#apologies to all who are seeing this twice; i cleaned up the old one and made it not look like ass

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

imagining ghoul just being completely dazzled by vaultie reader….their beauty, their clean teeth and nails, their skin…the softest, smoothest skin he’s seen in hundreds of years. he could hardly remember how it looked til now.

he’d watch over you while you slept by the fire he made with such fascination, studying your features like this when he knew you wouldn’t be able to raise an eyebrow at him and he could allow himself to be relaxed and let down his tough guy wall (after all, you only just met a few days before).

and when you roll up the pants of your suit one day in the heat and expose your legs…he sees they’re perfectly waxed (who knew they had that in the vaults?) and it takes everything he has not to just reach out and touch them.

Smooth Skin

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller

Word Count: 3,109

Warnings: smut (18+), sexual tension, masturbation (male), mild somnophilia, very mild angst.

Summary: Cooper's new companion is beyond distracting.

Notes: Another excellent submission! I have had VERY similar thoughts about how people in the vaults would still adhere to so many old grooming practices that had long disappeared from most of the Wasteland. It would be such a weird thing for non-vault dwellers to see, and not being able to maintain them would be quite the shock for vault dwellers.

Also, this poor old man wouldn't consciously recognize the feeling of "arousal inspired by a specific person" if you beat him over the head with it. It's been about 200 years since he felt it.

Cooper was beginning to wonder if he'd been screwed.

Holding the deeply familiar vial up to the light once more, he gave the liquid contents a shake, examining the consistency, the color, the weight. For the half dozenth time that hour, he lifted it to the open cavity in his face where his nose once sat, inhaling deeply, testing for any unfamiliar odors, ultimately finding none. Lifting the solution to his lips, he tasted it, once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth with deep suspicion.

Everything seemed to be normal about the latest bunch of vials he'd acquired, at least on the surface. However, he was beginning to worry that he'd been given some sort of dud batch, and now he was starting to dissolve into some sort of ferality.

But this didn't feel like the dozens of other times he'd cut it close over the years, when his chest constricted, fighting for every breath as his mind began to cloud with aggressive thoughts, making him feel ready to lash out at anything that moved. No, he could breathe just fine, and he didn't necessarily feel aggressive, but he did feel oddly tense and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem like anything had changed about his treatment.

Then again, something else had changed pretty drastically over the last few days.

Standing in the baking sun, he waited impatiently for the little vault-dweller he'd inexplicably managed to become attached to to finish her business, infinitely more fidgety than usual. He scanned the horizon with uncharacteristically anxious eyes, his boot tapping in the dirt.

"C'mon, Vaultie! Move your ass!" he called, harsher than he intended, but when the girl came scurrying up out of the ditch, he offered no apology, simply jerking his head in the direction they'd already been headed down the road, waiting for her to get a step or two ahead of him so he could follow, watching her closely.

Very closely.

The old cowboy prided himself on his ability to analyze people, to figure things out about them long before they were disclosed. It had proved an immensely useful skill over and over again. This girl, however, confused him. The pristine cheeriness of her was unsettling, making her stand out clear as day against the dingy, angry, consuming Wasteland.

He didn't trust it, frankly. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was genuinely selfless and kind simply because they felt it the right thing to do. She was definitely hiding something, concealing her true nature, but at least she was good at it. Besides, he'd be lying to himself if he said part of the reason he allowed her to tag along with him wasn't that he didn't want to walk past her pretty little corpse on the side of the road in a few days...as if there would be a corpse leftover. At least, a recognizable one.

Ahead of him, the girl caught her boot on a crack in the ancient asphalt, sending her stumbling; his quick reflexes kicked in almost instantly, and he yanked her back by her suit sleeve, sighing when she cast a sheepishly apologetic glance his way. He rolled his eyes and gave her a small push to keep it moving, watching as her hair swished back and forth with her movements.

How many decades had it been since he'd seen a woman with long hair? Maybe it had even been a century, or more. Most women in the Wasteland kept their hair cropped fairly short; easier to care for, less for someone to grab onto if you were attacked. Shampoo was still fairly easy to acquire, but only because most people didn't have consistent access to enough clean water to bathe with. Hair could also be sold in some cases, and many people found themselves desperate enough to do something like that in this world, unfortunate as it was.

But this girl, her dark curls hung down to her waist, flowing down her back and shoulders elegantly, or laid along her spine in a neat braid when she got especially red and sweaty. It was so shiny; he wanted to run his fingers through it for some reason, so badly that when she'd bumped into him their first day of travel, her view obscured by the dark curtain, he didn't even think to scold her, too busy willing himself to not thread his fingers into the soft strands. When he was close enough, he noticed that it smelled like wildflowers.

He'd met her just outside Filly. Where she was headed, a few settlements northwest to find an aunt or a sister or a grandmother or something, wasn't the most perilous route she'd shown him on her Pip Boy (in a very surreal conversation where she'd treated him like he was any other man), but she was already showing that she wasn't truly equipped to make it there intact. Hell, she had flagged him down for directions, in a move that had made him genuinely wonder if he hadn't done too much Jet that morning. That little maneuver wouldn't get her killed with him (at least, on the right day) but it would quickly get her robbed or worse with many others.

His first instinct had been to leave her to her fate, but he found that he just couldn't leave her there on the side of the road, that blinding white smile, those big, round eyes, her basically pristine vault suit making her stand out like a sore thumb. Begrudgingly, he had agreed to let her walk with him to where she was going.

She tired rather quickly compared to him, his condition making thermoregulation much less of a concern. His soft new companion, however, was unaccustomed to the sun, to the heat, and was often too exhausted to continue in any real capacity by the time the sun set. The nights got cold, colder than it seemed she'd anticipated, and she chattered her way through that whole first evening; each subsequent night, he'd built a small fire to keep her warm through the coldest part. It annoyed him immensely, having to expose them in the dark like that, but, oddly, he found that he equally disliked watching her shiver on the ground.

"Do you think we could stop for a while?" she asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to turn to him and nearly slamming into his chest in the process. His hand braced on her shoulder, slightly shoving her aside so they didn't collide; the hand that touched her tingled when he pulled it away, and he cast a quick glance at his palm.

"You're really pushin' it today, kid. You know that?" he growled, his tone dripping with unconcealed irritation. They could easily get at least a few more hours of walking in before the sun went down, and once she stopped walking for the day, it was hard to get her going again.

The way her eyes widened at him before dropping to the ground actually made him feel guilty, flooring him just a little. He held his face in its usual neutral mask.

"I'm sorry." she murmured, chastened. "I'm just not used to walking so long in the heat."

Immediately, he rolled his eyes, though whether he was rolling them at her or at himself, he genuinely didn't know. Casting his eyes further down the road, then around where they'd stopped, they fell onto a clutch of old, dead trees and rocks, a small amount of shade gathering there. It was well concealed enough, he supposed.

"Fine. We can stop over there. But we're gonna get a few more miles in today, at least, so don't get comfy."

Flashing him those perfect teeth again, she quickly made her way off the road and threw herself down at the base of the largest tree, hiding from the sun as best as she could. He took the opportunity to dig some food out of his bag, have another smoke or two, and reflect on his choices, his back to her by and large as he watched the road.

"I didn't know the sun was so bright." she huffed after while, her tone almost petulant. "Or so hot."

He turned back to her, a slick reply about her general naivete locked and loaded, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her sat there on the ground, tugging off her boots and socks. Folding each sock into a neat little ball, she tucked them into their corresponding mate and sat them aside, stretching her legs out in front of her. Quiet, he watched her roll up each pant leg to her knee, as high as the cut of the material would allow, reclining back in the small patch of shade she'd found.

Those toned, smooth calves that peeked out at him were the most intriguing thing he'd seen in a minute, his eyes practically glued to the exposed skin. There was a softness to her that he thought didn't exist anymore; in her supple body, the way she actually held a little extra fat from years of being fed and safe in a vault, the soft, clear expanse of her skin, her clean, manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, he found himself deeply wanting to reach out and wrap one of his hands around her ankle, the other running up the taut muscle of her leg. He shoved the feeling down and turned back to the road, fidgeting.

A while later, the sun was dipping behind the horizon, but still frying everything it touched when she finally spoke again.

"Do you wanna get going soon?" she called, tone much more relaxed than before.

He turned to look at her again, having avoided doing so for over an hour, her sleeves rucked up to her elbows as well, and shook his head.

"Nah. Might as well just bed down here and get some sleep. Good a place as any, I guess. I wanna cover some real ground tomorrow." he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. "Get your rest, princess. If you can't keep up tomorrow, I'm leaving your ass behind."

She shot him a look, somewhere between evaluating whether or not he was serious and rolling her eyes at his continued unpleasantness, but she didn't respond outside of a simple nod, sinking back down onto the ground and closing her eyes. Once the sun went down fully, he went around gathering up dried sticks and brush to build a small fire, setting up near where she was obviously quickly falling asleep, curled up on her side and using her backpack as a pillow.

Cooper kept watch for a few hours as it quickly darkened, the girl falling soundly asleep as he sat polishing his guns. Eventually, he grew bored of weapon maintenance, and his eyes were drawn to the vault dweller lying a few feet to his side.

He leaned closer, allowing himself to inspect her face closer than he'd had a chance to thus far. Walking behind her all day allowed him plenty of time to study her silhouette, her gait, the dancing length of her hair. But her face was always hidden, and when she turned to face him, he felt unable to look her in the eye for too long without that itch creeping into his brain, sending him searching through his pockets for his inhaler.

Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at her without worrying about being caught, it finally dawned on him, though, not immediately:

Fuck, she was beautiful.

And she was, and would have been if he'd met her in another life, too, each feature of her more appealing than the next. That long hair had been braided back away from her face, the length of it coiled like a snake along her back as she snored ever-so-lightly, her head sitting crookedly against her backpack. Before he could even think about it, his hand had already been tugged loose of his glove and reached out to softly pet at it, the strands silken under his bare fingers.

When did he get so close to her?

He thought back to her exposed legs, now hidden back away beneath her pant legs, kicked most of the way back down to assist in keeping her warm, and thought about how there had been no hair there. Many aspects of grooming that had once been normal were long lost to him, but that was certainly one of the biggest ones. He had completely forgotten that women once generally shaved the hair from their legs, and how big a deal it was considered when they didn't. He'd thought it was a silly thing to expect then; now, it just seemed like a sad thing to fixate on, with all that had been going on at the time.

However, that didn't stop him from imagining how smooth, how silky her legs would feel if he ran his hands along them, how high the smoothness would go until he would be able to feel the presence of downy little body hairs, the likes of which he hadn't had himself in centuries. Would they start at her knees? Or would he have to feel all the way up to the tops of her pillowy thighs to feel them? He remembered, vaguely, that some women would shave between their legs, too, and wondered if she did that as well.

Why was he thinking about what was between her legs?

His brain was so foggy the longer he looked at her, his one free hand quickly moving to dig his inhaler out of his pocket, taking the longest drag he could take off of it. It didn't clear his mind, didn't stop him from feeling like he wanted to touch more of her, to lean close and smell her, taste her. A hard shudder broke down his spine, and his cock set to throbbing in his pinstriped pants, his teeth gnashing. He was anxious to get to the next big settlement so he could buy new vials; he was convinced there was something wrong with these ones.

Regardless, he could breathe fine and didn't feel like a threat to the girl, necessarily...so his attention shifted, rather sourly, to his aching erection, now straining against his thigh.

It wasn't that he never masturbated; he was still a man beneath all the rads and rot, and his sex drive had never fully died, only dwindled down to a single flame whose presence didn't usually draw any attention from him. But it wasn't something he relished in, no more than eating food he couldn't really taste anymore to sustain himself or feigning sleep to allow his legs and back to rest. It was simply another need that had to be met on occasion; a quick tug at himself, not thinking of anything in particular, until he spilled onto the ground and went on with his life. It never needed to be more than that.

Now, however, his entire gut was aflame, the smell of her filling the air and further intoxicating him, his still-gloved hand moving to press against his cock through the fabric, the feeling leaving him arching his hips slightly up into his own touch. He wanted so badly to touch more than her hair, but knew that it wasn't advisable; the girl slept more soundly than anyone in the Wasteland, it seemed, but if she were to wake up and find him touching himself beside her, who knows what trouble there would be?

He couldn't touch her, but that didn't mean he couldn't study her, running his eyes over each part of her over and over again as the light and warmth of the fire slowly died down. He was tracing curve of her breasts and the way it flowed into the little roll of her belly for the umpteenth time, grinding hard against his hand, by the time the flames died down completely. She'd curled almost completely in on herself, hiding her face against her hands, and he wished he could look closer at it again as he slunk closer and closer to the edge.

As if she could read his mind, she suddenly rolled onto her back, resettling quickly as her head slid fully off of the bag. The mild highlights of the moon played along her face and torso, her plush lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would make that sound for him if he touched her just right, and, embarrassingly, that thought was enough to put an end to him.

The orgasm that washed over him granted some mild relief, his spend pooling in a sticky mess in his pant leg as he let out a few quiet heavy breaths, the hand that had been touching her hair scratching lines into the dirt, but it was bittersweet. In the haze afterwards, for the first time in a long, long time, he thought about Barb, about the way she would sigh his name when she came apart, about how soft and warm she would feel against him when he held her close after they made love. The deeply buried pain behind his breastbone that had started the day he'd found out the truth about her kicked up once more.

Sitting in the dark silence, a hard edge of discomfort and annoyance steeled up his spine, leaving him still in his ruminations until the uncomfortable feeling of the mess in his pants became intolerable. Letting out a huff, he shifted away from her and walked a few steps away as quietly as possible to clean himself up as best as he could, shame thick in the crisp air. When he finished, he dug into his pocket for an angry cigarette, jamming it between his thin lips and turning back towards her to face away from the breeze as he lit it.

But when he looked at her once more, really let himself look at her, he felt that pain in his breast soften, her soft skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she slept, peacefully unaware of anything but her blissful rest. It wasn't something he saw often. When he sat back down beside her, grabbing for his loose glove in the dark, he sat close enough that the outside of his thigh touched the arm under her head, pulling on his lit smoke absentmindedly as he continued to study his little companion. Her even, steady breathing was quite soothing to him, actually.

He was still going to buy a new set of vials.

[leclsrc]

a certain romance ✴︎ cs55

genre: fluff!, humor

word count: 4.5k

A love affair is never an easy thing to keep under wraps. Or, the four times your two brothers almost catch you and Carlos together, and the one time they finally do.

notes... reader is a leclerc, one sexual allusion but it’s not bad, french that is basically translatable thru context clues

auds here... req’d, sort of twice! was gonna make this a full fledged fic but i went with the short route to keep it brief. i hope u like this anon/s :) title from a song of the same name by the arctic monkeys. also there is use of y/n which i generally don’t like using in fics bec i feel it disrupts the flow, but it wouldn’t have fit any other way so. must b all... enjoy!

If you told Carlos Sainz that he—a full grown, mature, twenty-eight-year-old man—would be tiptoeing on the balcony of a hotel in Monaco (shirtless and fully terrified, no less) eight months from now, he would laugh at you. But he’d be doing so anyway, fearing something in the room behind him rather than the alarmingly high distance he’d be possessing over the road below. He’d inhale, exhale, recites a few proverbs to keep himself calm. But now, if you told him, he would mumble something along the lines of estúpido, because really, how the hell would he get himself into that situation?

Don’t worry. He’s going to find out.

“I’m not really looking to date,” he says wisely, taking another swig of his beer. “I think racing is the number one thing on my mind. And it’s difficult to maintain a balance of both.”

Lando clears his throat, tipsy from having exhausted his drinks and then some. “Mate, quit being a pessimist. You Spaniards, I swear. That’s not necessarily true. I made it work.” He presents two thumbs, pointing them toward his beaming, dopey face. 

Carlos stares. “Luisa broke up with you.”

“Right then, you arse, twist the knife,” Lando mutters exasperatedly, his thumbs drooping down and his smile dropping. Carlos can’t help but throw his head back in amusement, eking out apologies in between bouts of laughter. The younger just mocks the laugh, finishing the beer he’d been drinking. 

The two are on the balcony of Lando’s flat, overlooking the expanse of Chelsea. The subject of girlfriends and looking for love had been between them for a while now, seeing as they were both single; they’d often greet each other with a Got a girlfriend yet, cabrón? And, while the conversation was generally harmless, it did tend to push Carlos into a state of introspection regarding his own love life.

“But honestly, really.” Carlos says. “I just don’t know if a girl is what I need right now. Unless somebody perfect drops on my lap.”

“I’m going to ignore how pervy that sounds—but I get it. I guess the career thing’s just the priority, huh, mate? And speaking of career”—Lando rifles through his jacket pocket and fishes his phone out—“we’re going to be late for dinner if we don’t leave in the next fifteen.”

Ah, dinner: the only reason Carlos had chartered a jet to London earlier today in the first place. Proposed out of sheer fun and then carrying on because it actually seemed like a doable idea, Lando had texted a few drivers and invited them and however-many-pluses they wished to bring to an upscale restaurant in the city as a way to get in touch.

It didn’t seem ideal, until they realized that 1. Lando, George, and Alex were already in London, and 2. Charles was with family and had a meeting there, too, and—well, at that point Carlos had basically succumbed to peer pressure and gotten on a jet straight to the UK. Lando always had a penchant for making these plans and spending the entire time making dirty jokes and/or getting tipsy and/or using his camera to take pictures of any and everyone, which really just made the dinners all the more fun.

They clean up the bottles of beer they’d drank from, and Carlos pulls his coat on by the door, still unused to the overcast British weather. “Who’s there later?”

“The boys, Arthur… Lily, Carmen. I think. I mean nobody brought their mums or whatever. That’s all of ‘em, I suppose.” Lando inspects his outfit in the mirror by the entryway and swaps out his jacket for a different one, ushering Carlos out the door and into the waiting car. Something about I’d rather be driven around than drive a pretentious sports car around the city looking like a daft prick. 

They’re halfway to the restaurant, both on their phones, when Lando suddenly gasps softly and goes, “Right, and Charles’ sister is going too.”

Carlos looks up, interest piqued. He hadn’t heard much of Charles’ sister before—you’d dropped by a few races, and had always been present for the entirety of the Monaco weekend, but you weren’t engaged in racing as much as Charles’ other siblings. He’d shaken hands with you and made the polite, necessary, albeit totally rushed small talk. “Y/N,” he recounts. “Right?”

“Yessir,” Lando says, letting Drake filter through the AUX of the car. “The one in law school.”

He nods, trying to pick out specific memories. None really come to mind—it’s all introductions that repeat themselves. Hi, Carlos Sainz, Charles’ teammate. Oh, hi, I’m Charles’ sister. He faintly recounts finding you pretty, but having not seen you at the paddock for quite a while, he considers his memories dubious at best. He leans back and listens to Lando rap Rich Flex with an obnoxiously posh accent instead, and figures if he dies now, at least he wouldn’t have to keep hearing this.

The restaurant is nearer than they anticipate, so the Drake rap-along session is cut blissfully short, the pair being ushered into the private seating area, coats taken and wine served. They join George, who, at his insistence, had made the reservation in the first place even if Lando had suggested the restaurant, and Carmen. 

“Charles and Albon?” Carlos asks when he takes a seat, greeting the couple.

“Charles and Arthur are on their way, but Alex is stuck in Harrods with Lily and Y/N. They got busy looking for shoes or something. Poor guy,” George says, half-laughing. 

“I so wish I met up with the girls beforehand,” Carmen mopes, “the sale at Harrods is amazing.”

The conversation descends into a multitude of different topics, as they always do when Lando and George lead the way—racing (obviously), Carmen, Daniel Ricciardo even, dogs, any plans of adopting dogs, and then, because George Russell is a little shit, he says: “Feels nice being the only guy with a girlfriend at the table right now, innit?”

Carmen pinches his arm but he persists with a smile. “No, but really. You two are just about the most eligible bachelors ever and still single. What gives?”

“I for one am not into monogamy at the moment,” Lando says matter-of-factly. “I’m twenty-three, mate. I’m trying to have fun. But Mr. Almost Thirty here is a different case.”

“Ay,” Carlos gripes. “It’s not an involuntary thing. Just want to focus on racing.”

He prays then for this topic to come to a close so he won’t have to explain himself all over again, and reprieve comes in the form of Charles and Arthur entering the room. Already Charles is talking, before he even takes a seat, and Arthur is nodding along—something about how London traffic sucks, how are your streets so small, mate, oh my God Harrods is so full, Lily and Y/N have been at it for hours, poor Alex, he volunteered to stay. The guy spouts words quickly and easily, in an accent that sounds both English and French.

The rest of the wait time happens fast—Lily and Alex rush through the entrance, apologizing for being late. The lines are so long, Lily explains, taking a seat and leaving the other side empty. When her boyfriend tries to sit there, she swats him away, goes, babe, no, that’s for Y/N. So her boyfriend sits woefully across her and beside Carlos instead.

“Where is Y/N?” Charles asks. Carlos is also curious, albeit inwardly. He didn’t even know you were arriving until late, and still he hasn’t seen your face.

“Sorry, I had to check something with the valet,” a voice goes, and then you’re sliding into the seat across him.

The thing is, Carlos has been stunned before.

It’s sort of a non-negotiable when you go into such a demanding, high-risk sport. If he’s careening into another car, or the side of a circuit—obviously, it stuns him. Everything spins into slow motion for a few nerve-wracking seconds. But he’s also been stunned in all the good ways: when he can tell he’s in the lead, when he overtakes the car in front of him, when he bounds past the flag and realizes it’s a podium finish. So, yes—Carlos is fully familiar with the gut churning, belly spinning delirium of being stunned. So familiar, in fact, that he’s grown familiar with it, developed a second skin for it, welcomed it with open arms.

Which also explains the way he sees you laughing quietly at something Lily says and subsequently realizes, with apprehension and dread, that he is stunned.

—

The first time it happens is after the dinner—not just the dinner, but the drinks and the London walk that followed, accompanied by three noisy and drunk tour guides (read: Lando, George, Alex). Charles and Arthur, almost as drunk, follow the tour with loud jabs of their own, and Lily and Carmen are filming everything on their phones. You’ve been on your phone checking an email, and Carlos takes a call from his cousin, which naturally leads both you and him to trail behind the group.

So, when you’re both done taking calls and checking emails, it’s the two of you left to your own devices. You swing within the awkward few moments of deciding whether to rejoin the group or just keep trailing behind, your shoes clicking softly against the cobblestone pavement, accompaniments to Lando’s loud singing of Piano Man. 

“What’d you think of the wine?” You ask, your accent sliding easy into the syllables but not losing its distinctiveness. 

He pretends to ponder, even if he’d given Lando a full-scale review when they first left the restaurant, and turns back to you. “It was okay. A bit too sweet for my taste.”

“Exactly! That’s what I told Arthur, but he found it perfect. I guess kids these days just don’t have taste.”

You both laugh at your sarcastic use of “kids”, knowing you’re just two years older than your younger brother. Carlos opens his mouth to speak, trying to find footing, the perfect suave thing to say to possibly land himself in a position to flirt.

Right then, Lando reaches the crescendo of Somebody to Love (he can’t ever finish a song), and then Charles is turning around to find you and Carlos engaged in conversation. His lips stretch into a mischievous smile.

“Aye, Carlos! Back off the baby sister, mate!” He slurs, clapping Arthur on the back to catch his attention.

Arthur’s eyes narrow playfully, darting in between you both. Carlos just raises a middle finger in response, sending the brothers into unnecessarily extensive bouts of laughter. You roll your eyes, blowing a raspberry. “Putain. These fucking shitheads never leave me alone.”

George is in the middle of teaching Charles to say sod off instead of back off when Carlos purses his lips and, on a whim, turns and goes: “Is there a rule against dating drivers?”

You try and fail to hide a smile. “Hmm. None, I don’t think.”

Silence. Then you speak again, coy. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Carlos says. London is suddenly a place of magic. “No reason at all.”

—

It’s at an afterparty, the second time it happens—and technically the first where you and Carlos actually connect properly. In hindsight, it might’ve been stupid to flirt with him in the middle of the dance floor—something he thankfully realized in the moment, taking your hand and guiding you through the throng of people into the back exit.

Nobody said first kisses had to be remarkable in the romantic sense. Sometimes they’re in seedy European alleyways, with a fist bunched into his polo and a hand on your hip. It had to happen this way, because how else would two months of beating around the bush culminate? Because even if you’re drunk, you can’t stop thinking about how much you want to kiss him again. Tomorrow morning. And the next.

You pull away, but he speaks first, voice rushed and semi-sobered. “Let’s not.”

Humming, you try to swallow the lump of distress in your throat. “Why?”

“Because,” he says, nervous now, gulping. “Because—of the bro code.”

You stare. “Is that a Spanish thing?”

“B-ro c-ode,” he says again, enunciating the syllables; the Spanish accent doesn’t go away, and neither do his hands, hot and big on your hip and waist. 

You move your hand from where it’s fisted into his shirt, cupping his neck. Then you burst out laughing, much to Carlos’ confusion. “That is so not a thing,” you press, unconvinced.

“It is. Bro code. I just crossed that line, dios mio,” he says, clearly way more stressed than you are. 

“Bro code isn’t upheld for boys over twenty-one,” you say haughtily. Right then, you hear Arthur’s voice through the door and it swings open a few seconds later. In the span of those moments, you shove Carlos away nervously and attempt to look like you weren’t doing anything.

Arthur’s on the phone, speaking in quick French when he sees you and Carlos at a respectable distance. He tilts the phone away, mouths What’s up?, pointing at the both of you.

“I felt like vomiting and he was nearby,” you reply, nodding. He’s out of view, exiting the alleyway within seconds and back on the phone. 

You exhale, and turn back to him. “Okay, so maybe the bro code is a thing.”

He looks at you as if to say no shit. “I don’t think we should do this,” he says, but his tone betrays himself.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

“Right, yes.”

A beat. “Can you kiss me again?”

—

Against all odds, you and Carlos had managed to successfully start dating under your brothers’—ergo the majority of your mutual circle’s—noses. You’d only let it slip to a few close friends and family, and in Carlos’ case, Lando, because Lord knows the guy could not keep his mouth shut for the life of him. And even if it was stressful, and it often felt like any moment would be interrupted by somebody catching the both of you on the phone, or even together, neither of you could deny how good it was.

It’s five months later—five months of pure bliss, for the most part. Save for multiple close calls, you and Carlos had enjoyed each other’s company. You’d tried to navigate how everything would work once you realized you both wanted something more out of the relationship, but neither of you wanted to deal with the hassle of your overprotective siblings yet. You’d resorted to hours of FaceTime, everyday texts, and if the world was on your side, the occasional date. 

The last method is easily your favorite, you both—and when the drivers get three weeks off and Carlos spends it in Las Vegas, that’s how it happens, the third time. Carlos visits you at your hotel, relishing in the eleven-thirty emptiness of the communal area, swimming in the jacuzzi and giggling about something into Carlos’ neck. You barely remember the joke; you’re honestly just welling up with enthusiasm and an endless supply of laughs that your boyfriend is finally with you.

Your head is still dug into Carlos’ neck, laughing about something else now, when you hear faraway footsteps. Having grown used to being a pseudo-patrolman, your eyes dart up immediately, and your stomach drops when you see, seriously, of all fucking people—Charles and Arthur. 

“Oh my God,” you mutter, dumbfounded. A hand wet with jacuzzi water taps frantically on your phone; sure enough, you’d gotten texts from the both of them about dropping by your hotel for drinks. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

You disembark from your position on your boyfriend’s lap, hoping the hickey he sucked onto your neck won’t be visible from meters away. Your eyes shoot up again, and they still haven’t spotted you. Holding your breath and bracing yourself, you turn to Carlos, place two hands on his shoulders, and shove him underneath the water.

They spot you then, waving enthusiastically. “Drinks!” Arthur shouts, mimicking a beer bottle with his hand. You chew your lip nervously, raising one hand and waving back.

“Don’t wait up and I’ll just meet you at the bar!” You holler, watching as they pass through the entrance at a truly leisurely pace. 

Once they’re in, you haul your boyfriend up and he breathes deeply, anxious. “Puta madre.”

“I think we should tell them soon. I don’t want you literally dying just for the sake of keeping us a secret,” you say, maintaining a safe distance and constantly turning toward the entrance just in case. You reach for his hand underwater.

“It’s thrilling, actually,” he winks.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bother.” You say woefully, guilt eating at you a little bit. But he takes your hand, squeezes it among the jacuzzi bubbles.

“Nothing’s a bother with you.”

—

Charles knocks on your Monza hotel room door when it happens the fourth time, opening it once he finds it unlocked—and then freezing when he finds you buried in your duvet ’til your shoulders. You’re in your silk pajama top, arms and mouth outstretched into a yawn when your eyes meet, hair disheveled. You blink.

“Charles.” You say confusedly, letting your arms drop. “Tu vas bien?”

“Mmm, ça va.” He pauses. “Et toi?”

“Moi aussi,” you say casually. “Any reason you came into my room without waiting for me to answer the damn door?”

He smiles, as if remembering why he invaded your privacy. “Right, I came in here to ask if you’ve seen Arthur.”

“I’m clearly by myself in bed, so no,” you respond cuttingly. “Last I checked he was walking around with Lando.” The two had become fast friends after the London dinner. 

Your elder brother hums, then moves to take a seat on your bed, to which you quickly reach over, grab a complimentary soap bar (on the bedside table and not the shower, which you’d found weird), and toss it square at his face. “Ah—ay! What the fuck?”

“Don’t come near me,” you say. “I’m sick.”

“Sick? What rubbish. You were literally at the paddock hours ago totally fine.”

“Don’t be daft. Not that kind of sick, you arse—”

“Not that kind of sick,” he mocks, exaggerating his accent and raising his voice a few octaves to sound like a silly version of you. He raises an accusatory finger. “You lie, you lie!”

“I am not lying,” you insist irritably, sitting up a little and cocking your brow. “Tu es insupportable!”

You slide into a flurry of angry French and Italian in your valiant efforts to defend your innocence, and Charles is infected into doing the same. Eventually the room is just filled with indistinguishable insults and scoffed phrases of merde, ah bon?, and immensely accented What thuh helliz your problem?s. You even chuck another hotel soap at him for extra measure, but he manages to catch it this time. It’s childish, like many of your petty fights born out of irritance.

“I’m on my period, you prick,” you say as a last resort, once the insults have run their sufficient course. “I couldn’t be arsed to find Arthur.” His eyes narrow, doubting you, but ultimately he admits defeat, walking back to the door to exit your room. The door’s out of view of your bed, so you brace yourself, waiting for it to open and click closed.

“You better not be harboring a fugitive in here!” He says, but only half of here is heard before the door clicks shut and drowns him out. The tension leaves your body and you heave a deep sigh, relaxing backwards and biting your lip. 

The thick silk duvet flips upward and Carlos surfaces, face flushed from being in hiding for so long.

One arm is still curled around your thigh, the inner part of which is rubbed raw from his facial hair being against it. You stare at one another with dopey smiles on your faces, relieved that you’d managed to act fast and flip the huge blanket over Carlos—although he had conveniently been in that position to begin with. 

“Do either of you ever shut up?”

“One more word and I’m kicking you,” you say, reaching an arm out to stroke his jaw. You smile, laughing a little. “I’m not bluffing.”

“Scary, princesa,” he teases, hauling himself up to press a lasting kiss onto your lips. You smile into it, out of relief that your nosy elder brother didn’t catch you, but also out of the way your heart swells when Carlos smiles.

—

“You’re absolutely sure it’s the right room number?”

“100% positive. 613, Y/N Leclerc.”

“And not any other Leclerc.”

“Mate, I just said Y/N. Get a grip,” Lando scoffs. “My investigative skills pay off. Still don’t understand why you couldn’t have just asked her yourself, seeing as though you two are, I dunno, dating.”

“It’s a surprise, man,” Carlos says cuttingly, facing the lobby of the Hôtel de Paris. “Alright, thanks, cábron. I’ll see you soon.”

“Get some!” The Brit whoops, and then Carlos is taking the elevator to your room.

He didn’t think of himself as much of a surprises guy, but then again—he didn’t think of himself as much as a flowers and teddy bear guy, but he’d gotten you those every month since you became official; he didn’t think of himself as much of a physical touch guy, but he was always the one initiating hugs and cuddle sessions. The list goes on.

He knocks, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

Much to his relief, it really is you who answers, with the face of surprise he wanted out of this. Before you utter a word, he’s dipping down to kiss you, and you find yourself returning the kiss, knowing you’d lost your boyfriend’s presence for so long. It quickens fast, and Carlos wedges himself in, kicking the door closed behind him.

You pull away. “Wait, I—”

He kisses you again, and you can’t resist, laughing at his persistence. He pulls away to tug his shirt off, and that’s when you crash back to reality. “Mmmm—Carlos, this isn’t my room!” 

Everything happens fast after that.

The door starts opening and Carlos hears Charles on the other side of it, talking about there was a room mix-up, Y/N, this is mine and 615 is yours—he misses the rest of the sentence, clutching his singlet to his bare chest and allowing himself to be pushed by his girlfriend out the door of the balcony. Thinking he’s safe if just for a moment, he turns, but finds he still sees the room—the curtains don't cover him enough. 

And if he can see the room, he figures, the room can see him. And if the room can see him, Charles will see him when he’s fully inside. 

You’re gesticulating wildly with your hands, trying to find a way to distract your brother, turning away from Carlos briefly to maybe just accept your fate. Charles shuts the door, facing you and, consequently, the balcony doors. Your heart seizes. Surely, Carlos must be there—there’s no other place left for him to hide, unless he miraculously fit his blocky, broad frame behind a random potted plant.

“Something wrong?” Charles says, and you whip around. The balcony’s blissfully empty.

“N…othing.” You say. “Nothing.”

“D’accord,” he says promptly. “So. Dinner?”

Your head spins, unable to formulate a reply. Where could Carlos have hidden?

The balcony is a bit wide, but the entirety of it is visible, and, well—Carlos is clearly not. There’s one lawn sofa, and one plant, neither of which seem to harbor your favorite Spaniard, so where the fuck is he? Because of course, he’s not stupid. Surely. He’s twenty-eight, you think.

What kind of guy would climb onto the banister of the Hôtel de Paris just to hide from his girlfriend’s older brother?

Carlos cannot believe he’s on the banister of the Hôtel de Paris just to hide from his girlfriend’s older brother.

In the scurry of it, he hadn’t even gotten properly dressed. So here he is, braving the frigid sixth-floor air and the harrowing height at which he stands, brandishing his shirt like it’s a flag and standing like he’s on a podium. He feels like he’s about to die for love. Like some Shakespearean hero.

But when he digs deep he figures he doesn’t actually mind at all. Sure, he feels like he’s on the brink of death, but he realizes it’s for you in the end, and that comforts him. He never thought he’d do this, ever, not even if he was paid, or bet on, or for a Real Madrid win. He leans back and ignores the asphalt below. He’ll stay here as long as he needs to.

“Mate, get down from there.” Carlos looks up to see Charles and Arthur going absolutely mental, even taking a few photos for good measure. Relieved, scared, and just glad his stint on the banister is over, he climbs off and pulls his shirt back on, crossing his arms. He spots you inside, smiling but also insisting they delete the incriminating evidence.

In the end, seriously? This is the reaction you and he hid from for eight months? You walk over to place yourself beside Carlos, watching your brothers. Two fools laughing at everything, each other, their sister, and her boyfriend. “Jig is up,” Charles says. “But we’ve known since you two kissed outside that club.”

You roll your eyes; clearly, you’ve already been told this information. But Carlos is slack-jawed with shock—they did all that on purpose. How fucking cheeky, really. He figures they gave Lando the wrong room number through the grapevine, too.

“But,” Charles says, wiping real tears from his eyes, “I know you love my sister, mate, so I’ll be the first to say I approve. Arthur will be the second.”

“I approve,” says Arthur dumbly.

“We approve,” they say in unison, then they’re laughing all over again. You swat both of their arms in retaliation, which causes the teasing to subside.

“Now, cábron,” Charles says gleefully, “we do have a couple of questions for you…”

You squeeze his hand. Even if he prefers the banister, your presence is comforting all the same, and he’d answer any totally unnecessary, pointless, silly question from your brothers if it means he gets to hug you again later. If you told him eight months ago he’d be this in love, he would’ve laughed in your face. But here he is anyway. 

It’s comforting.

[edenalieth]

Tricked pt.2

Pairing: pixy!hyunjin x afab! reader — read part.1

Genre: faery!au, based on « the cruel prince » universe, smut, slight angst

Warnings: he’s still short tempered his dad is too, unprotected sex (they're fairies, they struggle to have kids and are immortals, you're not), oral m!receiving, fingering f!receiving, orgasm denial, bit rough/jealousy, y'all are a bit tipsy

Summary: At first, he thought he was hallucinating but he could recognize your delicate gestures, the plump of your lips, your hand engulfed by the stranger’s one and the way his free hand was sneakily brushing over your butt. Who was this asshole ? Rage setting his blood on fire, he couldn’t stop staring at you, making him stumble over his partner's feet. He apologized to the lady he was dancing with and headed towards you. Little did he know that you were waiting for this reaction. 

Words: 4.7K 

A.N: hi, it's cami! im back with the second part of this faery au. it's actually a first for me to write a sequel, i recently read the stolen heir so it helped going back into this universe haha. sorry for the eventual mistakes, i hope you will like it ♡ — 231206

His shirt was barely buttoned up, his hair untied and soaked after swimming with you on the lake and he unconsciously hummed a song on his way back to the manor. He felt delighted by the time you had spent together. Of course, he wasn’t forgiving you for the way you had played with his feelings, the way you made a fool out of him but he would let you go with it, for now. And, after all, it was your secret. Just like the place where you had sealed your passion to. He shivered thinking about how your hands touched him, how your soft lips crashed on his. He let his fingers brush against his lips, his steps guiding him towards the white rocky structure he called his dwelling. 

When the heavy wooden door opened at his arrival he heard his name being announced by the guards and some servants rushing towards him. 

« My lord, what happened to your clothes ? Please, you should wear some shoes and get dressed properly. » urged an old woman called Mona. She used to be his nanny and was always making sure things were perfect for him. Since he grew up, he was seeing her less and less as she was busy directing other attendants. However, she always showed up during important times. Today was no exception. 

Hyunjin raised a brow looking at the fae. He checked his white shirt. There was some green stains here and there because of your little fight. His feet were dirty after walking in the woods. Fine but what now ? Were the guests still here ? Even so, he didn’t care. The high society had seen him in a far worst shape than just being underdressed. And, after all, even a cruel and perverted man like Cardan had been able to access the throne. People would not be shocked for so little. 

The woman clapped twice and domestic servants swarmed over him, dusting his shoulders and feet, handing him a clean doublet and boots. He rejected them, annoyed by all this fuss. « Could you at least tell me why I should do this ? I would like to retire to my apartments. » the black haired pixy grumbled, his tone iron cold, looking at them with no mercy. The old fae sighed, not impressed by his temper. « Your father is waiting for you in his office. » 

His shoulders got tensed and he clenched his fists, the muscle of his jaw suddenly prominent. He pulled the clothes off the hands of a brownie, while an other one was helping him to put his boots on. Once ready, he headed towards the office. 

As usual, his steps were echoing on the empty corridors. In the fading daylight, the last rays of sunshine were illuminating the walls of different shades of blue, making the shadows dance. He stopped at the doorframe, took a deep breath and knocked.

« Come. » his father’s low voice seemed calm, too calm. 

Hyunjin entered the room. He bowed and said « Father. Mona told me you wanted to see me. » 

The place wasn’t really big and quite off-centered from the crowded rooms of the manor. Mountains of books were surrounding the huge oak desk, skillfully engraved with pixies and ivy. The young man was about to sit on one of the armchair facing it but his father stopped him, raising his hand as a gesture for him to wait. « No need, I won’t be too long. »

Hyunjin had difficulties to stay focused and he was trying with all his might to not let his wings buzz. His father was writing on some papers, not even bothering to look at his son. When he finished, he sealed it with blue wax, stamping the coat of arms of their family using his signet ring. Hyunjin had a similar one on his left index. « Today was your last tantrum. » his parent stated. 

The boy scoffed, tapping his feet on the floor. « A tantrum ? Maybe it would not have happened if this incompetent » and he insisted on that word, gritting his teeth « was doing his job properly. He humiliated me in front of the guests. » 

His dad stood up, overlooking his son. « No! You did that yourself and a multiple times! » he seethed. Hyunjin could feel his body getting hot from all the rage he was holding back. Controlling his wings was now a wasted effort and it didn’t go unnoticed. The older man looked at him with disdain. « Look at you. You’re dressed like a peasant and can’t even discipline your emotions. You almost hurt a domestic today, you put on a show during our dinner with the duke and your reputation is well known in Insmire. » he paused, analyzing Hyunjin’s reaction to the statement. He continued. « Get ahold of yourself or I will have to interfere myself. » he threatened. The pixy was fulminating. « I dare you to try. » he spit, his body few inches from his father’s. Not getting the time to react, he felt a loud pain on his cheekbone. His mind went blank, something warm dripping along his face. 

His dad pulled out a tissue from his pocket and cleaned his ring. « A ball is going to be held in four days. This is your chance to show the true values of the Hwang family. Understood ? » Hyunjin didn’t answer. « I said, understood ? ». 

« Yes, father. » 

When Hyunjin came back to his room, he had the urge to break everything around him. He checked himself on the full length mirror, his cheek was red, with some hints of purple and dry blood on the cut. Despite his anger, he could tell this argument made him come back to his senses. He deserved to be respected and feared but he also needed to behave a bit more to reach that goal. Not to be the capricious heir and to be able to surpass his dad. First, he would try to control his emotions. Second, he would avoid people making it harder for him to reach his first goal and having a bad influence on him, such as you. He could tell his heart had soften the second he took interest in you. It started when you arrived at the court and exploded after your afternoon together. He would not meet you the next day, breaking his promise. Nor the other. He didn’t need a weakness. He didn’t need to like you. 

Servants were helping him to get ready. He was wearing an all white outfit. The tip of his boots was covered of dark silver and Mona attached a brooch made of sapphires as dark as the night sky. His cloak, also white, was covered of tiny diamonds looking like the morning dew. His former nanny handed him a mask made of tulle. It wasn’t totally covering his face, just enough to hide his bruise and eyes. He was playing with the ring on his index, adorned with his coat of arms. It represented several pair of pixy wings, intertwined with ivy forming a H. Hyunjin often played with it to relax or, at least, try to. He perfectly knew that you would be here tonight. It would probably be difficult to ignore you, he was scared of your reaction. However, it was a masked ball and maybe you would not recognize him in the crowd. He hoped so. 

Once ready, a knight came to escort him and his family to the castle where the ball was taking place. The great hall was beautifully decorated. Fresh flowers were dripping from the ceiling expertly mixing with the high chandeliers where small fireflies were trapped, diffusing a dim light. The tables were covered with food and drinks going from grilled fish accompanied with a lemony sauce, fae fruits and exotic ones, some mortal dishes and different types of wine. 

A small orchestra was playing and a lot of people were dancing dressed with their prettiest gowns or totally naked. Spotting some acquaintances, he followed his family, greetings several people. Trolls, mermaids, elves. He had to go through this if he wanted to get some freedom from his father’s constant monitoring. Which, after what felt like hours, he got. His mother was busy gossiping with court ladies and his father needed to discuss some serious topic with a duke. Hyunjin wasted no time and decided to join some of his friends he had noticed earlier and took a glass of green wine. The alcohol going down his throat burnt him but the taste of it was incredible. 

« Look who is joining us! What have you been up to ? You didn’t come to Xylia’s party this week. » immediately questioned a young sidhe named Jisung. Him and Hyunjin used to hate each other until the pixy helped him out of a really bad situation. Said situation implying his friend having an affair with a married woman. 

« I’ve been on thin ice with my father’s patience lately… Staying at the manor was my best option. » 

Jisung pouted not truly convinced and took a bite on a fae fruit, some of its golden dust slightly covering his mouth. « Better make up for last time then » he mischievously replied with a smirk, pouring another glass of wine to Hyunjin. The latest smiled and let himself go a little while said Xylia, a nymph who had been interested on the black haired man, came up to sit on his lap. 

« Hwang Hyunjin is finally honoring us of his presence! » she purred, sliding her arms around his shoulders. « Missed me ? » he arrogantly said. « Of course ». She chuckled, revealing pointy teeth, then proceeded to come closer to sensually bite his neck. Jisung laughed and looked at them avidly. It wasn’t the first time he was seeing them acting like this but it surely aroused him. Hyunjin used to love it, playing with Xylia, flirting with indecency, teasing his friend. He thought that giving in to his old demons would help him get you out of his mind but everything seemed bland. The nymph strong flowery scent was overwhelming, his mouth felt furred because of the wine and the sidhe’s reaction annoyed him. 

« Stop… » his voice was barely audible. The girl kept on going, sliding her hands along his torso. « I said stop. » he growled firmly, trapping the nymph’s wrist in his hand. His gaze was icy, giving cold sweat to Xylia. « What’s wrong with you ? » she was visibly offended. The pixy man rolled his eyes « I’m bored staying in your company ». He stood up and went towards the dancing crowd. He heard Jisung trying to convince him to stay and could feel the nymph’s angry eyes boring holes into his back. He didn’t care, now that the alcohol was doing its job he could only think about one thing: finding you. 

How came you didn’t cross his path yet ? Yes, all those masks and textile fluttering all around him were making him dizzy and harder for him to notice you. However, it couldn’t be impossible, right ? Unless you weren’t invited… Unthinkable. Your family was freshly part of the high society, they needed to shine among it to get the recognition from their pairs. Hyunjin let himself be drawn into a waltz, changing partners and spiraling according to his thoughts. Until his eyes finally landed on you. At first, he thought he was hallucinating but he could recognize your delicate gestures, the plump of your lips, your hand engulfed by the stranger’s one and the way his free hand was sneakily brushing over your butt. Who was this asshole ? 

Rage setting his blood on fire, he couldn’t stop staring at you, making him stumble over his partner's feet. He apologized to the lady he was dancing with and headed towards you. Little did he know that you were waiting for this reaction. 

You had noticed him rather quickly. How could you do otherwise, anyway ? He was shining like the purest gem among the nobles and courtiers. The tulle mask was doing nothing, you could tell right away that it was him by the way he elegantly walked, his dark blue wings, his pearl earring he seemed to never take off from his pointy ears. The second you saw him in the crowd, you almost ran to him, desperate to know why he never came back to the lake. However, you needed to find the right time for it because you weren’t going to be nice and you couldn’t tarnish your family's reputation. He seemed like a different person when it was only the both of you. You thought he had a soft spot for you. What an idiot you had been. You felt betrayed. Maybe it was his revenge for the little play you had pulled on him and it felt like getting a taste of your own medicine. Bitter. 

He had probably used you and would laugh about it with his friends. This feeling increased the moment you saw that beautiful creature devouring his neck and touching him lustfully. You clenched your fists at the sight of it and regretted not cutting his throat when you had the occasion. In the end, he was like any other fae, directed by his impulses. You went to the closest table and grabbed a drink. You coughed a little because of the high amount of alcohol. And this is how you joined the dancers, well decided not to cry over that mouth-of-nectar. He wanted to play that game ? Oh, you wouldn’t loose and seeing him almost crawling in your direction gave you some smugness. 

« Y/N. » he called out, trying to get your attention as you ignored him thoroughly. People were on his way and he started to push them away brutally — getting death glares — as you danced away from him, still in your lure’s arms. Even if his gaze was blurred by the light fabric covering it, you could tell the same anger was burning inside his eyes, the same one you had witnessed when he discovered the trickery you had played on him. Finally reaching the both of you, the pixy stopped, trying to keep his composure. « May I ? » he asked the man, showing his palm. « Can’t you see I’m… » your partner was about to protest until he saw who he was talking to. Hyunjin was giving him a beautiful grin but not a single cell of his body seemed welcoming. « Lord Hwang I… My apologies, the lady is yours. » he sheepishly said. The pixy looked at him leaving and his smile instantly faded once the man was out of sight. You rolled your eyes and tried to escape but he strongly grabbed your waist and pulled you close to him. 

« You suddenly remember me, Hwang Hyunjin ? » you scoffed, annoyed to not be able to detach your eyes from his. He intertwined his fingers with yours, making you twirl. You were stunning in that dress. It was visibly made of a pearly shaded silk where actual pearls delicately dangled on your chest and arms, like rain drops. A similar mask was adorning your face. It gave you a strong aura and suited the hint of purple in your eyes. « Why are you doing this to me, half-blood ? » he whispered in your ear. Feeling his breath against your face gave you goosebumps. 

« D-doing what ? » 

Damn it! You couldn’t help but stuttered and he smirked. 

« Playing with my feelings all the time. » he replied. Oh wow! So, it was your fault. 

« I’m the one playing ? You seemed to have a good time with that freshwater slut earlier. » you spat, unable to restrain your venom. He recoiled, surprised. 

« Are you talking about Xylia ? I actually pushed her away because I wanted her to be you. » he grumbled. You felt his nails digging into the tenderness of your waist, giving you a small ache. « And you think I’m going to believe you after you broke your promise. I bet you told all your friends how you made a fool out of me, letting me think I had won. »

Your words annoyed him and he frowned. This is what you thought and why you were doing all of this, trying to make him jealous and it worked. His wings started to tickle and his mouth was reduced to a thin line. 

« You truly think I’m a monster when you’re the one who started all of this. » he stated calmly. Surprised, you looked at him but you couldn’t say he was wrong… 

« What do you want from me Y/N ? » 

His intense gaze made you look away and you were glad the mask was hiding your cheekbones which were probably red. You weren’t going to say how much his loss hurt you, how addicted you had become after only one day together. You had too much ego for that. Gulping, you came closer to his ear and murmured, « Prove me I’m wrong, prove that you sincerely desire me. »

He put a halt to your dance, weighing the pros and cons of your demand. Accepting would go against his resolutions, yet, it couldn’t let you insult him without giving you a lesson. « Your wish is my command. » he replied with a sly smile. 

Cutting through the crowd, he guided you upstairs. You weren’t surprised to see some wasted people laying on the floor or hearing laughs coming from other rooms. What surprised you is how easily he found the entry of a boudoir room. Must not have been his first time coming here which made your body get tensed. 

It was small and pretty. The furnitures were scanty. An alcove full of fluffy pillows and beautifully crafted blankets overhung by a large window offering a night view of the garden. A meridian couch and a coffee table, few decorations. You removed your mask, wanting to face him correctly. You looked even more gorgeous and he could feel his body warming up. He carefully locked the door and walked towards you, trapping you against the edge of the alcove and himself. The sudden proximity made your core ache. You wanted to touch him badly but he was the one who had to prove something. After all, he accepted the challenge. 

« Well. Tell me Hyunjin, are we going to stay like that or are you actually going to do something ? » you teased. He scoffed, letting his hand run along your thigh and going up your breast to grasp the dangling pearls. He played with it, looking at the light reflecting on it. Your breathe was faint, anticipating. Not bothering to lift his head up, he spoke 

« I will make you mine, Y/N. You will be my thing, my doll and you will never dare to flirt with some idiots ever again. » You frowned. His thing ? You would never let that happen. 

« You’re all blabbering but you dont act much and, most importantly, you don’t own me. » 

What you thought would be a nice time was turning into an upsetting one. This was ridiculous and, despite your aroused state, you needed to leave. Obviously, the young pixy didn’t let you go, pulling hard on the pearls and making the threads holding them break as they fell on the ground. 

« Really ? » 

You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking because of the tulle and you wanted him to get rid of it. Before you could complain about it, he grabbed your butt and made you sit on the alcove. Adroitly, he left your dress up so that your bottom was fully exposed. « I’m sure of… » you couldn’t finish your sentence, feeling his thin fingers sliding down your folds. You gripped his shoulders and moaned on his neck. He removed his hand, looking at your glimmering arousal and said with a husky voice « Seems like your pussy is telling me otherwise. »

You felt tears forming in your eyes. Why your body had to betray you like this ? You bit your lip, sulking. However, Hyunjin didn’t plan to give you any rest. 

« You wanted to know how much I desire you, uh ? » he growled, leaving incandescent kisses on your jaw and neck. You hummed, too concentrated on his touch. 

« Speak. » he ordered. 

« Yes. » 

A smirk appeared on his face as he closed the gap between the two of you. You sighed in relief, finally feeling his lips on yours, it tasted like green wine. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your core meeting the fabric of his pants where you could feel is hard-on. He grabbed the back of your hair, making your head fall backward. He missed your scent, the softness of your skin and he absolutely wanted to ruin you. 

You tried to find some friction but he was holding you back strongly. The tip of his nose brushed against the crook of your neck when you felt his warm and wet tongue tracing lines on it. « Hyunjin, please… »

As an answer, he harshly sucked on your skin. The pain made a small cry escape your mouth. Fuck. He was bolder than the first time, getting comfortable around you. You heard a pop when he let your sensitive take some rest. 

« Satisfied ? » he asked. Oh, he had to be joking right now. 

« Not at all. » you answered, sulking. His laugh revealed his teeth, making him low-key predatory. 

« Always greedy. » he sighed. His fingers caressed the pulsing point of your neck, travelling down to the valley of your breast to finally reach where you needed him the most. He cupped your sex, making you mewl. « This belongs to me. » 

You wanted to protest but the pressure he was applying on your clit was driving you crazy, his thumb forming small eight figures on it. 

« Say it. » You resisted, shutting your eyes and digging your nails into his shoulders. Loosing his patience, he inserted a first digit inside you. You moaned his name loudly and Hyunjin had to take deep breaths not to fuck you raw.

« I-it’s yours. » you panted. 

He dipped another finger inside your dripping pussy. « Again. » 

« It’s yours, I’m yours. » you chocked when you felt his digits curling. 

« See. It wasn’t that difficult to admit it. » he mocked, his lips crashing against yours. You bit on his lower lip, making him grunt, soon met by an iron taste. The black haired man lightly jumped, his wings quivering. 

« Behave. » he whispered. « I’m sorry… I got carried away. » you immediately apologized, afraid that he would stop. Unfortunately, what you feared inevitably happened. After few more pumps, he could notice how lightheaded you were, how your walls were getting tighter. However, he didn’t want you to come around his fingers. You whined. 

« Keep going, please. I was so close. »

« I know. » he sighed. « But it’s my turn now. » He stepped back a little, putting you back on your feet as he was taking your place and unzipping his pants. He looked sinfully handsome. Totally absorbed by the view, you didn’t notice how he made you kneel down before him. His length was right in front of your eyes, precum glittering on its top. You licked your lips. « Suck on it. » 

Another order you gladly complied to. Him towering you like this, in all his glory, was another type of turn on. You delicately seized his dick before giving him some kitten licks. He let out a loud moan, his hands gripping the edge of the alcove, his knuckles turning white. 

« Stop playing. » he huffed. Searching for his gaze, you seductively put his member into your mouth, your lips perfectly fitting around it. Damn it. He would never be able to avoid you after seeing you like that. The sensation of your tongue twirling around his shaft, the delicious pressure every time you sucked on him. Gripping your hair he gave you light thrusts, until he couldn't stop his increasing pace, the tip of dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. Tears formed on the corner of your eyes and your jaw started to ache so you had to make him stop. Both out-of-breath, he helped you to stand up, your legs being sore from the kneeling position.

« You did amazing, sugar. But don't you think it would be too bad for me not to come inside you ? » he mused, cupping your chin.

« I want you all. » you whined, already lifting your gown up. It made him chuckle, his eyes turning into crescent moons. Wanting to be more comfortable, he finally removed his cloak and mask. You never thought it would make such a big difference but everything seemed more intense now. You could perfectly admire his features, his dark eyes, the mole under his left one. Something was new, though. You carefully approached your hand from the bruise on his face. You frowned and asked « What happened ? ».

He had totally forgotten about it. He put your hand down and made you turn around. « Nothing much, now bend over. » You started to ask more questions but got easily distracted when he unlaced your dress, letting it slip on your naked body. You felt the palm of his left hand applying pressure on your bare back so that your torso was totally flat against the pillows and blankets of the alcove. He cupped your butt cheeks, slightly spreading them to look at your dripping core. You couldn't see what he was doing, only hearing some wet sounds. Hyunjin pumped himself hastily and, without any warning, penetrated you. You being soaking wet helped him a little but you were so tight that it was difficult for him to put his whole length inside. Gripping your waist firmly, he started with light thrusts, growling with any frictions.

The stretch was a bit painful at first, still, you quickly got accustomed to it, your butt trying to meet his hips and loving how he manhandled you. Seeing you so desperate to feel his dick made him salivate. He could see the side of your face as you bit on your lips, trying to muffle your noisy whimpers. You looked so fucked up and gorgeous at the same time. Inch by inch, he finally buried the totality of his shaft inside you, immediately hitting your sweet spot. « Fuck... Y/N... » one thrust, « I told you... » two... « You are meant to be mine. » His pace was increasing as you nodded, unable to create a proper sentence, your hips continuously hitting against the wooden edge of the alcove. The mixed pain and pleasure made you press your legs together, which didn't go unnoticed. Growling louder, Hyunjin bent over you to get a new angle, his thrusts becoming sloppy and slower. You felt one of his hand sliding down your heat to work on your clit.

« Hyunjin... » you mewl on his touch.

Surrounded by your scent and moans, he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it much longer, going feral as he fed your eager cunt.

« You feel so good. Even better than last time » he praised, probably because this time he was the one dominating. This statement sent electricity down your spine, your walls clenching dangerously.

« Hyunie, I'm really close... » you cried, your voice barely above a whisper. « Hold on for me, half-blood. » the pixy commanded. You simply nodded and grabbed the blankets under you. You couldn't think straight anymore. You were fighting against the threatening wave of pleasure increasing with each powerful thrust, each change of pace. He was doing you good, too good for your own sanity. You could feel his weight on top of you, his arms caging your torso, leaving faint bruises. Wet sounds were echoing in the small room, sounds of your sweaty bodies rubbing against each other, sounds of sinful sex. His breath was becoming hectic and heavier, your walls so warm and narrow that he felt sucked in.

« Fuck ! » shaking over you, he relieved his seeds inside you, coating your core white. The euphoric wave wouldn't stop as he kept feeding his high, throbbing inside you and spiraling into delicious bliss. Unable to hold back anymore, you were on the very edge of your climax when you felt him pulling out. Stunned, you were left clenching around nothing, your core aching.

« W-what ? » you asked, confused. You fell on the floor, too weak to stand up properly. Hyunjin was already dressing himself up, styling his hair and tying his cloak. Once ready, he took his mask and crouched down to meet your eyes. A smirk was adorning his face.

« Consider this a payback for last time. » he said with his husky voice, preparing to get up « Oh! Before I leave, don't forget that I better not catch you in the arms of someone else than me. » he was towering you, looking down on you and your submissive position. He caressed your cheeks as anger was suddenly knocking your brain, your brows furrowed and eyes darkening. Without a word he turned around and left the room. He put his mask back on, satisfied as he heard his steps and your raging scream echoing on the corridor.

[quitealotofsodapop]

After that whole mess, they, of course, go back to FFM. Both because the cubs had a long day and needed a nap and also because neither Wukong nor MK had the energy to reset their glamours, and the last thing any of them wanted was to be swarmed. Wukong had to be stopped form going into a cleaning spree as soon as he realized he was having guests over for the first time in years and had to be told to sit down since, out of everyone there, be had been the one in the worst condition when all was said and done. They still enjoyed their smaller, more private New Years celebration and getting to run around in MK's childhood home

referencing.

Absolutely. Wukong is taking all the cubs home for a well-deserved rest (the eclipse twins argue that they aren't tired [lie]), and to properly introduce himself to the Noodle shop gang/aka his reincarnated Pilgrim brothers.

Wukong is a dedciated King to his people, but hasn't really let people "get close" since the Samadhi Fire incident/DBK's imprisonment. So he's a little rusty on how to play host in his own palace. The Stalwarts and the island's subjects are worried since they noticed some sort of havoc going on in the mainland while their King was gone, but Wukong brushes them off.

When Wukong attempts to clean up and play host, Pigsy quickly makes him sit down since; "You're pregnant and nearly got all your magic drained out of you. I'll make dinner." Which immediately puts the pig in the monkeys' good graces. Wukong does have to admit, piglet's grandson makes amazing noodle soup.

Mei (+MK) helps Pigsy out in the kitchen, and Wukong has a pang of nostalgia and grief at how similar the little dragon looks to Ao Lie. Her fun-loving attitude quickly gains her fans amongst the cubs, even if they try to eat her phone once or twice.

Lots of talking happens - especially on the subject of MK being Wukong's eldest cub + who exactly "dad" is. Wukong is still a little too upset at Macaque to give more than a curt explaination that he left on "a vacation" and has been missing since then.

Pigsy blurts out that he'll; "Sock the punk in the nose the second he sees 'em for leaving his family like that". It gets a laugh out of the king at least. Gao Cuilan did the same to Bajie when he finally returned after the journey.

Tang is ofc in Jttw-nerd heaven. Asking so many questions that MK has to interupt him to give his mom some space. The Stalwarts happily fill in the more embarassing/sappy details of their King and Warrior's romance, which delights the scholar (and mortifies SWK and MK) to no end.

Sandy is quickly the cubs favorite new uncle - though that could be because he smells like old uncle Sha Wujing. The Eclipse Twins are sus though. He makes himself busy serving up tea and addressing any emotional issues Wukong could be going through rn, especially with another little monkey on the way. Wukong is touched.

The Demon Bull Family makes an appearance - mainly to offer their apologies and for DBK to start making amends with his little bro. DBK quickly gets swarmed by the cubs he missed out on meeting, bellowing with laughter as they climb all over his horns. PIF is very aloof as per usual, but expresses her condolences for Macaque's disappearance. Wukong can tell that the former celestial princess is worried about her old friend, even if she doesn't care to show it.

Red Son is super confused, holding a casserole dish of non-spicy barbeque (DBK uncharacterically insisted, apparently the Monkey King hated spicy food), and just blinking at the fact that the "Noodle Boy" and "Pony Girl" he'd been fighting with were actually his calf-hood chums! Yuebei tries to eat his hair the moment he's offered to hold one of the Nodelets for the first time.

Overall the New Years "afterparty" (as Mei dubbed it) goes far better than the original celebration. Even if MK is super-grounded for not telling Wukong he became a superhero + lying who he actually was to the gang.

+Bonus: I love the idea of the cubs being super cranky during the events in the Celestial Realm. And when the spider gang attempt to stop the gang on the airship; little Yuebei starts shrieking with anger over her lack of sleep + missing both parents, and blasts them away with her non-fatal lazer eyes. It's one of many signs that MK's family aren't normal demons. Hunstman is a little embarassed that he was technically defeated by a baby.

[candiedspit]

Gorilla Mask

As Nina does my makeup–swivels the contour and punches the blush onto my cheeks, a star, she says, I’m gonna make you a star, don’t you worry baby you’ll knock ‘em dead, you see–I smoke a cigarette and check the time. I’ve got half an hour before the curtains split apart like the legs of a wonderful, beautiful slut. I imagine the audience packed into velvet seats, dressed in cocktail dresses and the suit he plans to be buried in. A Tuesday evening. While my manager insisted on Friday night, I insisted on the opposite. When is the best time to be transported? When you least expect it. After an eight-hour shift at some metal box downtown, moving papers and pushing phone calls. I know my people. I know what they need. 

Nervous? Nina asks, meeting my gaze in the vanity. You’re quiet. 

I shake my head. 

I fuck up, I go home, I say. And that’s the end of it. 

This is my first show in twenty three years. Last time I was on a stage, I was a young golden cat that people rubbed for luck. I could sing God to sleep. I feared nothing and wanted everything. Once, I kissed a girl for the first time twice. 

But that’s the hard part, right? Nina asks. Going home?

I laugh a dry laugh. 

That is true. That is always true. 

At the height of what you could call my career–that never ending totem pole, that white flash of light in which I saw nothing but mercury and moon shrapnel, I wrapped my limo around a city block. And that began the descent into capsules and deadbeat girlfriends. I broke my neck in the accident. Then, the pain pills began to taste like dust. And I needed something stronger to tether myself to the earth. 

It was always a good day when I was high. I could spend seven hours staring at the ceiling and it would feel as though I’d gone on Space Mountain a billion times. I had a sitting heart rate of one hundred and twenty three. I still did shows though they were more like human zoo exhibits. The public came to watch me die. I slurred through old gospels. I fainted during an encore. Once, I gave up. I sat on the stage unmoving and someone had to come remove me. After I went to rehab for the first time, I stopped doing shows. It was only supposed to be a year off. But I couldn’t stop going back. I got into all sorts of things. I huffed paint to watch the wall turn blue. I did coke off of someone’s wedding ring during the wedding recital. I chased some kids down the block for ten dollars. 

Elaine left. And I moved to Memphis. I sat on the back porch smoking heroin, noticing the light ooze through the leaves and feeling every breath in my chest. And I tried again. And tried three more times. I went to a rehab in California where they served lobster rolls and where you had to soak in a hot tub for forty five minutes each evening. I went to a rehab in New York where you could see the skyline pressed against the dark coils of night and the nurses wore short skirts. I went to a rehab in Paris where I beat a lawyer at connect four three times in a row and couldn’t figure out the shower head. Then, I overdosed in South Dakota while visiting some cousins; thin, bare chested men who shoot pistols with one eye closed and drink moonshine for lunch. I died for an hour; saw nothing but a few abstract, pink lines. The rehab I was sent to there was the one that did it. Nothing glamorous. A cold turkey sandwich at noon. Librium in the mornings. After detox, you’re on your own. Gotta change the sheets. Gotta clean the bathrooms. Gotta set the tables. No television after nine. No phone calls in the morning. I was already old by then. And nobody knew my name anymore. What the hell is following the rules for a while? I called my mother halfway through my stay there, after a lunch of fried chicken with plenty of nerve and gallons of black tea. I told her where I was, and what happened. How I couldn’t apologize. 

Are you sorry? She asked. 

I could see her standing in the kitchen, backed into a slant of light, arms crossed. 

If you’re sorry, you won’t do it again. When you get out, you’ll know. So, we’ll see. 

Mama, I can’t do it again.

We’ll see, she said.

And hung up. I knew she was right. I had to be good. It wasn’t enough to want to be good. I had to be out there, doing good in the daylight. When I got out, I didn’t go back to the cousins. I went to Memphis and started going to meetings and church. I didn’t know what to believe but it needed to be huge, crucial. A giant cock to rub. A pleasure to be had. I read scripture on nights I couldn’t sleep. After months of this safety walk, the songs came. I was with my sister Diana; a spoiled eggnog of a girl, ten years younger than I am but we’re wired in the same ways. I can read her mind. I’d know her heart from look alone. It was summertime and we were at the fair together. It was the first time since getting out that I felt safe to be among the others, the extraterrestrials made of crazy glue and fireworks. 

And we were on the Ferris wheel, a thousand feet above the ground, everybody like throngs of specks of dirt below us, the stars as close as they’d ever been. I got a melody in my head like a buzzing gnat. And started singing. Diana stared as I sang, the words mush but the melody there. And we celebrated when I quieted down. I didn’t think I’d ever write another song again. 

But there it was–the massive, throbbing thing to believe in.

[weilongfu]

For the much anticipated prompt spam!

Kong and Arthit share a sweet moment while washing and hanging their clothes.

When Arthit was younger, he figured all the stories about sweet domesticity were a lie. Who would find doing chores together as something pleasing to do as a couple? But when a ten-year-old Arthit voiced this as his mother and father washed the dishes together, his mother cupped his cheeks with her wet hands and smiled at him.

"One day, Oon, you'll find someone you love. And when you grow older with them, you'll see why doing mundane things together makes some people happy." Arthit's father was no help, only smiling as he continued to dry the dishes and withheld all the dry dishtowels so Arthit couldn't dry his face.

After six years of a relationship with Kongpob, and only one of those years spent living together, Arthit figured there might have been something to his mother's words.

Arthit looked over to Kongpob who was ironing their dress shirts and slacks as Arthit hung their t-shirts and jeans to dry. The week had been long and Arthit and Kongpob, between their respective jobs and other responsibilities, had barely had time for dinner together twice. And although it was hardly a fun or interesting way to spend time together on a Friday night, it was nice to share a space comfortably and help each other. The mood was light despite the tedious work and the company was good. Arthit found he couldn't ask for more for a quiet night together which eased the ache of not being able to spend time with his boyfriend. In lieu of music or silence, Kongpob talked about his meetings he attended with his father and Arthit told Kongpob the newest antics of his officemates.

"And then my manager walked into the meeting room instead of the new guy and got a bucket of confetti on his head for his troubles," Arthit said with a sigh. "P'Nai spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning that up and I had to do his order forms instead. I bet he planned the whole damn thing." "Na, phi," Kongpob teased with a smile as he paused his ironing, "Don't get tempted to do the same."

"As if! Wait, do you smell burning?"

"Uh..." Kongpob looked down at the shirt he was ironing. "Let's change the topic, phi."

"IS THAT MY SHIRT, KONG?!"

With both of them working together, the laundry for the week was done in half the time and afterwards, Kongpob retrieved a glass of pink milk for Arthit and iced coffee for himself from the fridge. Arthit also received a slice of cake as an apology for his burnt dress shirt.

"We've become old and domestic before we hit our thirties," Arthit said as he checked his socials while sipping on his pink milk. "Doing the laundry is our catch-up date."

"Well, I certainly enjoyed watching you try to reach the higher bar of the clothes hanger, phi," Kongpob said before groaning as Arthit elbowed him in the side.

"Smartass."

"Can you at least kiss it better?" Kongpob asked as he reached for the TV remote.

Arthit looked up from his cake. "Your ribs? I didn't elbow you that hard, Kong."

"No, phi, my smart ass."

"KONGPOB!"

(As it turned out, the other half of Arthit and Kongpob's catch-up dates at the end of the week were regular pillow fights which led into movie nights.)

[cheshire-shuntaro]

Cogito, ergo sum 1/?

For the monthly AU (Sci-Fi), where Chishiya after realizing he cannot outrun his sociopathic nature he takes certain measures to protect the ones he cares about from himself. Visitors are rare in the parts he resides, but... they appear. I cannot write short stuff, my apologies.

Niragi couldn't help but lick his lips in excitement, scanning every inch of the sharp-edged shape that their ship moved towards. After a dry spell in the last few months, it was almost like a sign from a higher power. An inactive exploration vessel, full of valuable equipment, so deep in outer space and so far away from the nearest colony. Takatora cursed Niragi the day he decided to risk it all and scout the deep outskirts of Andromeda for ships to pillage.

"There is nothing there, nothing but frozen rocks and active black holes! If we die, it's on you," Takatora shouted to Niragi, slamming shut the door to his cabin.

Well... who is laughing now? Niragi thought, trying to hide his smug smile from Takatora, who was in the middle of securing his suit for a spacewalk. Its original color was pearl white, but now it was almost dirt brown with countless holes and improvised stitches visible on the surface. Niragi was sure he had never seen his co-pilot clean it once, but he never commented on it. Takatora was really sensitive when it came to criticism, which made their job twice as hard.

"So... what are we thinking — xenobiologist mission gone wrong? Running out of fuel in deep space? All of them starving?" Niragi said, glancing at the vessel, which grew bigger with each passing second.

Takatora scoffed, not looking at his co-pilot. Still visibly upset that Niragi was right all along about this plan of his.

"In these parts? There is no life to research. The planets here are either barren wastelands or toxic gas giants," he retorted, putting his helmet on and closing it with a click and a hiss. "Besides..." he added, looking through the cockpit window. "...I don't see any emblems belonging to that fancy board of theirs. Star Rovers or something? This ship is completely unmarked, but this type was commonly used by them about thirty years ago."

"Engaging stealth-drive," Niragi said, pushing a button on the dashboard, ignoring Takatora's jabbing comments.

"Why waste the energy? We are at least 10 light years away from the nearest colony. No one comes here, except for us," Takatora muttered, shaking his head.

"Forewarned is forearmed, and can you... shut the fuck up already? We are close, focus," Niragi hush-yelled. He rarely lost patience these days, but Takatora had been especially annoying lately.

Niragi cocked his head as he analyzed the bleach-white surface of the exploration vessel. There weren't many curves to it. It looked rather practical with razor-sharp shapes plastered on top of each other, giving it a very industrial, old-world look. It looked like it could easily hold about 10 to 15 people, cargo included. The vessel was glistening in the countless stars of the deep outskirts of the Andromeda galaxy, but neither Niragi nor Takatora would ever notice the beauty of such an image. They were simple pirates and scavengers, a rotting limb on the body of society, driven by profit, not greater things in life.

Their ship was positioned towards the vessel's cargo door. The brief creaking of metallic parts and after that hooks jabbing themselves into the other ship told Niragi that the connection between the shuttles was secured. Now came the hard part: getting through the door. When exploration vessels went into energy conservation mode, the security protocols were "a bitch to break through," Takatora's words, not his. The tools they acquired better be worth their price.

The tunnel connecting the two ships was pitch black. Only the lights coming from their helmets illuminated the way. Takatora crouched by the thick metal door and opened up a large briefcase with different, colorful accouterments inside it. From Niragi's perspective, they looked impenetrable, but that is precisely why his co-pilot was the expert, not him.

"Look at this baby," Takatora said, in awe. He presented Niragi with a club-looking tool with a small, sharp wire at the end, which seemed to have a mind of its own. It was wriggling and vibrating, as if with anticipation to be used. "No ordinary wire-cutter. Military-grade, with a precise gyroscope and a thick diamond wire that could sustain temperatures u-..." he was cut off by a loud sigh.

"Yeah, yeah. You will make love to it later, open the damn door," Niragi hastened him, tapping impatiently on the metal floor of the tunnel.

Takatora grumbled something under his breath, twisting the club-like tool. It emanated a low ping sound and then turned green. Niragi’s co-pilot stood up and came to the minuscule gap between the door, and then, the wire-cutter with a mind of its own slithered in between the small crack, looking to do its job.

“Just so you know it’s gonna take a wh-” again, whatever Takatora was about to say was cut off.

A wave of vibrations of enormous proportion coming from the exploration vessel shook the tunnel, its metallic parts cracking and grinding against each other, almost as if they were shouting in agony. Takatora dropped the tool, which slid towards the south wall with a loud clank. Niragi lost balance and fell on his back, bruising his hip on the hard surface. When the vibrations stopped and the pirates gathered their bearings, they regrouped by the door.

“What the fuck was that? Did your precious tool cut the wrong wire?” Niragi huffed angrily in between labored breaths.

“I have no idea, it shouldn’t happen. Maybe we should…” Takatora fell silent but his eyes shot back to the entrance to their ship.

“No! No! Absolutely not!” Niragi shouted, massaging his bruised hip. “We’ve been floating around this dumpster, trying to find something valuable for about 3 months. If we come back empty-handed we’re done for.” He said, coming up to his co-pilot and grabbing him by his collar. “So, you will pick up your fancy dildo from the floor and keep cutting.” He ground the last three words out.

Takatora was not used to Niragi being this aggressive. He knew that whatever Hatter spoke with Niragi about before they left must have left the long-haired man terrified enough to not fear death, because a far worse fate awaited him back home.

“Alright, alright.” Takatora muttered, picking up his tool and getting into position again.

The wire slithered its way in-between the cracks again. Niragi held his breath. No vibrations, all seemed to be working, for now.

* * *

Shuntaro woke up to an unimaginable, searing pain, the kind that lingers long after it stops hurting. So, he screamed and yelled and his entire metallic entity cracked and vibrated with each shout and grunt of pain. Even though he had no limbs, he trashed around like an animal in its last dying moments. Even though he had no mouth, he could feel his throat swelling from the screaming.

Before the haze of a 5-year slumber left his mind, his first coherent thought after the pain subsided was “They are at the cargo door.” Still not fully grasping the situation, he jumped to the cargo door camera to asses the situation. Sure enough, in blueish hue of the door he noticed a thin wire swirling around the crack. He had about 15 minutes before they break through.

He turned on localization module, which barely worked with the spare generators running. Where even was he? Andromeda galaxy… far, far away from where he originally fell into slumber. Far away from his sister. Junko, she crossed his mind… he hoped she was okay. 3 minutes.

Chishiya jumped again, he had limbs now, metallic, pneumatic and wired ones, unlike those made of flesh. But they were there. He stretched to the cacophony of moving parts, a thick carbon fiber cable on his back reminding him that he could not go far. The first steps were that of a baby learning to walk - clumsy, uneasy. He took a step that was too wide and lost balance. The robotic suit crashed against the metal floor before he stood up and made his way towards the cargo door.

He had not had visitors in quite a while and could not help but feel restless and excited at the thought of having companions to play chess with. Sadly, without food and water humans did not last long.

Chishiya hoped they ate a sufficient meal before they entered him

* * *

“What was that?” Takatora said with his hand on the cargo door, about to push them open. He swore he heard something clutter on the other side of the door. It was faint but he heard it.

Niragi fell silent and listened, but he heard nothing worth noting except for the fancy cutting-wire tool whirling, finishing its job.

“The sound of you complaining.” He said sarcastically, passing Takatora by and pushing the door open for him. He was sick of him voicing concerns, he did not understand that they had no choice but to enter — whatever was on the other side.

The cargo door squeaked and hissed, the pressure between two vessels evening. When the clouds of white smoke fell down, they could finally see the inside of the exploration ship. It was… completely empty, except for one very odd-looking robot standing in the middle of the room.

“Huh? That’s it?” Niragi shouted, coming up deeper into the cargo bay. “Fuck this shit! Where is all the equipment?” He said, frantically lighting his helmet lamp around the empty room, completely ignoring the robotic entity in the middle of it.

“Relax, maybe they stored it above.” said Takatora, shining his own helmet light at the robot.

It looked like something out of a military base rather than a lab in an exploration vessel. A multitude of metal plates and pneumatic gears mashed together by military-grade carbon fiber wires. Capable of running, jumping… shooting. At the top of its funnel-like head, there was a single circular eye, probably functioning both as its optical device and as a light. It looked dormant for now.

Takatora came up closer and tapped at the eye two times. He did not hear the pneumatic gears releasing nor had a chance to stop what came next. With a swift precision, robotic arm got him by his throat, putting enough pressure on it to render him unconscious but also just enough to not crush it completely. Where was Niragi? Last time Takatora checked he was walking up the stairs to see the rest of the ship.

He fell to the floor with a thud, observing as the robot pushed a button on the back of his neck, his silhouette flickered in the dim light before becoming completely invisible.

Takatora suddenly felt extremely tired as the blackness took him.

[fierte-verte]

Being Steve's Neighbor + Rival-to-Lover Would Include... (Part 1)

Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4

Pre-1981

growing up in hawkin's wealthy neighborhood, you were warranted an easy childhood: nice clothes, parents who skillfully mastered the laissez-faire attitude, and opportunities to pursue everything from ballet to athletics

you had a knack for maneuvering around obstacles, taking to hurdles like a fish to water

hawkins middle school had never seen a faster pair of legs, that was, until your neighbor decided to dip his musty toes in the sport

steve harrington was the nightmare of all opponents: arrogant and crude but unfairly blessed with exceptional motor skills

you hated his guts with a burning passion, the way he'd carelessly flick his sweat-drenched towel around, fancy running shoes digging into the ground to make obnoxious sounds

not to mention his ego, so honest-to-god swollen that it couldn't handle being bested by a girl

"hey princess, why don't you go ahead and quit already? save yourself the humiliation"

"like when your parents never show up at any of our meets?"

few in town knew how dysfunctional the picture-perfect Harringtons were, but as their neighbor you had witnessed first hand how little steve's parents cared about him

the ugly truth was a fatal sore spot with steve, and the results were deadly each time you weaponized it

clear brown eyes would darken into a muddy blur, fists clenched so tight you'd see crescent marks on flesh when they unfurled

you always almost felt sorry at the sight of his crumbling expression, frustration and loneliness marring a twelve year-old's face

walking off silently in opposite directions was the only form of truce you two knew

you'd never admit to looking back twice, but under the setting sun there was never a more forlorn shape than his shadow

steve and you were always neck and neck in training, but your rivalry also extended beyond the track and school

on weekends, the little asshole loved to lounge in his pool, blasting the radio at an ungodly volume while you tried to read in the garden next door

"harrington! do you mind? some of us actually have a brain we'd like to enrich once in a while!"

"what? can't hear you over this totally tubular song!"

if your parents were at home to shout over the fence for you, he'd turn the music down in a heartbeat, apology laced with faux sincerity

"sorry mr. and mrs. y/l/n! i didn't know y/n was reading"— you could just hear his shit-eating grin

your parents might've found him cheeky, likeable even, but your protective dachshund Gracie knew better

watching steve squirm as she gave him the stink eye on her daily walk was a great source of satisfaction

"(y/l/n)! get your sausage dog to stop glaring at me"

joint-house dinners for thanksgiving were the worst; the harringtons, knowing nothing about their son, would insist that you and steve sit together at the table

he was relentless with his antics; swapping your salt and sugar, flicking peas into your mashed potatoes whenever the adults weren't looking, "accidentally" using your salad fork and then proceeding to lick it clean in the most revolting manner possible—

needless to say, you would be seething before dessert every time

the look on his face whenever you stamped his pristine sneakers under the table, however, always lasted you through the rest of dinner

1981

when high school rolled around, steve was still unpleasant as ever— though he seemed to have turned his attention away from track, spending it on basketball and swimming instead

you befriended the spunky robin buckley on your first day, both of you late to algebra with mr. mundy

bright as a button, and never one to tell lies, robin was quick to earn your trust

she also learnt your disdain for a certain neighbor in no time

"i'm telling you rob, it's all farrah fawcett and no brain in that head"

to your utter horror, and her amusement, you and steve end up getting paired for ms. jones' chemistry project

"na-cl-uh? what the hell is na-cl-uh?"

"jesus harrington, it's NaCl— sodium chloride"

steve would've loved to roll his eyes and mutter an indiscreet nerd, but he knew damn well you were his grade's saving grace

halfway through freshman year, steve had officially quit track, unable to juggle three sports and his father's crushing expectations

to everyone's surprise, you were livid at the news, storming up to his lunch table one day with a flabbergasted robin in tow

he'd taken one glance at your furious face before ducking behind tommy h for protection— coward, as if that stick of a boy could even land a punch

"why’d you quit?"

he just stared at you, doe eyes comically wide and mouth hanging open with a disgustingly half-chewed hot dog inside

"what's it to you, princess? thought you'd be glad to get rid of your strongest competition"

robin gave you a gentle nudge, seemingly in agreement with steve's statement— now quite true in hindsight

would life be easier if you didn't have steve "the hair" harrington breathing down your neck at every training? yes

but did the idea of steve throwing away his potential, when you know he's got what it takes to win state, national even, sting like hell? also yes

anyone who has a problem with it can sue you, but it still didn't take away the fact that, for some absurd reason, you'd had higher hopes for the insufferable jerk

the unreal confrontation that day ended with you stalking away from the table, simultaneously mortified and disappointed

steve had laughed it off with tommy h and the rest of his underlings, but his eyes never once left your retreating back, curious and astonished

that summer, you focused half of your time on training and hanging out at robin's house, with the other half spent babysitting kids around town

will byers was one of them— soft-spoken, imaginative, and extremely perceptive, he was your favorite gremlin of them all

you'd watch him when joyce and jonathan were out late on their work shifts, always ending up in castle byers because will didn't like staying in the house without them

you'd sit comfortably surrounded by quilts and pillows, chin propped on folded knees as he talked about the party and their latest campaign

he missed his dad sometimes, you could tell, despite the man's sleaziness and self-served character

you hated seeing the sad frown form between will's eyebrows, too familiar and jarring on a little boy's face

"hey kid— you think i'd make a good clerk?"

"cleric," he'd correct, exasperated but grateful for the momentary distraction

1982

sophmore year rolled by quickly; you did well in hurdles and picked up pole vaulting, started learning russian with robin, and grew an unhealthy obsession with rob lowe when the outsiders came out

you'd coax robin into watching it with you at sleepovers, rewinding the tape over and over again with the window open until steve chucked something through it from his room across

"if i have to hear rob lowe ask about his dx shirt one more time—"

he'd argue that you're addicted, but it's more a religion, really

already used to your bickering, robin would snort, swallow her mouthful of popcorn, and toss whatever steve had thrown in into a blue basket labelled "environmental pollutant"

it's mainly filled with socks, marbles, forgotten toy cars, and a few crumpled up pages of playboy that was excellent blackmail material

for three weeks, you sat next to laurie hills in english, listening to her go on and on about steve's hair, his "manly" hands, how much of a gentleman he was to her

not much, you thought to yourself, if the sight of amy pline climbing through his window on a friday night was any indication

he'd catch your squinted eyes through the window, having the audacity to look the slightest embarrased at having gotten caught

he always covered it up with a half-baked smug grin, however, and you'd tell laurie she was better off without him every time she came to class late, poorly hidden tear streaks peeking through fresh powder

the somewhat civilized hostility between you and steve continued on until late march, when you came home one day to find gracie missing, the front door swung open ominously

overcome with panic, you looked up and down the street before spotting steve on his porch, nursing what seemed to be a sore cheek

"harrington! have you seen gracie?"

startled at your voice and already cranky from being slapped, steve couldn't help but react harshly

"in case you haven't noticed, (y/l/n), i'm not exactly in the state to keep an eye out for deranged canines”

the worry in your stomach swelled, along with fury at steve's nonchalance— you'd thought he would at least offer a helping hand in looking, knowing how much gracie meant to you after your grandfather's death

"you know, steve, despite what your blockhead friends tell you, you don't actually have to be an ass all the time"

if the tears threatening to spill from your eyes didn't do the trick, hearing the rare sound of his name from your mouth definitely jolted steve from his grouchy spell

"hey, i'm sorry, i didn't—"

"forget it, steve, i don't want to beg for your help. i shouldn't have to"

you hurried away from the harrington house, scurrying around the area in search of a black and tan blob

it began to pour soon after, the rain soaking you to a tee; unable to see anything in the weather, you began to tread back home reluctantly

if there ever was a stranger sight, it'd be steve harrington standing on the steps of your house, equally drenched and holding something in his bunched up jacket

upon walking closer, you realized it was gracie, fur damp and shaking slightly in steve's arms

"i-uh-found her on mirkwood, scared and everything behind a dumpster"

he watched as you cooed and whispered soothingly at gracie, fingers reaching out to rub behind her ears— all the while ignoring the heavy thumping in his own chest

"i'm-uh-sorry, for earlier, laurie came over and we started fighting—"

"i know, steve, i sit next to her in english," you offered a wobbly, pained smile as the olive branch, only to have steve see it as another stick tossed to the fire

"oh? so that's how it is? class bell rings and a gossip parade starts like it's the fourth?" the sudden souring of his tone caused you to tense, ready to revert back to the usual jibes and digs

"what in the— steve, i'm not the bad guy in your relationship. it's not like laurie is clueless about your conquests, you know, since amy pline can't keep her mouth shut about you even if her life depended on it—"

"so you tell her to break up with me, steve harrington, the big bad neighbor”

"oh please!" you could hear the rush of blood from your ears to cheeks, "you look at anyone remotely interested like a goddamn piece of meat, and you chew and spit them out so carelessly, like you're above all us peasants, who have to pick up your mess just because you can't keep it in your pants—"

"oh ok, i'm smelling some big-time jealously here. you're mad i don't pay you enough attention, princess? that i don't grovel at your feet like aaron marvey and the rest of the track team?"

that's it, you think to yourself in sheer bewilderment, steve harrington's officially out of his goddamn mind

plucking gracie from his arms, your hands gentle despite the rage, you swerved around steve to unlock your front door, entire body trembling in shock

such wishful thinking, that eight years of knowing each other could, if even for a minute, somehow place you in his good graces

there was no hiding how upset you were, so you spun around, looked straight into his eyes and whispered, "have a good rest of your day, king steve— i’d say i hope to see you later but i don’t"

leaning against the door as it slammed shut, you felt the prickle of fresh tears in your eyes— why were you crying? and of all people, because of steve harrington?

gracie, the rain, messing up your pace more than usual in training today— that had to be it, not your stupid neighbor who didn't know the definition of humility until it slapped him across the face, who suddenly decided to soak his 40-dollar Gazelles looking for a dog whom he didn't even like (not to mention before insulting her owner in every way possible)

jesus, what was wrong with him? and what was wrong with you? you never cared about what steve harrington thought— this weird, antagonistic dynamic worked just fine for you both all these years

with that thought, you hugged gracie closer to your chest, the sounds of your sniffling muffled by her coat

"hey-sweetheart-it'll be alright"

whether the words were for gracie or yourself, no one knew— not even steve, who stood outside your door the entire night, fist half-raised against the wood

[jankwritten]

Day two of re-deep cleaning my carpets: I went over each room TWICE and the water was still coming out black. However, I have figured out how to REALLY effectively use the machine now, and got out way more of the stains than I did when I deep cleaned the carpets before Christmas time.

My cousin suggested a cheaper cleaning solution than the name-branded one I’ve been using, which I might investigate after I run out of soap. I’m positive that if I did another sweep of both rooms, I’d still be pulling out huge clumps of nastiness, so the soap I’m using right now is good and all, it’s just expensive.

My other worry is that the carpet feels slightly sticky after cleaning. I’m not sure if I should put some hot water into the machine with no soap and run that over to clean up any residue or what, but right now I’m too tired - I’ve been cleaning this shit for 3 hours.

Right now, I’m just satisfied that instead of huge discolored patches everywhere, there are smaller areas of it in smaller, harder to see places.

I’m a little scared of the big living room, which is the worst in the whole house (aside from my papas room). My littlest cousin, now 17, would camp out in one chair for DAYS out there, and he’s notorious for spilling shit. Just the other day he spilled soda all over the carpet, though he did apologize to me for it because he knew I’d cleaned the carpets semi recently LMAO. Those stains were easy enough to get out, but the ones in the big living room are INSANE. Streaks of orange and bright pink completely caked in, nasty speckly spots from food spills, etc. I shudder at the thought. I’ll try tackling that room on Sunday. I’ll have to move all the furniture out of the way, but my grandparents have been good sports about letting me fuck with everything for the sake of cleaning the house.

(Please note that this carpet hasn’t been cleaned in about 10 years, that it has weathered at least 6 children from infant to teenager, and is in the home of two older folks who can’t vacuum or clean as often as the place needs. Since moving in in 2022, I’ve made it my mission to help make the house cleaner, and I’ve so far succeeded! The kitchen is a nightmare, but some battles I just can’t win LMFAO.

Also please note that glitter is a generational curse and at least 1/4 of the debris I keep pulling out of the carpet is chunky silver glitter. I don’t know how but it is in EVERY inch of the carpet in this house.

Triple note that I am in dire need of moving the furniture out of my room and closet and hitting the carpet in there again now that I know what Horrors lie beyond one imperfect deep clean. My room was originally inhabited by nightmare meth aunt who had mold growing in the windows, burnt a huge hole in the carpet that the old cat used to pee in, had broken mirrors laying on the floor, and left behind various, sticky brown stains all over the carpet that I figured I just wouldn’t be able to get out. I now know how to get them out and by the gods. Will I do that. Sometime. Eventually.)

[sincelastsession]

The person that used to be my best friend and completely betrayed me and 2 other people one of which is dead now took 2 of my other friends on a pre-wedding vacation to Mexico and I'm having to see it on my social media and it makes me really upset.

Also I have just seen that 1 of my friends who already has 6 kids is pregnant again and I'm happy for her

And I see everybody's talking about all these good wonderful things that they're doing and it just makes me feel like shit I feel like shit when I see that other people are having normal lives and lives that are more fulfilling looking than mine and I know that that is some bullshit to think that way but it really does suck sometimes

I've also had to call the courtesy officer twice today about noise complaints from apartment 60 and I'm very fucking sick of them I'm going to start acting absolutely bad shit insane because I don't know what else to do to make these people fucking stop being so rude and loud and they're not the kind of people that you can just politely ask because they are ignorant and rude and combative in their language towards one another and I'm not going to even try

But I might do some witchcraft out on the balcony and be really weird and spooky because I'm just done being polite and quiet and nice

I'm finally eating no need to worry about that

I have to make myself go to bed soon so I can get up very early in the morning and try to enjoy myself at the farmer's market because I do need to get some groceries and I'm hoping that that might possibly be a little bit cheaper

I have read over my other entries and I am disturbed that I am talking in different tenses and I'm not sure if that is me or some other part of me and I would really like to do that testing whenever you get the time and I have the time

Not that I want that as a diagnosis anywhere but I want to know what's just going on with me I don't know if it's just purely from stress and this PTSD flair or what but it's bothering me

I'm also pretty fucking irritated that I can't get my files from my old therapist that did EMDR with me and I don't know what place I need to call in order to get A Copy of those files because I want them for myself even if you aren't going to use them

I have always felt behind everybody else and I've always felt held back by my family and I try to move forward and it doesn't feel like I'm allowed to and I feel guilt and shame and all these bad feelings for everything I do no matter what it is even if it's a good thing

I can't even count the amount of times I've done a good thing and didn't been yelled at about it it doesn't matter if it was like the most wonderful thing in the world or just a simple good thing I've gotten in trouble for that

I'm trying right now to get the cat that's getting attacked by the other 2 cats out of my dad's house and over here with me and to see if he is compatible with my 2 therapy cats and if he's not then I will just go to the pound and ask if I can foster him until I can find an adequate home for him.

It's really sad because he's a very beautiful sweet 11-year-old cat and I would love to just keep him and love on him and I don't know if I can

But he needs to be removed from the house over there it is no longer safe for him and he is the cat that is primarily pissing and shitting on the carpet because the other 2 cats bully him away from the litter boxes which is insane to me and my dad has not gotten him or the other cat's advocate litter boxes and kept them clean enough

So once again here I am stepping in to take care of something that somebody else can't do this cat is supposed to be my sister but she can't even take care of herself I don't even know how she's engaged when she can't even take care of yourself I know that I should be focusing on taking care of myself but I am actually pretty fucking worried about her and I can't even talk to her because she hasn't apologized to me nor has she reached out or anything she's just doing whatever she wants being a dumb 20 two-year-old and it just bothers me that I used to get screamed at and controlled and threatened And all this other shit used to happen to me at that age and she can just get away with whatever

And I don't understand that

I really do feel that the stress of everything going on in my life is eventually going to kill me instead of old age

I really would like to get it together and meet somebody and settle down and have a nice peaceful quiet life where no one ever hurts me or abuses me ever again and I'm financially stable

I would rather be rich as fuck and bored out of my mind then deal with anything I'm dealing with right now

And I know people like that and it drives me insane because it's like oh would you like to trade

And I know that other people have a hard time and I'm not trying to say that I have the worst time in the whole wide world but holy shit I do have a very hard time

I know that I'm very lucky to have a place to live and food to eat and other things in my life

But what's important to me is being understood and loved and cared about and cared for and it never feels like that and it never has not even when I was little

It always felt like okay well they are being nice to me and they care about me and then something bad would happen and I would get yelled at and it would be all my fault

So I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop I don't actually trust that anybody is actually going to help me because they always leave or give up

And it's not for lack of trying to help myself because I've been doing that for so long that I don't even know what I'm doing anymore

There is no manual about how to fit in with society and I don't feel like I should have to try to fit in but if I don't then I get treated badly

I wish I could move I wish I could leave and Go live in the woods somewhere where I don't have to really go anywhere but the little market or something like that

Like just get a dog bring my cat and live in solitude would be fantastic if I had the financial stability to do so but I have too many health problems and other things going on in my life where I can't run away and do that I would have to leave the solitude in the quiet and the peace

I mean I have tried to figure out how to solve everything since before I started therapy

I don't want to be on SSI never asked to be My parents could have gotten Cobra insurance and I could have continued to try to do my own business but my father at that time was trying to control every single thing that I did and My mother was too. I had a fucked up back at that point in my life and I was going through flare-ups of my auto immune disorders and my parents just pushed me into being in the welfare system and now I am trapped here relying on them for extra help because there's a broken system in the world.

I wish that I could have continued to try to make a legitimate business and do what I want to do back then instead of worrying to death about getting caught trying to do what I want to do under the table to make extra money

Because if I stop with SSII have 0 safety net to help me If I fuck up with whatever business I want to try

And trying to work with SS job office is a circle of hell Because none of the things that they have available are thingstead I would be happy and comfortableDoing.

And I don't want to be misunderstood like I'm giving excuses or red herrings or whatever the case.

I am speaking in the way that I am giving actual reasons not excuses for any of my behavior.

Because if I've done something bad and I've recognized it and I couldn't process it then I will hold myself accountable for that and work on it

And other people don't do that

I'm learning more and more that other people just don't care

And it's really disheartening and it hurts and I don't know where I fit in

Like Travis is a good friend my partner is generally a good partner

I'm kind of upset that my partner wants me to find another partner Here and I'm kind of upset that my ex has 0 interest in me other than friendship since he has gotten Sober and that makes me sad given our history

And I don't really have anybody else I mean my ex doesn't even always reply or answer the phone when I call him to talk to him when he told me that I was his female best friend which was probably a load of drunken bullshit

And then Travis only has a limited amount of time to spend time with me and or listen to me or help me and I feel like I'm becoming a burden to him

And I make friends and I add them on Facebook but none of them ever really talked to me and I desperately need more friends but most people just use me

They use me and they treat me like a big dumb idiot

And I don't know if they're just taking advantage of me because I come off a certain way I really don't understand that

I do Miss A lot of social cues and I've been this way my entire life and it feels like everybody is just now noticing and there's no manual or way to figure out what it is that I need to know in that moment

I mean my father doesn't believe that any of my mental health issues are real I've already mentioned that and it bothers me

He uses that as part of a way to break me down

I mean he abused my mother so badly that She definitely has ptsd

And she was angry at me for the longest time because I watched him hurt her and I stood there frozen and I didn't know what to do because she kept screaming at me to call the police but I couldn't move I was just standing there and I couldn't move

And my father used to go get cigarettes or go drive around in his car and smoke cigarettes but I didn't know that I was just told that he was leaving and never coming back because of my bitch stupid fucking mother etc

And I would cry and scream and plead for him not to leave and I would stay awake until he came back home and once or twice he would leave for longer than just a couple hours sometimes he would leave for weeks

So it's safe to say that I have some pretty weird little abandonment issues from that

And when nobody believed that I was hurting really bad and my dad would help me put my socks and shoes on in the morning because I was having trouble and he thought I was being lazy and I would scream because it hurt really bad when he would touch my shins to put the socks on he would just slap my legs

If he got tired of pushing me in my wheelchair because I was too weak to do it myself he would just leave me sitting there and tell me I was lazy

And I would sit there and cry and my mom would be like tell me what the fuck is wrong with you and have to come get me if she was around

Or I would have to struggle really hard to get my wheelchair out of the grass or off the sidewalk or out of the middle of the carpet

And I don't know if you've read about juvenile dermatomire cities but it is a really rare condition and it is very aggressive and it is very painful Because your immune system is eating your muscles it's inflaming your blood vessels your fasha hurts your whole body hurts your joints hurt you become Unable to swallow correctly your heart gets weak it will kill you without treatment and it almost killed me and I'm pretty sure at 1 point I had a near death experience but it's not recorded

My parents used to fight with one another about who would stay with me at the hospital in front of me or they would just fight with 1 another in front of me at the hospital and I couldn't speak or do anything to make them stop

And my parents think that they deserve trophies for doing what any normal parent would do if their child was that sick

They took me to the Doctor and made sure I went to the hospital and made sure I got the correct care and took me to physical therapy of all kinds and tried everything they could that they were able to do just like any other parent and they think that they went above and beyond doing that

And that makes me so mad because they have no idea how badly I was suffering then and how badly I'm suffering from other autumn you and disorder troubles now

And now I am having to hear all about their medical problems and how much they hurt and how much trouble they're having and when I was young and hurting and asking for help I was ignored until I was almost dead

And they will tell you all sorts of stories about how that is bullshit

But I remember

I was there it was my body I remember all of how it felt just like it happened yesterday

I get flashbacks about all of it

And when I say flashbacks I'm talking like there's a movie playing in my head in my mind's eye while other things are going on in my life and I have to navigate through life while that is going on

And also my frustration about not being able to take adiral partially is because the Adderall tends to make that and all the mind chatter just stop And then in conjunction with the anxiety medicine it makes me feel like a normal person and I'm calm and I can do things and it's great

But now that I used medical marijuana for pain issues because I was not able to get up and down the stairs otherwise because my doctors were not giving me adequate pain treatment I can no longer be on the medicine that made me mentally function well

And it's very clear that I have a dopamine deficiency since I have been off of the adderall which I was not on very long and the dosage is very small that I was taking even though I was prescribed much more

And I wish that my old psychiatrist had not passed away because he was a very brilliant man and he knew what he was doing and he had me fixed and I was doing great

And now I feel like a useless piece of shit who can't do anything right and I feel like I am never going to do anything with my life or get anywhere with my life and I feel like all the insults and everything everybody has ever told me is correct

And I would love to have a Phoenix moment and disappear and then rise from the ashes and prove everyone wrong

But that shit Only happens in movies

I am so embarrassed about everything

The amount of shame and guilt and embarrassment etc things along the same vein that I carry around with me for just existing is ridiculousThe amount of shame and guilt and embarrassment etc things along the same vein that I carry around with me for just existing is ridiculous

My partner you know I have known them for going on 8 years now and they know me as much as they possibly can and they have seen the text messages and heard things and they truly think that I am just surrounded by crazy awful people and I agree with them

Like there words verbatim is maybe you would be doing better if you were not surrounded by fucking psychopaths

And it's like a dearest honey sweetie my love I don't know how to get away from the psychopaths quickly like everybody else could possibly do

And then he has problems of his own and you know he's in love with his other partner that he wishes he could marry and he loves me but I'm not the primary partner for him he's the primary partner for me and that is a big frustration with Paul amarie for me but I'm not strictly polyamorous and I understand and I don't hate him for his feelings and I don't feel jealous

I do get frustrated because it's like yes I would love to have a partner here I would love to not be judged and just loved on I would love to be understood and taken care of and to take care of someone else and to have a beautiful happy relationship

And I feel that I'm nowhere near that right now and I feel like I'm running out of time for that.

I'm not in a rush to have kids because I can't have any but I mean I feel like an old maid a complete fucking spinster and I don't want that life for myself.

I did not want to get married later on in life. But now I really don't have a choice because it's a bit late already.

And then the dating pool is just full of dudes that are abusive or have major psychological issues that are completely unresolved. Or alcoholic fuck boys that like to fuck 20-year-olds. And just fuck boys in general.

I just feel exhausted

It's all very exhausting it's all a lot to keep up with in my head and I wish I could unload a lot of it

I wish I could just unpack it and throw it away

It's great when a problem is resolved and the weight is off my shoulders but then I still feel the heaviness in the backpack and I know I need to remove more things because I'm still not going to get where I need to go with such a heavy weight on me

Sometimes I wish my parents had physically beaten me instead of screamed at me and done the psychological abuse torture along was hitting me I wish it would have just been physical

Because they started fucking with my head at such a young age

And if it had just been physical abuse then I would have gone to school at a young age and they would have seen the marks and they would have sent me to live with my grandparents were in foster care and I would be away from them

And you know they sent me to an expensive catholic school which made me feel profound guilt that I can never escape

And I would go to aftercare and my parents would completely forget to pick me up

They would always be fighting with one another about who needed to pick me up from school

1 day neither of them would answer the phone and I was left at aftercare with the one lady that decided to stay with me because you can't leave a little kid by themselves and she got mad and she asked if I knew how to get where I live from the school and I said yes and so I got in the car with her and she drove me home and dropped me off at my house and I don't know why that was never reported

But I remember her knocking on the door and my parents answering the door with me standing there being very confused because they thought I was just in my room playing being quiet and they thought that they had picked me up from school

So they laughed it off and were like oh I thought she had picked her up oh I thought he had picked her up she's just so quiet and she stays in her room all the time well yeah i stayed in my room all the time to avoid them fighting

And when we've tried to play family board games and stuff and my dad would start losing he would throw a tantrum and flip the board game or just walk away And quit

I mean there's so many instances of just abusive insane behavior and I remember all of it and it's just so much to remember but it's all there and it pops up new little things popup everyday that were just so fucking hurtful and traumatic for me

You know I wasn't planning to do a lot of journaling tonight or today or tomorrow I had planned to have a chill rest of the week and allow you to catch up on everything I had posted

So I hope you're one hell of a speed reader

I mean right now I'm just sitting in my bed trying to make myself eat the rest of the food that I made myself and looking at the state of my apartment and I don't even have the energy to cry anymore I'm just looking at the physical manifestation of my mental illnesses and I can't even figure out how to organize any of this

And that's weird because I can do organization and help other people but when it comes to me I don't even know where to start

I always had trouble keeping my room tidy and clean and I always got screamed out about it

I mean there was really never anything I did right growing up

I was always made to like try and fit in with the other kids and do activities that they did and I never wanted to do any of that I just did it to make my parents happy because I thought that's what they wanted I didn't know how anything was supposed to work I was a kid

And the more I think about it the more I understand that I didn't get bullied for being handicapped I got bullied because I was probably autistic and I did not fit in with the other kids because my brain did not work like theirs

I mean if you think about it a lot of the kids that get bullied in school are the autistic kids

And you have to remember I was in first grade I think in 1991

And back then kids just buoyed the fuck out of each other and there were no policies like we have today

I mean until Columbine happened and other tragic things happened we did not have any anti believing things set in place and when we did when I was still in school nobody followed it, just found other ways to get around it

I mean I'm still trying to calm down from earlier I ate my food I need to take my medicine and go to bed and I want to have a good day tomorrow and go to the farmer's market and get the groceries I and have fun and I don't know if I will

Also I'm extremely tired of calling the courtesy officer and office about issues with the people in apartment 60 I don't know what to do anymore

I cannot wear noise blocking headphones all fucking day I keep getting headaches for wearing them for a few hours

In fact I wore them to the metal festival to keep my ears from getting destroyed and my head hurts so damn bad the next day I can't even explain

I used to have a garden I used to plant plants during the summer and go outside and water them and go downstairs and swim laps and doubt healthier and happier and now it's just hell.

Going up and down the stairs is terribly painful.

My parents whine about it when they visit. They only think about themselves and how they don't want to see me because of the stairs

But what the fuck. I have to go up and down them with a wrecked back degenerative disc disease, very screwed up SI joints, bad hips, bad knees, a fucking fractured knee that was ignored and now has healed back wrong.

I have hurt myself doing things that I've asked for help with for over 6 months with a "I don't want to talk about it, I'll get around to it" father.

I have gone above and beyond for every mothetfucker in my family when they have been sick hurting depressed etc.

It's like pulling teeth to get help from them

But my time doesn't matter because I don't have a job

It has to be on thier time.

You heard the audio about me having both parents over to help just get my laundry done which isn't hard to do. I just couldn't get down the stairs once I got up them from the injury and was a fall risk. It was maybe 2 loads of laundry. It was EASY to do. If I hadn't had a fucked up back I'd never had called for help.

I'm sure my dad told you he loves me. But you don't treat people you love the way he has treated me. Same with my mom.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

I feel like I'm stuck in this loop where nothing changes but everyone's age.

People promise to change and never do.

I'm tired of being the one with the problems.

Why am I the one still in therapy?

Why am I basically shit on till I go?

Why don't they see their own therapists or go to anger management etc...

Why does it all fall on me?

I don't hate therapy. I just don't know what's left to learn.

I could go to school for it and have a degree but it's not what I want to do. I could probably teach honestly. I'd love to educate therapists on things that don't quite help certain cases. I do make suggestions and bitch yeah. I'm sure that's not something that you enjoy reading.

I think a mirror even a safety glass mirror in the room across from where you sit would be a great idea. Reason being is if you are seeing a patient that is reactivate to body and facial expressions then shouldn't you be aware of how you're coming across? Because I know that just in everyday life I personally don't understand when people get upset with me about those things...because I can't see how I'm acting.

Idk Joshua. I'm not trying to be an asshole and my intent is not to be rude or controlling

I need to go to bed.

[weedyseeds]

5/21/24

Typing up last week's notes for reference of pre-digital style. Notes added as I type are in italics and purple:

5.14.24.

Clean up side porch/sweep, dust, prune sick honeysuckle.

Figure out where and plant fagiolina (requires trellis and soaking), maybe where leaves have left bare soil in the back? Later added: soaking them, without clear sense yet of where they ought to go.

Mound potatoes.

Front beds - clean up, consider removing the bushes. Later added: Much more could be done, but I started/implemented basic clean up.

On 5.16 I side dress veg garden and artichokes and peach tree with blood and bone meal 50/50 mix I still have from J's dad's house. I acquired it in 2020, who knows how old it was before that, but seems I might as well use it up if I got it, as I assume like anything powdered it kinda looses potency after time? Is that true: Is it, like herbs, gradually turning itself into dust? Dry decomposition? (Seems like at least blood meal has indefinite lifespan if kept dry and not super hot. I guess nutrients don't turn themselves into dust, they are patiently waiting for something to absorb and cycle them.)

One perennial kale seems to be acting perennialized (producing new big leaves)! All others may have been other varieties and are simply going to seed and not producing more leaves. Get more EFN perennial kale seed to see if I can start more for the fall. Trying to follow its lifecycle, like that guy said on that Seeds and their People pod. Same with arugula - feels nice to be more aware of cycles that actually work for me. (rather than ones I've read about)

Chamomiles I don't remember seeding look gorgeous amongst oats that birds ate lots of upon seeding. "Tall girl" garden, with apologies to that sunflower (cup plant) the gold finches like (do they like the artichokes too?)

What I'm holding in my hand in the above pics are passionflower vine shoots. This plant is very prolific here, and I have trellises for it to grow on, but I'm constantly pulling it out of places where I'd like other things to grow. The young shoots and vine tips have a good tender texture and nutty taste and are nice to snack on in the garden. S + G put them on sandwiches. I sauteed these ones with garlic and they were very tasty and spinach like. Although growing kale and other garden greens is fairly unsatisfying here (sandy soil, small leaves, lots of competition for eating from bugs), I am very grateful for a seemingly endless supply of this other type of nutritious green.

J and I defoliated all peach leaf curl leaves and I sprayed a couple times with yogurt although it keeps raining or misting, so not sure how much is wearing off. Don't want to overdo it but may spray again when we get a stretch of confirmed dry. What I observe is, very little fungus on new growth (now like 5 or 6 generations of leaves); a little gelatinous stuff on fruit here and there, and some smaller fruit that knock off easily, and then some fruit that is getting (slowly) larger. We want sun! I've watered the tree (roots) with diluted pee twice now, and did the blood and bone meal today plus some half finished compost from the pile, which I dug gently to avoid bothering the elecampanes that emerged from the pile. Starting to think about floating compost "areas" instead of compost "piles", did I write about this already?

[kudamono94]

Hello everyone!  As promised in my last post I made prior to the premiere of the 1st episode of the new Futurama revival, I have decided to share some of my favorite screenshots I took since watching it myself~  That said, I have seen some of these scenes already shared but I still wanted to post all of what I had taken in one place for myself just for fun, so if you see something in this post that you’ve already seen 1000 times by this point feel free to ignore lol

Tbh I’ve never tried live blogging anything before, let alone tried to edit and share screenshots I didn’t plan on keeping for myself, so I hope these turned out okay!  I did my best to clean them up and crop to what I wanted, so if they don’t show up well I apologize in advance ^^;

Otherwise, if you’re interested in reading past this point, I hope you enjoy what I have to share as well as what little commentary I have to accompany my pictures :3 

Okay, so just to get this out of the way first and foremost, while I have seen mixed reviews in regards to the first episode, imo I honestly thought it was pretty good!  A lot of the jokes definitely landed and even had me laughing out loud, and with the easter eggs scattered throughout combined with seeing all of these characters once again, I couldn’t stop smiling at several points just because I was so happy lol

That said, while I wouldn’t say this is up there as one of my fav episodes of all time in the series overall, I say it definitely did what it set out to accomplish as far as bringing the series back after 10 years off the air in terms of animation, voice acting, etc.  So to anyone that felt as if The Impossible Stream was a let down, I would recommend giving it a few episodes into the new season before coming to a solid conclusion on whether the revival lives up to the hype or not/forming a firm opinion on the new season as a whole.  Again, as far as plots are concerned, this episode isn’t anywhere in my top 10 list, but at the same time, it was pretty good and served as a nice welcome back to long time fans since 2013 when Meanwhile aired, so I want to believe things will only get better from here~

Any who, with all of that out of the way, on to the screenshots:

1. First, Idk if this has been pointed out already, but since I haven’t seen anyone else post this, I thought I’d do it myself~  I honestly thought this was pretty cute lol, and considering that the new season is on a streaming service as opposed to tv (meaning that they most likely can have both the OP and ED be as long as they want without it being cut off by ad time), I hope they include new stuff like this in the OP in addition to the cartoons being displayed on the jumbo tv Leela always crashes into again :)

2. This scene right here was too cute for me~  I love these two so much, and I’m so happy to see them again :3  They just want each other to be happy, and it’s precious :3

Also Fry looks so adorable here (´◡`)  Look at him! 

3. I know this scene speaks for itself, but still enjoy this quote none the less :3

4. If I had a nickle for every time one of my special interests was cancelled because of corporate incompetence/bad judgement, I’d have at least 2 but it’s weird it happened twice - let alone that it happened to two shows that technically aired on the same block (I.E. adult swim, Metalocalypse I’m looking at you :( ).

And yes, I know this is prob a jab at streaming services like Netflix but I think my point still stands, you know?  I wish things were different but...

5. Hey, at least we’re getting Futurama AND Metalocalypse back this year, right? I guess that’s a small victory, at least for me?  Idk, the fact both these series ended back in 2013 just to be revived in the ye old year of 2023 seems like fate to me tbh, so if the latter’s direct-to-dvd film does well, here’s hoping it can get picked up on Hulu alongside Futurama so I can get back into my high school era~  In the meantime, have this which reminded me of the revival campaigns I have seen over the years dedicated to bringing these 2 wonderful shows back:

Too bad Leela’s not a Dethklok fan :(

6.  I figured we’d see Calculon come back sooner or later, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting him to return like this in the first episode no less XD That said, I’m not a huge fan of either him or the Robot Devil, but this scene was gold~

And last but not least:

Once I learn how to make good quality GIFS, this is the first scene I’m uploading as a GIF ｡^‿^｡

7. Oh!  Speaking of Calculon, over these past 15+ years of my life, I had always figured he was either Bi or Pan, so alongside my ship with him and Bender potentially being given more fuel, it was nice to see the writers had the same idea :3 In this house we stan a Bi and/or Pan Calculon~

And let’s not forget about this:

Idk man, I think I might reconsider my Calculon dislike if this continues O////O Never thought I’d say that after reaching my 20s but ye, this was pretty good

Also, this scene was another gem in my opinion:

Technically, yes

Bender x Fry x Leela parallels aside, it’s always nice to see this as a multi shipper~  Keep in mind, as well, that this was originally also written BY BENDER HIMSELF, so ye, a lot to talk about another day 

8. I almost choked on my drink watching this lol Looks like the old man yaoi group of Farnsworth, Hermes, and Zoidberg has trouble in paradise (this is a JOKE, pls don’t take this seriously!)

His face is priceless XD

9. Finally, I know this last scene was prob meant to be a tongue-in-cheek joke about both reboots and the writers, but at the same time all I could think of was that one quote from Fry in When Aliens Attack when Leela asked him about his script writing?  Idk if it was mean to be a call back to this scene too, but was I the only one reminded of this during the end?  Also, Bender sure is one to call the kettle black XD

Compare these exchanges and see what I mean:

And that’s about it tbh, so if you’ve read this far, thank you so much!  As thanks, here’s some bonus screenshots of Leela and Fry being cute, and I can’t wait to post again about next week’s episode :3  Have a great day and good night~

[giselefms]

𝐆𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐔

  GEMMA CHAN | FORTY-THREE | CISFEMALE.  welcome to san francisco, GISELE ZHOU! just to make sure, you go by SHE/HER, right? okay, great. i just have a few questions for you before i can let you go..  how long have you been here for? TEN YEARS. where are you currently living? MARINA DISTRICT. what’s your current occupation? ARTISTIC DIRECTOR at/of SAN FRANCISCO BALLET but what’s your dream occupation? SHE HAS LIVED HER DREAM, BUT IT WAS TAKEN AWAY FROM HER. wow! interesting. is there a secret that we can keep between you and i? SHE HAS NOT SPOKEN TO HER MOTHER SINCE SHE TURNED EIGHTEEN. lastly, this is a bit of a random question but … what’s your favorite song? GODDESS by BANKS & that’s all they wrote, friend! we can’t wait to see you around the golden city! LOVED BY MEL.

  ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"In a world that wants women to whisper, I choose to yell." — Luvvie Ajayi.

TRIGGER WARNING: physical abuse, alcoholism, body image issues, self hate, infertility, pregnancy

BIOGRAPHY

Gisele Zhou was an other from the very moment she was born, despite the years that she's spent trying to deny it. Somehow, some way, in her mind if she throws just the right sum of money at it -- her past will disappear into the void. It is certainly not the case as she will never not be from London, England, the daughter of a single mother who cleaned houses of some of the richest people in the city. Despite her multiple assignments, Rebecca Zhou struggled to keep both herself and her daughter above water, floundering in water bills, phone bills, private schooling. It was also her mother who put Gisele in her very first dance class: insisting that a girl needs something to give her a purpose. As much as Gisele and her mother got along at times as well as oil and water -- the six year old complied. She didn't know just how much she'd lose herself in the art form, spending countless hours manufacturing her craft until every single step, every single turn was picture perfect.

She had barely set foot into her teen years when people began to notice her potential as a dancer -- teachers subconsciously acknowledging her and spending every single waking moment outside of her lesson time working with the young woman. Perhaps something that Gisele did not understand at the time was that she had been born with a gift. Even if she was publicly recognized as the best of the best, the next generation of ballet, never once did she let that get to her head. The young woman remained kind and gentle, well, to everyone but herself. She would never say it out loud -- fearing that those around her would lose faith in her, but she hated the person that she saw in the mirror. Loathed her, actually. While everyone else fawned over her -- she never understood it. Even if she had dozens of people telling her how good she was, how beautiful she was, she could never truly hear it in her own mind. This hasn't changed, even at the tender age of forty-three.

Her world would be rocked as she knew it, however, when at the age of fifteen -- her mother replaced the door of their home with one that revolved, various men from different walks of life wandering in and out as they pleased. Many of them were there one night and gone before Gisele could even blink. It was a reality that she became used to for a while, knowing that her mother had spent years putting her first instead of herself. That is, until a man by the name of Isaac Foster made his appearance. Once. Than twice. By the time Gisele caught him stumbling out the door in the middle of the night for a third time, she knew something was up. Behind closed doors -- Isaac was a drunk. Not only that, but he soon began to show his true colors when be became physically violent with both Gisele and her mother. Giselle fought for her mother to realize just how terrible things had gotten, how truly cruel he could be, but she had become so used to accepting his apologies and beginning the cycle all over again. Shortly after Gisele's eighteenth birthday, with significant planning -- Gisele got out. Armed with an acceptance letter to Julliard and with a place to stay at her grandmothers, Gisele was ready to begin a new life, the one she deserved.

Graduation came quickly -- once just a speck on the horizon but now a blistering reality. The next chapter was uncertain for a couple years, until it was secured again thanks to a successful audition to the Paris Opera Ballet. Despite building a promenant career in Europe, she never called her mother. A foundation was built before quickly being torn down after a career ending injury occurred in rehearsal before she was set to perform in one of the biggest roles in her life. If only her partner hadn't fucking hesitated. Embarrassed, heartbroken and ruined -- Gisele left Paris behind her, uncertain once more before finally settling in San Francisco shortly after taking another overwhelming blow -- she would never be able to bring children of her own into the world. It was a blow she still doesn't know how to take, wanting desperately to give a child a better home than she ever had. Even still, she keeps up appearances for the sake of her already spiraling reputation: desperate to make something of herself.

HEADCANONS

Joined the staff of the San Francisco Ballet seven years ago. It is no secret that she loves working with her dancers, but it's even less of a secret that she is a strict teacher.

After living in an apartment building that appeared to barely be keeping itself together -- Gisele moved into her place in the Marina District about six years ago. It's the closest thing she's ever felt to home.

Most frequently can be found in the studio ( it's been that way her whole life -- both when she was a dancer and one of the creatives ), but will occasionally be found at a bar alone, rummaging through the shelves of one of San Francisco's bookstores or exploring any of the natural lands.

Her kindness can often be offset by a blinding sense of perfectionism, but she truly means well. If you have managed to get past her walls: she will go to the ends of the earth for you. When she loves, she loves hard.

Very often will put others first before herself.

MORE TO COME.

PLAYLIST

Overdrive - Maggie Rogers

Family Line - Conan Gray

Chaotic - Tate Mcrae

Wake Up - EDEN

Everything to Everyone - Renee Rapp

You Missed My Heart - Phoebe Bridgers

Oblivion - Bastille

Doomsday - Lizzy Mcalpine

Carmen - Lana Del Rey

Killer Queen - Queen

You Don't Own Me - SAYGRACE

Monsters - Ruelle

Mount Everest - Labrinth

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Coworkers

Friends

Roommate

Love Interest

Friends with Benifits

Exes

Any! I'm flexible and ready to right lots of super awesome stuff with you all.

** Connections page will be coming soon - when I'm not being a lazy little shit.

[makatoahane]

A Bloody Kitsune

Claude was sitting at a table in the Golden Dragon Inn, he hadn’t wanted to wake Karna as he wrote his final goodbye. He could hear her light breathing, Adonis’s heavy snoring, Madeline ever tense even in sleep, and of course the new guy the one that had no problem giving Claude and Adonis over to the old clown. He didn’t even care to learn his name. Claude signed the letter he had written and went back upstairs to where Karna was sleeping. He gently placed the letter on the table in the center of the room with candles around it, so she’d see it in the morning hours and kissed her head gently to not wake her. Claude slowly removed his weapons and his backpack, placing all gently on the nearby dresser. He quietly apologized to both the Grimoire and the elven man stuck as a stick as he told them both he could no longer be their master. He left his wedding ring on top of the letter as he left the room in nothing but a t-shirt and pants.

Claude walked further into town, taking one look at the catastrophic damage that had been done, bodies floating in the remaining water, buildings burned from the lightning, and others destroyed from the water itself. He couldn’t help but feel remorse as all of this was done seemingly because he betrayed the carnival, he dragged Adonis with him, he never should’ve done any of that. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be a blood-sucking monster and Adonis wouldn’t hate his every being, if he was meant to die at that carnival then maybe he should’ve because none of this would’ve happened had he just accepted his fate. Claude dug his sharpened claws into his own leg as he closed his eyes to prevent tears, blood soaking into his pants. He took a breath his lungs no longer needed and opened his eyes. He looked towards the tavern whose owner had always been kind to him and welcomed the party no matter the chaos that they brought. He hoped that one day he would recover, and that tavern be bustling just as it was the day they arrived.

Claude looked at the paper that the clown had given everyone days

’ earlier. He knew exactly where the clown was as he started walking in the direction where he was. Claude’s heart would be pounding should it even beat, but those days were long gone. After an hour of walking, Claude entered the building that the clown was staying in and silently approached the room the paper told of.

“I’m here, I’m turning myself in, but I have two conditions,” Claude said out into the darkness.

It wasn’t long until he felt the cool metal of a blade pressed against his throat and the coldness of the warforge’s body against his. She was giggling in his ear as the clown approached him from the darkness.

“Oh? You think you can ask conditions?” He asked giggling too.

“I can kill myself right now with this blade against my throat or you can take me back with my conditions, it is your decision,” Claude said as he looks at the clown unfazed by the blade in his throat.

The clown frowned, “oh my, death wouldn’t do you still owe me your time, what are your conditions?” He asked weary of the fox. Claude having changed since he last saw him.

“I’m worth twice as much now. I am still as I was before, a kitsune, but I was also changed into a vampire as I’m sure you’ve heard. My first condition is that Adonis must be freed, I will buy out his contract with my earnings, you will not have to pay me until his debt is paid times two to show my loyalty. With my vampire strength I can take over his act, so you won’t lose anything in terms of acts. My second condition, the reward money, what you offered for my capture I want it sent to the town tavern. The Duke’s Dead Dame whose owner is Lumas Nepal. He deserves the money to clean up the mess I caused,” Claude said as he looks at the clown who was pondering his words.

The clown grinned widely, “you know, when you sent me a letter last week saying you were giving up and coming home. I thought it was a trick since you fought so hard to be free, but I see the truth now. You were always too pure for the carnival, always thinking about others, taking punishments for your friend when he did wrong without him ever knowing. All the blood you’ve shed to keep other’s safe and look at you now, back to square one,” he said giggling before full on laughing.

Once the laughter stopped, the clown looks down at the pitiful kitsune, “fine, I agree to your conditions, but I add one of my own. You disobey me for any reason and the warforge will kill your wife,” he said grinning.

Claude struggles a bit at the mention of Karna, but he stopped and nods quietly, “I will agree. I want a contract before we leave,” he said looking at the clown knowing he always stuck with contracts.

The clown disappeared for several minutes before coming back with neatly written contract. The warforge let Claude go to read the contract and read he did, he skimmed every word and every fine print to make sure that the crooked clown didn’t change anything. When satisfied, Claude cut his hand and signed his name in blood. The deepest binding contract he could ever give. Once the clown’s name was signed the same way, Claude felt a blunt force on the back of his neck and head before the world immediately went black.

The clown grinned down at the unconscious man, “he will be good bait for the others, make sure that if any of them appear, you put his cage where they can see it. Use him to make them fall,” he said although knowing that the warforge was not under him, but above him in terms of rank. The only time the warforged listened was regarding his contracts otherwise she did as she pleased but he didn’t care. He just wanted what was his.

[minniepetals]

cry me a river | the gentle heart

— summary: keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 8.4k

— warnings: emotional/mental abuse, violence, character death, allusions to physical abuse

— a/n: shorter as compared to parts 2 and 3 but i thought this would make a good chapter by itself

— PART 4 / previous part / masterpost

“How pathetic of you to bully a child twice your age. Do you have no shame in yourselves?”

Three heads turn your way, two of them a few years older than you and one with her knees on the floor, tears ready to stream down her little cheeks. You know those two older ones, you recognize them. They once served under your mother before she passed away, and although they openly glare at you, they do well with holding their tongues back in the presence of the failed daughter who returned home.

Scramming away without a word, not even apologizing or bowing your way, your brows furrow slightly as you hear their feet scurrying away before turning your attention back on the third maiden.

A poor little soul, clothes torn and dirty, different from the clean ones those ladies had on, with her cheeks puffy red and swollen eyes, tears ready to spill at any second yet she holds them back when you stand before her.

A small little girl.

“How old are you?” You ask in a gentle voice.

“T-thirteen,” she stutters, head lowered.

Thirteen.

Just thirteen years old, already working under the Reapers, meaning her parents probably faced the wrath of your father and were eliminated, or she was simply an orphan child to begin with, having stepped into the wrong line of an alleyway and messed with the wrong people.

You can’t help her, you have no power, and for a second watching the lithe little girl cowering before you, it almost reminds you of the face of the little daughter no one had ever cared for.

You see yourself in her and lower yourself to your knees.

“How long have you been here?” You ask and she answers obediently.

“Two years, my lady.”

Two years, so about a year after you left the Reapers household.

A small bitter chuckle leaves your lips. “Do you know who I am?”

“I…” She looks up timidly, tears still held back but despite it all, you see courage and strength in them. “Y-You’re the...the daughter of..of the boss.”

“That’s right,” you nod, “then you should know that I am not a.. ‘my lady’ to anyone here, right?”

“...” She doesn’t say a word to that, brows furrowing slightly and for a second you almost think her tears are for another reason. “But…”

“I am a nobody in this house. I have no power, so even if I want to help you, I cannot do anything for you. The only thing I can do is drive the presence of my lower subordinates away.” You give a rueful smile. “They do well in leaving the room when I am present. They will not help nor listen to me, but they will leave. So if you should ever need anyone to stop bothering you, just come to me and no one will dare to stay when bathed in my presence.”

You thought that she would nod, listen to your kindness, but instead, she hits you with a question.

“But why?” She asks in her small voice. “Why do they do that, my lady?”

My lady.

You almost want to laugh at the way she’s still calling you that title despite the fact that you’ve already told her of you having no respect in this house.

“I am incompetent,” you simply say. “I am nothing but a pawn,” you pause, giving her a small smile, “a useless pawn. That’s why I returned here, because I couldn’t be made useful to my father or my ex-husband. When you can’t do anything right, when you can’t have an answer as to what you’ve done wrong, when they can’t even give you an explanation...that’s how you come to know that you are unloved and uncared for. That’s how you know that you are useless. And that’s why I came back. Silence holds a lot of answers, little one, and sometimes that silence can damage you so much more than any word can ever do.”

You stand back on your feet, ignoring the small dust particles your dress has picked up from the floor, and begin to walk away from the little girl who watches you with pitiful eyes from behind.

.

.

.

You hadn’t expected her to run to your side that quickly but she does, the very next day, knocking on the door to your room with innocent doe eyes looking up at you. You take one glance to the side and see the back of a man walking away to realize someone was bothering her again.

“Good job.” When you pat her lightly on the head, you see the most sweetest smile with the most precious eyes which turns into crescents at your praise.

She doesn’t speak much, but you find out her name a few days later after her daily visits, yet it becomes too frequent and you begin to grow weary.

“You cannot keep relying on me, Yuna.” A tilt to the side and you know a little girl her age doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “I cannot continue to protect you, you will have to eventually learn to defend your own self.”

Her face falls at your words and you hate the way you know you’ve probably shattered her hope in life. But what else can you do? You can’t even protect your own self.

“If you keep coming to me, my father will eventually find out. If not by himself, then his servants will let him know and no one,” you stress, “wants me to be happy.” Her little brows crease and you let out a small sigh, not wanting to explain this to a child but she has to know. This is the world of the mafia, after all, and concealing her innocence will only harm her.

She has to know.

Otherwise one day she may lose her life if the warnings never reach her ears.

“If you keep staying by my side, if you keep coming to me, and if you let anyone know of our kindness to each other...you will die.”

Her small body freezes in place, her eyes kept still, but you see the fear in them as they begin to tremble and her own body begins to follow soon after. She wants to ask you something, you know, but Yuna can barely even open her mouth without her voice cracking before you.

She wants to know what you mean.

And you let her know.

“You will die,” you repeat, voice a little softer, a little weaker, and a little more frail. Your eyes fall to the floor yet you keep your tears behind, knowing that showing weakness is unpleasant even towards a young child. “You will die, just as the first person who had ever shown me kindness.” She looks at you with an arch of surprise and curiosity and a bitter chuckle leaves you. “Perhaps some servants have wanted to show me kindness, perhaps they’ve wanted to reach out and lend me a hand…but they know the consequences to that. Father will kill them if they ever care for me.”

“They’re cowards.”

You’re surprised by the utter venom that leaves the lips of a small child, surprised by the amount of hatred she holds in her eyes as she speaks of those servants, and a part of you yearns for that sort of courage she has to hate others.

You want to hate others but…

Keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you.

You take a silent breath in and a silent breath out.

“Perhaps, but it changes nothing, as you can see. No one wants to reach out and no one wants to die. That is why...I cannot protect you, Yuna,” you tell her softly. “Even if you weren’t the one to reach out, if I were to ever care for someone...father will kill them as well. That’s why you shouldn’t associate yourself with me. I will only kill you.”

“No, I…” She shakes her head from side to side, tears welling up along her eyes as if the single thought of leaving you will break her. “You’re the first kindness I’ve ever met.”

Just as Mister Butler was to you. But you killed him in return and you know more than anyone to never do that to a child.

You stand from your seat and turn your back on her. “I will not allow myself to kill a child.”

.

.

.

“What did I tell you?”

Yuna lets her tears fall, it’s the first time she’s ever allowed her tears to fall, and your heart breaks knowing you’re the cause to them. But she quickly goes to wipe them away as if she understands, as if she knows just how much her tears are affecting you. How much of a burden they are to you.

A small child but knowing that someone before her is suffering and hiding her pains. She knows she can’t burden you with her tears when you have your own ones to deal with.

“I..” She clears her throat but even then, when she speaks again, her voice still breaks, “I can’t leave you.” A small sniffle and she looks up at you with such a desperate expression. “Please,” she says as she claps her hands together. “Please, my lady, let me stay, I-...L-let me vow my loyalty to you...only you.”

You frown. “No,” you tell her firmly. “What is the use in giving your loyalty to someone who can’t even defend herself? Need I remind you that I have no power?”

“I don’t care,” she cries and cries. “I’ll serve you. Only you.”

“Yuna—”

“My lady.” A strong voice, broken yet strong, her eyes though filled with tears, are also filled with such determination and for a moment you’re speechless at how earnest and stubborn this little girl is. “Let me serve you.” A knee to the floor and a head bowed. “Until the day I die, my life is in your hands.”

A lost child, orphaned, and hurt, looking for guidance and a parental figure and she finds that in you. Just as you had seen Mister Butler, she sees you in that light and the mere fact of you deserting her will only result in a shattered child with a loss of hope.

How can you ever do that to a child?

You can’t.

You can’t.

“You have to promise me something.” Her eyes widen slightly when she looks up at the frailness in your voice, at the sight of your tears forming along your waterline. You lower yourself before her, meeting her at eye level as you take her small, poor little hands into yours and wrap them up as a mother would a child. “You have to promise.”

“I..I-I’ll do anything for you, my lady.”

“You have to promise me that you won’t love me.”

Yuna freezes in place yet you stay firm and shake your head.

“If you love me, I will not allow you to stay by my side,” you warn her softly. “You got that? The second I see that in your eyes, I will discard you.” She doesn’t say a word so you push her further. “Yuna.”

You’re so small, so small and weak compared to your father, yet the way you speak her name is so commanding Yuna almost loses her composure for a second. Tears fill your eyes, desperation, but at the same time there is strong determination and so much strength in them that Yuna knows right at that second, there is no one else she would rather follow than you.

“I promise.”

The first promise made from the first follower of the ruined Reaper’s daughter.

.

.

.

You’re pushed so hard into the very room you hoped to never return to and stumble onto your feet, causing a hard landing onto the floor. The pain on your shoulder hurts but you pay no mind to it as you rush back onto your feet, not daring to glare at the man who handled you unfairly but pleading at your father instead.

“Please,” you say as you fall to your knees, hands tightly clapped against one another as you look up at him. “P-please don’t keep me here. Anywhere but here.”

A disgusted scoff falls from his lips. “So shameful,” he utters without emotions and it stabs at you in ways you’ve never hurt before because hearing this from a father you love and being reminded of the very words your ex-husband once told you hurts more than anything.

Namjoon still haunts your thoughts everyday just as the rest of them and it hurts. Your stomach twists in ways it’s never done before, filled with heartache and fear which threatens to consume all that you are. Every word that he’s ever spoken to you repeats in your head and you try to block them out by covering your ears but that stops nothing.

His words stab countless needles into your heart.

Stop it, please stop.

“You’re a grown woman yet you still dare to shed your pitiful tears before me? If you really wanted respect, you wouldn’t dare show your tears nor bend a knee to anyone.”

“Please, father, I—”

“Useless. Utterly useless.” He turns his back to you without another word and just as he begins to walk away, you see the little girl that has vowed her loyalty unto you, eyes filled with so much hatred as her jaws clenches hard.

Yet you shake your head her way, losing faith, and her eyes which shows so much disgust and protest is the last thing you see before the door is slammed shut before your face.

The wind hits you hard and you’re reminded once more of another scene with Namjoon.

The first and last fight you had with him when he had shut you out and everything began to fall apart.

You can feel your body trembling as you try your best to avoid the condition of the White Room, knowing more than anyone how terrifying it is. Perhaps it may look like an ordinary room to just anyone, a once white room that’s now filled with black and dirty marks like jagged knife scrapes, but to you, it is a nightmare.

A nightmare you can’t seem to ever escape.

You crawl yourself to a corner, facing the wall so you don’t have to see anything, and push your knees so close to your chest. Then with a bit of discomfort from your aching shoulder, you hug yourself as you begin to rock your body back and forth.

It’s comforting in a way.

Comforting.

Comforting.

It’s supposed to be comforting and keep you away from the fears but how can this ever be a form of comfort anymore after you’ve had people who were by your side to hold you?

“But they’re gone,” you whisper to yourself. “Gone…”

A tear falls and another falls and you shake. You tremble hard.

“Hoseok,” you hear yourself call out a name. “Hoseok please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for because he’s gone now, you’ve pushed him away, left him alone to deal with the problems for himself. You left him, you left them all.

Yet…

“Hoseok, I...I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“You can come to me.” You hear his voice in the back of your mind, so soft, so gentle, as he holds out his arms for you. You want those arms, to collapse into them, to let them hold you and take all the fears away. He loved you still and maybe Hoseok could have been the key to fixing the relationship but you were too afraid to find out. You want to hold onto him and rely on him yet at the same time, you’re afraid of him.

And now they’re gone, the promise is gone, just as you will never be able to go to Hoseok ever again.

“What do I do...what do I do, Hoseok? Who do I rely on now? There’s no one but me yet I...I scare myself the most. What do I do, Hoseok?” You cry pitiful tears and your voice breaks and fails at times but almost as if thinking alone won’t help you, as if you have a chance at him hearing you if you were to speak your thoughts aloud...he’d come.

“Please save me...Please hold me...Hoseok…”

Yet no one comes.

And no one ever would.

Ever again.

.

.

.

“Why?!”

You fall quiet when Yuna expresses her anger for the first time ever.

“Why do you just let him do that to you?! Why didn’t you fight back?!”

Why indeed. Why, why, why? You ask yourself that every day yet the same answer comes back to you every single time.

“To survive,” you tell her. “That is the only way I can survive.”

“But don’t you want to live and not just survive?!”

Of course you do. Of course.

But how? How can you?

You want to scream and shout and blame the world for the life it’s given you, faulting it for every single thing that has happened to you but how can you? How can you blame anyone else for your very own life choices?

Keep your heart warm.

Keep your heart warm.

“It’s my fault for being weak and useless.”

“No, that’s not it.” Yuna cries and cries for you. She gets angry, gets upset, and wants to hurt others for you. Just for you. “You can’t blame everything on yourself because none of this is your fault.”

You shake your head, not wanting to hear any comforting words at the moment because it reminds you of them, of what they once were before the coldness got to them.

Keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you.

Cold. The room is so cold.

“Please leave,” you ask Yuna without sparing her a glance and you know, you know she wants to protest but you can’t have her in the room no longer. She will only give you false hope and you can’t love anyone anymore.

They’ll all leave in the end.

“Leave.” So you decide to shut them out first. “You’ll die if he ever finds out you’re only loyal to me.” It’s an excuse, an excuse, and although Yuna probably understands that, she knows not to go against your words. “So please leave.”

Keep your heart warm.

You don’t have the heart to look at her because you know she’s probably crying for you, wanting to help, to reach out and lend a hand. But you can’t take it, you can’t even allow her to hold her hand out in the first place.

She’ll leave in the end, just like the rest of them.

.

.

.

“What happened to you?”

It aches a little but you allow Yuna to apply some poultice on the shoulder you injured when that man had pushed you onto the floor a few days ago. You couldn’t get it treated yourself, not since you were locked up in the White Room for around three days, and although you had hoped to keep it a secret from Yuna, she eventually found out and is now tending to you.

“The shoulder?” You ask a question with a question.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I know how you got that and I’ll deal with him late—”

“No.” You quickly say in a firm voice. “You can disobey my orders with anything else but interfering with anything that involves my father or openly standing up for me is an absolute no. I will not kill a child.”

Yuna falls silent for a moment, eyes a little fearful when you stare down at her but eventually she nods solemnly.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

Keep your heart warm, your voice echoes in your head and you let out a sigh. “You’re a good kid,” you say with a small pat to her head, “I don’t want you dying for my sake. Being like this is already dangerous enough but luckily no one enters my private room. You have to be careful.”

“Yes, my lady.”

You turn around once more to allow her to continue tending to your shoulder. “What were you trying to ask?”

“I…” her hand pauses mid-air, “I wanted to know why...why you returned,” Yuna asks. “Aren’t you afraid of your father? Unless...Mr. Kim was worse?”

“No,” you shake your head lightly. “Mr. Kim treated me much more fairly than father could ever do.”

“Then why?”

You fall silent for a moment and the room echoes in silence, but Yuna doesn’t say a word. She knows how to be patient, she knows when it isn’t the right time to speak, when to listen well, and that is what she does. She listens to your silence, until the moment you can speak again.

Yuna listens.

“I fell in love.”

She remains silent but you know she’s surprised by your answer to her simple question, a question that hurts to hear, a question that hurts to answer, and a question that keeps swarming in your own head every single day.

Even if Namjoon and the others didn’t love you anymore, you could have stayed, safely and securely from the pain of your father, from the trauma he has instilled onto you.

It was one of the toughest decisions to ever make and even now you wonder if you’ve made the right one.

Even if Namjoon and the others no longer loved you, you could have lived hiding away from your father.

“He loved me too...they all did.”

But staying with them has hurt you far more than you could have ever imagined.

“They?”

“Mr. Kim had six lovers before me, before the marriage, and they were the ones to fall in love first. I was scared then, scared of their love, afraid that one day I’d be left abandoned and some misfortune would befall us if I were to accept their love. I was afraid of falling.”

You remember the kindness they held in that moment, the soft hands which caressed you so gently, the kind whispers, the tender smiles and touches. You remember it as if it were yesterday. Yet yesterday is no longer, just as that precious moment.

“They made me a vow, a promise. They promised to catch me when I fell. And fell I did, pretty hard. They caught me though, just as they promised to. But just as they caught me...they were also the very ones who dropped me and shattered me.”

You aren’t even sure if your words make sense to a thirteen years old but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

“...Oh.” Yet Yuna responds well. “Why?” She asks. “Why did they catch you just to let you fall?”

“...That’s a very good question,” you say with a rueful smile so transient it’s become a habit of Yuna to catch that split moment when you give her a smile. Fake as it is, she catches them all.

When she finally finishes wrapping the bandage on your injury and helps you put your sleeves back on, you turn to the young girl who has yet to understand the concept of love. “This is why you cannot love me.” She listens to your words, her eyes never leaving yours as you speak directly to her. “I lost once, then all seven at the same time. Love...doesn’t work for me. If you love me, I will be the one hurting in the end and I don’t think...I don’t think I can handle a false hope anymore.”

She bites her lower lip for a second, eyes trembling. “Do you believe I will one day leave you too?”

“Everyone does,” you say and allow no words of hers to protest against that. “And I suppose that’s why I returned. Because in here, I can predict the outcome. I’m used to the pains and sufferings here. In here, in the Reaper’s house, no one loves me so I don’t have to be disappointed in the end. I can predict the hurting so I can hurt a little less.”

“That…” Her tears return once more as her brows furrowing with frustration. “That’s not...you shouldn’t...it’s not…”

Yuna doesn’t know how to form her words yet you understand at the sight of her strong fingers clenching onto her skin so tightly.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” You say with a bitter chuckle. “But I’m fine. I’ll be fine...one day.”

A child like her shouldn’t have to trouble herself with your nonsense. She has her own troubles to worry about.

.

.

.

“How do you expect to survive in this world if you can’t even hold a gun?” The words your father spits out are harsh as he always has been when he watches you from afar, gaze as sharp as that of a hawks’, with two of his men standing tall on each of his sides. “Pick it up,” he demands and you stand there, staring at the handgun you had failed to hold just seconds prior, now dropped on the floor helplessly.

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in, because you know that despite how afraid you are of that thing, your father’s disappointment far exceeds any other fear you hold in your heart.

When you crouch to pick the gun up once more, you aren’t sure if your slow breathing is occurring any longer, the only thing on your mind is to try and keep calm as you feel the metal in your hand.

You feel yourself trembling, the beat of your heart racing a thousand beats per minute, and suddenly you can’t see what’s before your eyes any longer. Images of the two dead bodyguards and Mister Butler flashes in your mind like a recurring nightmare that will never go away.

A shot to the head. A bodyguard falls.

Someone holds you down, shielding you from the bullets. A shot to the head and he too, falls limply onto your body.

The weight is heavy against your chest and you aren’t sure how to breathe.

“Mister Butler!”

You hear a gunshot far in your memories, so distant, so faint, but you remember being so alert the second you heard it. At the time the sound was so loud and clear, ringing and ringing in your ears, and the next thing you knew, you were standing right before a pair of eyes that no longer holds light.

He was your sun.

Hands far too unstable to hold onto something, you feel the gun slip out of your grasp and when it hits the floor with a loud thud, your blurry vision falls clear once more as your mind retraces back to reality.

“F..Father…”

Ah, you’re scared.

You’re scared.

You close your eyes tight, not wanting to look at that disappointing gaze of his, not wanting to face his wrath.

Yet you hear it loud and clear when his heavy footsteps marches towards your smaller frame. Your shoulders tense up, hunching close to your ears as your body shakes uncontrollably, yet the thing he lashes his anger out on isn’t you and when you hear a harsh slam of the gun to the floor right before you, you know he’s picked up the gun meant for you and smashed it to pieces.

“Are you that incompotent?! How weak are you to not even be able to hold a simple gun?!”

You flinch at his booming voice and bite hard onto your lips in order to keep your whimpers from escaping. If you make even the slightest noise, he’ll bring you back to the White Room. He’ll punish you.

“Fine,” you hear his strained voice when he turns for a moment. “If you can’t hold a gun, then hold this.”

Your eyes open to face what he has to offer but you weren’t at all prepared to be thrown a dagger right at you.

“Ah!” The sharp blade cuts your palm and drops to the floor and blood quickly begins to drip heavily. You let out a gasp, holding onto your wrist when the pain stings but fear more of the moment your father takes a harsh inhale.

He holds his temple as if suppressing his anger, and when that doesn’t work, the fire in his eyes is enough to make you tremble as he turns from you. “Take her to the White Room.”

Your eyes widen.

“W-wait..I..–Father please!”

Two strong arms take ahold of you when the door opens wide and father leaves the room without a word. “Fa—” Just as you’re about to call out for him, you catch sight of a familiar little girl and her screams.

Two people are dragging her away forcefully and your heart stops.

“Let her go. Hey!!” You rush to run to them but is forcefully held back by your own people and quickly struggle to leave their grasps. “Stop!! Let me go! I order you to let me go!!”

Yet no one listens to a word you scream out.

“Let me go!!”

You scream and shout, trashing your body as much as you can but they’re far much stronger than you will ever be, and in just a split moment, the sight of the little girl who looks up to you so much falls out of sight.

No one listens to you and you’re thrown back into the White Room once again.

Yet this time you’re more desperate to get out, this time you scream until your lungs give out, until your throat sores and can no longer take it, throwing fists after fists, banging onto the metal door so hard, begging and pleading and not caring for the blood and blisters that forms along your hands. Yet no one listens.

No one hears as they fall deaf to everything that is uttered from your very own lips, from the only daughter of the Reaper.

.

.

.

You aren’t sure how many hours you’ve stayed in that room, you aren’t even sure when you passed out but you did and when you open your eyes again, it’s when the doors to the White Room have opened up once again.

A gasp leaves your lips and before the guard can even tell you you’re free to leave, you stand up so fast and dash straight out of the room in just a split second.

Darkness fills your vision, your head spinning and your feet stumble upon one another but you don’t care to treat your own self just yet. You have a mission and that is to find Yuna, to make sure she’s alright.

You hear voices, asking after people, and though they show open disgust towards you, they tell you where Yuna should be and you run after the place.

You aren’t sure how many minutes have passed but even though you’re out of breath, even though your head spins in endless circles, you don’t care one bit unless you see it with your own pair of eyes that Yuna is alive.

She has to be alive.

That little girl with so much passion, so much life in her eyes.

They can’t kill her.

They can’t.

You hear a few voices from a room and immediately hide behind a wall, waiting and watching until the door opens and two familiar men emerge from the door. The same men who took Yuna away.

Anger rises from your chest but you know better than to confront them. You’ll risk Yuna’s life that way and even though there’s a chance she might not even be alive anymore, a part of you still has hope.

When they walk down the opposite hall from where you came from, it takes a few more seconds to watch their backs disappear before you stand before the door leading into a room.

Room 157, it states.

A long corridor of rooms fills this space up, a building different from the main house but still resides in the same property of the Reapers.

You feel so sick you want to throw up. Who knows how many other prisoners they’re keeping in here.

You shake your head to rid of the useless thoughts as you know that right now, confirming Yuna’s life is far more important.

The door creaks open and the first thing you notice is the cold air immediately taking over your body. You shiver and hold yourself. One single light source falls into the room from an open window, illuminating a small, little body, who holds herself up into a sitting position, her head hung over towards the floor as her arms are wrapped against her stomach.

You let out a gasp and quickly run towards Yuna after making sure the door was locked shut.

“Yuna!”

Upon your voice, her head slowly looks up.

“Yuna!” You feel tears stinging your eyes and in just a split second, you’re right by her side and allowing her to lean onto you for support.

“Ah…my lady…” She calls in a frail voice. “Why are you here?” It’s barely audible but you hear her. You hear every single word.

“You’re so cold.” You leave her for a moment to shut the window closed before returning to her side with your jacket taken off in order to wrap her up well. “What did they…do to you..?”

The sight of her is enough to know just what it is that they did to her.

Her face is bruised, cut lips, red markings on her neck and arms, and she holds onto her stomach so much you know they’ve probably gone there as well.

Tears fall from your eyes as you hold onto her. “I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come any sooner.”

“No,” Yuna shakes her head lightly, “If you did…I would have been in a worse state. I would have died.”

“Still.” You can’t forgive yourself. You can’t. “If I…If I came sooner..—”

“What are you talking about, my lady?” She leans away from your hold, brows furrowing as she examines the state you’re in. “They locked you up, my lady. There was nothing you could have done,” she says as she takes both your hands in her hold, letting you gaze down at how they appear before both your eyes.

One palm smears with blood from the dagger, your knuckles and the side of your hands cut and filled with red blisters from all that banging in hopes of knocking that door down.

You were so desperate to save Yuna you forgot about your own pains.

“We’re in the same boat,” Yuna says as tears fill her eyes and begin to roll down her cheeks before she can even hold them back. “I wanted to save you but I couldn’t and you…you wanted the same.” Her little hands tremble as they hold yours, pain and guilt filling her expression as she looks at them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“How can you say that? Why would you apologize to me?”

“I don’t know, I…I don’t know anything.” She falls into your chest, crying and crying. “I just…I just want to make it all better.”

But she can’t and she doesn’t know how.

Just like you.

How do you save someone when you can’t even save your own self?

.

.

.

Yuna bandages your hands up so that you can treat her wounds.

The room is quiet, so so quiet, but the silence is comfortable and the silence is soft. You need no words exchanged in order to understand each other, not when you’re the only ones who can rely on each other.

Yuna is but a child trying to survive in this world after your father took her parents away from her forcibly. She yearns for your affections, for your love, and although you know you cannot accept her love nor can you give it to her, you let the little girl stay.

After all, she’s the only one keeping you sane at this moment.

With Yuna, you can breathe, even if it means a little. Because a little goes a long way and a little is just enough for you to open your eyes the next day.

She lays on your lap when you finish bandaging her petite body up, lying there as a child would seeking for their mother’s warmth. Her body curls up closely, head resting on your thigh as you sit there on the floor of your bedroom, lightly running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually her breathing slows, eyes no longer twitching, body no longer trembling, and the grip on your hand loosens. A blanket falls on her body as she falls asleep right there on your lap.

You hum a light tune, watching over her with a gentle gaze even as your heart aches at the sight of her peaceful expression.

Although Yuna is only ten years younger than you, still you feel a connection with her in ways you’ve never felt before. If you ever had a child, would it be like this?

But then again, that would mean having lovers, wouldn’t it? Having a husband who still loved you?

Your brows furrow and a silent tear falls from your cheek.

In the silence of the room, you’re far too afraid to let out a cry so you sit there, watching Yuna carefully as your own tears descend silently.

Two broken souls holding onto each other so the other doesn’t fall.

You only have Yuna now, and she only has you.

.

.

.

“You want me to...remarry?”

You can hear your heartbeat racing hard, hard, and hard. It drums so loudly, so quickly, as your mouth dries and your throat clogs up with an invisible force after hearing those words uttered from your father when he passes you a folder with the man he wishes you to remarry.

Yet you don’t wish to open any of its content and see the face of a stranger.

Not again.

“Father, who would want to marry someone who had just recently divorced?”

“Why does that matter? It’s not as if I’m asking the both of you to love each other.”

“But I—”

“Do you wish to disobey my orders?” He raises his voice, a glare leveled your way to make sure you know not to go up against him and normally you will cower, normally you will sit back down and lower your head and listen to his every word but this...you can’t do this again.

You’ll only hurt in the end and you know that if you were to ever fall into another mafia’s household, you may break. Who knows what sort of man this person is but either way, whether they will be kind or just as your father is, the outcome will remain the same and you know more than anyone that you do not wish to shatter once more.

“Please father, please reconsider.” You run to his side, kneeling down the floor and lowering your head before him. “I know I’m only a pawn but I’m useless, aren’t I? I can’t do anything right and if you send me to another mafia house, this one might not be as forgiving as Mr. Kim was. Mr. Kim was gracious enough to lend you his power even after the fact that we’ve divorced but—”

“Then why did you let him divorce you?!” You flinch under his raised voice but keep yourself still under his foot, knowing you can’t back down despite how afraid you are of him. Your eyes are squeezed shut and you know, although you know that father isn’t one to hit his own daughter, still you await the hand to come down at any time.

“Why are you such a worthless, incompetent child who can’t even keep her own husband? Just how much of a nuisance were you for him to return you yet be kind enough to still lend me his power? You’ve never done anything right and for once I believed things were going well, I thought that for once you were doing your part yet here you are, back on your very knees and at the foot of her own father. You’re useless.”

He stands from his chair and you hear his footsteps stomping away with a storm right behind him. “I’ll be a damn fool to send you elsewhere. Send her to the White Room.”

Your eyes open wide and your head is quick to turn towards the figure of your father walking away. Two men walk towards you, both of them you hadn’t seen before, both of them tall and bulky and fear overrides you.

“Please…” You beg, yet no one listens.

And once again, you’re handled roughly and without a care, dragged back to the very room you’ve dreaded your whole life.

When the door shuts after they’ve thrown you into the White Room, you remain lying on the floor without moving a muscle.

Tears fall from your eyes as your heart aches and your stomach churns and your nostrils thicken and your body trembles. You hold your hands to your mouth, trying to keep the noise from leaving your lips because you know uttering a single sound will only anger your father.

You don’t want to face any more of his wrath. You don’t want him to throw you away again and into another mafia.

You told him it was because the inevitable would come with you returning as a useless child but the truth is, you just don’t want to marry anyone else other than the very same boys who had broken your heart and left you completely shattered.

You don’t want to marry anyone else but Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon who hates you.

You love him, you love him, with all that you are, no matter how worthless and foolish you are and no matter how much you never deserved to love him. Any of them.

Even still, even as you were the one to break the chains around your wrists, even though you were the one to call off the marriage and asked him to never let you meet them again, you love him still. It hurts more than anything to love someone so hard, to still love when the other party has already forgotten.

You fell into the relationship like a fool, knowing the consequences that you’d face yet risking it all despite it. You are the fool that thought you could ever have love and keep it until the day that you die. You are a fool, a dumb, useless fool.

“Worthless, incompetent child.” Your father’s words echo in your head.

“Stop,” you tell yourself. “Stop it.”

Worthless.

“Stop..shut up.” You hit your head.

Incompetent.

“Stop, please..”

Useless.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“So shameful.” This time these words belong to Namjoon and you choke out a cry yet it fears you so much because you’ve made a sound.

“Please,” you beg at no one at all as you slam your fist down onto the hard floor. “Please.” What are you begging for, you aren’t sure. Why are you begging, you aren’t sure. But you want it to stop, you want everything to stop.

You don’t want to feel anymore, you just want to be numb.

Numb to the pain.

Yet you can feel it all. You can feel every little ache that stabs needles into your heart countless times. You can feel the stinging of your knuckles as you slam it onto the floor. You can feel your pounding headache, your aching heart, your wet tears, the coldness of the room. Everything. Everything.

Keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you.

Keep your heart warm.

Warm.

Warm.

.

.

.

Ten Years Later

A shot right through the chest and he falls, like a completely wasted plastic bag. A useless, utter fool.

Thump.

You’ve pierced him straight through the heart, just as he deserves, for all the countless times he’s stomped on it without a second thought. He doesn’t hold a heart in the first place, so what use is it to him at all? If anything, you’ve only done him a favor.

When you walk towards the hopeless man with clicking red heels and stand right above him so that he can see the face of the very person who’s sending him straight to hell, his eyes widen a little.

“Huh,” you speak, completely unfazed, “that was a bit...unsatisfying. I thought it’d be more thrilling killing my own father.”

A string tugs at the corner of his lips. “Who knew…” He coughs a few times, face anguished in pain as blood pools around him. “Who knew the very person..I brought into this world...Would be the one to end me.”

You stare at your father without any sign of emotion masking your face. You feel nothing as you watch him lying there helplessly. “You never saw it coming?” You ask and it takes a few painful seconds for him to shake his head.

“I would be mad but...I’m actually quite proud.”

Proud.

What a foreign word to both you and him.

“Are you?”

“You don’t seem happy.”

“Should I be?” You ask flatly. “Perhaps I would have ten years ago, before I finally realized how shitty you were and that I would never live up to your expectations. But now?” You watch the night sky, noting at the darkness of the clouds and the coldness of the air. Rain is coming. “Now I feel nothing.”

“How foolish.”

“How foolish indeed,” you agree. “Though I didn’t do this for my own satisfaction, although that could have been a bonus,” you say. “You were just an obstacle in my goal so I had to get rid of you.”

“That’s right...Because you..you are daddy’s little girl.”

A small scoff leaves you as you return your dead gaze back on the very father who you once yearned so much for. “You’re wrong about that, father. I’m no one’s little girl. I’m my own girl and I belong only to myself.”

Bang!

A shot straight through his head and his eyes are no longer filled with light. They never were in the first place, never had any sort of light, and now they belong completely to the dark. Just as it should have been from the very beginning.

And right on time, the sky rumbles and the rain falls from the sky.

You close your eyes and tilt your head towards it, allowing the rain to simply fall and fall, and for a moment you think it’s rejoicing, as if to fill in the void of your emotionless self who doesn’t understand the concept of joy. The sky rejoices in your stead, screaming in thunder claps, filled with such a storm, the wind howling and crying, yet you stand there, standing still beside the corpse of the Reaper.

You’ve done it.

You’ve killed your father, the very person who has tormented you your whole life. He’s gone now and never to return ever again.

Yet you feel nothing.

No joy, no sadness, you simply feel...nothing.

He was proud of you, he said, and you scoff because of how dumb that was. It doesn’t make you happy, it only fills you with disgust. That man doesn’t deserve to utter such words to you, as if saying so will make a difference and have you begging him for forgiveness.

But you’re done with that. Done with apologies, done with crying.

Done.

And now that the very man who held the highest position to the Reaper’s chair is dead, it’s your turn to take the throne and wear your crown.

You’re the Reaper now.

You hear a small gasp behind you and with the click on your heel, you turn at an instant with your gun leveled right at the very man who made the sound and—

Right before your finger can pull the trigger, you meet the very eyes of a man you once loved long, long ago.

Kim Namjoon and his lovers right behind him.

They stand tall, crisp black suits, with brows furrowed and mouths slightly agape at who they see before them; an ex-wife, an ex lover. Eyes as dark as the eclipsed shadow, it widens slightly as they burn straight into your soul and for a moment, just one split second, you think you may have felt your heart taking a single leap.

But it ends there and once more, you feel absolutely nothing.

Hm.

You stand there with your gun pointed at Bangtan’s boss for a moment, eyes never leaving Namjoon as he takes up your challenge. Silence fills saved by the pouring rain and the noise of the city street.

Ten years has certainly been long since you no longer feel that yearning, aching, and love you had for them long, long ago. You no longer tremble before them, no longer cower, and no longer watch them with the eyes of the pitiful mafia daughter who could do nothing to defend her own dignity and honor.

No longer that shameful, pitiful wife.

You’re the first one to break eye contact.

You tilt your gun back, spin it along your forefinger before placing it at your side.

Well, you hadn’t expected your ex-lovers to be the ones to catch you in the act of killing your own father but it is what it is. They always believed you to be a spoiled little princess and daddy’s little girl but here you are, an image entirely different from what they have always known.

You take a step back onto the edge of the skyscraper and without blinking an eye, let yourself fall and have the wind catch you.

They never disappoint unlike some certain people.

“Y/N!” Hoseok calls.

Hoseok.

It was Hoseok.

Ah, he sounds as concerned and worrisome as you once remember so well. The memories slowly retrieved for just that moment, the same ones you’ve forced yourself to shove back which had been hidden so well under all the darkness that you have succumbed to.

When you let your eyes open, you see their alarmed faces but in just a few seconds, your body is caught in the arms of a certain second-in-command, who holds you securely without falter until the moment the two of you are back on the ground.

A small smirk curls along your lips as you hop onto your motorcycle and ride off, knowing fully well that their eyes are trailing right behind you, just as you once were ten years ago.

But that weak hearted girl then is no longer here. You’re the owner of this body now and you will no longer tolerate anyone getting in your way.

[izjeon]

LIVESTREAM !

idol!jungkook x fem!reader

genre: smut, established relationship, pwp (kinda)

word count: 1k

warnings: MINORS GET OUT!! not proofread, consensual sex, d&s (dominance & submission), s&m (sadism and masochism), oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), dom!jk & sub!reader, beefy kook, unrealistic sex, extreme overstimulation, multiple orgasms, copious amounts of cum, mentioned unprotected sex, unaware audience, and reader’s cooch has been through it ⛲️

+a/n: this is a repost of an old drabble for somebody who used to read my old ffs ♡ . also, this is one of my favourites from my old writing so i hope you enjoy! btw… there’s no impreg kink in this one 🙏🏾.

++ “anything for my angel.”

𖥻 L𝗶VES࣪TREAM

jungkook gripped the leather arms of his desk chair and forced a smile for the vlive he'd switched on ages ago. bts' new song, dis-ease echoed around the room and through his screen to the millions of people watching his live. "arm—” he paused and glanced underneath the desk. his breath hitched in his throat.

gosh, the sight was amazing.

with your teary eyes looking up at him so beautifully, he could just see the begging and need for mercy in your eyes as you pleased his sadistic ways as part of your punishment. he eyed the runny mascara mixing in with the hot and sticky ropes of his blissful orgasms that had pooled inside your mouth instead of shooting down your throat.

he almost came at the sight of your puffy, swollen lips perfectly swallowing the whole of his large cock. he could even feel the outline of him inside your throat with the one hand he'd kept down there to provide comfort and pet your head or push your head down even further, leaning forward to hide it from your unaware audience.

he brought himself back to reality within a second or two, "ah, my apologies, army! i thought it was getting a bit messy down there with all my devices and was thinking of ways to organise— the mind of a cleaning-freak, haha!" your hands tied behind your back with his belt didn't help at all when he suddenly bucked into your mouth twice, hiding it with him just 'adjusting himself' on the chair.

"ah, i only wanted to come on for a short while before i went back to punishing you—" your core quivered around the vibrating length inside of you and you muffled a whimper by voluntarily deepthroating him. "—...punishing you all with my handsome face."

he grinned before throwing his head back with a laugh, "that was so embarrassing, i apologise." jungkook's right fist hidden from the camera clenched and unclenched as his thumb repeatedly pushed against the plus symbol on the small pink button until he knew he'd reached the highest level.

not being able to see the devious smirk your boyfriend had on his face, your eyes bulged out of their sockets as you were forced to take in the device’s small vibrator on your clit as well as the twitching, plastic length inside of your cunt. drunk on your climax, you involuntarily squirted all over the hotel room’s carpet.

and to hide the sound of you brutally coming undone for the 13th time under the desk, jungkook continued speaking to his fans as if nothing was happening. "oh, wow," he mumbled with a glance at his phone and feigned innocence, looking back to the camera, "guys, have i really been on here with you for 35 minutes?"

"hm, i guess i'll go now since it's been a while." he smiled at the camera with a wave, "bye guys!"

you patiently waited, your hips stuttering and grinding against air in need for a fat cock to stuff your pussy. jungkook remained silent, making sure everything was off, before wheeling his desk chair backwards.

slowly, he petted your head and looked down upon you with a coo. "my little sweetheart." you whimpered and shuffled closer to him on your knees, giving his hard and erect cock a twirl of your trained tongue. you were pleading so innocently: ‘daddy, please?'. he could almost hear it.

jungkook hurriedly shoved your head flush against his inner thighs and placed his both hands against the back of your head. he started to buck relentlessly into your warm fuckhole. "so f-fucking pretty—!" and with a pained shout, he shot his third load straight down your willing throat.

you didn't even have to put in work to swallow it as it all just shot rope after rope down your throat. with heavy eyes, you moaned around his cock at the beautiful view you had of jungkook falling apart because of your mouth. your mouth. nobody else could please him as you did. nobody.

he groaned as he pulled out of your battered fuckhole, strings of white following after his pink tip. "so fucking perfect..." he mumbled, rubbing his mess all over your pouting lips with his length.

jungkook grabbed your face from under your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek, and pulled you up to stand. his fingers fell onto your breasts, ghosting over the nipples that he loved so much. then with a u-turn, his fingers traced over your back, giving you chills. his hands did a quick job of unbuckling your wrists. he gave you freedom.

your legs felt as if they were going to give way when you reached a shaky hand down between your legs. you cried out, fingers grazing over your swollen clit, but you slowly pulled out the vibrating intruder and held it up to his view.

"suck it clean," jungkook ordered and turned off the vibrator. his curious fingers trailed down to your own mess. covered in your juices and jungkook’s cum, the pink vibrator slid past your lips, welcomed by an eager tongue.

"oh, baby," he groaned as his fingers felt around your inner thighs. three of his fingers slipped in with little to no struggle and even though he was terribly overstimulated, he was beginning to twitch back to life.

"how many times?"

you pulled out the device and swallowed before whispering, "t-thirteen..." you cried out at the increase in his pace as he fucked you with his fingers. you collapsed onto his chest, fingers gripping tightly onto the hoodie he wore.

"p-please," you begged before biting harshly on your lip; you knew better than to ask for something from him when it was your punishment. but jungkook grinned, turning the both of you around and throwing you onto the bed.

"anything for my angel."

#livestream; fin.

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