investigation out of the water.

“I’m telling you Jason Carver was trying to kill me,” she said for the tenth time to a motley crew of Hopper, Powell, and Callahan from her hospital bed.

“Now why would he go and do a thing like that for?” Powell huffed. “Jason was a good, upstanding young man. Captain of the basketball team. He loved Chrissy. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not for anything.”

Robin let out a long sigh of frustration and buried her head in her hands. She looked up at them, weighing her options before she finally snapped, “Because I’m a lesbian!”

They stared at her blankly.

“Apparently Chrissy was too and that’s why he killed her.”

“You telling me that Jason Carver, all American boy next door was a murderer killing queer kids?” Callahan huffed in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

“And I’m telling you it’s true,” Robin hissed. “Plus whoever saved my life and killed the rat bastard wasn’t Eddie Munson.” She crossed her arms over her chest and settled into the bed, grumpy.

Hopper pinched his nose. “Let’s say we follow this line of inquiry, why do you believe Eddie Munson wasn’t involved at all. You keep saying you never saw your rescuer’s face.”

She looked up at him like he was stupid. “Because the guy that took the bat to Jason’s head was wearing a short sleeve shirt.”

The cops all looked at each other in confusion.

Robin threw her arms up in the air. “No tattoos, assholes! Eddie very famously has bats on his...” she looked at her own arms for a second, “right forearm. And whoever this Jesus with a bat was, he didn’t have any tattoos on his arm.”

“Robin!” her mother admonished. Melissa Buckley was there to ensure that the police didn’t try and twist Robin’s words into saying something that wasn’t true.

Robin just shrugged, unrepentant. They were being assholes and someone should tell them to their faces.

“Well, shit!” Powell snapped, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “If it wasn’t Eddie then who the fuck was it?”

Just then the door to Robin’s room burst open, startling all those inside. Officer Glenn Daniels came running up to Chief Hopper, a large envelope in his hands.

“Florence got this this morning,” Daniels said, panting for breath. “And we wanted to verify its authenticity before bringing it to you. So me and couple of the other officers looked into it.”

Hopper opened the envelope, his eyes growing wider the more and more he looked through it. “And how much it of is accurate?”

“All of it.”

“There is no way,” Hopper growled, slamming the envelope on Powell’s chest. “No evidence is that air tight. There must be some kind mistake or error in there somewhere.”

Powell took the envelope and looked down into it. His eyebrows shot up. “There are actual fucking writings by Carver in here. Where the hell did they find those?”

Daniels just shook his head. “Whoever found this shit was meticulous. There are no other fingerprints than Jason’s on anything. But there is a letter.”

Powell went searching through the envelope and pulled it out, handing it to the Chief, who read it, mumbling to himself.

“Well, as much as I would like to say the bastard is wrong,” Hopper said with a resigned sigh. “He’s not. Or she or whatever. They’re not wrong. The victims wouldn’t have gotten justice, not with them being queer. Jason would have been lauded a hero and paraded in the streets for taking out the trash.”

“‘To the police,” Powell read out loud. “I am sending you all the evidence you failed to collect when you were too busy trying to pin these murders on an innocent man. It didn’t take a lot to realize the true connection the victims had. I’m just sorry I was too late to save Molly Masters. She didn’t deserve to die in that horrible way.

“Once I figured out who it was, I knew that there would be no justice for these kids. Not when Jason Carver was who he was, and why he was killing his peers. So I quietly compiled all the evidence I could. His journals. His distinct lack of alibis for any of the murders. His emotional connection to the first victim, his girlfriend, Chrissy Cunningham.

“I’m just glad I was able to stop him from killing that final girl. But if she did die later, I hope Carver rots in the hell of his own making. No one deserves to die because of who they love.

“-Jason’s Executioner.”

“Well, that ain’t creepy as shit,” Callahan said sarcastically. “Well it’s not as though we could have used any of this evidence anyway.”

“And when is Eddie Munson being released?” Melissa huffed, pulling herself up to her nearly six feet of height.

Hopper blinked at her for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand the question, ma’am.”

“That boy is innocent!” Melissa said sternly. “And what? You’re going to just sweep this all under the rug and leave Jason Carver’s reputation intact?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hopper replied, low and dangerous. “And I don’t appreciate you putting words into my mouth.”

Melissa crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.

“He is innocent of the murders, yes,” he said, “but he still sold an underaged girl ketamine. And last time I checked that was still very much against the law.”

“I don’t believe you actually have proof of that,” Melissa said with a winning smile.

“He confessed,” Powell said in confusion. “We have it on record of him confessing to selling the drugs.” He put his hands on his hips. “There’s no way he’s not going away for the drugs.”

“Under duress,” Melissa said smugly. “Which any lawyer worth his salt will get tossed out in a heartbeat. You have nothing on the boy and you know it.”

Robin grinned up at her. “Isn’t she so cool? And she’s my mom!”

“Stop calling him a boy!” Callahan hissed. “He’s twenty! He knew full well what he was doing and I’m not going to stand here and let you pretend otherwise.”

Melissa scoffed, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I’d call your dog to heel there, Chief, we wouldn’t want me to scream police intimidation, now would we?”

“Don’t make me arrest you, Mel,” Hopper growled. “Again.”

Melissa grinned up at the chief. They had been on very opposite sides of the Vietnam War. Him having been in the army and her having been in the protests against the War. Hawks and Doves.

“And just what would be the charge this time, Chief?” she asked with a wink.

Hopper squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them slowly. He let out a long exasperated sigh. “Eddie Munson will be released without charges by the end of today.”

But before his underlings could protest he held up his hands. “It’s either release him and sweep under the rug that some rank amateur or we don’t release him and Melissa here goes to the press about how we put away an innocent man and get the national media up in our business.”

They stared at him for a moment before they grumbling agreed. Hopper bid the Buckleys goodbye and then led his officers out the room.

So how did Eddie know all this? He talked to Hopper, Daniels and the Buckleys and while some details varied they pretty much confirmed that how it went down and how Eddie got out on a ‘technicality’ as the cops were calling it.

When he stepped out into the fresh air outside of the jail with Wayne waiting for him, he took a deep breath and let it go.

“I don’t know how you can stand living in this hell hole,” he groused as he hopped into Wayne’s truck.

“Can’t afford to leave,” Wayne huffed and started the truck. “If I could scrape up the money to get out of here, I would and I’d take you with me.”

Eddie gave his uncle’s shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe I’ll be able to get a job and get enough money for both of us out.”

“If wishes were horses,” Wayne said ruefully as he pulled out into traffic. “I’m just glad you were released without charges.”

“You and me both, old man,” Eddie huffed. “I was sure I was going to be Reading, Pennsylvania, Short Line and B&O railroaded.”

“Good thing Melissa Buckley was there when they interrogated her daughter,” Wayne growled. “Or you might still be sitting in that cell.”

“I hope you sent her flowers,” Eddie said. “She certainly deserves it.”

“Delilahs and some of my grandma’s shortbread,” Wayne confirmed. “I even offered to help out any handwork they may need in the future too. And if I were you I’d offer your way around an engine too.”

Eddie saluted. “Aye, Aye!”

Wayne snorted. “If the way she tells it is true, some rookie wannabe detective is the one that provided the most damning evidence against that Carver kid.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Eddie said with a snort. “These backwater cops wouldn’t know their ass from their elbow.”

“Still it makes you wonder who it was...” Wayne said softly as they turned into the trailer park.

“It certainly does that,” Eddie agreed. “It certainly does that.”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

I am ridiculously pleased with the railroad joke. It still makes me smile every time.

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter twenty-four, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, us seeing less n less of enobaria n brutus i fear, training day one, FINNICK N JOHANNA SCREENTIME, katniss’s training scene 😓😓

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

the apartment’s quiet when you swing your legs off the bed and stand. at first you think rafe’s still asleep, but his bed’s made with military precision. of course it is. he always wakes up early on days like this, important events. in this case, it’s the morning of training, day one.

you tug on some appropriate clothes and step into the shared lounge where the long dining table already has a few trays of food laid out. there’s fruits, flatbreads, some sort of soft cheese, and warm tea. there’s movement by the far windows. brutus is standing there, back straight, arms folded. enobaria’s pacing slowly near the table, flicking a grape into her mouth with two fingers.

they’re here.

you pause. something clenches in your chest. it’s not that you didn’t expect them. it’s just that you’re not sure why they came. or more specifically, why cassaline only sent for them. leonidas could’ve come, or ryfle too. but instead, cassaline brought the only two people whose presence feels heavier than the weight of the couch.

you approach silently, taking a seat without a word and beginning to pick apart a slice of bread. it’s only once you’ve poured your tea that enobaria glances over her shoulder and says, “finally.”

“morning to you too,” you murmur.

rafe enters a few moments later, running a towel over the back of his neck like he’s just come back from showering. his hair’s still damp. brutus gives him a curt nod, and rafe returns it, sitting across from you without a word.

you can feel enobaria watching both of you with her sharp hawk eyes before she starts speaking again.

“look. i don’t want to waste time. you two know what today is. training’s a chance to feel out who’s useful and who’s just scenery.” she plucks another grape. “we know who’s who already. what matters now is who you’ll be seen with. make allies now for when you go in later.”

you glance up at her, your appetite gone.

“so the newly-weds?” rafe asks, a small smile on his face because he’s joking, but he forgets he’s in a room with the two people who would never laugh with him.

“potentially. it could do you some good, but i’m saying—” enobaria says, fixing him with a look, “—you get in with one and four. especially four. everyone’s betting on finnick, and lucky you, he actually likes you two.”

you nod absently, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

“you’ve trained with most of these people. you’ve fought with them before, performed commercials with them, shared drinks with them at dinner parties,” she adds. “but don’t let that cloud your head. this isn’t about guilt or memory or history. this is about now. they’re all threats, unless you can use them.”

she drops into a chair next to you and leans her arms on the table. her expression softens, just barely. “you’re both better than you were when you were younger, but you’re not invincible. don’t think for a second the capitol hasn’t planned something worse this time.”

you nod slowly, but something in your chest twists. you don’t know if it’s guilt, or fear, or something quieter. like realization. because as she speaks, it hits you.

enobaria doesn’t know. and brutus doesn’t know either.

they have no idea what haymitch told you and rafe on the train, that the goal isn’t just survival anymore, but it’s to protect katniss, and by extension, peeta.

haymitch mentioned something before about a hovercraft to rescue who’s in on the plan, just that you have to be quick enough—or alive at all—to be grouped in. your memory’s fuzzy about it. but you know for sure that you’re going into the arena to die for someone else if it comes to that.

your stomach churns. your fingers go cold against your teacup.

you glance across the table at rafe. he’s already looking at you. his brows are drawn slightly, but his mouth is neutral like he’s thinking the same thing, processing it at the same time.

you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are, like when you’re keeping a secret from a parent, because that’s what it feels like in this moment. you swore to enobaria that you’d survive. but if she knew the truth, she might never forgive you for what you’re planning to do.

she’d probably tear the walls down, curse your name. you promised.

you glance away quickly, your gaze settling on the polished floor. enobaria doesn’t notice the shift in the room. or maybe she does.

she stands suddenly, brushing her hands together. “we won’t be around every day for you two anymore. you should know what you’re doing by now, but we’ll be watching. remember what i said.”

and with that, she walks off toward the hallway, brutus following a few steps behind.

the floor of the training center feels colder than you remember. or maybe it's just the nerves. you step through the double doors with rafe beside you, your boots quiet against the tile.

you’re dressed in what valis left out for you. it’s this black, long-sleeved zip-up training gear, nothing special. it’s tighter than it probably should be though, hugging your frame like it was made to show off rather than protect. but maybe that was the point. valis always did have a flair for dramatics.

you tug lightly at the sleeves, adjusting the zip at your collarbone as rafe leans just slightly toward you.

“you know,” he murmurs, “you look kind of hot in that.”

your head shifts in his direction, a small breath of disbelief catching in your throat, but you don’t have time to say anything before he’s already brushing it off.

“if you need me,” he adds with a grin, tilting his chin toward the front of the room where the heavier weapons are displayed, “i’ll be over. just say the word.”

you watch him go. you don’t say anything, just smile to yourself faintly, returning your focus to your sleeves as you pull at them again and begin moving toward the back of the room.

atala isn’t walking the perimeter this year, no peacemakers are stationed along the walls, there no introductions to how to build a fire or climb a rope. everyone here is a victor. you all already know what to do, where to go.

the instructors are few and far between, blending into the background. just enough staff to keep things orderly or lend a hand, but mostly they know their place, which is out of the way.

you slip through the maze of stations and people until your eyes catch on a figure to the far right.

it’s katniss. she alarms you at first. she’s standing alone near the edge of the room, hands engaged like she’s in the middle of handling something. she’s not looking at you, not at first, but the moment you look over, her gaze flickers to yours.

you know it wasn’t on purpose. she probably just meant to glance, but now you’re locked.

you hold her stare, and when a few seconds pass, you look away first.

you scan the space quickly until your eyes land on finnick, standing near the middle section between two stations, the shaft of his trident balanced in his grip like it’s keeping him upright more than anything. he’s talking to johanna, who’s got her axe resting lazily in her offhand. you swear it’s gotten to a point where she always holds it like this like she’s not quite ready to use it but could still kill someone in one swing if she had to.

they both clock you at the same time. finnick straightens, a slow smile pulling at his lips. johanna lifts her chin, expression unreadable until her eyes land on what you’re wearing.

“valis really zipped you into that?” she asks, eyebrows raised like it’s a crime against nature. “the thorns?”

you don’t answer at first. you just pull your braids over your shoulder and turn around, giving them a look over your shoulder as you stretch the back of the jacket just enough for them to see.

the black zip-up curves tight against your body but it’s stitched down the spine is a single slit, running from your shoulder blades all the way down to your lower back. it parts just enough to reveal slivers of skin and, more importantly, your thorn implants.

“valis said if snow can shove metal into me, i can wear something that doesn’t make me bleed,” you say, eyes flicking over your shoulder.

because even though it’s been years and the thorns have mostly healed, there's still a risk. it’s still a quiet fear. none of the surgeons really know if pressure or friction will push them deeper or fracture something inside. and you’re not interested in finding out.

finnick raises his brows, taking in the back of your zip-up with some level of amusement. “you could’ve just worn a tank top.”

you shift back around and shrug, brushing a hand lightly along the edge of the slit like it’s nothing as you walk past them. “this is cuter.”

behind you, johanna lowers her head slightly like she’s fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but there's the shadow of a grin tugging at her mouth. finnick catches it, and for a moment the two of them just share a look.

the next room over is colder with flickers of artificial light mimicking tree canopies overhead. several corners are staged like separate environments. there’s a dense climbing tree planted deep into an artificial dirt patch, a swimming pool toward the back corner with varying depths, and at least two camo stations already crowded with one or two other victors.

but it’s the rigging table that catches your attention. it’s all bent wires, trip cords, trap components just laid out on mesh-topped tables like a buffet. you walk straight for it, already scanning the materials, fingers ghosting over them like muscle memory’s already kicking in.

you pick up a thin length of copper wire, then a small rusted clasp, and a miniature spring no larger than a button. they probably look like junk to anyone else. but to you, it’s enough. enough to remind you how good you’ve gotten at making these things sing.

“when i was younger,” you say absently, already wrapping the wire around the clasp, “kie taught me everything she knew about traps.”

the mention of her name makes finnick stir. it’s barely a flick of reaction, but you catch it.

his girl.

he mentored her. you know he did, even if he doesn’t remember. maybe he does. or maybe he’s just pretending not to.

“she told me,” you continue, wedging the spring delicately into a carved-out groove, fingers precise, “that traps come in handier than weapons most times. she said anyone can swing an axe, but not everyone knows how to make one from twigs and wire.”

your gaze flicks up to finnick for just a second.

“and not everyone’s gonna see it coming.”

he doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s listening. johanna tilts her head like she’s waiting for the punchline.

you grab a small scrap of fabric from another table. it’s nothing heavy, just something to trigger the mechanism. holding it between two fingers, you toss it casually at the trap you’ve rigged.

it snaps shut in less than a second.

johanna blinks, flinching just slightly. finnick raises his eyebrows, impressed even if he doesn’t say so. it’s not dramatic, but it’s efficient. it’s clean. you know if you had the equipment for it, it would even shatter bone, or sever flesh.

“not bad,” johanna says slowly. “but it’s a good thing i don’t plan on stepping into anyone’s little toy traps.”

you glance over your shoulder at her, one brow arched. “yeah?”

“yeah,” johanna shoots back, already grinning. “i’m not dumb enough to walk into one.”

“she’s got a point,” finnick cuts in, lounging against the edge of the table like he’s the amused older brother in all this. “but you also say that now, and then y/n catches your ankle mid-sprint and suddenly you’re face-first in the mud wondering how you got there.”

johanna lets out a laugh, not even bothering to hide the grin she gives him. “please. if i go down, it's not because of that.”

you don’t say anything at first. you just blink at her slowly, like you're evaluating her challenge from head to toe. then your lips press together in a sly sort of smile.

“guess we’ll see, huh?” you tip your head toward the main room.

“how about we spar?” you ask, voice light but baiting, teasing in the kind of way johanna will never back down from. “see who’s better now.”

she doesn’t hesitate. “you’re on.”

without another word she’s walking backward first like she’s still sizing you up before she fully turns to head out, her boots scuffing the floor. you’re right behind her, adjusting the cuffs on your sleeves again and shaking out your shoulders like you’re already warming up.

finnick sighs dramatically, but he’s smiling. “just don’t kill each other, would you?” he calls after you both.

“maybe snow would like that,” you say.

johanna huffs, glancing back at you. “and ruin all his fun?” she reminds you, though her tone sounds miserable. she leaves her axe with finnick who takes it casually. “i don’t think so.”

finnick just trails behind at a lazy pace, spinning the axe once in his palm before resting it on his shoulder, watching the two of you. you and johanna step up onto the mat.

“you gonna throw the first punch?” johanna asks, rocking slightly back on her heels, that grin curling the corner of her mouth.

you roll your shoulder once, loosen your wrists. “thought you wanted to prove you were better.”

that’s enough.

she swings wide, aiming more to make contact than to strategize. you duck it easily, your foot pivoting as you step sideways, and throw a sharp palm into her shoulder to off-balance her.

she recovers quickly and grabs your wrist as she goes, tries to yank you forward. you twist free just in time and reset your stance, breathing through your nose, watching her bounce once on the balls of her feet.

finnick’s voice cuts in, “tighten your core, jo. you’re giving her too much room.”

she doesn’t look at him, just snarls something under her breath that might be ‘shut up’, and lunges again.

this time it’s a better angle. her shoulder are down, momentum tight, but you’ve already side-stepped. her fingers graze your arm as you turn, using her own motion against her. your knee plants behind hers and you drive upward, catching her ribs and sending her staggering.

she exhales with a hiss and flashes her teeth. “so this is what they teach the stone children, huh?”

you smirk a little. “you should’ve seen me at seventeen.”

“i would’ve put you in the ground.”

“you could try.”

she comes at you again and you meet her head-on this time. her fists aren’t precise, but they’ve got force, enough that when she lands one against your side, it stings deep through your zip-up. you grunt, head dipping as you press forward and slam her back with your shoulder.

you don’t say anything, but she looks up at you, eyes gleaming, “you always this pretty when you fight?”

you grin, refusing to let it catch you off guard as you both reset.

there’s no official signal to start again, but you know the rhythm now. johanna paces in a lazy half-circle, sweat beading at her temple and catching in the hollow of her throat. she’s got that grin again, teeth flashing. it doesn’t match the lazy way she walks, but you know better than to be fooled. you’re already raising your fists.

you mirror her steps, walking slow, giving your limbs a second to breathe. she shakes out her hands. you roll your wrists.

“didn’t think you’d be this fun,” johanna says, voice a little hoarse, a little breathless.

you smile. “you still thinking about that trap?”

she laughs. “you wish.” then she lunges again.

you meet her halfway, blocking a fist and catching her forearm, twisting her body mid-swing. she rolls with it this time, dropping her weight to throw you off, but you ground yourself. your knees bend just right, feet pivoting as you slam your elbow toward her chest. she ducks under, driving her shoulder into your ribs, and the two of you go crashing to the mat again, but you don’t stay down.

you break apart quickly, scrambling up, brushing loose hair and sweat from your face. johanna pushes up off the floor and immediately lunges again, this time spinning, aiming a kick low. you catch it barely with your shin, and the crack of contact echoes loud. it stings.

you hiss under your breath, backpedaling as she presses forward. her punches come fast now. you block one, then another. the third clips your jaw. your head whips to the side.

she breathes out a rough, “got you.”

you shake your head, grin growing. “one hit.”

“more than none.”

she moves again and this time you duck low, wrapping her middle and throwing your shoulder into her side. she stumbles, off-balance. you use it. your arm snakes around her neck as you hook a leg behind hers and pull.

she hits the mat hard, back first, your weight already braced over her. you twist, reposition, legs moving automatically into a grounded stance. her hand claws at your arm trying to pry it loose, but you’ve already locked it in place. her back arches a little, her body straining, trying to twist out, but your grip tightens.

you’ve got her in a perfect hold now, arm tucked under her chin, one leg bracing her hips, your body angled and solid. she lets out a tight grunt, teeth grit.

finnick, still watching from the edge of the mat, lets out a low whistle. “jo . . .”

you glance at him but your focus stays on her.

johanna’s fingers scratch at the mat for half a second. she tries to elbow back blindly but your weight is too solid. she can’t reach. her breath starts coming in short bursts. her hand finally comes up, taps your thigh twice, fast.

you release her immediately, shifting off.

she lies there for a second, arm flung across her face, chest rising and falling hard. her other hand reaches to tug loose strands of hair from where they stuck to her cheek.

you stay kneeling next to her, catching your breath too, brushing your flyaways back with one hand. your heart’s still thudding against your ribs, but not wildly. you’re used to this kind of rhythm, or you used to be. you haven’t sparred in a few months.

“you alright?” you ask.

johanna peeks at you from under her arm, squinting through sweat. “you fight like a damn machine.”

you tilt your head. “you tap like a softie.”

she lets out a bark of laughter, rolling to the side and pushing herself up onto her elbows. “shut up.”

you smirk and push to your feet, reaching down to offer her a hand. she takes it without hesitation, her grip tight as she pulls herself upright, breath still coming in harsh pulls.

finnick walks over finally, hands tucked in his pockets now that he’s handed her axe off to one of the trainers. he’s grinning, of course. “well,” he says, looking between the two of you, “that was . . . not surprising.”

you both shoot him the exact same look, which only makes him grin wider. you’re about to go find some fan to stand under until you see it.

you don’t notice it at first, not until a few of the tributes to your left start drifting toward the hall across the room.

no one calls attention to it, not really. but you catch the shift, the slow turn of heads, the pull of bodies moving in one direction. people start leaving the training floor, gravitating toward the corridor dead ahead.

you pause and straighten, still catching your breath. johanna’s next to you, wiping sweat from her jaw with the back of her hand, and finnick’s just brushing his hands off as he follows you, not really seeing it at first either.

your eyes flick toward the tributes gathered up ahead. tall frames block the view from where you’re standing, and you can’t see what they’re all looking at, but they’re definitely watching something. you glance to johanna, then to finnick. both of them have stilled.

“you see that?” you murmur, nodding toward the hallway.

johanna squints and tilts her head. “something’s going on?”

finnick doesn’t say anything. his eyes are sharp now, his easy grin replaced with something closer to focus, then he nods toward the crowd like he’s ready to follow you, so you go.

the closer you get, the more it sinks in. everyone’s hushed. finnick reaches out to gently part the bodies ahead, his presence enough to make way. a few tributes step aside when they see him, giving just enough space for you and johanna to slip in.

and that’s when you see him. rafe’s already here.

he’s standing right by the glass wall that stretches from floor to ceiling. he doesn’t even notice you at first, too focused on what’s happening inside. his shoulders are tense. his hands are in his pockets, but you can tell he’s gripping something by the way his knuckles shift.

“hey,” you say quietly, moving beside him.

he glances at you finally, only briefly, before turning back to the simulation room. his jaw’s tight, so you look.

inside the glass enclosure, katniss stands alone on a small platform. you quickly realize what this is, what the room must be. it’s a training simulation room.

around her, orange cubes flicker and reshape themselves mid-air, reforming into human shapes. they’re holograms, and they’re coming at her fast.

katniss doesn’t flinch. she moves like water, twisting, turning, her braid trailing behind her with every pivot. her bow is already drawn, an arrow let loose before her next footstep even lands. the first hologram you see already disintegrates into pixelated light. she doesn’t pause. she reloads, ducks under a projected blade, spins, and fires again. another one gone.

you can’t look away. you’ve pretty sure everyone’s seen footage of her games before; the capitol made sure of it. but footage doesn’t feel like this. it doesn’t shake through your chest or raise hairs on your arms.

here, in real time, it’s not about polish or propaganda. she’s not acting. she’s training. it’s all pure instinct. every line of her body is alert, precise, lethal.

it’s . . . actually really impressive.

but it isn’t until the last two figures appear that you feel like you’re watching in slow motion.

they form in unison. one is tall and broad-shouldered, the other slightly smaller but compact, agile. one holds a bladed weapon. the other, something thrown. you stare hard as they charge katniss at once, completely in sync.

and she almost doesn’t catch it in time.

the taller one runs straight at her, and katniss stumbles, having to dodge sideways instead of retaliate. the shorter one’s already moving, flicking a weapon through the air like it’s second nature. katniss twists again, narrowly avoiding it, sliding across the floor and knocking into one of the simulation room’s walls.

she doesn’t hesitate long. she fires an arrow into the chest of the smaller one. it disintegrates in orange fragments. she plants her foot hard against the ground and propels herself into a kneeled position. the taller hologram raises its weapon, but she’s already pulling back. the arrow flies, right between where the eyes would be.

the last hologram bursts into cubes of light, and then there’s nothing but silence. you feel rafe flinch beside you, just a twitch of his arm, but you catch it.

katniss kneels there for a moment, catching her breath. you watch her head drop, then she lifts her chin slowly. her eyes meet the glass.

you wonder when she realized she had an audience. you wonder if she knew the whole time.

no one moves except wiress. she jumps, like literally jumps, and starts clapping like she can’t control the sheer urgency of praise. she doesn’t say anything intelligible, but her breath is fast and giddy, a string of huffed syllables that sound like adoration.

you glance sideways to find finnick. he’s still beside you, arms crossed, expression drawn tight with concern. his lips are pressed into a thin line. when he catches you watching him, he gives you a glance that says exactly what you’re thinking.

you look past him, to johanna, who’s staring hard, then over to rafe, who’s already looking at you.

you stare into his eyes, and it’s all there—recognition, realization.

the silence finally breaks when gloss and cashmere are the first to start moving. they step back from the glass with stony expressions, arms folded as they head toward the main floor again. more tributes follow, returning to their training like all is normal. some whisper to each other. some say nothing. a few throw glances back at katniss, unreadable. but all of them start to leave.

but you don’t. you stay there. something about it feels just so . . . familiar? those holograms couldn’t have been random.

it hits you, that fast.

the way they moved, the way they pushed forward in tandem in this coordinated, practiced way. one would charge while the other circled. they danced around her like it was instinct.

it wasn’t just a random simulation. it wasn’t just filler code in the system.

that had to have simulated you and rafe.

you feel your stomach dip. not in fear, but in clarity. they didn’t even try to be subtle about it. you’re meant to see. the simulations use weapons that fit every tribute here, you’re guessing.

katniss everdeen is seriously making herself one to watch this year.

you blink twice. you want to say something, maybe ask rafe if he realizes it too, but you don’t need to.

he already knows.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

wait bye i forgot lyme was a character omg i said theres only enobaria n y/n LMAOOO im so stupid

[riizegasm]

One Hell of a Drug || J. SC

❀ pairing: plug!sungchan x situationship!reader; fem!reader

❀ genre: fwb to lovers, suggestive (like it gets hot and heavy), minor fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~5.5k

❀ warnings: explicit language, sungchan sells drugs, alcohol consumption, recreational drug use, making out, heavy petting, dry humping, use of pet names (doll, babygirl, baby, etc.), very minor blood and injury, MDNI!!!

❀ summary: Patching up Jung Sungchan was not what you’d expected to be doing on the most random nights. But even when you try to distance yourself, you learn that Sungchan is one hell of a drug that you just can’t seem to quit.

❀ a/n: Happy New Year babes!! This is honestly the spiciest thing I’ve ever written, so let’s see how it goes! I promise it still has plot and deep introspection, because it wouldn’t be a Brea fic without it. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged. Happy reading!

masterlist

A frantic round of knocks at your door is not what you expect to wake you up at 3am on a random Thursday. You live in a fairly quiet area, your own apartment building safe and full of peaceful families. Most shops close around 10pm, meaning the streets are just about cleared out by 11pm. So why would anyone be at the door unless…?

Your sleep-clouded mind doesn’t even perk up enough to peek through the peephole, safety be damned. You simply swing your door open, jaw dropping when you see the bloodied figure in front of you. 

“Sungchan?”

The man bites back a wince as his mouth curls into a pained smirk. “Good morning, doll.”

For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming. It feels like if you pinch yourself hard enough, you’ll wake up back in your bed where you belong. But no, you’re definitely awake. The metal door handle is cold underneath your fingertips, socked feet planted firmly on the ground. This is real. You’re really at your door at 3am. Sungchan is really at your door at 3am…again. 

“What are you doing here?” You question, voice still thick and sluggish from sleep. 

Sungchan’s smirk deepens, a clear attempt to hide his pain. “I just wanted to see my favorite girl.”

At your unimpressed glare, Sungchan smiles sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I need some help. I didn’t really know where else to go.”

His voice trails off towards the end of his sentence, small and vulnerable in a way that you’ve never heard before. You hate the way your stomach twists in knots at the sound, wanting nothing more to reach out and comfort the man in front of you. But you can’t. You told yourself you wouldn’t. It’s just so hard to not reach out and caress his swollen face when it sits right in front of you. 

After a moment of silence, you sigh, opening up your door a bit wider. “Fine. Come in.”

You watch as the man enters your apartment, shrugging off his shoes and leather jacket in the entryway. He moves like he’s familiar with the place, and you hate the fact that he actually is. He makes himself comfortable on the couch, wincing as he sits down. His posture is overly relaxed, despite the way he’s definitely in pain. 

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” you mumble, slipper clad feet shuffling down the hallway. 

At this point, it has become somewhat of a routine. Sungchan would show up bloodied and bruised, either from a deal gone wrong or his temper getting the best of him. He was no stranger to fights, as most people would be in his line of work. Every time he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would make his way back to you to patch up his wounds. 

You don’t quite know why he always asks you to put him back together when he falls apart. 

It’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything, far from it actually. Sungchan made it very clear that he doesn’t date, but you would be lying if you said you had no interest in dating him. Since the moment you two met, you couldn’t fight your mutual attraction. One thing led to another, and then you two were hooking up under the haze of a hotboxed car. 

You said it would only happen once. And you meant it, you really did. But all it took was Sungchan offering to smoke you out for free for you to end up in his car again…and again…and again. Hooking up in the car then became hooking up in your apartment, which then became patching him up in the early hours of the morning. He was a drug that you couldn’t quit, not that you wanted to. 

However, you can’t deny how burdensome it is to constantly patch him up after his bad choices. He had always told you how dangerous his work was, about how being the campus plug had its drawbacks. You never believed him until he showed up for the first time with a black eye and split eyebrow from getting pistol whipped in the face. Ever since, you’ve been his favorite doctor, despite the way that it tears you up inside. 

A few weeks ago, you had told him you were done. It was too much to care about his whereabouts in the dead of night and wonder if he would come to you injured and in pain. You said it was the last time you would patch him up, and that if he wanted to keep getting himself into trouble, he would have to make it someone else’s problem. Sungchan, as spiteful as he is, told you that you’d never see him again. Clearly, that resolution didn’t last long. 

Sungchan is holding his side when you return with the first aid kit. You force yourself to look away from the bulge of his biceps and the form of his chest in his black tank top. Now is not the time to be admiring the man in front of you, not when he’s bloodied and clearly in pain. 

You sit on the coffee table in front of him, wordlessly beginning to attend to his wounds. Sungchan takes it well for the most part, only wincing at the sting of antiseptic on his cuts or groaning when you place a little too much pressure on his bruises. It isn’t until you’re patching up his split knuckles that you notice his stare. 

“What?” You ask, a little breathless when you meet his eyes. 

Sungchan has always had this way of looking at people that makes them melt. Maybe it’s the big brown eyes, or the subtle intensity behind them, but it always makes people a little weak in the knees. You would’ve hoped that after almost a year of sleeping with each other that you’d be immune to it. 

Clearly, you’re not. 

“I can’t just look at you?” Sungchan responds, smugness coloring his words. “You’re just so beautiful.”

A flower of warmth begins to blossom in your core. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m serious.”

You roll your eyes. “No you’re not. I think you got punched a little too hard in the head this time, buddy. Save your slick talk for someone who isn’t nursing you back to health.”

“Doll, there’s no one else I’d want to use it on.”

There it is, the glaring problem with Jung Sungchan. He always runs his mouth around you, showering you with sweet talk and an illusion of loyalty. But none of it is real. He has a way of making you feel like you’re the only girl in his life, like you’re the only girl in the world. You know he doesn’t mean it, though. You’re just another girl in his rotation. As painful as that may be to admit, it’s better than believing his lies. 

You simply roll your eyes at the man’s comment, placing a final bandaid over his knuckles. “There, all done.”

“Cute,” Sungchan coos. “I’m happy to see you got Snoopy ones this time.”

It had been a deal that the two of you made a while ago, back when Sungchan first started showing up all bloodied and bruised. Part of his payment for your first aid would be sporting whatever cute band aids you decided on. You always said that if he wanted to flaunt his toughness with his scars and bruises, you’d be sure to undercut it with a bit of cuteness. Since then, you’d been rotating which characters you use, from Disney princesses to Hello Kitty, always with the objective of softening Sungchan’s look as much as possible. 

You’re not quite sure it’s working, since the entirety of campus still seems to quiver in fear when Sungchan strolls by. As much as Sungchan loves it, you can’t help but laugh, knowing how much of a softie the man is at heart. 

“How can I pay you back this time, doll?”

The answer rolls off your tongue easily, like it always does. “You can stop getting into fights.”

Sungchan sighs, leaning forward in his seat so that you two are only mere inches apart. Like this, you can admire the pretty length of his lashes and the angelic shape of his lips. Even all banged up, Jung Sungchan is the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. 

“You know I can’t do that. It’s part of the job.”

“But you could try to control your temper a bit more,” you argue. “I know that it isn’t always your fault, but it’s not like you ever shy away from a fight.”

“Because, if I let people bitch me, I’m putting myself in danger.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger right now!”

Sungchan sighs, flopping backwards onto the couch. He’s quick to let out a groan while he clutches his side, the movement clearly too much for his injured body. 

“Don’t move. I’m getting you some ice.”

He’s still in the same position when you return, clutching his side while his face is twisted in pain. The sight alone makes your own body throb, as if sharing his injuries. You’ve never considered yourself to be an empath, but the way that Sungchan’s pain always feels like your own makes you want to adopt the label. 

“‘Chan,” you whisper, placing the ice pack on his ribs. “You can’t keep doing this. One of these days, you’re going to end up really hurt, or worse. I want better for you.”

“You think this is what I want for myself? You think I can just up and stop this whenever I want?”

You wince at the tone of Sungchan’s voice, growing way too loud for so early in the morning. 

“No, I—,”

“It’s not that fucking simple and you know that! And still, here you are bitching at me. I don’t need that, you know.”

“Sungchan, please, just—,”

“And why do you care, anyway? If I wanted a girl to be telling me what to do, I’d get a girlfriend or call my fucking mother. You’re not either, so please don’t act like you have a say in this. I don’t need that. I don’t need you to be that. Hell, I don’t need anyone to be that.”

You don’t even get to respond before Sungchan is springing to his feet, adrenaline clearly eclipsing any of his residual pain. He gathers his stuff and leaves in a hurry, not even bothering to tell you goodbye. He slams the door on his way out, leaving you with nothing but an ice pack melting in your hands.

.         .         .

Your blood freezes in your veins the next time you see Sungchan. It’s a simple Friday night party off campus, one with too much alcohol and too much weed and too many drunk college students grinding on each other. So really, you shouldn’t be surprised to see Sungchan there, especially knowing he likely supplied the weed that everyone’s smoking. But after a couple weeks of not laying eyes on him, the sight of his mouth lazily wrapped around the rim of a beer bottle is enough to stop your heart. 

“What are you looking at?” Your friend Eunseok calls before following your line of sight. “Oh come on, Y/N. I thought you were done with Sungchan.”

“I am!” You hate how defensive your voice sounds, inevitably giving away your lie. “I’m just surprised to see him, is all. It’s been a while.”

Eunseok rolls his eyes. “It’s been a while for a reason. Leave him alone. Let’s get a drink or something.”

You willingly follow behind Eunseok as he tugs you through the crowded apartment. He only lets go when you reach the kitchen, shoving a solo cup full of questionable liquid into your hands. You don’t even blink before draining the contents of your cup, wincing as the liquor burns its way down your throat. 

The warmth that it leaves in your stomach is barely enough to eclipse the pang of hurt that has settled in your core since the moment you set eyes on Sungchan. You know that you’ll need at least a couple more to even begin to enjoy yourself, knowing that the source of your pain is only a few feet away. 

It’s how you end up four drinks deep only about an hour or so into the function, teetering on the line between tipsy and drunk. There’s a pleasant warmth flooding your face; you’re thankful it goes unnoticed due to the blush you’d applied before you came. You feel fluid, almost, body moving languidly to the music blasting throughout the apartment. It makes it easier to enjoy the party, melting into the sea of dancing bodies as you accept another drink from Eunseok. 

You don’t decide that it was a bad decision until your vision begins to swim. All of a sudden, the pleasant warmth becomes an oppressive heat, forcing you to look for an escape. It’s hard enough to get yourself to focus, but eventually you find your way over to the balcony door, stumbling a few times and righting yourself with the help of the wall. 

Once you actually make it onto the balcony, you can’t help but sigh in bliss. The crisp air feels delightfully soothing against your skin. A brief breeze carries a smell of the city, which isn’t the most pleasant, but it beats the combined smell of liquor, sweat, and weed that clouds the apartment. 

“Thought you were too good for parties.”

The sudden voice makes you jump out of your skin. You whip around to face its owner, only to instantly regret the way your vision is slow to catch up. However, despite the drunkenness, you would know that pair of large doe eyes anywhere. 

“What are you doing out here Sungchan? Go away.”

You’re sure that your voice sounds less than convincing. Sungchan seems to agree, if the way he smiles slowly and continues to approach you is anything to go by. You hate that you want him to be even closer, to close the distance between you two. But it’s not what he wants. Even your drunk brain knows that. 

“I saw you stumble out here and wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Sungchan responds with a nonchalant shrug. “How many drinks did you have?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossing firmly in front of your chest. Sungchan’s eyes dart down to watch the way the position squeezes your chest together just so. He’s always been a fan of that part of you. 

“Why do you care?”

Sungchan shrugs again. “Because I just care. I don’t want you to get hurt. There are some bad people out there.”

“Yeah, like you?”

“Ouch,” Sungchan feigns offense. “You wound me, babygirl.”

“You fucking deserve it.”

“Maybe I do. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to make sure you get home safe tonight.”

“I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

You try your best to step around the tall man, only to stumble sideways into the balcony railing. At least the alcohol shields you from the pain, but it does little to quell the embarrassment. You can hear Sungchan chuckle, before an arm comes to pull you up. 

“Yeah, you sure look fine to me. Come on, I’m taking you home.”

You let out a weird mix between a groan and a whine. “I’m fine. Leave me out here.”

“Nope,” Sungchan chuckles. “We’re going home now.”

Sungchan’s grip is gentle, yet insistent as he begins to drag you through the crowd. On the way out you manage to catch Eunseok’s eye, giving him a brief thumbs up while he motions for you to call him later. It’s enough for you to breathe out a sigh of relief, stumbling behind Sungchan as you struggle to keep up with his quick pace. Fuck him for having such long legs. 

Eventually, you reach Sungchan’s car, a place that you’re unfortunately too familiar with. You slide into the passenger's seat as little more than a mess of limbs, causing Sungchan to chuckle. He leans over you to secure your seatbelt, close enough that the warmth of his body can be felt through the fabric of your thin crop top. Even in your drunken state, you can feel the way your heart twists at the close proximity. 

The warmth is gone as quickly as it comes, though. Sungchan simply makes sure the seatbelt is secure before shutting your door, leaving you in a brief bout of cold and silence. You hate the way that you already miss him in the few seconds that it takes for him to round the car and slide into his own seat. What’s even worse is the way that you can’t suppress your dopey smile when he begins to drive. You’ve always loved being his passenger princess. 

The ride back to your apartment is virtually silent, especially as you focus on not throwing up in Sungchan’s front seat. It feels like ages before you arrive, and when you do, Sungchan is instantly rounding the car to open your door and help you out. You open your mouth to refuse the hand he offers you, but the complaint instantly dies when you stumble a bit coming out of the car, falling face first into Sungchan’s chest. Wow, you must be drunker than you thought. 

“Woah there,” Sungchan groans, catching you by the waist. “You have to stand up properly, babygirl.”

You simply hum, nuzzling further into the thick fabric of his hoodie, intoxicated by the mixed smell of cannabis and Dior Sauvage that always clings to him. “But you’re so warm.”

“I know, but we gotta get inside. Come on.”

It takes a moment, but Sungchan’s able to pry you away from him just enough to support underneath your arm. He all but drags you along as he enters your building and makes the ascent to your apartment. He only relaxes once he makes it into your space and deposits you soundly on your bed.

It’s hard to tell what happens next, as your eyes begin to feel heavy from the comfort of your bed. You can barely feel some pressure being relieved from your feet, accompanied by twin thumps against your carpeted floor. The world seems to go still for another moment, before you feel something cool and wet dragging across your face. 

Instinctually, you flinch away, only to be shushed by a calm voice. When your eyes begin to flutter open, a pair of large brown ones are staring back at you. 

“Shhh, relax, doll,” Sungchan coos. “I’m just taking off your makeup.”

You can’t tell if it’s the soft timbre of his voice, the fondness in his gaze, or the alcohol that makes your stomach swim. It’s impossible to ignore, though. A firm tingling feeling floods your body in the way it always does around Sungchan. You hate how he always has such an effect on you. 

“Sungchan?” Your voice comes out as little more than a thick whisper. 

“Hm?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Sungchan just shrugs, a small smile blooming on his flawless face. “You always take such good care of me. I thought it was about time that I returned the favor.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before the coolness of the makeup wipes are leaving your face, Sungchan taking a step back. He tosses them in a small trash bin before turning back to you. You feel the heaviness of sleep pulling at your eyelids once more, fighting you in a battle that you know you are bound to lose. 

“Get some sleep, Y/N,” he whispers. “I’ll see you around.”

The next time you open your eyes, sunlight is streaming in through your curtains. Sungchan has left you with nothing but a splitting headache and the tacky residue of makeup remover staining your face. 

.         .         .

You’re left to wonder if that stood as Sungchan’s resignation from your life. You don’t hear from him or see him for weeks, despite the fact that you know he’s still plenty active on campus. No matter where you look, though, you can’t seem to catch sight of him. 

All things considered, you shouldn’t even want to. But nothing can stop the butterflies in your stomach every time you think about him, about the feeling of the makeup wipe on your face, about the soft timbre of his voice as he sent you off to sleep. It’s addictive, as everything about Jung Sungchan is. But he said it himself. 

You’re not his girlfriend. He wasn’t even looking for one. You should never get your hopes up. 

Your mind is running through those three sentences like a mantra late into the evening one night when a knock sounds at your door. Instantly, your stomach plummets, knowing there could only be one person on the other side. 

Your suspicions are confirmed the minute you open the door to a pair of brown eyes staring down at you. In the place of what you thought would be relief lies a white hot anger. It creeps up through your core, settling thick in your esophagus. You can’t even take in Sungchan’s bruised state, too busy being absolutely furious at his audacity. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You spit.

Sungchan tries to smirk, only to instantly bite back a wince. “I need you.”

You can’t help but scoff. “I thought you didn’t need anyone.”

“I don’t need anyone. I need you.” Sungchan’s face melts into desperation, eyes widening impossibly so. “Please, babygirl. Please help me.”

You wish you were a stronger person. You wish you were a person who could curse Sungchan out and then slam the door in his face. You wish you were a person who could say that he’d never see you again and mean it. But you’re simply you, so you do the worst thing imaginable. 

You go get your first aid kit. 

Sungchan is clearly in pain when you return, sprawled out across your couch with an arm covering his eyes. The beginnings of a nasty bruise peeks out where it lies high on his cheekbone, bright reds beginning to fade into deeper purples and blues. His knuckles are swollen and split like they usually are, but nothing else seems quite out of the ordinary. The injuries are far less than the usual ones that he comes to you to treat, a cloud of doubt beginning to fog up your mind. 

“I can only treat the knuckles,” you state as you sit in front of him, snatching his arm from over his eyes before he can register your presence. “The bruise just needs ice and time to heal. You know that.”

Sungchan sighs. “I know.”

“Then why are you here? You could’ve bandaged your knuckles by yourself.”

“I told you,” Sungchan sighs, finally looking down to where you’re fussing over his hands. “I need you.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

The man doesn’t bother refuting your claims this time. He simply watches as you take the time to disinfect each individual knuckle. You handle his injuries with such care, the type of attention that makes Sungchan sick if he thinks about it too hard. He chokes down the thought of what could be as you pull away, finally turning behind you to grab bandages. 

“Y/N, I—,” Sungchan cuts himself off, an immovable lump forming in his throat. 

“What?”

Your unimpressed glare does nothing but make Sungchan chuckle, always amused by your tough exterior. It’s one of his favorite traits of yours, not that he would ever tell you that. No one is able to put Sungchan in his place like you are, especially not with a single look. Sungchan has tried endlessly to fight the way it makes his stomach swarm with butterflies. 

“Never mind,” Sungchan responds after a moment. “Thank you as always.”

You only give him a simple hum of acknowledgement as you work on bandaging his final few knuckles. It’s easy to get absorbed in the intricacies of his injuries. It feels like every time you patch him up, you’re diving headfirst into an anatomy textbook, forced to confront the complexities of the human body. “The Anatomy of a Drug Dealer” has a nice ring to it.

“Sungchan,” you say softly, “why did you take care of me that night? After the party.”

The man in question just shrugs languidly. “Like I said, you always take care of me, so I wanted to take care of you.”

“But why? The last time we saw each other, you were very adamant about not wanting or needing me or my help. So why now?”

Sungchan sighs. He could say it. He could come clean right now and finally tell you everything that he’s been dying to since the day he met you. It could be simple. All he needs to do is tell the truth, and it could all be over. Instead, all he manages to produce is a rush of words. 

“You scare me.”

You look at the man as if he’d grown another head, nothing but sheer confusion crossing your features. Here is the most feared man on campus, telling you that he is scared of you. Sungchan can sense how perplexed you are, immediately beginning to backtrack when he notices your expression. 

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that,” Sungchan groans, slapping a hand over his forehead, “you care for me in a way that no one ever has. You look at me and genuinely care about my wellbeing and making sure I’m safe. No one gives a shit about who or where their drugs come from, as long as it’s not overpriced. But you’ve always given more of a shit about me than the weed and that scares me. It scares me because I give a shit about you, too.”

You stare at the man in disbelief, struggling for a moment to find your words. “Sungchan, are you saying that you care about me?”

“Fuck, of course I care about you. But the way that I care about you is…”

“Scary,” you finish. 

Sungchan simply nods, finally letting out a relieved sigh. He had no idea how much this fear had been weighing on him until the pressure had been lifted. But that weight is instantly replaced with something physical as you place yourself right onto his lap, looping your arms around the back of his neck. His eyes widen in minor surprise at your close proximity. 

“‘Chan,” you whisper, not wanting to be too loud in the newfound closeness. “How about I cut you a deal?”

“What is it?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the man’s breathlessness, reaching down to wrap his arms around your waist. “I’ll keep caring for you, patching you up, being there for you, and a whole lot more if you start openly caring about me just as much.”

“Like a relationship?”

“Maybe we’ll get there. But for now, I just want you to be honest with me. I want you to tell me how you feel. I want you to tell me what you really want.”

Sungchan swallows thickly, allowing you to shamelessly track the bob of his throat as he does so. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Then kiss me.”

That seems to be all of the permission that Sungchan needs before he’s surging forward to claim your lips. He starts off surprisingly gentle, a sharp contrast from the deep, passionate kisses that usually accompany your hookups. This time, he’s kissing you like you’re something fragile and delicate, something he cares about enough to not break. 

When the two of you part, it’s with a wet smack of your lips, despite the kiss not being particularly deep. But both of you are panting like you have just run a marathon, a combination of the adrenaline and the closeness making you both breathless. Sungchan’s long lashes flutter open after a moment, meeting your gaze with an intensity that you haven’t seen in weeks. For once, you don’t hate the heat that begins to bloom deep in your core. 

You’re not quite sure who leans in first, but before you know it, the two of you are kissing again. This time it’s much more reminiscent of the kisses you two usually share, a deep meeting of lips and tongue as if you were to devour each other. Sungchan wastes no time in pulling you closer in his lap, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to nibble on your bottom lip. 

The fabric of his jeans is rough against the thin cotton of your pajama shorts, and you’re sure Sungchan can feel your heat through the minimal layers. It doesn’t stop him from using his grip on your waist to begin to guide the movement of your hips against his. The friction is obscene, pleasured sparks shooting up your spine at the continued contact. 

You throw your head back in a quiet moan as the two of you connect at the perfect spot, Sungchan’s own groan coming out as little more than a deep rumble in his chest. Sungchan begins to trail kisses up your neck and jaw, which quickly turn into harsh nips and sucks. It’s only when you glance downwards and are met with the sight of a deepening bruise on the man’s collarbone that you realize just how detrimental this could be to the man below you. 

“S-Sungchan,” you stutter around a gasp. “We should stop. You’re still hurt.”

Sungchan pulls away from your neck with a wet sound that has your cheeks heating, hands keeping you firmly in his lap. “I don’t give a fuck. I want you.”

“I know, I want you too. But—,”

“But nothing,” Sungchan interrupts. “You took such good care of me, doll. Now let me take care of you.”

You think about it for a second, taking in the swollen tingle of your lips and the incessant throb in your panties. You take in Sungchan’s pleading eyes, noting the way his dark irises have been overtaken by blown pupils. You take in the bruise on his cheekbone and the split of his knuckles and think about the anatomy of his injuries. That’s what allows you to realize that you’re both just human. 

“Okay,” you whisper after a moment. “Take care of me, Sungchan.”

.          .         .

No one ever talks about just how good the bittersweet pressure of being stuck between a rock and a hard place can feel. The rock can be Jung Sungchan, pressing you into a hard place, which just so happens to be the passenger’s side door of his old car. 

One hand presses firmly into your waist, keeping you pinned to the car door, while the other cups your cheek. His lips are fervent against yours, ravishing yours in that heated but lazy way they always do. The taste of cigarettes is heavy in his mouth as he presses it into yours, making every bitter hint of tobacco explode on your tongue. His overwhelming height and strength make it so that you can’t move, the car door handle pressing uncomfortably into your lower back. But with the way Sungchan is kissing you, you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“Fuck,” Sungchan curses as he pulls away from your kiss. “The things you do to me, babygirl.”

You can’t help but continue to ogle his lips, swollen and spit slicked from the intensity of your kiss. The deep rasp in his voice never fails to light a fire in your veins, sending electricity shooting through your entire body. He seems to notice the effect that he has on you, smirking slightly as he takes in your disheveled state. No matter how many times he has seen you fall apart at his every touch and kiss, it never fails to boost his ego. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” You ask, suddenly aware of how your voice comes out in a whine. 

Sungchan chuckles, squeezing your hip. “I can’t, doll. I have to do a few more deliveries tonight.”

“And I can’t come with you?”

“I have some dangerous clients tonight,” Sungchan states with a sigh. “I don’t want you to be there if anything goes down.”

“Promise me you’ll at least be careful.”

Sungchan smiles. “Of course I will. I gotta make it back home to my girl at the end of the day.”

Warm lips leave a lingering kiss on your forehead before he finally lets you go. He climbs into his car with a wink, loud bass of his favorite song filling the air as the engine roars to life. And then he’s gone, speeding off into the early evening.

But this time, you know he’ll come back to you, and only you. He may have knuckles that will need to be iced, a split lip that needs to be disinfected, or even some bruises that need to be catered to. This time, you’ll be happy to patch them all up, knowing that the one who will be taken care of at the end of the night is you. 

.FIN.

[yanderedrabbles]

hiii, love ur stuff. Do you have any tips on writing/making it better? Anything I try to write is super short and bland tbh

I'm so flattered that you're asking me anon! Personally, I think writing style can change a lot over time. And bland doesn't necessarily mean bad.

I used to have such a huge issue grasping the idea, but your work doesn't have to be dense with metaphors or paragraphs of prose to be good.

I think a lot of it comes from the prestige of literary writing. The idea that you're not a real writer unless you're being artistic. And to most of us, artistic usually means lots of metaphors, lots of prose, lots of slightly confusing allegories. And God forbid you write to be popular or to cater to mass appeal. In that case, my mind insisted on telling me I wasn't an artist, I was a hack. A sell-out.

What utter bull. A simple, bare-bones writing style is just as appealing as a richer, more descriptive one. Think Hemingway. Notorious for clear cut and direct prose, and he's considered one of the greats.

That being said, here are some of my tips to write longer, more interesting pieces:

Clichés. Oh, the dreaded cliche. Almost unavoidable, because it gets the job done. Says what needs to be said. I thought avoiding clichés like the plague was the best option, but I've since come to appreciate the art of freshening up a cliche. Giving it a unique twist.

The most famous example I can think of is:

She looked like a million bucks tax free.

Two words added onto a tired cliche, and suddenly it's new and fresh and has all sorts of implications.

In fanfic, there are more than a few phrases that get used by just about everyone.

"His eyes darkened. He growled. His grip tightened."

If using those was a crime I'd be serving on death row. But the truth is, they work. They convey the idea. With how often they show up though, I think it's fair that they get spiffed up now and again. Exchange the classics for slight variations.

"His eyes were getting darker by the second. He snarled. His hold was hot iron, and it was cooling fast."

Don't be too fanatic, but whenever a sentence feels a little stale, see what you can change to make it unique.

Voice. Seriously, the secret power behind the best authors. Voice is that undefinable sense of character that makes a piece far more engaging. Examples of fics that use a pretty strong voice are the Hush fic, Yandere Sherriff and Yandere Prison Warden.

When it comes to nailing down voice ask yourself:

What time period am I writing in? Are there phrases or slang that were popular at the time?

How educated is my character? Are they a stickler for grammar or do they speak more casually?

What is my character's background? How does that affect the way they think and speak?

What is my character's attitude towards life? Do they observe everything with a cool, detached mind? Are they jaded or angry? Are they sarcastic or prickly?

An exercise I like doing when it comes to creating a stronger sense of voice is a free flow document. Where I pretend I'm interviewing one of the characters, getting a better sense of who they are. Here's an example of a free-flow doc I did for an upcoming cyberpunk character:

V: How did you grow up? C: Rough. The kind of neighbourhood where you don't look twice at what you see. V: And do you think that's affected you in any way? C: What are you, some kind of head doctor? 'Course it affected me. You'd be pretty kicked up, too, if you saw the shit I did. V: Is that why you're so comfortable with violence? C: Violence. What a shitty fucking word for it. Kind of thing you say when all you've ever seen is the inside of a university. It's not violence, doc. It's surviving. It's living. It's tranqing someone else so you can live to see another day. It's the fucking sticks.

As you can probably tell, this isn't a nice character. He doesn't speak the way a polite man would. And that's voice.

Planning. Now, this one greatly depends on your own preference, but I like to plot out my stories. Usually before or in the middle of the fic. This doesn't have to be intense. Just a few notes jotted down to determine the outcome and the best way to get there. I've found that as I plot I tend to get new ideas, too. Usually leading to a much longer story (cough yandere prison warden cough).

Read the style you want to write. Boring advice, I know. You've heard it already, and you've heard it better. But, the truth is, when you read mindfully, you pick up half a million little tricks. The trick is to read like an editor.

Read over your favourite pieces and ask yourself what makes them so good. Is the characterization? Is it the author's style of prose? What works and what doesn't? After a while, you'll find yourself recognising patterns and implementing them in your own work.

And lastly, remember that your work is your own and that's what your readers love. If your style feels a little bland, experiment with different genres or styles of writing. I promise you, your readers won't mind one bit.

[froznwater]

post WT Alenaoh drabble

Alejandro wins World Tour and now not only does his family treat him poorly, but so does the rest of the world. Even Heather gets her bit of redemption after being "used by the evil Alejandro." But none of the shows fans like him. They can admit he was smart, yes, but ultimately someone able to play with that many peoples hearts is not a good person. Twitter trends with phrases like 'rigged', 'not my tdw', and 'slippery eel' for weeks after his victory. His phone number gets leaked, bombarded with hateful messages, and his car gets keyed during the ten minutes he takes to run into his local mall to pick up a gift for his mother on her birthday. Tiktok makes 'plot twist' edits of him. Where it begins with him, but ultimately switches to another of his precious peers after they "shut him down" and the entire concept is just one big fuck Alejandro party in the comments. Hundreds- thousands of greasy idiots belittling him for their enjoyment. He doesn't even post on Instagram anymore. Too pussy to entirely turn off the comments and let the world think they've won, he just buries the app deep in a folder and leaves it untouched. Eel. Fake. Bop. I'm doing it, are you? How many letters in Alejandro? Is that oil I see? Noah = 8.

Some people even show up at his house. His father hires bodyguards and demands the police to patrol the area, but blames Alejandro for all of it. This is all your fault. You were too careless. You should have done this. You shouldn't have done this. Look, this person figured you out. Why did you say this? That was dumb. Jose would have done better. He WON, didn't he? ...Didn't he? But college starts in two months, so he rides it out as much as he can. College sucks. Everyone stares, but no one approaches unless it's some dickhead-sexist loser clapping him on the back with enough gusto that really re-whacks the reality into him every time. He's met with "Aren't you that asshole that won Total Drama World Tour a couple months ago?" any time he tries to make some friends. None of the cast reach out. It stings, but Alejandro gets it. He's not wanted. Within three weeks, he's moves to the middle of fucking no where with his cat and enrolls in as many online classes that his new mediocre college will allow. - Noah, praised for his intelligence and funny one-liners over his course of 15 minutes of screen-time, is the fan-favourite. Officially. Voted through the after-season special reunion. Even though he never made it far. In the beginning it's vaguely funny, karmatic. Him. Noah. The unlike-able "schemer." Is the one that fans edit on tiktok and quote on Twitter. After a (short)while it's annoying. He can't get his coffee before class without posing(or declining to do so) for at least two instagram photos. He can't scroll Twitter without seeing someone referencing him in the replies. "Giving slippery eel." "It's all down here from here, honey."

Even his nickname for Owen is used to fatshame people everywhere. "Lunchbox." Is commented under anyone over 100 pounds. It puts a foul taste in Noah's mouth that makes him lock his phone and touch fucking grass every time. Tiktok clips of him go viral. So not only does a lot of America know him, most of it does, as well as other parts of the big wide world. It sucks. The studio won't let it die either. They sell merch of his face. Of his sweater vest with the inbuilt button-up. Of his face on a gay flag(which the fans use as confirmation in his sexuality after demanding so from him for months and getting no answer.(He isn't even gay.)) Of his last insult to Alejandro. And, really, who actually won that fight? Noah, bisexual gay icon, who signed away all his rights to merch pay-cut? Or the man and his million dollars that hasn't been seen or heard from in three months? With love and admiration comes hate. It's piling up more and more. And the more people blindly defend him the more people that come out with their "I'm going to be honest. I didn't care for Noah from Total Drama." And Noah can deal with hate. Honestly, he can deal with it better than he can with love and people genuinely liking him. But he's seen the pattern. He knows where this is going. He goes on a few interviews he never accepted before, gets a new phone number, deletes all his social media, applies to a new college with a student count of 2,000, and retires his red sweaters.

Fuck the internet.

- You'll never guess who he sees.

[gaywatch]

oh my, you ship jack and elizabeth?

i’m definitely prepared for a highly intense and opinionated lecture if you have the time and energy for it! been shipping them for years but have never known someone else who does as well!

Okayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy so

Some people had the Vision to see potential in Jack/Elizabeth from Pirates of Caribbean right from the start. Those people were blessed with the gift of Sight. I was not. I took the first movie's canon as is, like a heathen. This is particularly funny given ::gestures to the entire desert island sequence::

Will/Elizabeth was good enough, though it probably should have been a sign that me, the Most Hopeless Romantic Bitch You Know, wasn't drawn to the canon romance in a particular way. I was an overall fan, I liked everything about it.

I had to have the sequel dropped on my head in order to Understand.

First of all, you know how Jack's compass won't work? The one that points directly to what he wants most in the world? And then it points at Elizabeth but oh whoopsie she had the papers or the map or whatever that would get him closer to immortality so it must have been that then never mind? MIND. The writers themselves confirmed what was implied throughout the whole movie--Jack was in love with Elizabeth to the point of a genuine dilemma between her and immortality. His feelings are canon. Oh, he makes little 'it would never work' jokes but that motherfucker wants her as much as wants to live forever.

And Elizabeth??? Excuse me??? With her own arc descending into a pirate's morality by way of extreme flirtation with the lifelong pirate? Packing chemistry that Will could never muster for a single second of his entire life? Will and Elizabeth have perfectly good devotion and care for one another, but excuse me ma'am you come to LIFE when you're around Jack, thank you.

And then the third movie just made it Worse.

She's the Pirate King. THE. Pirate King. KING OF THE PIRATES. And she's a damn good one. An inspiring leader. A clever woman. She fits into piracy and piracy molds itself to her in ways that make for a banger character arc, so why in the FUCK are we waiting on a beach for however many years while Will serves his time? The guy who doesn't want piracy but is forced to serve? Meanwhile the lifelong pirate who embraces the world you fit into is a no???? And not to harp on chemistry, but you expect me to watch Elizabeth fall into that kind of fire with one person and then NOT end up with him?

I do not understand. The arc and evolution of Elizabeth starting out with her childhood sweetheart and then over time growing up and rising into what she really wants in both a life (piracy) and Jack (not the boy-next-door good girls are supposed to dream about) would have been so compelling to watch alongside the main plot. Plus, for the time the original trilogy was made, it would have been mind blowing to see a love triangle where she doesn't wind up with the guy she was originally interested in or the Safe One. Hell it'd be a nice twist now.

Why is it ALWAYS the Safe One? These days there's a whole """bad boy""" subgenre to compensate, but it's mostly in books and they're mostly just assholes or abusive. I've been gnawing my enclosure for twenty years over this, and it's a huge reason why I never win love triangles whenever I wind up caring about them. Jack, Phantom, Gale, my track record for canon sucks but the straight ladies writing """bad boys""" don't get it either. Bad boys do not work unless they're also good men. He either grows into it or it's hidden for as long as you want but at some point it has to be Bad Boy, Good Man. That's where the money is.

POTC could have had it all but played it safe in the end. Sigh.

[dreamlandreader]

Hounds of Love

Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Eris Vanserra storms through the woods in a rage, the last thing he expects to come across is a beautiful fae who is heading right into the path of his father. Eris knows he can’t just stand by and watch this oncoming storm, but in helping this gentle soul, he may have to sacrifice more than he bargained for.

Content Warning - Parental abuse, parental illness, off screen injury caused by a dog (very briefly mentioned).

A/N: Here it is - the piece that landed me with major writers block for weeks and weeks on end and then got stalled because life got in the way! Inspired by the song Hounds of Love by Kate Bush and Feyre’s encounter with the water wraith in ACOMAF✨

Part two will be out soon 💖 Hope you enjoy 💖

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The hounds of love are hunting, I’ve always been a coward, and I don’t know what’s good for me … 

In the limited light of the quickly setting sun a furious male and his hounds stalked through the trees. 

The bronze leaves shivered in the wake of the Autumn Court heir, who bustled past in a burning rage. Embers of fire flickered at his fingertips as he watched his hounds run wild and free with a glint of jealousy burning in his warm eyes. 

Eris Vanserra was sick. Sick of his court which became more and more suffocating by the century. Sick of his title which kept him tethered to this land. Sick of his father, at whose hands he now bled. 

It had become a regular routine over the years, the way his father would manipulate and berate and twist the knife until Eris could bear it no longer and his calm exterior would shatter. Beron, unimpressed by his son’s outburst, would then beat him back into submission, and Eris would take it until his father got bored. Then he would slip out into the woods with his hounds, using the space to breathe, and to prevent himself from burning the whole damn court to the ground. 

As Eris stormed, the yowls of his hounds swirled around him, twigs snapping beneath their heavy paws as they ran and ran. Eris was all consumed plotting his father’s demise. He knew it was only a matter of time before one of them destroyed the other, and he would be damned if he gave up without a fight.

Lost in his own thoughts it took a few seconds for Eris to notice the sudden silence. The excitement of his hounds tapered off, and the only noise left was the ringing anger reverberating through his skull. A knot formed in his stomach, as he began to run in the direction of his dogs. Eris had spent centuries training his hounds, and they had a rhythm. They never once went silent unless he ordered them to. Not unless something terrible had happened to them. 

Burning orange trees blurred in Eris’s peripheral vision as he ran into a dusty clearing, the fire at his fingertips warmed his hands as he prepared for a fight, but he faltered when he saw the largest hound of the pack lay flat on his back with his soft stomach bared to the skies, a slender hand scratching away at his furry tummy. Glancing up in shock, Eris was greeted with gentle laughter as a joyful fae female watched his two youngest hounds prance around her, play fighting for her undivided attention. Eyes gazing back down once more Eris tutted as he watched the usually stoic leader of the pack bury her large head into the female’s lap, snuffling into her skirts and drawing another delightful giggle from her. 

“What well trained dogs I seem to have bred,” Eris spoke sharply, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. 

His hounds stiffened and stood to attention immediately upon hearing their masters sarcastic growl. You jumped to your feet in surprise, wiping your dusty hands on your dress, meeting Eris’s hard stare with a sheepish smile, crimson flooding your cheeks.  

“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise they were out here with anyone. Your dogs are beautiful,” 

“My lady, you are lucky you still have your hands. My hounds do not usually take so kindly to strangers,” It was the truth, a few months ago a wandering merchant lost three fingers when he reached out to stroke the dogs without their permission. The fact that you stood before Eris not only whole but covered in fur from their loving affection was baffling to the Autumn Court heir. 

“These dogs?” You ask skeptically, holding back a laugh, reminding Eris of the position in which he had found them. 

“It appears they must have taken a liking to you my lady, a rare thing indeed,”

“I am not a lady,” you state gingerly. He should have noticed the lack of jewels, the plain dress, the absence of guards - but something about your sheer presence was so captivating that all of that had faded into the background. 

“I do apologise, you will have to pardon my ignorance,” It was Eris’s turn to blush then. He prided himself on his intuition. His innate ability to size up his opponents had served him well over the centuries, allowing him to swiftly understand a person and their motives in order to stay five steps ahead of them at all times. In your enchanting presence however, Eris’s usual instincts evaded him completely. 

“What may I call you then?”

“Oh right, my name is Y/N,” you reply, bashful as Eris takes your delicate hand and places a kiss upon it. 

“Whilst it truly is a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I am curious to what you are doing alone in the forest so close to nightfall. You are aware of what lurks within the trees once the sun goes down, no?” 

“I’m here to see the High Lord,” 

Eris stiffened, so many questions flying around his mind as something thick and painful settled itself deep in his chest. Why would such a seemingly gentle being want to be anywhere near his beast of a father? 

“Th-the High Lord?” was all Eris could stutter out.

“My family, we have a farm to the south, just above the border. Only for the past few years my father has been sick, and the crops have suffered greatly due to the droughts we’ve been experiencing,” 

Eris’s heart cracked for you, for the pain that swam in your eyes. There was no reason he should care, he had met you a matter of moments ago, and yet a part of him ached to fix your situation.  

“I would like to ask our High Lord for a reprieve on our tithe - just for six months. By then I hope and pray to the Mother to have our little farm back to the flourishing haven it once was,”  

You were dead. If you got to his father and begged him for anything then you might as well sign your own death warrant. Eris had witnessed too many times the tithes that ended in bloodshed. Beron was too clever to kill anyone in a public forum, he knew it would lead to rebellion, but his spies would soon catch up with anyone who was lacking in funds and they would all mysteriously vanish. He had to do something, he couldn’t let you wander innocently to your death. 

Oblivious to Eris’s internal struggle, you suddenly perked up, eyes widening, 

“Oh how rude of me, here I am prattling on and I haven’t even asked how I should address you? You are dressed so finely you must be a Lord, please forgive me,” you stated, sinking into yourself as you took in his perfect appearance.

The Lord’s pristine shoes alone likely cost more than your family could scrape together in a whole year. Embarrassment tainted your good mood as you pulled your cloak tighter around your body to hide your shabby clothing. 

Eris could sense the shame dripping off you, and unable to stop himself he placed a finger under your chin, and made sure your eyes met his.

“My name is Eris, but you needn’t concern yourself about formalities’ he told you “I am of little importance”. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Whilst his position in the Autumn Court provided him with the finest luxuries money could buy and any outsider could easily assume the heir had unlimited power and freedom, behind closed doors, under Beron’s harsh regime, Eris was nobody. He was liked by few and truly understood by none. 

 “Eris,” you say dreamily, tilting your head to truly take in the beautiful male before you. 

Under your gentle gaze Eris feels a glittering warmth spread across his body, a primal rush to protect you, and then a life altering snap.

“You’re-,” he stumbles, unable to finish his sentence before you begin your own.

“Anyway I best be going,” you rush out, realising the passing time and lifting your skirts to turn. “It was terribly nice to meet you, but I really must be on my way,”

“Please don’t!” Eris blurts, gently grabbing your hand, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn to him, confusion taking over your face as he explains softly.

“The highlord, he isn’t a good male. He won’t hesitate to hurt you. If you approach him with any vulnerability he will do anything he can to manipulate you into making a deal you can’t keep, and if that doesn’t work he will just kill you,” he said, stroking a surprisingly calloused thumb down the back of your hand.

“But, maybe if I can just explain my situation to him then-”

 “He won’t care, Y/N. You will die,” Eris’s eyes go dark and you know in your very soul he is telling the truth. “I just- I need you to believe me,”

“I do, it’s just-,” You faulter, breathing deeply before you continue.

“I can’t go home without this six months reprieve. We have nothing more to give. Surely if I turn up to the tithe next week empty handed he’ll just kill me anyway?”

Eris looks down at the wealth that drips from his body, and suddenly recalled the scandal that Tamlin’s ex-human had caused at the last Spring tithe. Rumours swirled far and wide of the Cursebreaker’s controversial gift to a poor wraith, and without a second thought Eris followed suit, pulling off the gold rings which covered his fingers.

“Here,” he says, shoving the pieces into your hands before he began to unclasp his cuff links.

“What, no! Eris, I can’t take this,”

“Yes, you can,” Eris insisted, moving on to his many earrings. “I will not let that beast touch you. I’m not in a position to offer you safety, but please let me give you some help,”

You nodded, frozen in shock, and watched as Eris filled your hands with rubies, opals and orange sapphires all set in the finest metals money could buy. Finally he takes out a fine leather pouch filled with gold coins and helps you to gently stuff the rest of his riches inside. Once the pouch is fit for bursting he removes his fur lined cloak and tells you to swap it for your own threadbare one.

Looking you once over, Eris swallowed down his instinct to press his lips against yours, knowing his relentless father would never allow for his eldest child, his heir, to be mated to a peasant.

Collecting himself, Eris let out a sharp whistle, making you jump as the leader of his pack came to his heel.

“I want you to take Hallie,” he said, his throat thick with emotion as he took your shaking hand into his own.

“Eris, I’m not taking your dog!” You argued, giving him an incredulous look.

“These woods are unsafe at the best of times, if you walk them with gold lining your pockets it is asking for trouble. She is a good hound. She will keep your safe,”

“I- I have no way to repay you for your kindness,” you breathed, silver lining your eyes, unable to fully comprehend the events of the last half hour.

“Stay safe, my lady, that’s all I ask,” he said, before kissing your hand one final time, petting his beloved Hallie on the head and then bidding you both goodbye as he disappeared between the trees, the sad howling of his remaining hounds in tow.

The walk back to the manor passed quickly in a mess of emotions, and even as Eris dragged himself to bed, accompanied by a glass of strong whisky, he tossed and turned all night, unable to forget the beautiful fae he left in the woods and the piece of his soul she had taken with her.

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Hope you enjoyed reading!

✨Let me know if you would like to be added to my general taglist ✨

[rebelumbrella46]

*SPOILERS* From Blood And Ash/ The Flesh And Fire Series

Have you ever finished a book, looked back, and realized just how messy the family relationships are and how chaotic some of the characters' actions seem?

Take FBAA, for example:

It all starts with Kolis setting his eyes on Sotoria. She’s so terrified that she runs off a cliff and dies. (Still not buying that she ran just because she was scared—unless maybe he made a move on her, she rejected him, and his real form came out in a rage, which is what truly sent her running.)

Then Kolis visits Sotoria's family to break the news, and Callum—her brother—just decides to follow her into death. But instead of letting him go, Kolis holds him while he dies and then brings him back to life. And what does Callum do? He just sticks around with the obsessed god responsible for his sister’s death and endless torment.

Next, Kolis kills his own twin, Eythos, in retaliation for keeping Sotoria's soul away from him. But then he regrets it—so he traps Eythos' soul in a diamond and hangs it over the cage where he keeps the women he’s been abusing for years.

Before all that, Eythos had made a deal to get his son, Nyktos, a wife while also protecting the embers of life. But Nyktos is like, no thanks, and literally removes his own Kardia after seeing how "love" turned his uncle into a monster.

Fast-forward to Nyktos’ children—twins Malec and Ires. Malec, up until where I’m reading, decided he wanted to explore, be worshipped by mortals, build an empire, get married, cheat on his wife with countless mistresses, and then finally settle down when he finds his heartmate, Isbeth.

Then there’s Eloana, Malec's wife—In jealousy she poisons Isbeth, and she keeps it a secret, lying about what she did and about who Queen Illeana really was.

Isbeth, who dies and is denied resurrection by her own would-have-been father-in-law, loses her baby son and her heartmate. So, in revenge (thinking Eloana and Valyn killed Malec when they actually entombed him), she builds an empire. But when Malec’s twin, Ires, comes looking for him, Isbeth—with Callum’s help—cages him, forces him to be with her (even if she claims it was consensual, I’m not buying it), and has two children with her would-have-been brother-in-law.

She then tries to ascend her firstborn, Milicent, using Eloana's second son's blood, Casteel’s blood—since she also captured him in revenge against Eloana. But when Milicent dies, she turns her into a revenant, one of Kolis' creations.

And yet again, she decides to have another child with Ires.

Enter Poppy. She has to suffer the same life Sera did—being a Maiden. Then she gets kidnapped by her guard, Hawke, who she falls in love with… only to find out he’s actually the Dark One, the Prince of Atlantia—who she believes killed her parents.

And then there’s Casteel, who also falls in love with her but initially planned to exchange her for his brother, Malik.

Speaking of Malik—he’s Eloana’s firstborn (who she probably named after her first husband, Malec, whom she entombed). Malik has been a prisoner for almost a hundred years under Isbeth after trying to rescue Casteel. But plot twist: he’s not exactly an unwilling prisoner because he turns out to be the heartmate of Isbeth’s first daughter, Milicent. Except… he was supposed to be betrothed to Poppy and ascend her into godhood to fulfill some prophecy about the end of the realms, which is also the reason why he tried to have her murdered (when she was a child) by the Craven, also side effects of Kolis' actions.

But surprise! Poppy and Casteel are heartmates, so they get married and the union is blessed by Nyktos. And guess what? Poppy isn’t just Isbeth and Ires’ daughter—she’s also the first and only Primal of Life and Death, granddaughter of Nyktos and Seraphena Miriel, and the reincarnation of Sotoria—who (as far as I’ve read and suspect) is also an ancestor of Seraphena and the reason all of this happened in the first place.

And to top it all off? Kolis is still alive—and he needs a sacrifice to fully awaken.

So Isbeth decides to kill her heartmate, Malec, because even though she still loves him—and despite all the monstrous things she has done—she truly loves her daughters and refuses to sacrifice them. But in the end, she is killed by her would-have-been mother-in-law, Sera, the Primal of Life, when Sera (sort of) possesses Poppy, whose soul had (in a way) been inside Sera hundreds of years ago.

Poppy goes into Stasis.

Casteel turns into a cave cat—and he is (possibly) a descendant of Attes, the Primal of War, who swore to help Sotoria and may have even had feelings for her. Which makes me wonder… what will happen when they meet again? (I haven't finish TFAF series so i don't know if he makes it out alive or not, i hope he does.)

Anyways, why do I feel like Poppy is going to wake up and have no memory of anything? They just mentioned that some people who ascend don't remember their past when they wake up from Stasis—Sera woke up remembering, but I have a feeling they might take a different route with Poppy. What if she doesn’t remember her current lifetime at all, but instead recalls only her past ones? We might end up seeing just Sotoria in the next book.

What. A. Mess.

[thehollowwriter]

Meet Quinn Fletcher, NRC's Student From Another World

Some Basic Info:

☆Class: 1A

☆Club: None (for now)

☆Favourite subject: Astrology

☆Homeland: A mysterious, magical, and mystical land known as South Africa

☆Species: Human (but an alien according to twst XD)

☆Height: 147cm/4'10

☆Birthday: 6 May

☆Dominant hand: Left

☆Hobbies: Writing, reading, photography, collecting seashells

☆Likes: The ocean/sea creatures, swimming, archery, cooking, nature, movies

☆Dislikes: Being put in charge, people who don't pull their weight, most of the twst cast, being shouted at, liars

☆Favourite food: Quinn loves all kinds of food, so she can't really pick a favourite

☆Least favourite food: Spinach

Personality:

Quinn is very quiet, introverted and non-confrontational most of the time and generally doesn't talk to people unless it's people she likes about something she likes. She seems calm and a bit distant most of the time, but honestly, she just files away/suppresses most negative emotions whenever she's around other people. She dislikes the majority of the twst cast, but looking at her, you couldn't tell.

Since coming to twst, she's seemingly been running on autopilot. Though she tries to be polite and kind, she actually has quite a short temper, but her anger rarely shows around others, though some people do notice and can feel it oozing out of every pore. In general she struggles with very intense emotions and thoughts of violence, but she usually just brushes it off, though rarely when she's alone she'll act out on it (During book 3 she smashed a few mugs and almost threw one at Grim bc she was really really fucking pissed about the situation). She's a pot threatening to boil over atp.

Quinn is a bit naive and not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, but she is a good liar and has found ways to manipulate situations to make her life easier, even if that means shifting the blame for something onto someone else.

She's a kind person, though being stuck in twst makes her feel the opposite, and her low self-esteem and myraid of health issues make her think she's not very useful or worth keeping around, though her creativity and her habit of overthinking things makes her good to have around if you want to prepare in advance for emergencies, and whenever she is put in charge of something she's surprisingly good at it.

Appearance:

Quinn is short and pudgy with dirty blonde hair dyed ginger and styled in a wolf-cut. She has grey-blue eyes (that sometimes look green) and pale-ish skin. Her face is dotted with freckles, and she has pretty prominent eyebags. She is always wearing a small silver heart shaped locket she got as a gift from her friend and she also occasionally wears a pair of cat earings.She can often be seen wearing jeans and coats with tons of pockets during the colder seasons and flowery dresses in the warmer ones. Most clothes are too big for her.

Important Things To Know:

☆At some point in the story Quinn stole one of Rook's bows and several of his arrows and though she can't handle it super well since she's a lefty using a right-handed bow, she did it well enough to threaten Ace with it once

☆Quinn got sick on her first night in Ramshackle, and after that, she's been mostly unwell and not doing so hot, especially since she has no access to any of her medicine. Each overblot seems to make it worse.

☆She has started researching the world of twisted wonderland and treats everything around her like a fake, dream-like story. She's just learning the lore. These people are just characters. Everything's fine, and she's going to wake up soon :)

☆Because of how she's currently treating her situation, Quinn comes off as very distant and detached, sometimes even uncaring, even if she tries her best to be polite

☆Quinn avoids the other students and tries to stay uninvolved in everything. She goes to class and she goes "home". Done. But she still gets roped into the main plot in various ways

☆Quinn is aroace

☆Quinn cannot stand Grim and would have kicked him out of Ramshackle if her existence as a student didn't depend on him. Her more aggressive and mean side will come out around him, unfortunately

☆She starts working at the cafeteria and at Mostro Lounge to earn some income. In general one of her ways of coping is by putting her head down and working and thinking about things to do rather than dwelling too much on the situation

'Quinn's Family:

Her mother, father, brother, and sister back in her original world

Backstory:

Quinn grew up with a disabled dad, a chronically sick mom, and two younger siblings. Her mom was very emotionally and sometimes physically abusive and outside of her friends things were pretty miserable and Quinn was almost always exhausted from taking care of most of the duties her mom was either too sick or too lazy to do and basically running the household with her sister. Things were made even more difficult by her family being extremely religious (her grandfather was even a pastor) while she was a queer atheist, and had to hide most of her interests and keep her appearance "acceptable" even if she didn't like it. A huge fight with her mother resulted in her being locked out of the house in the rain as a punishment, and she decided to grab the keys and just leave. It was while she was trekking to her friend's house that she came across the black carriage and woke up at NRC, where she was then burned and scratched during her first encounter with Grim. She's just trying her best to survive at NRC even if she does feel scared and lonely.

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info:

☆Quinn is bilingual and will sometimes talk to herself in Afrikaans so that she isn't understood

☆Quinn doesn't handle crowds super well and gets overstimulated much more easily than usual at NRC

☆She's perpetually exhausted, especially without her iron supplements

☆Quinn really enjoys playing games and can get quite competitive (she does not like losing)

☆Though Quinn generally keeps most thoughts to herself, she will mutter under her breath, and if you can overhear her, it would probably make a sailor blush (she swears a lot lol)

☆Quinn kinda feels like a bad person bc she doesn't miss her family at all. She only misses her friends

☆Quinn loves to learn and always wants to try all sorts of new things

☆Quinn has ADHD and anxiety and is probablyyyy autistic too

☆Quinn would often get in trouble for not being feminine enough and though she isn't trans she does dress more masculine out of spite sometimes (When she does think about it though she may be gender apathetic who knows)

☆Rook eventually got Quinn her own bow and wants to give her lessons bc her archery is, uh, pretty rusty

☆Despite her wariness of the other students, Quinn will take up opportunities to get paid, which is how she got involved in Book 2. She insisted Crowley paid her if he expected her to larp as Sherlock/hj

☆Quinn is almost always listening to music to decompress and keep calm. Takes her mind off things and she gets to vibe y'know

...........................................

A/N: Finally I have a Yuu! She's not super interesting rn but I will be developing her character and adding new stuff to her and her lore as we go along. I hope you guys like her so far!

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @harryinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @nemisisnemi @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @authoruio @jewelulu

@moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @quartztwst @yuizenihaswriten @oya-oya-okay

@kirans-wonderland @coffinkissez @idikeis @s-t-y-x @minutewondertwist

@random-twst-and-oc-stuff @creatorbiaze @bunnwich

@tixdixl

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[onyourhyuck]

The Tattoo Artist. | L.MK

— Prologue: “Since when did i get this tattoo?”

— Summary: Where one late night visit to your shop with a drunk man asking you to do his tattoo turns to an one night stand at your shop.

— Genre: Smut. Dom!mark. One night stand type of trope. Y/n!tattoo artist. Mark loves tattoos. Mention of alcohol use. Sex in a tattoo store. Mark hitting it from behind. Overstimulation. Unprotected sex. Squirting. Ass play. Mark really loves Y/n’s ass. lip ring MARK LEE. Plot twist at the end / Cliff Hanger.

— Notes:

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night out was Mark’s typical routine. He leaves his apartment block and gets picked up by his two friends who accompany him to go out drinking and partying like every other night. Yuta and Johnny. These two boys are like glued on to Mark’s hips. However tonight it seems like they found themselves ladies and happen to be swooned.

Typical Yuta and Johnny, Mark thought.

They said it’s ‘boy’s night’ yet they always find themselves ladies to get distracted by and Mark was left either third wheeling or led to be alone drinking his single sorrows away.

Honestly Mark prefers it that way, being single. Less hassle to be dealing with relationships and the breakup that comes with it too. Mark can’t be dealing with a girl who complains about his lifestyle choices either. He’s too caught up in the present moment and he’s never thinking about the future. The man is doing what most men in their adulthood years do — drink, party, maybe get high or something along the way.

Then wake up the next day absolutely hungover to the point your memory couldn’t even remember what you ate yesterday. And then try to recount the times you drank last night because you’re grieving how bad the headache is. The cycle continues the following night on the same day. Your friends ask you to go out and Mark accepts because he cannot say no to free drinks.

It’s a struggle. It’s a blessing but a struggle. The idea feels good and then when the happy hours pass Mark feels completely utterly shit.

Mark tells himself ‘I quit drinking. It’s the last time I’m drinking this much’ and then? Contradicted his own statement. He gets drunk, drinks past the limits maybe even more than he drank last time.

Another thing Mark has a hard time saying no to?

Tattoos.

The one thing that Mark cannot say no to other than free alcohol would be tattoos. He already has four on his body and Mark finds them so fascinating. It’s like a way to express himself.

Guilty pleasure would be the best way to describe his relationship with the needing urging to cover all of his body in tattoos. However he knows he cannot do that. At least not unless he has the money to get every part of his body covered in ink.

The man dips the glass of cola and the whiskey he managed to mix together, and then Mark found himself watching his two friends flirt away and dance with the two ladies they found to be attracted to. He can’t believe he’s the one who got asked out by then and now he’s left alone to his own company. These two surely never understand what the bro code is. Mark found himself growing slightly eager so he spiced the drinks concentration up and decided to go for the heavier beverages now.

That night if you asked Mark how much he drank he couldn’t answer you clearly, because he drank a lot more. Mark managed to woo some people himself in the crowd whenever he dances and joins the huddle however the drunk he got the more indescribable feeling of the high notes Mark was feeling began to rub off on him. The man himself wasn’t anymore as sober as he wanted to be this night but, he was still able to walk a little and manage to speak.

You can say he build up the tolerance due to his alcoholic tendencies. Mark isn’t proud of it but he’s definitely grateful otherwise Mark would have passed out by now.

Passed out somewhere on the road, or maybe a bench at a park and slept there all through the night until the morning which is even scarier to Mark. Thankfully though he has a high tolerance and so his awareness was better than most.

The nightclub itself was getting too overwhelming for Mark and he managed to slip out and sent a text to Johnny and Yuta in their following group chat that he’s going to go home.

Or at least Mark said he was, that was until he got tired of waiting and then his eyes pitch on a white paper hung up on those wooden lamp street lights. The cab wasn’t going to get here anytime soon considering the night hours are always filled with other party wild animals that are booking them. Mark’s eyes were now glued tight on that paper with the large letters to him ‘Neo’s tattoo’s!’

He squints his eyes to get a better glance, the alcohol was really getting to his poor eye sight. He’s already half blind as a bat but with the alcohol doing it’s job, it’s safe to say Mark’s sight is equal to his own grandfather now.

But that paper got him intrigued and it spoke one word and one word only to convince Mark: He needs to get a new tattoo.

It might not be the time for that but who’s going to stop him? No one. Not even his friends could do that even if they were here in the moment with him Mark would not be able to budge away from his decision to change his mind. Mark was suddenly overlapping with curiosity and excitement, he wonders what tattoos do you make? And he wonders if your shop is nearby. When he looks back at that poster he checks the address and he realised the street; it’s in the same city he was in. Mark thought it’s destiny. What are the coincidences that the same shop he wants to find and get to is on the same area as the nightclub he was in right now?

Mark doesn’t believe in coincidences so that alone makes him a believer of fate, and fate alone. When the feet take steps forward now walking down the streets that are half empty filled with wind breeze and dusts of leaves panning over the roads, cars passing by especially taxis dropping off other people ready to go on the night out; it takes a long minute of Mark looking from each street to street determined in finding this tattoo shop.

It says the opening hours are until 3am. Mark has at least an hour to spare. He cannot be wasting any longer so Mark was quick on his feet running from direction to another space until,

The same building has appeared in front of him. The same exact place on the sheet of paper he found. Mark takes a quick glance from the paper to the real life building with the signs of neon green ‘NEO’S TATTOOS.’ And he found himself growing warm and excited. Mark drunk out of his mind now though and it seems like this made him even more delusional to think getting a tattoo whilst drunk was a brilliant idea.

“So this is the place?” Mark quips under the breath before reaching the palm on the doorknob opening the door. When entering a small ‘ring ring’ was heard by the bell clinking. It alerts a figure to walk in to greet him.

When the figure approached he looks slightly mesmerised by the young woman ahead of him. You look beautiful, which was a high compliment considering he doesn’t say it to anyone often.

Your eyebrows raise up at the man that looks like trouble and definitely smells like trouble; from one glance you can tell this man was absolutely steaming from head to toe, he was definitely drunk, it was very obvious in his eyes and how he lets them wander around your tattoo store. He saw the chairs, the tattoo sketches and designs hung up on the wall, as well as your equipment in the far back. It looks like you were about to close down but now that he’s arrived you look like you could use an extra customer for tonight. Because he’s not leaving until he gets a tattoo from you.

At this point it’s an addiction, a worse addiction than his love for alcohol. He’s obsessed with them.

You now spoke with a working smile. “What can i do for you? I was just about to close but i guess I can do a small tattoo if you’d want a quick one.” It could definitely help with the extra money so you’re thinking why not.

He comes forward as he sits down nodding. “Great, what do you usually draw? Can I see a sketch book if you have one?”

Your eyes turn to the back as you grab over a thick book full of your sketches and you hand it to him hoping he finds something he takes a liking to. You don’t have much time anyways so he’s going to have to be quick and snappy. Mark flips through pages checking the sketches meanwhile you’re here checking him out from head to toe, it’s not like you wanted to, but you can’t help but notice he has like four other tattoos already.

Mark wore a loose polo-sweatshirt over a white tee. The black hair loosely curled and messy it looks like the wind made it slightly more naturally lifted, it makes him look ten times more boyish in your opinion. The two ears were all pierced with earrings that dangle around it caught your eye the moment he stepped inside your store too, they shine and blind anyone that stares. Adding on the piercings he has, Mark happens to have a lip ring piercing on top of his lips. The right side was pierced and it made him even more attractive and unreal to you. What was happening to you? And who was this drunk guy wanting a tattoo from you?

It looks like he had quite a bit to drink too. It’s not a first time since you had a customer who came asking for a tattoo but it’s definitely a first time when that customer is drunk out of his brain.

But you can’t change that. You can’t even stop your customers if they want something because it’s up to them and their will alone.

Mark lifts his head up trailing as he was watching your sketch book with observant eyes, Mark has a sharp eye attention to detail and your work was truly remarkable. It captures certain emotions.

He looks at you now almost In admiration. “Your work is amazing. I must say I’m impressed with every one.” He then lifts the sketch book up and pints to the two wings that come along from two branch leaves. “But this one looks good. I want this one.” Mark said now as he treads his index finger on it pointing at the sketch picture.

Anyone could tell his words meant a lot to you because you gave him a humble smile but then you grab the sketch book looking at the tattoo. You wonder where he wants it tattooed now.

“Okay I can do this. Where do you want it tattooed?” Your question was heard when Mark laid down at the chair and gets himself comfortable while you grab your equipment. The ink pen was lifted and you push yourself on a red stool chair spinning yourself round to where Mark was laying on the salon chair.

He looks comfortable now on the salon chair and Mark looks over at you now that you got everything and your own tattoo table was prepared with the remaining ink and colours if he wanted any to the tattoo. It’s all up to him.

“I was thinking my neck?” Mark retorts back and you find yourself watching now the Adam’s apple and neck area of his. Your hands that are wearing gloves reach out to rub and feel it as you hum thinking.

You thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea but the tattoo would really compliment him if he had it there. You can’t help but think; Mark has a really good sense of position and where it can look the best. It’s something not many people who you tattooed for have. Mark has a strong sense of attention to detail you feel and you’re right.

“You have a keen eye. Okay I can do it but you’re going to have to be very still.” You warn now sternly and Mark can’t help but look away as you start to stick the sketch on his neck so you can copy the same picture on his skin with the following ink later on. The way you feel his neck tense up while you do this. It’s not even that you’re just too close up and Mark’s drunk mind was doing a lot more than just being patient to get the tattoo done.

Usually Mark was quiet. He doesn’t really speak or make any small conversations with other tattoo artists.

But he has the urge to start one now. Might be the alcohol making him want to speak or something. Or maybe he’s curious about you.

The store was rather quiet and because of the late hours it makes sense why it was so empty and isolated. It was just the two of you in a half dimly lit store with the tattoo artist so close to his neck sketching it with the running tattoo pen that’s now buzzing against his neck sending tiny electric vibrations through his body. It was a rather stingy pain but the pain was what made this all a running fun cycle for Mark, because it was something that he feels and Mark’s addicted to it.

In a way it was because of the process too. Mark just loves to see people be able to draw such a thing on human skin.

The quiet place grew even more dark but the dimly lit fairy lights made this store a little more appealing and refreshing. It felt like you’re so focused you couldn’t see Mark’s eyes on the side watching you. With the corner of his eye Mark saw your concentration mode on. The way your eyes were never blinking or batting an eye away. Your nose long and still, your eyebrows arched forward as you’re bend down over to the neck area tattooing with the ink gun sketching it out. It leaves you in your own thoughts and the man in front of you wonders what you’re thinking of? Silence is a fine tailor and it suits you perfectly because you’re a tailor threading every bit of ink on his beautiful soft neck.

It didn’t help because Mark wasn’t the only one that’s been stunned because he was checking you out. Not sure if it was because of how drunk he was but maybe also considering the closeness between you two.

His eyes were looking down at your cleavage. You wore this white tank top on which leaves certain parts of you exposed. And your beautiful hair tucked into a messy-ish bun. Your appearance was slightly rough but very artistic because you had tattoos yourself around your arm and fingers. They were small tattoos but Mark loved them on you.

He’s always loved tattoos on other people too. He wonders if there’s any meanings for you behind them?

“I notice you have tattoos, what’s the meaning behind them?” Mark now acquired to know because he wishes to get to know you some more and might as well right?

It’s just the two of you alone in your tattoo shop. And Mark was feeling like a chatter box. This might just be because he’s drunk or perhaps he’s curious about you and the silence was killing him.

Your eyebrows rose up as you heard the silence break between the two and you were not expecting him to go suddenly all asking questions on you. He looks like the silent type. Mark usually never really speaks during getting tattoos or anything like that but with you? Mark feels like he has to ask otherwise his curiosity will be killing him all night and he won’t be able to sleep afterwards.

You bring your face back up away from his neck. Your eyes meet his and you watch him waiting for your answer. Honestly you found your meaning to the tattoos not be as interesting to share so you always found it unnecessary to bring out their meaning. Afterall to you it’s just ink on your body and there wasn’t a whole deep thinking process behind it like Mark is thinking of.

In a way the meaning behind your tattoos it’s kinda silly.

“The one on my fingers is a tiny heart matching with my friend who has the other half of the heart.” When you reveal it Mark’s eyes light up. That was cute, you’re matching with a friend.

Mark found himself liking the idea honestly. He always wanted to match a tattoo with someone from his friends but no one wanted a tattoo and he’s the only guy who actually has a tattoos. Mark asked Yuta once but Yuta said he might do it. Though that’s been a year now and it looks like the idea left his friend’s mind.

Mark chuckles. “I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted to match tattoos with someone.” You smirk and raise an eyebrow. “How come you don’t match with anyone?”

Your eyes make eye contact as you ask. Mark trials softly in a slight sarcastic way. “Well I think it’s quite obvious but because none of my friends really like tattoos.”

‘Oh so he can be sarcastic too?’ You find his words to be amusing because they’re all out of a bantering gesture and so you don’t pay much mind to the words and just take it all in. You nod at him chuckling back now as your head leans forward to now tattoo the rest of it.

Your fingers brush along the tattoo bow and you feel like this was all coming along now definitely. The tattoo was done nearly but all you have to do is tidy the edges up and do more polishing, which won’t take a while. The tattoo is pretty simple and clean. And Mark looks amazing with it so far. Your eyes can’t help but shake the feeling that he gets more attractive.

Mark’s voice comes out now again, he asked another question. “So why did you become a tattoo artist?” And you suck in a little breath. He really likes to ask deep questions doesn’t he?

You completely dodge the question by countering it.

“Are you always this talkative with your other tattoo artists?” You point out as you’re trying to concentrate on finishing this up, you really don’t have much time until you gotta close down the shop and everything.

Mark was himself not knowing why he’s so talkative with you because usually he was the quiet type during the tattoo appointments and what not. In a way he doesn’t speak unless the other person was carrying the conversation.

Mark smirks a little. “Only with you actually.”

You scoff not believing that considering how many times he wants to speak to you. You finish the last moments of the tattoo and look back at the handsome man who sits up on the salon chair checking the mirror.

“You like it?” You ask when he’s watching the tattoo in the mirror as you’re trying to read his facial expression for a way to know if he likes the tattoo or if he doesn’t perhaps. You pray that he does because you cannot go back to fix it either.

Mark turns to you now as the mirror in his hand was dropping back down and the upside face he had on turns to a smile.

“Answer my question first and I’ll answer yours if i like it or not.” He now said and you find yourself becoming cornered.

Was he really that into the idea of getting to know you? Not as a tattoo artist only but as a person as well? You’re left here wondering why he’s so curious about you.

Mark’s eyes were deeply staring into you which never leave your face the moment he walked into the store anyways and he found himself completely mesmerised. You look boyish and rough out but he likes how it suits you and your alternative style almost.

He whispers in a taunting gaze on his face. “So what will it be darling?” Mark waits for your reply and you let out a little frown stepping forward closing your gap only a little. There was still a bit of space between the both of you from where he sat and where you stood in front of Mark.

“It’s fine you don’t have to tell me how you feel, i can just read your expression and know you like it very much. I don’t leave my customers unsatisfied anyways.” You now point out smartly but in a very arrogant speaking way and Mark smirks hearing your words. You never leave a customer unsatisfied?

“Well I’m a very unsatisfied customer right now.” He tells you with emphasis on the specific wordings now as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

Well he’s now going to push his luck with you that’s for sure. The flirty expression you’re giving him as him thinking you’re definitely now flirting and giving Mark an opening block to take.

“Oh? Why don’t you show me with what.” Your lips pucker into a little amused grin. “Perhaps I can help you out…”

And he did take the opportunity. He seized the opportunity when you said those words out of your loving mouth as his hands around your waist slither round like a fashionable belt.

Oh how good it felt to be pulled closer by the waist to the drunken stranger you just met and you’re now closing the space when you feel how hot his intoxicated breath feels on top of your nose and cheekbones. You find yourself imagining just how good it must be to kiss Mark and the boy read your mind because the next minute he leans down to capture a kiss together.

You found yourself groaning the minute he kissed you with his belting tongue.

The kiss was a mixture between two beverages; to Mark you’re like wine. You’re strong and you knew what you want from the get-go. And he’s like whiskey unpredictable and intense. Mark defeats your groans with his own as he kissed you with more tugging force than before as his palms on the sides of your face go reach to deepen the kiss making it much more steamy and aggressive.

Groans of your voice muffled as if they were buried by sand underneath it. Your lips gracefully touch between Mark’s sharp teeth grazing at the bottom lip he pulls on it which made you moan as your eyes squint forward.

Saliva connects the both of you which drove Mark over the edge and so did the boner between his pants very much so, he had that for over an hour with you. You’re just too attractive and the closeness earlier had him itching to get his hands on you.

Mark doesn’t usually sleep around with people but when he does it’s always a good time, it has to be someone he finds a connection with and you happen to be one of those very few people.

It wasn’t just because of your attractiveness but also because of how well your conversations bounce back. Mark knew you were a little stubborn because when he lifts you up to switch the position between you both your voice comes out as a groan and it seems like you were playing hard to get knowing your hands were teasing the hem of his boxers under the lower clothing.

“Take them off, darling.” Mark said demanding to you smirking as he feels your fingers play between the boxers now. You look up sheepishly.

You’re enjoying how needy this drunk man was, you can’t even remember if he said his name to you but you enjoy seeing his reactions to your difficult self and your teasing tactics. “What if i refuse?”

You saw how his expression falters into a scared one when you said that you’ll refuse to take off his clothing and he leans closer to kiss your neck, practically whining now.

“Please… Y/n… be good to me.”

‘Oh god he’s whining… that’s hot.’ You can’t help but fall for the idea even more, maybe it doesn’t hurt to continue a little bit more. You tell yourself this but you knew it’s risky. But you’re so tempted to take that risk and continue this. Even if you’re the sober one you’re so swayed by this man in front of you.

The moment you heard his pleading words, only directed to you, it makes your body act on its own and so your lips reconnect with Mark’s and your hands find themselves slipping off his shirt and then the oversized black cargos he wore. The boxers playfully rubbed by your fingertips around made Mark so peevish because you heard the querulous words that are nothing but needy whines to your ears telling you to take them off. Your eyes met his words coming out his mouth as you let your mouths connect into another hungry kiss while slipping your hand into his boxers to feel how harden his wood was and you’re left gasping when Mark grabs your hips and starts to work his way around your own clothing now. You feel your cheeks expand as the kiss goes on and on. Mark was an amazing kisser, you have to admit. He knows exactly how to get you going.

At once your nudity became a blessing to Mark as he feels himself growing even more greedy. Having you look so good and untouched by him was temptation in disguise. You feel your breasts fondled with roughly by a tight and firm squeeze from his hands. The lips around your neck marvel at your glowing skin. The simply stunning eyes of yours close and open at each pleasuring angle when he kissed you even lower than before.

“Please don’t keep me waiting.” You sigh into the air as your head flung back. You don’t want to wait as much as you wanted to anymore.

Your body was just growing to want him.

Mark stood with his furtive body when you said this and the playful eyebrows raise up at you enjoying how vocal you’re becoming. Now look where the table’s turned? You’re the one begging him now. He enjoys it much more than he thought he would so he runs along his hand by your silhouette until they met your hips and he slowly moves them around.

Twisting you around he saw you gandering your face in the behind direction where he stood now towering you leaving no space and your ass rubbing on his erected boner. Mark rubs them between your ass cheeks as his wispy groan reaches your ears. You bite your bottom lip. “Shit… please fuck me already.”

You’re lacking the patience. This man needs to be inside you or else you’re going to have a breakdown.

Mark smirks leaning closer with his nipping voice that cuts you open like scissors across light paper. “I think we should introduce ourselves before you say that don’t you think?”

He was right but now picking a time to introduce yourselves? He knew what he was doing he’s just making you wait a little longer.

Your face diminished and broke down in to a hefty storm. Mark purposely rubs his cock’s tip between your entrance to tease you while waiting for you to start. “Fine…My name is Y/n… what’s yours?” Your voice came off much short because he made your own sound of your voice to differ when the tip rubs the top of your ass.

“Mark… Mark Lee.” He whispers now and he’s satisfied. He gotta know who he is going to fuck after all and he wants you to know what name you’re going to scream all night.

Your leering eyes went down when a prod between your walls now sips on a long thick shaft deeply inside you. Your voice cuts off by a palm on top of your mouth and you’re muffling your sudden jolting voice because of how intensely he has you stretching. You’ve never been this surprised by how thick he was. Mark was making you wistfully begging to have more.

“Oh fuck… please Mark… just fuck my brains out.” You’re not able to calm the storm before anything else you’re just begging the guy you met in your tattoo storm a hour ago to fuck the shit out of you.

It’s so unlike your character, but Mark had you twisted.

He paced forward rutting the hips against your round beautifully shaped ass he couldn’t get enough of, heck, he was so obsessed with it especially when you’re forced into a behind position over the salon chair to get your back blown out by him. It was a sight that made his night more memorable even if he was slightly intoxicated he found himself becoming drunk off you now.

And the paces was so eager and quick your insides feel like you’re being roughly pushed through a moving platform in and out. It feels so good when his length kisses each of your sweet sensitive spots inside and then finds places you never knew someone could reach so deep inside you. It made you even closer because Mark had a hand under your stomach area holding you even closer than before, it’s like this man wants you to be a part of him at this point. He’s a wild animal, and he’s definitely treating you like one because he’s doing exactly as you told him to do: to fuck your brains out.

Colliding with the movements between your two asscheeks Mark follows his eyes down and slams his hands on your beautiful skin giving you spanks with each incoming shift his thrusts make. You feel yourself seeping out your moans and the tattoo store was echoing all your body parts slapping together. You feel him being so deeply inside you that your lower stomach with his hand on felt the imprinting cock in your guts and that your arms were folded forward in a weak lowering form over the salon chair. He keeps fucking you so hard you’re struggling to stand still. He made your legs so weak you found yourself only moaning out to the top of your lungs and Mark had you exactly how he wanted, a mess.

His eyes burned with lust watching over your expression seeing how your eyebrows were fluttering and your eyes were watering with how good and intense he was fucking you from behind, you’re bend over for a customer you just met for the first time and you feel so sheepishly embarrassed but at the same time; why was it such a turn on?

“Is this what you wanted on a Friday night?” Mark whispers dangerously on top of your earlobe as you find a shudder across your spine, Mark’s hands brush alongside your silhouette arching for him, bending for him and only him.

You feel your lips pucker out and the condescending tone Mark spoke with to you makes your stomach flutter. “You’re such a whore Y/n… I bet you’d fuck any of your customers if they got their hands on you.” He threads like a champ he was, because he had you wrapped around his finger.

“N-no… that’s not true.” You said embarrassed because it was definitely easy to tease you in this position and situation.

Mark laughs a little darkly behind and you feel the thrusts increase even more, he was literally ramming inside you and your voice cuts off with a jolting sound. Your body pressed so deeply on the salon chair you feel the metallic parts of the arms stand coldly pressing against your body full of heat.

“I don’t believe that.” He croaks out leaning down to press a kiss against your spine while the lower body of his was jabbing the pleasuring thrusts and the hand down at your stomach holding you moves even lower to touch on your clit.

The nub down below becomes easily swollen with how his fast two middle fingers press and flick it as he’s thrusting you. Your voice became even more loud now because the overstimulated hand on your clit was pleasuring you there but so was his hard cock deeply buried to kiss the top of your womb.

“Pretty whores listen to me, will you be good and do the same?” He now asked you while his hands was abusing your down regional and you grab the salon chair feeling so weak to the pleasure your mind went poof and became blank.

Your hips stutter and so did your legs that resemble jello and it makes Mark smirk. The sight of you pressed in her own store while getting her back blown out by a customer she met, it definitely was something he’s never going to let go off.

“Y-yeah… hhgh I can’t last like this Mark…” You nod your head frantically but the way you’re literally holding on to your last strand because the orgasm was reaching you so quickly.

You’re not going to last much, Mark knows it.

The hand speeds up the movements however, he wants you to finish and see you come undone to the too overlapping pleasures between your hole and your clit getting abused out by him. You firmly shut your eyes.

“Cum darling, you’ve been good so far.” Mark sternly said while he awaits you to reach your end. The world stops for you in that moment.

When he gave you the permission to come undone on his hand and cock at the same time, you found yourself ascending and your head hung low as your body pushed out your liquid down on the ground dripping. You’re soaking if anything. Mark had a proud wide grin on his face now and goes behind to kiss your droopy mouth panting. The lip ring touched your mouth as the kiss was sloppy from behind.

You moan when Mark pulls away from the kiss and his hand leaves your clit alone. Your own orgasm pushed him very close to his own high. He just needs to have a few more thrusts and Mark feels himself becoming done too.

It’s the way your body was making him feel so good too. It’s no doubt your bodies are compatible.

“Hmm… you’re a squirter? That’s so hot.” He jeers at you with both devastated degradation and flirtation behind that tone.

You roll your eyes back in the aftermath of the pleasure. This was probably your first time ever having this much of an orgasm. You don’t remember ever squirting before.

“Fuck…” You whisper under your breath when Mark pulls your hips forward and makes your body stand up straight again because you’re now becoming too weak to even make yourself stand up in this behind position, your orgasm had your legs turning into weak muscles.

Mark whispers now warningly. “Now let me cum yeah? Be good and let me pump you up full of my load.”

You feel your eyes igniting like big red flames at the idea. When Mark starts to thrust again your body starts to break down even more down to the pleasure.

It was all too much but you can tell from how deep he’s reaching you this man won’t be able to last very long. Your walls squeezing him around the shape we’re making it so hard.

Mark was pumping himself until he can feel his cock literally tremble to continue anymore. And you feel the salon chair shake with each rough patching movement against your body rocking it forwards.

The store lets the body slapping between your sweating bodies to continue as you’re in your own world together. Mark had you pulling up against him as he lets your breasts flow with the rough movements of rocking you forward until he has his own orgasm itching at the door.

You feel your heart pace up when you heard Mark groan softly against your back. “Fuck fuck fuck…” and you just knew he was so close now, because his voice felt like a mixture of a whine and a groan.

The silky velvet walls of yours had him begging to pump you full of his cum and have you dripping out only of him. To have you ooze only him out and that’s exactly what he wants.

He wants you full and stuffed of him.

“So… so close, Y/n… fuck…” Mark’s whiny whispers were caught off at the end a little as he takes a deep breath in and within the same moment he kept up the thrusts.

Even if it was so difficult to continue to stimulate himself until he’s reaching his end, Mark finds himself addicted to the way your womb welcomes him. It feels so good, so much he couldn’t shake the feeling of it away.

Mark jerks forward and then suddenly a cry out was heard with Mark burying his head between your nape and shoulder area, he squeezed himself around your walls so deep you feel the load practically injected inside you. You let out a soft groan at the feeling that you’re being held so tight as Mark slips himself inside you even more to fuck a little bit of his own cum in you to ensure it won’t all fall out.

You feel like your body was melting when Mark huffs out a few burning words from his lips. You find yourself stuck with this man all night…

You wonder if he’s going to remember anything in the morning. Or if he won’t?

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The next morning Mark woke up in his bed completely wrecked and exhausted. Unaware of what’s happened last night it’s like deja vu to him.

Whenever he drinks alcohol he cannot remember a single freaking thing and Mark was in the cycle where he’s telling himself off for drinking way too much.

“I should really stop with the alcohol…” Mark equips with disappointment in his voice, he really should stop.

Walking across the room he was shirtless wearing only grey sweatpants and he slowly moves out of his room to see his roommate Donghyuck already up in the kitchen.

They lived together for nearly a year now. Donghyuck was a year younger than Mark but they’re pretty close now.

Although sometimes they fight, they both really feel like they’re close like brothers. Mark with his tired expression and groggy eyes opens the fridge and yawns into his hand.

“You’re up?” Donghyuck smirks as he saw how hungover his friend was, god he always looks like a mess when he goes out with Johnny and Yuta.

Mark hums grabbing the bottle of milk and pours himself a glass. “God you look like shit.” Donghyuck said now with a little laugh.

The boy wanted to roll his eyes and say how nice of you but instead Mark just drank the glass of milk to neutralise hopefully his stomach otherwise he will be having a hard day ahead.

Hungovers are so bad. He just wished he didn’t drink so much last night but he’s always like this. Mark has no self control at all.

What’s worse?

Mark can’t even remember what happened at all last night. He’s just a blank canvas now. Everytime he drinks Mark couldn’t remember anything even if he tried to remember and make himself forced to see what happened last night he just can’t.

So not only was he left feeling utterly crap. Mark was also having a hard time what happened.

“I’m never drinking again.” Mark said with a sigh out once he finally finished drinking the glass of milk. He puts it down in the sink and Donghyuck knows Mark won’t keep to those words.

He wants to tell Mark he needs to stop lying to himself but he doesn’t say anything because his eyes caught on Mark’s neck something.

Donghyuck comes a closer to Mark now with squinting eyes. He recognised something different about him. “Hey Mark did you get a new tattoo last night?”

“What? No…” Mark said with a soft rejection because he certainly doesn’t remember getting one. He slowly moves to his room opening the closet to look in a mirror and when he saw that Donghyuck was actually right…

His eyes widen and he runs his hands over the tattoo that stings a little at the same time, he wonders when did he get this tattoo?

The tattoo was beautiful and it was delicately done. It was two wings crossing together and Mark wonders if he got this done when he was absolutely hammered because if that’s the case, Mark feels so dumb. He can’t even remember the night or anything like that.

Mark whispers in disbelief. “Since when did i get this tattoo?”

He’s a little determined to know who did this work, but he cannot remember anything, the next thing he knew he saw his phone buzz open with messages from late night.

One that came from the contact name: The Tattoo Artist.

The Tattoo Artist: Hey Mark had fun last night. I hope you like your tattoo and you can come by round the shop sometime! :) -Y/n

One thing he knows for sure, he had your number and he now knows your name which rings a bell to him. It’s like his body remembers you but his brain cannot. It’s like he knows you guys did something more than just a tattoo because the text messages says it all.

Mark is definitely meeting you again, to get a new tattoo, or to end up drunk at your store again.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! Reblog this fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out. <3