#bc it felt like he was just painting for a brick wall

[deadtower]

fellow artists and writers what would we think about a discord centered primarily on engagement of your works? like … comment4comment, reblog4reblog, events where we all focus on/hype up a certain fic or art for the day, prompts every week to keep our creative juices flowing, etc?

there’s a real lack of actual engagement regarding our work and i really want to bring back that magic. people don’t understand how much that can do for your mental health as a creator and i want to facilitate a healthy and positive space we can all go to to get the attention we so rightly deserve

[realmofimagines]

Don’t Make A Habit of Dying (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

follow @cowboybxtch (my other account) for more ghost content, as i will not be posting on this blog anymore <3

Wordcount: 3241 Content: swearing, near death, graphic depictions of gore, blood, injury, ghost is in love with u, soap is oblivious, heroic ghost, pre existing relationsip, tension  Request: no Note: *just wanna preface this by saying it is not proof read lol* i am absolutely unashamed to be jumping on the ghost bandwagon. i finished the campaign yesterday and honestly i sort of rushed through it bc it was a lot of fun so this is sort of based on one of the missions but it’s all from memory so if anything is wrong or out of place just ignore it and lets call it canon divergence AO3 version here

“Fox, how copy?”

You grunted, clawing at the rain-soaked concrete and grit beneath your fingers as you stretched to reach your communications device. Your head was still spinning from the impact, and your eyes blurred as if you were lying underneath a moving river staring at the wrinkled water surface above. A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, and you are intensely aware of the urge to vomit.

With a sharp breath, you are able to level yourself onto your knees. Your hand closed around the slippery radio, and you pulled it toward your mouth whilst collapsing your back against a slick brick wall. Your free hand pressed against the sharp, pulsating pain in your abdomen.

“(Y/N), I repeat, how copy?” Ghost’s voice crackled.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, before pressing the voice activation button on the radio. The strong rush of adrenaline burned in your chest, but it didn’t match the wash of relief upon hearing and recognising Simon’s voice. You closed your eyes and relished in the sensation for a moment.

“I read you.”

He audibly sighed. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nearly did.”

“You injured?”

You stared down and shakily inspected the palm pressed against your wound. Your fingers came away glistening with rain and blood, and your undershirt was soaked a deep red around the site of the injury. You replace your hand on the wound, applying as much pressure as you can muster with a heavily clenched jaw. As much as you wanted to be honest, you knew that due to the personal obligations Ghost felt toward you because of your secret relationship, letting him know just how hurt you truly were could compromise his position. He would, without a doubt, make his way straight toward you.

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not what I asked, Sergeant.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good. Are you in sight of the church?”

You blinked hard to clear your vision and glanced around your surroundings. Through a rusted, paint-chipped iron gate, you could see the distant glow of the religious building and gathered that it was about half a mile away. You weren’t sure how much steam you had left in the tank, but you sure as shit were going to use every last drop to get your ass to that church.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“We’ll RV there. Johnny’s on his way now.”

“Copy that.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

You fumbled with your gear, cursing to yourself when you found nothing but empty holsters. All that remained on your person was a singular, small combat knife hidden within your boot, and you silently thanked yourself for taking such precaution.

“A knife.”

“That’s all you need. Stay safe, Fox.”

“Sure, Ghost.”

You released the radio trigger and clipped it back onto the front of your tactical vest. With a deep breath, you managed to pull yourself to your feet with the solid support of the brick wall. Your bloodied hand mixed with the rain, dripping down your chilled fingers and spreading the blood down your arms. You looked like a damn mess. You felt like a damn mess.

You first attempted to push through the iron gate but found it chained and padlocked from the other side.

Never the easy way, you murmured to yourself.

Turning back on yourself, you stumbled through a fruit market. Bruised and trampled limes and apples rolled across the puddled floor, seemingly abandoned in a hurry rather than packed away in their crates. Upon leaning on a stall for aid, you noticed that the civilians, presumably the shopkeepers, had been shot dead in their stalls. It was bloody and gruesome and told the tale of just how relentless the military-for-hire group were.

Your wobbly vision was clouded, and your lashes were thick with rain droplets concentrated with the blood dripping from your head. Your lips and fingers were icy cold, and each breath felt like the air was taking shots at your lungs like they were punching bags. You pressed onwards, however, knowing that if you wanted a chance at living that you needed to make it out of the Shadow’s web, and you could only do so by pushing yourself forwards.

The detour through the fruit market leads you to a couple of Shadow mercs, who chatted idly amongst themselves as if they weren’t standing upon the consequences of their war crimes. Families, including children, cried and screamed in the distance. Gunshots followed, and you tried not to flinch against the sound.

The mercenaries were armed, and they were blocking the only route you had. There was no easy way around this, but you had to improvise given your lack of weaponry and physical power. Your body was betraying you, and try as you might, you’d never be able to take these men in your current situation.

You tossed a beer bottle down the alleyway, hoping to distract them enough to get the upper hand. The left merc stubbed out his cigarette with a sizzle under his boot, before trailing down in the direction of the smashed glass in pursuit of the sound. Noticing your chance, you steadily crouch-walked your way over to the lone hostile and plunged your knife into his side and then into his neck.

“Just an empty bottle. It’s nothing,” the other merc stated, then turning on his heel with a final glance at the broken glass before he whipped his head around with a double take to notice his friend in a gargling heap on the floor, and you standing above him. “What the fuck?!”

He raised his gun toward you, leaving you no choice but to slam straight into him to throw off his aim. His gun flew upwards as he pulled the trigger, spraying an arc of loud, bright bullets into the air whilst you attempted to disarm him. He retaliated with a hard shove, though not before you were able to get your hands on the pistol in his hip holster. You flew to the ground with a thud and splash, but before he had the chance to regain composure and take aim at you again, you’d blasted two rounds into his chest, and then his throat. He collapsed on top of you in a heavy heap.

Another soldier rounded the corner, but you didn’t quite have the energy to recognise the threat before it was a second too late.

You were just lucky that Soap barged through the cafe door on your left and took him down with a clean shot straight through the temple. He turned his gaze from the man on the floor after confirming his death and reached over to you on the ground. He heaved the dead mercenary off of your chest and offered you a strong hand. You grabbed onto him and groaned as he yanked you upright, a firm hand on your shoulder to steady you as you fell towards him. With a concerned eye, he straightened you with a gentle nudge.

“Christ, Fox,” Soap murmured, eyeing the wound on your side. You immediately clutched at it defensively. “You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

You wheezed a breath and mustered a smile. “I’m running on fumes, but I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to that church.”

“Aye, Sergeant. I’ll take front.”

“Be my guest.”

You trailed sloppily behind Soap, cursing yourself for your inability to be as sharp as you usually were. You hated being a burden, but you hated letting the team down more. Your carelessness in the fight that broke out with Graves had cost you a life-threatening injury in a team that refused to leave anybody behind, even if it got them killed. You only worried that if you weren’t going to make it, you wouldn’t be able to see Simon before you went and that you wouldn’t be able to tell him you were sorry.

Your heart ached at the thought.

You and Ghost had been dating, briefly. It happened slowly. First, there were inside jokes, and then there were gentle teasing pet names, and then more than friendly touches… until one night the tension seemed to break, and you slept together, which was just a week ago now before everything went to shit. You almost regretted doing so, for fear that now you’d never get to see him again, to touch him again.

You stumbled to your knees and caught yourself barely by planting your hand solidly on the gravelled floor. Soap spun around and cursed under his breath before reaching for his radio.

“Ghost, we have a situation here.”

He leaned forward and grabbed at your biceps, throwing your arm over his soldier for support.

“What situation?”

“Fox was WIA,” he grunted with a low voice, pulling your body towards cover as a squadron of Shadows passed by in pursuit of the gunshots from only a few moments prior. Any second now, they would find the bodies and be alerted of your presence.

“Don’t piss around the bush, Johnny. How bad?”

Soap studied you with an uneasy glance.  “We’re gonna need backup if we’re gonna get the lass outta here.”

“What’s your location?”

“Uh—” Soap paused and checked for any noticeable landmarks. “We’re at the coffee shop just a ways from the fruit market—”

“Hang tight. I’m on my way.”

“What about the RV?”

“Stay put, Serg.”

“Yes, sir.”

The distance from the church to the market was about ten minutes, but Ghost cleared the distance in about four. His eyes were cold and steely behind his mask but became soft and expressive upon noticing your strained face and bloodied abdomen. He was gentle when he leaned for you.

“Jesus Christ, Fox,” he murmured, his tone an edge softer than usual. He leaned toward you to help stabilise you on your feet and apologised under his breath when you yelped in pain. “Who did this to you?”

You grunted and leaned against one of his large arms for support. You blinked the rainwater away from your eyes and maintained eye contact with him. Even now, at a time like this, you felt your stomach flip. You were so in love with him and that somehow made everything scarier.

“One of Graves’ boys. Not sure who. Didn’t get a good look before I killed him.” You answered.

“Atta girl,” Ghost praised. Your heart clenched.

Soap stared on with a worried look, his back tense with stress.

“Hold up,” Soap said, raising a fist before lifting his gun to level his eyes with the sights. mercenaries stormed past the windows, and there was a sudden series of heavy bangs on the cafe door that Soap had barricaded with bar stools. “We’ve got company, Ghost.”

Ghost nodded, and then turned to you with an urgent look in his eyes. “Can you walk?”

You cringed at the stabs of pain and clenched your jaw. “Simon, I’m a liability. Leave me here and I can hold them off—”

“I am not leaving you here!”

You blinked in shock at the intensity of his tone. His eyes beyond the mask seemed desperate, and he clutched your face in a gloved hand as if uttering his silent pleas through his palm. You truly believed him and his words, for there was no reason for a man like himself to lie to you at a time like this.

“I said, can you walk?”

You nodded stiffly.

“Then let’s fucking walk,” Ghost answered, tossing your arm over his shoulder to carry the most of your body weight as he essentially dragged you toward the exit point of the cafe. His other hand gripped his pistol so hard that his knuckles began to numb beneath his glove. “Cover us, Johnny!”

Soap tailed your backs with a raised gun, and Ghost was just able to tug you out of the door before the hostiles blasted through and started swarming the place with bullets. Ghost seemed to lug you along with desperation, as you were practically limping at this point.

“You stupid girl, getting me all worried like this,” he cursed, turning briefly to shoot one of the incoming adversaries before continuing onwards. “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m here?”

He was acting characteristically sharp and dry, but you knew that it was just to glaze over his worry. Ghost didn’t often lose his cool, but you were certainly shaking his faith. You couldn’t judge him for his words and simply offered a weak smile in response.

You heaved a laugh. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”

He seemed to soften. “Let me take you to dinner when this is all over. Call it even.”

“It’s a date,” you wheezed, your words accompanied by laboured breaths. The pain was intense and radiated in waves of white-hot pulses and aches that made you limp and shudder in the agony. Your feet and hands were starting to feel numb, and your head felt like it was full of TV static. You just needed a short break, and then you would be able to continue.

You began tripping over your feet, and albeit he tried to keep you upright, Ghost’s strength wasn’t enough to counter the sudden push of gravity as you slumped to the floor.

“(Y/N)!”

Your face was white, and your eyes rolled back. He was immediately at your side, grabbing your face in his hand to inspect your breathing, and then the pulse on your neck with fingers that he’d torn a glove from. He was momentarily relieved when he felt the feedback of your heart, regardless of how faint it was. It was enough to keep going, to revive the easily extinguishable flicker of hope.

Soap rounded the corner, seeming urgent as he fired shots down the alleyway.

“Ghost, they’re gaining on us!”

“Shit!” He cursed.

Without a second thought, he unsheathed his pistol and handed it over to Soap who took it without question. Simon scooped his arms under your legs and back and held you securely to his chest before nodding at his comrade.

“You keep us safe. That’s an order, Serg.”

“Sure, LT, but we need to get a move on— now.”

“Let’s go!”

You jostled in and out of consciousness. It was soft and gentle, like a slow beat of butterfly wings. You would open your eyes momentarily, but there wasn’t enough adrenaline supply in the world to keep you awake, and things would quickly return to darkness. Your grasp on reality started to slip when the blood loss became critical, and the only thing you were aware of was the bruising grip Ghost had on your flesh and the overwhelming fear that you were about to die.

You vaguely notice the sensation of cold marble on your body, and then the tightness of gauze and tape being wrapped around you.

Ghost was manic as he watched your pale, lifeless body show little to no reaction to his movements. He’d torn your battle vest off and inspected the damage beneath your vest. He’d swallowed his anxiety and wrapped you up as best he could with what little supplies himself and Soap had scrounged from the village and proceeded to perform CPR on you when he noticed your breathing had come to an abrupt stop.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You couldn’t move.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

A blooming pain in your ribs.

A warm press of lips on your own, and the uncomfortable sensation of being filled with air.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thrum of helicopter blades. Distant shouting. Ghost’s voice.

Ghost’s voice.

“Simon…?”

——

When you next woke, it was a slow and unpleasant sensation. White, fluorescent lights pierced through your eyelids, which felt heavy to open. The sharp sensation of the gunshot in your side felt dull, and you could tell by the swimming sensation in your head that you were drugged. You vaguely recognised the sound of a beeping monitor, and you flinched. The smell of bleach filled your nose.

“Good mornin’, sunshine.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wincing against the harsh ceiling lights. You turned your gaze to the figure hunched over in a small brown chair— a heavily-built man, adorning a balaclava with a skull painted on it. Ghost.

“Simon.”

“(Y/N).”

You attempted to lift yourself into an upright position, and immediately felt a flare of agony that had you coughing out a broken sob.

“Hey, hey, take it easy there, Fox,” Ghost murmured, immediately reaching forwards to settle you back down. You grit your teeth together and blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears that were born from the shock of the pain. He tried to sit back down, but you caught his gloved hand before he could leave and he didn’t have the heart to pull away. His stature immediately softened, and his thumb smoothed over your fingers and knuckles in an attempt to comfort you.

“They outta put more drugs in you. They sure did a number on you. Surprised you’re still with us.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Simon huffed through his nose and tugged the chair closer so that he could sit beside you and hold your cold hands in his. “I thought you were, too, sweetheart.”

“How the Hell did you get me out of there?”

You couldn’t see it, but by the wrinkle of his eyes, you knew he was smirking. “This old dog still got his ways.”

A concern suddenly popped into your head as bits and pieces of memories began to slot together. “And Soap?”

“He’s fine, unfortunately.”

You smiled gently, feeling yourself relax a little. You turned to him and held his gaze, suddenly feeling intimidated by his sharp eyes. The heart monitor next to your bed began to beep at an increased pace, and your cheeks flushed.

Ghost seemed bemused. “Am I makin’ you nervous, darlin’?”

You buried your face in your hands and only dared to peek through your fingers when you heard him start to laugh.

“Don’t hide from me just yet. You still owe me a date.”

You threw your hands down to your sides and smiled. “Look who’s gone all soft. I wonder what the boys would think of you right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, LT, you loved playing hero,” you retorted, a glimmer of mischief sparkling through your grin. You suddenly felt the atmosphere become slightly tense and heavy with the weight and reality of the situation. You could’ve and likely should’ve died back there. You weren’t aware enough of your surroundings to remember just what Ghost and Soap went through to get you out, but you could only imagine.

“Thank you, Simon.” You said, more serious this time.

He glanced away as if embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

You reached closer and grabbed his masked face. In private, he would remove his balaclava just for you. You felt the selfish desire that he would do so just now so that you could kiss him but swallowed your urges for you knew he couldn’t compromise himself in the med-bay. Too many prying eyes.

He grabbed your hand from his face and kissed it, the warmth and pressure of his lips still present even through the fabric on his face. You were butter in his touch, practically melting through his fingers.

“Just don’t make a habit of nearly dying, you hear me? Nearly gave me a bastard heart attack.”

You smiled, staring at him dazedly. “Yes, sir.”

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Licentious Affairs

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, definitely dub-con, a little non-con, use of restraints, having sex with a demon, some animalistic behaviors, descriptions of blood, biting, degrading, hair pulling and i think that's everything

summary: you and dalton grew closer over the course of the fall semester. you sense a mutual feeling but still, a crush feels forbidden. on the night that dalton decides he needs to unlock all his memories for good, something possesses his earthly form and you’re left at its mercy. 

a/n: when i saw the new installment of this franchise, something about him being possessed had me kicking my feet and giggling. this is 100% self indulgent bc I feel like this is so niche lol. it strays from the events in the film(obvi) but I hope whoever comes across enjoys and i'll get back to my kpop postings shortly :3 ~nero

possessed!Dalton Lambert x female reader

word count: 4.4k

pt.2

The breeze was crisp and the trees were warm bouquets of orange, yellow, and sun-bleached green. As you walked across campus, the leaves crunching under your feet you appreciated the change in season. Wrapping yourself a little tighter in your knitted cardigan, you pulled out your phone checking your notifications. Swiping out of your social media a message from Dalton popped up on your screen. 

van gogh: r u out of class yet 

y/n: walking to the dorm rn

van gogh: okay, i’ve got something to show you

Turning the volume up on your music and stuffing your phone back into your stubby front pocket, you continued your walk to the dorm. Your mind was scattering all the different possibilities of what Dalton could’ve found out. Since the beginning of the semester, his art professor had been unleashing techniques on him to tap into a deeper artistic space. Through this theory of unlocking, he opened up memories that were tucked away so tightly that he forgot they were his own. Throughout the semester, you’ve been forced to be around his revelations as you were his dorm mate, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy his company. 

At first, you thought it was just you being good-natured and wanting to extend a hand to him in a time of need. But as his walls crumbled down you wormed your way in and slowly you found you guys becoming quite close. Opening the main doors to your dorm building the way the air felt never failed to bother you. The brick walls made it constantly humid and it was borderline suffocating with how many bodies passed through the day. Dragging your feet across the floor, you began to feel the day place its weight on your body. You felt another vibration in your pocket but ignored it, deciding to look at the notification once you got settled in. 

Opening the door to your room, you were met with Dalton hunched over the canvas of his current piece. He was so focused on the painting that he didn’t hear you come in until the door clicked shut. You dropped your bag on the floor and he finally looked up. 

“Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yeah, you looked pretty focused on that freaky ass painting.” 

“If not for this freaky ass painting, I’d still be “boring.”’

Flopping onto your bed, you chuckled remembering the first interaction you guys had with each other. You so desperately were trying to break the ice with your roommate and least to say it was the smallest bit painful getting some info out of him. As Dalton added the last few strokes of creativity, he put down his brush and wiped his hands off with a rag. Meanwhile, you were getting lost in his every move. You were tracing him, the way he moved, really just the way he existed. Losing yourself in your thoughts you didn’t hear him calling your name. 

“Y/n…y/n? Are you even here right now?” “Huh?- Sorry was spacing out, long day.” 

You were praying that somehow he wouldn’t think too much of it and just pass it off as you disassociating and not internally doting on him. You sat up as he walked over to your bed, the mattress shifting as he sat. 

“So you know how we learned I can astral project right?”

You nodded and raised your eyebrows urging him to go on. 

“Well, I think, whatever I’m remembering–if I finish that painting I’ll remember everything.” 

You looked at him, brows furrowing and your eyes showing an incredulous type of fear. Memories from the last time he projected flooded your mind. Whatever was stalking that other plane had it out not only for Dalton but for anyone in his vicinity. It left you stricken, but subconsciously you knew you couldn’t leave Dalton to deal with it alone. 

“You wanna…go back again?”

“I think it’s my only option y/n.”

You sighed knowing there was really nothing you could do to get him to think otherwise. You stared off toward the cryptic painting searching your brain for a solution that didn’t involve him going back to that other world. Nodding, more towards yourself, you looked back at Dalton. 

“Okay. When are we doing this?”

There was a small flash of a ‘thank you’ that graced his features. The relationship you shared was beyond the parameters of normal but it was exactly that that allowed you guys to grow so close with one another so quickly. He let out a sigh a dour expression taking over. 

“Tonight.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line forcing yourself to become comfortable with the reality of the situation. Slightly nodding, you stood up grabbing your bag from the floor. 

“Alright. I’ll be right back. Just gonna run and grab some fairy lights so I can have some source of light in here while you play Sherlock Holmes in the upside down.” 

Dalton cracked a smile, a small chuckle escaping him. It was something that softened the heaviness of the situation, lifting the tension not only between you two but for your anxieties. It also made something flutter in your stomach, something you’ve desperately been trying to swallow scared of what would happen if he were to find out. You were about to open the door but a hand on your shoulder stopped you. 

“Your phone.” 

A gentle smile stretched across his face and there was something softer about him in this particular moment. Maybe it was the knowledge of the impending doom that would ensue in a few hours or maybe it was just two people being vulnerable. You weren’t sure what came over you but the urge to hug him was impossible to pass over and your body moved faster than your mind could react. Your arms wrapped around him finding relief and comfort in him returning the gesture so quickly. 

Pulling away from him you found a certain softness swimming in his eyes that you never noticed before. Feeling slightly overwhelmed and bashful you fiddled with your fingertips attempting to wash away the anxiety that was running through you. 

“Thanks. I won’t be too long.” 

Dalton nodded and you slipped out of the doorway. As you walked down the hallway to leave the building you were fighting a more than enthusiastic grin as you felt those same pesky feelings flutter through your being. If only you had a similar gift to Dalton’s you’d be able to see that he was feeling the exact same way. As soon as you left the dorm he sat back on his bed, his hands trying to wipe away the elation he felt from the hug you shared. He was fighting a similar demon as your own, the fabrication of feelings–a crush. 

As he laid back on his bed he was running through all his favorite parts of you, something that he didn’t think he could say out loud. His mind was in too many places at once, going back and forth between the budding feelings he felt for you and the unfortunate calamity that he was going to have to face not long after you came back. 

Coming out of the corner store, you were surprised by how fast the sun began to tuck behind the mountains. You had an interesting relationship with the fall season, loving how the weather changed and the natural warmness that fall carried. By the same token though, you wished daylight lasted a bit longer, especially tonight. You wished the sun would never set so neither one of you would have to experience the ire that attaches itself to Dalton when the night approaches. 

When you got back into the dorm building, there was a formidable sense of dread that you felt settle in your stomach. You tried to brush it off as anxiety now that the navy blanket of night was cast over the sky, but as you approached your dorm the feeling only worsened. Taking a deep breath as you turned the handle of the door, you exhaled as you entered the room, dropping your bag by the door and tossing the bag of lights on your bed. 

You were about to announce your arrival to Dalton but were surprised to find him asleep on his bed. You were gone for maybe half an hour so you didn’t think he’d be too deep in sleep. Admiring his form you quelled your thoughts by grabbing the box of lights out of the grocery bag and began to unravel them while calling out to Dalton. 

“Dalton…Dalton.” 

Plugging the lights in the wall, you called for him one more time before deciding to walk over and shake him up. But when you turned around, he was already sitting up on his bed. It spooked you because you didn’t hear him move.

“Jesus! Make a noise or you know, yawn or something. Scared the shit outta me.” You nervously giggled. That sickly feeling found its way back in your stomach again and you couldn’t quite figure out why. Moving the string of lights around your bed, you found Dalton being more quiet than usual and you ruled that to be the reason why your stomach was turning in knots. 

“You alright man? You’re being more weird than usual.” 

Silence. Crippling silence. 

Chills ran up your body and you tried desperately to feel some sense of normality about the situation. Dalton got up from his bed and walked over to his canvas, running his fingers over the freshly dried paint. He forced some extra air out of his nose somewhat resembling something of a laugh. You kept yourself on high alert as you walked over to your bag to grab your phone. As you got your phone and turned around your eyes met Dalton’s frame huddled in the corner of the room closest to your bed. 

The way the string of lights illuminated him caused that sinking feeling to turn into something more dire. You started to go beyond the safety of things just being “weird” and recognized it was fear settling into your bones. Dalton’s shoulders were quivering almost resembling what a laugh would look like but no noise was coming out. 

“Dalton, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

Ignoring your intuition, you slowly walked over to him, hoping that the lights would let you see something that you were missing from your distance away from him. You left a couple feet in between you two and you called out to him again, only this time he turned his head slowly in your direction. Any rumination of worry about your friend was quickly replaced with terror once his head turned enough for you to see his eyes. They weren’t his own. They were yellow and held malicious intent. 

You wanted to stand your ground but the gasp that left you made a sound before you could stop it. You watched a smirk grow on Dalton’s face and as you broke your chains of frozen fear, you turned around in an attempt to reach the door. Before you could take your second step towards your escape, your feet left the safety of the ground and your body was flung through the air. 

Hitting the art wall adjacent to Dalton’s bed your body flopped onto his bed, a shield of sheets as your protection. In a poor attempt to quickly figure out an escape you instead were met with the evil incarnate of Dalton. Your heart was pounding, fear and a dread of the unknown at the forefront of your mind. His frame was looming, staring you down like fresh prey. You gripped the bed sheets staring him down trying to convince yourself you weren’t fearful. Your plan was successful, but the longer you looked at him the easier it became for something more sinister to eclipse your emotions. 

Lust. 

A salacious intent swapping out the fear of him for the fear of yourself and your own emotions. Why were you feeling this? Could whatever was using Dalton as a vessel hear your thoughts? How could you look at him the same way after this? All of your questions were pushed to the back of your mind as the door to your dorm slowly opened and Dalton turned towards it. You saw nothing in the doorway but almost like a warning, a low timbre shriek echoed from his throat as a bloody goop tumbled out of his mouth. 

Whatever was entering the door from the other side left, the door clicking shut and his attention was unfortunately back on you. With a feeble bid, you hoped that calling to Dalton would release him of whatever had a hold on him. As Dalton turned around to grab the cord of lights from the wall, the way he stalked back over to you sent a familiar feeling to pool in your stomach.

“Dalton…I know you’re in there. Dal-”

“-To be face to face with what was keeping me from him recently was not what I expected to see. Nor did I expect it to be so filthy.” 

It felt like someone was trying to steal your heart from its chest. There was a certain grit to his tone that was not Dalton’s and you weren’t quite sure if it frightened you or excited you. As he wrapped the cord around his hand he stalked closer to you on the bed. 

“Most would be terrified in a situation like this, but you? I can smell you. It’s hard to ignore really.” 

You backed further to the wall suddenly facing the reality of your situation. Your heart sped up but not out of fear. The closer he got the more aroused you became but you didn’t want to admit that to yourself just yet. Before you had an understanding of what was going on in front of you, your wrists were taken and tied to the bedpost with the cord Dalton was winding up. 

“No!” 

A sudden urge to fight back, you weren’t sure if this was something you wanted under the given circumstances. As you tried to push back against the cord, an unseen force was pinning your body to the bed. Your vision was obstructed by the fabric of Dalton’s baggy long sleeve but the overwhelming feeling of arousal was something you couldn’t ignore when he moved to face you and you looked directly into his yellowed eyes. 

His hand snaked down the front of your body leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It was a twisted feeling, you dreamt of a moment like this but with the given situation you were struggling if it was right. As his hand toyed with the button of your jeans any doubt about the situation was pushed to the back of your mind and a gritty tone echoed in the silence of the room.

“It’s funny. Hearing you think you have enough strength to deny yourself pleasure.” 

You arched your eyebrow confused by his admission. He took heed of this and answered before you had a chance to vocalize your thoughts. He leaned forward stalking over your body before he placed himself next to the shell of your ear. 

“Your thoughts are so loud. Louder than his–if only…he could be the one to see you like this. He’s wished for it.” He pulled away grinning at you in a way that made your walls flutter around nothing. You wondered if the confession of your Dalton “wishing for it” was real or just something the entity used to get under your skin. 

You didn’t have much time to think on the matter as your heart rate picked up again at the unfortunate realization that you, were enjoying this. The smirk that rested on Dalton’s face let you in on the sadistic pleasure of whatever was taking control of him was feeling. Before Dalton moved away from the shell of your ear, he took a deep inhale of the scent of your neck. 

Humming in relish, he nipped at your earlobe gingerly pulling at the skin as he snaked down your body once more. You wish you had more control but the whimper that left your throat was something instinctive. As this primal version of Dalton reached your hips, your zipper was quickly unfastened and your pants were tossed to the other side of the room 

Dalton moved his legs so that he was no longer straddling your own and situated himself in between them. Sliding toward the edge of the bed, he slid down enough to be face first with your messy cunt. Your desire soaking through the fabric leaving no room for doubt in your feelings. Shoving his nose into your drenched panties, he huffed the scent of you a second time causing you to squirm away from the action. 

Closing your eyes and rolling your lips around your teeth, you tried to silence your whines to collect yourself. Once again trying to convince yourself that you had more power over your bodily wants and needs.

“Stop, please.” 

Your plea was met with a sardonic giggle and as you looked down and was met with the sick glow of his yellow eyes. Dalton stalked back up your body, hovering over your face and clicking his tongue at you mockingly. As you were entranced by the figure above you, you failed to realize that he unbound your wrists from the cord. The sudden freedom surprised you but was swallowed by the feeling of his hand slithering in your panties and rubbing his finger across your slick folds. 

Your body shuddered in hedonism, rolling your hips up into the feeling. As one finger slipped its way into your slick cavern your hands found solace in fisting the sheets. As he entered a second finger you couldn’t contain your sounds. 

“Ah~! I can’t believe this is happening. I can’tbelievethisishappening.”

In your stupor of sexual panic, a low chuckle brought you back down to your body. His fingers curled inside of you repeatedly hitting the special spongey spot you cherished so much. As your moans became more frequent and less controlled, he removed his fingers from your pulsating hole and ripped your panties off of your sensitive frame. You whined out not only at the loss of contact but at the sudden cool air that breezed over your skin. Settling into your body you were panting heavily as you stared down Dalton. 

His yellowed eyes still igniting fear but simultaneously leaving you wanton and in a state of ache. That conflicting feeling flooded your brain again and soon felt guilt peering over the horizon. Before you were given the chance to wrestle with your thoughts, Dalton straddled himself over your body. One hand grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks to pry your mouth open just enough to shove his fingers into your mouth. He looked down at you, a small smirk adorning his face.

“Suck.”

Overwhelmed by the sudden roughness you complied immediately not wanting to make the situation even more escalated. Your eyebrows furrow, your face plagued with anxiety as you watch Dalton come closer to your face. The leftover stain of blood that was on his chin smeared across your lower cheek as his breath fanned over your skin leaving your body wanting more. As he removed his fingers from your mouth, he licks from your chip up to the tip of your nose. Dalton pulls away slightly so he can get a better look at your face as a venomous smile pulls at his. 

He takes the hand that was holding your face and drags it down the side of your cheek as he exhales a phrase that would chill your bones. 

“Everything I’m going to do to you…he wishes he could do himself.” 

The anxiety you felt prior was beginning to trickle back in as you realized the tank top you were wearing underneath the cardigan provided you little safety from the one above. Dalton’s hands slid up your torso underneath your tank top, his hands massaging over the soft flesh of your breast. Undoing the front clasp, your tits pancaked out of the fabric only for one to be caught by Dalton’s rough hand and the other encased by his lips.

You tried to keep a coherent thought, to push back against him but you lacked the mental will due to the rapture spidering through your body. As his mouth left your nipple, the cold air sent shivers through your chest and rippled down your back as his lips savagely placed open mouth kisses along your jawline, nipping at your skin with each release. 

Caught up in the feeling you almost blocked out the sound of his belt becoming undone. But as soon as you were aware, the time to react had come to pass. His cock, hard and heavy was pulled out from the layers of fabric and you felt it tap against your inner thigh. You were suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you were and the understanding of what was about to happen next rushed through you. 

“W-wait! I don’t, I can’t I~ah! Fuck!”

Before you had the chance to form a coherent thought, his cock entered your seraphic walls and his teeth bit at the skin on your neck. A mark that would surely leave a stain in the aftermath. Having already been overstimulated by the situation itself, the stretch of his cock was horrifically sinful. You couldn’t help the fluttering of your walls as he rocked his length in and out of you at a harrowing pace. 

As he finally let go of your neck he huffed out in the intersection of your neck and shoulder. His exhales made your skin humid and left you with another layer of unwanted pleasure. Trying to bring yourself back down to your body, your hand released the binding grip it had on the bedsheets and sought refuge in Dalton’s sweatshirt, something proving to be a mistake. 

A low growl erupted from Dalton’s throat and before you could register what was happening, he had pulled himself out of you and manhandled you to get on your hands and knees. 

“What made you think that you could touch me, hmm?” 

Like a viper his hand webbed itself in your hair, gripping it at the base and pulling your body up. Adrenaline pumping, you were searching for a viable response but came up with nothing but babbles. 

“I-I don’t, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

He controlled the movements of your head, forcing you to crane your neck and stare at him in his amber orbs one last time. Mocking your apology, he cooed at you. 

“Aww, you’re sorry? Why don’t you show me how sorry you are?”

Punctuating his statement by rushing his cock back into your ruined cunt, you cried out at the feeling. He shoved your face back into the bed, his pace now unrelenting and no longer a derivative of pleasure but rather of power. With every thrust you felt the tip of his cock assault your cervix, causing tears to well up in your eyes and dry into the sheets beneath you. It was overwhelming, feeling like all decision was stolen from you.

The only thing that filled the room now were the occasional groans from the figure above you and muffled sobs from yourself. You hated that you could feel the approaching feelings of ecstasy building in your lower stomach. The heat was building and the suffocating squeezes from your gummy walls around his cock were more than enough to alert him to your demise. 

“You gonna cum around me, you filthy slut? Enjoyed every second of this didn’t you?”

The guilt you were warding off finally made its way to the forefront of your emotions but you couldn’t find it within yourself to admit that you did, in fact, enjoy all of this. You settled for denial. Denial would save you from the inevitable self reflection you’d have to face. 

“No, no no I didn’t! I didn’t enjoy it. I didn-!” 

Your body cut you off, your orgasm washing over you reluctantly but comedically in timing. As your body shuddered around him, you heard that same derisive chuckle leave his throat mocking you yet again.

“Keep telling yourself th~aht.”

He pulled himself out of you, spraying his seed across the exposed portion of your back. The warmth felt overt, wicked, and it was something you didn’t want on you. You didn’t have the gall to face the being behind you. Instead, you let your body fall limp against the bed as the being fronting as Dalton stood up and fixed himself back into his clothes. From behind you heard him. 

“Say hi to him for me.”

Not expecting a response from you, he left Dalton’s body. His earthly form collapsing on your dorm floor. You didn’t have the strength to turn and help him up as he came to, too busy wrestling with your emotions as tears pooled out of your eyes. You heard your Dalton groan and stand up reaching to turn on the lamp light on his art desk. As the warm light illuminated the room, he turned around silence and shock devastating him as he took in the sight of you. 

You tried to quell your sobs, but your body kept shaking them out. Dalton slowly walked over to you trying to survey your body without touching you. When his eyes landed on the alabaster stains that painted your lower back a terrifying realization overcame him. 

“Y/n…? Y/n, talk to me.” 

The gentle tone was something you missed dearly despite only being gone for such a short amount of time. It comforted you knowing that the worst was over for at least right now. Dalton kneeled on the floor resting his upper body on the side of the bed. You turned your head slowly, still somewhat expecting to meet those hideous yellow eyes but when you saw the gentle and disconcerted brown pupils you were swamped with relief. Tears still were falling across your face, their frequency diminishing. 

You gave him a weak smile, a small “hey” leaving your lips. Like cracked porcelain, he wouldn’t dare touch you. He couldn’t break you more than he already had. His tone weak and regretful, he scanned over your fragile body trying to understand how this happened. He let his head fall next to yours, burying his head in sheets. 

“What did I do to you?”

[lovable-liar]

I love love love the idea of hasan dating someone actually famous, like him being pushed into the limelight and people being like damn who is this whole ass brick wall following her around.

And him on a red carpets…yum.

ALSO imagine him reacting to songs written about him, from cute love songs to seggsy songs. Also there's no way in hell its not being brought up in fear&. The way QT love Taylor Swift I like the idea of Hasan dating like…austins TS.

anyway I just have this thing where I lien the idea of him dating someone's more successful than him

Totally not bc i have this weird thing where I have feel like more successful then my partner bc I have issues lol…

The world had long been acquainted with Hasan as a charismatic and intelligent political commentator, a witty comedian, and a captivating streamer. Yet, dating a famous singer elevated his public profile to an entirely new echelon of notoriety and intrigue.

Their relationship had catapulted Hasan into the spotlight in ways he could never have foreseen. No longer just the familiar face behind a computer screen, he had stepped into the dazzling world of red carpets, where flashing cameras and star-studded celebrity events became his new reality.

As Hasan walked hand in hand with his partner down the red carpet, a surge of emotions swirled within him. The anticipation of the evening's event, the surreal atmosphere of the star-studded affair, and the magnetic energy of the crowd blended together to create a heady mixture of excitement and awe.

The curious whispers of the crowd surrounded them, a symphony of voices that ranged from hushed admiration to eager excitement. All around, people craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the enigmatic couple, while journalists and reporters vied for the best angle to capture their presence.

Amid the whirlwind of the red carpet, the flashes of paparazzi cameras erupted like a dazzling meteor shower, illuminating the couple as they made their way through the meticulously designed backdrop of glitz and glamour. The blinding flashes, akin to a storm of stars, painted the scene with a surreal, otherworldly glow.

And yet, amidst the spectacle, Hasan couldn't help but be overwhelmed by a profound sense of pride. Standing there, the partner of an incredibly talented and successful singer, he was a testament to their journey, their connection, and the unique path their love had carved through the entertainment industry.

The cacophony of the red carpet, the curious onlookers, and the brilliant flashes of the cameras all seemed to blur into the background, eclipsed by the warmth and exhilaration Hasan felt as he continued to walk beside his beloved partner, hand in hand, on a journey that was nothing short of extraordinary.

The onlookers, accustomed to the glamorous world of entertainment, couldn't help but be caught off guard when they spotted Hasan, now firmly established as the partner of the incredibly talented and successful singer. The revelation that there was more to Hasan than just his online persona left them intrigued and mildly bewildered.

Intrigued murmurs rippled through the crowd as they tried to reconcile the familiar online personality they knew with the real-life figure beside the renowned singer. Hasan's transition from the virtual realm to the tangible world of celebrities was a source of fascination, and it was evident that people were eager to learn more about this man who had taken a leap into a whole new stratum of fame.

As Hasan and his partner made their way through the glitzy event, the world was beginning to understand that Hasanabi was not merely an online sensation but a multi-dimensional individual who had embarked on a journey that would forever alter the way he was perceived, leaving a lasting mark on both the world of entertainment and the hearts of those who watched his every step.

But the impact of their relationship didn't end with the public's fascination and recognition. It extended to the world of music. Love songs, meticulously crafted and emotionally charged, began to emerge, each one a melodic tribute to Hasanabi and the unique connection he shared with the famous singer.

These songs beautifully captured the essence of their relationship in sweet, soulful melodies that tugged at the heartstrings of listeners. Lyrics painted a vivid and evocative picture of their love story, offering a glimpse into the moments that defined their journey together.

From the first serendipitous meeting that ignited the spark of their connection to the tender, intimate moments they shared behind closed doors, these songs became a musical testament to their love. They celebrated the laughter, the joy, the challenges, and the unbreakable bond that bound Hasan and the celebrated singer together.

The power of music allowed their love story to transcend the confines of privacy and become a source of inspiration and adoration for countless fans. These songs became anthems of their love, forever etching the mark of their relationship on the world's collective heart.

However, it wasn't all sweetness and innocence. Some of the songs took a more daring and suggestive turn, teasingly referencing the intimate and private moments shared between Hasan and the famous singer. The lyrics were playful, carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of passion and desire.

Hasan couldn't help but feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment when he heard those songs, even though he did his best to maintain a facade of nonchalance. The sly glances and knowing smiles from friends and colleagues only added to his discomfort, making it impossible to escape the playful teasing that came with the territory of dating someone so well-known.

Despite his efforts to appear unfazed, Hasan couldn't help but secretly relish the thought that their relationship had inspired music that ranged from sweet and romantic to sultry and seductive, marking their love as a multi-faceted journey that encompassed both the tender and passionate moments they shared.

In the ever-present world of Fear& and during Hasan's streams, their high-profile relationship inevitably became a focal point of discussion. As viewers and fans watched Hasan navigate this newfound chapter of his life, they couldn't resist delving into the intricacies of his romantic journey.

Hasan, always quick-witted and sharp, artfully incorporated humor into his discussions, effortlessly deflecting invasive questions and steering the conversation with a light touch. He lightheartedly acknowledged the public's fascination with their relationship, all while maintaining a respectful boundary around the more intimate aspects of their life.

Hasan's playful and self-assured approach allowed him to navigate the curious inquiries with grace, leaving no room for speculation. With humor as his ally, he embraced the spotlight, weaving the enchanting tapestry of their love story into his content, engaging viewers while preserving the sanctity of their private moments.

QT, with her deep affinity for Taylor Swift and her love of romantic narratives, had a profound appreciation for the unique dynamic of Hasan's relationship. To her, it was as if life had orchestrated a compelling twist, thrusting Hasan into the spotlight and granting him a taste of fame in a way he had never anticipated or even imagined. This newfound perspective put a stop to his teasing of her whenever she passionately defended Taylor on the basis of the challenging life of being a celebrity, creating a newfound empathy and understanding between the two.

Dating someone more successful than him was a whirlwind experience, but Hasan found himself embracing it with open arms. It wasn't just about being known as a commentator and a comedian; it was about sharing the spotlight with someone he deeply cared about, and it was a journey he was more than willing to embark upon.

[menlove]

could you tell us some more about lord hear my prayer? looove some religious imagery <3

GOD SAME it was born entirely out of a) john my beloved by sufjan stevens and b) the fact that there's not a lot of religious imagery in mclennon fics and i wanted to change this. it kind of stalled bc i wrote this big long scene in paris & then realized it didn't really... fit well w the theme of the fic? so i threw it into my "killed darlings" folder but lamented bc i lost like 3k of this fic & lost steam. but i 10000% wanna finish this one.

it's john's pov and basically centers around the idea of paul as a religion to john. inspired MAINLYYYY by the lyric "i've seen religion from jesus to paul" which is taken as like ya know being about beatlemania but when you have on yaoi goggles like me....

anyway, here's a snippet!

1953

The wooden pew was uncomfortable and unforgiving under John’s arse as the twelve year old shifted, squinting in the morning light at the painting hanging at the front of the room. In the soft, golden sunshine and aided by his piss-poor eyesight, the rough brushstrokes had faded out, giving the subject an ethereal sort of look that’d left him feeling like the wind’d been knocked out of him. 

Course, John knew who Jesus was. Been dragged to enough sermons with Mimi and George to get the gist of it, but looking at the painting, John thought he might get it. A little. The figure in the painting was- well, beautiful, in a way he’d never seen a man painted to be. The man’s eyes were turned heavenward, eyelashes falling over supple cheeks, golden curls spilling around his shoulders. All brought together by strong, masculine hands clasped in front of him as he prayed, veins painted with a care that had John’s heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. 

Truth be told, he’d never understood the whole Jesus thing. Now, he wasn’t an atheist or summat- only the truly worst sorts of people were, at least that’s what his auntie said. But it was all just a little hard to believe, wasn’t it? Sounded more like the books he liked to read than something that actually happened. If God was out there healing the sick and the blind, then why was John’s vision still shite? Didn’t make a lick of sense, not to him. But staring at the painting, he thought- well, if that’s what he’d looked like, he probably would’ve followed him too. 

Not in any queer way, mind, just the same sort of way he gotten a right thrill out of Carl, one of the year nines, inviting him with the rest of the lads for a smoke. Leaned against the brick of the school wall, choking on smoke and feeling his head spin from the rush, he’d looked up and seen the smoke from all the boys’ ciggies clouding around Carl’s face and thought it looked right out of a film. It was the same sort of feeling he felt now, twisting up in his chest and tugging.

Was that what people were talkin’ about, then? When the little old ladies would coo about the spirit of the lord? Maybe that was it- the painful, swooping feeling stuck under John’s ribs as he blinked up at the painting, remembering Carl’s toothy grin as he’d laughed and laughed and laughed at John’s coughing. His pink tongue poking out between those teeth, head tipped back to reveal a long neck and protruding Adam’s apple. 

John’s cheeks had started to heat and he shifted to lean back against the unforgiving pew, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t even begin to place. Next to him, Mimi shot him a look, reaching over to pinch his shoulder until he sat up again. He sighed, uncrossing his arms with a scowl, eyes flicking away from the painting. Up by the pulpit, the priest’s strong voice washed over the crowd, Bible clutched in one outstretched hand.

“We must remember, from Corinthians, what the Lord has said of all earthly temptations,” the priest began. He cleared his throat, sweeping his eyes over the congregation, imploring them to listen. John already knew he wouldn’t understand- those old words were too jumbled up and confusing. “‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.’”

At the front of the church hall, the priest looked tired. His hair was thinning and he’d swept it forward in some attempt to pretend it wasn’t. What was probably a handsome face when he was John’s age had turned sour, like fruit that’d been sitting out on the kitchen table too long. His nose was a deep red, speaking to just what sorts of temptations  Nah, he decided, fixing his gaze on the blue polka-dot fabric of the woman’s dress sitting in front of him, he didn’t get it all.

[imagine-a-dream]

They call me devil and you should be afraid.

summary: You owe Joseph Lisgoe money and he comes to collect your dept. This leads to some revelations and things get heated between the two of you. warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, smut, rough sex, degrading, strong language, light choking i guess? requested by: anon and @sandwichthatcomesinahotdogbox word count: 2071A/N: I'm very sorry for such a long absence, my mental health is a rollercoaster sometimes, but i'm back(ish?) on the track, so yay :) It's my first ever time writing smut (bc I got carried away a little lol), so please be gentle with me hehe 😅 Hope you like it! comments and corrections are very welcomed!

You huffed in annoyance. Who the hell was banging at your door at 7 a.m on a Saturday morning? You’ve reached the door and opened it in one swift motion, ready to yell at whatever scumbag that dared to destroy your very earned day off, but found yourself frozen in place. You were not expecting to see his face today, it was too early.

“Lisgoe?” You stuttered in shock, “What the hell are you doing here?”

His head was bowed, but he slowly raised it at the sound of your voice, with a keen gaze from under his eyebrows. His cold blue eyes bore into yours, hungry, and threatening, he looked at you like a lion ready to eat his prey. It sent shivers down your spine against your will. But was it entirely out of fear?

“You owe me money, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I thought your goons would come and…”

“And you can sweet talk your way out of your fucking debt again?” He invited himself in, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud. You met his icy blue eyes and it took all of your strength to not look away.

“These fucking mewling wankers may be charmed by you but believe me, I’m not that fucking stupid. If you don’t give me my fucking money, I will destroy you, you stupid cunt!”

The volume of his voice was rising by the second; with every word he took a step forward, coming at you to finally trap you against the wall, placing his hands on the wall on each side of your face.

In the dim light of your corridor his eyes almost look white, shining with anger and something else you can’t quite place. He’s breathing heavily, his face in the mere inches from yours and it takes all your will to not close the distance. You can smell the coffee on his breath, it tickles your nostrils and lips. Sharp, astringent smell of his cheap Cologne is intoxicating, it mixes with the smell of an aftershave and something that you can only describe as his scent. It makes you lightheaded, almost drunk on the combination of smells. Heck, it's been a while...

You’re sure you should not be turned on by a dangerous criminal screaming at your face, yet here you are, trembling under the heat of his body. Your eyes flicker to his lips and back to his eyes again, you can’t even try to look frightened, not when his anger is turning you on.

You can’t help but let out a breathy chuckle.

“Oh, please, Jo. I have known you for five years now, if you wanted to destroy me, you would already.” And sadly not in the way you want him to.

You push his hand away and start to head towards the kitchen when a pair of strong hands are painfully gripping your shoulders abruptly. He pulls you back to him and slams your front into the wall, one of his palms resting on the back of your neck, his body pressing you further into the cold painted brick.

“Don’t play with the fire, kitten.” He growled lowly.

“Ohh, such a big bad wolf you are,” You huffed sarcastically. “No, sweetie, we both know you only bark but don’t bite.”

You knew that teasing him was not a good idea. Fuck, it was the stupidest idea ever, really, but you just couldn’t help it. “Maybe you have a soft spot for me” You mused and tried to writhe out of his grip, but only ended up pressing your bottom into his crotch.

You’ve heard a breath caught in his throat and froze, bewildered. His grip on your shoulder and neck loosens a bit, but you make no move to free yourself. Then you felt something poking at your left cheek, what is th… oh. Oh.

The realization hit you like a truck.

You smile wickedly into the wall and press your ass further into him, that move earns you a soft quiet moan and you suppress a victorious chuckle. So he does like your games after all.

“Sweetie, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” You’re amused and he sure as hell can hear it.

By the way he opens his mouth against your ear, it’s obvious he wanted to say something, probably threatening or witty or both, but you can’t have it, not when you almost have him wrapped around your little finger. You move your rear against his clothed member again, harder this time, and he lets out a choked breath; he lets go of your neck and settles his hands on your waist, you feel him leaning closer, his erection pressing harder in your butt.

“Shut up…” He finally all but growls into your ear and turns you around to face him. You can’t help the smile breaking your face.

His cheeks are flushed, his pupils blew wild and you can see the beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. His breaths uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly. His lips are parted slightly, but you think it’s enough for your tongue to slip into his mouth.

He beats you to it and crushes his lips to yours in a heated kiss. It’s sloppy, and your teeth are cluttering, but you never want it to end. His hands are wandering around, squeezing and groping at every part of your body he can get.

You’re throbbing under his touches and the smug look on his face telling you that he knows it. He knows exactly what effect he has on you. He unclasps your robe and all but rips it off you. He breaks into a crooked smile, clearly enjoying the view.

“On the floor. Face down.” He orders you in low husks, and you’re almost disgusted with how fast you obey him.

He is behind you in no time. Jo spreads your legs with his knee, and you hear him unzip his fly. Rough hands grab a handful of your ass, squeezing your cheeks painfully. You writhed under him and he chuckled darkly.

“Look at you, all spread out for me like a bloody whore.” He gives your bottom a slap and you let out a soft desperate whine. He laughs at you and you feel his hot wet tip at your entrance, teasing you slowly. He grabs a fistful of your hair and commands, “Beg.”

“Please…”

“Please what? Use your fucking mouth, tell the big bad wolf what you fucking want.” His voice is dripping with lust, his hold on your hair tightening.

You all but sob as fingers of his free hand are tracing lightly around your entrance, teasing you. “Please, Joseph… Fuck me!”

He lays on top of you, holding you down with his weight. His cock is hot against your bare ass, his clothed chest solid against your back, making you shiver with anticipation. Without as much as a warning he enters you with one brutal thrust. You let out a loud cry at a slight burn, but he doesn’t give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a quick pace and slamming into you.

Slight discomfort quickly turns into a white hot pleasure. You moan shamelessly and loudly, not giving a single fuck if your neighbors can hear you being fucked. Your head is empty, you’re completely dissolving in the feelings of Jo’s hands on your body, his cock inside of you, his little grunts and whimpers of pleasure.

His hot breath tickles the hairs at the back of your neck, sending shivers through you, his balls slapping against your ass. You sigh and huff quietly under him, not being able to leave any sound, only tightening around his member with every thrust. One of his hands wraps around your throat and gives it a little squeeze. You openly gasp and buck your hips into him. You feel Joseph smirk into your neck, clearly satisfied with your reaction, but you can’t do anything but give in to the sensation.

He takes you rough and fast, hammering into your wetness. The roughness of the carpet causes burns on your cheek and stomach with every thrust, your hands clinging to the fibers for dear life; you feel the coldness of the zipper scratching against your thigh and it sends a jolt of slight pain through you with every slam of his hips. You’re ashamed to admit, even to yourself, that you enjoy it, you like the burning of freshly forming bruises, the heaviness of his body fucking you into the floor.

His touch is rough and harsh, nails scraping at your flesh, leaving red trails on your neck and ass, and you gasp at the sudden pain. He doesn't care for you enough to be gentle, or maybe he likes the pain he's causing you. Your body feels hot, feverish, under his touch; you feel like every inch of your skin is burning where his skin is making contact with you, maybe it’s the fire of hell nipping at your very soul through his hands, because it feels like a sin to want this man so badly while he is already balls deep inside of you; to give in to him and be completely at his mercy.

He’s pounding into you at a rapid pace. The veins of his member rubbing your walls inside of you and the fibers of the carpet make just enough friction to leave you breathless in less than five minutes. You feel your orgasm building fast. Your body starts to tremble, muscles clenching around his cock, milking him. Joseph feels it too, you feel his grip tightening around you neck and he’s hissing into your ear something that sounds like “fuck” and “yes”, over and over, in a hectic whisper. His thrusts become more sloppy, but he doesn’t slow down his movements.

The pleasure is spreading through your body rapidly, consuming you under its waves like a liquid lava, burning your every nerve. The coil in your belly finally snaps and a broken wail rips its way out of your throat, and it’s all you could do to not scream from the intensity of your orgasm. It takes a few more harsh thrusts for Jo to come. He stills at once and lets out a strangled groan in your ear, shooting his load deep inside of your wrecked hole.

He collapses on you, crushing you down to the floor; the weight of his body makes it even harder to breathe properly, but you’re not going to complaint, not when this man gave you the best fuck you've had in many years. After a few minutes he rolls off next to you, you mewl when he slips out of you. You both try to catch a breath for what feels like hours.

Finally, you turn your head to see him smiling from ear to ear with his eyes closed. You’re surprised to see his face so… genuine and even relaxed. You realize you’ve never seen him smile, you love it.

“I love you.” You hoarse suddenly without even thinking and it caught you by surprise. You never meant to tell him that. You’re sure that after this ridiculous statement he’ll stand up, laugh at you and your stupid feelings, say something cruel and walk away with your money like nothing happened. But you are wrong.

“I love you too.” He breathes out without as much as a glance at you.

You can't help the gasp to escape your throat. You remained silent for a few moments, trying to process his words. Joseph Lisgoe, ruthless and violent debt collector of Royston Vasey, the most feared man in town, had just told you that he loved you after fucking you on the floor of your own house.

“What?” You whisper, convincing yourself that it was just a hallucination. He couldn’t say that, could he? It's been five long years since you met him for the first time. Five years filled with desire, longing, fear and almost hatred. Or so you both thought.

He locks eyes with you, smile turning into an annoyed frown.

“I love you, you fucking cunt. Are you deaf suddenly?”

You can’t help the breathy laugh escaping you at his crude confession. Who would have thought that the devil has a heart after all.

masterlist | request rules

[onlyplatonicirl]

my mind is an egg ligma

I had a dream that was SO WILD the other night that I literally can’t not tell tumblr dot com.

you dont  have to read this if you dont want im mostly recording this so I dont forget it in the future

it felt WILDLY realistic. Like its one of the most vivid dreams I’ve had in a while.

I was standing on the side of a skyscraper, as if it were the ground. You know how spiderman can just walk up walls? yeah, it was like that, although im pretty sure gravity was reversed in some way. I was barefoot and in sports shorts and a black t-shirt which is what i wore when I went to bed. When I looked behind me I could see all these cars on streets along the road, and I was having a panic attack over what would happen if gravity were to switch back and I were to fall?

The whole city ghosted over with a color palette of red orange yellow and purple, like a sunset. aesthetic-type deal. I could see the sun paint the whole sky pink and purple, making the windows reflect bright orange, but it was setting horizontally bc the whole world was skewed. I looked up to see a young man in a business suit, standing on the skyscraper just as I am.

“What if we fall?” I asked him, still extremely uneasy about looking behind me.

“We won’t” he replied. “I want you to follow me.”

the skyscraper windows opened upwards into a glass entrance way. he motioned for me to follow, and like a dumbass, i did.

I’m not sure if something happened after that but if it did then I forgot it.

however I DO remember where I ended up.

It was as dark as the void, pitch black everywhere. I was completely alone. I was standing on a small, flower shaped platform in the darkness. The platform was glowing and bright yellow, and floating, and it was very small. I knew that if I fell off of it I would fall into an abyss and I was terrfied, and every nerve was on edge. Then suddenly this spooky ass voice that boomed from literally everywhere was like

WELCOME. IT’S TIME TO BEGIN YOUR TRAINING.

and im like “thats GREAT but I feel like im about to faLL” and the voice was like 

THAT’S OK. I’VE SENT TWO ANGELS NAMED --------- AND ---------- TO PICK YOU UP WHEN YOU FALL. YOU’LL NEED THEM UNTIL YOU LEARN HOW TO SUMMON WINGS.

“UH,” I responded intellegently.

More of those glowing flowers bloomed from nothingness, forming a path through the darkness, until it reached an old stone archway perched on a grassy floating island.

So I did my best to hop along. It was extremely nerve wracking because I felt like I was going to slip and die any second, and I did actually fall a few times, but these two little creatures would catch me by my arms and carry me back up to where I fell. They looked like little ghosts, and they were squishy and soft and cute. One was green/yellow and the other one was blue. Their bodies kinda looked like the characters from the Pixar movie SOUL and they kept laughing and giggling everytime they picked me up, like they thought me falling and them catching me was a fun game. They were ridiculously cute little things.

Eventually I made it, and going through the archway took me to a grassy circular courtyard. The walls around me were grey brick and stones shaped into a spiral beneath my feet, and the whole place was overrun by grass and flowers, but not in a way that made it look bad. It looked beautiful - the sun was beating down in rays and it was so happy and bright.

And in my hands materialized this glowing yellow sword.

I dont remember what happened next but I remember the voice said it was my real mother.

So after having that dream, I’ve come to 2 conclusions:

1. I unknowing smoked a truckload of marijuana 

2. im actually god and my whole life is a lie

[olivinesea]

In the Golden Dark, pt. 4

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

a/n: Everyone better have their toothbrush ready bc this is about to rot your teeth right out your head. This concludes my brief flirtation with happiness, I hope it’s everything you wanted. Back to regular programming after this. ~2.4k

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. - Sarah Williams

Dysania, Hotch thought to himself, dysania is what Spencer said it’s called. Before he’d started spending so much time talking with Spencer he’d never known there were official terms for so many of the things he took for granted, things he thought were just a part of life. This one for example, “dysania”: the state of finding it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Surely everyone found this hard to do he had countered. Not really, I guess, Spencer had shrugged. Not everyone. They had both grown quiet, considering the spaces between the words, the information unintentionally shared. These types of moments happened often and Hotch wasn’t all too sure how he felt about them. It was uncomfortable to share about himself, but it seemed to happen so easily with Spencer. Like some piece of him was reaching out, pushing past his normal guard to grasp at the other man, to try to pull him close with details he’d never intended to share with anyone.

Spencer responded kindly, often matching with his own stories, his own fears. It felt so natural, the exchange of ideas and the flow back and forth between mind and heart. Spencer, who so often found it tricky to connect the cues some people were born understanding, had no trouble understanding Aaron’s small hesitations, his silences following the realization that he’d just said something out loud that would normally remain internal. Spencer was guarded too, in different ways and for different reasons, but the walls were there nevertheless. He’d had trouble all his life understanding what people expected from him so he’d learned to minimize, to live inside his own head. He’d grown in his time at the BAU, found friendship and family where he hadn’t realized he was lacking. But there were always some things he held back.

People loved to be dazzled by his intellect, by the way he could remember the most inconsequential detail in a text or connect an obscure reference to its source. He didn’t mind, he enjoyed that part of himself as well. But sometimes it felt hollow, just a party trick he was brought out to perform and then put away until wanted again. The other things, the personal things, he had never learned how to share those and had always figured no one was that interested anyway. Somewhere along the way it became a compulsion to hide certain details, convinced that if everyone knew they would reject him. His mother and her illness, his own doubts about his stability, his need for help at times; he pulled those secrets in close, wrapping his fingers around them and squeezing until they stopped squirming so much. It wasn’t until he listened to Aaron haltingly give context to an offhanded comment that he dared to pull out some of his own worries. So they clumsily exchanged confidences, slowly building a new structure with each brick they pulled out of their walls.

Knowing the term didn’t help with the issue though. Didn’t change the fact that without the pressing responsibility of a weekday, where people expected him to be certain places at certain times, Hotch was finding himself unable to get out of bed. He stared at the clock, narrowing his eyes, disbelieving what the numbers were telling him. How could it be that someone who slept so little could spend so much time laying down?

He rolled away from the cursed illumination and glared at the wall instead. He could see Rossi’s confrontation played out on the blank white surface. As if he had been outside his own body, he watched his reactions, studying the degree of sincerity. Was he really making logical decisions or was he only wishful? He needed to talk to Spencer, needed to come up with a plan before this got out on its own. He had considered that option too—not doing anything and letting everyone else deal with their own feelings. He was tempted but he knew in the long run that would not work out well. He was still the leader of his team, despite whatever feelings he was finding himself caught up in. If he acted soon, he could still control this.

His thoughts returned to scolding him about how he should get up, take care of some errands he had been putting off. At least do some laundry after being gone all week. He closed his eyes imagining the laundry, the clean warm fabric pressed against his face. One of the few reliable pleasures in life. He rolled onto his back and stretched his long limbs away from himself. He could do that at least.

There was a brief moment of anxiety as he willed his muscles to contract, to pull him upright, unsure if they would cooperate this time. Thankfully they did and he shuffled around the room, collecting errant socks and emptying his go-bag that he had left on a chair the night before. He had managed to get the laundry started and was fumbling with the coffee maker when he heard a knock at his door. He spilled the grounds as his head snapped up to glare at the sound. He swore and did his best to sweep what he could salvage into the filter, placing it correctly and flipping the switch before going to investigate the intrusion.

He found Spencer standing outside his door looking a little guilty. They eyed each other, Hotch in sweats and t-shirt, hair standing up at odd angles, Spencer dressed for a day out in cool late winter sun, his favorite purple scarf wrapped around his neck for luck. Spencer’s eyes darted around the room behind Hotch. It was dark, the only light coming in from one small window. The rest of the curtains were drawn and he hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, not needing them to take care of basic tasks.

“Sorry, I tried to call,” Spencer wrung his hands as he made an effort to stop staring at the gloom in front of him.

Hotch thought about his phone, how he had purposely turned it off, something he rarely did. He had been so tired last night, he’d needed to ensure a few hours without someone requiring his attention. He’d felt a thrill of rebellion as he’d tossed it aside but he must be really out of it to not have checked it yet today. After a moment of awkwardness while they both contemplated how they ended up here, Hotch invited Spencer in for coffee.

“It should be ready in minute,” he said while waving him inside.

Spencer walked toward the kitchen where he remained standing, hesitant. There had been a wild impulse that drove him here, even when Hotch didn’t answer his phone. He’d been repeating conversations with himself, things he needed to say, imagining all the different responses he might get. His mind had been so full of these scenarios as he made his way from his apartment, but now that he was here he wondered if maybe this hadn’t been better left alone. Who was he to demand things?

“You can put your stuff down,” Aaron said with a slight smile.

“What?” He looked at his bag that he was clutching tightly, his knuckles turning white. Thoughts unmistakable as they ran across his face, he glanced around, trying to decide where to put it. Trying to get his bearings in this unfamiliar environment.

“Here,” Aaron held out his hand, offering to to take it. Spencer shrugged it off and handed it over to Aaron who set it on the dining table. Meanwhile Spencer sat on the edge of one of the bar stools and unwound his scarf, hands too nervous to stay still, and set it on the stool next to him. Aaron returned to the kitchen and pulled out a pair of mugs. He didn’t bother to ask how Spencer liked his coffee, everyone already knew that deviancy. Instead he just handed him the box of sugar, a spoon and a full mug. Spencer kicked his heels against the rungs of the stool.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling into the warm curls of steam. Hotch hummed, leaning back against the counter, his own mug wrapped tightly in his fingers. He was awake but he wasn’t fully registering what was happening. He hoped the coffee would alleviate that feeling.

“Sorry to just show up, I was going for a walk and…” Spencer trailed off, hearing the excuse he had prepared out loud, he found it sounded false. He rubbed his thumb against the warm mug. He inhaled deeply, then said, “I wanted to see you.”

He looked up to check Aaron’s reaction. Frustratingly he didn’t appear to react at all, looking back steadily, absorbing the information. Then he nodded, as if he was answering a question, maybe a response to something in his own mind.

“It’s ok, I wanted to see you as well. We need to talk.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide at that but Aaron waved his hand and tried not to laugh outright at the horrified expression. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

Spencer relaxed a little, enough to sip his coffee again. Hotch could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. He rubbed his head, worsening the disarray there and sighed. He needed to level the playing field somehow. Spencer made a risky move coming here unannounced. The power imbalance of the situation, already uneven for so many other reasons, was not going to help them get through this conversation. They needed neutral ground, somewhere they were both comfortable, or at least distracted enough, to talk about their feelings without becoming so anxious they never really said anything.

“Let me take a shower and then we can get out of here.”

“Oh, ok, we don’t have to, I just…”

“Spencer, I’m sure you didn’t want to spend the day in my apartment,” he said firmly. He let his eyes scan around the room, seeing it from another’s perspective. It was barely lived in; even when he was physically present he wasn’t living there. There were no personal touches, no paint on the wall, no photos. It was only the shell of a home. He had done all his living in the home he’d shared with Haley and Jack. There had been no reason to try to build any of that again on his own. “We could go to the Science Museum?”

“Oh, I love that place,” Spencer sounded both excited and relieved.

Hotch gulped the rest of his coffee, ignoring the burn on the roof of his mouth. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

Spencer stayed put for several minutes after he left the room. Frozen in his seat, afraid to touch anything else, certain someone as deliberate as Aaron would notice anything out of place. But he had been welcomed in, a voice in his mind argued. It was the same voice that had pushed him along all the way to this point. The same voice that insisted what was happening was real and wasn’t going to let him worry it away.

He forced himself to stand up, carrying his coffee cup through the room, drawn like a magnet to the bookshelves. It was a little dark but up close he could read the titles. They had talked about books plenty during their late night conversations, he knew Aaron was a big reader. But there was something different about seeing the tangible evidence of that, the wrinkled bindings, the books stacked horizontally where he had run out of space on the shelf so he’d had to fit them where he could. There was an organization to the shelves, though it wasn’t immediately apparent. Perhaps the only thing in the apartment that felt alive, it was obvious that someone was regularly pulling books off and replacing others. He ran his index finger along the spine of one, thinking about the discussion they'd had about it. He was about to pull it off the shelf when there was a voice just behind him.

“Find anything good?”

He twitched, pulling his hand back, thankful that he’d finished his coffee so the movement didn’t cause any spills. He turned to look at Aaron, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, hair still a little damp. They smiled at each other.

“Do you want any more? I probably have some to-go cups.”

Spencer shook his head and passed the empty mug to Hotch’s outstretched hand.

“Ok, I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He left to take the mug to the kitchen and grab his keys. Spencer’s scarf was still on the stool so he grabbed it and headed to the front door. There Spencer was standing holding his bag, not looking quite as nervous as before.

“You forgot this.” Without warning, he stepped in close to loop it carefully behind Spencer’s neck. He could feel Spencer staring at him but he avoided his gaze, operating on instinct. He didn’t let go of the tail ends of the scarf, playing with the fringe between his fingers. Neither man moved, their bodies dangerously close. He risked a look into Spencer’s face and found him watching intently. Aaron started to inhale, to say something to break the tension, when Spencer leaned forward and pressed his mouth against his lips. It was surprisingly soft, traces of mint and coffee mingling pleasantly. Aaron couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Spencer rocked back, looking for approval in the other man’s face, tentative but also absolutely certain that he’d done the right thing. He barely had a second to confirm the happiness on Aaron’s face before he was pulled forward by the ends of his scarf, this time to be met with a deeper kiss. A kiss that left no room for questions about where they stood. Spencer wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck, breaking away from the kiss and burying his face in the hollow of his shoulder. He felt overwhelmed as his blood pulsed loudly through his veins. Eyes closed tightly against the warm skin, he did his best just to breathe.

Aaron rubbed his back lightly, understanding, waiting for Spencer’s senses to calm. After a minute, Spencer pulled away a little, just enough to see Aaron’s face. A large hand cupped his face, thumb running softly along the cheekbone. He closed his eyes, focusing everything on that touch. He’d thought about this moment a lot, anticipating the multitude of different outcomes. Now that it was real he needed to remember every detail exactly as it was. He covered Aaron’s hand with his own, looking into his dark eyes again.

“Let’s go.”

[reversecreek]

struts onto the dash carrying this deliriously wriggling little elf in my arms like a swaddled bebe......... they’re genuinely my oldest muse of all time i think i created them when i was like. 13 possibly. n i haven’t written them in Years but. i’m literally so excited to jst vibrating w muse. smiles at u all demurely..... they have risen. u can find their pinterest here n their playlist here.

* alana champion, nonbinary + they/them | you know nyla palmer, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eight months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 6669 (i don’t know if you know) by neon indian like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole a two headed doll of a prairie girl with stitched on rabbit ears and butterfly wings, befriending shadow puppets & finding god with your eyes open underwater in a public pool you broke into thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 2nd, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY:

was born in georgiaaaa georgiaaaa (phoebe bridgers voice holds my bang...) to a vry honest hard working man named george (omgggg he’s called GEORGE and he’s from GEORGIA? ahaaaaa fuckk ur jestinggg) nd a woman who did her best named pamela..... george worked on a construction site n pamela was a pharmacist..... their house was this small rickety white thing with a wrap around porch n a very rabid overgrown garden tht kind of looked like the earth ws trying to reclaim it bc nobody ever hd the time or motivation to mow the lawn.... there ws literally a piece of fold out furniture just entirely submerged by weeds n foliage

nyla ws always closest w their dad george..... he hd this way of looking at the world tht was seeing the best in all of it.... he took them on long walks where he talked abt how u have to respect the trees bc they’re breathing fr us n we’re breathing fr them..... he hd a strange whimsical sense of humour n a gnome alter ego called grundlebolt who always tickled them..... in a way this closeness created a distance between nyla n their mother but not so much that it ws rly a problem. just enough tht nyla sometimes waited until their mother ws out of eye n ear shot to tell their dad they loved him bc they didn’t wna make her sad >_>

(mental health, death & grief tw) pamela always struggled w her mental health but george ws great n understanding n knew how to help her thru this... nyla didn’t get it too greatly at a very young age bt they knew their mum got “the sads” sometimes (how their dad wld explain tht she needed to lay down in the quiet for a while or why she’d stood at the stove n let the dinner burn until the smoke detector went off without doing anything abt it). when nyla was 14 they got home one day to a police car in the driveway n came prancing in exuberantly as they always did. immediately hugged the legs of an officer bc this is hw they wld greet everyone they ever met. they only realised something was wrong when they let go n saw their mum sat at the table crying. essentially there ws an accident at the construction site george worked at n :/ yeah. 

(jst mental health & grief tw now) this rly had an intense ripple effect on everyone tbh. pamela’s mental health deteriorated quite a lot without george there as her rock n nyla sort of had to step in as best they cld but it was....... hard. some days she ws better bt some days nyla had to sit her in the bath n stroke a wet sponge over her back bc they didn’t know how else to calm her down. nyla always had a very overactive imagination which george encouraged bt it ws like. losing him rly opened a window in nyla’s head n all rationality went floating out of it. their dreams seemed more real than being awake. fantasy wasn’t jst the way they coped bt it was the way they thought n the way they saw. everything on earth was alive. the trees n the clouds n the wall with a brick missing at the bottom of her road n especially their dad. their dad was alive in everything in nyla’s head. the sun shining extra bright in the morning was george. ponds were a veil they could dunk her head under and find george waiting on the other side. reality rly just pulled the plug n said bye tbh n they were ok w that <3

(abuse implied tw) their mum remarried too fast to a man named stephen n it was jst not a good arrangement. he was Not a nice man. i won’t go into this but home wasn’t a nice place for nyla any more n after a couple of yrs stephen wound up asking them to leave n their mum said nothing to contradict tht. there’s more to this bt long story short nyla left <3

(drugs tw) they couch surfed fr a while before settling living w their best friend. they got up to like... all sorts of trouble n grew up far too fast. nyla’s lack of sense n realism hd a habit of getting them into some sticky situations n these few yrs were a rollercoaster where they got by on the skin of their teeth. when they think of high skl they think of gravel and skinned knees and sucking sherbet dunkers to ignore the taste of pennies in ur mouth and getting lost in the woods a lot bc they’d take FAR too many drugs n be lead astray having conversations with kind trees whose branches held their hands

(drug mention) got by on odd jobs like making candles n selling them at market stalls. leaf blowing at cemeteries. face painting fr children’s parties (where they were blatantly high). random stuff. all over the place. in this time them n their best friend also hd a sugar daddy named tony who always wore very impressive colour block suits n mink stoles n jewelled fedoras n hd a swanky apartment w marble floors. rly just. surreal. lots of strange stories frm this time.

things kind of blew up in their friendship group n they fell out w their best friend raya bc she slept w this guy aj who nyla hd been madly in love w for yrs.... he was a Stinker n honestly so ws their best friend so good riddance i say bt obviously it felt like having their entire world flipped upside dwn fr nyla.... they split after this came out bc they just did Not want to b around these ppl any more n they decided to leave w this guy frm a band they barely knew tht much save fr a one night stand to tour w them..... this ws another whirlwind. jst chock full of them. it ws similar to being on a teacup ride at a carnival n spinning round n round n only knowing u were surrounded by lots of lights. tht’s how they’d best describe their time on tour.

SO in terms of them coming to irving 8 months ago they came w the band.... they honestly did pretty well on tour n wound up renting a big beach house on dorado as a kind of “retreat” sort of place fr them to shack up in while they worked on writing and recording their first big studio album (they gt signed w a label so it’s all vry exciting stuff). nyla among like 3 others were allowed to stay w them too bc they hd a lot of fun on tour. literally jst. taken on as professional groupies essentially. nyla loved it bc they’d never seen the ocean n when they first got there they jst threw off all their clothes n ran straight into the water. it was 3pm on a tuesday afternoon. they got arrested fr public indecency n didn’t get why bc they were like but i just wanted to hug the ocean u silly little oinker? i picture the beach house as like. the loudest one on dorado.... comes alive like a jungle at night..... they r probably bad neighbours. anyway. onto personality puts hand on hip.

PERSONALITY:

sets out patio furniture on someone else’s lawn n jst takes a seat n leans back like ahhhhh vat a nice day to be alive ya! (swedish accent suddenly bc they think it’s fun). they come out n start yelling n they’re jst so confused they’re like hey wat’s the big idea hey wat’s go on here why u angies why this happen?

likes drawing imaginary veins over their arms in all different colour blue pens in a sudden fit of hyperfixation n then forgets all abt it n goes out like tht n scares several townsfolk bt they’re oblivious they’re jst in her own world loving life already onto the next fixation. has many many different fads like this. one day will jst start snipping up a bunch of magazines bc they’re like EYES ARE COOL N THEY SEE EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :P n they’ll stick a bunch of them over their wall n then forget they was doing that n leap onto the next. quite a pattern. bt they love the vein thing a lot it makes them feel like a walking planetarium like they have their own constellations

sometimes jst doesn’t make sense. they’re honestly kind of strange. pops up in places like they suddenly materialised there n it’s like how did u get there where have u been when were u last seen are u ok. has the energy of an ancient deity frm deep in a mountain cave n an ambiguous forest sprite all at once..... talks shit honestly. abt anything n everything. sometimes outrageous. sometimes plain incoherent. like what are u talking about? i dnt kno. even i dnt kno sometimes.

luvs stick n pokes will let anyone tattoo whatever they want on them for the price of a gummy bear kindly placed onto their tongue n swallowed whole

has this obsession w being underwater w their eyes open luvs it. calls it their tadpole time. runs baths just to lie there blinking looking around n drifting her arms. best friends w the bottom of any local swimming pool n hs probably given it a quick kiss so it knows they’re bff’s n then got sick bc there’s sm germs in a public pool. says the kgb probably poisoned their oatmeal n r finally here to deliver on their promise n THAT’S why they got sick unrelated to the pool incident. what promise? noone knows.

unclear if they believe what they say or if they jst has a very expanded sense of humour where they nvr let on if they’re joking.... lines r blurred a lot..... 

loves excitedly shouting things. sometimes just screams at the sky bc they say it’s good to let the creatures in ur belly fly out every once in a while otherwise their wings get sore.

(drugs tw) still does an excessive amt of hallucinogens n it kind of shows. very bad fr their brain bt we’re going to ignore it.

dresses fun n strange n eccentric n careless. loves to experiment. does nt care abt what’s considered to be societally appropriate. living in their own world.

sleeps around a lot... jst doesn’t rly see sex as a big deal.... very free w themselves in that way..... sometimes greets their friends w a kiss on the lips they’re like awww :) kisses <3 when they run into them in the middle of the cereal aisle n then pulls away n suddenly breaks into a box tht has a free toy in it bc it’s a banana with googly eyes n that’s the best thing they’ve ever heard in their LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! n isn’t he so HANDSOME????? enchante indeed my good sir ;)... gives the toy a kiss too.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

other groupies of the band: self explanatory a little.... i dnt have a name for the band yet bt all can b worked out..... i picture them as kind of. not that nice but like. there for a good time........ rock genre.... bit chaotic...... to say the least........ they dnt have to have come there w the band like nyla n the others they cld have been adopted in their time there.... whoever wld b wild n down fr a good time <3

chaotic trash goblin friends: idk what this title rly means it just came to me in a vision....... jst ppl tht r rly kind of off the rails n don’t care abt anything...... they r who nyla tends to mesh very well w......... they rly r living in their own world n by their own rules n they like ppl who do this too <3 inevitably they get up to no good n party far too much...... cld be angst to this if they enable each other’s bad habits...... world’s our oyster. opens my office door. let’s talk abt it.

nyla set up camp on their front lawn: maybe jst w a fold out chair. maybe w a literal pop up tent w someone else too. genuinely so bizarre of them bt that’s what we’re dealing with. they poke their head into the tent n nyla’s lying down crunching on a cracker crumbs over their tits n they just hold it out to them nt even fully consumed n are like hey polly want a cracker? :)

they responded to her craigslist ad: they posted one saying they cld cleanse their house of demonic energy bc they’re an all seeing eye in touch w the spirits. this is a lie. they came n waved sage around n did a little dance as they did it w bird sounds playing on a special cd they brought fr the occasion (had weird indistinct doodles over the case it ws brought in) n then ws like OOH! scary.... n jumped at something in the hall. they go in thinking maybe they’ve seen a ghost bt they just were startled by their own reflection in a mirror n is like. scary mirror placement...... might wna reconsider that........ they charge them merely 10 dollars fr their time n is like this was so fun we shd do it again some time :) also i think u have mould on ur bathroom tile! vanishes. they dnt recall them ever going to the bathroom.

came knocking asking for items for a garage sale: yes. u heard that right. they’re asking for ur muses things to set up their own garage sale. selling items that do not belong to them. they think this is a genius business strategy n don’t understand why ppl think this is so strange or why they cant just ask ppl to donate them things to sell bc hey they’re an entrepreneur? they even had a pencil behind their ear when they knocked on the door so why aren’t ppl taking their business seriously? probably got distracted several times trying to explain their pitch n chattered abt random other things instead.

honestly anything... fwbs... flings... good influence... someone who cnt stand the fact they’re barely coherent.... someone they stopped on the street one day n asked for their opinion on water beds.... we cn do literally anything. fling ur chara my way n we can talk.

[bookaboutabook]

Feylin// Tolerate it

Hey queens time for another song analysis. This one is so accurate in my opinion and it it me like a ton of bricks when I realized Tolerate It by Taylor Swift is legit Tamlin and Feyre in acomaf. 

“I sit and watch you reading with your Head low I wake and watch you breathing with your Eyes closed”

So Feyre feels like she’s helpless all the time that she’s at the spring court. She feels like she’s just watching Tamlin do things that shes never included in. Also, This shows how closed off Tamlin is. This definitely also connects to how Feyre would wake up from her nightmares and Tamlin wouldn’t do anything to help her. Notice how it doesn’t even say that she’s watching him sleep, only breathing with his eyes closed, like he’s pretending to sleep. He’s pretending he doesn’t see her struggling. 

“I sit and watch you And notice everything you do or don't do You're so much older and wiser and I” 

During this time, Feyre’s life revolved around Tamlin-- she wouldn’t do anything else and didn’t have the freedom to do much else. Also, the line “so much older and wiser” reflects how she still feels human compared to the fae, like Tamlin, who are way older and more experienced. This made her feel even more worthless. 

“I wait by the door like I'm just a kid Use my best colors for your portrait Lay the table with the fancy shit And watch you tolerate it”

Okay so I love this section because it shows how she felt like Tamlin’s “pet.” She waited for permission and craved his approval. She would listen to him when he told her not to do something, like she was a child. I also love the “use my best colors for your portrait” line bc as we all know Feyre is an artist, and even though she wasn’t actually painting at this time, she painted a picture of Tamlin in her head that was really idealized version that she fell in love with. The next line is Feyre trying to make herself comfortable with the idea of being Lady of the Spring court and staying at the manor. And of course, we see that Tamlin loves her, but he doesn’t love her enough to let her live her own life and have her own independence. He tolerates her objections, because he feels overly possessive of her. 

“If it's all in my head tell me now Tell me I've got it wrong somehow I know my love should be celebrated But you tolerate it”

This is kind of just an internal monologue where she feels like she deserves better sometimes, but she also has so much going on that she thinks she could be imagining it. Her mental health was really bad, so she’s dismissing it as a product of her being broken, because she doesn’t see that he’s the one actually breaking her. 

“I greet you with a battle hero's welcome I take your indiscretions all in good fun I sit and listen I polish plates until they gleam and glisten You're so much older and wiser and I”

I love, love, love this because this actually happens-- Tamlin refuses to let her come with him on some outing to the wall (i think) and she just has to see him when he gets home. She ignores the parts about him that are red flags, because she doesn’t know what else to do. She plays a “good wife” role because she thinks that’s all she can amount to, since he never told her otherwise. 

“While you were out building other worlds, where was I? Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?”

Tamlin is constantly out doing his High Lord duties, and trying to make peace. Feyre feels like she should be doing so much more but she’s always stuck at home, and told that she wouldn’t be of use anywhere else. She missed the way that she felt when she first fell in love with him, when she felt like he healed her. She doesn’t recognize who he is anymore-- now all he seems to do is hurt her. 

“I made you my temple, my mural, my sky Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life“

Feyre romanticized the shit out of Tamlin. All of her paintings were about him and the spring court. Tamlin never really gave a shit about her-- he just wanted her to be his. What did he do when he had a chance to help her UTM? He tried to take advantage of her. smh. Her happiness was never really a priority for him. They were never going to be equals... he told her that High Lady existed. If he really wanted her to be a bigger part of his life he would have done what Rhys did. But ofc he didn’t. 

“Drawing hearts in the byline Always taking up too much space or time You assume I'm fine But what would you do if I, I”

I legitimately don’t think that Tamlin ever had the thought that he was smothering Feyre. I don’t even hate Tamlin... I lowkey feel bad for him especially after what he tells her in acowar. I digress. He still didn’t care enough to really see what was going on and he just assumed that she could be able to sort out her trauma buy stuffing it all down like how he does, which makes Feyre feel 10x more broken for not being able to cope, since obviously that’s not healthy, and doesn’t work. 

“Break free and leave us in ruins Took this dagger in me and removed it”

YAY now she is thinking about leaving bc yes what a queen. Specifically, leaving them in ruins, reminds me of acowar where she legit leaves the spring court in absolute shambles. Also, the dagger line reminds me of the way she had to kill those two faeries in the third task. She never felt the same after that, so taking the dagger out would represent her having to move on and accept what she did.

“Gain the weight of you then lose it Believe me, I could do it”

She gained tamlins love, until realizing that it wasn’t what she wanted or needed anymore. And she starts thinking that she could really leave him.. AND SHE DOES so good for her. Because we got Feysand<3

[mimithings97]

Heartache (M)

Summary: You didn’t know such a feeling was so real, so vivid, so hurtful. But it had happened and happened to you before you could stop it. Tae had become written into your life hard and fast, so when you leave you question that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t willing to unwrite him.

Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Heartache for starters, Unprotected sex, Oral (male receiving), Swearing, Nude modelling, Taehyung’s a sappy mess, Mentions of Alcohol

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Can’t lie in saying how morbid it is that I enjoy writing angst. It’s light angst though and a lot lighter than how fucking whipped Tae is at the end. Much love for the bub though, so, enjoy x

Ahhh jungkook features as well forgot to mention. Still love him. Nothings changed there.

Heartache.

Cringy, you once thought to yourself. 

How could you be so dependent, so set and so immersed in something that your heart actually aches? 

It didn’t make sense to you until the day words were spoken that couldn’t be taken back, bags were reluctantly packed and more tears were shed than there is water in the Thames. Heartache was real, vivid and the hardest thing you have ever had to live through in your 24 years of life. 3 weeks of a deep set dropping in your stomach that couldn’t be shaken despite the booze intake, the occasional listening to his voicemails and the relentless tears.

Your mother told you that if you built up too many walls it would hurt so much more when someone knocked them down. You had told Taehyung this on the first date, your first date, ever, with any man. You had always drawn a line between pleasure and dependency, settling for short flings and the occasional online relationship (purely for the sexting) instead of the commitment and responsibility that weighed on vulnerable shoulders when you bear your entire self to another in a relationship. Taehyung knew this. But he fell and you fell harder. You fell completely and utterly under his spell for three years. 

And then he told you he wanted to marry you. Bastard didn’t even propose, just mentioned that one toxic word of marriage and you instantly laid the bricks of that wall he had so unceremoniously knocked down all those years ago.

It felt so adult yet so childish leaving someone over the concept of marriage, but when talks of marriage turn to talks of children and one party wants something completely different to the other, what kind of relationship is there to continue. 

So three weeks later, just as the physical pain of emptiness and heartache has begun ebbing away, the emotional trauma of your decision begins to cave in on you.

To Jungkook:

11:31pm

You: I know I said I’d stop this

You: But I really dont know if this is worth the pain

You: His mum sent me a get well soon card today bc he told her i was ill and that’s why i hadn’t visited

You: I’m never going to not love him

You: How does anyone get over this shit its not fair

11:35pm

Guk: Oh noona

Guk: It’ll take lots and lots of time and lots and lots of tubs of ice cream and wine but youre both adults who want different things and not everything is meant to be

Guk: Sacrifice for the greater good right

11:35pm

You: There’s no fucking greater good here

You: I hate this

11:37pm

Guk: Noona you know that down the road hyung wants children. I don’t think marriage was that big, but he’s always wanted to be a dad

Guk: It’s not fair of him to ask you to have something you don’t want but its also not fair to leave him without the thing he’s always desired the most

11:40pm

You: Its just too hard to take

You: It feels like three years for jack shit

11:41pm

Guk: If you’re really struggling that much, noona, talk to him. I know he wants to talk to you still, he’s tried to contact you everyday. Maybe it will give you some closure or just help you see what’s right

11:41pm

You: Love you

Your phone is down as soon as Jungkook mentioned talking to him. How could you take one step forward and a million steps back by talking to him? It would be like hanging just what you want right in front of you but no touching, no talking to them after that 5 minutes of hell, no seeing them ever again. Closure is what you need but never what you’ll want.

The sheets that surround you, nuzzled closely into your neck and still unwashed even after three weeks just to keep that tiny scent of Tae over you naked skin, warm you to the point your eyes drift. You don’t mean to fall asleep so easily, but when every little action weighs so heavy on you during the day, sleep comes too easily. However, so does the nightmares of crawling alone in the black abyss.

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

Resuming work was never easy on a broken soul, but alas, here you were, with three weeks of sick pay under your belt you’d rather not have and 20 children at your feet.

Ironic isn’t it.

You break up with the only man you’ve ever loved because you can’t face a future of settling down with children, yet you wake up at the fucking godforsaken hour of 6 am to tend to a bunch of five and six years olds every day. No, you didn’t hate children, but they weren’t the joy of your life either. You were good at your job and you had this mad psychological complex that if you could help a child at five or six like you had so desperately needed at that age, then maybe you’d make their life just that little bit easier and that little bit brighter. Taehyung always found your reason for working so admirable - fuck that look of pure adoration in his eyes when you told him - so he found it equally hard to come to terms with when you told him the opposite. When you told him you couldn’t have your own children because the responsibility scared you. His ears were ringing at the point where you told him you also didn’t want to share him and his kindness, even so, the damage had been done, whatever the reasoning.

“Y/N! Jennie said you were back,” it’s a tight smile from you and a loose hug, but it’s amazing you’ve managed that with the way your head is far from in the room let alone the conversation at hand. “God, I hope you’re better, you were out for a while.”

You squeeze a weak laugh out, “Yeh, it wasn’t all that fun.”

“For a second me and Jennie were thinking you might be pregnant.” The heartache subsides, rivalled by the very distinct feeling of sickness. The ball of energy in front of you persists in conversation, but it’s to drowned ears and for a second you think you’ll faint. 

You miss your name being called. Shit, you don’t even know where it’s coming from, because the all-consuming feeling of this tide of emotions has swept you far from your spot in the classroom. Marie in front of you still calls, asking if you’re okay, but it’s the tug on your skirt, not harsh, but enough to garner a reaction that casts your eyes down.

“Miss Y/N?”

It’s Jojo, eyes wide and glaring up at you, still clung to the material of your skirt.

“Miss Y/N, why are you crying?”

You instantly draw the back of your hand to your face and it catches a cascading tear, much to your shock. You face must morph into a mortified expression at the thought of so carelessly crying at work, in the presence of the kids you look after with a smile and a skip in your step each day.

“Miss Y/N, it’s okay to cry. You can draw with me if you feel crying…” he shakes his head, “sad. Sad I mean.”

You feel Marie’s hand on your back, but Jojo’s eyes sweep you into a frenzy of more tears before you find yourself kneeling on the floor by the table. His table, where he sits alone each day, with paper and paints, or pencils, or chalk, sometimes he just folds it and hands it to you saying he made his paper into a flower. He already has one of his drawings on the go but scribbled over it thoughtlessly before starting out on a series of words. ‘To miss Y/n’.  Your eyes well further, but his words stop you.

“I think sometimes that drawings can make you better. Can make better the sadness.”

---

“Tae are you still going at it?”

You peer around the corner of the door, leaning half in half out of his man cave to study your boyfriend at work. 5 hours he’d been couped up in there.

“Hmm.” 

He didn’t let you see his art until the product was finished, completely finished, because sometimes he’d say he was done and then go back when he’d found the smallest error only to get pissed off that you had witnessed anything other than the completed masterpiece.

“Tae, you’ve been in here for hours, just come out to help me cook.” You plead with him over the canvas, not daring to peak any further.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He hasn’t looked at you since you came in, his brow well and truely glued into a furrow and the tea you’d brought him earlier cold and untouched beside him. You lower your tone into a more serious one.

“You okay?”

Silence.

“Done.” He doesn’t sound relieved or happy at the finalising of a five-hour art project like most would, like he normally does. He’s merely, ‘done’.

With an apprehensive tone, you ask, “Can I come see?” A gentle nod and you round the canvas, his arm dropping the brush in favour of tugging at the skin of your waist until you’re gently seated in his lap.

It’s beautiful and it’s simplistic and there’s so much life and emotion in it that you know the five hours weren’t all spent with brush to canvas but with him mulling over the memories and thoughts it conjured up.

“Your grandmother’s house?” Your voice is soft, not a pitying soft, but a soft that lets him know he can talk freely.

“Hmm,” he presses a kiss to the shoulder exposed by the shirt that hangs off you loosely. “Wanted to do something for her.”

You let the silence and the painting speak for itself for a while as his hands brush at your sides and you lean into his head that rest against you, chin to shoulder as his warm breath lulls you into calmness.

“You miss her?” 

“So much.”

“Painting makes it better?”

… another kiss and a sigh, warm.

“Mmm. Sometimes painting and drawing just makes the sadness a little easier, just makes it better.”

---

You see Tae in this tiny boy, this boy who draws to ease the sadness, who coups himself away on his table to be alone, too afraid to cry in front of the other boys and girls. Is he doing it too? Is he alone and painting? 

Then Jojo slides you his paper, wordlessly and your eyes with dried tears, prick once again, heartache replaced with something completely different, regret. And now hope. It’s those small boys words on paper, insignificant to him, and probably tiny in the grand scheme of things, but it’s his words that make you seek out for the one thing you know you can’t live without, the one thing that will heal your sadness.

‘To miss Y/N, i hope your crying gets better soon. Its okay to cry but its also good to make you happy. I hope you find your happy. From Jojo.”

You’d already found your happy, you just had to get him back.

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

“Y/N!?” 

And it merely takes your name for you to lose every word on your tongue. Any word you could’ve conjured at that moment couldn’t have described how you felt. He looks dishevelled, and beautiful, hair unwashed and falling into his eyes, white top littered with stains and his pyjamas bottoms you bought him for Christmas hanging off his hips. 

His eyes lull from their immediate shock before he turns to look at his apartment, running a frantic hand through his hair and stumbling on his words. 

“Shit. I- I mean. I wasn’t really thinking- I didn’t expect you.”

You probably shouldn’t have come. Some people would’ve turned and gone the other way. Maybe that was the right thing to do, was that the brave thing? Were you being a coward by rooting to the spot and not being able to speak a word?

He looks at you, then behind you somewhere, then back into your eyes and his gaze sinks so far into yours, you think you might just cry there and then.

“Dooo you want to come in?” He sounds apprehensive, he probably thinks you are too, but all you want to do is be back in his apartment just like three weeks ago, touching him, talking to him unhinged, perhaps feeling the skin beneath his shirt where his heart lies, feeling if his heart has ached as yours has.

With blinking eyes that try not to glaze over, you nod, short and curt, and you miss the puff of air his mouth rings out with relief. 

He dashes away once you’re past the threshold, scampering around as if to distract you from the surrounding environment - it’s dusty, too cold and dark with the way the curtains shut out summer light and you barely recognise his floor as wood with the way food scatters and clothes are strewn.  Small shards of light reflect from out of the study and your eyes naturally draw there only to find a mess, door open just enough for the hoard of half-finished painting and wasted canvas’ to come into view. The door is closed by Taehyung like he knew where your gaze would lead you.

“I-I’m fucking sorry about this, it’s gross and it’s messy and i-”

“It’s just like mine.” The corners of your mouth turn up sympathetically but also because you’re relieved he’s not okay. It’s awful to say but heartache has clearly done a job on him too and for that you’re relieved. “Don’t worry, it’s just fine.”

“Just fine,” he mutters under his breath with a half-laugh. 

You’re still stood stuck to the doormat, jacket hanging tightly to you like a defence mechanism and your hands remain tight to your sides. When his eyes find yours, you seize up further like it’s the first time he’d ever seen you.

---

You’d told Janice one too many times for this situation to be coincidence. You may or may not have told her you were a sucker for exhibitionism. She’d found it all shits and giggles until the art class she headed entered into ‘naked form’ week and it was too good of an opportunity to pass by. 

So the robe drops and you’re way too aware of the last time you shaved - you think you’d be prepared, but pair a hangover with a 7:30 start and bodily care wasn’t the first thought to come to mind.

Janice gives off a flow of instructions, pointing to your body like you were a cow on show, and telling the artists to ‘admire her form, the way her body dips and flows and let you brush or pencil do the responding as though her body was talking to you’ - you almost scoff aloud at her waffle because art is so full of shit.

Exhibitionism kink or not, you’re thirty minutes in and the way your hip cramps and you eyelids lower, there is nothing alluring or desirable about this. 

But then the door on the far wall swings open all too harshly for your eyes to feign jolting away. And they blow out further when they’re met with the masculine figure uttering apologies and skidding halfway from door to seat with his urgency.

‘Just women’ she said. ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ she said. It ruined the whole ‘i like being stared at by fit men’ at first but then put you a little at ease that some 70 year old man, trying to spice up his last years of life with a too expensive art course, wouldn’t be staring your tits down. 

Yet here you were, with a man with eyes too beautiful to be tarnished by the view in front of him, gazing in shock at your naked body.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nude form week. Guessing you didn’t get the email?”

You only have your imagination for what his voice must sound like because he only shakes his head, throat too dried and scorched from you laid out, baring it all in front of him for him to say anything.

But your imagination didn’t do justice in those two hours of torture. Because his voice telling you he’s ‘sorry for interrupting the session’ and even ‘sorrier for being so unworthy of staring at something so beautiful’. 

You’d always hated cringe. But cringe never sounded so good when it was spun off Taehyung’s silk tongue.

---

“Can I get you anything?” 

It’s him who breaks the silence, and it’s a godsend because you were two seconds away from spinning on your heel and cowering out of the entire thing.

“N-no. Thank you, Tae.” 

He groans at the timidity of how you say his name and nickname at that.

And silence soaks the atmosphere again, tenser this time because greetings have been uttered, drinks offered and there’s nothing more to say that unspoken words of the past.

That’s what you thought you were here to do at least. To tell him you’re sorry, first and foremost, because you’d never intend to break a soul as tender-hearted as his. Then you were supposed to tell him that you loved him, and you would always love him, and that sacrifice must be made for the greater good.

Jungkook had told you that once. But he’d said Taehyung must be the one sacrificed and you should be the one salvaged - until you realised there was no greater good in that situation, no salvation to be had.

“I’ll sacrifice myself,” words come out loud and unexpected as your train of thought is voiced. They’re too loud also, and they break the atmosphere to his shock, so his brow furrows like he doesn’t understand. “I- I will sacrifice myself for you.”

His face falls and you can’t bear the way his words stutter and his throat fills with a choked cry, as though he’d held it in as soon as your presence had hit him. It must have done the same to you because your body befalls you and tears and on the floor as you work your feet towards where he is rooted.

“I can’t ask that of you. You know I can’t do that,” he closes his eyes when your  body meets his, hands firm on his cheeks because they’re wet with tears and his shoulders are hunched in pain, “please.”

“Please.” You reciprocate. 

This is it for you. You’ll do anything for this quivering shell in front of you. You’ll plead. You’ll beg. You’ll give up your livelihood and every mantra you have ever told yourself about self-preservation because fuck it, some things are too good that you have to lose yourself in them. 

“You- I-”

“I’m- I might not be ready for kids now. I will though. If that’s what it takes. Fuck it I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

He chokes on a sob when his eyes meet your pleading ones and a quick hand wipes the stains from his cheeks so he can see every expression you give to him - untainted and full of love.

“We can take our time over this or we can have it all at once, but it has to be we. I’ll really do it for you, I have to Tae,” another sob and a whimper, “isn’t that what we’re here for. Kids.” You’re babbling now in a frenzied expression of all you have to give, and you’re so lost in his eyes that you laugh out, “‘be fruitiful and multiply or some shit.’ I’ll do it, I swear to you.”

“You’re not even Christian.”

“I would be if you told me to.”

“Fuck.”

He kisses you quick and without care, wanting to feel everything you have to give him like it’s what keeps his heart beating - and it’s beating fast because you finally find fingertips under his shirt and against the pounding that intensifies underneath.

He grapples at your hair, then waist, then hair again because his hands can’t decide on what he wants most. So you grab at them yourself and intertwine fingers as though he’d never left you. Each knuckle deserves a kiss and that’s what you give when your lips part.

“I’m so sorry-” you keep kissing across his hand, “I ever left,” and bring his hands to your neck, “never again.”

The tears subside in his eyes as they do yours. There is still relief, hot and painful inside your stomach because you have come back to him and he has taken you back, as if there were never to be anything but the two of you as one, yet now he finds your lips in something that claims more than just love. Possession. He has to know you’re his.

You were correct when you thought his room would be as sorrowful as yours - heartache as painful as what you had felt. 

Food containers stripe the floor dirty. Towels strewn and clothes dirty and forgotten. Again the blinds are closed as though you’re not here at 5 in the afternoon when the sun begins to fall into the red and purple hues of evening. 

But the blinds leave enough of a gap that his face is haloed, angelic and all too beautiful for your eyes to feign staring when your mouth departs his. Eyes glow amber and skin glows golden and you never want to look away, not from him, not now.

“You really want this don’t you.” There’s no question to the way Tae speaks. Instead, it’s disbelieving, like he can’t quite fathom that it’s really your shirt he has under his fingertips and your smell that lingers under his nose. Heartbreak had slowed his heart enough that it’s beating too fast for him to keep up with, so he slows it down.

“I really want this- You. I really want you.”

“And everything that comes with me? You’re sure?”

It’s a loaded question but at this point it is so light on your shoulders you laugh, grabbing and pulling up his shirt so you can sink lips to his chest, trying to find the beat of a heart somewhere there. 

“You act like you’re a chore, Tae.” You’re eyes soften when he still looks like you like he’s young and vulnerable. “Baby, I am so sorry I ever did this to you. Left. And made you feel like that.” 

Your hands map his skin delicately and you preserve how it feels because you hope, but never know, if you’ll feel it again.

“Never again, yeh?”

“Yeah.”

Clothes are shed until he looks at your naked body like the art that he first saw it as. He wants to paint it, remember it and cherish it as though he’s never seen it before. Every scar and blemish, precious to his vision, but the painting would only be worth it to him because he’s all who gets to see you.

“You’re not gonna turn off the lights?” 

Something that you’d told him was a habit of yours. Maybe something, a subconscious body image thing that was another way of saying, ‘I can’t give my whole self to you, I’m sorry’. He’d ran with it as though it didn’t hurt his pride. But now, as you push him down on his bed and clamber over his thighs, he’s so grateful he never got to see you in this light, because he loves it all the more now.

Fingertips tremble over your thighs when your hips find his, naked crotch so close to where he throbs. 

“Tae,” his eyes don’t meet yours, pieced, instead, onto where your bodies are so close to meeting like his gaze can fuse them together. “Tae, it’s me. Relax.”

Purposefully, your hands find his hair and coax him into a state of submissiveness, because his body still quaked underneath you no matter the words you uttered. 

You can’t lie when you say sex was a factor in your relationship you had missed. There was a heartfelt bond that went deeper than sex.

Admittedly the flatmate before Tae, the friends before the boyfriend and your parents who knew you better than you admitted to yourself had all said you were sex before substance. Some hated you for it and some laughed. Some said, ‘I wish I could be as emotionally detached as you’ and some thought you were the local gal whoring about like bodies were meant to be used. Then, somehow, Tae flipped the whole thing on its head. Made you feel butterflies before orgasm and it had you spellbound. 

So, no. Sex wasn’t it for you when you were with him. 

Yet, here you were, over your man gleaming with the physical sweat of want and need as well as the even more apparent glow of how his body lit up for only you.

“How do you want me Tae, what can I give you?”

“Fuck.” His hands fall over his eyes, not comprehending that you’re his and you’re this plaint. No, he wants you to take over him. “Anything, baby. Fuck. Anything.”

Instantly nails brush over the hardness that had been laid out under your folds obediently since you’d found yourself on top of his crotch.

A man could only control himself so much and immediately Tae found his dick twitching and his hips leaving the mattress in favour of chasing your hand.

“Y/N, I really don’t know if I’ve got it in me for teasing, I’m so horny I could cum!”

Well then.

The outburst has you struggling to fight off a laugh because he seriously is that desperate. Not the laughing kind either. The all-bearing, stripped clean and pleading kind of desperate.

So, you sympathise and let your lips find his, hand still trailing lightly so he doesn’t cum early, but enough for the need to remain.

“You wanna be inside me Tae?” His tongue is on yours yet the words are clear. 

“Urgh, fuck, please.”

Your eyes peer between your bodies, mapping where his muscles, tight with restrictions, create a V-shape down to the very distinct outline of a red hard cock. You think it’s photograph worthy in the moment, something worth slipping the camera out for, and if you hadn’t kept his dick pics from months ago maybe you would. But:

“Please baby, -need it.”

You deny yourself the simple pleasure of slipping him in because Tae whining and pleading is something worthy for the spank bank. You drop lower down the bed so his hips meet your eyes and the skin glistens so beautifully in this light you have to leave his dick untouched just so you can kiss around the area. 

His stomach, thighs, crotch, they see it all, lips and tongue mapping bold strokes because he tastes just as you remember and you want to savour it.

“Y/N ple- oh fuck,” and the taste of his dick beats anything that preceded it, let alone the noise that came with it. 

His tip is taken care of first, small licks and stripes with your tongue, so he’s unsuspecting when you choke him whole.

“FUCK.” 

Hands grab your hair violently. He’s deep and hits the back of your throat so you choke, unashamed of the noise. You’re past that and you know he likes it anyways. 

You set a rhythm, and it soon becomes clear he’s going to cum from it and that you very much want him to. Your hand finds his balls to fuel the process and the other one snakes to your core because there’s nothing that beats Tae’s moans when he’s getting a good sucking. 

“I- Fuck Y/N, I can’t- Shit!”

He’s close. Stomach seizing and balls throbbing in your palm so you sink back down again and take the choke like you want it and you want his cum more. It’s fast from there.

“Love you. I’m cum- Fuckkkkk,” salt and warmth line your throat, but only for a short while because he came quick. His hips stutter a few times and your eyes water when you continue to take it. 

Then it’s cold and silent. Yet somehow you feel buzzed. Like someone cumming down your throat was enjoyable. Like you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant he’d say he loved you again.

The hands that had once set deep into your scalp and verged on making you horny now pulled at your cheeks to lift you to eye level. 

He’s sweaty and a mess. 

“You’re sweaty and a mess baby.” 

His laugh is unfiltered, wholesome and worthy of the way your heart stutters.

“Because someone’s got a mouth on them sent from the gods.”

Blush overtakes your cheeks, whilst your stomach tumbles over at the fact that your blowjob skills are up to scratch - you thought a month off might have done something to your ability but clearly, you’re still on point. The bitter taste in your mouth tells you enough. 

“What’ve I done to deserve you coming back.”

Sincerity returns into his eyes as well as his words, and somehow you feel his dick twitch again from underneath you. He’s so soft under your hands so you keep feeling at his skin to reassure you he’s real.

“Nothing. You’re enough. You’re it.”

You kiss and kiss again, keep going until the fire ignites in him once more where it still flamed for you.

“Please.”

His voice is low no matter how much he whines so a guiding hand slips him into where you’re filthily wet. And he’s huge despite seed already spilt. He’s loaded like it was meant for you and not your mouth, throbbing enough so your pussy can feel it.

And suddenly you realise it’s bare. Complete bare. As in, bare enough that you are willing to take on a child kind of bare.

His eyes tell the story when yours find his, wide and curious. They roll back into whites when you pull up fully and then sink back down, milking him for all he has so he knows this is your full intention. Naked in every sense.

“Shit, Tae.”

“Fuckkkkk,” he doesn’t swear often, but sex is a must and the quirk of your lips tells him just how much you like him losing himself in pleasure.

He hits deep from here, cock lodged far in and even further when he begins to take control. 

His feet plant and his hands pull you down so skin flushes to skin and he can pump up into you with unadulterated need. 

Your teeth have to clamp onto his shoulder with the way he hits your cervix, it’s uncomfortable yet you love it. That kind of sex where everything is so fulfilling that you just can’t mutter ‘stop’. How could you say such a thing anyway when he’s groaning that he loves you with every upbeat.

It hits good once. Twice.

“Tae, fuck. There.”

Three times. 

“Here?”

Again.

“Oh my fuc- Fuckkk,” and there’s nothing you can do when you’re so stimulated you tumble deep and hard onto him and continue to do over and over in waves. 

He’s finding his end in the way your pussy grips him. 

“Baby. Y/N, Cunt so good, jesus.”

You’re burning when he’s going so fast the headboard bangs louder than your moans. So your hand quickly finds his balls underneath you and that does him, unravels him to the point he quakes.

“Holy- Love you. Love you. Fuck. Love you.”

Your ears might ring but that’s all you hear for the next minute. His mantra that keeps his lust alive until his love is so set in stone the words are not needed. 

Your hand, winding into his hair and the thrum of your heart against his tells him enough.

It’s this. Silence and tranquillity yet with the constant buzz of electricity all around you.

You’re still there entangled, limbs on limbs and lights touches on bare skin as the slither of light through the blinds turns ruby red in the heat of sunset.

You know his eyes must glow golden from where the sun angles on his face so you can’t help but spare a glance. And you’re right when you imagined it as beautiful because the sun bathes him like it was meant to. 

He’s still awake because his eyes flutter when you trail the outside of your fingers down his cheek and then onto his lips. It’s even more apparent when he brings his hand up to yours so he can kiss each knuckle individually.

“You came inside.”

It weighed heavy on you, the obvious factor that had happened earlier. And before allowing the beauty of the moment to settle in you had to see his expression when you mentioned it.

Yet there’s nothing but closed eyes and the slight smile that had been painted on his lips since you’d told him how much you wanted him.

“Mmm.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It’s not harsh, just a question from you. A security query because you have to know what this was for him. Caught up in the moment or something deeper?

His eyes bolt open at the question though.

“Are you?”

You almost have to think. Almost.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“And so am I.”

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Racetrack higgins x reader who is really smart so she teaches all the newsies school (bc she’s rich enough to go but they aren’t) and race falls in love with her

I've never tried a Newsies x Reader before, so this will be fun!

I kind of based this off another ask I had.

They/them pro-nouns.

***

"No, this is the I. You use it when writing about yourself." Y/N has never been known to back down from a challenge. Even if that challenge included helping to teach the Manhattan- and sometimes Brooklyn- newsboys how to read and write. Some knew the basics, but tutoring wasn't exactly a luxury any of them could afford.

"Thanks Y/N!" Without a second glance, the newsie sprints off. He's probably around twelve, but like every other newsie, he can act like he's younger. It makes Y/N sad. Partially because the newsies aren't given the chance the learn even simple writing. Partially because they never got to be so wild when they were younger. Sure, they still have a few more years until they have to act like a grown-up, but even the next few years can't make up for an entire childhood.

Then again, growing up among the upperclass of New York didn't leave much room for wild childhoods.

"Ain't you s'posed t' be on some trip." Y/N can't help but grin before turning. There, leaning against one of the dirt dusted brick walls of the lodging house, is none other than Racetrack Higgins. Cigar and all.

"Aren't you supposed to be selling papers?" Y/N crosses their arms, raising an eyebrow at the smirking boy.

"Fella's gotta take a break." Race shrugs, grabbing his cigar from his mouth and quickly rubbing the tip of his nose.

"Well, you should probably finish your break before Albert takes your customers." Y/N's words make Race's face fall and he's quick to run off. Y/N can't help but laugh as they hear Race start yelling somewhere around the corner followed by Albert laughing.

For a few years, Y/N has found ways to sneak out and teach the newsies. Before that, they somehow became great friends with Race. It started somewhere along the lines of Y/N's father buying a paper from Race. After that, the friendship of Y/N and Race grew. From Race sneaking up to just say good morning to Y/N to Y/N pretending to have dropped something after passing Race with their mother, they quickly became close.

Okay, and maybe Y/N felt something a bit more, but they knew it couldn't go anywhere past friendship. At the top of the endless list of reasons why they couldn't be more than friends was the fact that Y/N was likely going to be married off by their father. Second comes the fact that Race hardly makes a dime a day at times. The list could go on and on.

So for now, Y/N could settle with being Race's friend and teaching the newsies how to read and write.

***

"So, Y/N, why is you's out so late? Ain't ya got a curfew?" Albert balances on an old wooden chair, trying and almost failing to not fall over.

"Are. Not is, it's are." Y/N chuckles as Albert rolls his eyes. "And my parents are out of the city. I managed to convince my governess to let me stay out longer."

"'Cause Y/N's smart like that." Race appears next to Y/N and throws his arm over their shoulders. Y/N can't help but blush a bit as Race pulls them into his side. Race goes on talking to Albert and some of the others, never removing his arm from Y/N's shoulders. It's not like he's holding Y/N captive, his arm is loose enough that Y/N could move, but it's not like they really want to move anyway.

Friends can do this, right? Just casually lean against each other? And rub each other's shoulders unconsciously with their thumbs. And be happy being in each other's arms?

Okay, so maybe Y/N is borderline crushing hers on Race, but who can blame them? There's nothing wrong with having a crush.

"Well, I'm turnin' in. Gotta beat Race to his sellin' spot." Albert smirks and jumps out of his chair as Race lunges at him. Jojo quickly sticks his arm out to stop Race and rolls his eyes with a smile. Albert disappears up the stairs, cackling like crazy the entire time. Jojo follows, the other guys who had been hanging out downstairs in the lodge. That leaves Y/N still leaning against Race. Both suddenly realize that they're right next to each other with the new silence and they awkwardly step away from each other.

"You's been teachin' more of your smart kid stuff?" Race teases. Y/N rolls their eyes, but can't help the smile on their face.

"Everyone knows how to write their names. Most of them can read headlines with some help." Y/N won't admit it to Race, but they're really proud of how far the newsies have come in a few months. Sure, splitting their time between Brooklyn and Manhattan wasn't ideal, but it was worth it.

"Hey, that's great! Didn't know you's magical, now." Race playfully pushes Y/N's shoulder. Both start laughing, receiving loud thuds from upstairs and people yelling, probably telling them to shut up. This makes the two laugh even more, but they try harder to keep quiet.

"Y'know, I wouldn't even know my name if it weren't for you." Race angles his head to look past his shoulder. Y/N visibly blushes, but Race opts for not teasing them. Not yet, anyway.

"I do what I can." Y/N sighs. The old clock in the lodging house chimes, making a different sigh leave Y/N. "That's my que to wait for my dad's butler."

"I'll show ya out." Race pushes off the wall and walks side by side with Y/N to the door. They both stand outside on the sidewalk, the yellow light above the doors of the lodging house lighting the street. The sun has set, but there's still some pink and orange I the sky.

"You know, I bet Jack's gonna paint somethin' like this." Race sighs. Y/N glances over to see Race staring at the sky. They admire him.

"I don't doubt it." Y/N mumbles. They both just stand in silence until carriage comes to the stop in front of the lodging house. Y/N pushes off the wall and turns to give Race a smile. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya t'morrow." Y/N moves to walk away, but they freeze when something lands on their cheek. After what feels like years of staring, they turn to see Race pulling away and walking back into the lodging house. "Bye, Y/N!"

"Bye." Y/N mumbles and walks blindly towards the carriage.

He kissed me, Y/N thinks. It was just a kiss on the cheek, but still.

Woah

[almightyellie]

property brothers!gwil where reader meets him during househunting. bye!

this made me LAUGH but ima indulge bc years and years of hgtv has made me stupidly, recklessly in love with realtors

he almost makes you never want to buy.

you won’t, of course. you’ll find your home some day, but in the meantime, it doesn’t hurt to be just a touch pickier than normal. you’ll get a home you love more, and a little extra time with your new favorite person.

gwilym is striking in every sense of the word. physically, he catches your—everyone’s—eye immediately, tall and intimidatingly handsome, but humble, as though he’s unaware how entranced you are by him. emotionally, he’s warm, inviting, always there to soothe you when you’re sure you’ll never find your house. and when it comes to his work, well, there’s no hiding that he’s successful. you tease him about the bespoke armani suits and the rolls royce on his wrist (“it’s horribly ugly, really,” he always contemplates to you. “i should just sell the damn thing.”) but it’s a testament to his work ethic. you like gwil, you like seeing him and you like working with him.

and he likes you. he’s not shy about calling you his favorite client, one he’s working day and night to put into a home, and god, he really wants to find you something. the sooner he finds the perfect place for you, the sooner he can ask you on a date. just one. he hopes for more, but he’ll only ask for one; then, he thinks, he’ll make it the best damn date you’ve ever been on.

one warm morning, just a week after you’ve insisted that you’re out of options, he sends you an address out of the blue. i’ve got a feeling about this one, he says, and you think if gwil, the only other person who knows how needlessly specific you are, thinks this house not only has potential, but he has a good feeling about it? then you have a good feeling about it, too.

it’s quiet. the neighborhood, you mean. the house is pushed back behind a wall of trees, a nice amount of land between the road and the front of the house, which you think might be the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

he’s waiting for you in the driveway when you pull up, still gawking at the house, and he’s got that confident smile on, like you’re proving him right by loving this house. “gwil,” you gasp. “this is gorgeous.”

“it’s got everything we talked about from the outside,” he nods, pulling the key from his pocket. “white brick, secluded but not alone. look at that porch, y/n.”

god, the porch. the shutters are a touch too light, but that‘s an easy fix, so you allow gwilym to lead you inside. none of the other houses have felt like this, like you fit perfectly inside of them. you’re barely listening as he leads you through, too entranced by the inexplicable warmth of the empty home.

you look like you belong, he reckons, and after a long silence, he tells you so, a big smile on his handsome face. you’re both so clueless that it hurts.

“this is it, gwil,” you breath, fingertips running over a freshly-painted door jamb. “i need this one.”

“i thought you’d say that,” he beams, taking a step for you.

it all hits you at once, the glee of finally finding your place and the misery of knowing your time with gwil is coming to an end soon, but you don’t dwell on it. instead, you squeal in excitement, laughing brightly and throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

he sways you back and forth for just a moment, your joy radiating around him. “we’ll put an offer in, then,” he says, pulling away to look at you. “i’m really thrilled we’ve found one.”

you beam back up at him, squeezing his shoulders. “thank you, gwil. seriously. i never could have done it without you.”

he just smiles, quiet, and you’re sure it’s mindless, but his thumb is rubbing circles into your hip, that handsome smile flashing down at you while his eyes follow your every movement. he’s staring, rather shamelessly, and you can’t ignore the way his eyes flit to your lips.

you suppose you’ll only have to see him a few more times after this. if there was ever a time to be brave, you think it would be now, so you stand on your toes and, hesitantly, press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

just as you pull away, he’s pulling you back in. his arms tighten around your waist, holding you close to him as he kisses you. you feel like you could scream, months of adoration finally fulfilled in the single most wonderful kiss you’ve ever experienced in your life.

he pulls away before it can get too heavy and with a quiet laugh, he shakes his head. “that’s quite the thank you.”

you snort, resting your head against his shoulder in embarrassment, but he just laughs, holding you closer, and you think maybe you’ll be seeing a lot more of gwilym than you originally thought.

[ashketchup119]

I feel like every story i write has just a lil touch of either magical realism or like, general latinx-ness, bc that’s how i grew up *shrug*.

Anyway, been writing this/daydreaming about the large story this snippet comes from for a very long time.

Hope y’all enjoy!

As Amarine stood outside the small house he’d been directed to, he paused in confusion. The owner of the house was like his second mother, and while she wasn’t particularly flamboyant or dramatic, he still expected something… more. The little house looked more like a shack than the abode of the flamboyant woman who had once told him that her favorite color was “red like the color of my mother’s brick after my siblings and I washed it on a whim one summer afternoon.”

The outside of the house was covered in strips of white, peeling paint, revealing the brown outside of the walls within. As he walked in, the door protested loudly, screeching on un-oiled hinges. The tile inside was a dusty brown color, though it was difficult to tell if this was the tile’s original state or the result of dirt and age. The cabinets were a darker shade of brown, sticking up from the ground and out from the wall as though they had been placed lackadaisically by an uncaring hand. The counter, in contrast, shone a dazzling white that seemed the antithesis of the rest of the kitchen. The appliances hummed lowly from the corners they’d been crammed into. A window gave desperately needed light to the scene, and the dark gray of the walls tried its hardest to limit the brightness of the beams shining from the outside world. As he walked beyond the last set of cabinets, the tile abruptly gave way to brown-black carpet which had once held a beautiful design but had faded into a mere suggestion of color contrast. The walls were surprisingly bare, and hardly reflected the bright personality of the woman he knew to live in it. A small, worn sofa had been placed under a window, it’s fabric a bright red color that almost hurt the eyes in this monotonous space. A dirty white pillow perched precariously on one of the sofa arms, it’s use indicated by the head-shaped indention near the bottom. Next to the sofa, an end table waited patiently, offering a small space to use for activities such as eating and relaxing. In contrast to the old, weary feeling of the rest of the space, a brand new TV sat atop a small set of drawers, large and dominating. Beneath it was a speaker and a shoe box with colorful markings that seemed the work of a small child. It sat proudly in it’s place of honor, sticking out in the same way the red sofa did.

A couple of feet away from the TV was a hallway, barely big enough for Ama to fit. On it’s right side were two doors, and on the left, just one. As he opened the first door to the right, he noticed that it was a playroom, bright and full of toys and memories, with the clear marks of a child evident in the white fingerprints on the wall and the dirty but well-loved toys stuffed haphazardly into a small toy bin. On the floor was a black-and-yellow rug that had the letters of the alphabet on it, though it was heavily stained from use and parts of it had faded. The walls were painted a cheery yellow color, and on the furthest wall from Ama’s position in the doorway was a small desk with a picture on top. Though he tried to make out the image, the light from the small window above it was too dim, revealing only a vaguely person-shaped brown, black, and red blob on a green background. He wanted to move into the room and inspect it more, but he felt as though he were intruding on a scene that wasn’t meant for him. Instead, he closed the door, stepping back out into the cramped hallway.

The door on the left was a small and rather bare bathroom. As Ama opened it, he noted the lack of space between the sink and the wall, and briefly shuddered at the thought of having to go to the restroom inside that space. The light made everything yellow and dirty and was placed in a way that made the shower stall seem menacing. He closed the door quickly and stepped back into the hallway.

So, process of elimination dictated that his pseudo-aunt had to be behind the last door, then, right? She’d promised to be home when he’d arrived. He made his way over to the last door and prepared to knock. Before he could, however, it swung open, and she stood there, smiling, with her arms open.

“Tama-Tamarindo!” She greeted, her nickname for him ever since she’d claimed it was ‘similar enough to his name and reminded me of eating candy in summer.’ “How are you?”

She ushered him back through the hallway, past the foreboding restroom and the strange playroom. Somehow or another, he ended up sitting on the bright red sofa, and she pulled out a folding chair from a door he hadn’t noticed before to sit across from him. As he began to explain his problems, he couldn’t help but wonder about that playroom, and the child who had once resided inside it

[soundofseventeen]

Hey! Could I please request slow dancing in the dark by joji for the scenario asks? It’s such a cute idea btw~ -myflowerxmh

{okay, this one was a lot of fun to do especially bc I haven’t done anything like this!!! I’m sorry it’s late!!! These requests are closed!!!}

Trigger warning: mentions of my poor knowledge of usage of drugs, alcohol, and blood and a mention of death. 

Proceed with caution if you intend to read it. (I’m looking at you Erin.)

Okay, so when I listened to it, it gave me like the 90s grunge with Soonyoung clap era (and all of Seventeen as well). Thirteen boys meeting up in an abandoned house in the outskirts of town, telling their life sorrows.

The smell of alcohol, weed, and cigarettes waft through the air, Green Day encouraging anarchy as they destroy the remnants of what used to be a home to a family who started over somewhere else, leaving the heavy stuff behind.

Seungcheol finds Soonyoung sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. His head is lulled on the side to get a good view of Mingyu spray painting the couches black, the bleakness he felt inside fitting perfectly.

Soonyoung’s eyes are glazed over, not even paying attention to his surroundings. The box cutter is pressed tightly against his hand, trying to focus on cutting the line to get his fix so he can engage in the destruction but he can’t. He feels the blade digging into his palm, drawing blood but nothing else. His free hand moves blindly, in search of the bottle of soju. Maybe one more swig and he can concentrate.

He vaguely wonders how much of everything’s in his system, his tongue tasting his mouth to see what he’s had so far, but there’s a mix of everything. He’s either at his limit or in close proximity of it. The coke on the brick might be the thing that pushes him to the edge or to his grave…and even in his hazy state, he doesn’t want that.

He makes out Seungcheol’s blurry figure staring at him and he extends his hand, the blade falling to the floor, and Seungcheol helps him up, not saying anything about the stickiness of the blood, but he pours the tequila he has on his other hand to stop any probable infections.

Soonyoung yelps at the pain and the sharpness of it brings him to his senses a little. He takes the bat from Seungkwan, staggering around until he finds an empty room that wasn’t as heavily damaged as the others. The bat then makes contact with an empty bookshelf and something in him snaps.

He hears your voice repeating, “I can’t do this anymore,” which prompts him to hit it as hard as he can until he’s screaming every time the metal meets the wood. Just weeks before the wedding, you left him, claiming you had fallen in love with someone else. 

The boys leave him be, unsure what would happen if they intervened at the peak of his rage and pain.

When the shelf is nothing more than sawdust and splinters, Soonyoung digs around his pocket until he finds his lighter and sets fire to it, imagining the memories in the place of the bookshelf, the flames illuminating his face and accentuating the pain that he had hidden for so long.

[roses-of-rutherglen]

Uniquely Normal- chapter 2

-Seamus-

Seamus had been waiting for his Hogwarts letter ever since he accidentally set the cats tail on fire when he was two and a half. So when it arrived upon on his eleventh birthday there was much celebration in the Finnegan household.

The trip to Diagon Alley was planned over a weekend as they would have to travel from Portarlington to London. Seamus couldn't sleep for excitement in the nights leading up to the trip, this would also be the first time his dad had been to Diagon Alley despite knowing about his wife being a witch for the last fifteen years of their marriage. The sun rose bright and early as the family of three hopped in the car bound for London with their suitcases, prepared for a long weekend of shopping and learning about the world that two of them were entering that year.

Seamus was almost bored to death after the innumerably long trip, finally stepping stiffly out of the car and trying to work some feeling back into his legs. They could have flooed but his mother was insistent on travelling as non magical people do and making sure they stay in touch with both the Muggle and Wizarding sides to their lives.

They walked through the streets of London's shopping district before coming to a shabby looking pub with the peeling sign reading 'The Leaky Caldron'. Funnily the rest of the population seemed to scan right over the pub looking from the record store on the right to the coffee store on the left.

"Come along you two" his mam beckoned "it may not seem like much but ye'll be surprised." Both males shook their heads and followed the over enthusiastic Irish witch into the dingy pub.

"Hey mam, why'd we stop comin' here again? Cause I distinctly remember comin' here when I was a wee one" his mother chuckled.

"You and I stopped coming when you started having random outbursts of setting things on fire and nearly burnt down Magical Menagerie when you got too excited about the "wee cute mousies" she put air quotes around the last few words and Seamus groaned burying his head in his hands.

"Ah yes, I do seem to remember your particular flair for pyrotechnics that Ye haven't quite grown out of" smiled his dad "good for St Pats but not much for every day." Seamus looked away pretending not to know who his parents were before being dragged along to a wall at the back of the building.

His mam took out her wand and tapped the first brick to the left above the dustbins. Watching with awe as the bricks shifted and reformed revealing a street that seemed filled with magic and life. Store displays danced and the street was filled with light, chatter, and children around his age and older coming in and out of the many stores along the street. Everything was painted in bright colours catching his attention and drawing him away from his parents to stare at moving displays or glittering advertisements. People filled the street and several times he nearly got lost, dragged away in the current of people.

"Come on Seamus, keep up" called his dad as they started walking up the street towards the huge white building that looked like it should be a royal palace. Painted pearly white with all the decoration you could think of. He quickly hurried to catch up to his parents. They passed the security goblins before entering a huge hall.

The floor was marble and the clerk's desks made of rich coloured wood. The Finnegan family headed for a free clerk that was next to a boy with dark skin and his mother who looked to be exchanging muggle money for Galleons, sickles and knuts.

"Alright mate?” Seamus greeted the boy, he nodded looking bashful before Seamus continued, "me names Seamus" the boy smiled and replied

"My names Dean" the two shook hands

"first year at Hogwarts I'm guessing?" Seamus queried Dean smiled

"yeah, big shock to my parents honestly I think they wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer" they both chuckled and Seamus was for once grateful for his half muggle upbringing. Dean looked like he was about to say something else but Seamus' mother called out for him to follow her "One second Ma," he called back at her "what were Ye gonna say mate?" Dean shook his head

"doesn't matter, see you on the first" they waved their goodbyes and the two headed off leaving the boy to the back of his mind as he and his parents walked out of the bank and down the street.

"Alright I'll go and get your books," said his mam "and you two head on down to Olivander's then we'll get everything else we need." She hugged both of them and was off before they could say a word. Seamus looked around a little nervously before his Dad called out and they walked down the street.

"I know I'm not the best with this Seamus, but I hope Ye know I'm trying me best" his Dad stuttered nearly running into a witch with long purple hair and robes that people kept tripping over. Seamus smiled

"I know ye're doin' your best and I definitely appreciate that. We'be both been thrown pretty much into the deep end here." They both chuckled and looked up to find themselves in front of one of the shabbier shops within the street. The peeling gold letters over the door read 'Ollivander's makers of fine wands since 382 BC.' A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion on the window and the door made a slight tingling noise as they entered. A man who looked as old and shabby as his shop appeared behind the counter.

"Ah, hello there how are you both doing today?" Asked the man in a voice that sounded way too young for his years.

"Okay thanks, a wee bit nervous but getting more comfortable, how're ye going today sir," Seamus answered and the man smiled.

"An Irish man eh? Don't get many here they tend to go to Varitas' in Dublin but I'm glad to meet you. What might your name be?" The man called wandering off into the stacks of shelves lined with narrow rectangular boxes

"Er, Seamus Finnegan sir." Seamus called back watching as the man returned with several boxes under his arms.

"Ah yes, I remember when your mother first came in for her wand, wonderful woman with a sweetheart and strong beliefs."

"I think we can easily say stubborn." Interjected Seamus' father, gaining a chuckle from Seamus and a knowing grin from the older man.

"Try this one why don't you" Ollivander suggested taking the cover off the box closest to Seamus. He took the box lifting out the jet black wand inside it. "Yew, 10 inches and a core of unicorn hair slightly springy, good for charms." Seamus picked the wand up unsure of what to do next. " Well go on give it a flick" Olivander prompted Seamus did so and the chair that his Dad had just been about to sit in flew out from his grasp and into the wall losing one of its legs.

“Nope" stated Ollivander handing him the next wand, "13 inches, cherry wood and a dragon heart strung core, give it a swirl." Seamus did so and a painfully high pitched ringing emitted from the wand. "Drop it, no again a slightly tricky customer" Ollivander smiled. Seamus was confused how in any way that could be a good thing but before he could ask Olivander was back.

“I think this will be the one," he said handing it over. It was a light coloured wand with a black line spiraling down the handle section. "Oak and ebony 12 inches and a Phoenix feather core, definitely one of our more unusual combinations but let's try it." Seamus lifted the wand and gently swished it, golden sparks appeared from the end and a warm sensation ran up his arm he smiled.

Olivander did too "well, we found one this is one of the first wands I ever made and it has never been able to find a person, these two kinds of wood mix strength and flexibility into one while the Phoenix feather core shows you are pure of heart and will to do the best for everyone. This is a wonderful match and as I'm sure you saw, the wand chooses the wizard."

He held his hand out and Seamus shook it before paying the thirteen galleons for the wand and walking out with it in the box. They met his Mam outside the ice cream parlor and started walking down the street.

"Since you took so long in there I got yer books, potion ingredients and robes. All we gotta do now is go to Magical Menagerie without you setting something on fire and get you a pet." She smiled talking a million miles an hour, the two boys smiled at each other before following her down towards the brightly painted shop.

They ended up getting a jet black fluffy kitten with eyes like a galaxy, named him Ebony and headed back towards the wall that had formed their entrance, which from this side looked like an old wooden door and headed back through the streets of London towards the car park.

But as they drove back to the hotel and he thought back on his day, the boy from Gringotts, Dean, popped back into his mind and he regretted not talking to the obviously muggle-born boy more. Maybe he could have helped him find his way or even offered to save him a seat on the train, but what was done was done and he just had to hope he could find him again when school started.

All of a sudden he felt very alone, being the only child in the neighbourhood with magic was tough. Whilst he had plenty of friends he had no one he could really talk to about magic apart from his mother who was at work a lot and though his father tried he really couldn't relate. He couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts, and to see Dean again.

<- chapter 1 here!!! Chapter 3 here!!->