#Drowning wires AU

[feliner]

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: YUTA

A/N: Sweet, innocent, puppy-eyed boy who is no better than the frat boys you detest 🤭 (this is for anon who requested a lil crazy special grade sorcerer doing ungodly things!! Shoko feat The Boys ™️ is up next, then I SWEAR I’m done and back to AO3)

C/W: Aged up characters, College AU. Masturbation. Mature, 18+

“YUUTA?! Are you kidding me?”

You stop time.

Heads turn in his direction. But Yuuta doesn’t register any it because of your smile.

The 1000-kilowatt smile that the locker room rumors about. The smile that stops traffic. The one that obliterates his train of thought.

365 days since he’s seen it in person.

And suddently the year in Morocco for his University degree feels frivolous.

Yuuta places two bottles of disgustingly expensive champagne (courtesy of Satoru Gojo) in between the half filled red solo cups.

He’s doing his best to keep his eyes above your delicate, sharp collarbones.

He’s doing his best not to follow the Barbie pink hair string around your neck.

The Barbie pink string connected to the triangular bikini that is defying the laws of gravity, Mother Nature, AND physics to keep your busty, perky chest supported.

Not to mention the sheer netted tissue thin excuse for a cover up. Draped around the curve of your hips. It warms him hotter than the Moroccan sun.

You wire yourself through the crowded sorority house kitchen. And Yuuta gnaws on his inner cheeks. The predatory stares from from the frat drones scattered about ignites a guttural flame.

But he’ll deal with that later.

Because Aphrodite is barreling toward him and he is not worthy.

“I can’t believe you made it!” You launch yourself into him.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Happy 21st birthday, gorgeous.”

One of his arms is more than sufficient enough to wrap around your baby doll frame. Other hand in his pocket, while he easily lifts and spins you around twice.

Airy giggles spill from your lips. So clearly surprised by how strong he has grown. He’s bulkier. More toned. Hell of a lot more confident too.

Is he showing of a little? Of course he is.

“You’re here. You’re really here.” You stare up at him with stars in your eyes. Still in utter disbelief.

Your tiny, warm hands cup his face. Yuuta subconsciously melts into them. You always did strum his body like a harp.

“Yuuta, you must be so tired. Your bedroom eyes are even more…bedroom-y.” You tease.

Yuuta laughs to choke down a groan. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained mulberry right now.

Because why would you mention a bedroom while you are wearing a bikini he could snap with his eyes?

“Hey, be nice! You know there’s no amount of caffeine that can fix the bags.” Good, fucking save.

He swallows thickly and averts his gaze. If he keeps looking at you, he’d drown. Like how he drowned freshman, sophomore and junior year.

A continent, couple oceans and a sea away from you couldn’t keep him afloat.

A palpable silence drapes over the two of you. There’s so much he wants to say.

“Who’s is the hot guy birthday girl is talking to?”

“Okkotsu, I think.”

“No WAY. If she doesn’t fuck him i—“

“OKAY!!!” You exclaim loudly, prompting giggles from your sorority sisters behind you.

Your cheeks are now matching his. You both burst into incredulous laughter, letting some of the pressure out of the proverbial valve.

“Give me a tour, birthday girl.” Yuuta grazes his fingers over your bare shoulders because he can’t not touch you.

Your hand magnets to his wrist and you both beeline up the stairs. He knows, you know, -you both know- you are heading straight to your bedroom.

Yuuta’s heart is throbbing so hard his whole rib cage is vibrating. Cotton lines every corner of his mouth and he’s suddenly forgotten how to swallow.

Forgotten how to breathe apparently too, because he chokes on air when you pull him to the front of your room door.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse playfully.

And now his cock is at full staff. The measly silver zipper is definitely not strong enough for this.

“I-Im sorry?” Yuuta gurgles through the saliva pooled in his mouth like a hungry puppy.

“It’s a pool party, silly. C’mon, you can use my bathroom to change.”

Yuuta makes the mistake of letting his eyes drop down the dip of your pretty spine. Tracing all the way down to your matching bikini bottom. That’s a thong. Lining between your perfect, plump ass.

God.

No.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

He follows behind you, nails digging into his dark jeans.

“Bathroom’s through the closet, be quick.” You flash him another pristine grin and…and..

..what is his name again…?

Yuuta returns your smile with a lopsided one of his own. The walk to the bathroom is 13 miles long. There’s no way. No way he’s going to be able to hide his unreasonable, rock hard length through his weightless swim trunks.

He halts. Suddenly enchanted by your hanging clothes. Like a Venus fly trap. You’re everywhere.

Your clothes. Your delicious scent. Your jewelry. Your shoes.

Yuuta is in the eye of your vortex.

A long, silky sleeve tickles his cheek. So soft. Electric currents surge through every engorged vessel in his cock. He takes in a long drag of the faint cherry vanilla notes etched into your clothes.

An addict. A hopeless, pathetic addict in a field of his vices.

His fingers earthquake against his buckle. Clumsily stepping out of his jeans.

Just a quick touch. It’ll help him relax. Just really fast, you won’t know.

Yuuta whips around to bury himself in your silk shirt. Heart thundering in his ears. Fingers tickling the hem of his trunks. Shaft fully tented from nothing.

“Yuuta? Did you get lost in there?” Your dulcet voice knock Yuuta’s lust-drunk thoughts loose.

“Ha-N-no! I’m c-coming!”

Yuuta shakily unbuttons his white linen shirt, exposing his lean but chisled core. His cock is diamond hard. Any slight movement and his blunt, leaky tip will peek over the hem.

He strategically folds his pants over the indecent bulge. He just has to count backwards from 500 then he’ll soften and leave the jeans behind.

“Come out!! I won’t bite!” You coax again.

The second Yuuta re-emerges from your closet, he digs the heel of his palm into his crotch. Trying to will his erection down by sheer force because counting just won’t do.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning against your palms flat on the duvet.

Your bikini has grown smaller.

It has to have.

Because the way your supple tits spill around the cruel joke that is that top fucks his brain to mush.

Soft curvy lines of your breasts. Feminine pretty lines of your tummy. The swell of your thighs just begging for Yuuta’s lips, his hands…his dick. He could drop to his knees and worship at your alter this second.

“Oh my god!” You giggle again, waving him over to the bed.

“You’re so, big, now.” Your hand lingers on his tensed bicep, currently losing the war against his cock angrily thrashing around in his pants.

“Am I?” Yuuta asks stupidly. Long sentences are off the table.

“Mmhm,” he watches your eyes lazily drink in his face. He must be an embarrassing shade of violet at this point.

Your hand makes its way into his hair and Yuuta just couldn’t choke down the “ohh,” that bubbles out of him.

“God, I’ve missed you, Yuuta.” Your face is so soft. So earnest.

And Yuuta is there with you, he swears he is. It’s just, you’re speaking directly to his cock right now and all the blood has drained from his head to his head.

“I mi-missed you. More.” He manages to grunt out, precum pooling on his thigh.

Hold it together. Fucking hold it together.

You turn your body and scoot closer to him. The peaks and valley of your cleavage, tantalizing him into a mindless fool who can only think about fucking his fist.

“Guys here suck. But not you. You’ve always been amazing,” you murmur, circling feather light shapes against Yuuta’s scalp.

He shudders under your touch. Biting his cheeks so his jaw doesn’t hang open. Drool already threatening to leak from his lips.

“So kind and sweet.” Your eyes drop to his lips at the same that your hand falls to his tensed abs.

And Yuuta is caught in your quick sand. His limbs loosen. Hand on his crotch melts away. Allowing his member to spring upward with all the blood he has in his body. The sudden movement causes his jeans to slide to the floor.

His ears and cheeks burn at his indecency. But he can’t move. He is at your complete mercy. His cock rhythmically pumping out his precum now.

“I..” Yuuta croaks, but in one dizzying motion you dive your lips onto his.

He snaps.

Yuuta’s left hand flies to his neglected, weapy shaft. The friction through his thin trunks evoke a deep moan into your mouth. His other hand grips the back of your head, pressing you forward onto his tongue. He didn’t ask for entry into your lips like he normally would. It’s too dire. He’s too needy.

His hand pumps his length while his tongue maps every corner of your warm mouth. You let out soft, high pitched sighs. Which nearly bring him to finish instantly.

“Oh, Yuuta.” You moan his name. And Yuuta’s hips rut harder into his hands.

He’s hoping, praying you’re too distracted by the bruising kiss to notice the pitiful way he’s bucking his hips. Humping his hand. He’s no better than the guys you were talking about. No better.

“OH BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!!” Shrill voices from just outside your door rip you two a mile apart.

Yuuta scrambles to his feet, his arm unsuccessfully covering his crotch. You are panting, thumb stroking your bottom lip. Both of you still brimming with your electric chemistry.

“Enough birthday sex!!! Time for TEQUILA!” Your sorority sisters babble and laugh, about 2 seconds away from opening the door.

You grip the handle. Face and body flushed warm rose.

“I-I-uh I have to-“

“Ye—yeah of course, I’ll meet you, down. I’ll meet you down there.”

Both of your voices nervously collide. Looking everywhere but each other’s eyes. You flutter out in haste. Leaving Yuuta in the middle of your room rock hard and a pre cum covered mess.

Like leaving a fiend with an array of illicit substances.

Yuuta turns on his heel and disappears into your closet. He’s not thinking. Logical thought has long ceased to exist. All he can think about is how much his balls ache for you. How drunk he is off your touch. Your taste. Your smell.

His eyes laser down to a crumpled pair of lace panties just a few paces away from your hamper.

Yuuta’s gaze could burn it through the floor.

Stop, Yuuta. Don’t you dare.

He scolds himself. Even though his hands do the opposite. He drops to his knees and pulls his heavy cock free from its barrier. The other hand toying with your worn panties.

He’s filthy. A dirty, nasty scumbag.

Yuuta tugs his cock, aggressively. Jaw hanging open. Short desperate huffs of air escaping his lips.

No, don’t. Stop. “Nnhhgh s-top…fuck..n-no.” His jagged thoughts and jagged words intertwine. Squelching noises from his arousal pierce through his groans.

Yuuta brings your panties to his nose, and nearly blacks out. Your scent. So fucking delicious. So perfect.

He needs to taste.

His groans become garbled when he stuffs your panties into his mouth. Every single nerve ending in his body ruptures.

Yuuta pumps his cock with both hands. Feverish. Sloppy thrusts of his hips colliding with his white knuckled fists. The world around him dampens. Blurs.

“Nnnghh..uhhgh..f-FUCK,”

Your spit-drenched underwear rolls out of his mouth onto his sensitive tip. Ropes, and ropes and ropes of his cum fill your soft négligée.

Yuuta hangs his head back, leaning against his calves. His dick still twitching through his nirvana.

After a few moments, the fog slowly lifts from his mind. His vision returns. Yuuta wipes the remnants of his arousal off his cock with your panties. Before tucking them into his pocket.

Unable to look himself in the eye, he quickly rinses his hands, intending to rejoin your party at once.

But, when his hand connects with the cold knob, a voice in the back of his mind pipes up.

Take another one.

And in a trance-like state, Yuuta rushes back to your closet hamper to find another pair of your panties.

A pretty, delicate red number catches his eyes and he stuffs it into a free pocket before scurrying out of your room.

He’s no better than them.

He’s worse.

PART II

[augustofwhump]

AUGUSTOFWHUMP ’24

A new whump event/challenge set in August, run by @painonthebrain!

Write-up of prompts & rules under the cut!

AUGUSTOFWHUMP PROMPTS:

Day 1: food / risk / overexertion

Day 2: iv / shock / cry for help

Day 3: poison / shady business / freezing

Day 4: filth / screams / open wounds

Day 5: stranded / power tools / ache

Day 6: confusion / spark / veins

Day 7: time loop / rot / promise

Day 8: rejected apology / trap / attack

Day 9: role reversal / caged / body modification

Day 10: secret / exhaustion / publicity

Day 11: freedom / scars / insecurity

Day 12: deal / monstrous / anger

Day 13: witness / resigned obedience / bootlicking

Day 14: dehumanization / darkness / alone

Day 15: salt in wounds / phobia / revenge

Day 16: hunt / disaster / dread

Day 17: experimental serum / cramps / stress position

Day 18: came back wrong / unavoidable / muzzle

Day 19: salvation / midnight / mistake

Day 20: contaminated / escape / test

Day 21: set up to fail / bitter / creep

Day 22: stitches / robbery / insects

Day 23: feral / possession / fate

Day 24: humiliation / gilded cage / jewelry

Day 25: barbed wire / insults / tear stains

Day 26: sensory deprivation / heartbeat / tape

Day 27: proof / memory / machine

Day 28: bloody nose / medic / abandoned

Day 29: control / touchstarved / broken glass

Day 30: blindfolded / obsession / gift

EDIT: I forgot day 31 so that’s “fuck it we ball” day. Make whatever you want. LMAO

ALT PROMPTS:

Drowning

Broken trust

Claustrophobia

Guilt

Human shield

Locked outside

Whipping

Collapse

The only survivor

Scraps

Outcast

GUIDELINES:

Prompts should ideally be responded to in the form of whump

Creators can make any type of media they want (Yes, this includes any kind of media, no matter how niche. As long as it’s creative, it’s allowed)

You can do as few or as many prompts as you like

You can complete these prompts in tandem with any other event or other prompts (such as in combination with Bad Things Happen Bingo, @randowhump’s Birthday Whump Event, AU-gust, etc.)

DO NOT use ai. I can’t be entirely sure what is or isn’t, but I trust you to at least put some type of effort in your creations. These events are no fun otherwise!

Tag & trigger warn your content accordingly

NSFW is allowed, however because I’m currently a minor, I will not look at or reblog it (Again, tag and label it!)

Tag your works as #augustofwhump and #augustofwhump2024. In addition to that, you can also tag this account — @augustofwhump. (Do not @ me in NSFW works.) I’ll try to reblog whatever I can!

EDIT: The August of Whump 2024 ao3 collection is here! It will be open for submissions on August 1.

I’m really excited (and nervous) to do this and I know it’s a bit early to post these prompts but whatever — it just means more time for people to work on prompts if they choose to do this event, right?

[sixosix]

hello!! this is my first time asking so forgive me if i do anything wrong.

so i just saw your event anddddd first of all, i just want to say congrats on 5k!!! and also happy birthdayy!! if its not a bother, can i participate in the event?? if so heres the prompt,

[lyney, earphones(the wired ones), fluff]

your thawed series really made me fall in love with the way you write lyney😭 and because of that, i want to read more of him from you!!

once again, congrats on 5k!!

a/n HELLO ANON!!! thank you so much + dont worry u sent an ask right! im so happy u like my characterization of lyney hehe hes just a silly guy…

info 500 words, short and sweet, modern college au

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

Lynette texted you this morning saying that she had a fever.

Usually, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Get well soon! or an I’ll send you the notes later would be the end of the conversation. Then you’d go on with your day and miss her, but that would be it. That was supposed to be it.

But it was Lynette. And if she was involved—

“Hey.” Lilac eyes overtook your vision, shockingly close. You jumped back, and Lyney grinned. “Are you still texting my sister? I’m right here, you know.”

Lynette You’ll be fine

You LYHBEDTTE

Lynette He’s just Lyney

You EXACTLY WHY

This was a problem because you had been nursing the biggest crush on Lynette’s brother since you met her—and it’s been years. The color of his eyes, the softness of his hair, the crinkle of his eyes as he smiles—

“I’m telling her I wish she were here instead,” you said, hiding your screen from his sharp eyes.

Lyney wasn’t fazed at all. He matched your steps and easily walked alongside you, his lips stretched into a wide grin. He was so suspiciously happy today.

“Are we going to take the bus there?” Lyney asked, his arms still brushing against yours. His chin was tucked in his windbreaker, muffling his words a little. He looked a little red—did he have a fever as well?

“I guess so,” you said, dragging your gaze away from the sight. You could hear your heartbeat racing.

Lyney’s smile softened, then gestured at the bus stop bench. “It’s still early. Let’s sit over there.”

It was empty, yet when you sat at the far edge, Lyney still cozied up beside you. Seeking refuge, you hid your face further in the safety of your hoodie. This was bad. Lynette rarely got sick; this was your first time alone with Lyney, and you didn’t know how to act.

When you glanced at him, Lyney seemed content with the silence. You weren’t—you could hear the loud thumps of your chest, and soon enough, Lyney would notice it, too.

You pulled out your earphones and swiped to the highest volume possible, ear damage be damned. You were not going to survive today. You’re going to embarrass yourself and make a fool of your impressions, and Lyney would get weirded out and avoid you for the rest of his life.

Your throat made some sort of warbling deflated noise as music drowned out your heartbeat, but not your thoughts. Why was Lyney so warm? Even with layers of clothing, you could feel the heat of his skin, and it was driving you mad. You wanted nothing but to curl into it like a cat with sunlight. Why did Lynette have to get sick while you were still hopelessly infatuated with her brother?

Abruptly, Lyney’s head found its way to your shoulder. Stunned, you sucked in a breath, overwhelmed with all the sensations. Your five senses were being violated left and right—all you could see, hear, and touch was Lyney.

He reached his hand out expectantly. You made a noise of confusion, then belatedly realized what he was pointing at. Careful not to jostle him, you plucked an earphone and gently placed it in his ear. Lyney flinched.

“This is loud,” Lyney chuckled, but he didn’t ask you to mess with the volume. He laid back down with his weight and stayed there, unaware of how your face was a flaming mess.

Your eyes slipped to your lap, feeling shy. From this angle, it was hard to tell what Lyney was looking at, but you could feel his smile. It could be Lyney’s unnaturally warm body heat or your burning embarrassment, but— maybe you were starting to feel feverish as well.

Lyney snuggled closer. You sighed and resigned yourself to a long day.

[imnameimswrld]

ⵌ ׄ ۪ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 ⁰³ ׄ ⑅ DR3 ‌˖ ֺ ᰮ

— DESCRIPTION ੭ in the midst of almost drowning yourself in studying, daniel is always sure to pull you back up the surface.

— PAIRING ੭ daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

— FILE ੭ social media au, drabble.

— WARNINGS ੭ none.

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ynusername added to their story ! • 2hrs

seen by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, and 356 445 others

oscarpiastri replied to your story !

don't overworking urself yn !

always remember to take breaks, ok ?

yes, thanks oscar :)

landonorris replied to your story !

get those grades queen

but also take ur breaks pls and thanks

💅 , thanks lan !

yukitsunoda0511 replied to your story !

pla don't overworking urself and get sick again

daniel was not fun to deal with

healthy you = happy daniel !!!

gotcha yuks 😭🤞

_ _ _

Your concentration has been wired on this very paragraph for the past half hour, your brain trying to register every word but your eyes just keep drifting back to the beginning.

It frustrates you to the core; your coffee glass is empty, your glasses feel like they've left an indentation on the bridge of your nose, there's a distinct pinch of pain that's nene growing im temples for the past hour – right about now would be the perfect time for-

"Knock, knock."

Daniel's soft voice echoes through the door that stands ajar, and slowly the door to your study swings open for a head of unruly curls to pop in.

"Hey there pretty," his smile just makes your whole systems feel ten pounds lighter. "Mind if I steal your attention for a bit ?"

Your lips curl up as you nod eagerly, twisting your roller chair around to face him. "Please do baby."

Despite being with you for almost 3 years, the delicate way you always speak to him will forever kiss a pink tint to the tips of his ears. Walking over, Daniel pulls you up for a moment, only for him to steal your seat and offer his lap as your new one. You take it without hesitation, discarding your specs to nuzzle your head comfortably into his warm neck.

"I'm so proud of you, you know that right ?" his voice is deep and gentle as he speaks, his head resting on yours with his arms wrapped securely around your curled up body.

"I mean, in just a few months I'll be the fiancé of a woman with a honors in engineering. Do you know how amazingly smart and talented you love ?" your head tilts back so you could gaze up into his big honey browns, the emotion you find there so full of love and admiration.

"You're perfect."

You grin, absolutely adoring the compliments. "Please, keep 'em coming honey."

"And you're remarkable."

You hum, smile growing as he his face gets closer and closer with every sentence.

"And you're beautiful, and kind, and hardworking..."

Daniel's lips take yours in passion and sweetness, your hand coming up to run your thumb along his stubbled jawline. He pecks soft kisses around your face, each followed by yet another compliment because honestly, he could write a whole book about how much of an amazing person you are.

"And I love you with every inch of my being, my heart is forever yours, in this life and the next." with another peck to your lips, he pulls away to smile down at you.

"Daniel Ricciardo, did you just recite your vows to me ?" your gaze narrows playfully, hand creeping up into his curls.

He chuckles heartily. "Sweetheart, if you think that was poetry, you ain't seen nothing yet."

You laugh because in his arms, before quickly pulling him down for some more of his special, comforting kisses.

_ _ _

danielricciardo

liked by yukitsunoda0511, lewishamilton, and 988 221 others

danielricciardo i am officially a fiancé to a woman with a HONORS DEGREE IN ENGINEERING !? Baby, I'm so crazy proud of you and god i love you so much.

View all comments

lewishamilton GO YN !!!

▹ ynusername ahhh, thank you lew ! 😭

ynusername goddammit baby i love you so much 😭❤

▹ danielricciardo 💋💋💋

yukitsunoda0511 yn come apply to be our head of engineering i need a faster car 😁

▹ charles_leclerc no hey me first ! I asked before you yuki so het in line – plus yn, love, ferrari will pay you TRIPLE of whatever redbull offers you :)

▹ lewishamilton forget Mercedes, yn, I will pay you QUADRUPLE for you to be my personal engineer and mechanic.

▹ ynusername damn, ya'll are making some really good offers here huh...

▹ danielricciardo oi leave my girl alone and go cry about ur car problems to someone else.

[ liked by maxverstappen1 ]

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imnameimswrld I partially wrote this for my own comfort, but I hope it brings some to you lovelies too <3

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader ❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut ❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love. ❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior. ❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Published on AO3 like FleurRi

❣ Prologue: Roses scarlet like blood ❣

 Every story has a beginning: a magical, inexplicable moment—an elusive contact between reality and dreams. When thoughts emerge from the edge of consciousness, a stream of colorless letters appears on the parchment of our fate, eventually becoming an event. Life's intersections, fragments of various plots, are continuously repeated, lost, or deliberately forgotten. They are like unwritten melodies; the echo of their angelic voices follows us through life, like the bright tent of a wandering circus that incessantly makes noise. is full of tinsel, and raves with dreams.

  There are millions of them. No. Billions, like the sleeping stars, sway peacefully on the sky-blue wire; their scattered light tells the wayward souls the way in the velvet folds of the night's darkness. These are our memories. Some are dazzlingly bright, as fresh as summer breezes, while others are barely flickering, covered in the marble ashes of time and a diamond crumb of emotion. And they all live so far away and at the same time prohibitively close together, there, in the labyrinth of the underground sky and on the endless roads of the blood rivers, where it is impossible to find them: in our memory.

  Just as a pebble thrown into the ocean sinks into the murky depths, so does memory. Drowning into the viscous muddy depths without a bottom, in that rich and uncharted area that we call “oblivion,” it sinks in time. And few of us have been given the opportunity to preserve living images of memories of the feelings we have ever experienced: to drown in the bittersweet water of sorrow and joy; to fill our consciousness to the brim, like a vessel with golden honey, with the feelings of pain and keen passion, and to die. Die happy. The greatest privilege of all.

  Seconds, minutes, days, and years—colorful fragments of time; sharp crumbs scattered under our feet. Unlike us, those who plunge into eternal sleep, our memories that have insidiously dissolved in ink in our blood will not disappear. They fear death, flee from it, and hide in the thick of the earth that blossoms with fluttering glass, forget-me-nots and drunken petunias that, in their intoxicating happiness, kiss the eyelashes of the blind God. You hear them whisper, “I’ll never forget you…”

  My story begins with an innocent question that I’m sure you’ve heard more than once: “Do you like roses?”

  Once upon a time, I would have answered, "Yes, I love roses." But, as it turns out, all our words are followed by consequences, and small rosy spikes can be much more dangerous than they seem at first glance, just like in the fairy tales that we were told in childhood.   You know, there are things that we might call fatal: people who decide other people’s lives as long as they reach out to them like they're God. And then there are the flowers, which keep the mysteries tenebrous and ancient.   I'm almost a hundred years old, maybe more. I should start my story right now; this is the perfect moment.

  I will tell you about who I once was and who I am now. I will tell you about love, which is akin to obsession, and the death of her faithful friend. I will also tell you about the people, ghosts, or maybe illusions that were around me. They were with me once…   Now, there are others, but they’ll be in my story later. They will come into my life with a chorus of angelic voices; the sound of a heavy autumn downpour, and the pretentious solemnity of death. Yeah, they’ll be there, though, if you think about it, they were always there, from my first breath to my last breath, by my side.   But I’m forgetting what’s important.   I have to tell you about the roses, and only about them.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

Mina's long hair shimmered like luxurious silk under the early morning light. Bloody strands fell in curled doll curls onto her bare shoulders, as if in Baroque paintings. The lush blossoms of white roses woven together in her hair made her look like the ancient Greek goddess of spring.   Her appearance has always been astonishing, blatantly perfect rather than real, but that was sometime in the past. Now she was like a pale ghost of herself, a blurry reflection on a black surface of water on a moonlit night. The only thing that reminded her of her former beauty was her hair, which remained perfectly groomed and scarlet, like blood. Oh yeah, there are still roses.  These flowers… there was something unnatural about them, something otherworldly. Each petal was painfully perfect, as if made of satin. But the flowers were real; they were alive and breathing and too demanding. It seemed that just because they wanted this, Mina could wear them in her hair. It was their choice, not hers.  “Do you like roses, Rosa?” · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

This is the moment when my life changed forever. If I had known that this innocent question would be the beginning of my end, but can this be called the end? Would my answer have been different?

  I’ve thought about it a thousand times. Over and over again, I played this scene like a broken record, crossed my answer out of the script, wrote a new one, and made comments and footnotes, but…   But the answer was the same. I couldn’t change anything; it was destined. Much later, when I fall asleep in a warm bed, I will feel a gentle kiss on my closed eyelids and hear San’s angelic voice whisper in my ear that fate is never wrong. That they would find me or that I would come to them does not matter; in the end, we would still be together in life and in death. In eternity.

  I’ll come back to that later, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“They’re beautiful, Mina, but I don’t like them anymore.”  I sounded terribly rude from the outside, and I could see Mina’s eyes filled with tears, as if I had slapped her.

 “But Rosa!” Mina reached out her pale arms to me. “Look how perfect they are; don’t you care about their beauty? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you look at them? O Rosa, these flowers are special; they never wilt.” She shook her head, as if confirming her words. “Yeosang gave them to me before I left” Her long, thin fingers reaching for the white rosebuds in her hair. “I want to give you one.” Hooking the flower, Mina gently pulled it out of her curls and stretched it towards me. I didn't have the desire to accept her gift; something in her behavior and her voice caused me anxiety. And there was this name: Yeosang. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it was a long time ago, and I still remember that Mina mentioned others with that name: Hongjoong, San, and Mingi. They sounded familiar to me as a song once learned by heart. She pronounced them in a special way: with a gentle intonation and an exciting euphoria. As if it had been repeated countless times at the same completely new to her.  All I could hear was the echo of that song, which came along with those names in the conversation. It was an ominous echo, like an impending, inevitable storm. Mina was still holding out a rose, and I looked at her hands. Arms with a faint web of blue veins that looked like dried stems of faint flowers. For some reason, I came up with the idea of sirens holding out their hands to pirates while their voices led them into the welcome embrace of death. Did they look like Mina’s hands now?

I remember these hands weaving long pearl threads into my hair during festivals. I remember the feeling of intertwined fingers as Mina led me down the dark corridors of my grandmother's old house. I remember them gently wiping my tears when I was rubbing my feet until I bled in ballet class.

I remember the touch of those hands… I know him. These cold fingers that so carefully hold the snow-white flower no longer belong to my sister. Their touch changed, becoming foreign and distant, as did the mysterious land where these perfect, never-fading roses grew.

Didn’t that sound like a fairy tale? Just in our history, there has been no magic mirror, no Queen-Witch whose crown shines like a star, and no apple full of poison, but there is a coffin of shimmering crystal, and a prince that sleeps in it. Of course, there are also roses—thousands of roses.

“Rosa” Mina turned to me again. “Please take them; you will surely love them. Just try to feel them…”

She put a flower in my hands. The drops of nectar froze on the wax petals, and the first rays of the dawn sun made them sparkle like diamonds. “This variety is special.” Her voice sounded soft. “It's called the Deva-Rosa. I want to show you where they grow. It’s so beautiful. I want you to come with me, Rosa. We’ll be there together, you and me.” Mina smiled dazzlingly, but something was wrong with that smile. The once-sensual kiss lips were painfully curved, the corners awfully lifted, like the forever-frozen smile of a Venetian mask, and the warm pink shade was gone.

I was always jealous of her lips. They were so tender, plump, and enticing. All her features attracted attention, but it was her lips that made Mina's beauty unique.

She shone like the sun, easily becoming the center of everyone's attention—a beautiful white swan. The main heroine of the story. 

Then there was me, only a shadow of her perfection—gloomy and pale as the moon, the complete opposite of the burning heat and the sexuality of my sister. Unlike Mina's, my features were not sensual and breathtaking; no, they were old-fashioned, like those of a porcelain doll. I didn’t find myself ugly or unattractive; just ordinary. One of a hundred million. The classic tragic heroine of a Gothic novel, someone like me, doesn’t make it to the finale.

Now looking at Mina, I can no longer see her life; her fire has almost been extinguished, leaving embers smoldering. And only her hair, like a burning sunset, was the only bright spot in her appearance. They crimson her white dress like blood rivers in the snow. 

 “Rosa, come with me.” The touch of her hands was icy and gave me a nasty shiver. It wasn’t Mina anymore. “Let's go, please. We can admire roses together. We can be together, Rosa. Remember what we promised each other when we were kids? Forever.”   Mina leaned towards me with her whole body, completely trespassing into my space, and with her intimacy came the suffocating, sugary smell of roses. It was a thick, enveloping aroma that instantly sat in the lungs. I thought that if I breathed it in deeper, these strange, unnatural flowers would sprout in my veins, intertwine with my bones, and create a new home for themselves in my body.

 “No!” I exclaimed, pushing Mina away from me. “I don’t want that, Mina. I don’t want you or those freaking roses in my life.”

  Suddenly on my feet, I took a few steps away from the pale Mina, who was staring at a rose that had fallen to the ground. Her posture was as vulnerable as that of a wounded animal, and her limp arms reached for the flower, which, surprisingly, began to darken and fade, touching the ground.   In her eyes, once radiant with happiness and dreaming, stood tears, and her lips began to tremble. It was as if a child whose beloved toy had been mercilessly abused had fallen to her knees, picked up a dying bud, and, in despair, pinned it to her lips.

“How can you be so cruel, Rosa?” Mina whispered, her lips gently touching the petals. “You hurt them; it breaks their heart. Can’t you just accept their love? Accept the roses?” She continued to kiss the petals.

 “What are you talking about, Mina? Whose love should I accept?” I asked cautiously. Her behavior began to frighten me.

 “You must give yourself to them, Rosa; I must give you to them.” Mina ignored my question, methodically kissing a faded flower. His dead petals began to fall away, slowly, baring his heart. “O Rosa, the rose is a rose; the rose is a deva; the deva is a rose; is a rose.”

 “Mina!” I called her by her name in an alarm. The entire situation had me in a state of primitive terror.   Mina began slowly swaying from side to side in time to your words, all the while continuing to say, “Rose is a rose, the rose is a deva.” It was meaningless, like the ravings of a madman.  The words were repeated in an endless circle, like a prayer or a ritual chant. Mina’s voice grew louder, higher, and higher until it broke, and abruptly she stopped all movement, standing there like a graceful statue.

  Once I admired her every move; now I want to cover my eyes so I never have to see her again.   What happened after became the most traumatic thing in my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I want it. It seemed to be imprinted on my eyelids, and even after closing my eyes in my sleep, I couldn’t get rid of those memories.

  Her movements were fleeting, like the wings of a butterfly. Here she is before me, tense and waiting, and then her throat crosses a ragged line, and blood rushes through her body like a waterfall.

  Eyes shining from tears are wide open and so resemble smooth black pearls, and lips are opened as if waiting for a kiss.   For a second, Mina's body stretched like a thin string and then softened, falling on the grass.   I heard someone start screaming; the sound was so deafening and heartbreaking that I wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my ears with my hands, so I couldn’t hear.

  I found myself screaming. I needed to call for help; I had to call an ambulance, and I had to try to help her. Put my arms around her neck and cover her gaping red velvet wound.

  But I was yelling about something else instead.   My name is not Rosa; you hear me, Mina!   I am not her. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I awoke in a frenzy, sweating profusely and with a wildly pounding heart from an endlessly recurring nightmare.

 This dream has haunted me for months since Mina’s funeral. Night after night, I have lived this sunrise over and over again. I didn’t like morning anymore; I started avoiding sunlight and hiding in the velvet folds of the night, sharing my loneliness with the darkness. I made the moon my friend, and the stars my silent witnesses.

  My memory is folded paper, folded a thousand times. Sometimes, I want to unwrap it, but not completely: open the brittle edges of the fragile sashes, smooth out the folds and creases with my fingers, spread out the time sequence. Unwrap it just a little, and then fold again, mixing letters and days, reality and dreams. I never want to open the pages where the memories of that morning are stored. Every time I get almost to the end, moments before the final, I run away to the safety of happy days.

  I try to come up with a new ending to this story, a different ending, but the dream comes to me like a cat, gently calling me into its embrace, and I find myself again in a place I don’t want to be.

  It’s early in the morning, and the sun is just rising above the horizon, shimmering like a limitless purple-pink ocean.

 In Mina’s crimson hair are snow-white roses, and her dress looks like an intricately woven ruffle and lace. Her pale hands holding flowers, her puffy lips in a painful smile, and her bare feet—the ground must be cold since it was the middle of October.  Her blood… and the roses.   And if it were possible to personify hatred and death, then for me, it would be roses.

  I hated and despised these flowers with all my heart. They brought only sorrow and gloominess into my life. The beautiful symbol of mourning solemnity.   They started it. They ended it all.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I was sixteen when Mina first called me Rosa. One January afternoon, she came home with a basket of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. Scarlet like the blood of a rose, they were magnificent and perfect. From that day on, I became Rosa. Why did Mina start calling me that? She never spoke.   But she completely forgot my real name. For the whole world, I was now Rosa.   After this case, every day in our small apartment, the roses became more and more numerous, until every inch of free space was filled with scarlet buds. Their smell was suffocating, thick, and sticky like honey. It is absorbed into the skin, hair, and dissolved in the blood. It made me dizzy and nauseous, and I could taste it on my tongue with every breath.   But it wasn’t just a smell. It was a color that screamed “red,” like blood itself. It poured over our house, coloring the entire apartment in a disturbing shade.

  After that, every day in our house, the roses became more and more numerous until they filled all the surrounding space.

  Soon, they became so numerous that our house looked like a tomb filled with scarlet petals hanging from the ceiling. We've been arranging here with all honors, breathing in a haze as imperceptible as rose-scented mist. 

  In all the time I lived there, not a single flower withered. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Day followed night, and night gave way to day; but no petal lost its pristine beauty, and no bud bowed its heavy head in sorrow. There was not a single bouquet that would dilute this velvet sea with its mourning black.

  And if that did happen, Mina cried long and hard over these flowers and blamed herself for not saving them. At night, I heard the sound of her apologies and her fanatical prayers. 

  Whether she prayed to God or to the Devil, I couldn't tell. I'll find out for whom these prayers were intended many years later.

  Roses were always sent with a postcard and a box of expensive chocolates with some intricate filling. The box was necessarily in the form of a heart. The signature was also one; once the unchanged calligraphic handwriting deduced only one phrase, “For you,”

  Mina never told me who gave her these magic flowers or why the roses didn’t wither.

  I tried to ask her these questions several times, but she only brushed them off, throwing her long hair from one shoulder to the other and angrily declaring, “You must love them; you don't need to know more.”

 Mina also dyed her hair scarlet, like roses.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. Constantly surrounded by these flowers was unbearable, and one day I packed up all my things and moved in with a friend, leaving Mina alone in her regal rosary.

  My first night away from home, away from the roses and Mina, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned anxiously in bed hour after hour; but the dream never came, and then the phone rang. Mina called. Crying, she begged to come home, and when I asked her why, she barely whispered, “The roses are wilted.”

  I hung up, and Mina never called me again. Two years had passed. My life had changed, and I think my luck had smiled. I found wonderful friends who were eccentric and bright. I had a great and caring boyfriend, and the internship at ballet school was promising. Everything worked out perfectly, and there were no more roses.

 Until my twentieth birthday, a huge bleeding bouquet of scarlet roses tied with topaz-embroidered ribbon appeared in my new apartment. The candy box was heart-shaped, and the caption read, “For You.”

  I burned the bouquet, threw out the chocolate, and tore the note apart, and blew it to the wind.

  No one was supposed to see or know.   Even me.    Exactly eight days after these flowers appeared, I got a call from former neighbors in the apartment complex Mina was still living in.   I was urged to come and deal with the situation; the smell of rot and death was unbearable, and Mina didn't open the doors or answer the phone.   I opened the door with my key. Opening it wide, I crossed the threshold and could not contain a short scream. All the once-luxurious roses had rotted, dripping thick, stinking jugs on the floor and accumulating in gleaming poisonous lakes. Every corner of the space was occupied by large vases with black velvet buds and tall candles. After my move, Mina got rid of all the furniture, leaving only the big bed, which was now covered with dried stems strewn with thorns.

 This place was like a grave — cold and dark — where my sister was supposed to rest.   Going deeper, I found no hint of Mina's presence. Absolutely nothing.     Only putrid roses and an empty heart-shaped box.

  Mina was gone. For a whole year, I tried to find her without success. Old friends, distant relatives, acquaintances, and any other connections she might have ever had—I checked everything, but there was nothing to help me find her. It’s like she never existed.

 In the two years we’ve been apart, I didn’t know anything about her. Mina didn’t call, and when I tried to contact her, she would reply with a short message, always the same: "Roses have wilted; come back." just like the night I left her.

  All Mina had ever thought about since that unfortunate January day were these sinister roses.

  The police began an investigation. Two years after her disappearance, Mina became officially missing.

  And a year after that, she showed up at my door in the twilight of the fall morning, barefoot, in a sophisticated lace dress with a rose crown on her head. From the Mina that I knew, all that remained was her hair—long, silky, and crimson like blood and roses.

  She still kept calling me Rosa, calling me out, and promising that we’d be happy together. That it will be only us, forever. She promised to show me where these strange flowers bloom, which she called the Deva-Rose, although these were not her words, but those of someone distant and unfamiliar to me, Hongjoong.

  And then...then Mina died. The dawn painted her body in pink shades, flooded the grass with sparkling gold, and dyed the white roses of her crown scarlet. She slit her throat. Ragged a sharp spike into it. As it turned out, even the tiniest rose spikes were deadly.   It was a nightmarish and, at the same time, majestic end to her story.   The image of Mina haunts me in dreams even now—this distant gaze in her pearly eyes and a complete absence of fear of death. No, Mina wasn't afraid. She welcomed death as an old friend, graciously opening her arms.

  It was her exodus.   I remember screaming loudly. Blood thundered in my ears, and tears flowed in an endless crystal stream. I screamed that my name wasn’t Rosa; that I wasn’t her, and never would be.

  Her funeral was truly a royal one. Rain and thunder rattle in the sky, as if raising a toast in her honor. The flat haloes of the black umbrellas swayed peacefully as the guests made their sorrowful speeches.

  Mina seemed to fall asleep, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress, lying there like a princess, drowning in thousands of roses.   The flowers were brought at dawn. Their color was deep and dark, as if every petal was filled with the gloaming of the night. They mourned with me.   But I knew better. It wasn’t the end; it was the beginning.  Death follows life in an endless cycle of rebirth. When one flower fades, plant a new one.  Back home that night, I found a black envelope at my door, sealed with a monogram wax seal.

  It lacked an address and the sender's signature. The message was clear and concise. "I live for you, my Rosa."

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   I went to the window and opened the curtains with my newfound determination. It’s time to stop being afraid and run away. Whatever it is, I’ll find out what happened to Mina. Let her start it all, but I’ll be the one to finish the story.   The last surviving girl.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   How naive I was then, how stupid. The moth always flies to the flame, attracted by the warm fluttering light; he himself goes to his death.

I was that moth. Without realizing it, I came to my inevitable fate, which has been waiting for me for centuries, maybe longer. Their hands have stretched out since the darkest times, when the light didn't exist, and the Devil was as real as you and I. At that time, everyone knew his face, felt his hot breath on his skin.   The story I’m going to tell you isn't going to be bright and sweet; we’re going to go down to hell and come back. I'll take you through the dark woods to the horrors of uncharted lands where barefoot priestesses rock their sharp teeth in alluring smiles. I will take you to the castle where the prince rests in a crystal coffin and make you drink wine that tastes like blood.

  Now I have to ask you, "Are you afraid of the dark and what’s hidden in it?"   But my question is, "Love, do you like roses?"

[lethalchiralium]

showing mellie’s birth gave way to my evil thoughts 😈 what if reader died during birth and simon has no idea.

coming home to a new baby he has no idea exists and a dead wife, winnie crying unconsolably under roach’s sympathetic but helpless eyes, and is now having to take care of a toddler and a newborn. shower us with angst keri!! bwahahahha!! 😈😈😈

you’re evil. i love it. oh i thought about killing missus at all turns. i think about it. just a warning lol

HAPPINESS AU.

There were thousands of missed calls from you when Simon turned on his cell phone.

There were dozens of returned ones by the time he had pulled into the drive, not even caring that he left the car unlocked. The house was lit up, he raced up the steps and slammed his key into the lock before turning it. He threw open his door, not caring that his daughter could be asleep. Something happened and he wasn’t there.

“Y/N!” He called, walking down the hallway into the living room, eyebrows furrowing as he saw his good friend, Roach, leaned against the back of his couch, cradling something in his arm and holding his daughter against his side. Winnie came running from Roach’s side, sobbing. Simon picked up his daughter, her face red, splotchy, and full of tears.

He pushed some hair from her face, cupping her little cheek and speaking calmly, “Winter, what’s wrong?”

Her little body trembled, she shook her head before diving into his neck. He held her to his chest, one hand cradling her head as be looked to Roach, the baby Roach held in his arms had your hair color, your beautiful skin, dressed in an olive green onesie.

She didn’t. She couldn’t have been… Fuck.

“Y/N!” He called, moving towards Roach’s form leaning against the back of the couch. “Y/N!” He called upstairs, looking up it to see no lights on. He almost took a step up but stopped when he heard a cry.

The newborn in Roach’s arms began to fuss, little arms moving as they cried out. Roach could only gaze at Simon’s face, his own eyes full of tears.

“Where is my wife?”

Roach didn’t stop crying.

Fear plumed from his chest, anger fanned the flames as he shouted, “Where is my wife!”

Footsteps came from the front door, Simon’s heart lurched in his throat as he turned around to see his- Captain. Boonie hat rung in his hands, tears in his own eyes.

“Price, what-“

“Set Winnie down.”

John Price spoke with a softness Simon has never heard before in his life. Chills ran up his spine, the daughter loudly crying in his ear was drowned out by his heartbeat. Her little arms wrapped around his neck, tighter than they ever have before.

“John, where is my wife-“

He put up a hand. “Simon.”

The confused husband silenced, just wanting to know where the love of his life was. John met his eyes, and for a wordless moment, Simon felt grief. Sadness.

“The baby Roach is holding is your newborn daughter, Melody.”

His stomach dropped, eyes widened in surprise as he turned around to look at the creature again. She was so little.

With just a blink, he was back in that NICU - tubes and wires coming out of this little pink… thing in an incubator.

Another blink and he was back in his home, gazing at the little baby that looked just like you. His hands held his four year old tightly as he turned back to face Price, who was now a few steps closer. His face full of sorrow, tears running down his face as he stated in the military voice he was used to hearing, “Y/N didn’t make it out of the hospital.”

Simon’s head began to spin, around and around and around as he could barely take in small breaths.

“What are you saying?”

Price’s hand rested on Simon’s shoulder.

“Y/N is dead, Simon.”

The air went frigid. His lungs constricted, his head felt like a pound of bricks smashed against it, and he could hear his heart shatter into a million pieces on the ground. His knees locked, his hands froze, all he could feel was the familiar weight of holding his child.

“I learned right after you left the base half an hour ago. I called you, you didn’t answer.”

He felt nauseous. Dizzy. Like blood was oozing from an open wound in his chest, he felt exhaustion like he has never felt before. His bones were dipped in acid, his muscles constricting painfully - he felt like he was decomposing in that spot.

“Simon?”

Would flowers grow if I died right here?

If I died right now, would you lay beside me for the rest of time?

“Simon.”

If I live, how could I ever look at this place the same? How could I gaze at my daughters and act like I don’t see you in them?

If I live, how do I pretend that you’re still here? How can I remember the way you hold me if I haven’t seen you in months? How can I ignore the way your laugh haunts me, even when you were still here?

Winnie’s cries were loud, his entire body felt only pain, yet no crying wounds opened his skin. The only thing he couldn’t feel was his heartbeat.

If I live, how could I ever thank you for what you have done for me? What could I do to make you be proud of me?

There was ringing in his ears, he pressed his daughter to his chest and cheek. The Lieutenant has been beaten, stabbed, burned, suffocated, waterboarded - any torture method under the Sun, all without a single cry of pain because he forced them down. Now, as he stands in his living room, he willed for his throat to drag out a pain-relieving scream.

He made no noise as he fell to his knees.

How do I raise our daughters with the same grace and resilience you have? How do I tell them about you, their beautiful mother? How can I explain to them that I wasn’t here? How do I explain to my children that I broke a million promises to you?

How do I stop these tears?

PLEASE GIVE ME MORE HAPPINESS ASKS IM THRIVING

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Should I?

February Filth Fest : Day Fifteen

Song Mingi x fem reader x Jeong Yunho

a/n: good god i love this one

"Our Princess is needy isn't she?"

✫彡wordcount: 1k

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut w/o plot, p0rn star au

ಠ_ಠwarning/contents: not edited, size kink, poly relationship, no build up, live streaming, dom yunho/sub mingi/sub reader, unprotected( :( ), dacryphilia, slight nipple play, one slap, pet names(princess, baby / min, minie, baby / daddy)

FFF tags: @cherryxsang @k-drizzle

SMUT UNDER CUT MDNI

"Why'd you stop, Baby?" Yunho asks from the sidelines as Mingi slows his thrusts. He can't answer, head falling into your shoulder as he breaths heavily. "Princess?" He asks you instead.

"He's dumb, Daddy. He's gonna cum, can feel it." He stands up, stepping over the wire connected to your laptop and climbing up onto the bed behind Mingi.

The camera is situated to make sure all of your faces are cut off, something all of you had agreed on immediately. But all of the 800 viewers can see you caged under Mingis slumped figure, almost hidden completely as he holds onto you with his big arms. All 817 can see Yunho's big hands sliding up your legs.

A quiet ping rings out, and Yunho looks over to the monitor with his head on Mingis back. "They want to see you fuck her, Minie. Think you can handle that? Or you too close, Baby?"

"Too close, Daddy." He whines into your neck, grabbing your wrist and pinning them down after you decide to tease his nipple. You giggle, and push it by rolling your hips. "F-fuck!"

"Don't be a tease, Princess." Yunhos words make you settle, arm wrapping around the large expanse of Mignis back and rubbing gently in an apology.

"Sorry, Minie. Jus' want to be fucked."

A ping follows immediately, then another. And Yunho laughs lowly. "Yeah, our Princess is needy isn't she?"You whine as Mingis hips leave yours, groaning at the emptiness of your cunt.

"Don't worry," Mingi whispers as he lays down beside you and cuddles up: hard cock pressed against you hip. "Daddy's gonna fuck you good. He's so good to us." He isn't even playing it up for the camera. Yunho is so good to the both of you. His babies.

"You need me to stretch you out more, Princes-" "No, wan' your cock."

He slaps your thigh lightly and it makes you yelp, drowning out the pinging of the computer. "What, Baby?"

"He wants you to say please," Mingi says matter-of-factly, letting his hand settle on your breast and engulfing it completely. You roll your eyes at him and place your hand over his as he begins to knead your flesh and distract you as Yunho spreads your legs further to make room for himself.

"Please, Daddy? I r- I need- ugh! Min, stop!" You grab at his broad shoulder and dig your fingers in as he latches his mouth on your nipple, making sure to keep his face away from the cameras view.

"Come on, Princess. I know you can ask nice... be a good girl."

"Please, fuck me! I need it! Need your cock, please, please!" Mingi sees the tears trickling down your cheek as you beg and, knowing the pain of wanting Yunhos cock so badly you cry, he cups a hand over your cheek and moans into your tit to comfort you.

"I don't know..." Yunhos words make you cry out, grabbing for him.

"Please, Daddy, you know I've been good. We've both been good! Plea-"

"Should I fuck her?" He turns his body to the camera to let everyone know he's talking to them. Both you and Mingi sit up quickly when Yunho curls his fingers in a 'come hither' motion. Mingi steadies you with his hands on your hips as he pushes you infront of him.

"Should I?" He asks again, hand resting on your knee as you kneel on the edge of the bed. Your eyes flick through the fast moving chat, whining as you see the majority of them say for 'Daddy' to keep making 'Min' try and fuck you.

"No, please... wan- please, want Daddy to fuck us." Multiple donations come in and one of them reads 'daddy should fuck her'. Mingi catches you as you nearly fall over to get at the computer and read more. He pulls you back with his hands placed over your chest, and everything picks up pace on the screen.

"Thank you, thank you! You saw that? They said fuck me, so fuck me, Daddy, c'mon!" You yell excitedly, hands grabbing at Mingis hand in happiness and wrapping around one of his fingers. Mingi laughs into the back of your head, and Yunho leans back in laughter at your excitement.

When he fixes his posture, he sees a comment that breaks his brain.'Princess is so tiny! Look at her hands!!' His neck almost snaps at how fast he turns and looks at the two of you.

Mingis large hands are still fixed over your breast, pulling your back to his chest. Your hands look tiny in comparison, especially as you hold onto each of his index fingers: grounding yourself in your excitement.

"Fuck," he whispers as it fully sinks in. He lifts you up slowly and turns your around to face him as you sit in his lap. He takes you in a hot, rough kiss as he sinks you down on his cock.

Mingi comes up behind Yunho, holding your hands as they drape over his shoulders. "Does he feel good? He feels so good?" He wants it just as badly as you do, but he knows to wait his turn- especially when the camera is on."Princess, is it good, tell me, come on," he draws out, wrapping his arms over both you and Yunho, holding your back and digging in with his nails.

"You know it does, Minie... You k... Oh, Daddy!" You scream as he bucks up into you fast, hard. "Daddy, God!"

Mingi smiles as you grab his hands,pulling them back up and weaving your fingers together over Yunhos shoulders. "Fuck, Min, you- ah! You should feel this, so good! Daddy's so good!" 'Daddy' smiles into your chest, bouncing your hips on his big cock as you tell your boyfriend how good he's fucking you.

Pings come one after another with donations, almsot completely drowned out by your loud moans and the slapping of skin. "Min," he groans.

"Yes, Daddy," he answers as he lets one of your hands loose and runs it down his back.

"Read them to me." He does this often, making one or the both of you read them out loud as he's occupied.

"Wants to know if Dadd... if Daddy's huge cock stretch's you out..." the same realization that Yunho had is now dawning on him.

"Yes," you whimper a short response, unoccupied hand wrapping up in the top of Yunhos hair.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Baby?"

"Wants to know if Princess' little cunt can take your cum."

"Fuck!"

"Fuck!" You both yell out.

"Fuck!" The both of you scream out.

[neoneun-au]

CAN’T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER I: BADBADNOTGOOD

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut (later chapters) ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5.8K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: break ups, angst, mild language ―STATUS: ongoing

―SERIES M.LIST HERE

i: badbadnotgood

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“It’s literally fine,” you state, voice edging on manic as you take another sip from the iced coffee clutched in your (only slightly trembling) hands, “I’m literally so fine.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon in September and you find yourself once again sitting at the counter of your friend’s day job, taking advantage of her waning generosity (i.e. free coffee) while avoiding doing any of the multitude of things you should be doing at this moment in time. The aforementioned friend, Seulgi, stands in front of you–lower half obscured by the fake marble counter–clad in a coffee-stained apron and fixing you with an expression of open concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because you look…I don’t mean this to sound insensitive, but you look a little insane. Are you developing a twitch?” 

“I think I might take up running,” you drown the manic edge in your voice with another sip of iced coffee–groaning in disappointment when all that greets your lips is faintly coffee flavoured melt water from your ice cubes. You shake the container to check the contents and with a wave of bitterness confirm that it is, indeed, very empty. 

“You should consider taking up drinking water as a hobby first,” she says, snatching the cup away from you and tossing it into the garbage can under the counter behind her, “and then maybe we can go from there.” 

You heave a sigh and turn to stare out the window, deepening the cliché of the afternoon. A forlorn widow at a bar draped in pearls and fur.

Thursdays were slow, so you always took your time chatting with Seulgi and sipping whatever drink she was gracious enough to make for you. Today had been a “three iced coffees in a row” kind of day and due to extenuating circumstances (read: an incredibly recent breakup) she was being patient. For now. If the steel in her gaze was anything to judge by, her patience was beginning to run thin. 

“I just think that this is the perfect opportunity, Seulgi.” She keeps her eyes trained on your face–steady and unblinking–as you continue to ramble off your tired-but-wired thoughts. “I have so much free time now to do whatever I want, be whoever I want. I haven’t been single in over three years. That’s so long.”

“It is long,” she nods cautiously. A glass of water is set down on the counter in front of you, condensation dripping down the sides, and without thought, entirely on autopilot, you raise it to your lips and take a sip. A small wave of relief ripples over Seulgi’s face as you do.  

“I’ve been living with Wonwoo for two of those years, as well,” you choke the name out despite how it still stalls in your throat, threatening either tears or a coughing fit or both. You’re too bolstered by your false sense of optimism in the present moment to let it stop your monologue in its tracks. “Not going out, only cooking at home, spending more time playing video games and watching Netflix on the couch than I ever have in my life. I don’t have to think about what he wants to watch anymore, I can watch what I want. I can go where I want. I could watch Glee!” 

“Do you want to watch Glee?” She narrows her brows in suspicion but you wave the glance away with a breezy hand gesture. 

“It doesn’t matter what I want to watch,” you shake your head in frustration, “the point is that I can.”

“Right,” she nods, “you’re single now, which was sort of the goal of breaking up with him in the first place. So…live your life.” 

“Yes,” you nod, mentally shoving the words ‘breaking up’ into a small closet in your mind. Not to be opened until you were sufficiently under the influence of a massive amount of alcohol. “Yes, I can live my life.” 

The bell over the front door of the cafe rings out clear through the air, drawing your attention towards a young couple striding in from the windy day outside. Seulgi pushes herself off the counter in front of you and heads to greet them and collect their order–leaving you to continue to stew in your own thoughts. 

Breaking up with Wonwoo had never really been a part of the plan. Two years ago when you moved in with him, you were certain that it was going to be the last relationship you ever had. The hopeless romantic in you had hitched your wagon to him and he made it so easy to build a home around. Your relationship existed as simple domesticity; in simple romance and simple companionship. It was comforting and easy. And that was what scared you the most, in the end.   

Maybe it was too easy. Maybe you were settling. Maybe there was something more out there that you weren’t seeing because you were too content eating the same meals and telling the same stories. Part of you started to ache for a break in routine–some excitement and adventure that he wasn’t able or willing to offer–and after months of turning it over in your mind you finally figured what you had to do to make that happen.

“Have you found a place to stay yet?” Seulgi’s voice calls to you–yanking you unceremoniously out of your brain-stew before it hit the boiling point. The young, beige clad couple had settled themselves into a corner booth and Seulgi had come to take up her spot leaning on the counter across from you once more. 

“No,” you sigh, shoulders falling. The one sticking point in your resolve to leave your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, you suppose) had been the apartment. Aside from it being the home you had made together, you didn’t really have any idea where else you could stay. For the past week you had been sleeping on the couch and disappearing as fast as possible before Wonwoo could wake up. Avoidance became key to your survival. 

A few friends had suggested you keep the apartment and he could move back in with his old college friend Jihoon, but you already felt too bad breaking up with him in the first place to then subsequently kick him out of an apartment that he also had every right to live in. So, maybe somewhat foolishly, you volunteered to leave. 

“What about Jeonghan, didn’t you say he had a room free at his place?” Seulgi nudges the now lukewarm glass of water towards you as she speaks and you take another sip, wincing at the mention of Jeonghan’s name. 

“He did,” you reply, setting the glass back down on the counter with a satisfying thud. From the moment he heard about the break-up he had offered as much accommodation to you as possible. You had been roommates for six months in college and it went as smoothly as it possibly could have at that age, so you knew you could live with him in a pinch. Although you suspected the main driving force behind his offer was to keep his own rent at his massive condo as cheap as possible.  

“And his place is a bad idea because…?” 

“He has like three other roommates already,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. That was the only catch to rooming with him–strangers. All sense of optimism and bravado vacated your body at the thought of having to get to know new people. You no longer wanted to change your life for the better, you wanted to dig yourself into a soft pit in the earth and sleep for 1000 years. 

“So?” Seulgi asks and you groan deeper at her blatantly missing the source of your frustration, “you’ll have your own room. Besides, haven’t you been friends with him for like…ever?” 

“But they’re all dudes, Seulgi,” you whine, splaying your arms out across the counter. 

“You’ve lived with a dude for the past two years, what’s the difference?” 

“I’ve sworn them off,” you state as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and she just stares blankly back at you. 

“Dudes?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’ve sworn off…all dudes?” 

You nod, grateful she finally gets it, “yes.” Her steady gaze bores into you as you straighten your posture and readjust your hair before finally coming out with the question you had been meaning to ask since you stumbled into the cafe three hours ago, “can I move in with you?”

She barks a short laugh, shaking her head–her bright orange ponytail waving behind her as she does. You sit, patiently waiting for her response and ignoring the pit of vipers in your stomach biting at your nerves. After a moment she sobers up and brings her expression back to one of practised neutrality, “oh, you’re being serious.”  

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You know I live with my parents, right?” 

“Yeah, but they know me. I’ve met them.” 

“You’ve met them once,” she clarifies, stressing the last word. “I don’t think they really want to have another body in our house. It’s not exactly palatial.” 

“That’s fine, I don’t need much room,” you shrug and she heaves a sigh. 

“_____, you need to find a place that is a more permanent solution than crashing on my parent’s couch. Just look around online for some roommate ads, you can find plenty that are female only.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, gathering your bags to leave. “You’re right, I should just do that.” 

“You’re leaving before close today?” She asks, slightly taken aback at the sudden shift in routine. 

“Yeah, I mean I don’t want to keep loitering and distracting you from your customers,” you nod, slinging your purse over your shoulders. Seulgi takes a cursory glance around the cafe–eyebrow cocked. The singular couple that had been occupying a table in the small space had already left, leaving behind a wayward glove as the only sign they had been there in the first place.

In an effort to avoid as much contact with Wonwoo as possible, you had been doing all of your work (read: moping and avoiding your actual job) from the safety of the cafe walls on the days Seulgi worked, and the library on days she didn’t. It was a nice cafe but with the university students not yet back for the start of fall semester, it wasn’t an especially busy spot this time of year. 

“Besides,” you start, pushing yourself off the stool and stretching out the kink that had developed in your spine from leaning dramatically over the counter for the past 3 hours, “Wonwoo is usually working late Thursday nights so I can have some time alone to browse through rental listings.” 

“Oh okay. Well good luck,” Seulgi waves you off and you think she might look slightly relieved as you push open the door of the cafe and step out into the fresh air. 

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Wonwoo, as it turns out, was not working late this Thursday night.

Instead, as you walk into the apartment at a quarter past 5 in the afternoon, you find him leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil. 

His back is turned to you, head bowed forward as he scrolls through his phone. You freeze in place, bag swinging at your side, for a moment–staring at the back of his head as he remains blissfully unaware of your presence. 

If you were still dating, you would have snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his slender waist, tucking your face into the space between his shoulder blades. He always smelled like the faint remnants of his cologne–softened with wear throughout the day–and a strange combination of mint and coffee that you could only ever describe as ‘Wonwoo’. 

If you were still dating, he would have laughed softly–silently–at the sudden intrusion while twisting around the pressing his lips to your forehead, mumbling a quiet “hello,” against your skin. 

If you were still dating, you would have taken half of the ramyun he was cooking and sat together eating on the couch while chatting about your days, or watching whatever TV show had been in your rotation at the time. A comfortable stillness would have settled over you as you sunk back into each other as you so often did. With ease and flow. 

If you were still dating you wouldn’t be standing like a deer in headlights, staring at the back of his head. Waiting for the pin to drop. You wouldn’t be frantically trying to think of an exit plan before he took notice of your presence in the room. Your muscles tense to bolt at the slightest movement from him.

If you were still dating you might have known what to do when he finally did notice you there. When he turned to face you and you could see, even in the dim lighting of your small apartment, the redness in his eyes. But you weren’t still dating, so instead of instinctively knowing what to do you just waved at him with your pathetic, useless hands. 

“Umm hi,” you stutter the words out as you let your bag slip off your shoulder to the floor, kicking it to the side of the entryway. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.” 

“Took the day off,” he replies, turning back around to add two packs of noodles into the now boiling water. You nod and slip off your jacket, feeling distinctly like an intruder inside of your own home. 

The obvious bags under Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t help with that feeling.

In fact, the more you watch him out of the corner of your eye, the more you start to feel like at your core you were actually a very evil person. Here he was, standing unkempt in the t-shirt you had bought for him last Christmas while you stood on the other side of the room from him alive and breathing and like you hadn’t broken his heart only days prior.

The tense silence from moments before is replaced by static in your mind as you let the guilt consume you–raging like a fire through your thoughts and burning everything it touches. ‘Evil, awful, terrible, horrible, bad, bad, bad person,’ it chants–over and over twisting and turning inside of you. A mantra for all the things you’ve done wrong. It buzzes inside of your head so loudly that you hardly notice Wonwoo speaking to you until he clears his throat in question and calls to you by name. 

“Sorry,” you start, putting a lid on the buzzing in your mind, “I didn’t hear you. What?” 

“Are you hungry?” he repeats himself, already setting out two bowls of ramyun on the small kitchen table before you can muster up a response. You take a seat without a word, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping against the vinyl flooring, disturbing the silence like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Thanks,” your voice is sheepish. He nods in acknowledgement and begins to slurp back his noodles, eyes trained on his phone screen as he avoids meeting your gaze. 

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the occasional clinking of chopsticks against the sides of your bowls. You sit, watching Wonwoo and waiting. Waiting for something to happen to break the stalemate. To cut the tension and alter the current status quo. 

You want him to scream. To yell at you, to throw something. Anything more than just…sit. In silence. Looking at his phone. ‘If you get mad at me I will get on my hands and knees and beg you for forgiveness,’ you think to yourself, telepathically sending him the hint you so desperately want him to pick up on. ‘Give me some emotion, for the love of god.’ 

The sticking point in your relationship had always been his introspection. Sometimes it was a boon. He went inwards to see things you often couldn't see on the outside. It was nice, having someone so thoughtful. Someone who sat back and observed; taking note of everything, never reacting blindly. 

But as the days ticked ever onward, and you remained in that same place of ease and comfort, you began to wish he would. React. Make any move purely on emotion. Share his ugly, dirty, messy thoughts–even if they were never fully formed, even if they were retracted a second later. 

Instead he remained–steady, stoic–and the desire inside of you for passion and change burned brighter and brighter until you couldn't stand it anymore. Until it nearly blinded you with its intensity. 

Even during the break-up, when you sat across from him at this same kitchen table, with a combination of tears and mascara running down your face, he sat still and calm. Listening. Observing. You sat there with your heart bared blood red on your sleeves and your feelings spilling out before him from the open wound of your mind–more vulnerable than you had ever felt in all your years of dating. And you watched, splayed open, as he retreated further and further from you, locked his emotions and heart back up into himself. He remained even as you pleaded for him to give you something–anything–other than that. 

So you left. 

And then came back an hour later because you didn’t know where the hell you were going in the first place and besides you had left your wallet and phone behind and what were you going to be able to do without those aside from sit on a park bench. You snuck back in through the front door and expected to see him in shambles on your bed or wailing dramatically along to a comfort film. Instead you found him three games deep into an extended Overwatch session. 

Now, days later, you find yourself once again hoping against hope for him to give you something. Something other than the (mostly) cold-shoulder you had received for the past few days when you did accidentally bump into him. You needed it. It might feel less painful if it felt like he cared more. More than hiding his tears behind whatever wall he had built inside of himself.

The silence bites at you again as Wonwoo gathers the bowls to clean up–checking yours first to see that you’ve finished, the way he always does–and you trail behind him into the small galley kitchen. 

“So, umm,” you start, unsure of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself from saying whatever it was anyway. If he wasn’t going to talk, you would. “How’s work?” 

“Same as usual,” he shrugs, setting the bowls into the sink. You can see his shoulders tensing under his shirt as you talk, and that monster of guilt peeks its head up inside of you for a split second before you shove it aside and continue. 

“I think I might have found a place to live,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” His hands still in the sink, and he turns towards you–fully facing you for the first time since that night. The eye contact makes your breath catch in your throat–you can see more clearly now the redness in the whites of his eyes, the dark rings encircling them. Guilt rears his head once more. Regret. And a small–incredibly small, but still present–flush of victory. A reaction, finally. 

“Yeah,” you nod, spurred on by nerves and a desire to keep the tense silence at bay for as long as possible, “umm, Jeonghan offered me a room at his place.” 

“Jeonghan?” 

“Yeah, you remember him. Blonde guy–well I guess he wasn’t blonde when you met him, I think his hair was like…long and purple, or maybe blue–?” you catch yourself rambling, Wonwoo stands–hands poised still over a bowl–clutching a dripping dish rag. 

“I remember him, yeah,” he turns back to the dishes, scrubbing at the bowls but you can tell that you still have his attention. 

“Anyway, he offered to let me move in there. I just need to let him know when and then the room is mine,” you finish the thought and nod as if signing the lease agreement with your words despite this being the first time you’ve even seriously considered the offer.

“Doesn’t he have a bunch of roommates already?” Wonwoo shakes the water off the bowl–from a set of dishes you had bought together shortly after moving in–and sets it gently in the drying rack off to the side of the sink before moving on to the next one. 

“Yeah, like three,” you state, watching his forearms flex and unflex as he scrubs at an old stain in the grey ceramic, “but it's a five bedroom condo and one of his old roommates–Dino, I think was his name? I only met him once at that one murder mystery party they were throwing,” you catch yourself rambling again and take a quick breath to rearrange your thoughts, “anyway he just moved out so now they have an empty room.” 

Wonwoo nods, the way he always does when he is considering what to say, and you wait. Silence creeps back in for a moment–the only sound is the water whirling through the drain–before he turns back to you with one eyebrow slightly raised, “do you even want to live with that many people? You like having your space.” 

“I mean,” you hum, “I don’t really have many other options.” 

“You could stay here,” he says after a breath–voice barely above a whisper–and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Is this it? Is this the moment he breaks through his walls and fights for what he wants? Fights for you? Wonwoo clears his throat, and you wait, breath held, for him to continue, “at least until you can find something better.”

The hope you had built–a delicate house of cards stacked on his words–crumbles and you can feel yourself physically deflate. “No,” you shake your head, “thanks but…I think this will be good. I feel good about it.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more with this statement.

“Well,” he nods once, slowly, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, “as long as you’re sure.” 

“I am,” you try and offer the most assuring smile you can muster despite how entirely unsure you feel about the snap decision, only letting it fall from your face once he tucks the last bowl away and slips into the dark of the bedroom. 

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“Okay,” Jeonghan grins, taking the seat across from you at the kitchen table, “house rules.” 

After your last interaction with Wonwoo you had tried in vain to think of any possible reason you could back out of the spontaneous declaration of your new living arrangements. Even going so far as to dig through the personal ads on numerous websites, seeking any even remotely attractive alternative that you could use to move into immediately and hide your shame before it grew big enough to swallow you whole. 

It took only two hours and 10+ ads seeking “female companionship for free room and board” with blurry attached photos for you to give up and just message Jeonghan. To which he promptly replied with an ‘I knew I’d hear from you ;)’.

The move had been relatively simple after that. Jeonghan had roped one of your new roommates, a guy called Seungcheol, into hauling nearly all of your stuff down five flights of stairs to the moving truck you had rented for the occasion and then back out of the moving truck and into your shared condo. Two days and nearly twenty boxes later, you sit across from Jeonghan in the condo you were now going to have to call your home for the foreseeable future.

“Rule one,” he begins, holding up a finger to emphasize the number as if it wasn’t abundantly clear, “wash your own dishes. If the dishwasher is full and clean, empty it and then add your stuff.” You open your mouth, poised to speak, but he stops you with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I know you will, I’m not worried about you, I just have to be excessively clear on this point after the last incident we had.” Jeonghan ends the sentence with a somber shake of his head and you decide it’s probably best not to ask what said “incident” was.

“Second, the movie The Notebook is banned from this apartment.” 

“What? Why?” 

“The last time we watched it it took three hours to peel Mingyu off the couch,” he shakes his head, “trust me you don’t want to see a six foot tall man in that extreme of a state of distress. It’s…hard to watch.” 

“Okay…” the worry you had felt prior to moving your stuff into the apartment metamorphosizes now into pure confusion. You weren’t sure what exactly to expect living with four adult men, but suffice it to say this was not it.

“Rule three is simple: no overnight guests on Sundays.” 

“Why Sundays?”

“It’s the Lord’s day,” he explains, face showing no hint of a bluff as you flounder for a response, mouth agape. “Kidding, it’s really just because if we didn’t have a set day there would always be someone here with the amount of people that live in this condo. It’s just for my own peace of mind. Not that Dino was much of a concern with that and considering…circumstances you won’t be either.” 

“Got it,” you nod, ignoring the sleight and wondering if you should have brought a notepad. 

“Honestly, that’s pretty much it for the hard rules. Everything else is just…be conscious of the people you live with. But I know I don’t have to worry about that with you, you lived with Wonwoo,” he laughs but stops himself as your expression falters, clearing his throat with a cursory cough. “Anyway, we’re all really excited to have you here.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, feeling the weight of the world settle back on your shoulders. You can’t remember ever being so tired. “Thanks again, Jeonghan, for letting me stay here.” 

“Of course,” he smiles, patting your folded hands in a gesture of comfort, “this is your home now, and we’re happy to have you.” 

You glance around the room, trying to place that word in with the surroundings you find yourself in. Trying to make it fit. “Home”. 

The kitchen is a good size, with more than enough space for multiple people trying to cook at once. The fridge is relatively new, stainless steel, and equipped with a water dispenser which was something you definitely did not have at your apartment (Wonwoo’s apartment, now, you remind yourself). The dishwasher is also a welcome addition, and you're happy with the prospect of not having to hand wash every dish you use. 

The apartment in general is in good condition. It is clear, despite your previous assumptions, that everyone here puts some level of care into their living space and you appreciate that. It makes you feel a little better about living with a group of men who (beyond Jeonghan) you barely know. 

But still, despite the relative cleanliness and general coziness of the space, it is still hard to envision yourself ever being able to fit the word ‘home’ here in these four walls. Home is still a word that until recently had only made sense in one place–in the arms of one person. And you had destroyed that. Chopped it's head clean off like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Maybe you don’t deserve the word anymore. 

“So,” Jeonghan begins, offering you a wide smile, “we were thinking pizza for dinner. Something fun and easy to welcome you into the place. Mingyu wanted to cook but I talked him out of it, it’s too formal. Mingyu and Vernon will be home later. I think you might have met them once before. Seungcheol you already know, he’ll be back later too, he spends a lot of time at the gym. If you ever need a gym buddy I’m sure he would salivate at the opportunity.”

You nod, unfocused. You’re following his words but your mind is a million years away. Jeonghan, tuned in as ever, notices you drifting and stops in his tracks. “You must be tired,” he concludes, a knowing glint in his eyes, “why don’t you head to your room and I’ll leave you be for a while. Let you get settled in. Feel free to come out and join us whenever.” 

“Thank you,” you breathe, already halfway out of the kitchen.

“I’ll call you out for dinner later, if you like,” he turns to you, a soft encouraging smile painted over his lips and you can’t help but return it in kind before disappearing down the hallway. 

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Five minutes alone and you dissolve completely. 

Every emotion you had been holding back behind the dam of your desire to keep a straight face for the sake of everyone else around you floods forward as you unpack your first box and you fall onto your bed in a what can only be described as a fainting spell interspersed with waves of crying and not uncharacteristic wheezing. All thought to your roommates completely ignored in the midst of the hysterics. 

Somewhere in the middle of the wailing, you think you hear Jeonghan call your name through your door but you’re too all consumed by your sadness to reply to him. Instead you bury your head into your pillows like a flamingo in the sand to muffle the sound of your crying until you fall asleep with your tears drying to a crust on your cheeks.

When you finally come to, the sun is gone and your room is lit only by the light pollution of the city seeping in through your blinds. Your face feels swollen and puffy from all of the tears and your throat is sandpaper–for a brief second you’re afraid you might have lost your voice. A dull headache pounds through your entire skull. You feel as miserable as you’re sure you deserve to feel at this point in time. 

With a sigh you slide off your mattress, letting your feet fall to the vinyl floor with a thud and reach to grab your phone from the nightstand that Dino left behind when he moved out. 

A single text notification sits unopened on your phone. 

[jeonghan] there’s pizza in the kitchen if you get hungry. introductions can wait until tomorrow.

So they did just decide to leave you alone for the time being. Good. Considering your current emotional state, you didn’t think meeting new people was a good idea. The first impression was already shot since you’re sure they heard you wailing through the thin walls of the apartment. 

You consider just going back to sleep without any dinner, but your stomach answers the thought with an insistent rumble that you don’t think you’d be able to stave off for too long before it gets cavernous. You push yourself from the bed and pad out into the hallway–cautiously stretching your head out first to see if anyone else is wandering around. 

Three slices of pizza sit wrapped on a plate in the fridge, illuminated in the dark of the kitchen and you feel your sour mood lift slightly at the sight. You eat them cold, standing in your bare feet and wrinkled clothes alone in the kitchen.

The dishwasher is clean when you go to place the plate inside, but considering time you decide it would be worse to unload the whole thing for one measly plate so you run it under the tap for a few minutes–scrubbing at one stubborn spot of hardened cheese with the sponge. 

“I think it’s clean,” a voice calls out behind you and you startle–nearly dropping the dish in the sink at the sudden intrusion.

“Wha–! Fuck,” you exclaim, inhaling a sharp breath to slow your heart back down to a normal pace. 

“Sorry,” the voice chuckles, low and easy, and you find yourself praying that if you pretend he’s not there he will leave before you have to turn around and face whatever man the voice belongs to. “Did I scare you?” 

No dice. “No, it’s fine I was just thinking about something–” you pivot slowly on one foot and are immediately grateful that you’re lit only by ambient lighting, “–else.” 

Immediately upon turning around you come face-to-face with a dripping wet and uncomfortably bare torso. You snap your gaze up to his face, avoiding further eye contact with his nipples, and the knot of nerves in your stomach tightens. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he laughs again–casual despite his state of undress and your clear distress. You feel your head shake no without your permission, betraying you and forgiving the hidden apology in his words. “Not a great first impression, I gather.” His smile is bright, but a little lopsided and bashful. It conjures up images of your childhood dog when he would track mud in through the house from the backyard, eyes big and wet and brown and sure that any sleight would be forgiven immediately based purely on his cuteness.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, words finally returning to you, and glance around for a possible exit strategy while still trying to avoid staring directly at his (admittedly very well built) chest. 

“I’m Mingyu,” he smiles, extending a hand to you and you take it briefly, feeling the warmth of it on your own like a shock. Not an entirely unwelcome one. 

“Mingyu?” you ask, partly to clarify and partly to give yourself a chance to regain your thoughts. You notice his hand is still in yours and you drop it, letting your own hand fall back to your side–flexing the fingers as if to shake off the warmth of his.

“Yeah,” he laughs again and you wish he would stop. 

“You live here?” 

“I do,” he nods, still smiling. “That would be why I am standing in the kitchen at 1:00am.” 

“Oh, umm…yeah of course. Yeah,” you slide sideways against the counter behind you until you’re no longer parallel to him, preparing to bolt back to your bedroom at the slightest provocation. 

“Anyway, sorry we had to meet like this, it’s not really ideal.” 

“No,” you shake your head–thoughts numb from hours of crying and the shock of his arrival in the kitchen. 

“We can re-do our introductions in the morning, hey?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice and you can't help but agree–feeling a little like a nervous rabbit being placated by clumsy hands. He steps aside and you slip past him, grateful at being on the other side of the kitchen and not trapped between his body and the counter. “Sleep tight.” 

You feel his eyes lingering on you as you shuffle back to your bedroom, but you resist the suffocating urge to turn around and check. The door closes behind you with a soft click and you lean all of your weight against the wood, unsure of your legs' abilities to keep you upright for more than a second longer. 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the darkness and are answered by sirens as they race by outside of your window. “This is not good.”

© 2023, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

[facioleeknow]

Frat boy 2 • Choi Seungcheol

WC: 868. Genre: Frat boy au

TW: bisexual Vernon and Reader, suggestive thoughts, sassy writing, maths

He fell first and hard. She thinks he hates her but he's actually emotionally constipated.

Mathematics sucks. Most people can agreed on that, approximately 90% percent of the world's population. The bad news is that those 10% appeared to have been on the board at your colleges but that same wretched subject was a MANDATORY subject. 

So here you were sat first row because of your very poor eyesight instead of the back where you could sleep trying to make sense of Mathematics I. Your head started pounding as soon as you got into the class, the air in the room was enough to make you feel like you wanted to claw your eyes out. The scribbles on the blackboard made absolutely no sense. You looked around, everyone was nodding and happily writing along the professor. This had to be a nightmare, the ones where nothing makes sense and people glare at you like you're the weird one.

Unfortunately for you this was reality. Hard, cold and ruthless reality. You let your head hit the desk with a rather loud thud, you didn't care anymore nor did the professor in your defense. Daydreaming was the only thing that could save you from a full blown migraine, which you clearly didn't want. Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply and tried to escape into your Dreamland where you didn't have to take a stupid maths class like this was some ordinary highschool or something. 

Your thoughts flew right to that scary but beefy blond dude you saw at SVT frat. He was clearly well built and you were sure that if the situation was different you would've drooled on him and maybe even asked him to touch his muscles. His hair also looked really soft and framed his face so perfectly, you were sure he was drowning in pussy. Ugh, that was so unfair. Why weren't you drowning in pussy? 

Your train of thoughts was rudely interrupted by the bell and then by Vernon who shook your shoulder so hard that you bumped your head against the desk again. At this rate you were going to get a concussion.

“Why aren't you taking notes?” he asked with that displeased look of his.

“Why are you all in my business Vernon?” you huffed, quickly shoving your things in your bag.

“I'm your friend, I don't want you to fail.” You pursed your lips at his words. He was just trying to be nice and you were sassy without a reason.

“Notes or not, I still don't get it, my brain is not wired like that.”

“I can ask Seungcheol to tutor you,” he exclaimed with a weirdly chirp smile on his face.

“Who?”

“Seungcheol, the head of my frat and the professor's TA. Choi Seungcheol.”

“Is that supposed to tell me something?”

“Did you ever pay attention?”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. The question was entirely too stupid and the answer was entirely too obvious for him. Vernon huffed.

“Don't worry about it I'll handle it. I have to go now, we got a new pledge yesterday,” he waved already half out the door.

“You're fourteen now? That house is a fucking nightmare.”

The same day you received a text from Vernon saying that it was all set and to meet him at his cursed frat house. You rolled around in bed debating whether to go or not, it would've messed with your napping schedule but maybe sacrificing a nap to pass a class wasn't the end of the world. Getting up took all of your strength and getting dressed took even more, by the time you were halfway to the house you were cranky, tired and sluggish.

Seungcheol had never been more awake on the other end. Tutoring? You? He could never pull that off. He’d had his eyes on you since the first day you stepped into the class, you were clearly not paying attention so he doubted you noticed him. Mathematics I, which was dreadful for him because he hated teaching, it required too much patience, started to become the happiest part of his week. He looked forward to see you daydream, the way you twirled your hair in your hand and rested your cheek on your hand was enticing and hypnotizing.

As Cheol saw you walk towards him, looking clearly tired and pouty, he heard angels sing, church bells ring and birds tweet. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and watch you sleep on his chest, he also wanted to bury his head between your thighs until he couldn't breathe anymore but that was a thought for another time.

“Good luck Coups,” smirked Vernon. He knew. He did it on purpose.

As your eyes laid on Seungcheol your steps faltered. Wasn't he the guy that was looking at you like he wanted you to combust? What was he doing here? Why did he look like he was waiting for you?

“Hi, I'm Seungcheol, you can call me Coups. I'm your tutor,” he kindly extended your hand to you. His grip was gentle and his hand was warm and steady.

“I'm Y/N, thank you for agreeing to tutor me.” 

Oh my god her hand is so soft, thought Cheol, he was sweating bricks.

“Shall we go in?”

[lullabyes22-blog]

Sometimes I feel like one of those cats that isn’t yours but, instead of occasionally leaving mice or birds by your door, I drop a wholeass AU at your feet.

I have another one :D it’s kind of a wild ride, I do apologize in advance for the essay XD

I simply call this The Robot AU (It’s a little more complicated from robots, they’re more of a horrific combination of mechanical and flesh all stemming back from the supernova-ed remains of a dead god)

By far the strangest one is Sevika as her origins are complicated leading to a unique upbringing. She is something called a Disasembaler, but more than that she is of a phased out subtype called ‘The Constructed’ people who were built in factories instead of developing on the mycelium-like root system or being born to parents. The Constructed are most commonly made during war time or a time of high economic stress to keep up with a high demand for soldiers or workers if supply is dwindling, a key draw to them is that they are already in adult forms, with developed brains and functioning bodies and pre-existing coding, meaning they don’t have to be trained.

Sevika’s particular branch was made specifically to be killing machines as their name would suggest. They were created by Piltover to quell one of the first uprisings, the squadrons that were made were launched into the city via individual shuttles meant to both carry the person inside to their desired location and to cause as much damage to the infrastructure as possible. 

Sevika was an interesting case because her pod didn’t open and instead of self-destructing, due to faulty wiring, she instead went dormant for several melinia until one day it spat her out. Sevika never really had a childhood, she was “born” an adult, while her brain was technically fully developed she understood the world about as well as a newborn. Being seen as a boogie-man and the literal face of death she wasn’t exactly perceived well, leading to feelings of alienation and building resentment, these were later weaponized by Silco to get her on his side. 

Though Sevika was given the nickname “the dragon” due to a slight defect in her waste disposal system. Usually the waste produced takes the form of liquid that once it hits the air it turns into a colorless, odorless gas expelled along openings along various parts of the body, most of them are located along the back. However, hers invade into the ventilation chamber and have holes in them, having not not fully been processed the liquid is red. This then spills into her ventilation chamber causing her to constantly express a highly flammable gas. 

Silco is something called a “Firstborn” which comes directly from the mycelium-like structures, one of two things happens to them, they are taken to group homes or adopted into families, the former happened to him. (it's nothing really official people can basically go to "the baby spot" and pick out a child the way someone does a pastry) ironically people like this are seen as more pure as they are believed to be more closely connected with their god. After being drowned and exposed to the Pilt’s toxins the metal covering his face began to be eaten away by “red rot” or by its better known name, rust. 

He hides this with a porcelain mask, it used to be just white but he allowed Jinx to decorate it and never painted over. If you were to take it off that the rust has eaten away part of his face plate allowing for the intricate metal structures and delicate inner workings (which would usually be protected by said face plate) to be exposed. The rust has also started to spread to the inner workers leading to more and more difficulty with mauvering that side of his face. (think: chewing, smiling, blinking, and even movement of the eye itself)

If you look at his left hand you’ll notice that he’s missing his pinky finger. This is courtesy of Sevika.

Jinx is something called a Derivative. These are people who were born to parents rather than being made in a factory or coming from the “original source”. As she is younger and is the next generation she reflects a newer, sleeker design. Most notably her face is a screen able to project a typical face or can replace her expressions with emoticons. She’s upgraded herself multiple times installing weapon systems, however this altering has become something of an addiction, to the point of being akin to self mutilation.

With the need to constantly change she is almost unrecognizable from the girl she used to be, one might notice that she was trying to mimic Silco in her younger years, but is now starting to try her own aesthetics. 

It’s also not recommended for a growing person to undergo so many drastic changes such as weapon installments, leading to her having stunted growth and some internal deformities similar to Sevika’s. However instead of spitting focus fluid into her lungs she simply bleeds into them leading to the formation of crystalline structures which inhibit her breathing.

Vi (as Jinx’s sister) looks very similar to how Jinx used to look before her modifications. However, something that is to be noted is that her gauntlets are not something she can slip on and off, they are now a permanent part of her. She is still trying to figure out how to live with big ass hands.

Mel is by far the one who underwent the most change other than Jinx. She started as a war machine like her mother with heavy armor and internal weapon systems. However when she was banished she rid herself of her heavy armor for something sleeker and removed her weapon systems. This was to her mother’s disapproval but ya know…. It’s kind of the point. 

A staple of Piltover is to have over the top modifications. (think outfits from the capitol in hunger games, except permanent) whereas the people who live in Zaun can’t afford these types of changes (except if they do it themselves and if they do they tend to try to bulk-up for greater protection).

I welcome all your AUs they are like delicious treats for my brain to chew on 😭💗💗💗

Oooh this is a fascinating one - especially given all the chem-modifications and body augmentations already present in Zaun, all of which are deeply cyberpunk-dystopia.

I like the idea of Jinx's crystals inhibiting her breathing - a secondhand metaphor for the trauma that inhibits her full growth. Imagine Sevika as exuding fiery spume every moment - she would legit shimmer at a distance like a heat mirage on the highway. Also someone should draw Mel's upgraded armor I am sure it's pure gold - literally 💫

Also imagine Fortiche animating all this in Angel's Egg art style 🥺👀

[theesirenteller]

Reaper's Crow.

🅦🅐🅡🅝🅘🅝🅖 Kidnapping, Gore, Abuse, Violence, Profanity, OCC, glorification of serial killings, mentions of sexual violence, smut, mentions of PTSD, Sociopathisim, graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, angst, slow-burn romance

▌This fictional piece is AU with very little amounts of canon. I understand if this fic isn't your cup of tea. Please do not leave hate comments. The story is set some years after season seven. ▌

"This is just in another series of bodies that have been reported to have been found butchered and dismembered. Two of the six bodies were confirmed to be Sergeant Robert Combs and Officer Micheal Llyod. Both were suspected to be in business with the Aryan Warriors. Police have put out a curfew for all Mottenhill residents to be inside their homes by seven p.m. We ask all residents to lock their doors and remain safe."

An ear-piercing scream echoed throughout the four-bedroom-two-story home. Drowning out the downstairs news report from the Tv. The sound of glass shattering followed by choked-up sobs and high-pitched squeals of agony bounced off the walls of the home. The commotion let death himself slip in through the backdoor like a dark shadow in the night. The rubber soles of his steel-toned leather boots pressed soundlessly across the wooden floor. The glimmer of his silver c-shaped daggers reflected across the floorboards as the six-foot-seven male crept up the staircase. 

"You stupid fucking bitch! I love you! Why do you have to make me so angry?!"

The reaper tightened his grip on the daggers within his hands as he edged closer to the master bedroom door. His target, the unfortunate son of a bitch stood with his back turned away from the door. Hovering over a blood-covered, badly beaten woman. Who looked more like a girl based on her size. She spat blood across the floor, and a few of her teeth followed. Tapping against the wood as they spilled. The man raised his foot up, no doubt getting ready to aim a kick towards the back of her head. Just as his foot started to lower…

The dagger shot right through his skull with a loud crunch. The leather whip attached to the handle of the blade tugged back. The man's neck yanked backwards as his large body fell onto the floor. The layers of rolls on his stomach jiggled due to the harsh thud. The blade roughly snapped open the bridge of his nose and dug upwards splitting the middle bridge of his eyes open wide. Blood splattering across the man's wrinkled face as his body jolted back and forth out of shock.The Reaper lowly whistled to himself as he walked further into the bedroom. His once bright eyes turned midnight blue as he looked down at his victim coldly. His breathing shallow as rolled the wire around his leather glover covered hand but ultimately yanking the blade from the man's head. Warm blood splattered across his shoes and pants. Something that felt as simple as rain falling on a gloomy day. Crouching down like a panther getting ready to indulge in its prey, he soon hovered over the dwindling body. First came snapping a photo on his mobile then he plunged the dagger violently into the man's jugular and rapidly yanked it across his throat. Viciously causing the mangled bones to disconnect from the spine and shoulders. With little regard to the blood painting his face crimson, The Reaper proceeded to take a plastic black bag from his pocket and toss the head inside. As he stood back up the sound of wheezing caught his attention. 

The woman weakly slithered herself as far away from him as she could. "P-ppp-ple" she attempted to beg as blood steeped from the sides of her mouth. Her sepia-brown skin is stained with crimson so much that he wasn't sure how many places she was bleeding from. She was tired of begging. Tired of pleading. And if this was her end, she wanted to plead for her life rather than plead for the pain to stop. It never did stop when she pleaded anyway. The reaper's left eye began to twitch as flashes of blood, stab wounds, and his cries of agony replayed in his mind. Tara. He dared not utter her name. His eyes closed for a moment. Wincing. WIncing away the painful memory. When he opened them again he looked around before making his way over to the bed. After snatching off the duvet cover he then B-lined towards her again. Now crouching down beside her he proceeded to turn her on her back. Which caused a sudden yelp of pain to escape her lips. Shoe parks embedded across her breasts and her collarbone stuck out of place. One of her eyes was closed shut and swollen with the size of a lemon. A large gash in the middle of her forehead.She had eyes the same color as the grease that used to coat his calloused hands. Eyes that held pain. A pain he was familiar with. A pain he wished to undone.

"Sorry" his voice was gruff. Husky with grief.

Snapping her collarbone back into place only caused a mouse-like squeak to leave her lips. She had no more fight left in her. Her eyes rolled back before they shut. Her breathing was shallow as he leaned in closer to her face. Not wasting a moment longer he draped the duvet across her body and cocooned her into it. Carefully picking her up, The Reaper cradled her in his arms. Swiftly turning on his heel, he retrieved the bagged head from the floor on his way out the room.

Disappearing like an Incubus in the night, The Reaper drove his GMC truck out of Las Vegas. He drove for miles until reaching his destination. Parking his truck out in front of the gated mansion, he grew comfortable in his seat and wrote on the plastic bag in red marker 'Stolbatch' before tossing it out the window. 

It wasn't long before he was back on the road. The road that once was his friend, his freedom, his sense of invincibility and thrill…until it wasn't. It'd become an escape route and pathway to the neck job. His attention turned to his mirror. He watched the battered woman lay unconsciously across his backseat. It's been a longtime since he acted on impulse. And now he debated on what he'd do with her. Where he'd leave her. 

'Christ Jackie…what'd ya gotten into now' an old friend's words played back in his head causing a grimace to flash across his lips.

Pushing those thoughts aside, the only thing now on his mind was to get the nameless woman taken care of and patched up.

Chapter Two.

[dracaelus]

BATMAN/DC FIC RECS

I like to make a list of fics i like but i'm starting to get kinda tired of scrolling through all my drafts to get to this one, so i'm posting this and starting a new one. This is mostly batman centric. Multiship ! The quotes are not the synopsis, just some parts i liked from the fic so i can remember what exactly happens in the story/what i liked about it. This list is more for myself tbh. I tried to keep things organized but probably failed

1 Wholesome and fun, but with a serious undertone/a bit of angst

Finished:

Nature and Nurture, by lurkinglurkerwholurks: long fic, multi pov batfam, they meet de aged Bruce Wayne through multiple stages of his life

"Bruce could feel a slow smile begin to spread across his face, until it stretched from one cheek to the other, framed by dimples on either side."

Am I The Asshole?, by FabulaRasa: greenbat/batlantern (i have to find out the official ship name), but also hal x bruce's bathtub; mostly hal's pov, and i love their dynamic so much. I recommend you read the whole series

(...) He crossed to Garwell, confident he could find a cab headed uptown on the wider avenue. After all, a world where Hal Jordan called him baby was a world where anything was possible – even catching a cab in Gotham in a winter storm headed uptown.

What Not To Wear To A Wedding At Wayne Manor, by FabulaRasa: oh i love this fic so fucking much. I can't put it into words. It's just so so good, you wouldn't believe it. Another batlantern/greenbat. I love this pairing with my entire heart and they're so good in here, really, so amazing. Mostly Hal's pov. I love this author and this might be one of my favorite works of them. This is just beautiful.

"And now. . . stupid idea number three? (...) This is your plan now?"

"I have a good feeling about this one."

Axial Rotation, by FabulaRasa: ok, so i really have a thing for this author works. Their batlantern/greenbat (?) is so good, seriously, i can't stress this enough. I love how committed FabulaRasa is to find a way to make their relationship work while still acknowledging how fucked up they are.

“Okay,” he said. And he put his hands on Bruce’s face, in the mirror of Bruce’s gesture. Last night’s stubble had become a definite shadow by this morning, and his face was like sandpaper. And also indescribably beautiful. “You are so fucking beautiful, you know that, right?”

Bruce’s small wince told him that he did not, in fact, know that, but that was okay, Hal had a lot of time to teach him that.

Lungs full of saltwater, by Maeruh: GHOSTBAT FIRST SOULMATE AU AND IT'S FREAKING GORGEOUS, SO SO BEAUTIFUL

It drowns him as if rocks had been tied around his ankles before throwing him into the sea.

It is suffocating.

Furthermore, it's refreshing

How Batman Made The Housemaid Cry, by FabulaRasa: technically batlantern, but the focus is on Bruce and Alfred, and they are amazing in this. I love them with my whole heart

He pulled his cell out of his inner pocket and texted. Remind me to tell you about my conversation with Alfred, he said. And then please use your ring to erase my functional memory. Do whatever you have to do.

a soul that's born in cold and rain (knows sunlight), by bat_butch: ghostbat; bruce visits his parents grave and talks about Khoa

He thinks about the light in Minhkhoa’s eyes when he smiles. The glint that they gain when he teases, and the excitement that sparks when they spar. He thinks about the careful way that Minhkhoa cleans his swords. The line that forms between Minhkhoa’s brows when he’s sewing a mask or a cape or a wound.

Like a cactus on frayed wires, by Maeruh: ghostbat fic! It's just Khoa thinking about batman, but it's so sweet

"Khoa wondered then if, as the cactus fell, anyone would dare try to catch the cactus?

With its thorns, sinking into your flesh and with the dirt soiling you. With the possibility that it would be useless.

He supposed that there is always someone."

Kerosene in my hands, by Maeruh: oh this one. Maeruh is definitely one of the best ghostbat writers we have, and their minhkhoa narration is absolutely perfect.

Because Bruce is like that, he wants to be the sun in the lands where winter never ends.

And Khoa is a selfish snowman.

Relax, Clark, you're only getting married, by truc: oneshot, clarks pov, super fun to read. Honestly, I recommend the entire series

When, on the eve of his marriage to Lois Lane, Clark gets serious pre-wedding jitters, he calls his best- worst- man to help him deal with it. Bruce, in all of his pink and gray Barbie sleepwear glory, offers knockout drugs, unsolicited wedding rants/advices and a video gaming opportunity. Despite everything, the wedding isn't a total disaster.

Unfinished:

Manor - Dad lets me drive the Batmobile: batfamily at it's best, seriously, also incredibly funny, wholesome, with great family dynamics! Multi pov's

“Bruce!” Dick shouted when he finally spotted him. “Look! This has to be the Batcave!”

The what Cave?

“Can you believe it? Did you know it was right here under the manor all this time? This must have taken years to set up and look at all that cool tech! Of course, Batman has the best. Have you seen him…”

Dick trailed off and studied Bruce cautiously. His gaze lingered on Bruce’s neck, where this night’s fights had resulted in a small bruise, and the coffee mug in Bruce’s hands.

“Look, Dick, I know this is a lot to take in—” Bruce began to speak, but Dick interrupted him.

“You’re dating Batman!”

Brilliant Analytical Minds, by stuckoncloud9: some really fun Riddlerbat! Bruce's pov. Edward loses some of his memories and leaves his life as a supervillain to become a private detective. Somehow, Bruce ends up being his Watson

He was silent for a moment, then looked up at me. “Riddle me this,” he said. “I solve nothing, I build nothing, but I can destroy anything. What am I?”

I thought about it. “I’m not angry at you, Edward,” I eventually replied

love, nevertheless : superbat. Funny, wholesome, beautiful, poetic, Bruce's soulmate is Gotham, with Gotham city being kind of sentient. Soulmate au, mostly Clark's pov

"He needed to go back inside, to slip back through the service door and into the ballroom before too many people noticed him missing, but for just another second he wanted to hold out. He wanted to be loved and feared and owned by someone he could never hold or touch in its entirety any other way."

2 Pure comedy and/or fluffy

Finished:

and he looks at me, and i look at him, by Shleapord: THIS IS WHAT PEAK TEENAGER BRUCE LOOKS LIKE, I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH. Honestly, comedy gold

“You are a fantastically strange child,” said Diana. She said it with perhaps too much interest and not enough wariness for comfort.

“That’s what Alfred says. Also my old science teacher when I dissected everyone’s squirrels for them because everyone who goes to Gotham Academy is a coward, except for Roman who’s a bitch. I’m not allowed in Biology classes anymore, all I can do it take higher-level Chemistry classes for my science credits.”

welcome to the playground, by Shleapord: once again teenager Bruce being my reason to live

"Like, I get kidnapped all the time and Alfred says its good for me as a growing young man to learn how to navigate stressful environments"

here as i am, by TheResurrectionist: this is sladebru/deathbat and okay, i find if pretty hilarious but a more accurate description would be pwp? The important thing is that i love it, i'm lowkey such a sucker for sladebru >...<

Slade briefly debated making the sign of the cross, but thought better of it, running a hand down the man’s sweaty back instead.

Begone, foul demon, he intoned in the safety of his mind, still thinking of that flash of white teeth in near-darkness. Of burning blue eyes and plush, kiss-reddened lips.

Send to All, by kerosceene: peak comedy batfam.

I, ___________________________, hereby acknowledge that this form represents my wishes should I contract phytoaphrodisiac-induced delirium (hereafter referred to as “PAID”) during engagements with or while apprehending Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley (“Poison Ivy”).

Bruce knows how to swim, and he is will swim up the entire Nile if he has to. Too bad Jason has other plans, by arrowupmysleeve: this is a batlantern one, but what i'm actually highlighting here is clark. Perfect, absolutely stunning. Tecnically he doesn't even show up but he still steals the show. Clark eavesdropping on other people's conversations and sending them messages with his opinion is a top tier concept and needs to be used more times <3

Text from Clark K at 10.45:

I know you're awake, B😡

Text from Clark K at 10. 46:

I can hear you chewing😒 Pick up.😠😠

The last text makes Bruce pause. He knows Clark can't see him, but he turns to glare in the direction of Metropolis anyway and takes a large bite of his toast. And if he is chewing a little louder than usual, well, no one is here to call him out on it.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am, by Mardiaz173: good old identity porn superbat, clark is being messed with by bruce but he loves him so he gets away with it

Until behind them, Arthur yelled, “Cheer up, Bats! At least we already know Kal’s into brunettes!”一he broke off into a yelp一“ow, Diana!” 

Arthur’s heckle seemed to piss B off一well, even further than his anger at Clark forcing him to go to the medbay. He didn’t speak their entire way there. When reached the medbay, B sat on the examination table with petulant air around him. 

Clark really did adore him. 

Lugubrious Alarmism: baby Clark being the most adorable person in the universe, superbat friendship with dolls, justice league shenanigans, very wholesome and super fun

Clark beamed and tugged the mask back into place. “Yep. Boose okay.” With that, he clasped his irritable stuffed friend to his chest and planted a kiss atop it’s cowled head. “Missed you.”

Space cellmates, by BoredomBeckons: superbat, a short but hilarious oneshot

“Mr Wayne. Please take this seriously.”

“I take everything seriously Superman. I’m Batman.”

“Look, it’s obvious you don’t believe me…”

“I do believe you.”

“…but I really am Superman, and I want you to know that whatever happens I will do my best to protect you.”

“Since your powers are being hindered it seems to me that I’ll be the one protecting you.”

“Right,” Clark sighed, not bothering to argue.

“Because I’m Batman.”

“Sure.”

3 Not sure if it's the same as the first, but here we go: comedy with some angst

Finished

Getting It Right, by FabulaRasa: batlantern/greenbat (?), Hal's pov, some really good slow burn but like, not too slow, and seriously, don't get too caught up on the sinopses, it's not nearly as dark as it seems, it's actually quite lighthearted and with some family feels too

Jordan wasn’t just laughing, he was doubled over with it, his grin wide. “You’re so mad,” he managed, through gusts of laughter. “You are—you are genuinely so mad, look at you. I was just kidding, your score was higher, but I just wanted to see you lose your shit, and you did, oh my God are you in fourth grade or what?” And he threw his head back and laughed even louder. Bruce gave him a shove off the railing, and he just laughed harder.

Article 120, by FabulaRasa: I wasn't expecting this one to be one of my favorite batlantern fics i've ever read, not given the dark subject, but god, they are so good in here.

“Don’t mind him, grief hits everybody different. He just found out Batman broke up with him, but he’s gonna be okay.”

4 angst with some lightness

Finished

Sanctuary, by FabulaRasa: batlantern/greenbat (and yes, at this point i know it's batlantern but i got attached to greenbat so i will keep using both, sue me), angst with some comedy, great family feels and Hal and Damian relationship is really precious. Hal has a chronical illness but is not dying. I recommend strongly that you read the whole series

(...) He wasn’t someone whose absence would be felt along a thousand fault lines and ripples, like a hole blown in the universe – not like people who had families and huge networks of friends. He wasn’t one of those people.

He sat cross-legged on the floor for hours, staring at the welter of wings and the green light that surrounded him on all sides. He had never thought of himself as one of those people, but somehow he had become one of those people, when he wasn’t looking. Somehow he had acquired a family, and the ripples of his life extended far beyond his own calculations. He had sat down on this floor one person, and when he rose – stiffly, slowly – hours later, he was another, a person whose ties to the universe around him were different than he had thought.

How To Keep A Promise To Hal Jordan, by FabulaRasa: I love everything this author writes, seriously, I can't stress this enough. This is batlantern, of course, and mostly Bruce's narration. Some parts of it ripped my heart out

(...) He let his eyes skate to Bruce’s lips. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Contact with the unthinkable. The impossible. Only the impossible had held him in his arms. Had touched him, had caressed him, had said impossible things to him.

Something about us, by Maeruh: ghostbat, khoa's narration at it's finest

"I had a dream," are the first words that leave Khoa's dry lips upon awakening. He doesn't get up immediately, just stares at the immaculate white ceiling of The Haunt.

(There's something different, he feels it buzzing deep inside of his bones.)

"Oh, that's unusual for you."

Unfinished

Drawn to the blood, by bat_butch and bellandeano: Ghostbat in a dc vampire au! Their dynamic is really good and Icon is such a sweetheart :)

“I don’t know how much you’d enjoy that victory, Ghost-maker,” Bruce muttered. “Winning me over with a bite and a bit of blood. I think you’d be disappointed.”

"Do you think so?" He tilted his head back, arms crossed. Bruce was right, of course. And he wasn't even looking for that victory anymore. "I might just take it to be forced to cooperate with someone effective."

“No,” Bruce dismissed. “You wouldn’t.”

"Don't be so confident. You're not as relevant as you used to be," he replied easily, voice clipped.

“Neither are you.”

you're still the oxygen i breathe/i see your face when i close my eyes, by nygmamale: this one is special to me bc i'm a sucker for ghostmaker interacting with tim and bao :)

"Later, after Khoa had pushed everyone away, he sits alone in Bruce’s townhouse, in a shitty beaten-up chair that smells like him.

Thirty minutes prior, he had ingested a copious amount of psilocybin. He wanted to see him, one more time."

5 angst

Finished:

every tale a tragedy, by pomeloquat: ghostbat, khoa's narration. Bruce and Khoa are soulmates; things don't go well for them.

"The strand around Khoa’s finger twists and tangles and pulls taut as he traverses the globe. Always stretching back toward Bruce, always tying them together. No matter the distance, Khoa knows Bruce is waiting for him on the other end."

[skywritingrambles]

Hellooo I just saw your httyd Steddie au idea and I was thinking that maybe Steve is the one who tries to knock down Toothless, and Eddie somehow manages to mess up his aim. Being the best young fighter, Steve would probably have better aim than Hiccup, but I think Eddie somehow managing to intercept his throw would be enough to cause Toothless’s injury without actually killing him. Perhaps Steve being the best young fighter is not enough for his father’s high expectations, which is what makes him want to be the first to kill a Night Fury and earn his father’s love and approval. I also think this would cause a lot of angst and tension between Steve and Eddie, which works really well for the Hiccup/Astrid dynamic. Sorry if this was too much, I just got really excited when I saw your idea I really love it

I actually love this SO much.

The casual rivalry afterwards. Steve had almost killed a night fury. The dragon no one ever saw, no on ever heard. The dragon that never missed he almost killed it. He would have killed it.

If it wasn't for Eddie fucking Munson.

Eddie Munsons who, on the day, happened to pass by. The dragons had come to attack, to steal their livestock. Eddie was leaving. He couldn't stand the screams of terror and anger from both sides he couldn't stand to see the wings fall as terrified dragons were brutally murdered simply for needing to eat. (Though at the time he didn't know how sinister the reasoning really was)

Steve, who was fighting. Staving off dragons and setting off traps in an expert fashion, in a graceful way that no one could seem to resist. A sudden shout, "Night Fury!" He hears scattered screams from where it must be coming from "Get down!" The words are spoken too late, a tower has already been downed and all on it injured.

Steve was near a catapult, it was the only chance he had to take down the beast. He rushes to it, full of razor sharp wire and netting that will down it in the water, so that it will drown.

Eddie sees him, and he can't bear it. He has to do something he needs to stop him.

Without even thinking Eddie is upon him. Steve taking careful aim, so close, when Eddie tackles him. On the way down, his hand slips, the lever pulled. Eddie can ear the razor wire whizzing just past his ear.

Steve starts a string of curses, angry at him spoiling his kill but Eddie doesn't hear him because all he can hear is that poor night fury's scream.

The net secures itself to its black wings, downing him near immediately. It thrashes, more agonized screeches each time the razor wire at the bottom cuts into it. But it's close to shore of Shard's Peak. It's gone.

But it's caught, how could it survive?

Eddie is horrified at what he's just done

[missmoonfrost]

Long night waiting - a wolfstar microfic

April 17 - Hospital AU - 539 words

@wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius' footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. He just needed to be alone. To get away from it all for a moment. A vending machine whirred low and spread a sliver of light in the abandoned entrance hall. Stray leaves and paper trash rustled at the feet of the automatic doors that slid open to let in crisp night air.

The feeling of being the only sorrowful soul awake was so strong that Sirius jumped when he saw another man leaning against the wall just outside. The other quickly put his foot in the gap to stop the doors from closing.

"Sorry to startle you. I was locked out.”

Just as the man got in, he turned and took a second look at Sirius' lack of jacket and belongings. "Are you going back in? The doors apparently don’t open from the outside at this hour. I can hold it for you."

"Thank you."

Now that he got a better look at his face he realised he was not as old as Sirius first took him to be, more like Sirius own age.

Sirius crouched with his back to the wall and lit a cigarette behind his cupped hand.

As his thoughts slowly caught up with him through the latest hours of chaos he turned towards the man again. "Sorry. You thought I was going to the smoking area and I'm just sitting here like an idiot. I can hold the door myself if you need to go somewhere."

The man smiled blearily at him. "I'm in no hurry. The nurse told me to go home. My mother's operation won't be finished in at least a few hours and then she will have to wake up before I can see her."

Sirius nodded. "It's good of you to be here for her."

The man made a sound between a laugh and a sob. "I don't know if I'm here for her or me to be honest." He sat down on the paving, clasping his arms around his knees, still holding the doors open with his body.

"My little brother tried to drown himself", Sirius said and blew a cloud of smoke into the night, "and our mother hasn’t even bothered to show up."

"I'm sorry, what?!" The man looked indignantly at him.

Sirius shook his head. "Said his behaviour was a disgrace to the family."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yep."

Sirius stubbed out the cigarette against the ground. He should be getting in. The crowded room where Regulus lay attached with wires and tubes to loud machines did not appeal at all. But what if he woke up?

None of them got up from the ground. Sirius felt a strange kind of brotherhood with this man he would never meet again. He eventually took out a cigarette for himself and held out the package to Sirius. He took another one. The man held his out so Sirius could light them both at once.

They shared the silence as the horizon slowly lit up.

An approaching watchman broke the spell. Sirius got up on cold stiff legs and stumbled inside the entrance hall. His companion held out his hand.

"Remus Lupin. I'll be in the waiting room outside the operation ward, second floor. Let me know if you and your brother need anything at all. Or if you want to share a smoke."

“Sirius Black. Thank you. Take care of your mother.”

[chrzannekk]

Can u do an intro of the characters in ur ghoul AU? Sorry if u already did this!

i was putting off making a post about all of the campers since i don't have all their designs drawn out , but i can always make another i suppose ive been DYING to talk about all the campers camp campbell: David , frankenstein monster - first to be 'ghoulified' and wake up in sleepy peak woods. QM let him stay at camp since he couldn't go back into society like ... this gwen , mummy - got tangled in some wires at her dad's show and she died when a speaker fell on her. her dad held a funeral for her , but she woke up in sleepy peak after it. cj , vampire - died from supplement overdose , something to do with his red blood cells idk he's a vampire now QM , goblin - he was born this way cameron campbell , human - didn't die ! max , zombie - died in the middle of the night when a car ran him over. they didn't see him on the road neil , ghost - died while having a terrible panic attack which led to a heart attack nikki , werewolf - died when she got lost in the woods and a pack of wolves ripped her apart ( she put him a good fight ) harrison , wizard - died in an illusionist trick , he got cut in half

nerris , elf - died in a larping accident , someones staff fell on their head and they died on impact preston , siren - drowned in a lake while preforming his 'one-man-one-lake' show ered , stone golem - died in a awesome extreme rock climbing incident dolph , werepup - died when a german police dog ate him ( he's a pup not a wolf because he didn't put up a fight ) nurf , centaur - horse ran him over idk space kid , alien - got abducted by aliens and he died when they experimented on him

i still havent thought about the flowerscouts or woodscouts yet .. but if u have any suggestions lmk id love to hear ur thoughts on them !!