#and the chorus itself if you squint

[distantdarlings]

PLAY IN YOUR MIND // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.3K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* A couple of your friends describe a popular challenge spreading rapidly throughout Hogwarts, "No-Nut-November." You think it's the stupidest thing you've ever heard, until your boyfriend, Theo, bets you couldn't beat him at it.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Masturbation, slight voyeurism, slight degradation, manipulation (?), one use of 'daddy' (sorry), dirty talk, language, dom!Theo

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Heavy Metal Lover - Lady Gaga

---

The golden light poured through the window almost as if it was made of the pure material itself. Hot and smooth and liquid, sliding past the panes in the glass, illuminating all in its wake. The motes of dust swirled peacefully just beside your head. Your eyes, still swollen from sleep, squinted in a small smile at the lovely sight. A hand came up to gently weave your fingers in and out of the little creatures.

It was Saturday, which meant, of course, no classes and no Quidditch practice until around noon. It was only eight o’clock now, which meant you had plenty of time to have a nice breakfast, catch up on some homework, and check in on your friends. A shock of dopamine filled your stomach. You loved Saturdays. 

The motivation born of the excitement to get started with your day had you ripping the comforters back and sitting up on the edge of the bed. You slid your toes between the shagged carpet, shuddering at the small tickle the material coaxed out of you.

You didn’t quite feel like getting ready to go down to the Great Hall so you settled for a robe over your pajamas and your fuzzy slippers, relying on the universe’s grace for the state of your breath and hair. Hopefully, your boyfriend wasn’t in a huge kissing mood.

For the most part, everyone in your dormitory had already left for the morning. You reckoned they were all downstairs grabbing some breakfast or headed to Hogsmeade for the day. You grabbed your wand, slid it into your robe pocket, and made your way toward the door. A small grumble came from your stomach at the thought of what might be waiting for you at breakfast.

You only ran into a few people on the way to the Great Hall, all of whom you didn’t know well enough to care about what they thought of your outfit. You yawned and rubbed a bit of sleep out of your eyes as you rounded the corner to the vast hall. The doors were already propped open, granting you a straight line of sight to the beautifully-lit room.

You crossed the threshold and found your entire group of friends gathered around the end of the table farthest to the left. You smiled as a couple of them caught your eye and waved you over. 

It looked like you weren’t the only one who had the same idea with the majority of them being decked out in the finest pajamas and robes. Enzo’s hair was still heavily ruffled from sleep, yet he didn’t care. 

“Good morning,” you suppressed another yawn. They returned the sentiment, some voices joyous and others grumbled from being up earlier. You smiled. 

“What’s for breakfast this morning, love?” A very familiar voice popped up from behind you as a pair of hands slid around your shoulders. You bit your bottom lip as butterflies erupted in your stomach. It didn’t matter how long the two of you were together, Theo never failed to make you giddy.

You turned and faced his beautifully well-rested face and examined it closely. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his hands crossed against your lower back.

“I was thinking you,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his lips. He smiled into the kiss and moved his lips along with yours. Fuck morning breath, you’d kiss him any time. A chorus of groans and fake gagging erupted behind the two of you. You both pulled away, chuckling childishly.

“Sounds alright to me,” he joked, guiding you to a seat between him and Enzo. You began surveying the options before you, the grumbles in your stomach building with every second. You eventually settled on a croissant with butter, a few selections of fruit, and some pumpkin juice to go with it. 

“Sleep well?” Mattheo asked, crossing his arms on the table just in front of his cleaned plate. Sleep weighed heavy beneath his eyes, rimming dark circles on the soft flesh there. You clicked your tongue in disappointment.

“Well, I’d say yes, but it looks like you didn’t,” you say. “Feeling alright?”

“Oh, he’s feeling more than alright,” Enzo chuckled, ignoring the elbow Pansy placed into his ribs. “Er, well, he was last night anyway…maybe not so much now.”

“Stay out late, did you, mate?” Theo asked, digging into the breakfast himself.

“Something like that,” the dark boy smirked in response. The conversation suddenly turned away from Mattheo’s late-night activities and on to some planning for the day’s Quidditch practice but you couldn’t help but notice the dark purpling that spread from the base of Mattheo’s throat down to beneath his white tee shirt. He caught you staring and sent a wink your way. Cheeky bastard.

“Alright, I’m going to head down to the pitch early and try to get some practice in,” Enzo announced.

“I’m sure,” Mattheo laughed, “probably just going to see how fast he can beat no-nut-November.” 

Theo and he broke out into uncontrollable laughter as a fiery red blush appeared across En’s cheeks and nose. Pansy stifled a laugh at the two’s response to the boy. It honestly kind of frustrated you.

“Hey, don’t tease him,” you scolded, giving a swift smack to Theo’s arm. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

It took a moment for the laughter to die down but eventually, the two of them had wiped the tears from their eyes and turned to face you.

“What, you mean you really don’t know what I’m talking about?” Mattheo smiled in obvious disbelief. You stared back blankly at him.

“Wait, are you serious, babe?” Theo turned more towards you. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, tapping your index finger against your skin in annoyance.

“We’ve already established this,” you spoke.

“Ah, shit, man. Maybe you should discuss this with her,” Mattheo shrugged. “I don’t feel comfortable explaining that to your partner.” Theo threw him a dirty look. 

“Uh, well,” Theo turned to you, “It’s like when a guy—or girl, I guess—tries their hardest not to….you know…” He motioned with his hands, indicating he wanted you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh, uh… ‘nut’?” you asked. He nodded.

“You try to go all through November without,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “cumming.”

“Well, that’s no fun,” you joked. Mattheo laughed. 

“Yeah, well, it’s part of the challenge,” Theo said.

“I’ve already lost, unfortunately,” Mattheo spoke. He pulled his shirt sleeve up and glanced at the watch placed around his wrist. “Twice since the first of November, actually.”

“But it’s November first today?” Pansy said, questioningly. Mattheo did not speak. Everybody suddenly made knowing glances as realization peaked between the five of you. 

“Then I’m going to beat you!” Enzo said, looking around the group. 

“Yeah, man,” Theo shouted, clapping a hand into his. “Me too!”

“Uh, you too?” you asked. “I’m sorry, where was my discussion about this?”

Theo turned to look at you, a slight look of disappointment printed on his face. He shrugged and avoided eye contact with you. You could tell you had embarrassed him slightly.

“I don’t know, it was kind of a sudden decision,” he said, “I didn’t really think it through, I just thought I’d help En out.”

“Okay, but he doesn’t need your help but someone else at this table occasionally does,” you spoke, crossing your arms. Mattheo choked on his pumpkin juice.

“Well,” Theo’s voice was lower and his head was bowed towards yours. “Baby, that doesn’t mean I can’t help you out. I just wanna show I’m, like, disciplined enough to do it, you know?”

“Theo, this is not a fucking Quidditch tournament. You don’t need to be ‘disciplined’ not to cum—just don’t do it,” you said.

“Easy for you to say,” mumbled Enzo. You glanced over at him to which he responded by dropping his eyes down to his feet. 

“If you think it’s so easy, why don’t you do it, then?” Theo asked, his jaw tightening and his eyes becoming challenging. You crossed your arms once again. If he seriously thought he was going to challenge you to something—a battle of will, at best—and win, he was sorely mistaken. 

“Okay, I will,” you said. “I’ll win, no problem. And not only will I win, you will lose so badly, it’ll be laughable.”

“Uh-huh, sure, whatever you say, little girl,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. Now he was just being a dick.

“We’ll see about that, little boy,” you mocked him. You got to your feet and began to head back towards the Great Hall’s entrance. Just before you got past the edge of the table, you turned back towards him.

“Oh, and Theo?”

“Yes, darling?” he replied sarcastically.

“When I win,” you smirked, “you’re going to do whatever I say in the bedroom until the end of November…you know, if you’re ‘discipline’ is so great.”

Mattheo choked on his drink once more and Pansy stifled another laugh. Enzo’s cheeks were reddened again. You all really needed to get him laid. Or maybe he already had been and was just really nervous about sexual talks. You weren’t sure.

Theo rolled his eyes and turned back to his friends. You suppressed a laugh and made your way out of the Great Hall, planning things for him to do for you all month long. 

xxx

After breakfast, you spent the majority of the rest of your morning finishing up some assignments and laying your Quidditch gear out. You figured you were going to rush out of here, per usual. Your punctuality wasn’t exactly hailed as the greatest known to Wizardkind. 

Your back was propped against a few of your pillows as you scanned through the assigned readings for Astrology, breezing through each chapter. You really did love that class and didn’t mind its assignments at all. It felt more like a hobby than required schoolwork. 

No matter how enjoyable the material was, however, your neck started to cramp after two hours or so. You tilted it from side to side, attempting to coax a pop out of each side. Just as you were beginning to work the pops down your spine, the door to your dorm swung open. From the angle you were at, you couldn’t quite see who was at the entrance but you assumed it was one of your roommates. You mumbled a polite “hey” and continued trying to stretch yourself out. When no reply came, you leaned around the bed’s footpost and tried to locate the intruder.

To your surprise, you found Theo standing before you, rather than a roommate.

“Oh,” you smiled, “hey, baby, I was just thinking of you.” You were excited to see him but after a few seconds of watching his face and getting no response, you realize he was not smiling nor did he seem happy.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“You embarrassed me at breakfast,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Oh…,” you trailed off, staring at the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t really see how I embarrassed you, though, it was just a joke.”

“After you left, everyone was talking about how I cum quickly, and have no control in the bedroom, and probably don’t please you.” Your eyes widened at his words.

“Aw, well that’s not true,” you spoke, placing a hand on his crossed arms in an attempt to be comforting. “I’m sorry they said those things about you, but I’m sure they were just teasing you. You have a ton of ‘discipline’ in the bedroom.” You tried your very best not to speak the word mockingly. You were trying to make him feel better, after all. 

“You’re trying not to laugh!” he shouted. You definitely were.

“No, I’m not!” you scoffed. A hand slapped his crossed arms playfully. “But, honestly, Theo, what does it matter if you are or not? I like it when you’re a little helpless.” You giggled at your words. He rolled his eyes.

“What is it?” you asked in a babied voice. “Are you still embarrassed, baby?”  

“I’m so annoyed with you,” he grumbled, turning away from you and facing the window. You rolled your eyes and got to your feet, standing just behind him.

“Baby, are you mad at me?” you whispered, sliding your hands around his sides and pulling him into a hug. He didn’t uncross his arms and, though you couldn’t really see his face, you were almost sure he still had that little pout plastered on. 

“Yes, I thought I made that clear,” he pulled away from your hug. You scoffed at his action. 

“Theo, please, it’s a dumb challenge some teenage boys came up with, and your friends teased you about cumming quickly,” you argued. “I’m pretty sure every other Hogwarts student that’s ever come through here has dealt with the same crap. It’s just stupid jokes.”

“Well, I’m still mad.” You rolled your eyes once more, suppressing a groan. 

“Oh, Merlin, help me,” you sighed, falling back down onto your bed. “Are you twelve years old?”

He scoffed and glanced back at you with an annoyed glint in his eyes. You knew it probably wasn’t smart to poke the bear but you thought he was acting very stupidly. Then, with just perfect timing, a thought popped into your head.

“Theo, baby,” you cooed, leaning back on your hands, feeling your soft comforter beneath your fingers. “If you don’t want them teasing you, how about you prove how much discipline you have in the bedroom.” You bit your bottom lip and slowly spread your legs, allowing the side-eye glances he was throwing you to catch the opening against your pajama shorts. His eyes snapped back to the wall.

“Away with you, devil! I’m winning this challenge!” he joked, though the frown remained fixed against his mouth.

“Are you sure you don’t want a little something?” you teased. “I won’t tell anyone you did it—we can still say you won…”

He grunted in response. You knew you’d wear him down, eventually. This ploy was never a particularly hard one to break. He’d start claiming he didn’t want to do anything because he was mad at you or something, then you would simply sit back and let his mind convince him to redirect all thinking ability to his dick. You smirked.

“Baby, don’t you wanna come down here and fuck me?” you whispered. You leaned back up and started to slip your tank top over your head. Your chest perked up as the chill in the air fanned over you. You saw his eyes sneaking glances at you.

Your fingers pulled at the tie cinching your shorts together. It came undone swiftly, loosening the fabric that lay loosely on your hips. You hooked your thumbs in the material and slid the clothing down slowly, revealing your bare lower half to him. 

“I guess I forgot to put something on under them,” you teased, spreading your legs to give him a full view of everything he was missing out on. At this point, he’d uncrossed his arms and turned more towards you. His fingers were clenching and unclenching into a fist, painting his knuckles white. 

“Theo, I’m so wet,” you moaned, sliding a finger down between your legs. You cringed internally at your words, knowing that they would harass you for months to come, but you were locked in now. You said you were going to win, and you were going to fucking win.

His lips parted at the sight, his eyes fluttering just a bit. The tips of your fingers ghosted over your core, pushing little shocks of pleasure up to your chest. You gasped softly at each touch. Your eyes found his once more. You plastered on the heaviest pleading look you could manage and bit your lip. This felt stupid, but he was eating it up. Your eyes never separated as you slid a single finger into your entrance. The sound it made caused a soft groan to spill from Theo’s lips. Your lips parted in a silent moan. Your head fell back, displaying your neck and collarbones. One of Theo’s favorite things about you. 

You heard an audible swallow from where he stood but refused to stop your movements. To be totally honest, you rarely pleasured yourself like this, as it didn’t do too much for you. But you figured this was just like pornography to him. Something he played in his mind when he stuck his hands beneath his trousers. 

“Touch your chest…and your neck, baby,” he whispered. You followed directions so fluidly, never losing the pace you had established with your other hand. You dragged your fingers over your chest and gently gripped your throat, sneaking a peek at him every so often. His trousers were becoming painfully swollen and every once in a while his hand would come down to readjust the fabric over himself. This was working a million times better than you thought it would. 

“What else, baby?” you moaned, making your voice breathless. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth, please,” he groaned out. You did just that, smirking as shudders ran down his arms. His eyes fluttered closed as he began to gently palm himself every once and a while. Never enough to do any true damage, just enough to give him a little bit of a jolt. 

You moved your lips and tongue over your fingers just as you would him. You even peppered in a few moans as the hand lined up with your entrance never ceased movement. You were not going to cum like this. You could do this all day…though you’d rather not. You had a few secrets shoved up your sleeve, but were saving those for last. However, considering how long the two of you had been here and how quickly Quidditch practice was approaching, you figured now was the time to pull out all of the stops. 

“Please come fuck me, baby,” you whined. “Need you so bad, please, Teddy.”

Number one, he loved that nickname, and, number two, he loved when you begged for him. You figured it was part of the boy mentality, they loved being needed. 

He groaned audibly, the pressure he was applying to himself intensified. He wanted to grab you and prove all of his stupid friends wrong. Half of them were probably virgins anyway, but he….he had the girl of his dreams spread out for him, needy and breathless and begging for him. Maybe this was just a stupid challenge….

That didn’t work. He barely even took a step forward. Damn it. Your fingers intensified and your mouth parted in a soft moan. You needed to use the one thing that always worked, even when he was the maddest he’d ever been. You knew what he craved to hear, though you didn’t use it often. To be honest, it sort of made you cringe, but you knew that it made him feel powerful.

“Please, I need you,” you whined. “Come fuck me, daddy…”

The hand palming himself halted and you watched, in live-action, as his eyes darkened considerably. He raised his hands to his belt buckle and made quick work of it. You giggled and leaned forward, removing your fingers from yourself. You helped him split the top of his jeans and slide them down. He shoved you back onto the bed and began to crawl over you. 

“You want me this bad, baby?” he placed a rough kiss on your lips. 

Your hands traced down his abdomen, feeling every taut ridge and valley. Your fingertips touched over his hipbones, across the waistband of his briefs, before slipping just beneath the material. His breath halted against your lips. Your cooled hands suddenly and beautifully wrapped around him, contrasting his intense heat with your wintery fingers. You slid your hand against him once, twice. Said his favorite name. And then he finished. With a desperate moan of your name and a clenched fist in your hair.

“Oh baby, good boy…,” you cooed and checked the time on his watch. “Really put those other guys in their place. You made it twelve hours.”

[fandomxpreferences]

Now Your Mess Is Mine

Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader (both over 18)

TW:angst, mentions of abuse, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: In which JJ is touch starved and you take care of him.

Word Count:2.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be short and fluffy but as per usual, it took on a life of its own

JJ doesn't have a lot of things going for him in life as far as he's concerned. He's practically an orphan, he gets fired from every job, and he never has more than twenty dollars to his name. He hasn't done a lot right in his life, but the best decision he's ever made is choosing you. 

He's never felt a touch or a love as gentle as yours. Hell, for the first seventeen years of his life, he doesn't recall feeling anything but a fist. Then you came along, bright as the sun and radiating the most beautiful and intoxicating energy he's ever felt. 

You're always gentle with him, soft hands grazing his body whenever you get a chance. JJ didn't know that he craved physical affection until he felt your small supple hand in his large calloused one. 

He had no idea he loved cuddling until he was surrounded by you as you wrapped around him like a koala, an aroma of tanning lotion and saltwater overwhelming his senses.

He would've never imagined himself the type to take lavender-scented baths until you pulled him into the bubbles with a bright smile, giving him a beard as your loud giggles seeped into his soul and lit him up from the inside out.

Everything about you is pure and wholesome. Light radiates from you, casting away any semblance of darkness that once cast itself over him. You make him a better man, your face popping into his head before he makes a decision. 

He wants to make you proud, to honor and respect you. He wants to be someone you can call yours loudly, shouting it from the rooftops with no shame. He doesn't understand how or why you love him, but he chalks it up to you being some sort of angel.

The rest of the Pogues used to make fun of you two, but they've come to appreciate the way you even JJ out. The two of you are never more than a few feet apart, your bodies always touching in some capacity. 

It makes him feel safe and peaceful. It's the only thing he can think about as he lays on the HMS Pogue with you between his legs and his closest friends laughing around him.

JJ's eyes flutter closed as your nails rake across his scalp and he revels in the sun's rays as they warm his tan skin. He finds himself drifting off when your bubbly laughter floats to his ears and your belly shakes his head as it rests against you. 

It causes a large smile to split his face and he shifts to look up at you. There's nothing but pure child-like joy on your features with your head thrown back, your mouth open and the corner of your eyes creased. 

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he presses a kiss to your hip bone while squeezing your calf lovingly. It draws your attention back to him and you look down at him with a bright smile. 

"Hi." He whispers and you lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. 

"Hi, handsome." 

You hear Sarah say aww while John B gags dramatically and lift your hand to flip him off. 

"Are you having fun?" You ask and JJ nods with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You squint down at him and before you can ask what he's about to do, he's jumping to his feet and scooping you up in his arms. You let out a loud squeal and flail around as your laughter echoes off the water. 

"JJ Maybank don't you dare!" You shriek through loud giggles, but it's too late. 

His feet are already leaving the side of the boat and the two of you plunge into the ocean. You kick your legs as you resurface, wiping at your face and hair while JJ grins like a little boy. 

It's only a matter of seconds before you hear a chorus of splashes and the rest of the group joins in. Before you can blink, there's an all-out splash fight, the six of you laughing and having the time of your lives. 

You're just dodging an attack from John B when you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and JJ takes the brunt of the water being sent your way. 

You turn and wrap your legs around his waist, your arms moving up to hug around his neck. 

"What are you doing, mister?" You ask with a quirked eyebrow and he leans in to give you a sweet kiss. 

"I was starting to have withdrawals, baby. You know I can't go more than a few minutes without feeling you." 

You almost laugh, but the sentiment goes straight to your heart and your features soften. 

"I love you." 

He nuzzles his head into your neck, hugging you tightly against his chest, and places a kiss on your collarbone. 

"I love you too." 

That night as everyone is sitting around a bonfire, you feel worry start to itch at you. JJ went home to get some things, but it's been almost three hours. 

You know better than anyone what his home life looks like, he's collapsed into your arms weeping more times than you can count. 

There's an unsettling feeling in your gut screaming that something is wrong, and with each second that passes it only gets louder. JJ never goes home for longer than necessary, and he promised he'd be quick. 

You're just about to get in your car and go look for him when you hear the rumbling of his dirt bike as he screeches to a halt. The group shares a confused look and you rise to your feet, ready to be near your boyfriend again. 

You stop cold in your tracks when he kicks the bike over, anger clearly clouding his usual light-hearted personality. JJ is like a golden retriever and loyal to a fault, so when he's like this it sends everybody reeling. 

You watch as he knocks over a few more things in a fit of rage before storming inside and you decide to follow. You can hear footsteps behind you and turn to shake your head, instructing your friends to let you handle it.

Your steps are light as your feet carry you up the steps and into the bathroom where you hear the shower running. You open the door as gently as possible, JJ's back greeting you as he stares into the mirror with tears streaming. 

"Hey, sweet boy. You okay?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question you already know the answer to and it sends a pang of hurt through his chest. He hates when you see him like this, weak and vulnerable. 

He wants to be the strong one, your rock, yet more often than not the roles get reversed. You watch him silently, allowing him space to open up if wants to. 

He doesn't say anything as his head drops and you already know what happened. You step into the room fully and close the door behind you, moving tentatively in his direction as if he'll shatter if you move any faster. 

"Let's take a shower, okay?" 

You're so gentle and kind as you say it, and it causes fresh hot tears to gather on his lash line. You know that JJ is touch starved on a good day, but moments like these are when he really needs you. 

You can almost read his mind, aware that he's fighting the urge to put up his walls and shut you out. 

He doesn't want to though. He wants you, he wants your sweet touches and quiet whispers as you take care of him. 

He feels selfish, but he's well aware that while you're fragile as a butterfly around him, you have zero qualms about tearing through his armor like a knife through butter. 

Your touch is featherlight as your hands work diligently to remove his jewelry. You start with his bracelets, carefully slipping them off his wrists before moving on. 

Next, you work on his rings, delicately pulling them off and kissing the pad of each finger when you're done. 

You finally get to his necklace, your breath tickling the back of his neck as you focus on unclasping it and setting it on the countertop. 

He watches in the mirror as you work, feeling an inescapable amount of love weighing down his heart and mind in the best way. 

You slowly turn him around to face you, your eyes meeting his to ask for permission as your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt. 

He hesitates before nodding, his eyes squeezing shut and lungs stopping as you glide it up his torso and over his head.

He can't stand to open them and see the look on your face. It's not that he thinks you'll be giving him a sympathetic expression, no it's not that. 

It's that he knows you'll have an understanding look, completely devoid of any surprise. He hates it. He hates that you're so familiar with this that it doesn't even elicit a normal reaction anymore. 

The first time it happened, you gasped and tried to conceal the tears that welled up at the sight. The second and third times you still seemed somewhat shocked, but by six months in you were desensitized. 

Though Luke has never hurt you directly, he hurts you every time he sends JJ back to you in this state and he hates his father for it. Hates him for it more than he does for hitting him, for stealing from him, for neglecting him. 

He shudders as your fingers ghost over the fresh bruises on his stomach and ribs, the contact leaving electricity buzzing right under the surface. 

"Oh, JJ. Baby, I'm so sorry." 

Your voice is barely above a whisper and he chokes down a sob. He despises everything about this. 

He wants to throw up whenever you apologize as if any of this is your fault. As if you're not the one thing that single-handedly makes it better. 

He keeps his eyes shut as your lips press delicate kisses to each mark. They're still fresh; swollen but not quite darkened. 

You can see the faint beginnings of bruising, and you know the dark hues of black and purple will spread in the days to come. 

You make a mental note to ice the injuries before continuing on with getting him undressed. 

You're methodical as you go through the motions, stripping him down to nothing before removing your own clothing as well. 

He steps into the water first, and you take his outstretched hand to keep your balance as you follow suit. 

It's silent as the water washes over the two of you, no words need to be said. There's an unspoken understanding for times like this, and you do what you do best. 

You shower him in love and affection, gently washing his body before lathering shampoo in his blonde hair. 

You see the tension dissolve from his body when his shoulders drop as you massage his head, and take your time. You know he needs this. 

You press sporadic kisses to his skin as you follow his routine, and he melts into you. Your lips press right between his shoulder blades, then the back of his neck, then his cheek as he turns to wrap you in his arms. 

He returns the favor, washing you up lovingly and letting you rinse off. You reach to turn off the water like usual, but stop when his hand catches your wrist. 

You turn back to look up at him and your heart shatters at the sight of his bloodshot eyes. 

"Do you think I'm like him? Do you think if I have kids one day I'll treat them the way he treats me?" 

His voice is so meek, and your heart squeezes painfully. This is new. 

Usually, you spend the night drowning him in your presence and the next day, it's like nothing happened. He's never actually opened up about it, and you're taken aback. 

You study his face for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. Your hands reach up to cup his face and you force him to look you in the eyes. 

"JJ, you are nothing like Luke and you never will be. You love your friends, and you've shown time and time again that you'll do anything for them. You love me in a way I never thought possible. You are the best person I have ever known, and I don't ever want to hear you speak about yourself like that again." 

Your voice is kind but firm, and he sucks in a breath as you continue. 

"If you have kids, they will be the luckiest little shits to ever walk the earth. I know how much love you have to give, and if how you treat me is any indication, your kids would be so loved they wouldn't even know what to do." 

You finish with a searing kiss and when you pull away, his eyes are still shut in bliss. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he loosens up just enough to let you shut off the now-cold water and open the shower curtain. 

"Let's get dried off and go to bed, okay?" You suggest and he doesn't answer, instead just following you into the cold air. 

The two of you dry off and throw on the change of clothes that are now sitting on the counter. 

You assume Sarah or Kie put them there, and remind yourself to thank them later. Once you're dressed, JJ makes his way to the guest room and you shuffle into the kitchen. 

You start rummaging through the freezer to find something you can use as a compress, your hands finally landing on some frozen peas. When you shut the door, John B and Sarah are watching you with sad eyes. 

You give them a small smile and John B nods knowingly. You turn to leave when the man's voice rings out. 

"Hey, thank you." He says and you look at him with nothing short of confusion. 

He recognizes this and takes a step forward. 

"I overheard a bit when I put the clothes in there. You're really good for him, and I just want you to know how much I- we- appreciate you being there for him. He's been better since he met you." 

You swallow thickly and give him a quick hug, muttering a short 'thanks'. You know he knows what you're thanking him for. Partly for the clothes, but mostly for the kind words. 

He squeezes you back and you pull away, heading off to tend to your sweet boyfriend. When you step into the room he's leaning back against the headboard, his eyes fixated on the small tv that's playing some football game. 

His gaze darts to you when he notices you and he gives a heart-stopping smile. You crawl up next to him and place the cold bag on the spot that looks the worst. 

Your pressure is light and that's another thing that eats at him. 

The fact that icing his battered body is second nature to you now makes him ill, but he still lets you do it. Part of him wonders if he should have hidden this side of his life from you, sheltered you from the grim reality. 

A bigger part of him is glad he didn't. He went through this alone for so long and it's nice to have someone that loves him just the same, even after finding out the ugly truth.

He doesn't shy away from the sensation and it breaks your heart all over again. 

You're painfully aware that it's because he's used to this, and you want nothing more than to take him away from all this and give him the life he so deserves. 

The two of you just lay there for a while as you take care of him and he absentmindedly runs his hand through your hair. 

When the bag starts to get warm, you settle down under the comforter, and JJ curls into you. His head rests on your chest and he lets the steady beat of your heart lull him to sleep. 

"I love you." You whisper and JJ tangles his legs with yours. 

"I love you too."

[hellish-sunsets]

You're an Asshole - Pt 2 - First Attempt

Pt 1

Summary: Adam goes to a concert and tries to win reader over.

Warning: swearing

Word Count: 1,302

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

This was fucking bullshit.

He glared at the stupid list in his hand, squinting at the smudged and blurry ink. The room was quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the shelf somewhere above his head. The only light was from the desk lamp, dim and just enough to light the old wooden desk. It wasn’t the grand mahogany desk of his office at work, but the worn pine of the desk shoved in the corner of his bedroom. The corners were covered in dust, telling of how rarely this desk was used. Why would he? There was plenty of better shit to do.

He was supposed to be going to a concert later tonight. That should be a fuckton more fun than agonizing over this bullshit.

Misogynistic, egotistical, sex obsessed, demeaning, condescending (he was almost certain those two were the same thing but whatever), hateful, violent, foul-mouthed all around rude.

He was sure he wasn't always like this, was he? He huffed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He chose not to dwell on that thought.  What mattered right now was proving to that stuck up bitch he wasn't an asshole. Even if… he was starting to think maybe he was. But what did that matter? No one was perfect. Besides, he was the first man himself! He was allowed a few more assholeish mannerisms, right? 

Fuck that stupid bitch! This whole thing was fucking with his head. He would just got to this lame ass concert, prove to that bitch he was the most charming, not assholish person in existence, they would fuck and he could be over with this whole fucking situation.

He smirked at himself, leaning back in the chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. He would be sure this night would be worth it.

‐‐—--------------------

Just as he suspected, the concert itself was lame as fuck, some whiny emo bullshit he just couldn't get behind. He spent most of the time looking around for her. What even was her name again? He couldn't remember, not that it mattered. 

He didn't catch sight of her until the concert was almost over, the chorus of the last song clashing over the audience and drowning out their cheers. She was towards the front, the lights flashing and playing across her skin, lighting up her face and broad white smile, long white hair  and wings reflecting the various colors, mostly blues and purples. She almost looked like she was glowing, but that was corny ass couple shit or something. It was just another chick at a concert, just like all these other bitches. 

He let her enjoy the rest of the song before approaching her, the last clash of the cymbals his signal to swoop in.

“Watch this, Lute.” He said with a smirk, elbow digging into her side and making her scowl and roll her eyes. “I'm gonna have this bitch eating out of my hand.”

“I know, sir, just get going before she runs off.” She said with a huff, fighting off a smirk of her own. He gave her a mock salute and headed towards his latest victim, the picture of innocence as she happily chatted with the few winners around her, unaware of how hard she was about to fall for him. He shoved through the crowd, earning scowls he ignored. 

Just be nice. Don't talk about yourself too much. Pretend you care. He could do this, just for one night.

“Hey, ti- uh, toots!” He said with a cocky grin, sliding in next to her. He mentally congratulated himself for not calling her tits. Most chick's didn't like it. He wasn't wearing his mask tonight, figured it would be easier to win her over if he could use his naturally good looks. That, and maybe she was stupid enough to think he was someone else. 

The group around her seemed tense when he showed up. One of them, another chick, tried to grab her arm and drag her away, but she gently nudged them off and offered them a warm smile.

“Hi, Adam. Gotta say, bit surprised to see you around here. Didn't think you liked this type of music.”

Not stupid then. Good, more fun that way. 

“Ya know, just figured I'd try something new.” He said with a half shrug. 

Her eyes lit up, a sparkling sort of blue. He couldn’t make out the exact shade in the dim lighting of the venue. “Good for you! I love hearing new music, it's so interesting to see all the different ways humans come up with to make songs! I also just really like finding what new instruments they come up with! How did you like it?” 

He could feel the smirk slip from his face as he huffed. He had a lot of words to describe this donkey shit of a concert: whiney, pathetic, shit, stupid, fucking lame. But he couldn’t voice any of that. He had to be polite. Eventually he managed another shrug.

“Yeah, definitely not my thing. Still going metal and rock and roll all the way.” That cocky smirk of his returned to his face and she gave an understanding nod. 

“Yeah, fair enough, but I'm glad you gave it a try! Life’s boring if you never try anything new.” She said with that flashing smile. Her friend's hand was on her arm again, but she still wouldn’t follow their lead, not yet anyways. He smirked to himself. He was reeling her in nicely, he was sure. 

“Yeah? And what music do you find rockin'm?” It was a trick question, of course. He had already heard her music before, but he wasn’t about to let that slip. Don't want to give her a big head or something or give off the impression he was some fan. 

“Ah, I don't usually have a genre preference.” She said with a wave of her hand, feathers ruffling slightly as she thought. “It's more like… I have specific songs I like, but no favorite genre. I don't really have a favorite band either. That's kind of fucking lame though, huh?” She said that last part with a nervous chuckle, wings drooping slightly, finger scratching at her cheek.

“Of fucking course not, don't be fucking stupid.” He said with a frown. It was a rather lame attempt at reassurance, but that was the best he could do. Her eyes widened in surprise and he was sure he had fucked it up, but then she flashed that bright smile of hers. 

“Aw, thanks Adam! I guess you're right. Anyways.” She waved it off and continued. “I'm in a band and we do stick to a specific genre, I guess, but that’s just for image, you know? No one likes a band that's constantly changing genre. It's like… folk… punk? I think that's the best way to describe it.”

“Fuck yeah, sounds badass.” And he might have actually meant it? He wasn’t entirely sure. Probably not. “Anyway, want to take this party on the road or something?”

And for a moment he really did think he had her. She gave him that pretty little smile, her wings fluttering slightly.

“Nah, I can’t.” He could feel his face fall and she giggled at that look. “Awww, come on, don’t look so disappointed! I’ve got work to do before bed, but we can hang out another time, okay?” 

It took every fiber in his being to remind himself to keep his cool, play it off, it wasn’t a no. He could still win her over yet.

“Yeah, alright, no biggie. Catch you next time bitch!” He abruptly turned away and marched off, managing to hide the scowl on his face, at least from her.

Next time, bitch. He would fucking get her next time.

[lovergirlll-12]

Homecoming Heartache

roommate!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: Your roommate, Leon, hasn't been answering your calls after travelling to Raccoon City. After days of an empty apartment and a head filled with worry, someone knocks on your front door.

warnings: hurt/comfort, depictions of injury

notes: Re2r Leon is honestly so fkn adorable, this is more platonic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment felt emptier than usual, the silence echoing off the bare walls. Without Leon’s awkward yet light-hearted personality, there was a void that seemed to swallow up the space. The colourful throw pillows on the couch seemed less vibrant, and the kitchen felt cold and unwelcoming without his laughter filling the room. Everything was just as he left it, yet it all felt strangely wrong, as if the apartment itself missed his presence.

You've been trying to reach Leon for days now, but every call goes unanswered. He left a few nights ago to start his new job as a cop in Raccoon City, you didn’t question when he didn’t answer your numerous calls after arriving. Presuming he was tired after his first day on the job, you figured you would get a call back from him in the morning. However, when days passed and all you got was radio silence, the worry you felt for your best friend started to grow. Call after call was sent to the authorities in your area, but you were met with reassurance that he was fine, and not to worry about him too much. Their carelessness was unnerving, and it confused you. You couldn’t shake off the worry that had been gnawing at you since he left. The unfamiliar surroundings of the new apartment felt even more uncomfortable without his presence. Every siren outside sends a pang of fear through you, wondering if it's something related to him. You try to stay rational, reminding yourself that he's trained for this, but the silence is deafening, and the unknown is unsettling.

~~~~~~~~~~

A knock on the door startles you. Eyes shooting open, you stretch your arms and legs out across the soft cotton bedsheets as your body tries to awaken itself from its deep sleep. You take a quick glance at the alarm clock beside your bed: 3:45am. The vast darkness consuming your apartment is ignored as you try to find your way out of your bedroom, through the hallway and to the front door without tripping on discarded clothing or any foreign objects. As you make your way to the front door, your hand finds the light switch to your left. With a quick flick, your apartment is illuminated, forcing your eyes to squint from the harsh light. As you rub at your eyes, still felling a bit disoriented from your lack of sleep, a chorus of aggravated knocks echo throughout the building. You step forward to unlock the door. ‘‘Alright I’m coming, you don’t have to be so impatient…’’ The sight at your front door silences you. Your heart instantly drops at the sight of Leon standing there, his normally vibrant eyes dulled with pain. His shirt is torn, revealing a bandage hastily wrapped around his torso, stained with blood. Small cuts litter his arms where bruises are already forming. You gasp, stepping back to let him in and closing the door behind him, your hands trembling as you reach out to touch him, confirming that he's real and safe, despite his injuries. The relief floods through you, mixed with a surge of protectiveness and love. Leon leans into your touch, wrapping his large arms around you, his exhaustion and pain evident, as you guide him to the couch, your mind is racing with questions and fears for what he must have gone through. You adjust your body so he can lay down comfortably above you as you run your hand up and down his back, trying to console his continuous tears. ‘‘It’s all gone’’, Leon whispers into your chest, his voice cracking. ‘‘They killed them all, they didn’t even try to save the innocent people. Let alone fix the others’’. Clouded with confusion, you decide not to question him. ‘‘Everything’s going to be okay, you’re home now,’’ you reply as you wiped the tears from his eyes with your thumb.

You couldn’t help but stare at his downcast face, never have you ever seen Leon look so broken. It took you months to get Leon to open up to you when you were first moving in. He was quiet and reserved, only speaking to you to say good morning or good night. Slowly, you two started to get closer. At first, his quiet demeanour made you wonder if conversation would always be sparse, but you soon discovered his sweetness and thoughtfulness. He was the type of person who would wash your dishes without being asked or leave little notes of encouragement around the apartment. Over time, you both developed a comfortable routine, sharing meals and watching movies together. His quiet nature didn't hinder your friendship; instead, it seemed to deepen it, creating a bond built on mutual respect and understanding. Leon became more than just a roommate; he became your best friend. Your Leon. ‘‘Why don’t we get you cleaned up and in bed?’’, you questioned while running your hands through his blonde hair. He nodded timidly as you helped him to his feet. His sunken eyes were filled with tears and his hand felt unsteady in yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

an: ignore any writing mistakes pls, this is my first post :) I might make a part 2 to go more into detail of the relationship between Leon and the reader and get past the platonic stage into some fluffy romance xx

[sloth-babied]

Stay the Night

Shuri x POC reader

Summary: You’ve been keeping it a secret that Shuri’s been your muse for a lot of your music. When you decide to show her a song you’ve been working on, she starts to piece together who you’ve been writing about.

or

Reader is a musician who stubbornly denies to one of the smartest people on Earth that she isn’t your muse.

Contains: Shy reader, tension, and angst if you really squint. No use of y/n.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: No, I am not dead! Just burnt out, yk how it is. But I had motivation to write this, so I really hope yall enjoy! Not my best work, but it’s something. And sorry for not being active. 

(Also I recommend listening to The Internet while reading just bc that’s what I listened to, hence the title lol)

Shuri stares at you as you adjust the headphones on her head, hyper aware of the proximity between the two of you. She only nods when you ask if she’s comfortable before the heel of your palm rests on the desk. Your finger hovers over the computer keyboard, reluctant to press play.

“It’s just a draft, so you know, lower your expectations.”

“Just play the song,” she laughs lightly, very much aware that this was a first draft from the numerous times you told her before even handing her your headphones.

You murmur a quick and sheepish, “Okay,” and click the spacebar. Her shoulders bounce, entertained by your apprehensiveness.

You deeply inhale as your heart starts beating faster, in contrast to Shuri who simply bops her head gently to the rhythm, the ball of her foot tapping the wooden floor.

You rarely showed anyone your early drafts, either out of worry in case they disliked what they heard, or if their enjoyment would jinx your chances of actually finishing the track. Yeah, you can be a bit superstitious—that Shuri knows with all the wood-knocking you’ve done around her.

Which is why it was uncharacteristic of you to show Shuri your latest project. 

It presented itself as an impulsive, “You wanna hear this new song I’m working on?” and you couldn’t take it back when you were met with an enthusiastic ‘yes’.

Shuri’s brows furrow, the movement of her head much more exaggerated. 

“This is good!” She compliments you loudly, tapping on one side of the headphones. You shush her humorously, reminding her of your neighbors and the lack of soundproof foam on your walls. “Sorry,” she chuckles before whispering, “This is good,” again.

It’s mostly dark in the room, the only light source in the room coming from the computer screen. The light reflects on Shuri’s skin, her eyes closed when she isn’t occasionally stealing glances at the side of your face, curious about the words you’ve written; envious of who you’ve written it for, though she’s had hopeful suspicions.

Your eyes stay glued on the screen, too embarrassed to watch the person who was, unbeknownst to her, your muse. 

Truthfully, she had been the subject of many of your songs, released and unreleased, since you first fell in love with her. That was two years ago. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from the long day or the present time of night that made the idea of sharing your music more enticing. Or maybe, subconsciously, you had to tell her how you felt without actually telling her.

Shuri hums along to the chorus, naturally catching onto the melody and you scratch your cheek in an attempt to hide your smile. You feel giddy inside at the way her body reacts—just so in-sync like she always is with the rest of your music. 

Until the song hits the bridge. 

Through your peripheral vision, it’s hard to ignore Shuri’s head movement slowing down to a halt. You catch a proper glimpse of her, only for a second, and oh, no, her face has gone blank. You feel your chest heave and now your brain is spiraling, wondering what the hell is going on in hers.

Shuri looks off, really listening this time. She flicks another glance at you before the last chorus arrives. And when it ends, she removes the headphones at a pace that perturbs you a bit…a lot actually. You’re left uneasy when she holds your headphones on her lap. She hasn’t looked at you and she hasn’t said anything yet.

“I know it’s not great,” you scratch the back of your neck then steal the headphones from her, laying them on the desk. Aimlessly, you fumble with your laptop, laughing nervously to fill the silence. “It’s just a draft. I probably won’t even finish it.”

Shuri’s still not saying anything and, christ, is it bothering you. At this point you’d rather she say it’s downright bad instead of keeping you on edge like this. But eventually she speaks, and when you hear her say your name, you initially feel like you could breathe again because she finally said something. However, that only lasts for a second.

“Is this true?” 

Your finger freezes on the mouse. You turn your head in her direction but her gaze doesn’t meet yours. You’re unsure what to say.

“What you wrote…is it true?” 

She takes the mouse from you, the feel of her hand leaving tingles on your skin. She clicks back to the beginning of the bridge before removing the headphone jack. Your voice plays on the speaker and suddenly you’re too stunned to remind her of your neighbors.

What exactly did you write? Nothing specific, or so you thought.

Then she pauses the song, an audible click coming from the spacebar, anticipatedly eyeing you. 

You shrug as an attempt to seem oblivious. (One might call it ‘gaslighting’.) 

“I write little stories for my songs,” you try to play it off. “I mean, I guess some are real, but most of ‘em aren’t, you know?” 

“You wrote about our time at the beach.” She states plainly, leaning back against her chair. She’s referring you to the secret beach you snuck her into in your hometown—a beach only so many people know of.

You glance at the notification-free lock screen of your phone on the desk; another excuse not to look her in the eye. “I take inspiration from shit in my own life.”

“And in your last album you wrote about the time we went on that hike together.” She adds. Yikes, you were hoping she wouldn’t notice that. 

“We’re lost in the woods,

I’m lost in your eyes.”

Damn your corny attempts at being poetic. You nearly cringe recalling the moment you wrote that. 

A year ago you went hiking with Shuri, and you insisted that you didn’t need any technology to navigate your way back home. You figured you’d walk back down the trail you walked up on, until you kept passing the same tree over and over again. Shuri laughed at you the entire time, comforted by the fact that she brought her Kimoyo bead bracelet with her, as you slowly started to freak out despite your refusal to admit you were wrong and maybe a map could’ve been useful.

“I hike all the time.” No, you don’t.

“No, you don’t,” Shuri shakes her head, one side of her lips tilting upwards. She leans forward and grabs the apron of your chair between your legs, rolling you closer to her until her knee hits the edge of your seat and your thighs loosely puzzle together. 

The light from the bright red motel sign across the street peaks through each horizontal slit of the blind curtain, and the cool night breeze outside lightly blows through the half-open window, lifting the curtain only a little, red occasionally sneaking under the bottom hem of the window covering. 

With the wind entering, the room should feel cool. It’s supposed to be. Yet your cheeks flush and the heat centered around your face tempts you to remove your hoodie because it’s easier to blame a jacket than the girl who’s figured you out.

You reattach your hand back on the mouse, unsure what you’d even do with it, but Shuri’s hand covers yours, your moist palm now stagnant on the object. 

“You released a single the year we met,” she says, her voice quieter than before but louder than a whisper. She doesn’t explain further. You remember the party two years ago and you know exactly what you wrote. Who are you to fool one of the most brilliant minds on the planet?

The computer screen dims, allowing you to notice the red illuminating on the back of her hand. You see red highlight the outline of her body and she stares at the red on the edge of your face. Then she looks at your eyes, your lips, then your eyes once again. Shuri slides her palm up to your elbow, her grip neither tight nor loose. 

“What are you so afraid of?” asks Shuri. 

You had spent so much of your romantic life dejected. Countless dating apps resulting in crappy dates. Or worse: friendships. Too many “The more I get to know you, the more I get friendly vibes from you”. Too many “Honestly, I don’t think I’m ready for this,” when really they realized they actually didn’t like you. Then when you knew someone in your own life who you liked romantically, the feeling—more often than not—wasn’t mutual. 

Best case scenario, you remain friends but things are only just a little awkward. Worst case scenario, they insist that things are okay then gradually ghost you. 

At this point, you were ready to give up.

“I don’t wanna…” you trail off.

She leans closer and whispers, “What?”

You stare off at anything that isn’t her. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

She leans down and tilts her face up, forcing your eyes to meet hers. She raises her brows. “Because…?”

You tuck your chin and your brows quirk. “Because?”

“I want you to tell me why you’re afraid of losing me,” she places her other hand on your armrest, trapping you, and you start stammering. “Since you do it so well in your songs.”

You can’t get anything out, though she doesn’t look away. You feel stuck, considering the numerous things you could tell her. Alternatively, you sigh. Fuck it. 

“I think I’ve told you enough,” you inhale, cupping one hand on her jaw and the other on the back of her neck before you firmly kiss her. Shuri lets out a muffled noise before reciprocating. 

And you both think, Finally.

Her body starts to sway backwards as you press against her, however she pushes you back against your chair. Her hands grab the sides of your face—one hand under your hood and the other over—refusing to let go now that she’s on her feet. Her upper body bends down just so her lips can live on yours, and a chuckle escapes both of you when your chair rolls backwards, almost hitting the wall behind you.

Admittedly, you enjoy sitting as she envelops your lips, but you decide to stand. Your hands slide down to her waist as you slowly walk her backwards until her legs meet the edge of your bed and she ends up landing on her bottom with her elbows supporting her weight as she gazes up at you, several red horizontal lines covering her body.

God, you can’t believe this is happening. You can’t believe Shuri wants you as much as you want her. Everything feels…unreal. Dream-like.

“Come here,” she pulls your wrist and you land on top of her. The bed bounces beneath you as her hand slithers up to your neck, drawing you in for a chaste kiss. She catches you in your thoughts. “You okay?” Is this okay? 

You nod, still admiring her below you. You whisper, “I didn’t think you’d…pay attention. To what I wrote. I didn’t know you were listening like that.”

Shuri caresses your neck with her thumb. She takes note of the neon blue light illuminating half of your face from a bar sign also across the street, below the motel sign. 

She kisses your cheek, your chin, then your lips once again. “I’ll always listen to you.”

[joojeans]

good day/eve, sno! can i request hyung line playing with your hair 🥹 i love me some fluff~ tysm!

hii, darling! ♡ absolutely you can. the teamies are such angels so the fluff writes itself 🥹

&team hyung line: playing with your hair

k: you blink the sleep from your eyes, squinting as even the low light of the room is too bright for you first thing in the morning. you tighten your hold around k’s waist, eyes closing again as you nuzzle your head further into his chest. you can tell he’s already awake, his hand gliding through your locks over and over, threatening to lull you back to sleep. “how long have you been awake?” you ask, your voice still raspy. “a little while. i didn’t want to wake you. you were sleeping so soundly.” you hum and lift your head, resting your chin on him, not trusting your ability to hold yourself up on your own quite yet. “you could’ve woken me,” you pout, batting your lashes sweetly, playfully. k smiles at you, tucking your hair behind your ear and following the length of the strands with his fingers. “you’re awake now.” he lets his hand travel to the top of your head and ruffles your hair. “and you look so cute with your hair all messy like this.”

fuma: “fuma, i’m so tired,” you whine as you kick your shoes off by the front door. fuma looks up from his phone and smiles fondly, leaning back into the couch and patting his lap. “come here, y/n. lay your pretty head in my lap and relax.” you don’t need to be told twice. you make your way over to fuma, carefully climbing onto the couch and adjusting yourself until your head is in his lap, legs outstretched. you look up at him and pout, making him chuckle as his hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking it rhythmically. “long day, baby?” you nod, your bottom lip still jutted out. “mm, let’s let you decompress for a while by watching something on tv. anything you want.” you sigh, feeling content as you lean into fuma’s hand for a moment before turning to reach for the remote on the table. “stay like that,” fuma says softly, situating a decor pillow under your head for your comfort as you lay on your side. “there we go, pretty,” he coos when he sees your body relaxing, his hands snaking through your hair, fingernails occasionally scratching lightly at your scalp. “much better, hm?”

nicholas: a chorus of hellos grace your ears when you let yourself into the dorm as you’ve done so many times before. “hey to you guys, too.” your eyes search for nicholas amongst the couches and chairs and bodies on the floor playing video games. he’s already smiling at you by the time you find him, winking and holding out his arms for you. you’re all too happy to go straight to him, letting him pull you down onto his lap on the couch. “hi, baby,” he coos, turning you slightly so he can take in your outfit, eyes raking you up and down. “you look so cute today.” his eyes sparkle as he looks at you, his hand petting your hair adoringly. “you always say i look cute.” you tease, trying to stop yourself from blushing like you know he wants. “and? it’s not my fault you always look cute.” as if to keep you from rebutting him, he nuzzles himself into your hair, tickling you as his hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through it.

euijoo: “you look tired.” euijoo notes out loud, eyes softening as he looks at you with concern. “i am tired,” you admit. “but i still need to braid my hair before i can sleep.” a few moments of silence pass while euijoo thinks, you slipping into the bathroom to get your hairbrush. euijoo’s reflection shows up behind you in the mirror and you hear his soft voice. “let me try to do it for you.” your heart swells. you’re not sure if you trust him to do something you’ve done every night for years, but you love that he wants to try. “okay.” you smile at each other through the mirror before making your way back to the bedroom. euijoo sits behind you on the bed, slowly and carefully brushing your hair. it feels so nice—intimate. you try to focus on pulling up a tutorial for him on your phone, but it’s hard because the brushing feels extra soothing when he does it. you hand your phone to him when he’s done with the brush and he looks excited to do something for you. “not too tight,” you warn, euijoo nodding his understanding. you shiver as you feel his hands starting to gather your hair. “don’t worry. i’m a fast learner.”

[melit0n]

Miasma

- Oneshot

- Stalker Phantom/Reader

- Word Count: 4.9K

- Warnings: None

- Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50298724

Your feet move in sync with the fellow members of the soloists; different shades of tulle elegantly twirling in time with the orchestra. This was the final, full run-through rehearsal until to morrow’s show; a new production long awaited to be displayed to the public.

The dance routine was tiring, yet not the worst you had ever done: the repetitive, 10 hours of practice each day with a ballet master who was unwilling to take anything but utter perfection brought more ache to your muscles than completing your role in the show itself. Yet, even with tired, overworked calves, you continued to strive for the grace and refinement that your teacher had forged into your very bones.

The surge of the orchestra reverberates in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins, as per usual when you danced upon the stage; practice or live show. Despite the hours upon hours you had spent practicing this piece, you still had the innate fear in the back of your mind of tripping over your own feet and falling, or crashing into one of the other fast-moving girls, subsequently earning a condescending reprimandment from the ballet master. 

Nothing but perfection. Something hard to achieve with bruised ankles and lungs constricted within a too-tight corset. 

Despite the lack of a large, judgmental audience, the sting of observant eyes burns into your figure. Being a ballet dancer in a prestigious company, with delicately crafted productions showing to the public almost every other day, you were used to the stare of thousands on your figure. 

This, however, was different.

It was an almost eerie sensation; an uncomfortable tingle raising goose-flesh on the back of your neck.

Covertly, you scour the darkened auditorium, seeing nothing but the bright red velour of the thousands of seats and the rich gold of the engraved private boxes. 

You would have left the odd feeling to be the result of nerves, or the watching eyes of the stage director, or even members of the chorus, yet, it felt unrelenting. Eyes somehow managing to stay trained on your figure and your figure alone, even through the organized flutter of tulle.

As you pirouette, however, you catch the stare of the first violin player in the pit.

Ah.

Augustine would laugh at me for my paranoia, you think to yourself.

Regardless, the swell of the orchestra sends a strain through your legs; your muscles pulled taught in anticipation of finally finishing for the day, if not to only do it again the next day. 

Finally, the woodwind and strings grow louder, along with the leading soprano, and the piece is finished. You flourish your legs outwards in an arabesque, holding yourself delicately on the tips of your ballet shoes, careful not to wobble, careful not to do something that would be counted as anything less than perfection. Simultaneously, you flinch slightly as the sound of ripping fabric meets your ears.

You can feel the beads of sweat running down your back, soaking into the itchy fabric of your costume. Chest heaving, you hold your position for a few moments before a loud, happy applause erupts from the observers of the final rehearsal. Gracefully, the leading lady bows as members of the chorus and corps de ballet surround her; congratulating her on reaching her notes, as if that wasn’t what she had trained tirelessly her whole life to be able to do.

The glare of the calcium lights burns. 

Eventually, the stage director himself praises your group and, as it has finally struck 6 pm, calls for the members of the ballet, the chorus members, the orchestra and the leading actors to part and leave for home. You walk, tiredly, off stage right, rubbing the back of your neck. 

You avoid the eyes of the first violin player, trying to catch your gaze yet again. 

Squinting in the gloom, you find a large rip on the back of your costume’s bodice. You scowl as you run your hands over the ripped threads, nails plucking the strings of fibre like those of a harp.

A careful hand finds your shoulder, and you look up to see your friend; Augustine. Happily, you smile at her, her clean white teeth smiling back while she tilts her head in question at you. You stand straight and state, annoyed, “My bodice ripped.”

“Good riddance.” She replies, sarcastically.

"For the amount of funding the costume department receives, I would have hoped they would make one of the main pieces of our costume more durable-”

“-And less itchy.”

“And less itchy.” You agree. “The costumers are not the ones dancing in those for two hours,” You sigh out as you run your hands over your bodice again, feeling the threads of the expensive fabric and praying, quietly, that the costumers would not ask for payment in fixing it.

Augustine laughs joyfully at your expense, saying, “Perhaps you should send a complaint to the costume department, or even-” You huff loudly, already knowing what she was about to suggest, “-The Opera Ghost himself! He’d be sure to scare the costumers into submission, no?”

Laughing tiredly at her jokes, and both of your aching muscles, you continue to walk backstage, cautiously avoiding the moving scene– being directed by the shouting stagehands above– and passing by your fellow actors; each either gossiping, rubbing their fatigued muscles or talking amorously with the sweating stagehands.

“I don’t think I’ve been so tired in my life,” Augustine mumbles.

“Perhaps you are getting old?” You joke back.

“Don’t you even start!” She nudges you harshly in the side, smiling, while you cry out in faux pain. “I don’t think I’ll be able to move after I’ve gotten into bed.”

“Bed?” You question with an eyebrow raised, “I thought we had planned for dinner this week?” Augustine and you had a ritual of going out to dinner, a new restaurant for each occasion, before a new show was performed.

“If I am to afford new ballet shoes, I think I may have to give dinner itself up for a few weeks.” She smiles a tired smile, one that does not reach her eyes.

“Do not speak so, Augustine. I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, if you ever need help with your finances,” You place your hand on her shoulder, “Just say so, and I will be there to aid you.”

You both pause in your walking, and she looks at you with lapis-like hues as she speaks, “I could not– would not– burden you so.” You open your mouth to reprove, but she begins speaking again, “Yet, I appreciate your offer.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, you pat her shoulder empathetically as you intertwine your hands. You walk further into the metaphorical guts of the theatre, squeezing up stairs too thin and creaky to be safe and down darkened corridors only illuminated by the dim gleam of the oil lamps not yet put out for the evening. 

Oddly, with each dim hallway you pass, goose-flesh seems to arrive on the back of your neck. As you did during your performance, you chalk it up to the members of the ballet looking at you, or, perhaps, a draft coming from the cellars of the theatre. 

As you walk, both of your hair pins keeping your hair in tight buns come out, as well as your shoes loosened. Many different people walk past you; male members of the chorus with bottles of liquor in their hands, hopeful, seasoned members of the corps de ballet, as well as your fellow soloists, and stagehands unhappy with their pay alike.

“What do you plan to do with this month's payment?” You ask, in an attempt to start a conversation again.

“A new-” Augustine begins.

“-Other than the new pair of ballet shoes.” 

She glares at you, half annoyed and half entertained; “A restock of oil, most likely. Perhaps a new sewing kit? You?”

“Same as you; a re-stock of oil and more cleaning chemicals.” She nods, understandably, at your decision. As you turn past another unlit hallway, your goose flesh arises on your arms now, and you quickly glance over your shoulder to look for anyone in particular, perhaps that first violinist, but, you find no one. No one but the average crowd of gossiping dancers. 

“Are you well?” Augustine stops and looks over her shoulder at you. “Are you looking for someone?” She squints into the crowd along with you, searching the different heads for who you may have been looking at.

“No, I apologise, I just…had an odd feeling.” Augustine looks at you incredulously, before a sly grin makes its way to her pretty face. 

“Hm. Mayhap the Phantom is eyeing you from the shadows…” She puts on an ominous tone, the same tone the stagehands place upon themselves when telling ghost stories to the younger chorus members.

“Don’t-”

“-Eyeing his next victim-”

“-Augustine!” You begin to laugh.

“-Waiting for the perfect moment to drag you down into his cellars and make you a part of his bone collection!” She grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you vigorously as you laugh heartily; relieved of your paranoia by her jesting. With mention of the renowned Phantom, some members of the chorus walking past let out a nervous laugh, some lingering or slowing their gait to listen in on any gossip on the local ghost. 

Still laughing, your chest aching with both the strain of the corset and the joy flooding out of your mouth, you finally reach one of the many dressing rooms, along with many of the female chorus members and soloists; some already changed, others half nude. 

The dressing room was made out of warm, shined oak, and was lit in the lamp-light glow, fire-formed rays spreading like spring petals upon the peeling, ivory-coloured wallpaper of the walls. Multiple wall-length mirrors hang on the walls, the glass of them scratched and worn with time. Nothing in comparison to the official, commonplace elegance afforded to a select few of the principal dancers, let alone the dressing rooms of main actors.

Once, you had visited one of the secondary operatic vocalists in their room, invited to share tea and gossip as she had taken a liking to you, and were astounded at the elegance and grandeur of what should have been a spartan dressing room. The warm room contained a pier glass, a sofa, a dressing table and a cupboard or two. On the walls were intricately designed wallpaper as well as art pieces you swore you had seen once on a visit to the Louvre. Along with an astounding amount of flowers, a tall, wood-set, engraved mirror lay on the far left wall. It matched perfectly with the marble palisade that was the Théâtre National de l'Opéra.

As per usual, different shades of hats were sat, hanging, on dress hangers, as well as dull evening dresses. The more expensive, elaborate dresses with long trains were usually kept tucked away until show night when rich patrons (ring-bearing or not) usually paid visits to the female members of the chorus and troupe of ballerinas.

Reaching your designated changing area, where your own evening dress lay folded neatly upon the wooden bench, you began to converse with Augustine yet again.

“Are you sure you won't join me for dinner this eve?”

Sympathetically, she watches your form from the corner of her eye as she slips out of her costume, reaching around to finally undo her corset, “I am sure, I apologise, you know what it’s like-”

“-Don’t apologise,” You sigh deeply as you undo your own corset, letting the warm air of the dressing room fill your lungs. “I won't berate you for wishing to save some extra money.” 

Aimlessly, Augustine chatters to you about the ache in her calves, and how she believes she’s found yet another ‘life-saving’ treatment for her damaged muscles. Your conversation filters in with the rest of the chatter that occurs in the room, and, half listening to Augustine, you pick up on some of the other’s words. In the left corner, a group of girls surround one of the newer members of the troupe of ballerinas, chatting to her with large grins placed delicately on their rosy faces. You spy the glint of gold and some sort of gem on her ring finger.

Lucky, you think to yourself as you begin to pull on your chemise and stockings. 

In another corner, there are whispered nothings between two girls, one you know to be a young woman named Blanche; a tall thing with peachy skin and hair the colour of a golden sunrise, almost always kept in a tight plat. She looks at the shorter girl, half-dressed, next to her with the same sort of eyes some of the comtes and young vicomtes give to members of the chorus in the parlour.  

You’re pulled back from your people-watching by tumultuous shrieking outside the corridor. Were you not accustomed to the trainee ballerina’s rambunctious shouts after they had finished practice, you would have expected them to have seen a ghost.

Or, rather, the ghost.

A collective sigh resounds in the small room as the noise dissipates down the hall, followed by your own dressing room door opening as three giggling girls enter. Augustine gives you a weary sidelong glance as the pitter-patter of ballet shoes approaches your corner. 

“Hello Mademoiselle L/N, Mademoiselle Charbonneau! We finished practice for Polyeucte this eve!” Lucille, a lithe creature with a button nose and bitten-down fingernails speaks, excitedly.

“Yes yes! Yet we didn’t spot either of you,” Little Jammes began to moan, she was a favourite of the chorus and existing members of your troupe of dancers with her tip-tilted nose, forget-me-not eyes and rose-red cheeks. “You promised you would come watch!”

Before you or Augustine could respond, another voice added their opinion on the situation; “They couldn’t! They have the performance for the new production tomorrow eve, imbécile-”

“-Don’t insult Jammes so, Elaine,” Augustine reprimands. “I-” She quickly glances your way, “We apologise. Myself and Y/N are quite fatigued; we were not granted a break to day. If we have time, we will watch your practice in the morning on the Monday.”

The younger girls let out a happy cheer at their small success. Elaine and Lucille skip off to where the other apprentices and members of the corps de ballet were changing, while Little Jammes lingers behind.

Nodding to both yours and Augustine’s forms, she says “I hope your performance goes smoothly tomorrow, mademoiselles.” She begins to turn back to the rest of her group, however, glances at you and speaks yet again; “Oh! And don’t forget your scarf.” She giggles, almost maniacally, before prancing out the door and off to her group.

“Will do, Little Jammes.” You call out after her. She turns and smiles, acknowledging you.

Little Jammes was one fond of jokes, one being stealing your scarf and having you chase her around the Opera House looking for it. A game of hide and seek, as well as hunter and prey. You had kept up the game for almost three years now, her having just turned fifteen.

One of the girls, just putting on her bonnet, turns to you as she fixes the ribbons; “I’m unsure how you put up with such boisterous creatures, even Little Jammes; the lot of them are such brats.” She jokes sarcastically, you smile at her as her eyes, black as ink, look into yours for an answer. 

“It is not much trouble, even if all the majority speak of is the fabled Opera Ghost.” The young lady and Augustine both laugh at your jest. As she finishes with the ribbons of her bonnet, she waves, and wishes you both a good evening. 

By this time, most of the changing dancers had finished dressing and had left, including the members of the corps de ballet and trainees; eager to leave the domain of the Opera Ghost for the comfort of warm blankets and dinner. Augustine and you are slightly behind schedule, taking extra time to chat aimlessly.

“I can’t believe it takes you so long to dress,” Augustine jests as she finishes buckling her shoes. 

“I know you wish to leave for your apartment Augustine; go. I will walk home on my own to night.” 

“Are you sure? Will you be well?”

“Of course, I will be. I am a grown woman, Augustine. Either way, I must talk to the costuming department in order for them to fix my bodice.”

Augustine raises an eyebrow at you, as if thinking this is some test of friendship, before nodding and pulling her shawl across her slim shoulders.

“Good evening, Y/N. Be safe.” She calls over her shoulders as the click-clack of her heels descends towards the exit. “Oh! And I promise to go to dinner with you next week!” She peeks her head over the door frame to call back to you. 

“Sure.” You call back sarcastically. You catch a small smile on her tired face before the sound of the door echoes in the empty dressing room. Finally, you finish dressing, placing your hair into its usual updo again. As you do so, a newspaper, left behind by the young woman of whom you had been talking to, catches your eye. Its newsprint page open on the Opera and Theatre periodical, and a title in bold reads; ‘800 Pounds on a Concierge's head.’

You recognised the tragedy almost instantly, for it had only occurred but three weeks ago. You were surprised the headline was still making rounds, let alone at the top of the periodical. Although, you suppose, this may be an old paper. Underneath the pompous title shows;

On the evening performance of Helle, May 20th, one of the counterweights for the Théâtre National de l'Opéra’s chandelier fell suddenly, upon Madame Colette Auclair, aged 56, during her first and last visit to the Opera House; as she passed on impact. Stagehands deny any and all involvement with the tragedy, and report no issues with the counterweights. Many of the members of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra claim it to be the work of the ever-so-infamous Phantom of the Opera; The Monster of Paris.

You cease reading the moment your eyes graze over the word ‘Phantom’. You felt it ludicrous that an official newspaper would accept and continue to publish such a superstitious and almost mocking piece. Someone’s death shouldn’t be attributed to a spectre that lingers in the imagination of artists, the superstition of the managers, or the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet.

As are the faults of journalism, you suppose.

Sighing, loudly, you close the paper and check the date, which read that it had been re-published not but a week ago. You glare at the bold print while reaching to the hanger for your scarf, and, when your hands find nothing but cold air, you turn.

All you find is an empty hanger. 

How odd, you think to yourself. It was there but a minute ago, where could it have gone?

You begin to look around the dressing room, before realising what Jammes had hinted at beforehand. Yet, you frown. How could she have gotten in while you weren’t looking? Even if you had been distracted reading the paper, you would have most definitely heard the loud creak of the un-oiled door.

Eyes searching, methodically, around the room, you finally spot the hue of your scarf peeking out from the ajar dressing room door. The tassels lying, spread, across the scuffed wood of the floor. 

Exhaling, yet again, you call out for Jammes, who you still swore had left long before you had, and begin to walk across the room. 

I don’t know if I’ll even have time to visit the costumers at this rate. I do hope they’re staying late this eve, you try to convince yourself.

The heels of your boots send a resounding click-clack across the now bare room. As you near the door you crouch slightly, you begin to walk on the tips of your toes, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. 

“Jammes…” You mumble out with a smile growing on your face, slowly reaching out to grab your scarf, preparing for a tug of war with a giggling ballet girl, before your scarf zips out from beneath the pads of your fingers. 

You scoff, surprised, before peaking your head out of the doorway, like some weary animal, and looking down the left hall. Your scarf sits, innocently down the hall, peaking out of another corner. Mocking you. 

It was unusually silent. You didn’t hear a laugh nor giggle come from the teasing girl. Glancing down the other hall, you keep watch for the lamplighter. He is not here yet. Softly, you step out of your dressing room and begin walking down the hall to your beloved scarf. 

The oil lamps send shadows down the hall, long, gangly ones that claw at the hem of your dress as you walk forward. Long, gangly ones that you swear whisper in the dark of the halls. Whispers that sound much too like your fellow dancers, asking for you to follow them.

“Jammes?” You call out into the moving mass of darkness. 

No reply. 

Yet again, as you creep closer to your prize, it is pulled away from your grasp; whisping down another ill-lit hallway. 

“Jammes,” You whine, quietly. “This is not funny Jammes. I have to go see the costumers before they leave for the evening.” Despite your worries and growing annoyance, you follow your scarf down hallway after hallway. Ones you find lead deeper into the Opera House, down passages you were sure were only touched by stagehands. Down routes that only the spiders and their webs called home. 

Quite admittedly, you begin to grow afraid. Afraid of both the dark and the odd whispers that you pray are simply the evening wind whistling. The gossip of the corps de ballet begins to catch up to you too, murmuring descriptions of a man, a creature, with the body of a corpse; skin rotting off its own bones and the Night itself hiding in the sockets of the ghost’s skull. 

Perhaps you are just as paranoid as the brats of the corps de ballet. 

Augustine would laugh at me for this, you repeat as your scarf slips out from under your fingers yet again. Just wait until I tell her about my little exertion to morrow morning.

Eventually, you find yourself in a dank hallway deep in the Opera House, near the storage room for all the set pieces, you suppose. 

Jammes must have been dared down here by her friends at least once, you reason with yourself.

A trapdoor, locked, sits to the left of you, a bit further up the hall. The wood of the floors let out a cry each step you take; bending around your feet. You fear it may snap from right under you. 

“Jammes!” You call out frustratedly. You had spent twenty or so minutes travelling down into the depths of the Opera House for a mear scarf; you could have spoken to the costumers and been on your way home by now! Typically, your cat-and-mouse chase with Jammes only lasts ten or so minutes, for her mother calls on her before she can go too far. You were tired, frustrated and ever so slightly fearful. 

As you begin to turn yet another corner, one you would suppose would lead down into the storage rooms and the vaults of the opera, you are met with pitch black itself. It was as if there was a wall of night standing before you; a mirror reflecting a pitch-black sky you couldn’t see.

Out of the void reaches a white, silken gloved hand, holding your scarf, and your scream echoes loudly in the empty hall like the first chords played in a silenced auditorium. Your hand immediately goes to your chest, to squeeze your thumping heart into submission as your lungs heave for Oxygen it doesn’t have. 

“Apologies, Monsieur, I…” You try to catch your breath, incomplete thoughts rushing through your brain due to the spike in adrenaline. “...I did not see you.” He wears the type of expensive glove only those who visit the Opera House and its members wear. Clean, white as pure as a dove’s wing, and well made. Immediately you question, mentally, what someone of supposed high status is doing so deep in the belly of the Opera House, especially since there had been no public show today. Further, if Little Jammes is nowhere in sight, then is this who has been leading you around the Opera House with your scarf? Or, perchance, has Jammes given your scarf to him in order not to get caught?

He speaks not a word; you do not even hear him breathe. Your nostrils are met with a terrible stench as a breeze ascends from under the trapdoor and behind the man, sounding more like agonised cries than wind. Mold, stagnant water and…and death. The type of miasma that lingers in your apartment when a trapped animal passes in the cage of your walls; rotting to dust. 

Rotting. Rotting flesh. Rotting flesh pulled taught against bones like a drumhead. A horrible image infiltrates your fatigued mind. 

You are unable to see a single inch of him other than his silk-covered hand, the beginning of his clean, nicely dyed overcoat and of course, your scarf. In the dim lighting, his hand seems to be trembling, as if holding a tremendous weight. Let alone the grip he seems to have on your scarf; the fabric crinkling under his fingers. Despite him holding it out for you to take, the grip he holds on to it with makes it seem he almost wishes not to let go. Conditioned by years of interacting with the higher class, your mouth immediately goes to asking on his well-being.

“Are you well, Monsieur?” You whisper, emphatically with fear laced in your voice. 

The hand reaches further outwards with your scarf, and makes a motion for you to take it. You stand there, between the stagnant air and the man, looking back and forth between your scarf and where you believe his eyes to be. 

You look at him with an uncertain stare, before gently reaching out to take your scarf. You approach this like you would approach a wild animal; with slow movements, and careful eye contact. Cautiously, your hand meets the soft fabric of your scarf, as well as the coolness of his gloves. 

A shudder seems to run up his arm, and you’re half sure he flinched from your touch. Yet, your scarf remains in an iron-grip, despite your light tugging. 

Again, you squint into the void, trying to find his eyes in the dimness of the oil lamps. “...Monsieur?” You mumble, even quieter than before, with an increasing amount of panic in your voice. As if suddenly remembering he’s holding your scarf, he jolts, yet again, and releases it. 

Yet, his hand still lingers in the air.

Wrapping the scarf around your neck, you can almost feel his eerie gaze following your hands as you do so. His hand still floats, trembling in the air. It almost seems like he wishes for you to take it. Take it and follow him into the vaults of the opera house. Take it and make you a part of his bone collection. 

You waft the idiotic thoughts away from your head with a swift movement of your hand, disguised by pushing the ends of the scarf behind your back. 

Idiotically, with worry laced in your movements, you reach out for him again, gingerly placing your hand on his upper arm. A shiver of your own rattles through you, like a cold finger caressing your spine. The pads of your fingers find the expensive threads of his overcoat, and, dear Lord, he is so cold. Even through his coat, you can feel the wintery burn of his skin. He was so bony; ever so skeletal. With such a gentle touch, you felt as if you could crush the bones of his arm. 

A half gasp half sob quickly escapes his mouth, regardless of the distraught tone he held, he manages to sigh with perfect pitch and time. 

“Forgive me-” Taking a step backwards, you apologise immediately, but you’re met with the quick swish of fabric through the dank air as another foul-smelling wind arises from the trapdoor. It flutters through your hair and causes a chill to settle in your chest. It curls up around your lungs and heart and makes every breath difficult.

Your scarf does nothing to keep you warm. 

Most of the dimming oil lamps are quickly blown out by the strong gust, and the little you could see of the man is engulfed by the dark. 

Only one oil lamp remains, barely lit, behind you. 

Quickly, you step backwards until your back hits the wall, and you reach for the lamp. Unhooking it, you bring it forth to the hall, thrusting it outwards into the void. 

There is nothing there other than lingering dust. 

Another gust of wind arises, and quickly puts out the lamp. As you now stand in the dark, a cacophony of whispers erupts upon the cold wind.

He’s here, The Phantom of the Opera.

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

I had an unbelievable amount of fun writing this. I'm sorry if this doesn't read completely right; I was doing my best to imitate Gaston Leroux's writing, since I wrote this for Leroux!Phantom rather than Musical Phantom (or any other phantom for that matter). Further, I apologize to any possible ballerinas reading this, for I know the terminology Google and some ballet Tumblr blogs gave me may be incorrect.  I know there isn't that much actual Phantom interaction, but I wanted to focus on the more creepy and touch-starved version of him. Either way, thank you for reading <3

Historical Notes:

- Calcium Lights = Another word for limelights

- Théâtre National de l'Opéra = The name given to the Palais Garnier from September, 1870 to January, 1939 

- 800 pounds on a Concierge's head = An actual headline written by Gaston Leroux himself. On May 20th, 1896, a performance of the opera Helle was underway when a counterweight, one of multiple that held the chandelier up, broke loose and fell through the ceiling; killing a Concierge on her first (and last) visit to the Palais Garnier, which inspired the falling of the chandelier in Phantom! Forensic investigators later said a nearby electrical wire probably overheated and melted the steel cable holding up the counterweight, causing its fall, yet, for all the superstitious opera workers, it was said to be the famous Opera Ghost. The name used for the concierge is made up. 

[multifandommilfs]

We're All In The Mood For A Melody

Pairing: Alex Blake/reader

Wc: 1197

Summary: you just needed a bit of liquid courage to make your life complete

A/n: based on ending of s9 ep7, the background song of that ep is the title and inspiration for this fic <3

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You watched as the team trickled up the bar's stage along with David, laughter bubbling up their throats as a song played, lyrics running up a screen behind them. You whooped with beer in hand, cheering them on.

 

JJ squinted her eyes at you, beckoning you up with two fingers, mirth running round and round within her irises under the shafts of spotlight.

 

You shook your head, lips cracking into a wide smile. "Get up here!" David tried Morgan, only to receive the same treatment, laughter cutting through as the cherry tune of the song perked up. Hotch whipped out his phone, amusement on his lips.

 

They gave up fairly quick, turning their attention back to the song with the light liquor tickling their nerves, giving everyone a looseness as they sang unabashedly, practically tone deaf. 

 

As the song heightened cheerily, so did the enthusiasm in the bar. From JJ's vantage point onstage, she caught your approach to Alex.

 

It had been a few months since Alex's affiliation, and the two of you had been the main bet of the BAU. Your chemistry was so fueled that Hotch played in on it as well which was uncharacteristically unlike him.

 

They'd been pairing and leaving both of you together in good humour, though no moves had been made from either party which had made them more ansty for results than they'd like to admit.

 

JJ watched furtively as you tapped two fingers on Alex's shoulder against the dim light of the bar. Then you chugged a mouthful of beer before Alex turned. That was when JJ nudged Garcia. Something was unraveling.

 

Garcia, with excitement at the bay of her lips, tried her hardest to appear insouciant. The tacit news was nudged around the team and the song had trouble remaining in its rhythm.

 

They half-watched as the both of you exchanged some words, lips lit up in a smile. Then you curtsied with utmost exaggeration, a hand outstretched in Alex's direction, who was wracked up with delight.

 

Self control had become a virtue for Garcia and JJ. Their increasingly giggly behaviors were finally noticed by Hotch and Morgan, who turned in curiousity; the camera was now on the both of you.

_____

 

You knew it was an inimitable moment. Even with the years accumulated in the BAU, it was the first for you to hear your friends sing, which made it even more memorable with Alex.

 

Everything seemed to be placed perfectly. Alex swaying lightly to the upbeat tune. You grasped the chance with an iron grip and took swigs of your beer, for she had an intimidation to her that you couldn't quite get past without the tingle in your veins.

 

So with courage trickling into you, you offered her a dance. When you curtsied, her laughter was more melodious than the music itself. You looked up at her through your lashes; her grin was apparent, eyes sparkling with a certain fondness you couldn't place.

 

You proffered a hand, ignoring the stretch in your calves because who even curtsies nowadays? "May I have this dance, my lady?"

 

She crackled up, pressing one hand against her lips as she put another hand of acceptance in your palm, the beers forgotten on a nearby table. "Pleasure." Her words were all broken from her tittering.

  

You rose up, your cheeks sore from all the dopamine. Your chin was over her shoulder, just as hers was over yours. A waft of her light perfume sent shivers down your knees, your eyes pressing close for a slight. 

 

Just like that, she was now leading, your bodies capering to the liveliness of the bar. Her touch on your waist was warmer than you expected, but then you were wholly warm since your initiation to this dance. 

 

 

"The chorus is nearing." You whispered by the edge of her jaw unintentionally and missed the way she shivered.

 

The team, however, didn't. All eyes were on you and Alex, expecting eyes and Cheshire cat smiles. What you didn't know was that the song was looped. It was the second crescendo already. 

 

"And you have plans?" Her left knee brushed your thigh, her words leaving hot breaths on your shoulder, sending tingles down your spine, widening your smile. 

 

"Yes." 

 

The song leapt to a crescendo, you led her into a faraway spin before pulling her back into your arms. Her laughter on your shoulder sending waves up your neck as you grasped her by her waist in a steadying motion. The pulse in your ears roaring alongside her laugh.

 

"You had a terrific dance instructor." She chuckled, her laughter dying down as she lifted her head. But she underestimated the distance between the two of you. 

 

The tips of your noses a breadth away from touching. She didn't miss the way your gaze flicked from her lips to meet her eyes at the last second.

 

She saw the endearment then, the soft tinge in your eyes, her heart raced. The atmosphere felt a twinge warmer and she was sure it wasn't the liquor. 

 

"Thank you, I taught myself." You breathed, or gasped because you felt so out of breath like she'd stolen yours from the moment she caught you in the act, but the moment was too good to be ruined. If this is the last time you'd be able to talk to her, you'd go all out.

 

So you lunged, capturing her lips in a hot breath, your hands raking into her hair. The world fell apart. Heart soaring, pulse thumping, white bursting behind your lids.

 

It was only for a second—a second of no regrets. All and utter bliss you'd never relive again. The tentative palm on your neck brought you back to the bar and you pulled away instantly, missing the way she chased to have you back. 

 

The team clasped a hand over their mouths, the song forgotten a long time ago. 

 

"I'm so sor-"

 

She shushed you with full authority and crashed her lips back to yours with utmost self-indulgence. Her grip on your waist was rough as she shoved you back into a table, all desperation and no grace. 

 

Then Garcia screamed a "YES!!", tears brimming in her eyes from post-anticipation. It snapped you out of your daze and you stumbled away from Alex, parting once again. A confusing sight of the upstage wolf whistling for the downstage. 

 

Were it not for her grip tight on your midriff, you were sure you would've fallen from how fast you detached from each other. It was especially grounding when you noticed Hotch with the camera and your friends' eyes all hooked on the both of you. 

 

Blush high on your complexion as they cleared from the stage and gave you hugs and said congratulations like you had news of marriage or kids. 

 

"Was this your ruse?" Alex queried you with squinting eyes once the team were back to their tables, giving both of you suggestive glances that you ignored wholeheartedly.

 

"That's a pretty bad profile, Ms Profiler." She considered you, tongue-in-cheek.

 

"Prove it." She leaned forward on her elbows.

So you did, kissing her long and hard until you were out of breath.

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[moononmyfloor]

A Rec and Appreciation post for a Bilibili FMV I found for The Spirealm :)

IMPORTANT: Contains spoilers for all the way through to the show! You've been warned!

Link to the edit: You don't need an account to watch things on Bilibili, but if you do, remember to give it a thumbs up! 💕

The song used and will be discussed by me in relation to the clips of the drama used in the fmv is 人间不值得 (The Human Realm is Not Worth It) by 黄诗扶 (Huáng Shīfú).

Disclaimer: 1. I'm not Chinese by any means, I only happen to be a student who loves this song very very much for its nuances and symbolism and it always makes me so happy to see a fandom I like has gotten an edit to this song. This post is an attempt to get more like-minded people to appreciate it! All the translations are from here where you can read even deeper to the lyrics and learn the background of the song. 2. I will be posting screenshots from the edit that correspond significantly to the song lyrics for those who'd like some help with noticing the parallels. Again, and obviously, this means SPOILERS! Don't proceed if you don't want to be spoiled. I won't be sharing gifs nor clips from the edit because that'd be straight up reposting and I don't want to do that, and a single screenshot may not be sufficient for you to understand what's happening in the scene unless you've seen the show/fmv.

Without further ado!

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渡口爱上深山, 薄雪中意晚莲 -A Crossing Ferry falls for Deep Mountain, Thin Layer of Snow likes Evening Lotus

A ferry transportation wouldn't be done in an area with deep mountains, it requires a flat and calm body of water. Lotuses don't bloom in the snow-falling season. Aka this means two things that are star-crossed. Hence: 🥲

夕阳熬红双眼 想等来晨钟聊聊天- Setting sun waits till its eyes turned red, hoping it can chat with morning bell Again, the setting sun cannot meet the morning bell. The vidder has used a scene of Ruan Lanzhu sitting with his eyes closed on a bench, waiting for Jiushi- it's not that specific so I'm not including a screenshot.

心上人在梅边柳边 偏不在身边- Person on heart is by plum or willow, but not by (the person singing the song)

A Hongloumeng reference to say that your beloved is not by you but elsewhere, see the link above for more details. -A scene of Jiushi patting Lanzhu's shoulder and going away for a door challenge while Lanzhu stands agonized-

小白蛇浇透临安 许仙却没带伞- Little white snake is drenched in the rain of Lin An, but Xu Xian forgets to bring an umbrella

From the legend of White Snake and Xu Xian, they meet on a rainy day and Xu Xian gives White Snake an umbrella. Here, the lyrics say he forgot aka things didn't happen the way they should've.

-The clip chosen for this line is more happy because they both got to use the umbrella hehe-

少女压坏秋千 书生十年落选- Young girl crushes the swing, scholar fails at exams for ten years

A little girl on a swing and a scholar who passes the exams are nice things to imagine, but the lyrics say the contrary happened. The edit shows scenes from the case of the bullied school girl and the classmate who betrayed her, who both had their youths ruined. :(

命运总是挑挑拣拣 诸事不成全- Fate is always picky and things just can’t be fulfilled

-Scenes from the first case (snow village), not using screenshots because the line itself isn't very specifc and therefore neither is the scene-

小和尚没化到缘 又路过烧鸭店- Little monk doesn’t get offerings, then happens to walk by a roasted duck shop

Describes a situation where your life sucks and then some more.

-The scene of the little beggar fainting from the Child trafficking case put in contradiction with the scene of Jiushi enjoying skewers with Xiong Qi.-

The chorus:

拈杯酒眯着眼 说专心看人间- Pinching a cup of wine and squinting eyes, saying (I/you/whoever) is looking at the human real with full concentration

The song is advising you to take a cup of wine, let go and just observe the world around you. Scenes of Lanzhu and Jiushi having swigs/sips of drinks is followed by them happily gazing up at New Year fireworks. It's pretty self explanatory.

看长安建安与潘安 都想沾一沾- (seeing) Chang’an Jian An and Pan’An, wanting to touch them all

Chang'an was an ancient Chinese capital, Jian'an was a literaty gathering, Pan'an was a historical man who was famous for his beauty and loyalty to his wife (the character Liu Xueyi's was modelled upon for the recently aired drama In Blossoms🤭) aka these three things are unrelated except for rhyming. So it's basically like saying "You want this, you want that too" and to just chill and embrace it all; your mortal desires and sorrows.

The scenes used are from the night street celebrations from the Child trafficking case, and are not specific to the line except for that the aesthetics match that of Chang'an night scenary in Tang dynasty period dramas. (And maybe Jiushi staring at Li Dongyuan's handsome face refers to the Pan'an part heh)

神仙掐指算 此去少圆满- Gods making predictions, this trip shall lead to little fulfillment 得来失 聚了散 千万莫求全- Losing what has been found, parting after reunion, don’t try to aim for perfection at all

Means that sometimes gains and loses just cannot be helped.

-Scenes of Li Dongyuan's last moments- 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

借泥炉烧碗饭 在檐上种炊烟- Borrowing earth stove to make meal, planting cooking smoke on the top of the eave

-cooking scenes from the show, self-explanotory-

管小寒大寒与心寒 都来暖一暖- No matter if it’s Small Cold, Big Cold, Or heart cold, all come over and warm up

Xiao Han and Da Han are two of the wintry solar terms of traditional Chinese calendar. Heart Cold is; well, having lost hope and being unhappy. The song tells you to get together and warm yourself up whether your coldness is external or internal.

好提胆闯人海 再叩风月关- So that you can build up the courage and venture into the crowd, knocking on the door of profanity (of life) Now this line may look simple but is really iconic to the show. It means to build up your guts [lit:gallbladder] (through the power of the warmth from forming bonds as mentioned above), so you can go out and enjoy all the beautiful romantic things in life, and bravely knock on the doors (HA) of each levels of life as you go. The scenes used are Lanzhu and Jiushi marching into door challenges, them sitting and enjoying quiet moments together, and DOORS. Bejeezus...

兜兜转转八十一难 我们走着看- Around and around through 81 tribulations, we shall see how it goes Another cleverly utilized line. 81 tribulations are what the main characters underwent in Journey to the West in order to bring the Buddhist texts, and if you've finished Spirealm, you know the 12 doors are inspired by the 12 links in the Law of Dependent Origin of Buddhist philosophy. In simpler words, the 12 links are the reasons for your mundane sorrows, longings and confusion, and 81 tribulations are the hardships you undergo because of them. The core scene used is Jiushi completing the 12 doors of the game, followed by the friend gang badass-strutting into the case scenes, fitting for the part "let's see how it goes".

竹马去寻竹马 青梅意兴阑珊- Bamboo horse goes searching for bamboo horse, blue plum feels discouraged

Now this is my FAVORITE line 😆 I always love to see what the vidders do with this part when this song is used on a BL edit. This comes from the famous poem line, “郎骑竹马来，绕床弄青梅”:” boy comes on a bamboo horse, circling around the bed and playing with plum branch”. It refers to boys and girls who are meant to be each others' since childhood. But sometimes, the bamboo horse (boy) doesn't go for a blue plum (girl), and will seek another bamboo horse instead, yeah? The scenes chosen are first Lanzhu and Jiushi, chased after by Li Dongyuan, leaving behind the exasperated Zhuang Rujiao 😂 Our poor lil blue plum!

伯牙琴弦摔断 叔夜刚绝交山巨源- Bo Ya breaks the string on his Qin, Shu Ye breaks off from Shan Juyuan

This line is about two legendary friendships, in the first pairing Bo Ya broke his Qin after his friend's death because nobody could appreciate his playing better than his friend, and the latter pairing broke up because of diff ideals.

The scenes used are when Jiushi and his ex bff used to be together, and broke up later.

知己半路就散 结发总另结新欢- Good friends part half-way, spouses marry someone else

-Yixie crying holding Qianli, the nurse whose lover betrayed her in the sanatorium arc-

小情侣恰好遇见 喜鹊没来上班- Young couples who happen to meet when the magpies are not on duty

Refers to the Chinese fairytale Magpie Bridge where magpies helped the couple meet once every year, and without magpies they wouldn't get even that chance.

The scenes used are: 🥺

长生岂能如愿 古稀尚靠垂怜- How can longevity be fulfilled, it depends on heaven’s mercy to live to one’s 70s

Jeebus, have I mentioned this vidder is a GENIUS? The corresponding scene used is the big baddie of the show standing tall and playing almighty, and the happiness of our good guys is at his mercy, followed by the scene of 50 Years Later HUHU

老病倒比莺莺燕燕 多陪二十年- The Old and the sick somehow gets 20 more years than the happy young couple

LOL the vidder knows how to be a troll, too. As the song says "Old and sick gets to live", Chen Fei and the lady friend (I don't even rem her name) who couldn't have been more background charactery if they tried, and they got to move onwards with their lives in peace while "happy, young" Zaozao and Dongyuan didn't 😔

小嫦娥偷吃灵药 却反而羡人间- Chang’e takes magical elixir, yet feels jealous of the human realm

The moon goddess, who enjoys longevity but is full of regrets about the life she left behind.

-Zaozao, who is finally under the spotlight she always deserved, but... *bawls harder*

The chorus from before repeats, that tells you to have a drink, chill and look at this world, not care so much about this and that, to not push yourself too hard because it isn't worth it, have a meal with your loved ones to chase away the cold instead, build up the courage to endure the beauty and challenges (DOORS) of the life.

Complimentary scenes follow:

人生在世不称意呀 失眠或失恋- Living in this realm is often unsatisfying, losing sleep or losing love

-For "unsatisfying" part, past-and-present scenes of the son and mother from the Triplet case, for "Losing Sleep" part Lanzhu staring at sleeping Jiushi on the same bed and then the chocolate scene, the younger sister's confession being rejected in the Sister Drum case and the Lady in the Rain for "Losing Love" part.-

只劝你来把个盏 侃呀么侃大山- (I) suggest you drink (the wine) up, then have a nice long chat

-The scene where Lanzhu wordlessly empties the can after Dongyuan's incident, followed by memories of when they were eating and chatting together, and also those of Qianli's 🤧

The final part:

喝完大酒撑条船 说今生不靠岸- After a big drink go ride on a boat, saying never to dock till the end of this life 去天涯海角浪个遍 失意当尝鲜 -To the edge of the horizon and corners of the sea, taking disappointment as fresh experiences

-Scenes of Lanzhu and Jiushi together, braving the challenges-

这一路手握剑 身侧有千帆- Holding a sword on the way, with thousands of sails passing by

-The girl from the school bullying case, now grown bright and confident, wielding a sword (that was SUCH a great moment! You go, darling!), followed by the now-regretless Door Ghosts smiling happily in the last episode.-

时不时 回头看看 百味是人间- From time to time, turn around and look, hundreds of tastes makes up the human realm

-Lanzhu looking back at Jiushi for one last time, Jiushi looking back before entering a door- *sniffles

Followed by happy montages of all their friends, and Chestnut.

时不时 也睡个懒觉 醒来多加餐- From time to time, sleep in, and eat an extra meal when (you) wake up

-A scene of Lanzhu tucked in cozily, Jiushi stretching awake from a sleep, well into daytime, and for the "Extra Meal" part, that giant drumstick platter Lanzhu and Rujiao made Dongyuan get for them 😁.-

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AAAnd DONE! Phew, that gotta be one of the longest posts I've made in one sitting. If you are still here, thank you so much for your patience and attention, I hope you enjoyed this brilliant fmv meta! Don't forget to give the vidder the love they much deserve, and read up the AveX link for more thorough understanding of the song itself.

Toodles for now!

.

More posts by me

[kangaracha]

lee know + sorry, I love you

He'd always loved dance more than anything else, and this is no exception.

Fluid and sharp, shifting with every change in the tempo, drumbeats like puppet strings tugging at limbs. Her body creates lines that imprint themselves on his vision like too-bright lights, silhouettes of her dancing behind his eyelids even when he closes them. Her music permeates their practise room even after she leaves; at the end of every chorus, he expects her to laugh, or to say something snappy, like she'd recorded herself over the track when they'd danced, the music and their movement equalising each other.

"You've been practising without me," Han complains over the absence of her voice, and Minho blinks back into reality.

Boys, sweating under the hum of the airconditioner, and the same movements he's been drilling into his limbs for weeks and weeks. He's supposed to be watching the others, but on the ninth runthrough of the day, he'd wandered off for a moment. It happens.

"No I haven't," he lies between breaths, squinting at himself in the mirror. Had he messed up that last move? He can't remember - he'd just been moving with the music, doing whatever they'd been doing last night. "I'm just better than you."

"And I bet that jacket on the couch is yours too," Han scoffs. In the mirror, Minho finds the end of the couch - and yes, there is her jacket, soft pink and edged in black. He'd told her the middle of summer was too hot for a jacket, even in the middle of the night, and he'd been so correct that she hadn't picked it up when she left, too busy laughing at him imitating her stumbling over the chorus of the song that's repeating in the background now.

He considers lying again - not because he has anything to hide, but just to see how far he could string Han along - but the novelty has passed on, along with his breath and the little energy he'd dredged up sleeping the first five hours of the morning. "I'd rather go deaf than listen to her evaluation track again, and the dance break needed work anyway."

"Did it?" Han questions, his arm falling heavy around Minho's shoulder. His heart is beating like a jackrabbit's, oppressive heat rolling off of his skin. Minho's pretty sure he's going to get a rash if they stay pressed together like this for too long. "Or did you just want to give her shit about it?"

Minho shrugs, his face a poster of indifference. He's sure it's amusing. "Is it my fault if she can't hit the beats right?"

"Probably," Han tells him. Minho snorts and steers him towards the long couch at the back of the room, aiming for the coveted spot beneath the air conditioner.

"Did you tell her how you feel yet?" Han asks as he deposits both of them on the seat, his arm still tight around his shoulders.

Minho pauses, his stomach twisting around itself from more than the heat. Complicated; that's how that question makes him feel. Exhausted, because there's no right way to turn and no clear answer to give.

"I told you I'm not going to do that," he answers, in a voice that's lowered so that the other boys won't hear. Not keeping secrets, per say, but just...keeping it quiet. He didn't need Seungmin riling him up about it at every opportunity, nor did he want to sit the boy down and tell him that this was really serious to him; life wouldn't be right without Seungmin buzzing around the edge of his consciousness like a gnat. Didn't need Chan worrying himself to death about how to handle it either, when Minho could handle it just fine on his own.

"And I told you that that's really dumb," Han answers, not for the first time.

"I like just being friends," Minho insists.

"Liar," Han insists more.

And he's right; with every day that passes, and every night they spend holed up in this studio, he hates being friends a little bit more. But there are words, as an idol, that are dangerous to say, actions that, once taken, he cannot take back - and even if he didn't wear a name and a face known to millions of people, saying hey, i love you to his strictly a friend could destroy everything he has.

He doesn't want to imagine the world when she runs away. He doesn't dare to imagine it if she stays. In the light of it all, this eternal limbo seems like the better option, even if it eats away at him a little bit inside.

[d-andilion]

I have a (long) prompt for a fic that has been bubbling inside of me for ages, so here you go. Geralt and Fairy!Jaskier that can turn Tinkerbell size, Geralt can tell that Jaskier isn't exactly human but can't place what he is. They go on their normal adventures, killing things, getting coin, the works. When all of a sudden, Jaskier goes missing. (Oh no!) Geralt is very confused and worried cause his boyfriend has just gone missing duh and goes searching for him. Meanwhile, Jaskier has just turned small and is trying to let Geralt know that he's there and accidentally is stuck in one of Roaches bags (he was looking for some Mallow fruit), but (same as Tinkerbell) can only speak in bells so Geralt's now just confused why he's hearing bells everywhere. Finally Jaskier returns to his normal size, and Geralt gets an answer as to what he is. They kiss and blah blah blah romantic stuff and then ride into the sunset.

(Sorry that was so long, and if it didn't make sense)

another unexpectedly long prompt fill, but it's so much fun! i hope you like it 😊

~

Geralt has gone fucking mad. 

There’s no other explanation. This isn’t how he expected to go; he’d always hoped for something a little more dignified, but that ill-humored whore called Destiny clearly has other plans. This is it for Geralt of Rivia. Spinning wildly around his campsite while that high-pitched tinkle of bells drives him out of his mind.

It started with the bard, as most goings-on in his life do these days.

Geralt returned from the nearby river with fish for supper to find the campsite empty except for Roach. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. Jaskier was a fussy sort of person, he had plenty of reasons to be away from camp—washing up by the river, taking a piss, chasing a colorful butterfly. Geralt was just glad his careless lover had thought to start the fire before he wandered off.

Not long after he set the skewered fish up to cook, Geralt heard the bells. It was faint, a light, gentle ringing, just loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire. Geralt stilled a moment, waiting to hear the sound again, but nothing came. 

It was about then that it occurred to him—Jaskier should have been back by now. Nothing innocuous could keep him for this long, not out in the forest. Their things were undisturbed, making an intruder or beastly attack unlikely. Geralt closed his eyes and focused on his hearing, listening carefully for any signs of the bard stumbling through the woods. Nothing but the evening chorus of insects.

For one fleeting and gut-wrenching moment, Geralt considered the possibility that Jaskier had left him. Maybe he was sitting upon his log while Geralt fished and the reality of his life struck him all at once—that he’d wasted years upon years risking his neck to sleep in the dirt and bed a taciturn Witcher.

Tempting as that ling of thought was, Geralt dismissed it almost as soon as it crept into his head. Jaskier’s lute was still sitting there with his pack and all the rest of his things. Even if he ever did decide he was tired of Geralt, Jaskier would never leave his lute behind. 

(And Jaskier loved him. He did, he did, he did.)

But there was no sign of him in the woods. No sounds of anything but wildlife for at least a mile, and no familiar beat of the bard’s heart. There were no predators in these woods big enough to kill a grown man, even if Jaskier had wandered away. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

Then Geralt heard it again, the bright sound of bells, much louder this time. The sudden jingle startled him to his feet, sword in hand. Roach whinnied beside him, stamping her hooves uneasily. Geralt squinted at the darkness beyond the trees, searching for movement.

“Hello?” he called out. 

The bells responded, louder, more erratic. 

Geralt spun around, but he saw nothing, not even the rustle of hares on the forest floor. “Who’s there?”

Again, the metallic tinking answered him. No manner of animal or monster Geralt had ever heard of could make a sound like that, one so unmistakably like the sound of bells. If someone were out there in the trees foolish enough to play a prank on an armed Witcher, Geralt would have heard them approach, would have heard their breath and the sound of their heart.

There was nothing out there. No one out there. Just Geralt, Roach, and the sound of bells.

After his third or fourth walk around of the campsite, Geralt began to accept that he was descending into madness. Roach grew more and more incensed as the bells continued, due, Geralt assumes, to his raving state. Maybe Jaskier is there, after all, trying to summon Geralt back to reality. That image is almost worse than that of his own mind slowly turning to mush.

Geralt throws his sword to the ground with a frustrated growl and stands there a moment, fists clenched and breath huffing roughly through his nose. 

The bells keep ringing. But… wait…

Is that… lavender?

Geralt takes a deep breath, scenting the air carefully. There’s woodsmoke, tree sap, wet earth from yesterday’s rain. And under it all, a hint of lavender, growing stronger with each passing moment. Almost as if someone’s spilled a vial of oil or perfume.

Lavender oil is Jaskier’s favorite for baths. It’s expensive, so he conserves it carefully, keeping it wrapped in brown paper and tucked into a special pouch in his bag to protect it from spilling or breaking.

The bag has been sitting beside Jaskier’s lute completely undisturbed. There’s no possible way it could have spilled since Geralt returned to camp, and he surely would have noticed it if it had been open the whole time.

Geralt crouches slowly to the ground and retrieves his sword, eyes never leaving the bag. Whether or not his wits are about him, he must look mad, stalking a fucking bag as if something awful will spring from it at any moment. Even so, he approaches it in a fighting stance, all the while listening to the bells ring.

There’s nothing atop the bag and the buckle is undone. All Geralt has to do is lift the leather flap from the top. He reaches out with the tip of his sword and in one fluid motion, opens the cursed accessory.

The instant the bag is open, it topples over, expelling a strong wave of lavender scent and a bright ball of golden light. Geralt stumbles back so quickly that he trips and falls flat on his ass. The little ball flutters around, ringing with the crystal clear sound of bells.

Before Geralt can get to his feet, the ball swells to a blinking flash of light. When Geralt opens his eyes, the ball and its ringing sound have gone. In its place is Jaskier, dripping wet and reeking of lavender.

“Thank fuck, I thought I’d be trapped in there forever,” Jaskier exclaims. He strips his doublet quickly and frowns down at it. “I’ll never get this clean.”

Geralt can only lie there in the dirt, mouth slightly agape. It had occurred to him before that Jaskier wasn’t entirely human. Something about his scent. Geralt was grateful enough for the possibility of his bard aging along with him that he never pressed the issue. But he’d been theorizing elven linage, maybe a hint of siren. Fairy had never crossed his mind.

“Alright, darling? I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jaskier drops his doublet and reaches a hand out for Geralt, helping him to his feet. 

“You’re a fairy.” It’s all Geralt can think to say.

Jaskier huffs a little. “Pixie, technically, but it’s all the same to you, I suppose.”

“But why were you—” Geralt trails off, pointing to the bag. He can’t bring himself to verbalize the foolishness that just took place.

“I couldn’t find my tuning fork!” Jaskier cries and Geralt has to stop himself from groaning. The bard is always losing that stupid stick of metal. He ought to wear it around his neck. “It’s so much easier to search when you’re small.”

“And the sound,” Geralt grunts. “The bells.”

It could be the light, but Jaskier’s cheeks seem to flush. “That’s how we sound to regular-sized people when we speak. I always thought it was whimsical but it does get annoying after a while.”

Geralt thought that was a myth. Come to think of it, he’s sure he told Jaskier as much at some point over the years. The bard had rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t argued.

“Are you angry?” Jaskier asks when Geralt doesn’t reply. “That I didn’t tell you? I really was planning to, it’s just so hard to bring up the subject and I didn’t know how you would… Geralt?”

He doesn’t mean to start laughing, especially not with Jaskier looking so nervous and unsure, but Geralt can’t help it. The first bark bubbles up in his chest and he simply can’t stop himself, dissolving into giggles he hadn’t known he was capable of.

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re a pixie,” Geralt manages amidst his laughter. Jaskier’s confusion turns to a pinched look of offense in an instant and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“And that amuses you, does it?”

“I thought I was going mad,” Geralt says, a bit louder than he means to through his giggles. “But you’re a pixie.”

Geralt snakes an arm around Jaskier’s waist and tugs his bard—his pixie of a bard—into his chest, heedless of the lavender oil soaking into his shirt. Jaskier lets himself be moved without fuss, even as he continues to pout. The full-bellied laughter has died down, but Geralt can’t stop the odd chuckle that escapes him.

 “You’re a pixie,” he says again. “A pixie trapped in a saddle bag. Covered in lavender oil.”

Jaskier is silent for a beat, staring off into the middle distance while the reality of it all washes over him. Geralt can see him resist the smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t last long. Jaskier laughs too, loud and bright. That sound is prettier than any bell Geralt has ever heard.

~~

more fic from me

[doodle-pops]

Don't Let Them Hear

Egalmoth x reader

Kinktober 2022: Best Friend Sibling AU/Sneaky Sex

Request: “You make such pretty sounds, my love.” Egalmoth x Fem!Reader - anon

A/N: This was perhaps one of my favourite requests I got so far. I had fun writing this.

Warnings: fembod, best friend sibling AU/sneaky sex, feral Egalmoth, dirty talking, rough sex, tit sucking (squint to view), confession, soft Egalmoth, pillow talk

Word Count: 2.7k

Synopsis: Egalmoth can no longer stand to look at you from a distance, so when your brother invites him over one night, he makes the most of the opportunity.

Prompt: "You make such pretty sounds my love."

“E-Egalmoth.” His hand slapped itself over your mouth to hide the melodious cries of his name as they fell past your luscious lips. He didn’t need your curious brother to overhear the chorus of symphonies being emitted from the guest room in his house. The series of sweaty skin slapping against each other, and the breathless sighs and groans were enough to alert any passers-by of the ongoing late-night activity in their guest bedroom.

“Hush princess, don’t want your brother to overhear us now, do you?” Egalmoth’s bluish-green eyes never left yours as his hips continued their motion, slapping aggressively against yours and driving his lengthy cock through your gummy walls. His sweaty palm was still resting over your mouth after having it intertwined with yours earlier.

Your eyes had widened at the question knowing that your brother’s room was only two rooms away from where you and Egalmoth were currently having your secret little rendezvous. The sound of the bed creaking and knocking against the wall were more than enough signs to wake him up but knowing how tired he was during this week of rounding meetings; he was knocked out cold. However, it didn’t stop the panic from rising within your chest and Egalmoth’s hips faltering as he felt your walls fluttering around his cock at the mention of being caught.

It was thrilling and death-defying because should Glorfindel catch Egalmoth fucking you in his own house, you weren’t exactly sure how the golden hair Lord would react. Egalmoth was the last person your brother believed you’d be in bed with. Ecthelion was always his number one choice of a suitor for you, and he thought that his stern and musically gifted friend would treat you like the goddess you were, but instead, you were about to disappoint him by sleeping with Egalmoth. The silver-haired male had watched you for far too long and had hoped that you’d cast your eyes upon him at least once and see the love he held in them for you, and that was precisely what happened tonight.

After Glorfindel's offer for Egalmoth to spend the night at his estate, you came strolling in, dressed in your finest nightgown that the Lady Idril had gifted you. Your nipples were perky from the chilliness of the night’s air blowing but you paid no attention to them as you walked into the living room and saw the feral glint in his eyes. The hunger for viewing as they roamed your silk-covered body made you feel naked. It didn’t take long for him to sandwich your body between him and the couch, peeling the straps of your body one by one to reveal your nipples to the night’s cold air before taking one into his mouth. The moan that ripped past your throat forced him to drag you back to his room to assess the situation.

“You like the idea of being caught, don’t you princess, fuck. I can feel you squeezing me.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the chokehold you were placing on his cock and the recognition of your brother catching you both. He knew his trust would be lost should his friend walk in and see how he had his sister open wide for his taking.

Your legs were pressed into your chest and dangled over Egalmoth’s shoulder as he folded you into the mattress. His free hand that was still holding your other hand released it to scramble to find a grip as his skin slipped and slid over yours. His fingers squeezed your thighs, giving the muscles a quick massage to ease the cramps he was purposefully donning. Digging into your flesh and leaving behind purple fingerprints, he wanted you to feel and see his imprints when he was finished with you. You would have a hard time explaining it to your brother whenever your handmaidens took notice, yet still, the thoughts were exhilarating.

Looking up at Egalmoth with starry eyes, tears streaming down your face from the onslaughter of pleasure he was giving your cunt and body, you nodded your head eagerly in response. His hand was still over your mouth muffling all the moans slipping past your lips. He didn’t like the idea of silencing them, he wanted to let them rip through the air and have everyone know that he was pleasuring you that good. Your cunt was already covered in two coating of cum from his earlier torture. He found it fun, in the beginning, to coat your folds with his release, loving the artistic approach to painting his canvas. No one would believe that the famously prestigious Lord Glorfindel’s little sister was capable of being defiled in the best ways possible.

“What would your brother say if he saw his little sister like this – legs over my shoulder and being fucked so good by my cock? Not so precious anymore.” His cynical and hauntingly humiliating words flowed eloquently from his dangerous lips.

You were the object of his desire, and he was proud to have you wrapped up in his arms and around his cock begging for more and crying out his name. Growing tired of muffling your moans with his hands, he retracted it and placed it on your other thigh, imprinting another fresh set of purple fingerprints into your plump flesh. The way your flesh moved under his thrusts and jiggled, his hands could not help but release them to don a sensational handprint to the same area, loving the motion.

“Look at you, who would have thought you were so devilish, ah fuck.” Throwing his head back to release a deep groan at the warm accommodation of your walls squeezing his cock once more, Egalmoth’s thrusting pace slowed. Bringing his head down to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes bored deeply into your lustful ones. The little twinkle and glossy distance look told him that you were far from the innocent little elleth that you displayed in public. Only he would ever get the pleasure of seeing you so beautiful in all your natural colours.

“Does that feel good baby? Yeah, look at the cock for me, just like that. Good girl.” Listening to your whimpering as his cock slowly sunk itself back into your heat, letting you feel his veins kissing your walls as he pushed himself all the way in and nestled against your cervix, he sighed. Your walls were fluttering to adjust once again to the full feeling of his cock settling within your tight cunt. Lowering your eyes to look at where you were connected, you bit your lips at the sight. Your lips were practically hugging him and refusing to let him go for a second. All puffy and redden from the abuse.

Releasing the breath he was holding, Egalmoth took his time to wiggle his hips wanting his tip to brush against your cervix so you could feel just how consumed you were by his presence and abilities. The little pants that escaped your lips as his hips ground against yours forced your nails to dig into his back, crawling and leaving little red crescent markings of your artistic work etched into his skin. Inch by inch, his hips slowly retracted and dragged his cock from your heat, allowing you to feel the torturous snail pace of his length leaving your heat. You were feeling empty with each inch that disappeared from your battered cunt. When he stopped, his eyes flashed up to meet yours and gazed.

His head leaned in to nudge his nose against yours, littering soft ticklish kisses across your cheeks to catch you off guard from slamming his hips against yours. Driving his cock back in with vigour and the wild desire to consume you entirely, his lips came down to capture yours in a heated battle. Breathing into each other’s mouths from the powerful thrusts he delivered, you both paused to catch your breath before resuming.

Egalmoth took the lead to pry your lips with his tongue by switching the angle of his hips mid-thrusting, making you gasp. His tongue danced asynchronously with yours as you both fought to stabilize yourself. The kiss was messy and hasty but delicious and long-awaited. His lips had fallen on every single part of your skin per save your lips. The praise of relief hoorayed in his mind at the prolonged actions pushed him to deepen his union.

“You make such pretty sounds, my love. I want you to make more for me, let me eat them up. Can you do that for me?” It was sinful to whisper into your mouth before consuming your lips to devour every song that slipped out, and to make matters escalate but give a positive outcome in Egalmoth’s favour, one hand slipped from the back of your thigh to graze your clit before applying pressure to your pearl.

You jolted in his arms, crying into his mouth at the extra dosage of pleasure and oversensitivity he was sending you to spiral into. Breaking the kiss for a gulp of air, struggling to catch your breath, you forced yourself to catch a glimpse of his fingers between your legs. They worked skilfully, just as you would suspect from a skilful noble Lord. As you were looking between you both, Egalmoth shifted his hold on your legs and dropped them to wrap around his waist. This allowed him to lean down and rest his full weight atop your smaller frame, rubbing his sweaty chest against your pebbles.

“Ngh – E-Egalmoth – fuck. So good.” Your nails dragged themselves lower until they cupped his ass and pushed along his thrusts, pressing him into your heat deeper. He gave a dirty laugh and clicked his tongue.

“So fucking dirty, aren’t you princess? Am I fucking you good? Tell me, love, tell me.” he was so full of himself, but honestly, he was fucking you good because it took you a long time to comprehend his words and formula a coherent response. His cock was taking away your senses and you were scrambling around for the right words to describe to him your pleasure.

“Yes, I’m your dirty girl. Fuck – your cock – so good, feels so good.” And he loved the sound of your response and wanted to hear more, he wanted to hear you call yourself his.

“Say it again love. You’re whose girl?”

“I-I’m yours, I’m your E-Egalmoth. Fucking cum in me, please fill me up. Fill me up.” to Egalmoth it was the most spell bounding words you could have ever whispered to him. He didn’t know which cast the compelling spell, but all he knew what that his brain recognized your request, and his body was obeying. If you wanted his cum, he would give you what you desired. You were his girl, after all, he’d always give you whatever you wanted and needed, and right now you needed his cum.

“I’ll give you my cum, I’ll fill you up nice and good. Fuck your mines.” His hips and fingers sped up their pacing and filled the room with unpredictable thrusts. The sound of skin slapping increased gradually alongside the moans; no longer did he care if he woke the entire house with your lovemaking. He had important matters to take care of and you were his top priority.

“Give me your cum, fill me up and make me yours.” With the increased pitch in your voice, those were your last words as noises came tumbling past your lips in a satisfactory cry. Your orgasm washed through you and left you clutching onto Egalmoth for dear life as his hips still vigorously pumped into your through the contracting of your walls that pushed him past his limits and brought him tumbling over like you.

Abdomen clenching, hips stilling, and a long groan reverberating through the room before you shivered in his tightened hold as you felt his release flooding your walls. The little cry of contentment you mewled into his ear as he clutched you close, trembling in your embrace making his cock twitch even more as his cum spurted in your cunt.

Removing his hand off your clit, he brought both up to cup your face and pull you in for another passionate kiss with an air of sentiment and love and hope. It was slow as his lips glided against yours smoothly without hesitation. His lips entangled themselves with yours and drew out strings of sighs of bliss, and it was euphonious to Egalmoth. Dancing his tongue on your lower lip, he was successful in prying your lips apart to properly slip his tongue inside your wet cavern. Frolicking his tongue with yours, finally having a genuine taste of your lips, the kiss was short-lived as he pulled apart for air. A string of saliva was the only thing between your lips as it broke apart.

The air was quiet and filled with the musky scent of your lovemaking but it was also filled with the longing desire of a confession. His sea-green eyes spoke a million words, a million ways, and a million ‘I love you’. His lips parted once more to intake a gulp of air before attempting to speak only for you to silence him.

“I know. I can see it – it’s written in your eyes, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked of such a demand from you earlier.” Your fingers were resting on his lips to halt his tongue from moving. Your words took him by surprise because he had always believed that your eyes were on the raven-haired Lord since it was he your loving brother wished for you to court.

“Not Ecthelion?” he spoke through your hands desperate to gain consolation to ensure that his actions weren’t about to be cast aside forever and ignored.

“Never Ecthelion, it was always you from the start, but you were too blind to see my attempts.”

The smile that stretched across his face at the revelation of your words made his heart swell with tears and so, his eyes followed, repeating the same actions. They had sprung easily from his sea-green eyes and streamed down his cheeks, dropping onto your skin. Your arms rose to cradle his head into your arms like a child being consoled, and thus, his tear flow increased. His own arms shuffled to pull you into his chest as he cried tears of joy at your returned love for him, after so many years of attempts, they were returned. Soft coos of your love were whispered into his ear as he sniffled in hopes of reducing his tears to listen to your proclamations of love.

Keeping his arms encased around your waist, he rolled you over, so he was under you, and you now rested on his chest. Still buried within you and with no intentions of removing himself, Egalmoth struggled to reach for the lost sheet that got thrown off the bed and threw it over you both in an attempt to appear modest. You laid with your ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat while his fingers swiped your hair off your back and gathered it into a single braid. His hands were now free to run up and down your sweaty skin.

“Do you – do you think he heard us?” you were the first one to break the silence with your impending doom question.

“Maybe, maybe not, but he still deserves to know that I’ve taken your hand and we’re bonded to each other.”

“And in love.”

You could feel the vibrations of elation surging through his body at the use of the word ‘love’. It was now Egalmoth’s second favourite word after your name. “Yes, most importantly, we’re in love. Perhaps we should celebrate this newfound treasure – ”

Lifting your head to question his statement, it would seem that Egalmoth wasn’t waiting for your response because he was quick to show you just what he meant. Keeping his arms firmly wrapped around your waist, all he needed to do was plant his feet into the mattress and slowly pump his now erect cock deeper into your heat, pushing his cum deeper.

“ – by making more noise.”

Masterlist

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Rabbit Foot

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢:  𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 . . . 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖺 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. I𝗍'𝗌 2 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖿𝗎𝗅 

You should have known that this little trip back down to Haddonfield was going too smoothly. Sure, you had only been here for about two days, but still. Disaster is part of the little towns being, stained into its fibers like the residue at a crime scene. It doesn't usually take long for trouble to announce itself. 

Your mother and father's nagging has been down to a surprising low, probably sucking up to you because you're finally back, even if the circumstances are less than ideal, and the few familiar faces that have recognized you when you were down at the market and gas station were kind enough, welcoming you back after all the years. 

So, you honestly can't say you're surprised to see the white strips of smoke snaking out from underneath the orange hood of your car. 

You curse over the sound of Billy Squier belting out the chorus of My Kinda Lover, while checking your rear-view mirror to make sure the road was clear before pulling over on the shoulder.

This is the sort of karma to expect when you drive a busted 70's Pinto. 

But at least your car broke down on a county road and not the highway or interstate. 

You try to remember the steps to take for an overheated vehicle while you set it in park and turn the volume dial down on the radio. You can't recall exactly what your father had told you when you were only a child, zoning in and out of focus on the front drive while he monologued from underneath his truck. 

Pullover . . . Shut off the car . . . pop the hood . . . let it cool . . . Wasn't there something else? God, if only you had payed attention when you were twelve, but the lawn was just so much more appealing than your dad's life lessons. 

You turn the key over in the ignition and extract it, listening to the engine die before getting out and coming round to the front. You have to squint your eyes against the vapors when you fumble for the latch through the grille. As soon as you lift the hood your rushed by a plum of pale smoke. It makes it a pain to find the support rod for a bit, but you get it eventually, successfully propping the hood. Leaving you to stare stupidly at the engine of your car, hissing like a pissed off cat. 

Now . . . What? 

Calling for help would be your best bet. Your mother is a no, as she's undoubtedly working her shift at the bank. Your dad is probably passed out in the living room, snoring on his La-Z-Boy, enjoying the weekend off for once. You really didn't want to give either of them anymore ammunition against you, but the only other option is waiting until your car cooled off enough and hoping it will start when you try. 

While you're deep in your internal debate you fail to notice the thrum of an engine approaching and then relaxing into an idle before cutting off completely.

It's the sound of your name that breaks you from your daze, and you nearly break your neck to turn and face the owner of the voice. They look just as perplexed as you do, staring at you like you're a ghost. 

God, this person looks familiar. You take in his dark doe like eyes, and the mop of curls on his head while he stands a bit awkwardly on the other side of the road next to a gold and black motorcycle. And then it clicks. 

"Corey?" 

"They're talking about me already I see," you joke, a small playful smile curling across your face, easily falling into the swing of conversation. Even after all these years.

A gentle smile raises at the corners of his mouth, and he seems to relax a bit, looking a bit more like the boy you'd see walking the hallways at high school and less like a stranger. Damn, you forgot how cute he looks when he's happy. 

"I was scared you wouldn't remember me, " he says as he covers  the road between the both of you to stand close to the side of your car. " I thought I was going crazy for a minute. Never thought I'd see you back in Haddonfield, again. I mean . . . I heard you were back, but I didn't believe it."

"You know how it is, " he shrugs his shoulder lightly, " can't take a shit without somebody hearing about it" 

"Some things never change, I guess."

"Were you expecting them to?"

"No, " you scoff under a breath of laughter, " I'd never set my expectations for this place that high." 

That gets a chuckle out of him, and you take the lull in conversation to look to the Kawasaki parked across the road. 

  " So, how've you been lately? Looks like you got a new ride." You blurt the question out before you can check yourself. You know how he's been. You've heard the rumors and allegations about him just this afternoon while you were at the market, stocking up on some much-needed junk food and a bottle of wine when you had been practically bum-rushed by your old history teacher, Mrs. Brewer. Upon recognizing you she was quick to crowd into your space with a flurry of questions: " How are you?" " How has life been treating you?" "Got a lucky fella waiting for you back home?" But once all of the formalities were out of the way she was quick to jump into the local gossip that you missed over the years.

Mostly boring disputes between neighbors and little details about ex classmates moving on and starting families. You blanked most of it out, nodding and humming absentmindedly until an old name caught your attention.

" Have you heard about Corey Cunningham? I don't know if you shared any classes with him back in the da - oh, no matter! Well, just a few years after you left, on Halloween - of course it was! - he had been babysitting the Allen's kid. Well . . . " She scoffs in an almost amused manner before leaning in and whispering like she was telling you a big secret. " He had killed him just as the parents had come home. Kicked the poor child over the railing. Tried to say it was an accident. Got away with it too, scot-free. "

Despite Mrs. Brewers intel, you are already well aware of the incident. Your mother had made sure to call you the night right after that Halloween to indulge you every single horrid detail regarding the crime. You had felt confused and possibly even a bit betrayed.

How could Corey commit such a senseless act of violence?

You couldn't have helped the relief that flooded your body when she had called you several months later to share that he had been cleared of all charges.

Corey seems to tense at the question, not that you can blame him. Instead of immediately answering he glances over his shoulder to look at his bike, probably thinking about hopping on it and speeding off. " It's a work in progress, but it gets me from point A to point B so I can't really complain. As for how I've been . . . " There's a pause like he's looking for the right way to phrase it. " I've been surviving. "

After running into your old teacher, you were quick to ask you father about the incident when you had swung by your parents. He had offered you a little more insight, though his opinion of Corey was pretty similar to Mrs. Brewer's and your mothers. That despite being proven innocent, Corey had been quick to be pegged as a social pariah. "I always knew there was something wrong with that kid. Even before that night, " your dad had said before taking a bite of his homemade ham and cheese sandwich.

So, it was just Haddonfield being Haddonfield then. Quick to cast the stone and pass judgement, as per usual.

Sure, you and Corey had never extremely close growing up. Apart from sharing a few classes and the occasional chance encounter your relationship was little more than that. But even then, there was no way that sweet, awkward Corey would willing take a child's life.

You offer him a lifeline, " there's not much else you can do in Haddonfield. " 

That gets a small chuckle out of him, and he seems a bit more at ease again. " You're right about that. But enough about me, how have you been doing? I thought that you couldn't wait to get out of here. What brought you back?" 

"Oh uh, my grandfather passed recently, so I'm here to help go through his things and get everything organized, " you say, swallowing a lump. You've done your best to ignore the dull ache in your chest, but it seems to be getting worse each passing day. And the sad look that Corey gives you doesn't help. He seems like he regrets opening his mouth and for some reason that makes you feel even worse.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

" It still hasn't really clicked that he's gone, you know? So, it's fine. I was actually heading to his house to start working on clearing some things out when this decided to take a shit on me, " you say, lightly kicking the front bumper with your shoe. 

"No, it's fine. Don't feel bad about it, " you say, shaking your head. You meant it too. Despite having to deal with countless people questioning you about your grandfathers passing, having heard the news from your mother no doubt, you don't mind talking about it with Corey. 

He didn't ask you with the intention of opening up wounds and prodding his nose into your family affairs, not the old gossips in town. 

"Mind if I take a look?" He asks.

"Please do. " You back away giving him room to work with and watching him as he leans over to inspect the contents of the engine. The smoke is next to nothing now, spars puffs that evaporate as quickly as they form. You can't help but study him as works, wondering how someone so familiar can look so different. Maybe it's the leather jacket, or the little band of silver that wraps around his pinky finger, or the absence of his glasses that used to rest on the bridge of his nose (contacts, maybe?), but something seems different about him. 

Well, of course, it's been nearly three years since you've seen him, you remind yourself, people change. 

You lean down next to him, pretending to help look for the problem even though the assortment of wires and metal make about as much sense to you as a jumbled pile of puzzle pieces. 

The close proximity lets you catch the scent of his cologne, mostly sandalwood with creamy and smoky undertones, a little bit of leather. Probably his jacket. 

He's got this studious look on his face, eyebrows pinched and slightly furrowed. A loose curl dangles above his eyes and it's a little distracting, a part of you is tempted to move it out of the way for him, to push it into unruly bundle of his hair that looks like it has flecks of amber in it because of the evening sunlight.

"So, what were you doing all the way out here, anyway?"

Jesus, since when have you ever had thoughts like these about Corey Cunningham? He used to be the one who would look at you. You would catch his fleeting glances while on your way to class, always pretending not to see the dreamy stares or the faint blush to his cheeks. 

You weren't stupid. You knew what that look meant.

But you had been in a relationship. And despite the fact that a cute kind guy with warm brown eyes had a crush on you, you stayed away. Because you had a boyfriend who treated you like dog shit and didn't deserve your time. But you were young and stupid and had thought that you were in love. 

His head perks up just a bit at your question and he pauses for a minute before answering. " I just like to ride sometimes. Just get away for a bit, even if it's only for a few minutes. " 

"It looks like it may be a bad radiator hose. They just get old and worn out and snap, " he concludes suddenly, rising to his full height. 

There's something melancholic about it. Even after all these years, his circumstances are still the same, if not worse. It reminds you of one distant chilly November evening. You were down at the local park, gently swaying on a swing when you had noticed a figure briskly walking across the lawn. It didn't take you long to recognize it as Corey. He seemed agitated, tense, like he was too big for his body and was seconds away from bursting out of it. His mother you assumed was most likely the culprit. It was no secret that she was (is) overbearing and controlling. Helicopter parent would be an understatement. When you thought of it, you had never actually seen Corey at any parties or out with friend's past 7:00 pm. 

From what you could gather his life was a constant routine of school and occasionally helping out the Allen's family with mowing their yard and pulling stubborn weeds.

You probably should have stayed put and let him walk away. Out of sight out of mind. 

But your body had a mind of its own, launching off of the swing and in his direction. It had only taken you seconds to reach him, and he looked startled and a bit confused when you had asked if you could join him. But he agreed, nonetheless. 

 You had offered him a few puffs of the joint stuffed in your pocket, but he had declined. He didn't want her to smell it, he confessed, and it had been enough to keep you from pulling it out and lighting it up with your Bic lighter. 

You had talked about everything and nothing, until the sun had dipped down low, and it was just a strip of lavender bordering the horizon. Upon noticing the time, you had said your goodbyes and he ran off in the direction of his house to be home in time for dinner. 

That had been the first time you had heard his laugh. You liked it a lot. 

"How much does that usually cost? " You can already feel the worry creeping in at the thought of your already desperate bank account. You really couldn't afford a large blow to it, right now.

"Eh, it depends really. If you do it yourself or hire someone, " he explains, eyeing the engine and combing a hand through his hair. " The part itself is usually anywhere from fifteen to thirty bucks. It depends on the quality and if you get a mechanic to do it for you." 

Damn, this is definitely what you needed right now. When it rains it pours and the umbrella you have for cover is about as stable your mental health on a busy workday. 

" I could do it, " Corey offers you. 

"How much would you charge me?" 

"No, Corey, I'm serious-"

He shakes his head slightly, shoving his hands in his pockets, " I wouldn't."

You can't help but stare at him like he grew two heads, like he's telling a weird joke and you're waiting for the punchline. Meanwhile he looks as serious as can be.

Almost hopeful if you didn't know any better. 

"So am I, " he states firmly.

The look you give him is incredulous. You're ready to argue and he can tell by the way your jaw open to speak, so he beats you to the punch. 

"I don't want your money," he says. There's a finality to it. He levels you with his eyes almost like he's challenging you to try and argue with him. But you don't want to try and go round and round in circles until one of you relents to the other. You're more confused than anything. And you want answers. 

"Why do you always do that? " You step closer to him like you'd find the answer that way. He's not following judging from is lack of response, so you elaborate, "you're always go out of your way to help me. Like the night back at the gas station. Why?"

A smile pokes at his lips but despite his apparent amusement he answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Just a fact. 

"Because you're a good person." 

" So, you won't let me pay you?" 

The response does little to satisfy you and you can't help the huff the gets pushed from your lungs. 'Good person' my ass. But maybe he was telling the truth, maybe it just wasn't the answer you wanted. You wanted that night to mean something more than it did. So that you didn't feel stupid about those old forgotten feelings heating up in your chest. Maybe he was just a nice person. 

Maybe that night when your douche of a boyfriend had kicked you out of his lifted Chevy and out onto the curb of some gas station, Corey had just offered to escort you the three miles back home out of the kindness of his heart. Because he felt bad for you. 

You had felt so embarrassed and useless when you had jumped out of the truck and stormed into the 'Gulf.'  You were at the slurpy machine, filling up a medium sized cup when Corey had approached you. As hesitant as he was, he seemed worried. Brows furrowed and raised with concern. 

He had asked if you were okay, and you had told him you were. It was short, clipped and tired. You had felt guilt gnaw at your stomach as soon as you had responded, but your pride wouldn't let you apologize. 

You expected him to back away, to be put off by your anger. But he didn't. He stayed. 

The two of you would sit outside, drinking a cherry slurpy and a Yoo-Hoo, and he'd sit and listen when the dame broke, and you vented until your throat felt raw. Then he'd offer to walk you home, knowing that you wouldn't call your parents. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction of saying, "I told you so." Despite the fact that his own mother would have his head for having vanished for about two hours without so much as a word. 

He'd guard you both as you strolled down the lonely streets lined with dim lamps, while the rest of Haddonfield was piled in the bleachers cheering on the Huskers while they played against their long-term rivals, the Montgomery Wolverines. 

All the way up to the doorstep of your house where you'd whisper a thank you and goodnight, punctuated by a light kiss on his cheek before fleeing into the confines of your home before you could see the way his face flushed in response. 

Was that just because he was a good person? 

" You can, but I'll just find a way to slip it back to you, " he says honestly. That smile is back. Cocky and self-assured. It's one you've never seen on him before, and you can't tell if it excites you or pisses you off. "We can go back to the garage, and I'll get the tow truck. Come back and get your car. With all the junk that passes through I'm sure we've probably got what you need laying around somewhere. We'll have back up and running and on your way to your grandfathers in no time." 

What the hell, maybe you can convince him to let you pay him once you get a decent meal in him. 

The two of you have a stare off for a few good seconds while you mull the offer over. As tempting as it is to let someone else take care of your problems, your morals are having trouble bending over. A compromise maybe? 

"Fine, "you relent. " But I'm buying dinner."

"Sounds like a deal," he agrees. "You can come with me if you want. It'll be dark soon and I don't like the idea of being out here all alone."

"Hey! " You call over to him, his head snapping up in your direction. " You want something to drink before I lock up? I got a cooler full of water and some sodas if you want. No chocolate milk unfortunately. " 

There's a protective edge to his voice and you can't help but think about how much you like it. You nod, giving a quick 'okay' in agreement before moving around to lock the doors and roll up the windows of your car. The last thing you need is for some jackass to steal your vehicle while you're gone. Despite how shitty it may be. 

Corey crosses the road to his Kawasaki and stands over it, giving it a strong downward push to one of the pedals. Effectively kickstarting the machine in a way that shouldn't be as attractive as it is. 

"What I need right now is you on my bike," he says seriously. You're thankful for the wanning sunlight, or else he probably would be able to see how flustered you are. The embarrassment would kill you.  "Alright, alright! I'm coming!" You call, slamming the driver side door closed, stepping away from the car and approaching Corey and the idling motorcycle. 

You place a hand on Corey's shoulder to stabilize yourself as you swing a leg over to straddle the ride.

"Hold on tight, " he warns.

It prompts you to wrap your arms around his waist and he briefly puts a hand on your forearm and squeezes before gassing up the throttle and lurching forward with a hearty growl from the engine. 

You can't help the airy giggle that bubbles up in your throat, and you're pretty sure that shaking from Corey's body is due to his own laughter, but you can't hear the sound over the sound of the motorcycle roaring down the county road. 

In this moment, however brief it maybe, you forget everything. Your grandfathers passing, your mother and father, your responsibilities, Haddonfield.

It all goes away with the rush of adrenaline that jumps through your veins and the wind in your hair. 

It's just you, Corey and the road. And you think you haven't felt so alive in forever.

Maybe being back isn't going to be a complete bust after all. 

[orcusnoir]

The Shadow Over Hyrule - Chapter 6

Just ahead of them over a small hill were the burnt out remains of a farmstead… With no obvious signs of life. Wild jogged up the hill, and unclipped the Sheikah Slate from his waist, using the camera function in the ancient piece of technology to get a closer view, but all he could see was a burnt home, a destroyed barn, and a field of crops scorched away.

“You see anything?” Time asked cautiously.

The Champion shook his head before clipping the Slate back onto his waist. “Nothing, not a monster nor man in sight,” he said.

“Fuck,” cursed Warriors. “Alright, fan out and look for survivors or Goddess forbid evidence.”

A small chorus of quiet confirmations echoed from the Chain as everyone began to split into groups. Wild stuck with Legend and Hyrule, as they made their way to the burned house. On the way, the Champion made notice of a distinct lack of stray arrows or thrown rocks. If this were a monster attack, surely there would be a handful of broken arrows littering the ground. Unless, of course, they were dealing with Bokoblins with accuracy that rivaled Wild himself.

The first major thing that the three made note of was the screen door of the house. As it was jammed shut… From the outside, a small piece of lumber was wedged between the railing of the front porch and the door itself. This detail, coupled with the burnt state of the house, sent shivers down the Champion’s spine.

“Guess we’re all on the same page?” Legend uttered quietly before kicking away the now mostly charred piece of wood.

There wasn’t really much to be found in the first room of the house, other than a sketchy set of stairs that the Traveler volunteered to climb. The living room had remains of a couch and a piano, which stung Wild’s heart slightly, and the dining room was much the same with a table set being reduced to nothing more than charcoal remains.

It was the kitchen area that proved to be the most useful to their investigation. Even though it was as burnt out as the rest of the house, in a small closet tucked into the wall were several charred barrels. Barrels full of salt pork. Barrels full of salt pork that hadn’t been opened at all.

“This was no monster attack,” declared Wild, turning to face Legend who was currently investigating the cupboards.

“What makes you say that?” asked the Veteran as he casually tossed a shattered glass bottle over his shoulder.

“This,” Wild tipped over one of the barrels onto the floor with a loud thud. Legend just stared at it wide eyed.

“That’s full of meat isn’t it,” he asked, his voice going quiet.

A short nod, “several barrels of it. Monsters don’t leave meat behind.”

Legend cursed softly under his breath before calling Hyrule over to the kitchen. It didn’t take long at all for the Traveler to show up, though neither Wild nor Legend were expecting him to show up clutching a burned book.

Sensing that the two of them wanted an explanation, Hyrule handed the book over to Legend for him to read.

“It’s a journal,” Hyrule stated, “belonging to the man who lived here.”

The Veteran gave a nod before he, carefully and delicately, started to flip through the pages. Wild tensely waited as he quietly explained to Hyrule that the attack wasn’t done by monsters.

“This is weird,” Legend said at last. “This journal mentions a shipment on a boat, a small-ish box, and whatever was in the box,” he paused, squinting his eyes. “It says: The shipment, which contained a strange red and blue object, somehow caught the eye of two sailors. Who then proceeded to beat each other to death at sea. ”

The three of them exchanged glances as the weight of the passage set in.

“So now there’s a box that contains an object that can drive men to murder?” Wild scoffed, “that’s the last thing we need.” Read more: :3

[bisayawa]

morning croon ; steven grant/gn! reader

― fluff

note: small blurb i made because music does that to the soul, i think. not proofread.

an old chorus winds through the silence of the flat & holds your hand, shaking you awake.

it's a song, the one steven set to wake him up, the one you & he shared excitement over during your first meeting, many months ago.

it's the loud bellow of engelbert humperdinck ― a strangely named man, you had said once before. he had laughed at that, squinting his eyes & you swear you saw stardust on his lashes.

you feel him smile against your neck. the sheets ruffle & curl around his legs. the far end of the room is swathed in morning light. mr. humperdinck croons on with his song, successful in shaking you both awake.

"good morning, my love," is what you say.

"good morning, dear heart," is what steven whispers into your jugular. it tickles.

you sigh. his inky, black hair is crawling up your cheek. you bring your hand up, and you play with it, twining between thumb & finger. with the slightest of force, you pull, bringing out the knots, smoothing it down.

"did i ever tell you my ―"

"― grandfather loved this music?" he murmurs into skin.

you laugh, feeling him smile again.

"oh, only when we first met, love," he says. "could you repeat it? maybe i've forgotten."

his hand follows a path against hips & dips, over slivers of skin & soft cloth.

you close your eyes. the song hasn't stopped. the verse, this time, is how the world has fallen down on him ― praying for his love to return.

"my grandfather would play this song in the afternoon... on the radio. sometimes ― my mother says ― he used to sing it during celebrations, birthdays & things."

he hums, proving that he's listening.

"he liked the big, loud songs of the time. you know," there's a yawn in the back of your throat. "engelbert, tom jones, frank sinatra, andy williams..."

he holds you closer. the blanket of sleep is coming back. the warmth of the sheets aid it in doing so.

the yawn escapes then just as steven kisses the line of your neck.

"did you have favourite?"

"hmm?"

"a favourite song? of theirs?"

"oh, i have many."

you pull back & find his face in your hands. his eyes are dark pools of honeyed brown. they always remind you of sweet sugar. sweet sugar like sweet steven. you kiss his nose.

"could you sing some for me?"

it's bright morning & you haven't had water in eight hours.

"voice is scratchy, steven. won't make for good singing."

"it's always good singing when you do it."

that brings a chuckle out of you, and you marvel at the way he squints. the stardust is back again. this time, there's a comet in his iris. your heart feels so full, like it's about to explode. it aches in the sweetest way it can.

"they shout in their songs."

"then shout away," you can hear the grin in front of you more than you see it.

"my voice is octaves higher than the songs they're singing,"

"then sing lower, if you'd like,"

you laugh once more. he's unrelenting & you oblige. it's steven, sweet & amorous in just the way he looks at you. how could you not?

"there's one where he says a waltz should last forever. do you agree?"

"'m no good at dancing."

"we dance in the kitchen all the t ―"

he takes the sentence with a peck.

"we were talking about singing, not dancing, my love."

and so you sing, all soft & short syllables. the songs on the radio always stretched out the words & the vowels, bringing itself to the height of emotion. that you could never do, giving only short punches of word in song.

steven loved it, still.

[moonjella]

my ranking of golden age that nobody asked for:

𝟏. alley oop — it’s the most hype song on the album so you know it’s going to be my top song, it’s exactly what i’ve been waiting for since nct 2023 was announced. a super hype song with an incredible rap line, but let’s also not ignore the vocals because yuta and jisung’s vocal lines are so heavenly! every member snapped in this, even winwin with his teeny tiny lines. this is going to be my anthem when i walk to class everyday, it’s incredibly motivating

𝟐. pado — sm really know what they’re doing putting xiaojun and haechan in the same unit again, their vocal chemistry is seriously unmatched. and the unit as a whole is probably one of my favourite u combinations because everyone’s voice (raps and vocals combined) sounds so perfect bouncing off each other. and the song itself is so fun and sexy, it actually surprised me. and idk how to explain this but the trumpets?? were so sensually teasing which i feel reflects the lyrics and the song as a whole, ughhhh i love it so much!

𝟑. the bat — i (s)creamed when i saw the videos from nct nation. it opens with them telling me to inhale, exhale but the jokes on me because i lose the ability to breathe with this song. i don’t even know what it’s about, wtf is bats on wheels lmao but i don’t care i’m still jamming hard to this song. also, the vocal trio of taeil, yuta and jungwoo is insane, and hendery and jeno’s rap?? hello??

𝟒. interlude: oasis — listening to this in the shower lead me to having an out of this world experience lmao it’s so heavenly and quite the nostalgic song, it reminds me of something that i can’t quite name. but at the same time, it’s a new and refreshing vibe that i’ve never heard from nct before, but i love it anyway. i just wish the song was longer

𝟓. call d — when it comes to tenyong duo, i don’t think anything can ever top baby don’t stop but call d is such a chill and fun song, and the instrumental breaks did surprise me. it’s not my fave on the album but i do love how the song is both fun and sensual. also ten’s rap and taeyong’s vocals?? they are so versatile

𝟔. baggy jeans — i’ll be honest, i’m not a fan of the chorus however! the rest of the song is so good! it’s so nice to see t7s unit back together again after 7 years. it’s one of the most catchy songs on the album which is great if you like the catchy parts. but for me, i’d rather have a different song on repeat. but the low, deep vocal ranges? jaehyun and mark really surprised me. i like the last third of the song more than the rest of the song, and getting through the first part feels like a chore

𝟕. not your fault — nct ballads usually linger towards the bottom of my playlists but don’t get me wrong, i do love them. i just don’t listen to them a lot. the lyrics are so sweet and gentle, i’m definitely going to listen to it when i need a pick me up because the message is so beautiful and intimate. and the vocals were so amazing, renjun really shined through

𝟖. kangaroo — i didn’t like this one at first but it grew on me after a few listens. the lyrics have a cute, fun meaning but if you squint enough, they’re a little dirty? did anyone else notice it, or was it just me and my filthy mind lol? this song is totally the song to listen to on a summer roadtrip with the windows down, and it honestly felt like a nct dream song rather than nct u, but it was fun regardless

𝟗. golden age — i don’t want to be one of those entitled nctzen but i really did expect a full group song with the same vibes of black on black/resonance throughout the song, but golden age is like a hybrid of black on black/resonance and beautiful. it really does enhance all of members’ qualities by allowing them to shine with their individual lines, be them vocal or rap. it’s such a feel good song, but it did give me whiplash lol

𝟏𝟎. that’s not fair — this song was going great at first but something about the chorus was very....idk how to explain it, i just didn’t like it. i did enjoy the dark, sinister feeling. it gives you the same vibe you’d get watching something scary. i know it’ll grow on me because every nct song does eventually. but there needs to be a song at the bottom of the list and this one fits the shoe which is a shame because i loved it at first