#WOW THAT'S NOT A MENTAL IMAGE I NEEDED FRIEND

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VI. "Trust Me, Doll..."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

War is hell and every time it seems you and Bucky adapt to your new normal, the game is changed yet again. When at last Victory in Europe is achieved, the pair of you can finally focus on forging the way ahead.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Grief, Mentions of Death, Imprisonment, Pregnancy, Childbirth in Retrospect, Child Rearing, Motherhood, Era-Typical Sexism and Marital Expectations, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Sex While Trying Not to Be Overhead] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note(s): This is it! Oh wow, we made it, kids! Thank you to each and every one of you for your incredible engagement with this series it has truly been an inspiration! I love all of you and have more Bucky thoughts brewing!!!

As always, letters/telegrams have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this series. I could not have done this without you, darling! This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7444

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Your sudden return home in mid-February had been decidedly awkward. Without time to send a letter of warning, you had spent a lot of coins on a phone call in a telephone booth at the hospital in New Jersey while you awaited the arrival of a WAC commanding officer to process your discharge.

To say your mother had been surprised to hear your voice over the line was an understatement. Mercifully, your father had already left for work that day and you had only had to break the news to her. Given the frosty welcome you had received from him by the time you managed to reach the steps of your childhood home, you hated to think what his reaction would have been if you had informed him that his unwed daughter was kicked out of the Women’s Army Corps for being pregnant without the softening interference of your mother.

It was truly disorienting to be back somewhere so very familiar when you were so utterly different. The war had left its marks here too, though. A gold star banner hung proudly in the front window, in honor of your brother, and your mother’s garden out back had mostly been turned over to the growing of vegetables, with a huge stockpile of jarred preserves now overflowing the pantry. But the two bedrooms at the top of the stairs belonging to you and your brother, separated by a small hallway that was really no more than a glorified landing, were exactly as you had left them in 1942. As if they were frozen in time. Dusted and cared for, but ready and waiting for you to pick up your old lives.

Only your brother was never coming home, and you had returned home but entirely changed. After the relentless pace you had maintained since enlisting, the thought of remaining at home in idle leisure was too off-putting to even contemplate. You allowed yourself a few days of adjusting to the violent change in time – at least when you had traveled to England you had been afford several days at sea to transition. Flight across the Atlantic had been utterly jarring, and it had taken great discipline to turn your nighttime back into day.

But once you had re-acclimated to the North American clock, you had promptly ventured out to find yourself gainful employment at a nearby grocery store. The owner, Nick, was a friend of the family. A kind man who did not seem interested in asking too many questions about why you were back early, was simply eager for the help around his store. It was most definitely not as mentally taxing as the work you had previously undertaken as a WAC, but it was money, and that was sorely needed as babies were expensive.

Your mother seemed fretful about you working in your ‘delicate condition,’ but the demands of the position paled in comparison to the one you had just left, and you rarely worked more than six hours a day. There was still plenty of time to sit with her, improving your knitting skills as you started on a baby blanket. Your mother was duly impressed you had picked up such a feminine skill abroad and seemed more than happy to pass along helpful hints.

In all truth she did appear to be struggling, dwelling frequently on memories and nostalgia for happier times. It was difficult to say how your father was coping in the wake of your brother’s passing. Any hours when he was not at work, he was spending behind the closed door of your dead sibling’s room, all manner of noises and the odd curse word seeping through the cracks, but neither you nor your mother were quite certain what he was up to.

You had sent a letter to Bucky immediately upon your arrival, as promised, still not divulging the full extent of the situation, but it had been stocked with reassurances and re-direction. It appeared he had not yet received it based on his letter that reached you in mid-April.

Damn that man, but you did love him so. Baby animals – had he guessed the true nature of your discharge then? Gnawing ruthlessly on your lower lip, you found yourself pacing around your room, one hand rubbing at your lower back, sore from standing all day with the growing weight of your swollen abdomen.

‘Or is he simply fishing for more information, unconvinced?’ You wondered to yourself, sighing heavily.

He was simply too intelligent for his own good. Another man would simply have taken your words at face value and left it at that. But there was a reason you had not fallen in love with another man. Had not given yourself to another man.

With another deep sigh, you dug out your writing supplies and drafted a reply that acknowledged his statements but neither confirmed nor denied them. There was no desire on your part to entrap or obligate him into anything. That was the last thing you wanted – to pin a man who so cherished his freedom down against his will. Particularly after enduring his current stay in a prison camp.

As the weather grew ever warmer, it became increasingly difficult to conceal your predicament – no matter how baggy or oversized your dresses were. Your engagement ring only went so far in polite society to protect you from judgemental stares and by the end of April you were forced to quit your job and confine yourself almost entirely to the house. May seemed to drag on, though you certainly managed to knit a wide variety of nearly perfect baby clothes for different stages.

Perhaps the brightest spot came one evening when your father emerged from the room opposite yours and left the door open for the first time since you came home, revealing not the preserved bedroom of your brother, but a fully prepared nursery, complete with an assembled crib, rocking chair, dresser, and change table. As you stood in your doorway in shock, eyes brimming with tears, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gruffly muttered, “baby needs somewhere to sleep after all,” before trudging down the stairs to the bedroom he shared with your mother.

June burst onto the scene with the Allied invasion of France and the good news only continued with the signing of the GI Bill on the 22nd. Your years of service and honorable discharge earned you, and your very active and rapidly growing baby, subsidized medical care. It could not have been timelier as appointments became more and more frequent, your due date looming at the end of July.

Much like her father, Clara Mae had a mind of her own when it came to her time of arrival. She was born in the middle of the night on July 22nd at the local veteran’s hospital – one of the first GI Bill babies, the nurses informed you.

The choice of her name had been rather easy, derived from Bucky’s middle name - Clarence. While you could not give her his family name, or even list him as her father on the birth certificate without his signature, you could at least give her this for now. He had already given her his mischievous eyes and unmistakable ears. Time would tell what other of his features she would share. If the grey-blue of her eyes would settle in the color of the stormy sea like his. If the slight dusting of fuzz of her head would grow into luscious, dark curls.

Sitting there in sore, stunned exhaustion as they carted her off to the nursery, you looked up as your mother sidled over, the broad grin of a recent grandparenthood still splitting her face.

“We have to write Major Egan right away and let him know. Oh he’ll be so thrilled, a sweet little girl to come home to now!”

The force with which your face crumpled, physically unable to bear to weight of all your falsehoods and desperate attempts at inner strength one moment longer, sent your tears scattering down the front of your hospital gown. Your mother snapped her mouth shut, completely taken aback by the abrupt shift in your mood, before she collected a wad of scratchy hospital tissues and tenderly wiped at your eyes.

“There now, I know. It’s been a tremendous effort, and things are very difficult.” She soothed and cradled your head to her breast, rubbing your back softly.

Despite becoming a mother yourself not a full hour ago, it seemed you were still very much in need of one yourself.

“What if he doesn’t want me, mama?” You gulped and looked up to her pathetically as you finally gave voice to perhaps the greatest fear that had been stalking you since the realization that you were pregnant had come crashing down upon you. “We’re not even…it’s not even real…” Your eyes dropped to the false engagement ring that mockingly glinted up at you from your left hand.

She sighed deeply before her hands grasped your face and forced your gaze to meet hers. “Well, pumpkin, I’d say that a man who writes to you despite the difficulties is one of the good ones. And usually it’s the good ones that do the right things.”

You frowned and shook your head slightly, as much as her tight grip would allow. “But I don’t want him to do the right thing. I want him to marry me because he wants to…”

There was another maternal sigh before you were gathered close in her arms once more. “Let’s hope for the best then. I’ll get Felix from down the street to bring his camera. We’ll send a photo of sweet Clara Mae and see if she can’t work her magic on him.”

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The Allied invasion of Western Europe had felt like a gift from above, flooding Bucky’s life with a new sense of purpose, and shattering the grim monotony that had calcified everything around him. The gnawing hunger, the biting cold, the evasiveness in your letters, the constant worry and uncertainty he felt for both himself and you. There was surely only one explanation, at least only one rational, sane explanation for your early discharge. But he’d had far too much time on his hands to postulate and theorize all manner of possibilities and their catastrophic outcomes.

June 6 had brought an abrupt and decisive end to that, a sharp divide to their life in camp, and a need for preparations now that the Commonwealth forces were closing in from one side and the Russians from the other. It was early September when he received your life changing letter, two small photos tucked securely between your folded, scented pages. One of you, looking so very beautiful it made his heart ache fondly. And the second of a very tiny infant with remarkably familiar ears.

He huffed fondly and turned back to the letter to read it properly as you finally confirmed what he had long suspected.

Shaking the envelope once more produced a square of paper with the stamp of his daughter’s – his daughter’s – footprints on it.

Cradling it in one palm, he could not help but gawk at the small scale of her. She must be truly tiny…only 20 inches.

“Your girl finally explain herself?” Buck leaned over his shoulder, and he nodded, holding up Clara’s photo.

His friend barely contained a snort and Bucky scoffed in return. “I know – poor girl’s got my damn Dumbo ears. Couldn’t even deny she’s mine if I wanted to.”

“She’s beautiful anyway, despite your influence.” Buck smirked and handed the photo back carefully. “Congratulations. What’s her name?”

“Clara Mae.” An involuntary grin of pleasure overtook him as he said it, quite enjoying the way it sounded. You had picked well.

“Your girl did an excellent job. Be sure you tell her so.”

“You know I will.” He replied with a firm nod.

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The twelve weeks it took to hear from Bucky were both a blur and an agony. Clara did her utmost to keep the household, and you in particular, thoroughly occupied. You were somewhat relieved that your parents were sleeping on a different floor than her, that it gave you a chance to dart across the hall and mollify her discordant wails with a fresh diaper or a feeding. But on those nights when even you could not seem to sort out what ailed her, your father stepped in and patiently walked her up and down the length of the porch until she melted into the crook of his arm.

Truly, for such a small being, she had the entirety of her grandfather wrapped around her littlest finger. Clara was the first he greeted upon returning home from work and the last he kissed goodnight. None of this would have been possible without his willing arms, nor your mother’s endless wisdom when it came to washing bottles and diapers and Clara’s vast wardrobe of tiny clothing. But in the quiet moments, when she was busily suckling in your arms or just as you were falling asleep, your thoughts would always fly across the Atlantic to barbwire fences and Bucky.

You hoped your letter reached had him. You hoped it had all of its contents still, that none of them had been lost while being reviewed by the censors and whomever else pried into your mail. His reaction? Well you could not even dare to hope what that might be. It would cause your entire body to tense almost painfully and prevent your lungs from filling with air.

Every day you did your best not to look too eagerly as the postman delivered the mail, flipping through the envelopes calmly, hiding your disappointment when his reply was not there. Your agony came to an end, at last, in mid-October. Hearing your soft gasp, your mother offered to take Clara on her morning walk – it was generous to be sure, but you were also more than aware that she enjoyed the attention warranted by pushing the gorgeous girl through the neighborhood in her pram.

Settling down at the kitchen table once they had left, you sliced open the envelope anxiously.

Tears of relief were tracking down your cheeks by the time you reached the end of his letter, making it difficult to read his words clearly. He had replied. He was not angry, nor dismissive. He called himself Clara’s father. And there was an oblique, very Bucky-like proposal in there. Your watery laugh echoed in the empty kitchen before you sniffled in a very unladylike way. God, you missed him so very much. By the time your mother and Clara returned, your tears of relief had been replaced by sobs of longing that had her tiptoeing through the house, deeply concerned his letter had been one of rejection.

Looking up at her apprehensive face as she peered through the doorway, you smiled through your pain and nodded. “It’s good news.”

“Oh, well…good.” She gave you a somewhat bewildered smile and found a handkerchief for you to once more clean yourself up before you gathered Clara close.

“Your daddy says he loves you, peanut. What do you think of that?”

Clara’s face stretched into one of her toothless grins that came just as easy as Bucky’s did, and you fought the urge to cry again. “Yeah…me too.”

Your reply to Bucky’s letter was accompanied by a holiday card fingerpainted by Clara, now that you were confident in the mailing time of roughly six-weeks, as well as another set of dry goods for him to share with his friends. Time continued to march on and in an effort to better document Clara’s rapid growth, you purchased a user-friendly camera, having Felix give you some lessons.

Mid-January, Clara received a gift from her father – a stunning ink drawing of him done by one of his roommates apparently. It had been over a year since you had looked upon his face and the breathtaking detail captured by the man who drew it, A. Jefferson based on the signature, inflicted an intense barrage of memories. You promptly went to a five-and-dime store to purchase a frame for it, setting it on the dresser in Clara’s room next to a model of a B17. You made a point of showing it to her every day, telling her stories about her daddy – only the appropriate ones of course, wanting her to know him.

That it was also self-soothing was simply a bonus.

That letter was the last one you received from him. As Clara’s features sharpened into Bucky’s, and his dark curls framed her face, it was his gaze staring up at you from your arms as the weeks ticked by with no word. When the abnormally harsh winter yielded to spring once more, there was still no reply to your January letter. The war was all but won, the Germans quite literally surrounded, the Russians in Germany and yet there was nothing.

It was mid-April when the dreaded Western Union vehicle pulled up in front of the house, your heart leaping into your throat.

‘Please let him be alright.’

Your mother had been in the kitchen, working on lunch, but silently appeared at your elbow, ghosts of her own heartbreak etching her features.

“Deep breaths. Anybody can send a telegram, not just the War Department.” She murmured and knelt down beside Clara on the rug to play with her as you forced your leaden feet to move towards the door.

Accepting the yellow envelope from the infuriatingly neutral-faced boy, you confirmed that it was indeed addressed to you before impatiently tearing into it.

Exhaling shakily you smiled in relief. Major Cleven must have escaped. That he would have spent the money to send a telegram to update you on Bucky, and to share a message from the man himself, was quite moving. You could not help the chuckle that escaped you, however, at the fact that this was twice now that Cleven had terrified you in the process of trying to share good news.

“All is well?” Your mother asked softly from the living room, and you turned quickly with a smile.

“Yes, he’s ok, his friend somehow made it back to England and wanted me to know he’s doing alright.”

The smile she gave you in return contained no small amount of relief.

The Russians were in Berlin by the next time Western Union made its second delivery at the beginning of May.

‘Please, when we are so very close to victory, please.’

Even less patient with this envelope than the last, you felt a swell of elation at just the first word.

And he meant it. It was not entirely as soon as either of you would have liked, given that Victory in Europe happened not a week after that telegram, on May 8, 1945, but Bucky certainly did come to you and Clara as soon as it was possible.

It was a hot afternoon in early July, the wind having abandoned everyone when the sun rose that morning. Clara was in a bit of a mood courtesy of the heat and her desire to move about the house independently. Certainly, she had been crawling for months, terrorizing everything and everyone in her path, but as of late she had been pulling herself to her feet and trying desperately to take those first few wobbly steps towards upright freedom. She certainly could manage it while gripping tightly to your fingers for balance, but today her chubby cheeks and granite eyes were screwed tight in consternation as she swatted your hands away to go it alone.

“Alright peanut, off you go then.” You smiled encouragingly, sitting back on your heels as beads of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

Letting go of the edge of the coffee table, she wavered and wobbled, overcorrecting her round little infant body before landing heavily onto her bottom with a squawk of frustration.

“So close, so–”

The rapping of knuckles against the wooden frame of the screen door cut off your statement and you scooped her up, perching her against your right hip as you rose to your feet.

“Let’s go see if that’s the postman with Grandma’s package, shall we?” You smiled and tickled her soft tummy with your free hand, earning a giggle accompanied by her gap-toothed grin as you headed over to the front door.

The man standing there in uniform was most certainly not the postman, however.

“Bucky…” You whispered in shock as he stood before you, in the flesh, after nearly two years of constant worry and concern.

All that separated you now was a flimsy screen door, which you lurched forward to shove open. His eyes were wide as he stared at the pair of you, Clara peering at him curiously. The movement of your left hand caught his eye and his brow furrowed as his gaze landed on the ring you had been hiding behind since April of last year, making you swallow painfully.

“It’s not real.” You murmured quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, and stepped back to invite him inside.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was all the warning you had before he was pulling you tightly against him, burying his face into your hair. Pressing your face against him in return, you clung to the back of his uniform jacket, wondering if he had always smelled this good or if he had bought new cologne since returning stateside. A sudden strangled sound came from his throat, and you straightened quickly to see Clara had a ruthless grip on his tie and a wicked grin on her face.

“Ta.” You said firmly, holding out your hand and she surrendered her stranglehold on the piece of fabric which you carefully tucked back into his jacket.

Bucky smirked down at her slightly, but his eyes were filled with barely concealed wonder. Clara, for her part, did not seem the least bit fazed by him whatsoever. Her chubby little fingers moved to trace the shiny buttons of his jacket before stretching up to brush along the coarse hair on his upper lip.

“You like my mustache, Miss Clara?” He grinned and pretended to devour her finger as it strayed too close to his mouth, sending his daughter into a fit of giggles and making your cheeks ache from smiling so wide.

An involuntary yawn suddenly overtook her, and you glanced at your watch, nodding as the time confirmed your suspicions. “It’s nap time, I’ll just take her upstairs.”

“Can I come?” He asked softly, making no move to release his hold on you and you nodded quickly, pressing your lips to his cheek softly before leading him to the stairwell at the back of the house.

“This place looks exactly how you described it…” He murmured softly, threading his fingers through yours as he followed.

Looking back to him, startled, you swallowed down the swell of emotion that had been threatening since you had first laid eyes on him. “I told you about it once, in that…hotel room in London…almost two years ago.”

“And I’ve imagined it almost every day since.” He assured you easily as you climbed the stairs, making you shake your head in awe.

Glancing through the open door into your room curiously for a moment, he followed you into Clara’s nursery, grinning softly as his eyes landed on the drawing he had sent.

“You gave it to her.”

Setting Clara into her crib, you turned back to him. “We talk about you every day.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours and he smiled gratefully before reaching out for your left hand, his thumb stroking along the band of the ring there.

“You know, this isn’t very believable, doll.” He muttered and you felt yourself tense as you eyed him, suddenly nervous in his presence after all those months apart. You had been separated longer than you had even known one another. “I’d have bought you a much bigger rock.” His lips curled into a smirk.

Laughter, something that felt so foreign to you after its long absence, bubbled up from your chest while tears simultaneously flooded your eyes. His hands cradled your face as his lips met yours at last, the kiss distinctly salty despite the best efforts of his thumbs to swipe your tears away. Laying your hands atop his, it began to sink in that he was really home, he had truly made it back to you. And Clara. There was no more need for constant fretting and pleading mantras. He was here.

“In fact I did.” His statement, a continuation of his discussion about your fake engagement ring, felt disorienting as it interrupted your inner musings, and you watched in confusion as he sunk to one knee right there in Clara’s bedroom, slipping the piece of costume jewellery from your ring finger before tucking it one of his pockets.

It was not until he produced a much shinier ring, with a larger and very real diamond, that you registered just what was happening. He addressed you properly, by your full name, before asking the question.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes of course I will.” You nodded vigorously, watching him clumsily slide the heavier ring onto your finger before his mouth was on yours once more, demanding and possessive.

Pressing against him, you would have completely forgotten yourself if not for the sound of your mother calling your name from the bottom of the stairs, tone laced with confusion and worry – surely from finding the front door open and a piece of strange luggage in the front hall. Bucky pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead to yours, hot puffs of his breath caressing your face.

“Parents’ house…”

You let out a small laugh of chagrin. “Parents’ house.” You confirmed before pulling back and guiding him out, leaving the door slightly cracked so you would hear when Clara awoke.

Miraculously she had slept through the entire exchange, a superpower she had surely inherited from her father. Descending the stairs, introductions were made, and you did not miss the way you mother’s eyes lit up as she took in the new ring on your finger. Your father was slightly more difficult to win over, still smarting from the perceived mistreatment of his little girl. You were more than a little convinced he might be taking Bucky to the toolshed to shoot him when he asked for the man to accompany him out there for a chat after dinner.

Your aggressive scrubbing of the dishes in the sink as you watched anxiously out the window amused your mother to no end.

“He’s just ensuring Major Egan has your best interests in mind.”

“He’s not gonna kill him, is he, mama?” You worried your lip and she laughed, wiping Clara’s sticky fingers clean after her joyful decimation of a bowl of sliced strawberries.

“He will do no such thing.”

By some miracle, the pair of them immerged unscathed twenty minutes later, shaking hands and sharing a laugh. You rediscovered the ability to exhale and prepared Clara for her evening walk, which Bucky insisted on joining. Even though you assured him you had a perfectly good pram, gestured to where it sat on the front porch, he insisted on carrying Clara on his hip, much to her delight.

Not only was the vantage point much better, but she had unfettered access to all the intriguing bits of his uniform to occupy herself with as the pair of you followed the usual route around the neighborhood. While no one had taken it upon themselves to be overtly rude to you, something about seeing all six foot two inches of Major John Egan carrying his carbon-copy daughter with you on his other arm seemed to go a long way to repairing your somewhat tarnished reputation around town.

People who had politely nodded or offered no more than tight-lipped smiles were now openly waving and calling greetings as you passed.

“Sure are popular around here, doll.”

“I assure you, it’s the pair of you.” You smirked at him and Clara who was busily tugging at the flap of his breast pocket. “Everything alright after your visit to the toolshed?” You asked now that you were far enough away from the house that your father would not hear.

He nodded easily. “Your father and I are of like minds. You and I are going to the registrar’s office tomorrow to get a marriage licence and then we’ll get this little one’s birth certificate sorted as well.”

“He wasn’t…too harsh on you?” You asked with more than a little trepidation.

Bucky looked to you softly. “No more than I deserved.”

“You deserved no harshness, we both know full well how this happened…”

“I sure didn’t stop you. Couldn’t have, even if I had been able to think straight.” He smirked and kissed your temple. “So we did it out of order, that’s fine. It’ll all be how it was meant to very soon.”

Sighing fondly you continued your progress until Clara was slumped against his shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open. By the time you returned to the house, your mother had set up a small camp bed in the nursery for you and moved Bucky’s things to your room for the night – everyone agreed there was no way he could possibly be expected to sleep on the sofa. He was simply too long. Wishing one another good night in the hallway with a lingering kiss, you pressed your lips together as your mother cleared her throat expectantly from the landing below and slipped into the nursery for the night.

It was difficult to say how long you had been asleep when a faint noise, your ears now well trained to listen out for the smallest of disturbances, woke you. It was most definitely still dark when you raised your head, immediately looking to the crib to see Clara sleeping peacefully on her stomach, index and middle fingers of her right hand suckled soothingly by her full lips. Shifting your gaze in the dimly lit room, you jumped slightly to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, clad in his boxers and undershirt, silently watching her sleep, expression pensive.

Sliding to your feet as gracefully as the low bed and your thin cotton nightgown would allow, you padded over to him quietly to whisper, “everything ok?”

“She’s just so small…” He replied in a hushed voice, gesturing with his hands, eyes still fixed on Clara’s sleeping form, and you smiled fondly.

Reaching out, you gently manipulated the distance between his palms to represent how small she had been as a newborn. “She was only that big a year ago.”

His eyes tore from the crib to study the small gap between his hands before lifting slightly to drink in how little you were wearing, how thin the material was to try and make sleeping in the summer months bearable. His eyes briefly flicked to yours, revealing the rapid dilation of his pupils before his mouth descended onto yours ravenously.

Sliding one arm around his waist, you pressed with the other against the centre of his chest to guide him back across the hall, closing the door to your bedroom behind you as you quickly surrendered and parted your lips for him. He grunted eagerly, pressing his fully hard length against you through the thin barrier of your clothes, making you gasp at the rapidity of his response.

“The damn sheets smell like you, I’ve been hard all night.” He groaned and you quickly smothered his mouth with yours, well aware just how loud he tended to get.

If you were lucky enough to get away with this, you were going to have to be as quiet as possible.

Rucking the hem of your nightgown up over your hips, he pivoted to deposit you onto the edge of the bed, settling between your thighs as you worked one another’s underwear off. Pressing skin to skin, his head fell back, and you quickly slid your palm over his mouth to smother his eager sighs, rocking your folds along the length of him as you gnawed on your lips and swallowed your own keens. Bucky’s eyes bored into yours hungrily as he mirrored your movements, almost daring you to keep quiet as he continued to moan against your hand.

Silence became impossible for you too as the blunt tip of his cock snagged on your entrance and he rocked his hips forward, slowly sinking into your warmth. Falling back onto the mattress, you slapped the hand that had previously been propping you upright over your own mouth to smother your eager groan as your eyelids fluttered in the struggle to remain open. Shifting forward once he had settled fully inside you, Bucky’s face hovered just above yours, eyes still pinning yours as he began the eager push and pull towards ecstasy.

Desperately trying to keep your hands in place over your mouth and his, your back arched at the long forgotten and very heightened sensation of being so very stretched by him, trembling with each brush of his pelvis against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands planted onto the mattress on either side of your head, fisting into the sheets as his hips snapped demandingly into yours, each sharp exhale from his nostrils cascading across your knuckles as you felt the tension building within you.

Sweat glistened on both of your skin, the efforts in the lingering heat of the night only making you both slick as you writhed beneath him, heart hammering inside your ribcage. And still his eyes would not leave yours. The one time you gave into the urge to clench them shut, he sent them flying open once more with a sharp nip to the meat of your palm and you quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, deeper.

You could feel him clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth, desperately driving into you until your body shattered in release, nearly going limp with the force of it. Bucky nestled his face tighter to your palm as, with two more erratic thrusts, he followed suit with a harsh cry, thankfully still smothered. Slumping forward, utterly spent, you cradled him close a moment before shuffling and maneuvering to rest against the headboard with him properly nuzzled against your neck, and his legs mostly on the bed.

Stroking his hair lovingly, every so often scratching your nails along his scalp, you could not help the fond smile as his harsh breaths evened out and the weight of him grew heavier against you when sleep overtook him. Sighing softly, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to join him in rest.

The next time you opened them you were alone, tucked beneath the sheet, the soft light of dawn filling the room. The distinct sound of Clara’s giggles carried from across the hall, and you sat up, grabbing your summer housecoat and peered into the nursery to find the pair of them perched on the camp bed engaged in a very entertaining game of wooden blocks it seemed. Bucky had retrieved the model of the B17 from the dresser and was frequently swooping it down to destroy whatever Clara’s clumsy little hands built, much to her delight.

“Ah, Mommy’s up.” Bucky’s statement revealed that you had been caught and you smirked, stepping into the room to kneel on the carpet beside them. “Did we wake you?”

Shaking your head softly, you kissed Clara’s head and then Bucky’s cheek. “Did she wake you, though?”

He shrugged. “Probably my turn anyway.”

You smiled tenderly, laughing as Clara clutched at his arm to demonstrate that she had assembled a new construction in need of his attention. Watching fondly, you blinked slightly to see a new addition to the dog tags, crucifix, and medal that he normally wore. Amidst the collection was now the faux engagement ring you had sported for over a year. Reaching out, you traced your finger along it, raising an eyebrow in silent question as his eyes met yours.

“To remind me of that time I was overly reckless.” He murmured and you swallowed painfully, pressing your lips to his firmly.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he pulled you snuggly into his side, continuing to entertain Clara easily.

“We’ll get the licence today but, what kind of wedding would you like, doll?” He asked quietly.

“Just a date at the courthouse is fine.” You assured him with a nod.

“You don’t want a big wedding or anything? Honestly doll, anything you want and it’s yours.” He assured you softly.

You laughed watching your daughter gnaw on the corner of a wooden block. “Seems a bit hypocritical to put me a white gown don’t you think?” You smirked and shook your head when he looked ready to defend your honor. “I don’t need all those fancy things John, I just need you.”

When he finally came up for air, your lips more than a little swollen from his attentions, he huffed a laugh.

“Not sure what I’m going to do with the parachute I smuggled home now, though…”

“Well, Major Cleven’s getting married soon, isn’t he? I’m sure Marge would appreciate it. She seems lovely from the letters we’ve exchanged.”

He turned to you wide-eyed, struck silent, and you could not help but laugh. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of women, John.”

Bucky shook his head in awe. “Trust me, doll…I would never be so foolish as to underestimate you.”

-------------------------

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas, @carpediem1219, @blueberry-ovaries

[serxinns]

I GOT AN IMAGINE JUST HEAR ME OUT

Ok, so you know this post? Made by @lets-get-kraken-boys I wanted to make an image of another reason why readers went to the big 3 for comfort and help HEAR ME OUT

So imagine one day you weren't in a good mood and didn't wanna deal with your classmates today but their overbearing behavior towards you was just making it worse

"C'mon y/n just one more game!" Mina said while pulling your arm rather strong "Mina I said no please leave me alone I don't feel like it "But it'll be so much fun!" Hakagure said while pulling your arm you "I said NO" you yelled pulling away from hakagures grip harshly and walked away the 2 girls stood there in shock and hurt a bit are u ok? were you hurt!

"Y/n why aren't you coming to eat dinner with us is everything OK?" You groaned just wanting to be left alone and eat in your room but were interrupted by your class rep iida knocking on the door every second you didn't respond "Yes iida I'm fine I just wanted to eat alone" you said not wanting to sound annoyed to make iida leave "but all your friends are worried and want you to be there even Mina and hakagure said you were in a bad mood so-" "I'm fine iida you can go now I don't want to eat dinner with you, especially with all of you today goodbye"

Iida was shocked at your behavior and response you were usually the one who never gets angry or upset which made him more nervous than before he had to go in there and help you out! "No y/n there's Cleary something wrong! You can talk to me ill listen" Iida began banging on your door which made you more overwhelmed and pissed so without any hesitation "I DONT NEED HELP LEAVE ME ALONE YOURE MAKING IT WORSE" You threw a heavy book at the door which surprise Iida as he backed up, defeated he went slowly went back to the dinner table the class looked at him confused and ask how were you doing but he didn't answer just looked down

You just got back from the convenience store to get some snacks Lucky for you they got your favorite snack and brand all at a cheap price with a drink in hand but unfortunately for you, there were some of your classmates in the common room and it and even worse it was bakugo and his gang watching a movie you quietly tried to sneak pass with all your might trying not to make a sound, it was all going smoothly until bakugo saw your shadow figure "Oi! Fuckface!" You mentally cursed at yourself you just had to bump into the worst one and it was Bakugo

"what do you want im not really In the mood to deal with your Bullshit" At the moment you just keep walking ignoring him for the best but it wasn't the best option for Bakugo "Oi don't ignore me!" He was now off the couch "Bakubro that isn't very manly" Kirishima sternly said while but Bakugo scoff "Fuck off shifty hair, hey why aren't you joining us for a movie what are you scared?" He said teasingly like he was trying to taut you to make fun of you "Bakugo I'm not in the mood for your Bullshit today so please just leave me alone" You once again turned away and began to walk to your dorm until a strong handheld you and yanked you

"Ha!? What do you mean you're not in the mood jeez are ready to cry or something because of my comments why are you even trying to be a hero if your feelings get hurt so easily!?" Now he was pushing it, your hand was gripping the plastic bags Hard now shaking... tears threatening to swell up "Bakugo that's enough! You're making it worse it's okay sweetie" Mina said hugging you even tho you tried to push her off but she kept insisting trying to hold on to you to the point that didn't cause comfort but rather discomfort

"Aw, now you need an alien to hug you, wow you're really that weak I can already see the tears haha! If your gonna be a hero your gonna have to suck it u-" "SHUT UP"

*thud*

You breathe heavily seeing your blonde classmate, butt on the floor, stunned holding his bloody nose but you weren't done you tackle him, pinned his arms down with your legs, and decided to punch him repeatedly "YOU THINK *thud* YOUR SO BETTER THEN ME *thud* ALWAYS TOSSING ME AROUND LIKE SOME DOLL *thud* MAKING COMMENTS ABOUT HOW I LOOK *thud* ABOUT HOW I FIGHT *thud* ABOUT...ANYTHING* bakugo face was already caked with blood and bruises and a black eye

Bakugo tried to pry you off telling you to stop but his face was so beaten up and his throat hurt from your punching it hurt for him to try, but you made her his arms were pinned, and all the anger, the frustration the memories the everything that happens to your life plus adrenaline was making you keep going

every single one of your classmates was screaming panicking and begging to stop Kirishima tried to pull you off telling you thats enough but you used your quirk making him crash to the wall a bit causing a dent and him having a bloody nose, everyone watched in horror, shocked some even amused the girls mostly hakagure, Mina, and momo cried and begged desperately for you to stop they didn't want you to get more house arrest days or worse expelled, Iida managed to get out of his shocked and pry you off of him

It should've made Bakugo angry at you and PISSED even cause the great Bakugo katsuki was getting beaten by an "extra" like you but it strangely made him giddy...? Was he more determined to be the big bad wolf or Was he enjoying you berating and beating the absolute shit out of him, proving to everyone how insecure and stupid he was for underestimating you?

When Iida Finally pried you off of Bakugo you stood up ready to say even more stuff to him but you froze in shock, fear, and confusion a passed-out blonde caked with blood and bruises all over his face red and purplish spots forming on his cheeks his nose oozing out blood like a waterfall but fortunately no teeth have been knocked out you looked at your work in horror you slowly raised your hand shuddering seeing that it was full of bruises and blood and your clothes covered in blood his blood

Every classmate was looking at you it wasn't in hate nor disgust but pity, worry, and scared as much as they were worried about Bakugo they were worried about you more, Iida slowly tried to come to you to talk to you or to at least comfort you "y/n... I" before he could speak you ran pushing past your classmates not caring if they fell, Iida stood there in disbelief while Kirishima and Denki carefully grabbed bakugo by the shoulder escorting him to recovery girl

while the rest of your classmates were still in shock they wanted to go find you!! they do if they all talked about it nicely and you behave and force Bakugo to apologize then everything is ok!! They banged on your dorm room but you weren't there they searched all around the school the bathrooms, the halls everywhere but you weren't there!! where could their darling be!?

You crouched down in an empty hallway and managed to get some of your snacks you held the snack in hand still bloodied, you slowly took a bite out of it while a big glob of tears was finally released you were crying now like a fool, like you didn't just beat the shit out of your classmate, just when you were about to take another bite and just mope alone 3 familiar voices made you lift your head they ran up to you worriedly when they saw your bloody clothes and knuckles

The big 3 crouching down to your level Neijire on one side rubbing your back Tamaki giving you a handkerchief to blow your nose and dry your eyes and Mirio couching down at your level rubbing your shoulders giving you a smile

" What's wrong lovebug why all the tears," Neijire said looking sympathetic

[daistea]

ur au with the whole courting before the incident™ ... EXCELLENCE. your service to the community is appreciated and loved

THANK YOU!!

honestly it’s one of my favorite aus. It could go in so many lovely directions.

Like, you love Mithrun, you’re one of the only ones who know who he truly is, what he’s truly like. And you still accept that and want him. And that’s all he wants, is to be wanted.

But I don’t think he’d realize that at the time. He’s too wound up in his resentment toward his family, and in masking himself constantly. But subconsciously he drifts toward people who fulfill that need in him, so you’d be close. Whatever you decide, whether you’re dating or just friends, you’re one of the few people he genuinely cares about.

Tbh I don’t think he loved that elf girl. I think he just saw that his brother liked her, and he wanted to possess that. Big brother, the one who gets to inherit everything, the one who gets to live a canary-free life, the one who gets the girl. Not cool. It drives him crazy. Maybe at the time he sees that image in the mirror, you and him are arguing about something so he’s already in a bad mental state. Or you’re not dating at this time and he loves you but hasn’t realized it yet. Whatever the situation, he shatters the mirror and proceeds to disappear from society for five years.

There are searches, but he’s not found. The years pass. Even his brother has no clue where he is.

Meanwhile, Mithrun is living it up lol. But the years pass for him too and the place becomes more twisted and the illusions of his friends (and the illusion of you) don’t visit anymore. Idk someone once said they might actually be there with him, but based on what the demon said to chilchuck about making copies of his wife and kids, and also Marcille’s dad, I think he just makes weird little copies/shapeshifters.

You’re there! He spends the most time with you. And snake girlfriend doesn’t complain because he doesn’t wish for her to. But he sees this illusion of you and how you’re portrayed in his mind and these little subconscious things. And he’s like damn. I think I’m genuinely in love with them and have been this whole time.

And that’s when things hit their peak and ya know, munch munch crunch crunch

AND THEN LIKE he’s found. He’s different. Whether you help in his recovery or not is up to you. I think he’d actually push you away at this time because it hurts, but idk he might also just not care.

40 years later you see him again!! Mithrun is chill about most stuff from his past, he’s got a normal relationship with his brother now. I imagine it would be a little difficult with you though because the last thing he realized before getting his desires eaten was that he had a desire for you.

Also it would be funny if you’re like ‘wow you got hotter’ and he’s like ‘what’

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 27- Restraint(2012 Yandere Donatello x Reader)

A/N, not important: Oh wow, look at that, it's awful. In my defense though, it's 2 in the morning when I'm setting this up for queue. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: OOC Donnie, blood, gore, stalking, obsessive behavior, death, dark themes, yandere themes, unedited.

Words: 1230

Summary: Donnie always struggled with knowing how far to take things.

The rough stone of the rooftops bite into Donnie’s feet, his mind clouded with thoughts of you. He was grateful Leo had them all split up while looking for the fallen mutagen, his scanners beeping keeping him distracted enough from the thoughts swirling in his head. You were out there somewhere, away from your bed and the safety of your home. He tried to check on you earlier, but you never answered. The 53 calls he’s already sent never reached you.

It all left a bitter taste in his mouth, his stomach lurching with worry. Leo forbade him from breaking into your house to find you, but that didn’t mean Donnie wasn’t going to botch this mission to try and find you outside your home. You could very well out on foot, stuck, alone, and scared while wishing Donnie to come rescue you. Your T-Phone broken while you desperately hoped for a savior in purple and green. Donnie couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of you in need, hoping for him to be your knight in shining armor. It’d be so easy to sweep you off your feet after an act of bravery like that.

Donnie’s attention reverts back to his pinging device as the alerts grow louder every second, the wicks spinning faster and faster while it flashes at him. He jumps down into the break between the buildings, kicking over boxes and digging in dumpsters to try and find the mutagen that was making his tech go wild. He grumbles under his breath during the search for the canister, uncaring of the noise he was making at the moment. All he had to do was find this canister, then he could dip to go look for you. 

Voices from the street make Donnie freeze in his small frenzy of minor destruction, the familiar laughter ringing in his ears. Donnie scales the side of the building just in time to get out of sight of you and the person with you. The relief that floods Donatello is miniscule compared to the bitter jealousy surrounding the person at your side, their hand on your shoulder as you both move through the gap between the buildings. Your voice is too quiet to understand from where he perched, Donnie’s hands twitching as he imagined jumping down there and whisking you away. They were so close to you, practically melded to your skin from how often they insisted on touching you.

Donnie sucks in a breath when your accompaniment kicks over a stack of newspapers, the glowing green canister he was looking for rolling out. You freeze on the ground, your eyes glued to the ooze rolling across the floor. Donnie scowls as he hears your protests when your friend picks up the glass, his grip on the ledge tightening as he imagines it breaking and morphing your friend into something horrid.

Your quick reaction to take the glowing container ruins Donnie’s hopes, your scolding loud enough to reach his ears. He smiles while your friend cowers at your stern expression, their hands raising in defeat. While he wished more than anything you’d splash the mutagen on them, he’d take them getting a verbal beating by you over nothing. Plus, you were so adorable when you got heated, your eyebrows scrunching while your face screwed into a tight knot. Last time you had an argument with Raph, you came to Donnie to complain and he loved every second of it.

Donnie scrambles to get up when you head out of the small alley, your friend in tow as they loop themselves over your shoulders. The envy in Donnie burns, his eyes calculating all the different ways he could throw a shuriken and nail them in the head. The only thing stopping him from testing it out was your proximity. Donnie knew how much you hated blood.

The turtle's focus wasn’t on you for the first time since he had known you, his attention now completely turned to the person who was wrapped around you while you walked. Their steps were in sync with yours while you laughed at something they said, pushing them away for a second before allowing them to regroup. Every touch makes Donnie’s blood boil, his red eyes zeroing in on their hands around yours. He follows you both until they drop you off, his body buzzing while you disappear into your building. Donnie patiently waits for your friend to walk near the building he stood on, his eyes now white and masked. Nothing was coursing through Donnie other than rage, their hands on yours being the only thing he could see in his mind.

The poor soul crosses in front of Donnie, and he strikes, dragging him through the street and into the car garage that was near your apartment. Donnie ignores their screams and fighting, his grip on their hair strong as he nearly breaks their neck from the force of his dragging. He can already hear them crying, their pleads and sobs making Donnie sneer. They were pathetic, just a weak coward who couldn’t even take what they should have known was coming.

Donnie wastes no time in slamming them to the ground, watching their chest heave as they struggle to breath. He picks them up again and smashes their head into a  pillar, watching as the gray concrete slowly stains a muddy red. Their mouth was coated in blood, their hands twitching and proving the life they still desperately cling to. Donnie doesn’t bother feeling pity for them, sure of himself and his actions. They deserved it. They deserve this.

As Donnie drops them to the ground and watches them crumple with glee, he can’t help but be satisfied. He takes his bō staff from the strap on his back and squeezes the side, letting the blade come out of the end. He isn’t quick as he cuts their hands off, relishing in the screams muffled by the blood pooling in their lungs. When the second limb falls to the ground, Donnie stomps on their legs, shivering at the crack that precedes their scream. They continue to sob, their voice gargles as blood pools in their throat and mouth from the abuse done to their body. They were too weak to move, more blood outside their body staining the floor than inside where it was needed. Donnie watches them struggle for a bit more, pleased at his work. He raises his staff once more before plunging the blade through their skull, ceasing the whimpers and cries that once fell from their lips. Pulling the naginata from their head, Donnie smiles. You would never have to deal with them again.

Donnie steps back from the now broken and bloody body that belonged to your friend, his smile wide as the pressure finally leaves his chest. He doesn’t bother trying to clean up the scene, merely jumping to the roofs above and leaving it for someone else to find. He hums to himself as he makes his way back into the sewers, giddy now that the person is gone. Donnie’s hand twitches, wanting to call you and brag to you about what he had done, but he holds back. You would learn in due time, and Donnie would make sure you would finally see just how much Donnie cares.  He still had some restraint, after all.

[arachnoia]

mode ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ | miguel o’hara

miguel o’hara x afab! reader

in which one of new york’s most famous models runs into an old acquaintance during a modeling gig.

had a lil drabble in mind so i wrote it!! thank you guys so so much for liking my last posts it means a lot!! tbh idk what this was but I was j writing. i’m open to write other characters but need ideas so pls drop some in my requests! formula 1 is also going to be continued v v soon!

thank you! 😪🙏🏼

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

You’ve always had aspirations of becoming a model, being on a billboard along with many celebrities you admired.

The posing, the glamour, the attention.

It was a dream you’ve always had, having an insatiable hunger for it.

You drank your chai in peace as you were just finished your Pilates class. You had a photoshoot later on to model some new brand that hit social media and exploded in popularity. It could help both your public images.

“Good morning, N/n!” Jess said, giving you a hug from behind.

Jess is your roommate and has been your best friend since your freshman year in high school. The both of you bonded over American pop culture, fashion, and the immense difficulty of your freshman physics class.

She had your back when you forgot the formula for net force and when you were having emotional turmoil over your crush on Miguel O’Hara.

Everyone knew about your crush on him because who would have a crush on the physics math geek?

You.

He was scrawny, quiet, a nerd, and no one knew who he was. Until people found out you liked him, which was obvious because you would get caught staring at him from across the lunchroom multiple times.

The two of you were polar opposites socially.

You weren’t popular, to say the least, but it’s not like people didn’t know who you are. There were a decent amount of people who liked you in high school, but you only had your eye on him.

Like Jess, he was also in your physics class freshman year and caught your eye.

He’s the reason why you wanted to do modeling.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was junior year in your AP Lang class and you two were doing peer reviews for an essay.

You two were in a library near your high school. It was quiet until he just blurted out: “You should consider modeling, Y/n.”

Your eyes widened at his sudden compliment, “What?”

He just shrugged and pushed up his square glasses. “I’m just saying that you’d look nice on a cover of a magazine. You look the type.”

“O-Oh…Thanks?��

You mentally slapped yourself for sounding so awkward.

His face stayed as nonchalant as always, “Mhm.”

It was safe to say that there wasn’t a single word spoken after that.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Jess tied up her hair and stretched. “Do you need a ride? Isn’t the studio in Manhattan?”

You shook your head and sipped your chai, “Nope, it’s in Brooklyn. And it’s okay! I have some errands to run after the shoot if it won’t take long.”

“Alright, girl. What’s the guy’s name again? The guy that owns the brand.”

“I think his name's Gabriel?” You shrugged and took a bite out of your açaí bowl. Jess took a spoon and ate some too.

“Wow! You just take my breakfast huh?”

Jess giggled and ran back to her room, “Good luckkkk!”

You scoffed and smiled, “You bitch!”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

You took the train to get to the studio and walked there.

It was a little apartment building that had some graffiti on the side of the wall. You liked how nice the graffiti was.

You went inside and knocked on the door for apartment 206.

You heard some clutter and a voice all of a sudden, “-Coming!”

The door opened to a young man, maybe in his 20s? Early 30s?

“Hi, my name is Gabriel! You’re Y/n Y/l/n? I’ve heard so much about you! You’re an amazing model. Your magazine shoot with Vogue was so nice!” he gushed.

His voice sounded really familiar but wasn’t at the same time.

“Oh thank you so much! Your brand is actually really nice! Thank you for reaching out! Can I come in?”

He rushed in and stood to the side of the door, “Of course! Come right in!”

The apartment was really nice and was a decent size. Not too big and small.

Some assistants were running around getting some clothes ready and preparing the violet backdrop with a silver desk that looked like something out of Star Wars.

You got into many different outfits which were really modern and motorsport-ish.

It reminded you of that futuristic streetwear style that’s growing these days, which was really fresh to see.

Gabriel popped in from the lounge area where you were already dressed to go home, “You did really good! Again thank you so much for coming! It’s going to do the brand so so well!”

You smiled and nodded, “Of course! It was nice meeting-“

You heard the door open and was interrupted by another voice, “Hey Gabri, you left your electronic watch at my place.”

Gabriel smiled and went over to claim his watch, punching the man in the arm, “Thanks Miggy!”

Your face twisted from a smile to a shocked expression.

“Oh! Y/n, meet my older brother, Miguel!” Gabriel said, pointing at his brother.

“Miggy, meet Y/n Y/l/n! She’s an awesome model who’s helping me promote my brand!”

He looked over to you and stared, “I’ve heard of who she is.”

You couldn’t help but have your jaw drop. Your eyes couldn’t believe it.

That scrawny, shy kid from high school was no more. He got replaced by a man with a body identical to a greek god’s, beautiful, luscious locks of chestnut hair, and gorgeous arms.

He still had his old square glasses which added charm to the rest of his outfit; a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants.

He made you feel like you were back in high school, crushing on him while he explained formulas to you.

“I said ‘hi’, Ms. Y/l/n,” he smiled, looking you up and down. You didn’t know if he was being judgmental or just observing.

“O-Oh! Hi!” You held at your hand to Miguel, who looked a slight bit amused and shook it.

“My brother here is a chemical engineer at this place, Alche-what?”

Miguel rolled his eyes and laughed, “Alchemax. And it’s nice to meet you, miss.”

Gabriel smiled and checked his phone due to it ringing loudly, “Shoot! I have to pick up some fabric I ordered. It’s the last one they have! Migs, please lock up! Good bye, Ms. Y/l/n!”

Gabriel ran out the studio and threw the keys at Miguel, who caught them quickly.

Miguel looked back at you and smiled sarcastically, “Y’know, it would’ve been nice if you weren’t eye fucking me in front of my own brother, Ms. Y/l/n.”

You felt shivers down your spine.

The way your last name rolled off his tongue was so sexy, especially with that slight accent he’s always had.

You tried to say something so you wouldn’t look like a complete idiot in front of your high school crush, “E-Excuse me…?“

“You heard me, Y/n.”

Oh fuck.

“I b-believe you’re mistaken. I would never do that in a professional setting with someone I work with.”

You mentally cheered yourself on. You weren’t sounding like an idiot anymore.

You don’t think.

He hummed and shrugged, “I didn’t think I would see you working with my brother, yet here we are. How’s life been?”

What the fuck?

How could he be so calm and asking ‘how’s life?’ after accusing you for eyefucking him.

He wasn’t wrong but it’s embarrassing.

“It’s fine. So you work at Alchemax?”

“Yeah. We’re working on something right now, but I can’t tell you.” He started chuckling and folded his arms

God, how much you loved that in high school.

Even then, he would make every single little thing so sexy.

In high school, he looked like he had never experienced a touch of a woman.

But now…

“Why not?”

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, “It’s top secret, nena.”

You looked at him from the side of your eye and he locked eyes with you.

You couldn’t deny the rough tension in the room.

His eyes were a beautiful shade of ruby red, accentuated thanks to the blinding glare of the studio lights still being on.

Then you locked your eyes to his lips. They were so full and beautiful and you wanted to kiss them.

He smiled at you and was going to pull back from his leaning position before you wrapped your arms around his neck and connected your lips to his.

You’ve been waiting since freshman year to kiss him. Who could blame you?

What you didn’t expect is for him to kiss you back, more rough and passionate.

You felt him smile a bit, making you kiss him even more.

It didn’t take long for you and Miguel to walk towards the desk, where he broke from the kiss and pushed you against the desk, ass facing him.

You were still in disbelief that you were making out with your high school crush so suddenly, making your heart pound.

You were wearing one of your favorite outfits; a black corset top and a white lace skirt you stole from Jess.

You felt him rub your ass before he spanked it under your skirt, hearing him growl a bit. “Fuck…”

He leaned towards to kiss your cheek, feeling his hard bulge from his sweatpants. “Let me make you feel good, cariño.”

Did you mention you loved it when he spoke in Spanish? You loved it when he spoke in general.

You turned around and sat on the desk as you took off your top and slid down your skirt, leaving you in your panties.

He looked at you up and down again, now with underlying lust and darkness in his eyes, “I’ve been waiting to do this since high school.”

He roughly took his shirt off and also slid down his pants, leaving you to gawk at his stunningly toned body.

“Like what you see? Careful, mi bélla, you have something aquí,” he smirked as he caressed your face.

He placed his hand on your hip and played with the string of your underwear before ripping it apart with his (abnormally?) long nails.

“That’s better,” he said as he pulled the piece of clothing off of you. He took off his boxers and as soon as he did that, you kneeled down and started rubbing on his length.

“Let me make you feel good first.” You started grazing your lips on it and kissed his swollen tip, already oozing with precum.

You put him inside your mouth and he started to gently thrust as you started to suck.

“Yeah baby, you feel so fucking good-"

You felt like gagging, taking him all, thick, long, and veiny.

It didn’t take long for him to ejaculate in your mouth, having you swallow and some of his cum spilling on the sides of your mouth.

“God, you look so sexy like this,” he whispered, brushing some of your hair away from your face. You smiled up at him as he bit his lip.

He sat you on top of the desk, legs wide open.

He started to play with your clit and inserted two fingers almost immediatly to your already wet core.

"M-Miguel...fuck."

You whimpered quietly as he started to fingerfuck you fastly.

He chuckled darkly, "If you can't handle my fingers, then I'd like to see you handle my cock."

You laughed dryly and cried out as he went even faster.

Right as you were going to come, he stopped.

"Why did you do that," you slurred, feeling high on the sexual tension.

"Don't worry, just wait."

He whispered as he kept teasing your poor clit and started to pump his dick.

"Shhhhh" he muttered as he started to insert himself inch by inch, “Estas haciendo bien, mi linda. AY DIOS-"

Your eyes widened at how much he stretched you out, and it was barely the tip. "Oh fuck, Miguel-"

"D-Don't worry, baby. You're doing good..."

You scratched at his back as you bounced again and again. "O-Oh my fucking god..."

You felt like you were in a porn movie with how loud your moans and how bright the studio lights were, accentuating every crease and muscle on Miguel’s hot body.

You couldn’t help but stare as he mindlessly rearranges your organs fucking you.

You started to hold on to his arms as he went at a violent pace.

“A-Alchemax must stress the living shit out of you, h-huh? F-FUCK!”

He smiled a bit as he went a little faster, “You can’t...imagine. Estos pinche- PUTA MADRÉ-"

You felt him twitch inside of you and release, filling you up to the brim as you released your high as well.

"Oh s-shit..."

You mumbled before covering your face, turning over to hide your face and just bent over.

He kissed your exhausted body on the desk, all sweaty and hot from your tiring activities from earlier.

As he dressed up again, he couldn’t help but stare at his masterpiece; having Y/n Y/l/n, one of New York’s most respected models, in such a slutted out position.

Bent over and trembling, filled up to the rim with his cum.

Although he was a chemical engineer at such a highly respected place such as Alchemax, he couldn't help but feel proud that he had you like this.

Just for him.

[catboybiologist]

Are you comfortable with questions about your journey to HRT?

Like, mentally how you took the leap of faith from femboy to needing something more / different. Asking for, uh, *a friend*, yeah 👀

Holy shit, this got long. This springboarded me into a massive writing about how my life influenced my personal gender philosophy, and is probably more than you bargained for. But I hope it's helpful in some way! I actually had a similar conversation recently with an NB, not on HRT friend of mine. What's the jump that makes you want to do HRT?

I don't think my experience parallels that of a lot of people's - everyone's is unique. But I do think there are good takeaways from my thoughts on this. Now that I have an Adderall prescription and my quarter is about to end, I've started writing some kind of more cited and developed essay or video essay, but that's random future stuff. This post itself is gonna be a little rambling, and a little personal. Sorry!

Vaguely, I think that the *push* to start HRT was a distinct force from tearing down the internal barriers associated with HRT, if that makes any sense. For many people, I think they have some sense of a mild preference of the gender they would "want" to be, but it doesn't bother them enough to actually break down the barriers to transition. For me, breaking those barriers, both internal and external, was as important as the motivations to transition themselves.

One of the major barriers in people's heads, often without them realizing it, is some kind of inherent belief in the "sanctity" of their body. For many people, "permanent changes" are terrifying, "unnatural", and even if they don't have medical risks, intrinsically *feel* like a medical risk they're taking on some level. It's an offshoot of purity culture in a weird way- it's the same root as a fear of psychiatric medicine making you "not you". Much of this is intrinsically religious, but a lot is actually not. I had a little bit of this growing up. Being raised atheist certainly helped in this regard, even though it was still a queerphobic slavic atheism.

The tiny bit of this I did have was sanctity of my mind, which internally, I still viewed as a separate entity from my body. This was 100% incited by crushing academic pressure, which influenced how I think and my own morality in a lot of unexpected ways. I grew up in a kind of infamously high pressure education area. It sounds unrelated, but it's really not. My mind, academics, and thinking kind of got put on a pedestal on my mind. My personal image of myself was basically a detached orb of thoughts and public speaking. I had 0 connection to my body. But since my mind was everything, both psychiatric medication and HRT were these vile things that could alter how I think and my mood! Gasp!

The final, crushing blow to both of these mentalities was studying biology. And WOW there's so much I could say about how studying biology has influenced how I think about this idea, which I want to talk about a lot more outside of the scope of just a tumblr post. But to summarize- it's not even about finding a biological "reason" for transness. It's about how I saw a living thing as a detailed, dynamic, intricate, constantly changing system that is as much a function of its environment as it is any intrinsic factors. And this includes the mind. So since I'm a shambling mass of chemicals anyways..... Why not be a shambling mass of slightly different chemicals?

The "detached orb" image isn't entirely accurate, though. Because, from an early age, I did have a self image that made me happy. And it was a female one. I shoved this deeply out of my mind in shame, leaving behind the "orb". This was my "push", as I called it before. In addition to a weird separation between my mind and my body, an additional factor contributed to my detachment- a growing distress around developing male traits during puberty, which coincided in the worst ways with academic pressure during teen and preteen years. Looking back, I now recognize this as dysphoria. I don't think my dysphoria was ever as extreme as many other people. But this is why I'm emphasizing taking down barriers as much as the weight of dysphoria itself. It has always been easy to distract from my dysphoria, but it's always been my "resting state" without realizing it.

Linked a bit to the second point is also how I felt shame about exploring any aspect of my life other than academic and professional achievement. Being raised in a high pressure environment means that any exploration of my queer identity felt like a distraction from the "real" things I should be focusing on. The final thing that tore this down, which I don't recommend for ANYONE, was an almost traumatic set of events during the pandemic/my masters degree that made me have a wake up call. I wasn't structuring anything in my life for my own happiness. Going through that made me realize I was going to continue being miserable unless I changed that. So... I started taking the idea of transitioning to actually work on my happiness very seriously.

Being a femboy was actually how I tried to reconcile these things in my head. It was my attempt to "compartmentalize"- allow myself to gently indulge in gender nonconformity and the happiness associated with it, while still not making the "commitment" to fully transition. It helps that most of my existence as a femboy was crossdressing during the height of the pandemic- spending hours on analysis and writing while living alone during my MS, wearing femme outfits while I did it. And of course, taking pics to kick off this whole online persona. I also kind of liked the idea of cis gender nonconformity as a concept, and still do. I love how femboys fuck with gender, and I wanted a slice of that for myself. It wasn't enough long term, and my new commitment to happiness overcame my desire to compartmentalize.

The final barriers were practical. By the end of my masters in 2022, I knew I wanted to transition, I just needed to get my social and financial shit together. Cue moving to my PhD university, becoming active in the queer community here, having an accepting professional environment... and yeah. Here I am. Still gotta socially transition outside of my queer circles, but now, I even have a plan for that. I still got a long way to go, but for the first time, I feel like I'm going in the right direction. And I'm very, very happy.

A lot of this is not applicable to everyone. It's mostly my personal experience. But if there is one thing that I think should apply to everyone here, it's this: kill bioessentialism in your mind. Kill the concept of complete sanctity of your mind and body. Break the barriers and then let yourself move freely across the new landscape you've opened up. At the very least, you'll come out with a more healthy relationship with your cis identity. And at best, you'll find a new part of you that needed to be found.

The other thing I think is broadly applicable is this: when initially figuring things out, stop thinking about what you "are", and start thinking about what you want. Would it make you happy to grow breasts, curves, have a femme face, estrogen regulated emotions, and other transfemme HRT changes? Because those are the actual, physical effects of HRT. If the answer is yes, start it. There's no reason not to. Your identity can come later. You deserve to be happy *for the explicit purpose of being happy*. You don't need to validate that desire through some other random factor.

This got WAAAYYYY too long, but if you have any questions, please, please ask!!!!

[rottingfern]

sweetened breath, tongue so mean || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: Noah x nonbinary OC

Summary: They're screaming at each other. They're throwing hands. They're half a second away from a violent hatefuck. And at the end of the day, they'll still call each other friends.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: ANGST, toxic relationship, language, heavy consumption of alcohol, degradation kink if you squint, brief discussion of body image, OC gets deadnamed, depiction of a panic attack, choking, cunnilingus, penetration, hair pulling, slightly dubious consent, spitting.

A/N: Wow do I love angst. But be warned going into this: THESE BITCHES IS TOXIC. Noah is not a very nice person in this, and neither is OC. This fic does not depict a healthy relationship. This is a work of fiction depicting a fictionalized version of Noah and does not represent him in real life.

A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO @signs-of-ill-portent AND @the-way-of-words FOR BETA-ING THIS FIC AND SCREAMING ABOUT IT WITH ME, for getting on my characters' levels with me and for egging me on to delve as deep and dark as I needed for this fic, for not allowing me to mince words and for listening to me catastrophize about the story beats as I figured out how to convey all the nuance this fic needed. Y'all really did the most when you didn't have to, and I AM EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO YOU FOR THAT! My heart eyes are laser focused on you.

Brainrot Club: @meekahy @foliosriot @badhedonist Theme song is Hatef--k by The Bravery. I actually made a whole playlist! Click here to listen. Masterlist here.

Title taken from Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier; banner made by me; dividers by @saradika

Lee’s just about done with this show (though it hasn’t even begun) when their shoulders hit the poorly finished wall of the back hallway of the venue. 

His lips are searing, supple and wet and clingy as they suck to their own. They clench their teeth shut at the insistent push of his tongue past their lips, demanding entry into their mouth. Maybe this whole moment - the hands on their shoulders, the thigh between their knees, pinned between drywall and a solid mass of body heat and want - would be hot, desirable even, had it all not belonged to the one shithead they’d been hoping to avoid tonight. 

Of course, Lee would have more luck surviving a plane crash into the ocean than avoiding a shithead when said shithead is Noah Sebastian Davis. This whole situation is vomit-inducing. Embarrassing, honestly. They push on his chest, hard, like their life depends on it. 

“God, knew you’d want it,” Noah pants when Lee finally manages to separate his suction cup of a mouth from theirs, his shit-eating grin planted firmly like he’d done something - whether he meant to be sexy or purposely disgusting, they’re not sure - and it doesn’t help he hasn’t learned to be less cryptic since they’d seen him last. “What, no ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’?” Lee shoots back. They’d backpedaled out that green room as soon as the members of their entourage were occupied by conversation, though they really should’ve expected this. Noah following them down dimly lit hallways with dishonorable purpose is par for the course. “Didn’t think I’d need one. Once a slut, always a slut.” His chuckle is like shattering ice, each shard aimed at Lee. “Isn’t that right, Leanne?” 

Noah hasn’t changed in the ten years since they’d met, and Lee isn’t about to let the persistent press of his thick, hard cock against their stomach through layers of denim and terry cloth (or the way an engine downstairs springs to life when they feel it) change their opinion of him: that he’s a shithead through and through, cocky in the worst kind of way, hell-sent the day he was born when the universe decided not only to make him a bigheaded fool but also to let him win the genetic lottery in one fell swoop. 

Doesn’t stop the clench of their cunt that they struggle to suppress. Doesn’t prevent the mental scolding they’re forced to give themself: the chaos monster that is Noah Davis’s entire being isn’t worth dealing with for even a hookup. It’s pathetic, tacky even. 

Something primal, old and hungry flashes in the glassy gel of Noah’s eyes when he forces Lee’s gaze to his, fingers hooked firmly round their jaw; something uncontrollably soft in the way his jaw trembles to mirror Lee’s own when he grazes their hip with his free hand, when he presses his thumb firmly to their clit through the denim of their shorts. 

There are a million things Lee could’ve picked from the Rolodex of elaborate insults soaked in a decade of contentious acquaintanceship they’ve stored specifically to knock Noah off his self-appointed pedestal, if only the butterflies insistently bubbling below their gut would just shut the fuck up for a single second. Could’ve, had Noah’s propensity to always control every situation so it goes his way not also applied to their own bodily function, apparently. Instead, they lower their chin, defiantly forcing his grip on their throat to tighten. 

Dangerous mistake. Stupid fucking mistake, because their hips buck forward along his thigh at the pressure, just an inch, and Noah’s smile widens dangerously, and oh. Oh no. They know this look, and the words that are bound to slip from his mouth in three, two -

Like a miracle from God or whatever the fuck other omnipotent being lives in the sky, a shout of their name echoes through the corridors. Noah’s hands find Lee’s shoulders again, head dipping once more as their own hands push desperately against his chest in a mad scramble for dominance and escape. They will not be caught - will not be seen - kissing Noah fucking Davis in front of their coworkers. No fucking way. Gag. Although… 

It does feel nice to be wanted, and it’s been so, so long since they’ve allowed themself this - no strings, mindless, just a quick way to get theirs. How long has it been? Since before they got sick, since before they put on the weight, surely. And Noah throws them around so effortlessly, they didn’t even feel that hot sting of insecurity as his hands ran down their body just minutes ago. And it’s not like they aren’t attracted to him, as long as he doesn’t speak. He’s always been hot - even Lee’s freshly-eighteen mind had been excited by the idea of snapping his scrawny little bones with their bare hands back then. And he’s only gotten hotter, with that fucking haircut and the way his once-concave pecs now ripple with muscle under their palms. 

So, what’s the holdup? It’s not like the two of them haven’t done this before. It would be so easy: they give Noah what he wants, they get theirs, then they never have to see each other again (at least not for another three years or four years, likely). Why shouldn’t they just let him kiss them again?

“Lee!” comes another shout, snapping Lee from their reverie. It’s closer, the sound of footsteps to match echoing just around the corner now. 

Their wandering mind had loosened their push on Noah’s chest to a caress, but now they use his momentary distraction to force him from them with all their might once again, schooling their stance into a casual side-lean against the wall just seconds before their friends round the corner. 

“There you are,” Mike sighs. “C’mon, bitch, we don’t wanna miss the openers!” As Lee follows Mike and Noor out to the floor, they toss a playful smirk over their shoulder, but Noah’s already replaced his mask of impassiveness, arms crossed sternly with clenched fists. His loss.

Noor’s laserlike gaze scans Lee as they collect their drinks from the bar. “Have a sweet reunion?” she asks.  

Lee huffs. They get enough of this shit from her at home, at work, basically everywhere. They love Noor, truly, but she’s impossible to fool and Lee really doesn’t need her picking around their brain when they themself don’t have a full understanding of what’s brewing in there.

“Sweet as fucking vinegar,” they instead reply, eyes rolling demonstratively. Noor’s lips purse in suspicion, so they turn away before she can do that fucking clairvoyant inspection of details thing she does, leading them back through the crowd to their coworkers. 

It’s not that Lee is stupid enough to truly believe they’d manage to avoid Noah at a Bad Omens show - rather that they’d have elected to straight up Not Attend were the outing not made mandatory by their boss. 

Mercury Hall is the largest venue in Burlington - a mid-size club with two balconies, standing thirty years with a stellar reputation to boot - but behind the scenes, despite a revolving door of staff, Mercury regularly employs a group of college kids who collectively have the common sense of a single person. Not that it’s surprising, really, considering Burlington houses two universities and both offer a “music business” major. Lee thinks Mercury should be hiring communications majors instead - maybe that’d fix their massive communication problem. 

Ouroboros - Lee’s place of gainful employment - is a smaller club on the other side of Downtown, and has absolutely no affiliation with Mercury… except that the owners of the two clubs go way back, oldheads who’ve been buddies since school and all that, and Lee’s boss regularly makes any problems down at Mercury his problem. 

Or, the problem of his long-suffering staff, to be precise. 

Just like last week, for example, when Lee was just trying to sort out next month’s scheduling while jamming to some ABBA, and was interrupted by their boss Roy roping them into solving the issue with Mercury’s scheduling instead, on only a week’s notice.

Really, the solution was a no brainer. One band was not local and on a tightly-scheduled tour; the other - from just three hours south in Boston, were playing just a one-off gig. Ask the Boston guys to move to the following night - they’d get a Friday spot anyway, way better deal. Enlist Mike and Noor to assist with rescheduling the hired crew to Friday. It helped immensely that the Boston guys only recently graduated to playing Mercury, that Lee knew them from their years of traveling up to play Ouroboros. The other band was Bad Omens. So, really, Noah should be thanking Lee.

Thanks only came in the form of Hank, Mercury’s owner, interrupting their pre-show planning meeting two days ago to inform Ouroboros staff they’d been guest-listed for the Bad Omens gig. Lee thought better thanks would’ve come in the form of Hank hiring staff capable of doing their jobs, and stands by that opinion. 

Excited chatter had erupted the minute Hank shut the door behind him - it’s a rare occasion that a decent metalcore act rolls through Burlington - but Lee could only focus on the cold pit that opened in their stomach at the thought of seeing Noah again. Later that night, they’d get disastrously wine-drunk with Noor on their ratty porch couch and lament on the absolute asshole that was Noah Sebastian Davis, but in that moment they only sat blank, nodding along obediently, as Roy instructed them to attend Hank’s “extremely generous offering”.

The issue isn’t going to the Bad Omens gig, because if there’s one positive thing they can say about Noah it’s that he really hit his stride with this project and Lee respects the grind. Nor is it the idea of being in the same room as him; it’s not like they haven’t been around him plenty and willingly over the past decade between touring through RVA with their college band, and in the multiple shared friend groups they’d amassed over the years. 

Noah’s annoying as all hell: the kind of person who says and does whatever, whenever the hell he wants, who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up, who will unapologetically push forward if it pleases him. And, apparently and unfortunately for Lee, his biggest pleasure is making them absolutely fucking miserable whenever they’re in proximity of one another. And especially unfortunately, he knows exactly how to push Lee’s buttons, which ones to push, and how to drive them to absolute breaking point. 

And, his greatest pleasure is knowing Lee will just hatefuck him when they get too fed up. Lee would bet their life savings (spoiler: not much) that he was one of those kids who pulled all the girls’ pigtails on the playground. 

Going into the evening, Lee’s biggest issue was just that: that they’d snap at him in front of their coworkers, that Roy or Hank would clock the familiarity and fire them or something, that they’d get overwhelmed and just fucking cry. Dealing with Noah’s antics was even a knife’s edge in the past, in casual environments where their friends would laugh it off as “Noah and Leanne bullshit”, when they’d had security in their identity and image. 

In the now times however, with their confidence dropped to near-zero, with meds that make them burst to tears at any strong enough emotion, with a fragile half-decades acceptance of their queer identity (and Noah’s inability to fucking catch on and stop misgendering them), Lee wasn’t certain they’d be able to handle the pressure of the battle of wills Noah insisted on having each time they met. 

Now, as the giant party of the Ouroboros staff, the touring party, and those of the Mercury staff who are legal to drink head to the Archives for after-hours drinks, Lee’s issue is that they’re actually enjoying themself because Resident Shithead Noah Sebastian Davis is being actually fucking pleasant. And they’re really not sure how to deal with that. It’s new territory. A no-person’s land, if you will. 

He’d slowed down to where Lee trailed behind the rest of the group, likely sick of tripping over Church Street’s uneven cobblestones trying to keep up with Joakim’s (they refuse to call him Jolly. What the fuck kind of grown man calls himself Jolly?) speed racer pace. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

Lee releases a long-suffering sigh. “Hi, Noah.”

They walk silently beside each other for a few minutes. From the corner of their eye as they tilt their head back to admire this year’s lighted arches, Lee sees Noah fidget uncomfortably. They’re seconds from spitting out an out with it, already when he finally asks, “So, archaeology was a bust, huh?”

Here we fucking go. They’ve decided their Rolodex of insults is useless and resort to just tossing him a nasty look, a roll of the eyes, and to speed up to walk with Mike, Noor and Folio when he hurriedly follows up with, “Only you seemed so excited about your degree.” He sports an unfamiliar expression Lee has never seen him wear (is it sheepishness? abashedness?), head dipped low. “Y’know. Back then.”

Lee’s brain is short circuiting. That’s the only explanation for the wall of static and dial-up tones smashcut with thirty different trains of thought that occupies it and allows them to respond only with a blank look and a dumb-sounding “oh” because, did Noah actually just ask them about their life????? 

Since when did he give a flying fuck about anything but making their night hell? All Noah Sebastian Davis cares about is his boys, his music, and getting his. But, it makes sense, right, since the last time they saw each other was at a holiday party and barely spoke at all - maybe he is just curious. He’s being pleasant, but to what end? When does the other shoe drop?

Or, a small part of their brain whispers, maybe he’s finally grown up. He does look awfully sincere, chocolate eyes wide with concern. “Just didn’t work out,” Lee shrugs, electing to open up. “For a lot of reasons. Mostly because, I guess I didn’t love it enough to work up to the fun stuff once I started getting hired.” A bitter, self-deprecating chuckle escapes their throat way too loudly for comfort. 

The group has reached the Archives now, and Lee sends a short nod in response to Noor’s concerned glance as she hesitates behind Mike at the bar door. They light a cigarette and lean against the wall, shuffling their foot along the pavement awkwardly. Lee tosses their gaze back up when Noah’s shoes stop before them. He’s open, inquisitive, and they can’t help but relax into it, dumping the rest out: “It’s a lot of travel. And my aunt was sick…”

They choke on the rest, and are suddenly enveloped in possibly the most comforting, needed hug they’ve received since she died. 

“My mom, too, recently,” Noah eventually lets out, voice matching Lee’s choke. He presses them harder to his chest, holding them, clinging, letting Lee soak his shirt as they rock back and forth. 

They break away from each other after a few minutes, Noah turning to let Lee try to wipe their tears without ruining their eyeliner as he swipes his own away with the heels of his palms. They turn back to each other with tight, abashed closed-mouth half-smiles, letting out matching embarrassed chuckles. 

He slumps against the wall and they stand, shoulders grazing, gazing at the night sky. “Y’know, it’s strange to see you here, because I associate Philly with you first, Leanne,” Noah ponders lazily, “But Vermont strangely suits you.”

There’s that bitter feeling again. Lee lights another smoke (having lost their previous to the hug) and follows the smoke trail as it draws circles around the distant stars above, shining bright as though they’re watching from somewhere far, far from civilization. 

There’s something you don’t get in Philly - that feeling of awe, of being just a molecule amidst the inconceivable mass of this universe, of every worry and problem being an ant to a continent, and you’re just trying to live your life to survive to the next and the most you can do is just live and love it. There’s something they’d missed for years being away from the far Northeast, something they take for granted until quiet, gentle moments like this. They don’t share any of that with Noah. Instead, they reply: “Noor’s rich parents bought her a house here, and she took me with her.”

“How long?” Noah sighs. He sounds dreamy, on the verge of sleep, eyes closed, body leaning firmly against theirs. 

“Nearly five years, now.”

Noah’s eyes snap open, a smirk spreading his face like wildfire, words flowing faster than Lee can even brace for the hit. “Five years of Vermont Cheddar’s done wonders for that ass,” he snarks. 

There it fucking is, the other fucking shoe. Leave it to him to open his stupid fucking mouth at a moment like this. Here they are, opening up about shit they’d barely even told their best friend, crying about their dead family together, and he’s making caveman-brain comments about their body. 

Lee kicks off the wall, dislodging Noah’s resting body, flicking their unfinished cigarette at the ground. If there’s a God, he’ll make the ash ruin Noah’s squeaky-clean white Vans. 

They feel an absolute idiot for trusting this idiot, for choosing these feelings to entrust to him. Should’ve known better. “With as much disrespect as possible: fuck you, Noah,” Lee spits at Noah’s stumbling form before jerking open the bar door, slamming it shut behind them. 

Note to future self (which will inevitably be forgotten and ignored): beware the Archives after hours - it’s completely shot and always devolves to the same bullshit. Yes, every time. Do not be fooled by the arcade machines - they are half broken and will not save you.

Hank and Roy left after chugging their first and only beers in under a minute the way Frank and Charlie shovel down cat food before bed on Always Sunny. Mike’s sniffed out that one gruff DL crew guy that’s seemingly copy-pasted onto each tour that comes through town and is working on enticing him to go back to his place above Ouroboros with that fucking slick grin of his (“It’s only around the corner, they’ll be none the wiser”). Nobody’s behind the bar, because it’s easier for Donny to just let people serve themselves - not like afterhours is official or legal here, anyway - so why would he bother serving? 

Everyone’s broken off into small groups or pairs, and Lee? Lee’s nursing their fourth whiskey, stuck finishing the shitty fries Noor always orders after she’s had her first drink, the same shitty ones she eats like, five of before pushing them away in disgust. 

The floor is sticky, left to be cleaned by the opening staff, and more than half the bar’s got their wax pens out, making the whole place smell like wet dog. Like the top note of a sick perfume resting above the heart note of the sweat of thirty slightly-too-warm people. Eau de metalhead. They really oughta turn off the heat in this place already - it’s fucking June.

It’s not the heat that’s got Lee absolutely boiling, though, no, that would be too simple. It’s that among this absolute hellscape, Noah is ten feet away, laughing like all that shit outside just didn’t happen. He’s fucking with the glitchy Ms. Pac-Man machine with Nicholas. He’s shotgunning beers with Mike and Mike’s newest conquest. He’s not looking at Lee. 

“- and after all that, like we had a moment, and after all that -” Lee laments to Noor, “For fuck’s sake, bitch, will you quit making eyes at Folio for one second?” 

Greta Van Fleet’s “Heat Above” is playing over the tinny speaker, and Noor’s distracted “uh huh” as she bops along is tell enough for Lee. The bitch is gone. 

“Fuck’s sake, Noor, you really gotta fuck the drummer every time?” Lee hisses, reaching blindly behind the bar for the whiskey they’d set in arm’s reach. Noor doesn’t hear them. Noor is too busy being her beautiful self, flicking a chunk of perfect raven curls behind her shoulder. Lee watches in horror as Folio presents the other tell that Noor’s one-hundred-percent gone for the night, something Lee has only seen happen genuinely, unironically in two situations - one in movies, and the other when Noor flirts with men: Folio fucking wiggles his eyebrows at her. 

There’s the whiskey. Goddamn, do they need another drink. Somewhere behind them, Noah cackles. Nails on a fucking chalkboard. 

Can you hear that dreadful sound? Fire still burning on the ground, Josh Kiszka screeches. You, or the other one, Josh? thinks Lee as they pour themselves another drink.

They turn, ready to shoot Noah a dirty look, and the fucker winks at them. They down their three fingers in one go and push off their stool towards the toilets. 

Their vision swims, not from the five whiskeys, not from getting up too quickly, but from the pins and needles of bitter fury tearing at their chest. 

It’s not that Noah’s enjoying himself. Good for him. It’s not that he’d been a vulgar dick, either, because they’re pretty sure that wasn’t the first time they’d gotten the “wonders for your ass” dig from him before. 

It’s that they’d allowed him a single moment of benignant sincerity for probably the first time ever, let him in, showed their tender belly, and then he’d gone and stabbed them where they’re most vulnerable. That he’d pissed on any genuine connection they’d been building up to then. 

It’s not that Noah was an asshole tonight, that will never change. That’s the sky blue. It’s that this time, Noah actually hurt their feelings. 

Lee shuts the bathroom door with their back, melds themself against the metal, digging the heels of their palms into their eyes as they let out a dry, heavy, tear-less sob. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale -

The second sob drags up with it hot spittle, sending them coughing and gagging into the sink. It’s that it’s all their own fault for letting him in, for getting comfortable in the first place. That’s what you get when you let Noah in. 

How fucking shot in the head do they have to be to expect anything less than this bullshit? Because this isn’t how someone with an ounce of sensibility would handle this, right? RIGHT?! Hey, let’s go trauma dump on this dude who’s never had a kind thing to say to you. Let’s go talk about our feeeeeeelings with the guy who still deadnames you FOUR years after you changed it everywhere. Oh, he gave you a hug? Oh, he shared his little emo feels with you too? Awwww. Ohhhh. Cute. Fucking. Idiot. 

Their eyeliner is smeared, their skin blotchy and red, and their hair absolutely refuses to lay well despite all their efforts to make it behave. Under the overly-bright fluorescent lighting, they can see the blue of the vein bulging in their forehead. They look like they’ve been beaten, or fucked, or both at once. Lee swears their reflection grins at them then.

They need to clean themself up and get another drink, and then they need to punch Noah in his stupid, smug, sexy face. Another dry heave works up their throat. No, no, this isn’t right. This is neither healthy nor productive. They can’t keep going on like this, can’t keep allowing themself in situations where the rage literally makes them sick.

Lee sighs, rubbing a hand over their tired face, presentability be damned. They need to go home; just crawl into bed and sleep it off and avoid any gatherings Noah might be at forever. They should probably cut off their mutual friends, too and never step foot in Richmond again, or L.A. for that matter, though they’d never willingly end up in that helltown, anyway. 

Home. Bed. Sleep. Never see Noah again. 

But when they swing open the bathroom door, he’s on the other side.

There’s a beat as he takes them in, and a small part of Lee thinks, hopes, prays he’ll grant mercy this time. Just this once. Look at me. Please. Mercy.

But prayer’s so unreliable, and Noah is so, so consistent. “Lookin’ good, doll,” mocks the physical manifestation of No Sense Of Time And Place. “Whoa -”

This is it. Their chest is exploding, they can’t breathe, they’ve lost their eyesight. This is how they die. 

Noah catches their wrist inches from his face before Lee even realizes they’ve swung.

They let out a hysterical laugh, ripping their arm from his like it’s a third-degree burn, backpedaling so fast from his advance they nearly trip over their own legs. 

He’s all, “hey, whoa,” he’s all, “hey, Leanne,” but they’re too busy contending with the fact that each breath feels like a leaf blower full of nails tearing their windpipe. “Leanne, what -” he says, but they knew this wasn’t normal the moment Noah started grabbing at their shoulders, at their face, the moment they couldn’t hear him pleading for them to get themself together. “Leanne, c’mon, Leanne, please,” he’s begging somewhere, but they can’t stop fucking laughing.

God, but doesn’t he sound so tender, so pretty when he pleads?

This isn’t normal, right? Like, what’s that saying about doing the same thing over and over? Right?????? And now there’s godforsaken tears pricking at their eyes and they can’t stop and - 

They need him to stop. They need him to shut up, and they need him out of their field of vision. But he keeps getting in front of them, putting his hands on them and Lee wants them off but they can’t feel their hands - 

Someone’s released an anguished, animalistic scream somewhere. Everything’s too tight. There’s arms caging them in, they need out, they need escape why are there arms fucking everywhere - 

“Fucking, ow!” Noah’s left hand flies up to nurse his jaw where they’d managed to catch him, but the right finds purchase in their hair immediately, like it’s an instinct, like it belongs there. He yanks, hard, forcing their face to his as he crowds them against the sink. 

There’s something grounding, calming in the pain at the back of their head, something reassuring in the way he’d tear their hair out at a moment’s notice. He’s so close they can smell the spearmint of the gum he’d been chewing under the liquor and smoke, nose nearly pressed to theirs. His hair tickles their cheekbones like a balm, like a promise.

He’s a vision of fury, all tightly clenched jaw and steely eyes, scrunched nose and furrowed brows. “What the fuck is your problem?” he sternly asks, voice quiet, chillingly flat.

An involuntary, scornful bark of a laugh escapes Lee’s throat. “You wanna know my problem? YOU’RE my fucking problem! I haven’t known a moment of peace since I met you!” they shout through their sob-torn throat. The dam bursts, there’s no stopping this train now, whichever metaphor you prefer. “You’re absolutely insufferable! No regard for anyone but yourself! You wanna know why people leave you in the dust and never look back? Because you’re the fucking worst! You’re a fucking mistake!”

Noah’s mouth twists that smirk again, the one Lee has been on the receiving end of too many times tonight, but there’s no joy behind it; his eyes are empty and cold and tinged red, omnipotent in the weight of his gaze. He doesn’t even need to say it. That cruel twist of his mouth is enough. Takes one to know one.

His lips are on Lee’s in an instant, barely connected for a second before he forces his tongue past their teeth, his free hand wandering anywhere he can reach. His hips push them into the porcelain, fingers brushing up the exposed skin of their belly, hand sliding overtop their binder. A harsh breath huffs out his nose as he passes a thumb over their hard nipple through the thick fabric, pulling a tiny, pathetic whine from Lee’s throat. 

There’s a beat when he pulls their head an inch back, hovering by their ear once more, hips giving a miniscule, barely there roll. Then, in a movement so quick Lee can barely acknowledge it happened, he rips their arm round their back, flipping them so fast they’d faceplant into the mirror were it not for the grip he keeps steady on their head, fingers tangled in their hair, nails digging at their scalp. Hips press them into the edge of the sink, fingers pull their head to his shoulder, the arch lighting a tight burn in their spine. 

Mirror Lee looks like roadkill, and Mirror Noah looks like the vulture circling round their corpse, towering over them voraciously.

He rolls his hard, clothed cock into the small of their back. “Look at what you do to me,” he croons. A hand trailing fingers dangerously slow up their bare leg. “Look at what a mess you are.” His hand trails lazily from their hair to their throat, nestling there like a puzzle piece fit into place, forcing their gaze on the mirror. “Look at you.” He trails kisses behind Lee’s ear, down their neck, the trail of saliva he leaves behind chilling in the stale air. “Look at you.” His fingers brush their belly. “Look at you.” A kiss on their pulse point. Lee lets out an anxious shudder at the fingers dipping below the waistband of their shorts.

His eyes snap to meet theirs in the mirror, and Lee’s screwed because Noah’s just caught them soaking wet. They can’t force themself to blink, to look away from Noah’s piercing gaze as he slowly, predatorily brings his mouth to their ear. Punctuated by a single flick of their clit, through barely-parted kiss-bruised lips, he whispers: “Slut.”

It’s then their mind catches up to their body, and as their face hits the cold, wet porcelain of the sink bowl, they realize they hadn’t fully caught their breath. They heave as the stoneware digs into the bottom of their ribs, muscles spasming over their whole body as they consciously force them to relax. 

The heel of his palm pushes at the base of their skull, his fingers tangling tight in their hair once more, and a single, foreboding finger whispers assurance as it runs down their spine. Cold air on their bare ass as he unceremoniously tears down their shorts and underwear in one fell swoop. His cock prods at their hole and they, body before mind, back against him. 

For the warmth, of course.

Nothing more. 

That’s definitely not their whine when he slides home with a single snap of his hips, when he pulls out nearly completely, when he snaps back home again with twice the force. 

Mercy. What a silly thought to entertain, what a silly plea to beg when you’re begging Noah. Noah doesn’t do mercy. That’s not his modus operandi. Noah winds you up, then puts you down. Like Lee is now. Down. Face down in the sink bowl. Like the stupid, stupid slut they are, in Noah’s own words. 

They’ll never get used to the stretch, they think, no matter how many times they fuck Noah. It might be the size of him (though they’ll never admit it to his face, lest it make him grow a second head for sheer lack of space from his already overly-inflated ego), or maybe it’s that he’s just there to get his, and no matter how he fucks - slow, fast, hard, gentle - he’s never thinking about them. And despite that, despite that he’s just jackhammering, shoving their face into the porcelain with force which will surely leave a bruise, the roll of his hips tells them someone cooked here.

There’s no tenderness in the dig of his short, blunt nails into the flesh of their inner thigh, woefully close to where they need him, nor in sticky snap of his hips against their ass, and certainly not in the merciless drag of his heavy cock against that rough patch in them which serves to topple them like a Jenga tower, slowly, shakily, then all at once. They’re so full. So empty. They’re a coin-operated doll, helpless to be broken down and sold for parts on the whim of a single man. 

They’re a wet mess, clit so swollen they think it might burst, hands a mess of numb pins and needles. They’re gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow, they’re gonna be so fucking sore when they pee, and for what it’s worth, this shouldn’t feel good at all, but Lee is so fucking close.

Embarrassing. 

When Noah’s hips stutter, when his grip releases their head just enough for them to turn their head, he’s got his bottom lip in his teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut and he looks so, so gone (or maybe it’s Lee who’s gone) in the flush of pink running from his cheeks down into his shirt. 

That’s not Lee moaning. They’re just trying to catch a breath. But, god, they’re right there, they just need something, they just need more - 

Noah freezes, collapsing on them with a short, quiet groan, burying his face in their neck. 

His breath is hot, wet, the weight of his heaving chest pressing their ribcage into the porcelain. There's barely a moment of peace before the fingers in their hair tighten once more, pulling their face up to meet his eyes in the mirror. 

All it takes is a miniscule shake of Lee’s head for his blissed out gaze to turn stormy once more, for him to drop to his knees.

It’s a race to the finish line the second Noah’s tongue touches Lee’s neglected clit. Quite possibly all their synapses fire at once, all their focus single-mindedly on the way he sucks them, on the calluses on his fingertips as he pads at their hole, on the vibration of a moan they can’t hear. 

Lee is jelly. They don’t need to be held down any longer, compliantly staying slumped in the sink, but the soothing scrape of Noah’s nails on their scalp as he presses two fingers in grounds them, turning any distracting thoughts to a static hum tuned to the note of fuck, Noah. 

All it takes is a single curl of his fingers, like the press of a button before they’re falling, trembling on an overdose of oxytocin into oblivion. 

With a final suck, Noah rises to his feet, bringing a deer-legged Lee with him. They’re dizzy, vision blurred as he turns them gently in his arms. Arousal-coated fingers pry their jaw open, and Noah comes into focus when his hand settles at their throat in an inky-fingered necklace. He forces Lee’s jaw open wider and spits, using the same hand to then cover their mouth. His eyes are wide and wild, rapt as he soothes the saltybitter spend down Lee’s throat. “Look at you, look at that dirty mouth,” he’s mumbling feverishly, voice still deep with arousal. “Look at you swallow that cum. Who else does it for you like this, hm? That’s right. Nobody. Only me.”

Lee chokes out a heaving breath, willing the tears that prick their eyes to not fucking fall, and he deflates, collapsing into their shoulder, arms dropping to circle their waist. “God damn, Leanne,” he sighs after a beat, dulcet and spent.

They glance down uncomfortably. His face is calm, unmarred by the everpresent lines and tension it usually carries, nose buried in their neck. “It’s Lee,” they say. 

At least he has the sense to look embarrassed. “Right. Lee.”  

They don’t clean themself up, they haven’t the energy. They let Noah pull up their shorts, shuffle them out the bathroom and out the back door, and walk them home. 

The streets are quiet, streetlights haloing the street corners in gold, everyone with any sense of decency long-retired to their homes. Lee wonders what they look like from a bird’s eye view, or from outer space, alone together in a grid of light. What do the stars think - would they shame Lee? Would they judge them? 

They stroll lazily, Noah’s arm draped round Lee’s shoulder. He looks so at peace, between the half-smile playing at his lips and the way the streetlights illuminate the lashes of his half-closed eyes. Something acrid bubbles in Lee’s chest. At least they get him like this, blissed out and pleasant before they never speak to him again. Before they never - 

No. They won’t think about that. Just remember this. 

Lee is halfway up the porch stairs before Noah yanks them back by the wrist, catching them from their awkward tumble into his chest. “Give me a call sometime, alright?” he mumbles, grazing the exposed skin between their shorts and shirt. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

Their heart stutters. It’s too sweet. It’s too nice. This isn’t right. “Whatever, asshole,” they say. Weakly. Unconvincingly. With the weakest push they’ve got, with no resistance from Noah, they start again on the stairs. 

He doesn’t pursue. 

“Call me whatever you like,” he laughs. “‘Long as you call me.” 

In the morning, through a blinding headache and a metric fuckton of hangxiety, Lee rushes to check their phone the second they pull their face from the pillow. 

Among the sea of texts from Noor and Mike, work emails, and bullshit app notifications, there it is: Stupid Silly Man: hey, asshole. My number is still the same, btw.

[setsugekka]

『paradise lost』 ; 07

❝ nobody has to know ❞  

↳ an old acquaintance comes back around at a time when you’re even more in relationship limbo than usual, you know your actions will have consequences should they ever be found out, but maybe the risk is worth the reward.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯  ○  ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : park seonghwa x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, angst, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 9.2k

『 warnings 』 : really poor decision making probably, rough sex, consensually recorded sexual acts, oral sex (m), penetrative sex, dirty talking etc they are pretty emotionally careless with one another, horror scene of a twist ending (angst)

“hey lol”

When the text comes through, past the jarring initial response of hopefulness and wishful thinking of who it could be, your next immediate reaction is to hide the screen...turn it the other way, from potentially prying, curious eyes on the other side of the bed.

The problem with that being: you are alone, in your own apartment, not at Hongjoong's as was once common place.

Rolling over in bed and lying on your back, still staring at the screen — reading the time, 2:45am, you hate the fact that you're awake, struggling to sleep these past few nights now on your own, but even more than that, why was he texting you this late, and after so long.

Realistically, it hadn't been that long since your first contact with the man, though. A year or so back at a mutual friend’s graduation party — the tall, pretty guy with the long black hair in the front, sides and back shaven short — you recall being wholly unsurprised when he tells you that he does some modeling, far more so when he tells you that he's pre-med. Not that a gorgeous man can't be both, of course.

Hitting it off, you exchanged numbers and texted occasionally, but with busy schedules (mostly on his end) it was next to impossible to meet up, and as a result, texting would die off as well.

You hadn't expected to hear from him again; ever, really.

>you: don't think I know you well enough for you to be booty call texting me at 3am

A playful response back, but also testing his motives. The typing bubble pops up almost immediately, and a reply comes through just as quickly.

>Seonghwa: very funny. what a warm welcome. 'wow Seonghwa so great to hear from you it's been so long!' awww thanks, it's nice to hear from you, too.

You roll your eyes at the conversation he begins having with himself, already beginning to type back to him.

>you: men usually text this late for one thing, you know that as well as I do.

>Seonghwa: well I hope that 'thing' is picking out an outfit for a thing I have coming up because that's actually what i'm texting you for. I need your assistance tomorrow.

>you: tomorrow? thanks for the heads up dude...what if I have stuff going on?

>Seonghwa: i'm not above begging. I just got back in town like 45 minutes ago okay i'm working with the best that i've got. we can use the time to catch up. plsplspls.

Rolling your eyes again, you confirm a time and a place with him, receiving numerous different heart and smiley emojis back in response before shutting your phone off and setting it back down on the empty bed space next to you.

Being back in your own place feeling so foreign to you now.

Your mind wanders back to Hongjoong and what it is that he could possibly be up to at this time of night; no doubt out with friends, drinking, smoking, partying — dealing with his emotions the one way he knows best — not. Almost certainly drunk past the point of making good choices and quite probably bringing someone back to the very place you had made yourself so comfortable only days ago.

Screwing your eyes shut tightly, you try to force back the mental image of exactly how your best friend likes to deal with his problems — a couple of stiff drinks and being over, or under, someone else.

Grabbing your phone again, you shuffle through your texting app to bring back up your conversation with Hongjoong, last message sent four days ago — four days since that conversation in his kitchen, him disappearing off to who knows where in a huff after the fact and you texting him that you're taking some of your things and spending some time back at your place.

With no response from him, of course.

“hey lol”

You chuckle at yourself lightly at the fact that you're really considering sending him the same thoughtless text that Seonghwa had just sent you minutes ago, before backspacing it all entirely and locking your phone again, gently tossing it off and towards your side in a hearty exhale of desperation, exasperation...

Missing him.

And of course you know, you've known that you're in love with Hongjoong. You're in tune enough with your feelings to know it, despite being entirely unwilling to admit it to him — not without something more concrete, not without him giving up and giving in just a little. You don't think it's a lot to ask of him, to put his hurt, and his worry, and whatever it is that clings to and harms him so deeply — to take a leap of faith and just say the words, the words that are so painfully obvious to the both of you.

That maybe he isn't necessarily in love with you, not yet — but he wants you, wants you all for himself. To be had and held by no one else. Is it too much to ask, to hear the words from his mouth without using them as a means to an end to make the both of you come?

A man so aware and enlightened, only willing to use his words when he knows he can take them back — not completely, but any deeper meaning behind them.

‘All talk, of course, it doesn't mean anything.’

Much like the first time.

And in spite of conversation number one not going according to plan, you find your chest empty at the loss of him next to you — wherever it may be that Hongjoong finds himself on this night, it's with your heart alongside, tightly in hand.

You only hope that he's thoughtful enough to be aware of it, to not make any rash decisions; for all intents and purposes perhaps—

For him to be better than you.

“So, what are you looking for, exactly?”

Stepping through the large, perfectly polished glass doors just behind the man that you've met with, you look around momentarily — luxury brands and department stores far from something that you're uncomfortable or unfamiliar with, it's not all that often that you find yourself shopping about in such places, given Hongjoong's interest in the more 'far out' of fashion trends, as it were — this, a place for people with money, and who want to look like they have money.

It reminds you of Wooyoung, mostly. Expensive, untouchable. The opposite of Hongjoong in every way.

“Not a suit but,” he slowly answers, head only slightly turning back and looking as if he's even more out of his depth than you are. “Something...nice.”

“Not giving me much to work with, here.”

Seonghwa stops in the middle of the fragrance department, you nearly bumping into him from behind at the abrupt halt — looking around, you watch him intently, as if awaiting his next command on where it is that the two of you should head off to.

Hair still the same, black and swept off to the side of his face, sides shaved and neat — you take a second to enjoy the view, beautifully effeminate features, perfect teeth, and when he opens his mouth, such a deceptively heavy, deep voice.

Enough to knock anyone off their game, even just a little bit.

But the truth was, that Park Seonghwa was kind of a fucking nerd.

Not in the typical way, perhaps like Yunho — ex-pro gamer, but more in the sense of being a little awkward in a way that one might not expect upon laying eyes on him. Easy to assume a cold, tough personality to the man, but not so much the case at all.

He was awkward. Sexy, but definitely awkward.

“Is just a button down shirt nice?” he finally asks, making eye contact with you again after scanning the expanse of the room.

“It really depends on where you're going, was there no dress code?”

“Business casual, I think it said.”

“Oh!” you chime, all of the day's problems solved with ease at the description. “That's easy then, yes, you can get away with a nice button down. See? When you give me information to work with...”

A few strides into the direction of the men’s section, the both of you fanning through different colors and brands of shirts, Seonghwa finally pipes up in a lull of quiet from the typical, dull small talk.

“So,” he says plainly. “Are you seeing anyone?”

You're thankful for the way that he cannot see nor hear the way your heart drops at the question alone.

Swallowing hard, eyebrows furrowing just for a moment as if to collect your thoughts, you finally reply. “Um, yeah. I guess. It's kind of complicated, though.”

“What does that mean?”

And in most situations, you wouldn't want to open up about the situation. Still too new and raw and painful to the touch, but the lack of the ability to do so eating you up inside in such a way that the pain drawls on endlessly — Seonghwa probably isn't the right person for this discussion, but frankly, you're not really sure who would be.

You just know that right now you're dying inside, so it has to be somebody, and well...he's offering.

“I've been seeing this guy for the past bunch of months, we're actually best friends, or were— before all of this,” you begin, sighing between the statements and emotional exhaustion from it all evident. “He's obviously into me, just like I am into him, I'd love to just...be in a relationship with him but he can't...talk, say the words. Be vulnerable.”

“Real tough guy, huh?” Seonghwa quips as he pulls a navy blue shirt off of the rack to check the size and fit against himself.

“Not really, that's what really gets me,” you start again. “He's really not that sort of macho, out of touch with his feelings kind of stereotype dude that you'd expect, but I guess anyone can have their problems with intimacy.”

“You're sure he wants what you want?”

The question comes out of left field, especially from the man just across the rack from you — and despite not needing it, you do take a moment of pause to think the question over before giving the same answer you would have either way.

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

Seonghwa sets the shirt back onto the metal tubing from where it came before leaning forward onto it with arms crossed and chin pressed against them to look at you.

“Then he kinda needs to shit or get off the pot, ya know? Tell him to grow up.”

“I don't think it's that easy. If it were that easy I think he would have by now, there's something else there holding him back.”

“Are you fuckin' other people still?”

The question gives you whiplash, the velocity at which it leaves Seonghwa's mouth and proverbially slaps you right across the face something you never could have expected — paired with the fact that yes, it was something you had considered...

But coming from someone with completely fresh insight on the situation—

Perhaps you hadn't been as safe and accommodating as you could have been, after all.

“I mean,” you stutter out, eyes darting away from his own and back down into the slew of button down shirts before you. “Yeah, we're not exclusive or anything, so...”

Who is it that you're trying to convince, anyways? That everything that you do is okay.

The idea that right and wrong can coexist simultaneously. That someone's right is someone else's wrong, or someone's right and wrong all at once.

Of course you are allowed to do that, and shoulder the consequences of your actions, you shall. Not a punishment, merely a result.

Choose wisely.

“Obviously,” Seonghwa says, pulling back to stand straight again. “But if he has feelings for you and you know that, and he knows that you know that, and yet he knows you're fuckin' other people still...I mean, I can only speak for myself I guess, but I would not be jumping to bare my soul to someone who's probably got a date to get her back blown out twenty minutes after, ya know?”

It's funny in delivery. The truth behind it making you wince all the same.

“You told him?” Seonghwa asks, shortly after amending the question. “That you have feelings for him? Want to be with him?”

You nod silently, carding through a rack of shirts that you've long since stopped paying attention to.

“Then I maintain my stance that he's gotta get a grip,” he says with a shrug, finally settling on an item and holding it up with confirmation. You smile gently at him.

“You threw yourself into the fire, he's gotta meet you there eventually.”

Stepping into the apartment and gently shutting the door behind you as you kick your shoes off, you hear the sound of Seonghwa casually tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter only a few feet away as he steps further ahead, bags set down behind the couch on the opposite end.

You stop and take it in for a moment — another new place, new sights, new smells, a new man.

And sure, Seonghwa wasn't new. Not in the typical sense of the word. He wasn't a random guy that you had just picked up that evening with every intention of drowning your worries in anything that he was willing to give you to help you forget, if even for a moment, but he wasn't...well...

He wasn't comfort. He wasn't home.

He wasn't Hongjoong.

Checking the screen of your phone again for notifications — notifications that you know have not arrived, for if they had, you would have felt them, you attempt to swallow down the knot in your throat. The feeling of being forgotten, of potentially being moved on from.

Did he even care anymore? Was it too little, too late, before you had even known it?

Vaguely, you can hear Seonghwa's deep voice ring out towards you, but the words fail to make their way to you. Not in any real, meaningful way — instead, past words spit like venom once again swim around and consume your memories, making their bed in your mind like a disease you may never find yourself rid of.

‘After all, you didn't know I was going to be there that night.’

“Hey,” you hear, Seonghwa finally breaking through the heavy thought clouding your mind. “What is going on up there?”

Lightly tapping the top of your head with his index finger, you lightly swat his hand away, awkwardly laughing and trying to shake off the way the memory makes you feel even now — the same way it felt then. As if no time had passed between at all.

“I'm fine.”

“Thinking about him?” Seonghwa chimes, teasingly mocking you like you're a girl with a crush.

It's not wrong, but hurts far more than he seems to be aware of, even in spite of the conversation earlier. You're unsurprised by this, as he never had come off as one quick on the emotional uptake of others.

A little self-centered, and a lot into himself. Med student, model — you figure it just sort of comes with the territory, perhaps, and truly — you had known him not to be the one to confide one's deepest, most vulnerable thoughts and feelings in, for those hands however skilled they may be, know not what to do with such items.

Opting to ignore the comment for as long as you can, instead eyes trailing along the medical books, papers, diagrams strewn about on the coffee table in front of the couch...only a few feet away from a few rather expensive looking garments carefully laid out across the top of a lounge chair — you find it charming, in some bizarre way — the juxtaposition of Seonghwa's lives carefully balanced on a thread via a man with no time to spare, and seemingly little knowledge about anything else.

You wonder if there's anything there, really, beyond medicine and beauty. Albeit, the path of medicine such a selfless act in and of itself, almost jarring in comparison to knowing the man; barely able to carry on a serious conversation, or offer a consoling word.

And hilariously, through all of the split second introspection, you come to the ultimate conclusion that you're not even all that sure you even like him that much.

“No,” you eventually answer, shuffling the thoughts from your head with finality. “Thinking about what we should eat.”

“What are you in the mood for?” he hurriedly responds, jumping up and into one of the stools next to the counter, phone in hand. “I'll order whatever.”

“Kind of want a pizza, actually.”

“Done.”

You find this to be the easiest conversation that you've ever had with the man, relief washing over you a bit and, for once, not feeling an undercurrent of battle with every word that is exchanged between the two of you, but you remember after all — you're there for a reason.

“By the way,” you say suddenly. “Need a tape measure, do you have one?”

“Ummmm, yeah, should be in my bedroom. The big white dresser? Not sure which drawer. You can go in there though, don't worry, won't find anything crazy.”

The words aren't all that comforting, you find, in spite of the fact that he's quite evidently trying to be. The promise of not finding whatever insanity the man may have hidden somewhere in the apartment something that you are thankful for, but as you step into his bedroom, the looming feeling of alarm washes over you just as quickly — that previously mentioned undercurrent of battle, now replaced with uncertainty. Not worry, so much, but with the crashing acknowledgement that perhaps you don't really know this man at all.

And you know that it's really none of your business. Not even a little bit, but he had you go in there, and knew what you would find—

—It seems only fair.

“Uh, Seonghwa?”

Long eyes looking up from his phone and straight towards you, dark hair dangling at one side of his face, it takes a long moment for the realization to hit him — so used to his version of normal, that you realize then and there, he had not actually thought about what it was he had been sending you off and into upon informing you where to find the tape measure.

That he obviously should have gotten off of his ass and retrieved himself.

“Oh, oh God,” he groans, eyes darting side to side and most importantly, far away from your own. His discomfort adds to your comfort instead, finding pleasure in the way that he is for once the one in the compromised situation between the two of you.

He was always awkward, but this was way better.

“Okay, ummm, I guess—“ he pauses, eyes screwing shut as if immediately trying to disappear himself from his own apartment, only opening them again upon accepting his failure in doing so and with lips forming a straight line, Seonghwa exhales heavily from his nostrils.

“—It's kinda...what it looks like.”

“The camera,” you plainly state, thumb over your shoulder and pointing back from where you had come from. “Want to tell me about that?”

Sighing, Seonghwa simply slumps forward with his head buried in crossed arms on the counter in front of him, words muffled. “No, but I guess I'm going to.”

“I mean, I won't say anything,” you comfort, shrugging and setting yourself down on the couch behind him. “I'm just already in here so if you're going to like, murder me for the dark web or something then I'd like to know ahead of time.”

You hear Seonghwa chuckle in response, probably thankful for the lighthearted banter in response to your findings. “Okay well, if that's what it looks like then it's not that.”

“What are you, a camboy or something?”

The chuckle in your voice as the words exit your mouth are evidence enough of the fact that you're still trying to make banter of the situation.

Seonghwa's silence in reaction, however, tells you that you're right on the money with your guess.

“Oh my God,” you chime out, a bit louder than you had anticipated. “You are.”

“Can you keep your voice down,” he hurriedly replies, pulling himself up and around to face you with the utmost urgency across his features. “These walls are paper thin, God.”

“Sorry, just—“ you pause, still taken aback by the discovery. “I was joking, I didn't think you really were. Not that there's anything wrong with that.”

With a heavy inhale, and equally heavy exhale, Seonghwa groans in anticipation of having to explain himself even further.

“It's good money, and it's fun,” he explains, standing up and heading over towards you on the couch so that the two of you can finish up the reason that you had gone over there to begin with. “The modeling is good but sometimes I don't take jobs because the travel just takes up so much time, it's hard to juggle with being a med student, so camming sort of supplements my income when I don't take jobs.”

Watching Seonghwa's face as he explains — cheeks and ears flushed red and the complete inability to make eye contact with you as he talks about it, laughing through it awkwardly even though nothing humorous is being said — you hate to admit the way that you find it charming, that perhaps in all of the ways that he is unattractive to you, there's still this. Goofy, uncomfortable, incredibly regular, like a little kid entirely too big physically and especially in life to handle all of the things being thrown his way.

An incredible juggling act, perhaps shocking that he didn't turn out worse.

So awkward, for a guy that jerks off on camera for who knows how many strangers.

“I think it's kind of cool.”

And for the first time since the conversation topic had been breached, Seonghwa's eyes meet your own, albeit briefly. A silent thankfulness for your understanding, for your willingness to accept him.

“You want to get into it? I'll fuck you on camera, we'll make a killing.”

Ah, right, there he is. Spoken like a truly insufferable prick.

“You wish, moron,” you say, flat in tone and forcing him to spin so that he faces away from you. “Get down on your knees so I can measure you out and get this fit right, and if you don't behave I'll have you out there looking ridiculous on purpose.”

Tape measure in hand, you extend the length enough to cross the width of the man's shoulders, making note of the number and dialing it in on your phone laid just next to you on the couch cushion, Seonghwa's head turns just slightly as if in attempt to look back at you, despite not having the range of motion to do so to any reasonable amount.

“Are my shoulders wide?”

You roll your eyes.

“They're a perfectly normal width, Hwa.”

“Wider than What's-his-face's?”

There's that burn in your chest again, and you can't tell if Seonghwa just doesn't get it or doesn't care, at this point.

Swallowing hard at the question, hoping and praying that your voice doesn't break as you force out a light response to an absolutely painful topic, you manage well enough.

“Yes, he's not a model.”

“He's short? Small?”

At this point, you're glad that Seonghwa can't see you — the way that you chew on the inside of your cheek or lip at the mere mention of Hongjoong, and now especially at this bizarrely competitive way that Seonghwa seems to be...having a go at him, despite not even knowing him, it's unappealing, unattractive, and downright right fucking annoying.

“Yes, he's small,” you answer, this time with far less effort to conceal your irritation at the line of questioning. “What does it matter to you, anyways?”

Shrugging suddenly as you continue on with what you had gone there to do to begin with, he sighs. “Just trying to lighten the mood, surely this guy isn't all that, and especially not if he can't even tell a girl he likes her.”

You kind of wish you could disagree.

Appreciating Seonghwa's mismanaged attempt at making you feel better in some way, you allow yourself to let the anger fall to the wayside a bit. The man just before you clearly only good at so many things — matters of other people's hearts, maybe not so much.

Which you sort of knew already.

Silence finally taking the room as you move to measure the length of his right arm, you're delighted by it. The fact that no words are currently exiting his beautiful mouth. You consider for a moment that perhaps beautiful men are far more often better off not using their words.

Wooyoung sort of springs to mind.

Paradise crashes down pretty quickly, though.

“He got a small dick?”

“Seonghwa.”

Swatting the back of his head gently, the man chuckles at your response. “What!? I find it admirable that you love him despite his flaws if that's the case.”

“You have got to shut up before I walk out of here.”

“Okay, okay, I was just jokin’—“

It's an almost pleasant bit in the evening, interrupted by the sound of a notification coming through on your phone, and as the screen illuminates, you only have to glance at it for a second to recognize the length of text — the name — that comes through on the screen.

You take pause, not only due to the unexpected nature of it, but given your current circumstances and just — everything. The feelings all rushing back to your chest, throat tightening in an instant, heart feeling as though it could beat straight through your rib cage at any given moment, you can only assume that Seonghwa doesn't hear the sound, or thinks nothing of it at first, before taking notice of the way that you freeze behind him, arms stuck in statuesque figure as you stare down at the device next to you with thoughts racing a mile a minute.

“What?” he finally questions, moving to turn more and take in the scene behind him, first looking to you, but following your eyes down to the object as the screen dulls again only seconds later. “Oh, is it him?”

You nod, slowly allowing your arms down and swallowing down a dry throat.

“Just ignore him, come on, we're having fun,” the man with you insists, grabbing you playfully by the arms and flailing them about for you. “He can wait a few hours more, don't let him ruin your night.”

Snapping back to reality, you blink, then turning your attention to Seonghwa — eyes bright and eyebrows down turned as if pleading for you not to ruin his good time, you take control of your arms once again as you reach towards your phone.

“I'm just...surprised, he's texting me—“ you say, inhaling deeply before unlocking the screen. “I can't ignore him.”

“You can, come on, we're having a good night!”

>Hongjoong: hey. i'm sorry. we should talk. I want to talk. about the conversation we had a few days ago. when you have time, obviously.

The message hits you in the chest like a freight train, for so many reasons, but the pointed willingness of the apology quite possibly being the most gutting of all.

Hongjoong, a man never above an apology, so you're unsure why it is that this one in particular hits you in such a special way — that he leads with it, that it feels so strong, so meaningful, so much.

And the acknowledgment of the failed conversation, of course.

Looking up from your phone, you meet the sad, puppy dog eyes of Seonghwa — pouty and evidently beyond bummed at the inevitability of the way the night will end — a child starved of play dates, his one moment cut short just like that.

You flash back to the night that you met Seonghwa, and how sexy you thought he was. The reason that you exchanged numbers with him to begin with. Truthfully? A quick fuck was ideally in the cards.

How unfortunate now that you've gotten to know him.

“Nah, I don't think so!”

Before the words really register to you, Seonghwa has your phone swiped from your hands, pulling it from your reach and back behind him — holding it far and away from your own as you attempt to swiftly grab it back from him but with no avail. Repeatedly calling his name to give it back, the man only laughs as you try to best his long limbs without closing too much of the space between the two of you — something that you would like to avoid.

And that he would not.

Pulling forward and nearly off of the couch entirely with Seonghwa leaned back and away, you attempt to reach behind him for your device, still far out of reach, but it's when the man quickly leans back in again without your ready — lips firm against your own and free hand cupping the side of your face to pull your further into it that you find it so easy to melt into the feeling without so much as a second thought; the warmth, the inviting plush of his mouth with a kiss not rushed, or needy, but passionate and soft.

You meet his motions briefly, before pulling back and away from him entirely.

Hand still gently pressed into the side of your head, fingers lightly curling into the hair that resides there, you take in the way that Seonghwa's features soften so much just in that moment — as if a man now knelt before you that you'd never met before. A new man.

He delicately pulls your face back towards him, and you hate the way you allow him to.

Only centimeters from your lips, Seonghwa whispers into you, voice heavy and laden with obvious desire that, if laid dormant all of this time, you had not noticed it until only now.

“If you're really gonna give the fun up for this guy,” he begins, pressing his lips to your own again and so gently that you almost couldn't even feel it. “Then what's wrong with one last one for the road, huh?”

Another kiss.

You're melting into it far too quickly, so easy for Seonghwa to lull you into this sort of comfort that only minutes prior you never would have thought him capable of — a new side of himself, so sensual and inviting and deeply, you wished you weren't curious about what else there was that he had to offer you.

“—He'll never have to find out.”

Okay, fuck it.

Scooting backwards on the couch a bit further, parting your legs to allow room for him in between them, Seonghwa leans into you even more, mouth heavier against your own, with more intent now. Your eyes dart down, in view of the hand clasping your phone still — the buzz of another notification ringing through your ears, knowing precisely who it is that's attempting to contact you — it takes everything in you to muster up the courage to ignore it, cast it aside.

Cast Hongjoong aside.

Seonghwa stands, carding his fingers through long, black hair as he does so before reaching for his belt buckle and beginning to undo it right in front of your face — your eyes fixated on the obvious tenting in the front of his pants at the promise of a fuck that neither of you should particularly be indulging in, but especially not you.

You can. You're allowed.

“Have you thought about this before?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you and desperately needing to cut through the silence of only your thoughts.

Seonghwa chuckles, still looking down upon your features as he pulls the leather apart, fingers then moving to the button — it's happening a little faster than you needed right now, but also, perhaps that's exactly what you need.

“Of course, every guy thinks about fucking every attractive, female friend they have — at least a little bit.”

An unfortunate byproduct — everything reminds you of him.

Pressing his jeans down slightly and pulling himself from the black fabric of his briefs, he strokes himself slowly, gently, for your viewing pleasure — only inches from your face, eyes still engrossed and watching you as you watch him.

You wonder if this is how he does it for however many viewers he brings in.

“Don't think about him,” he says, bringing the hand up that still clasps your phone and turning the screen towards your face. “Unlock it, just for a little fun.”

“Are you crazy?” you bite back, leaning away from him altogether, but the man before you still lazily pumping himself only snorts a bit and shrugs before answering you back.

“It's your phone, think of it as a bachelorette gift from me.”

The confidence in his tone, while irritating, is intriguing — you wonder briefly who and what he's done to make himself believe that video recollection of you sucking him off could be something that you'd watch back later, holed up in the bathroom late at night with nothing or no one better to do and only a fond memory of something that you had no business partaking in to begin with.

Though, come to think of it; when you put it like that, the appeal was certainly beginning to present itself.

You snatch the phone from him and plug in your pass code, handing it back to him just as quickly — as if the faster it's done the less either of you will have to acknowledge the acceptance, but the grin on Seonghwa's face says everything as he evidently pulls up the camera app and angles your phones lens down and towards your face.

“Lemmie see you work, baby.”

You're certainly not proud of the way the sentence is felt straight between your legs — not entirely sure if it's the words themselves, the man, the camera, or the deviousness of the act as a whole — taking him into your dominant hand and replacing his as he pulls away and instead runs fingertips through the hair at the top of your head, you carry on with the work that he had started on himself. Heavy and warm, long, thick enough but not anything that would take any exceptional prep to work up to, you quickly (and unfortunately) have to settle on the fact that the guilty fuck is doing more for you now, in this moment, than you'd ever really like to admit to yourself.

Pulling yourself forward on the couch more to situate yourself best for taking him, you angle your head down as to run your tongue against the tip of his cock — wet, showy circles across it and looking up to see the effect on him — bottom corner of his lip pulled between his teeth and slightly hooded, brown eyes gazing down upon you.

And the camera, of course. You're making a show of it.

Moving upwards again, you take Seonghwa fuller into your mouth, properly for sucking him off — too big to take the entirety of but you're thankful that he doesn't seem stuck on the necessity of it, hands in your hair and on your head for the sake of being there rather than with intent to guide or pull you onto him, he allows you the ability to take him at your own pace and depth, languidly bobbing along his cock with wet, swollen lips as airy, devilishly sexy groans topple from the beautifully plump ones that had just been kissing you only moments before.

Kisses testing the waters: ‘How horrible are you, really?’

Even with cock in mouth, or especially with cock in mouth, you can't help but have the thoughts spring to mind — how wrong it is, how fucked up it is.

How you're only doing this with promise that Hongjoong will never know, because if he were to, you wouldn't.

But the knowledge of it devastating him not enough to stop you from pulling the trigger on the act, either.

Is this love?

“Feel so good, look so pretty like this,” Seonghwa says, the words nearly startling you from your thoughts despite the act still taking place. “Like a big dick? Hm? Mouth looks so small around me.”

You know he's playing it up for the camera, likely because it's what he's used to doing — talking the viewer through to their finish — he's assuming that someday you will, in all actuality, make yourself come to this little snippet in time at some point in the future.

Depending on how it turns out, you can't really promise that you won't, either.

Picking up your speed along him, hand following suit to make up for the amount of him that you can't fit into your mouth, Seonghwa groans at the extra friction, head falling back briefly to take in the feeling of you swallowing him whole, as best you can.

“God.” And it's nearly a whisper, eyes falling back down to yours once again. “Wanna come all over that pretty face of yours.”

Arousal pooling between your legs much quicker than you'd have ever hoped, the promise of him emptying on your face — while enticing — not exactly the finish you were looking for, but just as you pull off of him slowly to voice the concern, Seonghwa locks your phone screen with an audible click and tosses the device to a plush chair sitting adjacent to the two of you.

“Kinda short but should do the trick if you're hard up for time, here, stand up.”

Somewhat confused but following the man's lead all the same, Seonghwa pulls you up and off the couch before seating himself down where you had just been, cock still hard and all present — you finally come to realize that it was all for show, that he had no intention of finishing then and there.

What a magnificent actor, you think to yourself.

“Take your pants off,” he then instructs, sitting with his back against the couch and hand around himself as he resumes stroking himself at the visual, you wasting no time shimmying out of your clothing for him to watch — lips slightly parted and eyes so strong and intensely situated on your body and all of its movements. Once down to your panties, you look at him again, unsure if meant to strip in totality.

“Should I...?”

“Up to you,” he says, suddenly grabbing towards you and pulling your hips forward and against his face as fingers quickly make their way between your legs and into the sides of the fabric there — but pausing to look up at you again, the dastardly grin is really what sends home the words themselves, thereafter.

“Depends how dirty of a fuck you want it to be, the more clothes the better then.”

And you don't really have time to answer the question, had there ever even been one, before his lips press hard against your pussy and tongue making quick work of the quest for your clit — nearly toppling forward, hands falling to his shoulders for leverage as your knees just about give out from the sudden contact, lewd, slurping and sucking sounds resonating through the apartment as Seonghwa wastes no time tasting you — and just as quickly, the feeling of a single finger slowly pressing into you as you stand before him.

“God, fuck, Seonghwa—“

He hums in acknowledgment of the name, two, three slow pumps of the digit, you feel him add a second. Delicate hands, but by no means dainty — fingers with thickness to them and the feeling of fullness is immediate as he continues the suction on your clit with earnest.

Your own fingers digging into his shirt and the flesh beneath it, head falling back and feeling almost dizzy at the onslaught of sensations, clenching your eyes shut, he pulls his head back from you to look at your features. “Good?”

“Yes,” you whimper out, heavy and barely audible at all. Seonghwa chuckles at the scene before him.

“C'mere.”

And you know he's being annoying when he does it, the words paired with the curl of his fingers deep inside you as he ushers you forward, pressing hard against your g-spot as he does and it's everything you have, all of the strength in your legs to not completely fall forward and against him — but slowly pulling his fingers from you, he instead brings his hands to your waist, steadying you to ease you down and into his lap. Another kiss, this time much heavier and needy and messy from both sides — panties slick and wet and pulled apart messily, allowing you to feel the faint press of his bare shaft against you as the two of you pant and bite at each other's mouths, you want him, and you want him bad.

The coming to a head of so many different thoughts and feelings all at once: the longing, the missing, the sadness, the desire. The allure of being in places and arms where you shouldn't dare be, all the while wishing you were in the ones that you should.

It was good, he made me come, I prefer you.

I prefer you.

You want Seonghwa to fuck you raw.

And you know that the strongest factor in favor of it is the fact that it would be so easy. That the both of you are already right there, so simple, and you shouldn't, and all the while knowing it's sort of why you want to.

Maybe somehow you can undo all of the work that Hongjoong's done if only you allow someone else to do it all over again.

“Seonghwa,” you whisper against his mouth, hips pressing forward and against him, swallowing up the hiss that escapes his lips as a result of it and loving every second of it.

“Condom.”

Nodding, the man reaches down and into his pants’ pocket — still conveniently wrapped around his thighs and pulls for his wallet, metallic package quickly found and ripping it open with his teeth, he nods for you to pull back a little off of him to grant him room to roll it on — watching intently as he does. Settling back comfortably, large hands finding their way up and around your waist again to lift you gently, to hover over him before your descent down — the two of you make eye contact only briefly as one of his hands edges down and between your legs to pull the side of your panties away just as before.

‘Depends how dirty of a fuck you want it to be.’

You quickly dart your eyes away from him, opting to close them instead as you sink down along his length — faster than you might normally and barely allowing yourself any time to adjust, you wince at the stretch, the length, the pull of him against your insides — not completely ready to take him yet.

But ready to get it over with, get out of there, and carry on like this never happened.

Rocking your hips against him, you start out at a relatively quick pace, one hand on his shoulder and the other between your legs to rub you into your orgasm as fast as possible, not even wanting to leave it up to him to get you there — screwing your eyes shut tighter, allowing yourself to feel the way he pulls you down to take his cock; a little hard, a little rough — but it's kind of what you want, what you need, given the circumstances.

In some ways, Seonghwa may as well not be there at all.

“H—harder—“ you whisper, desperately trying to get the friction you need from him out of the position but being starkly limited in availability, you only hear Seonghwa laugh at first, in response to your demand, before stopping the both of you altogether and nearly pushing you off of him.

Your first thought, is that he's pissed. You're not sure why, or what happened, and before being able to get the question out of your mouth, you find yourself face first into the couch cushion and lengthwise on the couch, with Seonghwa already pressing back into you from behind.

Moaning out at the new, different kind of intrusion, Seonghwa leans forward and over your back, hand nestled in your hair before tightening only enough to get your attention.

You said 'harder,' not 'rougher,' — 'rougher' was the next command on the agenda, though.

With a hard, sudden snap of his hips into you, you whine out loudly in response. Then another, and another following — crying out at the feeling, just teetering on the edge of being too much, too painful, you finally hear the words from behind you through gritted teeth.

“I'm fine with being your guilty little fuck,” he says, still snapping his hips harshly between every few words. “Use me to forget him? I can do that.”

Hand still pressed against your head, Seonghwa adjusts his positioning behind you just enough that it gives him better, easier access to continue his relentless drives into you — hard and fast — your hand once again buried between your legs and now orgasm much faster in its approach, you whine out with every full thrust of himself, nearly pulling all of the way from you before plunging back in.

“Feel good? You like that?” he asks, breath heavy and husky and sounding almost bitter in the exchange.

It almost turns you on more, knowing that he's angry with you for this, hates you for it.

“Yes.”

“Yeah? My cock feel good to you, baby?”

So vulgar and with a tone so hateful, you know he's trying to make a point. The reminder that it's him and not Hongjoong. Making you pay attention to it. Not letting you disassociate from the fact. Forcing you to be present and in the moment no matter how much you don't want to be — not entirely, at least.

“Say it,” he adds with a particularly harsh thrust, and you give in right away. “Yes, yes, fuck, Seonghwa—“

“That's right, good girl. Close? Wanna come around my cock for me?”

A moan first ripping through your lips, fingers desperately attempting to grip into unrelenting cushions, you feel Seonghwa's own curl harder into the skin of your hips with every second that you don't answer him.

“Yes, I do, fuck, please I'm close—“

Continuing into you, he quiets long enough to focus on getting you there; fucking into you hard and fast and all of the way through it as you cry out at the way your orgasm finally takes you, you barely even notice as Seonghwa suddenly exits from you, pulling the condom free of himself and stroking himself through his own orgasm — translucent white strings of his cum painting your already stained panties and backside.

A fitting end — filthy and used and an amalgamation of things that never quite should have taken place to begin with.

Slowly, tiredly flipping back over to face him, Seonghwa avoids eye contact at first — the easy excuse of needing to toss the condom away in a rush able to pull him from the situation long enough to steady himself and his feelings before coming back — pants now pulled back up and into place before sitting down on the couch next to you again, eyes away from you as you awkwardly reach for the garments you had left on the floor onto ten or so minutes prior to now.

And then, your phone.

Buzzing lightly against the plush of the chair, you can't help but allow your attention to draw to Seonghwa in light of it all — but the man turns his head from you gently, instead opting to reach for the device as the one closest to it and handing it to you without ever making eye contact.

Talk about guilty fuck.

And of course it's Hongjoong. It's always Hongjoong. The vibrancy of the name on the screen in juxtaposition to the scenario that you just took part in and the way Seonghwa isn't helping in making it feel okay, feels like a knife to the chest.

Maybe, just maybe, it's not okay. Maybe it hasn't been for a while.

“I need to get—“ you quietly clamor out, your existence feeling like a disturbance in the man's home, but unable to leave until you wash the remainder of him off of you. Seonghwa turns his head to you briefly, finally realizing the situation and quickly — awkwardly, pointing you into the direction of his bathroom.

And it's unfortunate the ways that hurt people sometimes expel that pain. For Hongjoong, it's a spitfire tongue and thoughtless words — precisely as he thinks and feels in the moment but with every intention to hurt the recipient just as much as he, himself hurts.

For Yunho, it's repetition — the starry-eyed hope that if given the ability to go back in time, do the same thing over again, maybe do something differently, that he can forge a different outcome of the same situation.

For you, it's actions — thoughtless and selfish and entirely self-absorbed. Desperate for the acknowledgment that the choices one makes along the way are good and right, objectively so, even if at the expense of the ones we love around us.

And for Seonghwa, it's revenge.

Coming back from the bathroom, as best cleaned up as you can manage, you find Seonghwa standing in the kitchen — arms crossed with a glass of unknown liquid in hand as his eyes coldly fall over your figure. A far cry from the man you had arrived there with, but knowing all the same when you had worn out your welcome — you certainly don't feel bad about being kicked out after the sex, truthfully, you couldn't get out of there faster if you had tried to.

“I'm gonna get out of he—“

The sound of your phone vibrating stealing your attention away, but not because of a message notification.

Rather, a phone call.

Phone on the glass coffee table, face up, and not where you had left it when you went off to the bathroom — glancing down at the phone call as the tail end of it comes through, only to find it add itself to a slew of three other missed call notifications.

And all from Hongjoong.

You slowly look back up and towards Seonghwa, still silently perched in the kitchen — watching you, but with nothing to say. Slowly, he brings his hand from the side of his arm to take a sip of the beverage...

But not before ever so gently tipping it towards you.

Cheers, indeed. And 'fuck you, too.'

Panic setting in immediately, before you even have a chance to call Hongjoong back, another call rings through, and gathering your things, shuffling towards the door with little else on your mind beyond getting the fuck out of that apartment and away from that man, you pick up the call finally.

“Hongjoong, I— hold on, just—“

You haven't even heard a word from him yet, pulling the phone back down from your face to swipe through your apps at lightning quick speed, desperate to locate your texting app but not all that ready to lay eyes on precisely what it is that you expect to find.

And you do, of course.

The last thing in your messaging conversation with Hongjoong, the video Seonghwa took of you with him less than an hour earlier.

Not even bothering to acknowledge Seonghwa further as you leave the apartment, barreling down the staircase as quickly as possible with your bag slung over your shoulder, you're finally able to situate yourself enough to bring the phone back to your face.

Inhaling deeply, pausing from exhaustion and pressing your back against one of the concrete walls, you huff out his name. “Hongjoong—“

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

But the tone on the other line isn't angry, not in the way that you had anticipated. It's not a man furious, violent, aggressive in any sense of the imagination — but rather, a tone dripping with desperation, with tragedy, with pain. This question posed, to avoid the other, obvious question that lied bare and rubbed raw behind it: Why would you do this to me? Why would you hurt me like this?

“Look, I didn't send—“ you pause the line of thought, realizing that the details of who or why it was sent to him mean little, and truly the only thing that matters is why were you with him.

And why does Hongjoong mean that little to you.

“Hongjoong, I'm sorry, it was a mistake, I fucked up—“

“I've been texting you all night, is that why I couldn't get a hold of you?”

“Look, please, we should talk—“

“We should talk? I've been trying to get a hold of you all night to talk!”

“I know,” voice breaking with the words, the burning creeping up quickly and pulling yourself together again enough to continue down the stairs and out of the building and in a ride share towards Hongjoong's place, you continue to plead with him. “Please, Joong, I'm coming over. Please, let's talk about this.”

‘About this.’ The concept of ‘this.’

The unmatched, unswallowable feeling of impending nothingness. The loss of something — someone so great.

Everyone has a breaking point.

When silence greets you on the other line for far too long as your car carries you towards his home, a home that the two of you not too long ago once shared, you can almost hear the way that Hongjoong has to swallow down his feelings, the gut-wrenching twist of the dagger that you so ceremoniously planted directly into his chest.

“I don't know why you're tormenting me,” he whispers through broken voice, otherwise calm words falling onto your ears like death itself.

“So fucking jealous when I slept with your friend, before we even started getting involved—“

“I know, Hongjoong, I know please—“

His voice turning whiny, more broken and pointed. “—It was fucked up then, and it's so fucked up now.”

Throat burning, ears on fire, you know it's on the tip of his tongue if he can muster up the courage to do it, to say the words, to do the deed himself.

I don't love you anymore, goodbye.

But he doesn't, and in an effort to cut him off before he can, you make the quick decision that it's enough with the bullshit, and enough with the games. Emotions have been worn and dragged through the mud enough up until this point for the both of you — and for no reason at all. You know what you want, and you've always known what you wanted.

Him.

“You can come to the apartment to get your shit but I won't be there—“

“Hongjoong—“

He silences, you await the inquiry that apparently won't ever come, and it gives you pause again. Veins running ice cold and breath thin, you figure now more than ever before;

It's now or never.

“I love you.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯    

[lunar-wandering]

so i was sitting here, thinking, and then i thought like.

"yknow maybe there was some time in the past while he and Wukong were still close friends when he got like… sick sick. like. curable disease now, high chance of dying back then sick"

and then i was like "but how would that work?? Wukong's probably given him a immortality peach at that point or something"

and then. then. i REMEMBERED.

immortality in this world just EXTENDS a lifespan. it makes you age slower. it doesn't prevent anything else.

and then i yknow. realized that- because of this- Wukong is probably one of the only beings with complete fully traditional "cannot die" immortality (we see him survive a lot of shit that other immortal characters very much cannot- like getting his own head cut off).

so i thought- "wow Macaque being deathly sick would sure be an awful time for Wukong to learn about that specific fact now wouldn't it"

just the immediate mental image. of someone telling him that. and Wukong just. dropping the tray of medicines he was carrying. just freezing entirely in place before just. collapsing. as he realizes he's going to outlive everyone he's ever known.

like. he acts almost chill about it now in canon but GOD can you imagine the CRISIS from the very first time he realizes it????

and then there's Macaque, who even while DEATHLY SICK, is still able to pick up that something's wrong with Wukong the next time Wukong enters the room

he'd probably assume that Wukong's been told that Macaque himself isn't going to make it through this or something

promises him something along the lines of "I won't die. I'll never die so long as you live." and then tacks on some statement about how he needs to get revenge for something or other (stole his food or something). despite not knowing the ACTUAL reason Wukong is upset this works perfectly well at comforting him ....direct cut to 500+ years later Wukong immediately post-killing Macaque going "you broke your promise" .

.

. another direct cut to however many years later to LMK timeline with Macaque being like "excuse you i KEPT my promise"

[erzatz3117]

Ok, I really need to try my hand at this

YOU: With a bright green flash, the antediluvian servers of Automattic memorised your newest piece of miscellaneous Total Decay illustration.

TRIVIA [Trivial: Success]: "Dahn Sinkewicz and Total Decay" is the book you've been writing, with inconsistent success, for the past 7 months.

TORTURED ARTIST [Easy: Success]: Do you think he could just *forget* about his upcoming nearly-finished magical-realist, new-sincerity, Columbo-meets-Boris-goddamn-Yeltsin detective masterpiece?

DECONSTRUCTION [Medium: Success]: Will it become less derivative if you add more compound adjectives? Also, I don't think "magical-realist" should be hyphenated.

BLACK MIRROR OF PRE-APOCALYPTIC POST-TRUTH: Time is dripping from the ceiling, it's drops making monotone clicking sounds. No living soul has observed your art yet. Or, at least, did not feel anything at all in the process.

1. "What am I doing wrong? I checked all the boxes!"

2. [Delete your Tumblr account immediately.]

YOU: [Delete your Tumblr account immediately.]

BLACK MIRROR OF PRE-APOCALYPTIC POST-TRUTH: You will not leave this place. You have one too many *mutuals*.

1. "What am I doing wrong? I checked all the boxes!"

YOU: What am I doing wrong? I checked all the boxes!

BOX-FITTING [Easy: Success] You even posted it at the correct *time window*!

TRIVIA [Medium: Failure] Don't fret, towarisch, this lack of activity is easily explained by... Sorry, I'll sit this one out.

DECONSTRUCTION [Hard: Success]: Maybe we could look at it from an artistic perspective?

TORTURED ARTIST: What are you implying? It's awesome! Atleast, it is certainly better than some *creations* you see on here occasionally...

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] SHUT UP, FOR REAL. Do I need to refer you to the sign?

+5 XP gained from thought "Never Be Mean"

NERD-JOCK TRANSUBSTANTIATION [Legendary: Success]: You're obviously just not cut for this liberal arts nonsense, bratan! You have gym practice this Wednesday, remember? Your only goal is *the grind*, so show them you don't care about online recognition!

1. [Attempt to throw a tantrum.]

1. [Attempt to throw a tantrum.]

NODE COORDINATION [Impossible: Failure]: The neural pathway previously used for rapid mental mobilisation has dissipated under pressure from punitive education practices and liberal consumption of inhibitory neurotransmitters. I am sorry.

NERD-JOCK TRANSUBSTANTIATION [Hard: Success] Is that yarn-head trying to say that you can't *get angry* anymore?

HOMEOSTASIS: I'm clicking all the right buttons, yet nothing is happening. So yes, our capability for strong emotions has largely atrophied.

NERD-JOCK TRANSUBSTANTIATION [Impossible: Failure]: Wow, that... sucks, bratan. We will have to work around this in the future, I guess...

BLACK MIRROR OF PRE-APOCALYPTIC POST-TRUTH: The obsidian obelisk shudders, emitting a familiar glow: a new notification from Tumblr.

BLACK MIRROR OF PRE-APOCALYPTIC POST-TRUTH: Let's see: your mutual liked your post...

TORTURED ARTIST [Easy: Success] Where did I put my corkscrew?

DECONSTRUCTION [Medium: Success] I wouldn't be so optimistic.

BLACK MIRROR OF PRE-APOCALYPTIC POST-TRUTH: It's a... *funny-haha* post you reblogged an hour ago.

EMPATHY [Hard: Failure]: It seems as if we are the only unpopular person here.

TRIVIA [Trivial: Success]: That is a mathematical impossibility.

1. [Try again to come up with a reasonable explanation for why the notes under your art never exceed single digits.]

2. "You know, this just makes me more convinced that social networks are an instrument of isolation, not connection." [Send the art to that one guy on Discord who seems to like it.]

2. "You know, this just makes me more convinced that social networks are an instrument of isolation, not connection." [Send the art to that one guy on Discord who seems to like it.]

DIGITAL SPECTRE OF A FRIEND OF A FRIEND: It takes the man you only know from a vestigial meme server a couple seconds to look at the image you've sent to him. He finally answers...

DIGITAL SPECTRE OF A FRIEND OF A FRIEND: "Hey, that is pretty nice! I am always blown away by the depth of your worldbuilding!"

MORALE HEALED +1

EMPATHY [Medium: Success]: Okay, at least this guy likes us.

DECONSTRUCTION [Easy: Success] This veritably shows that our art is not *bad*, so something else must be going on here.

NERD-JOCK TRANSUBSTANTIATION [Medium: Success]: Hey, this bro is *real*!

NOISE SUPPRESSION [Easy: Success]: Everything inside you feels lighter, *validated*, somehow.

1. [Excitedly jump out of your bed.]

2. [Output a highly memetic sound of deep satisfaction.]

1. [Excitedly jump out of your bed.]

EXPLOSIVE POWER [Formidable: Failure]: Your brain sends out a clear signal, but your sore muscles don't move a millimeter.

HOMEOSTASIS: Sorry, boss, not happening. We should've had more that one meal today if we wanted to perform entrance-level acrobatic tricks like that.

2. [Output a highly memetic sound of deep satisfaction.]

2. [Output a highly memetic sound of deep satisfaction.]

NOMINALIZATION [Trivial: Success]: I know a couple good ones, *bestie*. Would look really *-core* on your *moodboard*, or whatever.

YOU: "Yipee!", you say, "Wahoo!", you whimper.

UNDIAGNOSED MENTAL ILLNESS (AKA "THE TUTORIAL"): This feedback cycle has officially concluded. You must create more art to feel satisfaction again.

HOMEOSTASIS [Trivial: Success]: Can we go to sleep now? Tomorrow is gonna be hell by all margins...

BLACK MIRROR OF PRE-APOCALYPTIC POST-TRUTH: Hey, you can't go! You'll miss so much stuff you won't care about!

1. "You're right, my beloved obelisk!" [Keep scrolling for 4 more hours, completely ruining your following week.]

2. "Sorry, *siliconstie*, but I really need to go." [Finally go to sleep.]

2. "Sorry, *siliconstie*, but I really need to go." [Finally go to sleep.]

Thought gained: The Ovine Enumerator

[ccrisntok]

Heathers au part 2 💀

Okay, off the bat, this one is worse. this post is much sadder than the first one.

TW// Blood, Death, Corpses, Suicidal thoughts/actions, Guns, Homophobia, Violence, Eating Disorders (Again, basically anything that happens in Heathers: The Musical.)

Also, spoilers for Heathers, and DRDT!!!

As I said, this post is a bit more serious than the first one. You need to read the first part to really understand this one btw. sorry. I'm too lazy to explain things again hdafkjlds

This post will have the sad parts of the au, since it's basically a story run-down, but imma still try and keep it a little silly at least.

But there will be a part 3, since I literally can't post all of the images (I have over 30.) And part three will be a lot more light-hearted (just fun doodles, and some cut images from this post), so if this ones too intense, just wait for that one <3 or. dont. thats cool too. Btw I'm gonna re-use a few drawings from the last post for story progression <3

Again, credit to @another-danganronpa-fan for the original au concept!

(First off, a better rendition of the Heathers + Xander. I didn't make any other full body refs because I got lazy. Anyway, I wanted to talk about these guys a lil more in this post. Character relationships and whatever.)

I feel like the Heathers as a unit all fucking hate each other. David guilt trips Arei into staying and threatens to reveal that shes queer if she argues with him, Arei makes fun of him for having severe mental health issues, and Arturo belittles both Arei and David, constantly commenting on their appearances, which he considers "Barely acceptable", basically its a cesspool of toxicity.

Xander, your average, emotional totally not British boy, doesn't really see any of this and thinks the Heathers have it so easy, and even idolizes them a little, especially David. Or rather, whatever persona David gives off to others.

This leads to him being recruited, in combo with his forgery skills, and his British accent. Cuz, yk, British accents are hot to some people.

So Xandy gets to be an honorary Heather. This is fine for like, 5 minutes before he is immediately asked to humiliate the shit out of Eden, which he does, begrudgingly. He does this by forging a note to Eden from her crush, Arei, inviting her to a party Ace was hosting that night. Arei doesn't know about this plan until it happens.

at some point between this and the party, Xander sees Teruko beat the ever-loving shit out of Levi and Ace, and he's like "oh wow 😳", which is the first time he ever notices her.

As the party starts, Xander starts getting drunk as hell, and during so, makes some kind of jab at Ace in relation to his ED (I couldn't really find a way to incorporate Heather Duke's bulimia into David, so, sorry Ace.) This leads to Ace fucking hating him with a passion.

this does not end well btw

Xander parties rlly hard, and that ends up escalating to him accidentally publically outing Eden at the party (while wasted & high), which leads to Eden being humiliated by the partygoers. Arei, who does actually like Eden as well, obviously doesn't out herself and helps in Eden's humiliation for the sake of self-preservation.

Eden's like "wha" bc she still thinks the note was real, and is super confused and hurt by Arei's reaction.

I don't believe the two would be childhood friends, like cannon Heathers, I feel like they would just. Like each other. Steal glances occasionally, wave, and smile. Stuff like that from someone like Arei would mean something, at least to Eden. And seeing what she thought was so clear shatter would hurt her a lot.

After this, Xander fucks off because him and the Heathers get in a huge fight, and he finds Teruko like. In the bathroom or something hiding from the party. I didn't really want to make him break into her house so. I didn't :) they uh. hold hands or something, and then they fall in love wooooahhhh whoda guessed

So Xander vents about his imminent death bc Art's mad at him, and Terukos like, "yeah... lets go apologize....." (she does not want to apologize). so they pull up and Xander's like "I'm sowwy Art i wont do it again" or something and then uh.

(why is the family guy death pose so hard to draw) Art drinks some Kool-aid or something that Teruko mixed with drain cleaner and dies.

Xanders like, "NOOOO WAHT THE FUCK" and Teruko, who obviously wanted him to die, is like "oh. we need to cover this up as a suicide". They do just that, and in the wake of his death, Arturo is seen as even more of an icon than he was in life, since the fake note portrayed him as an actually kind, tortured soul.

Arturo's ghost haunts Xander from this point on, basically just calling him stupid the whole time.

so after this, David and Arei are like, "Aye uh. Art's dead. You wanna hang out in the woods with us and Levi and Ace?" And Xander, desperately trying to not seem suspicious, says yes. Arei didn't really want to do this, but David forced her, and brought tons of alcohol with the intention of getting Levi and Ace drunk so they would fight and it'd be funny. He hasn't taken up Art's spot yet, so he's still kinda chill.

they. do fight, and Xander's kinda like "oop", but David's hoping it gets violent, for funnies.

it gets kinda personal..

Then it gets REALLY personal 💀

And Levi ends up beating the shit out of Ace.

Now, not unlike canon, I don't know what circumstances got Levi disowned by his parents. I feel like in this au, he probably moved in with Ace and his folks, which would give him another reason to put up with Ace's shit. Out of literal necessity. And like, they are probably friends to an extent.

Anyway, after this, rumors spread that Xander was actually the one who beat the fuck out of Ace, unprovoked. Since Ace is like 3'2 or some shit, people think Xander just beat him up bc he was an easy target without Levi around or something.

This happens because of a combo of Ace not really remembering what happened, his spite towards Xander, Levi lying about it, and David agreeing with the story (again, for his own amusement.) Arei doesn't really care enough to speak out, and Xander's reputation goes from already dead, to decomposed.

He vents to Teruko about this, cuz that went soo well last time, who makes up a plan. She tells him to tell Ace and Levi that he really wanted to fight them, and she would bring a "fake" gun to scare them with. (btw shirtless levi just to warn you) (and a dead body. and blood.) (prob shoulda put those first)

This goes about how you would expect (can you tell I gave a bit more of a shit about these guy's deaths than I did Art's....sorry homie). Instead of doing what Kurt cannonically does (hauling ass in the opposite direction), Levi actually tries to help Ace, with no luck.

I made a longer version of this but Im trynna stay in the image limit so. Anyway, Teruko is like "look what you diiidd Levi he trusted what you said and now he's dead! Ok bye" and then shoots Levi too.

Xander is losing his fucking mind, and really upset, obviously. But Teruko is like "I did it because I love you...." and manipulates him into really believing they did somewhat the right thing, because Ace and Levi were bullies, and ruining ppls lives.

They frame Levi and Ace's deaths as a double suicide. Teruko convinces Xander to portray Levi and Ace as gay lovers who, "killed themselves to escape an unaccepting world", since they contributed to Eden's harassment over her sexuality.

This leads to Ms. Hu publicly speaking up in support of queerness, which leads to the harassment following Eden, and the fear holding Arei back to subside a little, as the student body is moved by Levi and Ace's super real emotional romance.

Ace and Levi's ghosts join Arturo in haunting Xandy, and Xander regrets like. Every choice he's ever made.

Xander and Teruko's relationship is kinda deteriorating, and David decides to take officially take the mantle in the aftermath of Arturo, Levi, and Ace's deaths.

He gets kinda goofy, and starts harassing Arei more severely. This takes a head at an assembly Ms. Hu throws for teenage mental health, where she encourages the kids to vent their frustrations and grievances, which would "set them free."

Arei finally takes the opportunity, and confesses about her turbulent home life, David and Arturo's harassment, and that she struggles with suicidal thoughts. David takes this as a personal attack on his reputation since she mentioned him, and berates her, until she decides to try and end her own life in the school bathroom.

Xander stops her, and tells David to fuck off.

This ends with Arei and Xander becoming better friends, and they start to bond over their shared care for Eden. This reminds Xander how bad he fucked up with his best friend, and reminds Arei that she really does care a lot about Eden, even if she wishes she didn't.

Speaking of Eden, after everything that had happened, the deaths, the harassment, and what she thinks is the loss of the two most important people in her life (Xander and Arei), she also decides to take her own life, Ace and Levi's suicides nailing it into her head that she didn't belong. She wanted to escape to a world that wouldn't judge her, like Martha, and death was the only way she felt she could do that.

She jumps off of a bridge, but ends up surviving.

Xander, obviously fucking horrified, rushes to her side. After seeing how hurt she was, he kinda realizes how serious death is.

He killed people, all because Teruko felt they needed to. He realizes his relationship is toxic (only took a kill count of 3), and decides he can't do it anymore.

He ends things with Teruko, and goes home. He figures this is the end of it, but the ghosts haunting him tell him that Teruko was coming back, and she was mad. Oh no!

After Teruko breaks into his house, Xander locks himself in his closet and listens to her mad ramblings.

She says she's going to bomb the school, killing everyone inside, and she wants to do it with him. The whole school was basically in the building for a pep-rally, and she wanted to frame it as a school-wide suicide pact, with a signed "suicide note", a fake petition she'd passed around the school during the mental health assembly.

Xander, out of options, ties himself to the ceiling and pretends as if he has hung himself, which he hopes will stop Teruko's rampage.

Instead, Teruko decides even if Xander was dead, she was going to kill everyone anyway.

After Teruko leaves, Xander chases after her, grabbing a kitchen knife as protection, with the intention of killing Teruko, and probably himself, for the sake of the school.

After realizing Xander is alive, Teruko doesn't stop her plan. She's even more dedicated to it, and Xander is dedicated to stopping her.

The two physically fight for the bomb, and in the scuffle, Xander ends up stabbing Teruko in the stomach. He takes the bomb, and begins to leave with it, with the intention of using his body as a shield so that the school wouldn't be damaged if he ran out of time.

Teruko stops him, and in one more act of weird, toxic, love takes the bomb from him, and says she will blow up herself, and only herself.

Xander lets her take the bomb, and Teruko walks out to the front of the school. Xander watches as she lets it go off, killing her instantly, and tells her to say hello to God, having faith that maybe her death could grant her forgiveness, if there was a higher power out there to forgive her at all.

........

annnnndddddd I'll draw the aftermath in part three!

Holy fucking shit, I HAVE BEEN TYPING THIS UP FOR LIKE 5 HOURSS AAHH

I'm proud of it, though! There are quite a few images I had to cut, since Tumblr has an image limit and I made way too much, but that's what part three is for, in combo with a little of the aftermath! I just didn't want to split up the story into two parts, since I wanted it to flow well. I hope I managed to do just that.

Hope you enjoyed this fucking roller coaster, and I hope to see you back again for the DRDT Heathers finale! Which... wont be that epic, or anything, but hopefully fun!

[giggly-squiggily]

Oh wow, thank you so much! I would like to request zenitsu with a s/o who has body image issues, If that’s ok. I remembered that they’re all buff, not just inosuke (which would be really funny if he was the only ripped one) but it just made me hyper-aware of my own body, even though I’ve been told my weight is fine. Once again thank you very very much and have a very happy holidays! -🎄

Heyo friend! My deepest apologies, I've been meaning to write this for the longest time but wanted to wait until I was in a good mental health space to do it. I can relate to this issue as well; especially the hyper fixation part. It's not an easy journey to work through, and I wish I could say something that makes everything easier- but all I can really say is you're not alone feeling this way, and that no matter how your body looks, it's valid the way it is. <3

(And 100% agree- we need more squishy slayers! I get their training leads to them having more buff bodies but I want squish! I want pudgy bellies and thick thighs dang it!) I hope I did your prompt justice friend <3

((Not gonna tag list peeps this one due to the content warnings below))

CW: Body image issues, self worth issues, mentions of eating disorders, insecurity, food, angst, hurt/comfort

It shouldn’t bother you so much.

Inosuke was always shirtless- saying something about clothes dulling his senses. There weren’t any rules against him going without, and if it really did affect his combat skills, it was better this way.

Still, it didn’t make you feel any better, pressing your arms tighter against your stomach as you watched him stretch. His build was so muscular and toned- his body giving him the extra ‘oomph’ he needed to perform the moves he does. It was what you deemed to be the ideal body type for the Demon Corps.

And you…well. Weren't that.

Your body was fine, according to Lady Kocho. Everything worked as it should, and you were able to keep up with the boys during training and whatnot. Things were on a smooth track, as she put it.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel...less, seeing not just Inosuke, but both Tanjiro and Zenitsu so ripped. They were developing hard muscles as visual evidence of their efforts. When they took their shirts off, you could tell just by looking at them they were Corp members.

You pressed more firmly against the soft parts of your torso, something cold and unpleasant setting in your gut as you came to the realization that even if you worked your absolute hardest, it's never likely you'll never look like them.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Tanjiro’s voice made you gasp and look up, finding his concerned eyes. “You look like you’re gonna throw up- is your stomach hurting?”

“Maybe they ate too much.” Inosuke piped up. It was such a meaningless comment, but it still felt like a dagger in your heart.

“Inosuke, hush.” Tanjiro scowled, but the damage was already done.

“That’s probably it! I just overate.” You put on what you hoped to be a smile as you straightened up, arms still guarding your stomach. “I’m gonna go see if Miss Kocho has medicine- bye!” You twisted so hard dust puffed around your feet, racing into the manor as Tanjiro called after you. Thankfully no one was following- it felt like permission to let the tears fall.

On your way in, you didn’t see Zenitsu watching you.

~~~

“Maybe I should cut back..” You murmured softly, slumped away in a spare room as you wiped your tear stained cheeks. You likely looked a mess- eyes puffy and face hot. It was a miracle no one came by to hear you sobbing alone. “Will that help me look like them?”

As if fate hated you, your stomach growled. You pushed your hand against it with a bitter thought. “Don’t even start. I need to do this.”

“Do what, exactly?” You yelped when you heard a voice, looking up to find Zenitsu. In his hands he had an assortment of things- a box of tissues, two ice cubes in a cup, and…

Oh no. “I’m not..” You began, only for your stomach to growl at the sight of the onigiri. Zenitsu raised a brow.

“You are.” He chided, coming over and sitting down. After offering the tissues to clean up with, he handed you the cup of ice. “These are good for swollen eyes. I know- I cry all the time.” He smiled, puffing some when you let out a weak giggle.

“I guess you’d know all the tricks to things like this.” You took the ice, wincing some at the chill. “Thanks, Zen.”

“Hm.” The blonde nodded, watching you circle your eyes with the chilly cubes. “How’s your stomach?”

“Huh?” You dropped a cube, watching it bounce away. “My what?”

He stared at you. You felt your face get hot. “Shoot…you knew that was a lie, huh?”

“I am your partner, (Y/N).” He reminded gently, frowning when you dipped your head. “Do you wanna talk about it? You’ve been looking so down recently- I want to help if I can.”

“I don’t think you could.” You sank further, hating how your stomach began to really hurt. Zenitsu, noticing this, offered you the rice balls.

“I don’t want them.” You shook your head.

“Your stomach hurts cause you haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“I can skip meals.”

“That’s not safe.”

“So what? If it means I can finally look like a proper slayer, I’ll do it!” You snapped, voice raising. Then you fell silent as you realized what you just said. Zenitsu blinked at you a few times.

“...What?” He stared, watching you tear up. “(Y/N)...”

“S-Sorry. That didn’t- I didn’t want to say that..” You sniffed, hating how close to tears you were today. “Just forget about it. I’m being stupid.”

Zenitsu stared at you before putting down the rice balls, scooting closer and reaching out. “(Y/N)..” You leaned away, and he let his hand fall back to his lap. “Are you starving yourself?”

“No…I just thought about it.” You confessed, unable to look at him. “I overeat, so I thought if I stopped eating lunch, maybe all this extra fat would go away.” You looked down at your stomach, tearing up again. “Then I’ll look like you guys. I’ll have muscles. I'll finally look like a real slayer..."

Zenitsu was quiet for a bit, seemingly stunned silent. Then he turned so he was facing you properly. “(Y/N), can I have your hand?”

You peeked at him, watching as he tugged up his shirt. “Why..”

“Please?” He asked again, eyes serious. You decided to give in and let him take your hand. He brought it to his torso, pushing it against his stomach. “Can you feel it?”

“I..” You didn’t really know what you were feeling. It felt like a body- warm beneath your touch. The whole thing was a bit embarrassing- your face heated up again at the thought of somebody walking in on you. “Zen, I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

“Sure you do. It’s my squish.” He nodded proudly, watching you blink in confusion. “Even when I gained all these muscles you’ve mentioned, I’m still soft. You have muscles too. They might not as visible, but they're there."

He was in fact soft. You pressed in, something oddly satisfying about the gesture. Zenitsu jerked and doubled over with a giggle, making you smile. “S-Sehee? I’m squishy. We all are.”

“But Inosuke..”

“Inosuke’s squishy too. He might not look it, but he is.” He released your hand, opting to hold it gently within his own. “Just because you’re not crazy ripped with no squish doesn’t make you any less of a Slayer. You don’t need your muscles to show to prove your worth. You've already done that just by being you. You're courageous, smart, kind.."

You felt your eyes water again, this time for a new reason. “Zen..”

"Really attractive." He winked, making you snort through your tears. “You're perfect the way you are. Forget about skipping meals, okay? It’s dangerous. What if you pass out mid-breathing technique with a demon? I don't-I can't lose you.” Zenitsu pulled the onigiri out, bringing it to your lips. “You eat fine- don't change for the sake of visuals."

Your stomach growled again, and you finally took a bite. The rice was seasoned and fluffy, and the filling was your favorite. You almost cried again at the taste. “Thank you..”

“Eat first. Thank me later.” Zenitsu smiled as you carried on eating, reaching out and grabbing a thermos. You didn’t see him with it earlier- he must have had it stashed away. “I brought tea too. No, I didn’t brew it- I wasn’t gonna make you feel worse.”

You nearly choked on your food as you laughed, smiling behind your fist as Zenitsu poured a cup for you. “Hohohow coohohnsiderate!"

“Yeah, I'm like that sometimes.” He grinned, relaxing as you sipped your tea. “I love you too much to let you die my attempts at making tea."

“New breathing technique unlocked- poison tea. Quick, let's go tell Lady Kocho.” You giggled, watching him start to smile. Before long, the two of you were laughing freely, falling into each other as you laughed yourselves breathless.

You are truly grateful to have someone like him in your life.

Thanks for reading!

[boliv-jenta]

Max Phillips x f!reader (written in the third person)

For the Haunted Hoedown using the randomly generated prompts: Mythology/monsters and “you are mine, whether you agree or not.”

Warnings: Dubcon. P in V sex. Face riding. Slight monster fucking.

TW: allusions to sexual assault.

WC:2.4k

Feeding Time

Being out of work doesn't suit Max at all. He needs to be busy. Not using his keen business skills just seems like a waste. He feels like the star played out with an injury.

It's frustrating as fuck. The other downside is that he had to hunt for his meals and that's just a pain in the ass. It's not like he doesn't enjoy the hunt itself. Especially the part where they are screaming and begging and he just gets to overpower them. Max has been overpowering before. He was overruled and kicked out of college. He should be a little grateful now, as he'll never be the victim again.

The ass aching part comes in the form of CCTV and disposing of the bodies. Normally, corporate would deal with that for him. On his own, he had to be careful, vary the places he grabs people from, avoid cameras, and never feed too close to home. Not for the first time Max wonders what it would have been like to be alive centuries ago like in the movies. Roaming around fog clouded villages at night. Ripping the throats out of anyone he pleased. The thought of it made him need to adjust himself in his pants.

That's one of the things they don't tell you about you turn, how fucking horny feeding can make you. Sometimes that first burst of blood on his tongue has him standing to attention in a second. There have been times where he's had to stop drain victims so he can fuck the ache away before finishing. No one needs a distraction like that when they are eating. There's an added bonus of the blood tasting more full bodied if he makes them come. With this in mind he decides that he's going to indulge his other appetite tonight before he feeds.

Turning away from the bar, he plants his feet either side of his barstool. His long legs are open, highlighting the significant bulge in his suit pants. Maybe that will do some of the work for him. Max isn't picky when it comes to partners at all, any hole's a goal, but no one he sees tickles his fancy. Too lost in scanning the crowd he doesn't notice the act setting up on the small stage to his left. Until she starts to sing. All his attention is drawn to her. The way her lips move as she produces the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. The way her fingers adeptly pluck the strings on her guitar. He can't help but wonder what other talents her pretty mouth and skilled fingers have. The mental image of her on her knees, his length in he'd mouth and her fingers teasing his asshole has him hard and straining against his expensive designer underwear.

The night passes so goddamn slowly, the sound of her melodious voice has had him on edge for hours. He briefly thought about taking the edge off with the red head that's been buzzing around him like the flies around the drip trays in this dive. No, she wouldn't do, he needed his pretty little songbird. Finally, everyone left and he compelled the owner to go home leaving the keys with him.

"Wow. You are talented." He ladles enthusiasm over his words. Surely stroking the artist's ego should get him somewhere.

"Er..thank you. Where did Mike go?" She looked around the now empty bar.

"He had to run. He left these with me to lock up. Mike and I are old friends. I'm Max by the way." He held out his hand.

It was almost warm with the way she had the limited blood in his body singing. It had been harmonising with her all night. Shaking it she gave him her name.

"I've been barely about to take my eyes off you all night, your performance I mean. Do you have a manager?" After she shook his hand he didn't step away.

He stayed in her space. He could feel the discomfort coming off of her in waves. He didn't want to use his powers on her. He wanted to do this the old fashioned way. Max was nothing if not charming. He could definitely woo a timid little thing's legs open.

"No, I don't." She sidestepped out of the space he had her held in.

"Well, I just so happen to be a business manager…." He slipped a card from his pocket to hand to her.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for a manager but I'll keep you in mind." She plastered a polite smile on her face.

At this point Max realised that she wasn't interested in him at all. She wasn't timid, she was scared. She wasn't nervous about the handsome man flirting with her, she was worried about being alone with a strange man. For a fleeting moment Max felt bad for her. Only for a moment.

"Hey, why don't you let me buy you a drink? As a thank you for the wonderful entertainment." He smiled brightly at her as she tried to quickly pack up her things.

"I have an early start. I really shouldn't." With her case in her hand she made for the door.

Stepping in her path he added. "Just one?"

Her eyes were filled with panic, he could taste the fear in her blood.

"Just one. Then I have to go." She told him.

Max had seen this dance a hundred times. The guy coming on too strong. The girl trying to find an out that wouldn't anger him. Normally, he'd swoop in. Kill the guy, fuck the girl. They were all so grateful when he made a show of running the guy out of the bar. After draining the guy in some dark spot he'd bring the girl back there and rail her with the asshole's blood throbbing through his cock. It was his own dirty little secret.

As she tried to seem like she was comfortable in his company, but not too comfortable as to lead him on, he could see her checking her phone.

"Something important?" Max didn't know what had come over him tonight. He wasn't usually an asshole about these things. Even for a killer he had standards.

"My roommate. She'll worry if I'm late. She gets off her shift at the same time." She's making sure he knows someone will miss her.

"Well, text her. Tell her you're safe with Mike's friend Max." He lay his hand just close enough to hers on the bar to make her shudder.

She must have heard that a million times. The nice guy routine.

"She doesn't like to be alone. I should go. You can lock up, right?" She makes to grab her guitar case but Max is quicker. He holds it at his side just out of her reach.

"Come on. I've waited all night. I watched your show. I just want to talk. You can give me that, at least." He laughs as he steps closer.

That is when she runs, she's halfway to the door when Max reaches out with his powers. She turns on her heels under his influence. Her skirt swishes over her thighs as he makes her walk back to him. As soon as she's in reach Max has her pinned to the bar. His mouth assaults hers as his hand grope her tits through the soft cotton of her dress. As he goes to trail his fingers up her trembling thighs to her core a thought tugs at the corner of his thoughts. He pushes it away as he pushes two fingers inside of her.

It's her whimpers that have then thought tugging at him again.

'No. I don't do this. I never force them. I only take them if they want it.'

Suddenly her hips begin to move, she rides his fingers and kisses him back with enthusiasm.

His head feels dizzy. Nausea swirls in his stomach. He feels tired in a way he hasn't since he was human. It's bone deep and makes him want to drop to his knees.

All the time she's still been kissing him like she's hungry for him. Pulling away she looks deep into his eyes. The fear in them has gone. "You wanted a challenge. So I gave you one."

His feet move of their own accord as she leads him to sit in a booth. She slides into his lap and twirls his short curls around her fingers.

"Poor Max. All frustrated from not working. Not being stimulated enough." Her fingers undo the buttons of his crisp shirt as she speaks. Her hands push it off his shoulders before roaming his chest. "I can stimulate you, Max." With that she licks a wide strip over his nipple before biting it.

Max hisses and his cock jumps against her. "I thought you'd like my little scenario. I didn't figure you for such a gentleman. I knew I like you." Her hands are at his belt now.

Max tries to talk, to move an inch, nothing. He's completely frozen as she takes his rock hard cock out. She hums approvingly as she pumps it a few times, smearing his precum over it.

"So pretty. I've seen you around. We share a hunting ground apparently. I've been living off of scraps. Two pump chumps that barely give me anything. I think you actually drained a few once I was done with them. Then I saw you." Standing for a moment she strips herself bare. Max can't help but notice how everything about her that made her pretty is now magnified. She is absolutely stunning. Her clear skin glows. Her soft hair shines. Her curves are so inviting. "All that supernatural strength. I bet you can feed me for hours. Look how hard this pretty cock is. I bet I could ride this for hours, couldn't I?"

Max would love to tell her that she's right but still he can't speak. He looks forward to showing her as she returns to his lap and sinks down onto him. Unfortunately, all it takes is him bottoming out for him to come. He cunt is warm and silky in a way he's never felt before. It's all too much after all the build up.

As his useless seed spurts into her she lets out an inhuman roar. "Oh, yes, Max!" She bounces on his cock a little, milking every drop with her tight channel.

"There we are, still hard for me. Such a good boy." A few more bounces of her hips and she comes hard. Max worried that she might actually break his cock off with the way her pussy contracts around him. She screams his name as her whole body convulses. Max has never experienced anything like it before.

She's still riding him as she pants out "Oh. You are perfect.”

Max wants to tell her the same. Fuck his head spins and his cock throbs. He still can't move. It should scare him but it doesn't all he wants to do is rise up and fuck her like he wants to.

"You too." He manages to get out. That stops her in her tracks. He shouldn't be able to fight her influence. His strength arouses her further. For a moment she lets her control drop just to see what he'll do. In a whirlwind of movement her bare chest is slammed into the wooden table in front of her. Max is behind her. His cock spears her in place as he thrusts like the wild creature that he is. Speaking of which, when he drags her body flush to his to she sees the hands at her chest grow more claw-like. Her hand threading into his hair reveals horns protruding from his temple.

"Max!" She cries as he hits the right spot, his cock feeling even longer and thicker than it did before. "Let me see you."

Max barely pulls out before he spins her shoving her ass up onto the table and fills her again.

She squeals in delight as he splits her open again. "Oh. You are beautiful." She traced the veins on his skin.

Coming over him again, she undergoes her own transformation. Her skin shimmers with a blue glittery glow. Her eyes become a vivid seafoam green.

"A m-mermaid?" Max stutters out as he carries on fucking her deep. The table shakes with the power of his thrusts. His pants and moans almost drown out the sound of the table creaking. He's so close he can feel it at the base of his spine. It fuels the movement of his hips driving them forward and deeper into her incredible cunt. It's so wet and warm, he wants to stay in it for the rest of his life. His groans, as he blows his load again, are silenced by her lips on his. Max almost gets his wish about being buried in her for the rest of his life as her kiss draws out his life force. His softening cock slips out of her as he weakens and falls to his knees. Her lips cling to his until he's sprawled on the floor. He feels his immortality slipping away. Just as he thinks death might retake the eternal life it gave him, she releases him. Crawling up his lifeless body, she straddles his face. Their combined spend dips down his cheeks as he lays there clinging on to life.

"Mermaids are so old hat. The only people that fish those waters are the descendants of those smart enough to survive the sirens attack. The smarter amongst us evolved. They bred with incubus and other creatures, until they could walk on land and feed on more than flesh." As she speaks, she drags her folds over his profile. His perfect curved nose nudges her clit over and over. "I could feed off of you forever. I could fuck you and fed off the energy it creates. Unlike the humans you'd survive. Barely. Sorry about that." Her hands come down to grip his horns as she grinds her clit on his plush lips. "But don't worry Max. I'll take care of you." His juices burst against his slack mouth as she quivers through her orgasm. All Max can do is lie there as her release drips onto his tongue "I'll feed you up and get you strong again because you are mine, whether you agree or not."

[itsclydebitches]

Ruby’s angst is a sore point b/c I will always remember her crying over Salem mentioning her mom only to go back to being confrontational and smug to Ironwood and the Ace Ops.

This is why I harp on about tone so much in my recaps. It is crucial to keep things consistent (within reason) because otherwise your audience is going to start doubting the persuasiveness of this characterization. If Ruby breaks down over Summer's death and then immediately shrugs that off, transitioning into smug antagonism, my takeaway is going to be, "Well, I guess she wasn't that broken up about it" and "Well, I guess Ruby lacks the insight and critical thinking skills to realize that turning on her allies is just going to make Salem murdering more people easier."

If Ruby decides to start this battle and confidently expresses the inevitability of her win against Harriet, only to then start begging for them to lay down their weapons after taking a hit, the takeaway is that Ruby back-peddles on a position the moment she's no longer winning.

If Yang rushes to Ruby's side to comfort her while she sobs and then spends a Volume ignoring her equally obvious distress, the takeaway is that Yang is becoming a worse sister, likely because she's putting all her emotional energy into Blake instead.

If Blake was introduced as a no-nonsense activist willing to get up in anyone's face and then shrinks before an angry friend, the takeaway is that she's grown more passive as the series has gone on.

If Weiss loses her entire Kingdom and then spends the first half of the Volume being used purely as the comic relief, the takeaway is that this tragedy hasn't actually hit her very hard and we shouldn't buy into these incredibly brief moments of grief.

If the group says they don't want to run anymore and then the very first fight they come across results in them running away, the takeaway is that these are heroes who talk big, but can't make those promises a reality.

Similarly, if the group hugs and makes the occasional speech about how much they love each other, but then turn around and criticize, become suspicious of, and dismiss Jaune in his ultimate time of need, the takeaway is that their care is hollow and will falter once the going gets tough.

If Ruby spends whole Volumes active bubbly, optimistic, confident, driven, and at times extraordinarily arrogant, but then kills herself after two days of mental health struggles, the takeaway is that RT is willing to use suicide as a cheap spectacle, rather than a real life issue that must be written with care and proper buildup.

If the show pushes a found-family dynamic and then has four members of that family simply stand there while Ruby kills herself... yeah, the takeaway is, "Wow. They didn't care about stopping her much then, huh?"

We know the characters are supposed to love each other. We know that we're supposed to come up with some easy explanation like, "They were in shock!" But if you actually take what's happening on screen - which, you know, is the backbone of analysis - RT continually undermines the core messages of RWBY through badly managed tone and inconsistent characterization. Every scene is a puzzle piece creating a whole and if the pieces don't fit... well, then the picture is nonsensical. It's not the job of the person observing the puzzle to go, "Well, it certainly looks like this is made up primarily of confused colors, textures, and images, but if I just imagine that all these pieces are different from what's actually in front of me, then the puzzle is perfect!"

[dirtyvirgotarot]

WEEK AHEAD READING PICK-A-CARD! - 7/30/23

This week's reading was gonna be about animals in general, but it seems that all things Air and flying creature related was the real theme!! Pick an image, and we'll soar into your cards!!! ~~~~~~~~ Pile 1 (The Black Egg): Your Animal: BLACK EGG Your Tarot: Ace of Pentacles, Two of Wands, Judgement Wow, Pile 1, how powerful!! You were called to this pile for a reason, that reason being for celebration! You may have found yourself feeling oppressed or silenced, perhaps a victim of prejudice and bigotry, or just like your opinion and voice didn't matter. Joke's on them, this week, you're going to take your next step forward! I see job offers and opportunities, or the start of the search. I see you looking ahead, Pile 1, looking ahead to where you don't feel so silenced. Bad karma will be hitting those who have done you wrong this week. You may receive apologies, or news of such karma. It will inspire you to find your courage this week, to find your voice. The throat chakra is being highlighted heavily. Ignore gossip, narcissistic people, and focus on your goals and dreams. You are taking a very solid step forward towards your future this week! Keep your eyes on the prize, your eyes on your utter and ultimate truth. 🙊😢😞⚖️❗😈🗺️ ~~~~~~~~ Pile 2 (The Eagles): Your Animal: EAGLE Your Tarot: Five of Cups, Six of Wands, Wheel of Fortune

Pile 2, this is a message directly from spirit. You may have found yourself going through a severely rough patch, full of grief and sadness. You may have found yourself just utterly going through the wringer, physically, mentally, emotionally. THIS IS KARMA. Good karma, in fact. I know it may not feel like it now, but the things happening to you are ultimately to teach you HIGHLY important lessons to utilize in the future. In order to get happier in life, you need to learn about what you DON'T want. A baseline, of sorts. Know that this is a lesson for you, and not in any way permanent. Not only will it change, things will SKYROCKET into success for you! You will be untouchable once you understand what you are currently being taught, and take the reigns to change it for the better! 🗡️😢😞💡🧠🤯😃 ~~~~~~~~ Pile 3 (The Bats): Your Animal: BAT Your Tarot: Queen of Pentacles, The Star RX, Eight of Wands RX, Six of Cups I'm getting two distinct messages for this pile, depending on whether you're taken or not! For those of you who aren't taken, you're feeling rather lonely. You're a very warm, quiet, nurturing creature, with nothing to nurture!! As kind as you are, you're just as determined. And that determination to find someone to keep you company will pay off! However, it might take a bit of work on your part. Look for old friends to spend time with, perhaps a childhood friend or the one you've had the longest. You might also receive a message from an ex, offering reconciliation with good intentions. It's up to you whether you take what they offer to you, but something tells me you were never quite over them in the first place, even if you tried to convince yourself you were. For those of you who are, you may have noticed a lack of movement or spark in your relationship. The puppy love has been over, and things settled into normalcy, or perhaps you both have been distracted by other things. Try and find something fun to do this week with them, set aside some time to do something you both love! If you had any doubts on whether they still loved you, go ahead and toss those doubts away. They still utterly adore you, and wish they had more time to spend with you. If you take some time to spend with them, they'll push to do the exact same. 😞🎉💕🫂💞🧑‍🤝‍🧑 ~~~~~~~~ Pile 4 (The Peacock): Your Animal: PEACOCK Your Tarot: Nine of Pentacles, Temperance, Knight of Wands RX Damn, Pile 4, look at you GO! You are finding some success and money job-wise this week! You may have just started a new endeavor, and are already seeing results. It might be more of a grind than you would prefer, but don't worry, that'll change real quick. You'll settle into things, and honestly, you just gotta keep up the status quo! Keep yourself rested and hydrated as you get through the bulk of your current project or job, and soon you'll be finding new, inspiring things to do in the field! Maybe you weren't expecting this job (or upcoming job) to be so reasonable and such a good fit, but you'll be pleasantly surprised! Don't neglect your emotions, or neglect your well-being this week. Speak your mind and heart, and you'll get where you wanna be. Passions and creativity are gonna smack you in the face like a truck towards the end of the week, it might be related to work, or it might just be that you found a solid work/life balance! You found a hobby to balance it all out, while also not wearing you down. You're finding your footing this week and gaining confidence, looking forward, treating yourself well, things are overall gonna be much more stable for you! Good for you Pile 4!! 💰⚒️😴🥤💪😁👍 ~~~~~~~~ General Thoughts and Notes for All Piles:

New starts and lots about truth!! Inner truth and otherwise! Lots of karmic encounters and events! Everyone's eyes are on the prize this week, which is amazing! Lots of seeking things, and lots of finding what you've been seeking!! This is awesome news! Of course, lots of Air energy as well, which makes total sense. Everyone is sharp mentally this week, you may find a boost in your focus. It'll be all that much easier to tune out the bad and focus on only the good, or hone in on something you've been trying to find. Good luck this week, you got this! -DV 💜💚

[tunashei]

First impressions of Animoprhs!

I'm listening to the Animorphs series while I work, through Animorphs Aloud - a fan made reading of the series. Here are my first impressions/random thoughts about them! Spoilers below if you haven't read them.

Book 7: The Stranger

I often think how you'd REALLY react if you were faced with something paranormal or magical, because it wouldn't just be the monster or ghost or superhero you have to contend with - but your entire knowledge of the universe flipping on it's head. Legit consider how insane you'd go if you found out monsters were *really* real. And they do this to a random person in the start of most books! Ha.

Kind of surprised they consider a human-alien relationship with any sort of seriousness. How progressive. But then there's been a few hints towards Rachel liking Tobias and he's...a bird. Rachel is very open minded.

Somehow I have my doubts Rachel will move away. The clue is the 47 books that come after this.

Man I feel for Tobias, having to spend the rest of his life as a hawk while potentially watching his friends move on. It's not like he can make new friends. Also how long does he even live? Does he have a hawk lifespan now of 10-15 years?

Rachel wants more firepower and she skips the POLAR BEARS? GIRL. Those things are fucking terrifying! Though I did do a bit of research and turns out when Polar Bears and Grizzlies compete for food it's usually the Polar Bears that leave.

Also I have a hard time believing a bear has more 'firepower' than an elephant. Bit easier to move around and get into places as a bear though.

Still can't get over the frequent use of the slang 'hooked up' to mean meeting. Very different meaning nowadays.

The mental image of them fitting pretty much a centaur into a dressing room is very funny.

Wow. Stopping time definitely blindsided me. This Ellimist is like a god?? Was not expecting that.

The descriptions when the Ellimist is showing off the beauty of earth make me very sad I will likely not get to experience it. It's so sad to know coral reefs exist out there, beauty unparalleled, and you can't simply go and see them. Not without money. It's a cruel joke that we're placed on such an amazing planet and yet how little of it we'll see.

Man this is a genuinely tough decision. I really like Cassie's perspective, that humans are now the endangered animals potentially rejecting the one thing that could save them. Honestly if what seemed like a literal god told me the fight is unwinnable I'd probably give in and tell them to take me to a new planet.

Aaaand now the kids are getting eaten alive. I LOVE the amount of traumatising scenarios in these books. Main reason I started em. Feel a bit bad for the Taxon, imagine eating some innocuous snack and it swells up and bursts you from the inside.

Ax has a thing for cutting off people's arms.

You're the second largest carnivore on land Rachel, Polar Bears got you beat.

Also Rachel totally just murdered a bunch of human people.

Now...time travel? Hm not a big fan of time travel.

Damn the Yeerks invested in free, superfast and wide-covering public transport? I'd vote for them.

This is why I don't like time travel. Is it deterministic? Can it be changed? Boggles the mind. The implication is they refuse the Ellimist's offer and stay and fight, and lose, and Rachel becomes a controller. But why would Ax being there mean the future has changed? Did future-Rachel lie about there being six humans to Visser-Three? Why?

PFFFF I'm sorry but as horrifying as the idea of them killing and consuming Tobias after being infected and turned into controllers is, it's also like Disney-level villainy.

If this is the future and it can be changed, why can't Visser-Three kill them? Sure he wouldn't have controller Rachel so the future would be different but the goal of invading would work?

Well this is looking bleak.

I wonder who is keeping Ellimists in check that they even need rules.

Surprisingly quick and efficient mission! And that's the end of that one. A bit confusing, but I wonder if the Ellimist stuff will get clearer later on.