#but I ONLY want notifs for things like that

[thinkinonsense]

i just listened to sabrina's new album and oh my god the song slim pickins is such a song that was written from daydreaming about lumberjack!logan, oh and the recent fic that you reblogged was just so yummy and perfect for that song especially the lyrics "a boy who's jacked and nice" like god having to settle down for less because nobody can be him 😭😭😭 need him expeditiously im afraid

it's slim pickins

lumberjack!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: yearning!! fluff, tiny nsfw conversation (nothing graphic)

a/n: this request couldn't have come in at a better time because i'm seeing sabrina on opening night of her tour tomorrow night!! <3

masterlist

"am i just destined to be alone forever?"

another friday night in the hole in the wall bar outside of town. another date gone horribly wrong. your question hangs heavy in the air as you gossip to your best friend who's bartending tonight.

"you keep picking douche bags." she answers without missing a beat.

"well, that's fuckin' rude." you slur slightly, sipping on your third fruity drink tonight.

"well, it's fuckin' true." she smiles, looking over your shoulder at a group of men that walked in. "why don't you go talk to one of them? they look hot."

you spin around in your stool to see a group of lumberjack workers. these were the men that you worked with, you can't flirt with them.

"i work with those guys!" you hiss.

"sooo...?" she smirks.

both of you quickly end the conversation with the five guys approach the bar. the last thing you needed was for these guys to see the desperate and pathetic look on your face. quickly, you rummage through your purse for some cash to put down.

"what are you doing here, doll face?" a familiar voice asks.

you look up and see the most handsome of the men, in front of you; logan. twice your size, buff, toned, tan... god, you had such a crush on him. never in a million years would you go after him though, he's too good to want a girl like you. you were just a friend. he make small talk with you, laughed at your jokes, calls you little nicknames, and refills the coffee pot for you but thats what friends do, right?

"oh... um, i'm just-"

"she's been sitting here moaning and bitching to me all night about her horrible date." your best friend smiles then introduces herself to logan with a handshake.

"thanks asshole." you mumble under your breath at her, making logan chuckle.

"tough night?" he asks, looking down at you in a way that makes heat rises up your face.

"kinda, but i'll save you all the gory details." you admit, sliding off the tall stool a little ungracefully. "have a good night, logan."

"wait, doll face." he says, grabbing your arm to balance you. "wanna talk about it? i'm sure your friend here is busy."

the alcohol let him take you to one of the booths. all the other men noticed logan and you sitting together, definitely making mental notes to tease you both on monday.

"so, what's on your mind?" logan asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"it's nothing really..." your mouth says one thing but your phone says another; practically buzzing off the table.

"you sure?" he raises a brow.

"uh... yeah?" you sound confused as you peak at the notification. an annoyed groan falls from your lips as you slam the phone back down and sink into the booth. "why? why? why?"

"why what?" he squints.

"be honest, do i have dumbass written on my forehead?" you sigh, hazily looking over at logan. the question threw him off guard; unsure if you're joking or not.

"no." he answers.

" well, i sure feel like one. every guy i've gone out with is either the most obnoxious asshole i've ever met who's still hung up on his ex or he's absolutely perfect but he's just not ready for a commitment right now? what the fuck does that even mean?"

all of your drunk rambling surprised logan. at work, he's only seen your shy personality as you scribble down numbers and log them into spreadsheets. this was a completely different side of you.

"i know what you're thinking, 'why not just try dating a woman?'. well, i fucking would if this town wasn't stuck in the 50's, except the men aren't going to war in order to get away from you, instead they just run back in between their ex's thighs and pull that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit."

it was getting harder for logan not to crack at your silly yet, adorable expressions as you rant.

"and the worst part is that they can't even get a woman to orgasm." you say a little quieter. logan stores that quote in his pocket for another time. "a few weeks ago, i literally had a man in my bed who didn't know the difference between their, there, and they're! i don't know who's stupider, him for not knowing or me for letting him give me the worst head in my life."

if you were even a little sober, this would be mortifying. sitting in front of your work crush and spilling pathetic details of your love life to him. if you were even a little sober, you would have notice his eyes turn dark and lustful under the dim bar lighting. logan couldn’t fathom that you were having trouble in your love life.

"sounds like it's slim pickins out there."

"you have no idea." you sigh.

"if it makes you feel any better, i don't think that you're stupid."

"you're just saying that to be polite. trust me, everyone thinks i'm an idiot for taking these guys back every time. im just like my mom, my sisters, my friends, and every other girl i know. we make up excuses for their shitty behavior because we are afraid to be alone."

logan could see tears forming in your waterline, about to roll down your cheek. it hurt him to see you so heartbroken over these losers. everyday at work, you came in like a ray of fucking sunshine. you didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"it's not your fault that those asshole don't know how to treat a woman." he sighs, leaning forward in an attempt to comfort you.

"i know, i know..." your voice was cracking and you didn't want logan to see you so vulnerable. suddenly, you rise from the booth. "thanks for listening, logan."

"where do you think you're going, doll face?" he asks, following you out the door.

"should head home." you mumble, pulling up the number of a car service about twenty minutes out.

"let me give you a ride home." he offers. "you've been drinking too much."

it's late, you're exhausted and heartbroken so, you let him help you into his truck. it's kinda old but full of character, like logan.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" logan asks, breaking the silence in the car. "still sad?"

you shrug. "think i'm just going to become a nun."

he tried, he really did, but he had to laugh.

"sweetheart, there's no need to become a nun."

"well, i'm never going to find the man i'm looking for so, might as well join the sisterhood."

"what are you looking for in this dream man?"

logan's question has your eyes wondering over to where his left hand sets on the wheel and his right on thigh. the images of what his hands could do flood your fuzzy mind.

"j-just a good guy who's um, who's kind, jacked... respectful, good with his hands...."

it was shameless, your staring that is. logan worried you might get drool on the car seat, not that he would mind.

"hm... those seem like simple requirements there."

"apparently not." you giggle. "it's fine, though. i'm sure the nuns will be friendly."

"still thinking about joining the 'sisterhood'?" he asks, pulling up to your drive way.

"maybe... i'll give it twenty-four hours and if he doesn't come knocking on my door, i'll just buy a chasity belt and go off the grid with the nuns." your smile warmed his cold bitter heart. "thanks for the ride, lo. i'll see you monday."

as logan watches you fumble with your keys and make your way inside, he fights an internal battle over his feelings. he has had a crush on you since the day the two of you first met. by the end of the week, you had baked him some cupcakes, babbling about how you do this for all the new employees, which was far from the truth he later learned.

you captured his heart. even when he tried to burry his feelings for you, when logan looked at you, his world stood still for a moment. he looked forward to all your silly jokes in the break room or the ridiculous gossip you would tell him when he lingered outside of your office door. he couldn't let you slip away into the arms of another asshole who didn't deserve you.

before logan could comprehend what he was doing, his feet lead him up to your door, knocking twice. the wooden door opened and he knew he made the right decision.

there you were in your light blue and grey plaid pajamas with a cupcake in your hand and vanilla frosting on your bottom lip. logan had never seen you look prettier.

"hey? did i leave something in the–"

in the blink of an eye, logan’s hands reach up to caress your jaw, leaning in until his mouth engulfs yours. the taste of vanilla and alcohol surrounded both of you. forgetting the cupcake in your hand, dropping it to reach up and pull logan closer. kissing him was like drinking a glass of wine after a long day. no more stress or anxiety over anyone else’s bullshit. the two of you gasp against each others lips, catching your breath.

“i could be the good guy, you know?” logan pants, now forever addicted to your taste. “i could be the good guy for you.”

your heart fluttered as you stared up at his pretty hazel eyes, twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. this had to be a very realistic dream, thats the only answer to this.

“you would do that for me, logan?” your delicate voice could bring him to his knees, worshiping the ground you walk on.

“i would do anything for you, honey.” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you again. maybe your dream guy wasn't as far away as you thought?

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: cute silly little gesture from drewseph 😋 progress progress

one | two | three | four | five

authors note: this is just part 2 of day 2 so i’ll incorporate the movie night in the next part fs. let me know if u still want to be added to the tag list through replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

you’re awoken by the light coming in through the blinds. it’s subtle, but it’s there. it bothers you and causes you to stir awake.

you can hear drew snoring—a habit you know all too well, but you ignore it. your eyes flutter open as you look around the room, then you look at him.

he’s dead asleep, but he’s on his stomach, his face parallel to yours. his mouth is a little open and one of his arms is underneath his pillow, hoisting him slightly higher, while his other is reaching toward your side of the bed.

you yawn as you twist your body and grab your phone off the nightstand, then check the time. it’s already noon. the others must be up and awake by now.

you drop your phone on your lap and use that hand to shake drew awake gently, but when he doesn’t wake up the first time is when you get a little rougher.

“star,” you tell him, in hopes that he gets up at least now or soon. you don’t want either of you to miss any of the plans going on that day. “wake up, come on,” you say, and drew’s eyes open once before he closes them again, and his legs move underneath the blanket slowly. he’s waking up.

“mmh,” he moans, and because his eyes are closed you know that he’s trying to fall back asleep. you retract your arm and get up from the bed. you figure he’ll wake up anyway, he knows he has to.

you walk over to the door and open it, then peek your head out into the hall. you look around for anyone, but all you find is theo walking upstairs to his and leila’s room with two plates of food.

“hey,” you say, then pause to clear your throat. you’ve already caught theo’s attention. “what are we doing today?”

theo shakes his head, his mouth full of his piece of toast. “not today,” his words are difficult to understand so he drops the piece of toast on one of the plates. “tonight. leila has this checklist that’s guiding our everyday, and she said she’s been wanting to just stay in one night, relax, watch some movies. it’s gonna be chill, but it’s only that.”

you nod, patting the doorframe twice. “thank you,” you say, then pull back into your room as you add, “and good morning!”

“‘morning,” theo says, and you close the door gently.

when you turn around you see that drew’s awake. or at least he’s changed positions. he’s lying on his side now, facing you again. you watch him as you return to your side of the bed. he has to flip onto his other side again when you even leave his sight.

“free day until movie night tonight. leila’s orders,” you say, and there’s a small smile on his face before he rubs his eyes with his palm. you look around the bed for your phone with a frown, “could sleep in ‘til tonight if we wanted to.”

“we?” he asks, and it’s like he’s caught you already suggesting plans for the both of you.

“if i . . . wanted to,” you correct yourself, then pause for a moment while you rub the back of your neck, looking away. “libby did say she could help me with some audition tapes today though.”

drew groans, stuffing his head back into his pillow. “why are you working during the two weeks we’re supposed to do anything but that?” he whines, as if you’re dragging him along to do it too.

you shrug, “some people are expected to book their next role as soon as possible. now that tempest is over, i want to start working on my next big thing.”

“tempest was the next big thing, you won an mtv award for it,” drew reminds you.

you think back to your tv series that had went on for six years, a good chunk of your life, before it ended just recently with its final season. tempest is the reason why you met drew in the first place—he shared his praise for your lead role at one of his movie premieres years and years ago.

you shake your head at him. “okay,” you say, deciding to get up and out of bed.

“where are you going?”

“i’m not gonna work but i’m not just gonna lay around in bed all day,” you tell him, and you leave the room to freshen up in the bathroom.

you hear a few footsteps that descend the staircase and you can’t help but peer over your shoulder to see who it is. it’s oscar. you’re seated at the kitchen island, and he’s just minding his own business as he retrieves something from his backpack it seems like, then he looks to you.

he’s kind. there’s a genuine smile on his face as he nods his head at you. “good morning,” he says.

he turns to leave and you try to return it, “good morning.” you clear your throat as you continue to watch him head upstairs. from there, you can see someone walking across the hall, just from their feet.

you can recognize his patterned socks. it’s drew.

“hey!” leila’s voice is a jumpscare and you can’t help but react quickly, facing forward like you’re a child getting caught stealing candy. leila laughs when she realizes she scared you. “sorry . . . i thought you heard me come in. are you ready?”

you’re dressed to go out to town, as leila said earlier that she wanted to visit the local market nearby. you nod your head at her and shuffle off of the chair.

“who’s driving?” drew asks as he jogs down the stairs and pulls his crewneck over his head. you barely cast a glance at his body before you look into his eyes, and he walks over. “am i?”

“yes—” leila tries to say before you cut in.

“you’re coming with us?” you ask. you don’t necessarily have a problem with it, it’s just why was it kept from you?

“problem?”

“i don’t know. is there one?” you furrow your eyebrows at him and tilt your head to the side, but you realize the way you’re talking to him.

he squints his eyes at you in question, then glances up at leila. he’s not sure whether you're teasing him or not, but he lets out a short, awkward laugh. “okay, let’s not get dramatic,” he says lightly.

leila, sensing the unease, smiles as she steps in. “i figured we could all go together! it’s a trio outing now! plus, you two are joined at the hip anyway.” she says it like it's the most natural thing, blissfully unaware of how the statement lands between you and drew.

you swallow the discomfort and force a smile as you get off the chair, grabbing your bag. drew’s eyes linger on you for a moment before he turns and follows you both out the door.

“careful,” he warns you about your blatant attitude.

you know he’s right, and you mutter out, “sorry.”

the car hums as you’re driven down to the beach market, then get out to enter. it’s not a huge deal being seen out in public together—you’ve done this before. but of course it’s different now. there’s something strange about holding drew’s hand when you know, deep down, it’s all for show. but you don't pull away.

when you reach the town, you spot a few people recognizing you—actors always catch eyes, even in quieter towns like this one. drew stays close, his hand still gripping yours, a comfortable smile playing on his lips as the three of you wander around.

a couple of fans approach you, their faces lighting up at the sight of you and drew together. “oh my god, i loved you two in hellraiser! this feels like a dream," one of them gushes, and for a split second, you feel drew’s hand squeeze yours tighter.

you try to play it off, laughing softly as you and him pose for a quick picture with the younger girl.

after, drew steps beside you, leaning forward with his hands behind his back as a few record him. “we’re glad you enjoyed it,” he says, flashing his grin. you feel a familiar flutter in your stomach, a reminder of all those moments you used to share during press events like this.

another girl beams, and what seems like her mother is standing there with her, “you look even prettier in person! can we take another photo?”

“of course!” you laugh, and you part from drew to tend to the few of them.

drew is just standing a few feet away, his gaze locked on you. his expression is unreadable—something between admiration and something deeper, something heavier.

leila catches onto his lingering stare, and she approaches him with a smirk, nudging his arm. “you’re staring,” she teases, her tone light. drew blinks and breaks his gaze, glancing down at leila like he’s been caught.

“was not,” he mutters. his eyes flick back to you for a second, but he quickly looks away again.

leila’s inspecting a few trinkets before glancing back at him, a knowing look on her face. “you’re a terrible liar, you know,” she says. “you’re staring, and don’t think i didn’t notice at the firepit either.”

drew shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a way to defend himself. “okay, well yeah, because she’s my girlfriend!” he says a little too loud, and even you look up at him and furrow your eyebrows before returning to what you’re doing.

“okay, i’m joking. god, please lighten up. you can stare at your girlfriend all you want. who cares?” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “is everything good with you two?”

drew hesitates, glancing over at you as you smile politely at another fan. “yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, the words coming out too quickly. “why wouldn’t it be?”

leila narrows her eyes, watching him closely. “i don’t know, you’re acting a little . . . weird. normally, you’re more laid-back when she’s off and doing stuff on her own. but lately, you’ve been all . . . protective. intense, even.” she pauses, studying his face. “is something going on?”

he rubs the back of his neck. “no, we’re good. we’re good.”

leila hums, her fingers tracing one of the bracelets on a stall table. “you know, i talked to y/n last night,” she says carefully, her voice soft. “she said you guys have been stressed with work lately, but that everything’s good between you. still . . . i don’t know, something feels off. you both seem a little . . . distant.” she gives him a gentle nudge. “i’m not trying to pry, but i just want to make sure you’re okay. i already asked her, so now i’m asking you.”

drew stiffens slightly, but forces a small laugh, trying to brush it off. “yeah, work has been a lot lately. it’s probably just that—stress, you know? juggling schedules, auditions, appearances . . . it’s hard to get time for ourselves.”

“i get that. trust me, theo and i have been there too with our careers. it can get messy, but...” she trails off, giving him a sincere look. “you and y/n have always had something really special. and i know it’s not my business, but if something’s really bothering you—or her—you guys should talk it out. don’t let it fester.”

he shifts on his feet, the words striking closer than he’d like. he nods, though, appreciating her concern. “yeah, you’re right. i know we need to talk more, make time for that.”

leila smiles, “good. i’m here for both of you, okay? if you need to blow off steam or talk, don’t hesitate. i can tell there’s more going on than just ‘work stress,’ but i trust you’ll figure it out.”

drew forces a grin, trying to play it cool. “thanks, lei. we’ll be fine.”

leila holds his gaze for a moment longer, then nods as she steps back toward the vendor. “you better be. you guys are a strong power couple around here,” she jokes lightly.

as she glances over drew’s shoulder, her gaze settles on a nearby flower shop across the street. she doesn’t say anything, but her eyes linger, then shift back to him. there’s a soft smile playing on her lips, and she raises her brows in a silent suggestion.

he follows her line of sight, his eyes landing on the shop. it takes him a second, but he gets it. leila doesn’t need to say the words. he knows exactly what she’s trying to tell him.

“really?” he asks, dropping his smile. “you’re playing wingman?”

“wingwoman, but you know.” she gives a small, almost teasing shrug. “i mean, they’re her favorite, right? might not fix everything, but it’s a start. little things, drew.”

his eyes flick back to the shop, an old habit of buying you flowers bubbling up in his chest. “yeah, she always liked those kinds of flowers,” he murmurs, half to himself.

he nods, muttering a quiet “thanks” under his breath, as leila gives him a knowing smile before turning back to browse a nearby stall.

drew makes his way over to the flower shop, eyes scanning for your favorite blooms. the vendor helps him put together a simple yet thoughtful bouquet, and drew can't help but feel anxious but hopeful.

a few minutes later, he looks for you amongst everyone. you’ve already found leila, as you two inspect something on a stand just a few stalls down. you must not have seen drew when he was handling the flowers.

he makes his way over, and his presence is warm behind you that causes you to peer over your shoulder. you’re startled when you realize there’s actually someone there, and he’s so close. you immediately notice the flowers.

your eyebrows lift in amusement as he grins. “oh, what’s this?” you ask, your tone teasing, though there's a flicker of surprise behind your eyes.

drew holds the bouquet out, his voice soft. “for you,” he says. “maybe to make the day a little better.”

you look at the flowers, hesitating for a second before taking them. there’s a small warmth in your chest that you try to suppress, but it shows in the way your lips twitch upward into a faint smile. “thank you,” you say quietly, studying the flowers briefly before your gaze shifts back to him.

you can’t help but wrap your open arm around his neck and pull him close. his gesture is sweet and unexpected. drew’s arms finds your waist before he’s hugging you back, even tighter, but trying to be polite with how long he squeezes you.

you feel bold, and you lean away from him before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. it’s brief, almost hesitant, but enough to make drew’s breath get caught in his throat for a second.

as you pull away, you notice his glance toward leila, who's standing just a few feet away, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever she's holding. but she can’t hide the small wink she throws his way when he meets her gaze, a playful, silent “you're welcome” before she turns back around.

you catch it at the very last second and your mouth gapes open, so you take a step back. “are you two conspiring now?” you ask, in fake shock.

he chuckles softly. “just trying to be a good boyfriend.”

“mhm,” you murmur, but your smile lingers, and you look up at him to mumble a small “thank you” again, to which he waves it off like it’s nothing. even though you're hesitant, you can't deny that the gesture worked—at least a little.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains

[absurdthirst]

Fucking Fungus {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie

Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.

🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice. 

“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful. 

Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.” 

He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.

The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving. 

Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost. 

You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots. 

“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together. 

“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot. 

“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.” 

Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something. 

Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed. 

“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign. 

You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh. 

Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77. 

Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake. 

“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think. 

Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”

“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.” 

Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling. 

You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that. 

“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her. 

****

It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless. 

The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart. 

Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building. 

“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.

“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself. 

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for. 

“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.” 

You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. 

You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do. 

Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?” 

“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now. 

It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had. 

Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous. 

“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.” 

Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building. 

She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire. 

“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”

“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him. “We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.” 

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.” 

His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep. 

Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night. 

It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun. 

“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down. 

The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls. 

She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation. 

“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table. 

“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax. 

You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it. 

It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?

You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks. 

Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before. 

He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. 

“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers. 

“Don’t-”

The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen. 

“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had. 

“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.

“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.

The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night. 

In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra. 

Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic. 

Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness. 

Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans. 

He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms. 

Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected. 

Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed. 

Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep. 

“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary. 

The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot. 

You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours. 

Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit. 

Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return. 

Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach. 

The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit. 

Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching. 

You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness. 

You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist. 

“Joel, I-” “Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still. 

Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.” 

Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-” “I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body. “We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.

“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you. 

He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs. 

You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you. 

“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you. 

“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.” 

You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay. 

He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins. 

It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping  your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers. 

He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down. 

Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed. 

“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain. 

“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else. 

His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm. 

Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you. 

His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart. 

“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.” 

“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.” 

His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking  him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before. 

Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you. 

Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you. 

“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-” 

He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.” 

The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen. 

****

“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes. 

Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door. 

“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!” 

You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed. 

[cvnntagious]

Die For Me

☆ Fuckboy!Matt Sturniolo blurb for anon

Not that you cared, but Matt had been M.I.A for over a week now. He hadn't been in class, hadn't texted you, and you hadn't seen him in his usual hangout spots around campus. Not that you'd bothered to check.

Well, okay, you shouldn't have checked — But you did. Not because you cared. I mean, he didn't care, so why would you? You'd been looking for him because, for some reason, your professor had decided to hand over his work to you. It didn't seem like he knew where Matt had gone either.

You didn't really understand what this had to do with you. The professor had just told you to give it to Matt whenever you got the chance. What, did he think you and Matt were something? Because you're not. That's not what Matt wanted, and neither did you.

But as your grades began to slip, it was clear Matt was on your mind. For no reason, really. Like, you didn't like him or anything. Seriously, you didn't like him. Usually, with the help of Matt, you would've been able to de-stress by now. Even touching yourself was no good. His help had been keeping you steady for the semester, and without it, you were nothing academically. At least that's what you told yourself.

Today 10:22 PM : ' Hey sorry. Been a minute. '

That's what you saw pop up on your phone as you tried to focus on studying for the upcoming quiz. You knew who it was before you even read the contact at the top of the notification — that unreadable way of texting, topped with an annoying amount of periods, just like always. He said it'd been a minute, but it had only seemed like seconds since you last talked at that moment. You were already annoyed.

Texting back seemed like no use, brushing it off with a sigh that exuded not only irritation, but a hint of relief as well. At least now you knew he hadn't gotten himself into some shit. Not that getting into shit was much like him, it was more his brother's thing. But still, he tended to stick his nose where it didn't belong when it came to any problems Chris got into.

Today 10:25 PM : ' Come slide. Dorm's P17. '

You tried to ignore it, but the numbers caught your attention. Could he really want you this bad? Usually he'd come to your dorm, or on some rare occasions you'd meet him at Chris' frat. Never once had he bothered to give you his dorm number. This felt new, possibly refreshing. He'd always told you where he stayed wasn't necessary information— basically the nice way of saying he didn't take you seriously, nor trust you enough.

Though tempting, your better judgement told you not to give in so easily. As you held down the power button and slid the icon to power off before flipping your phone face down, you felt a certain sense of empowerment, proud of yourself for deciding it wasn't worth it. So why did you find yourself waiting for him to answer the door, fidgeting nervously as you looked at the short brown carpet of the dormitory hallway?

"Didn't even get a warning," You heard his voice as the door opened in front of you, causing you to look up at him.

With an embarrassed chuckle, you lifted your hand to show him the black screen of your phone. "It died," You lied, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes met his blue ones.

You watched his small smile as his tongue ran over his white teeth to hide it, invisalign making them chunky and, in some strange way, admirable. Then, he stepped aside, giving you room to walk into his doorway. "S'late, I know, but I just- like I said, its been a while," Matt began explaining as you walked into his dorm, leaning on the doorframe as his head followed you.

You turned to look at him after having taken in his dorm, rather unimpressed by the lack of personality. "Yeah, about that, actually— Where y'been?" You asked curiously, as he shut and locked the door behind him.

Matt only shrugged, suppressing a smirk as he took a step forward to let his hands travel down your waist. "Lot'a stuff," He replied simply, head cocking slightly to one side. Of course he wasn't going to tell you - he never told you anything. "S'a lot to handle, y'know," He then added, eyes darkening as they held contact with yours.

Your brows furrowed at his words, a bit confused. If he didn't want to tell you why he was gone straight up, you'd prefer if he didn't start hinting at stuff. "What is?" You breathed out, hands moving to rest on his forearms as you unknowingly caught his bait.

"Not being able to see you every day; To touch you every day." He said that as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, his head dipping to place open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of your neck. "To call you mine," He then whispered. You knew it were dumb to think he meant that, but for some reason, those four words made you want to give yourself to him completely.

Matt smiled for the first time since you'd walked in when you pulled back to admire his face, letting out a small hum when you leaned back into him to press your lips against his. Just like that, he walked you backwards towards his bed, hands slipping under your shirt to caress the soft skin of your stomach. The coldness of his silver rings caused you to hiss into the kiss, too distracted by the sensation to notice him turning you so that he was now with his back to his bed.

As he sat down on his bed, he pulled you down to straddle him, hands holding your waist. You looked down at his glossy blue eyes as your hands reached up to knock his hat off of his head, fingers threading through his brunette curls. "What d'you want, Matt?" You finally asked, one hand coming down to allow your finger to caress the underside of his chin as he looked up at you.

His hands traveled up your figure, lifting your shirt as he did so. He allowed his hands to rest on your boobs, kneeding them as he chuckled ever so quietly. "To not have to do the work this time," He answered in a teasing tone, eyes flickering down to look at where his hands worked.

Though reluctant, you lifted yourself off of his lap to hoover over it. Using one hand to stabilize yourself on his shoulder, your free hand made its way down to his belt buckle as he watched your every move intently, "Don't look so happy," You mused when your eyes had glanced up to see the excitement in his.

"You know I love this shit," He quipped as you pulled his belt through the loops, lifting himself just enough for you to pull his pants down to his thighs. You only had so long to admire all you could see through his boxers before you felt Matt tugging on your pants, pleading without words for you to take them off.

Again, you lifted yourself off of him, this time allowing him to unbutton your pants and shimmy them down your legs until they were discarded somewhere beside his bed. As he fiddled with your pants, your hand began palming him through his boxers, length already riled up from not being touched much longer than he was used to. He groaned as his eyes remained locked on yours, a wet patch turning a spot of his boxers a darker shade of gray.

After a bit of teasing, you decided it was time to finally get your eyes on the prize—his prize. Pulling it out of his boxers, you ran your hand along his shaft to feel it rock hard already. "So big," You muttered, eyes glued to it.

Matt couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips at your words, expression smug as it could be. "This's new news?" He asked playfully, a stark contrast to his usual cold behaviors. It was like he really came out of his shell when he was aroused, and you were ready to put him right back in it.

With a squeeze of his dick that caused him to grunt, you pulled your panties to the side and lined him up with your entrance. Matt looked enthralled as he watched you do your work like this were routine, hands leaving your hips to rest behind him, leaning back to tilt his head back when you sunk down onto him without warning.

His hair was messy, and he could feel he was ready to sweat with your gummy walls around him. Lips pursing together, he hummed as you began to slowly grind into him, letting you do the work, just like he said he wanted.

It wasn't long before you began bouncing on him, hands on his shoulders for stability as you let out choked moans, as if his cock were suffocating you. The quick pace had your thighs burning, struggling to keep up with it, and yet, Matt simply watched in enjoyment. It wasn't often he allowed himself to freely make noise, but you could tell he was really enjoying this, with the way he had let out more groans and pants than usual.

Seemingly out of nowhere, his hands dartted out to grip the flesh of your hips as you continued your motions. You could've swore you heard a whimper when his head dropped forward to lean on the front of your shoulder. "Fu–ck this," He drawled out to you, hips begining to meet yours as he chase his high.

This simple, not so innocent gesture only served to fuel you, completely forgetting about the burning sensation. Your bounces got bigger, lifting yourself all the way to his tip before dropping back onto him with shreik-like moans. Matt was loving this, pants and groans now following each motion on his painfully ready cock.

"K- keep goin' f'me, baby, m'gettin close," He rasped, forcing himself to lift his head from your shoulder so he could look in your eyes while he came.

You nodded, bouncing mixing with grinding as you tried to tell him you were close too. It was too late. You let out a loud moan as you snapped on top of him, Matt following suit at the feeling of your sticky liquid releasing all over his dick. Your movements slowed to ride out your guys' orgasms before eventually coming to a halt, both of you panting with each other.

"Le's, uh— We'll do that more often, yeah?"

○

"Come on over, baby, can you slide for me? Yeah / You know how I love it when you ride on me." -Chase Atlantic

w/c : 1.8k a/n : if you've sent in any anons, i promise i'm getting to them. it's taking me a while cs i take forever to write and now i'm super busy so please bare w me, these anons have been building up for months now...

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[cdbabymp3]

ur writing is so chefs kiss omggg 🤍 would love if you could expand on the part in your hc fic on where a sex scene comes up and hamzah gets super nervous omggg

MDNI 18+ expansion on my editor!reader hc's (tysm for the kind words !!!<3)

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚ to be fair, both of you did not do research on the movie currently playing in front of you. it was rated R, but for what reasons neither of you cared to check. hamzah sort of just put it on and beckoned you to couch after you'd been editing for a majority of the day. it was smooth sailing for the first 45 minutes or so, until the two main love interests finally get each other alone. anticipating what's to come next, hamzah clears his throat and gets up to get more popcorn from the kitchen. he's gone for longer than he should and once he returns, the two characters finally start going at it.

"jesus christ..." he mumbles, pretending to check a notification on his phone as the two characters grind against each other.

it's graphic. not just a brief little love scene. no, god, no. the main girl whimpers and pants, riding the main with so much force that their bed rocks against the wall. the man grips her ass, spanking her roughly as she begs him for more.

your face feels like it's on fire and you can only imagine what hamzah must be feeling. he lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, adjusting his pajama pants not-so-discreetly.

"we can-um, we can watch something else if you want." you suggest, grabbing the remote and turning down the volume to the main girl isn't screeching in your ear.

hamzah shakes his head, mouth full of popcorn, "nah, it's fine. i'm sure it's almost done."

boy, was he wrong. the scene lasted about 5 minutes and little did you know, hamzah was internally a fucking wreck. being a single guy, was one thing. sure, he got horny pretty frequently. but, being a single guy living with a single girl who he thought was the hottest woman to ever grace his presence......it had him praying you couldn't read his mind in this moment. if you knew what he was imagining, the dirty fantasies of throwing you on the bed the way the characters did.....he doesn't even want to think about how much you'd probably hate him.

"are you okay?" you nudge his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance.

he blinks a couple times, swallowing the chewed popcorn that had just been sitting in mouth, "yeah, no-sorry. i was trying to disassociate so this damn scene would go by faster."

a lie. a blatant lie that he hopes you'll believe. but you don't. how are you supposed to believe him when he looks all flushed and awkward, scratching the back of his neck while he avoids eye contact. he's a terrible liar, you giggle to yourself. however, for the sake of your work relationship, you just shrug and lay back against the couch.

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა taglist ; @nativegirltapes @etherealval + let me know if u wanna be added !!!

[warlocksoup]

into the spider-verse: nishinoya yuu

volume one, chapter one: emails

word count: 2.1k

masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

I know about him.

Teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she stares down at her laptop screen. At the same email she’s been staring at for the last three days, ever since she first got the notification for it on her subway ride home. From ijs99ETJfdhsg@yahoo.com: I know about him. To anyone else, it might not bear the same weight. To her, it’s suffocating.

She’s done everything she can to try and trace it. Everything she can, of course, being Googling the address and enlisting the help of Yachi from the IT department at the Bugle. The outcome of the former being: Your search - ijs99ETJfdhsg@yahoo.com- did not match any documents, and the outcome of the latter being Yachi’s entire laptop getting infected with malware.

So, not great.

She shifts on the stiff stuffing of her couch, legs crossed under her and the heat from the bottom of her laptop on the bare skin of her thighs. I know about him. She hopes it’s a bluff. Realistically, she knows it’s not. But she’s still in the denial stage.

The screen goes dark, and she wiggles her mousepad to brighten it up once more, just so she can stare longer. She can’t tell him. Not yet. Ideally, not ever. But definitely not yet.

“What are you doing?”

She jolts, automatically slamming her laptop shut as she does so and jumping to face the source of the intrusion.

Spider-Man’s in her living room.

Which is fair. It’s his living room too, even if she does pay the lion’s share of the rent.

“Porn,” is her immediate response and the only thing she can think of to justify her reaction, even if it makes her cheeks burn. “Watching porn,” she doubles down, because she has to.

He reaches behind his head and grabs the end of his mask that sits at the back of his neck, pulling it off in one swift movement. Nishinoya looks at her with his hair flattened against his forehead, blond streak brushing against his brow, and a blossoming, deep purple purse spread across his cheek. “In the living room? Well, I guess I am home early, so can’t complain there.”

She pushes her the laptop off to the couch, and stalks towards him, eyes now fixed on the bruise that stains his features. “And what the fuck happened to you?”

Noya grins at her, bright and unfazed. Almost proud, like his injuries are a badge of honor. “Just ran into my good friend Alexei Sytsevich. He was super stoked to see me.”

Her hand shoots out and takes hold of his jaw, lightly squishing the soft flesh of his cheek together as she tilts his head to the side, trying to get a better look at the damage. Noya just stands there and lets her. “Thought that guy was in jail.”

“Broke out,” Noya says, words barely making it out between his smooshed-up lips. She releases him, and steps back. “He loves breaking out of jail. It’s like his favorite thing to do.”

Noya steps back, and retreats into his bedroom, closing the door with his foot as he does so. Still, she can hear his voice coming through their thin, plaster walls. “I don’t even know what that guy’s end game is anymore. I’m pretty sure he just wants me dead. It’s always like, ‘this is your end, Spider!’ when before he was a lot more focused on his personal goals, so.” 

She sighs and collapses back onto the couch again. Freak emails from freak strangers with untraceable email addresses and Sytsevich breaking out of jail for the thousandth-fucking-time to wreck his havoc on Noya’s face. Her hair is going to start turning gray. “You’d think they would’ve built a cell to hold him, by now,” she calls, and Noya is swinging open his bedroom door to saunter back out into living room, suit abandoned in favor of old gym shorts and a vintage looking Godilla t-shirt. “What do you think costs more taxpayer dollars, building a better cell, or paying all those cops to get him back in again?”

Noya rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m the one they call, and they don’t pay me, so.”

That she knows all too well. It’s hard, being a single-income home. Since Noya’s full time job is both incredibly demanding and also unpaid, rent and utilities and groceries mostly fall on her shoulders. Which, it’s not like she can complain or hold it against him. In exchange, he’s the one and only Spider-Man, and she could do worse for roommates.

And he helps when he can, selling candid photos of Spider-Man to the Bugle so they can use them to accompany their hit pieces on him (Noya, of course, finds it incredibly ironic every time they write out a check to him, gleefully paying him for photos of himself).

Noya flicks on the kitchen light, and as he’s lingering in the kitchen, popping open the fridge door with his hip to stare blankly at its contents, she grabs at her laptop once more, opening it back up so she can stare at the email once more. “Do you wanna get a pizza tonight? Some guy gave me a twenty for saving his car from the Rhino’s path.”

“Twenty?” she echoes back, fingers hovering over the reply button. Should she reply? What would she even say? Her Internet safety training at work taught her to never reply to spam emails, just to report it to the system administrator. But looping in the Bugle on an email like this is the last thing she wants. “Seems kinda cheap for saving his entire car.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Noya calls back, closing the fridge. He flicks his wrist in the direction of the living room, and string of white web following it. It attaches itself to the side of a crinkled up, plastic water bottle she was drinking, and before she can blink, the water bottle finds itself in Noya’s hand.

“Dick,” she says, without looking up from her computer. “I was drinking that.”

“Can you look at your porn later? Do you want the pizza or not?”

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Between them is a half-eaten box of pepperoni pizza, propped open on the fire escape. Noya chews loudly on a slice, his eyes on the city skyline, and hers on him. She watches the bruise on his cheek, and how it moves and shifts with each bite he takes. She reaches out and grazes her thumb against it. He swats her hand away. “Stop it, stop worrying.”

She frowns and slides her hand between her pressed-together knees, like she’s trying to hold it still. “Who the fuck said I’m worried?”

“You’re always worried,” he replies, dusting off the end of his pizza nad leaning up against the closed window behind him. “Every time I come home with so much as a papercut, you’re staring at me like there’s a bullet hole in my chest.”

Her eyes drops, and she looks at the greased-stained cardboard between them. “Well, you have come home with bullet holes before, so.”

He sleeps them off. He wraps up the wound in that fucking webbing of his and he just sleeps it off like it’s a headache or scratch or something most people wouldn’t even go to the doctor for. And then she’ll find dried, rusted bits of that webbing, littered around the house.

“Yeah, and I turned out fine,” he assures her, voice a bit softer now. She looks at him, brown eyes shining and slight grin unwavering. “A bruise isn’t gonna kill me. I don’t want you to waste your energy freaking out over me. You have better things to be freaking out over. I know how horrible your boss is.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t really give a shit about him, to be honest.”

Her fingers fidget, and Noya reaches over, covering both of her hands with his. She looks up at him. “I’ll always take care of us both. Okay? Nothing can happen to me while I’m out there, because I know I gotta come back home and make sure you’re good. That’s my number one priority, and I’m not gonna break that promise. Alright?”

She nods her head. “Yeah, alright. I trust you.”

His grin brightens, and he leans forward to throw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “See, that’s my girl. Complete and total faith in me. I love to see it.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles, but rests her head against his shoulder. It feels nice, in his arms. “I’m really the one who takes care of you, y’know. By like, paying the bills.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Can I borrow ten bucks? I bet Tanaka-“

He stops and straightens out. She peers up at him, at watches as his focus narrows in on something in the distance. By the time she catches up, and she can hear the sirens start to go off in the distance, Nishinoya is gone, leaving a slight breeze against the strands of her hair.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

On her desk are two rejections.

The first is on Spider-Man, a feature piece that details his symbolic value to the people of New York; how valuable his presence in the community is and just what he represents to the average New Yorker. It theorizes that identity of Spider-Man isn’t what matters, but the meaning of the mask itself. And it has a big, yellow sticky note on it with the word ‘WRONG!’ written out angrily in thick, black marker.

She sighs. She knew that one wasn’t gonna make it past Jameson. Hardly any of her Spider-Man pieces do. Noya told her to just start writing smear pieces on him, just to get more articles published. But she’s not willing to sacrifice her journalistic integrity to write a bunch of bullshit about how her best friend is ‘getting in the way of the NYPD.’

The second is on the recently passed Norman Osborn. Most obituaries have been fluffy love letters to the capitalist, and maybe Jameson was expecting more of that, rather than a scathing dissection of his life, including, but not limited to, his involvement in developing and selling weapons of war. The sticky note on this one reads, ‘what is this commie crap?’ which, in all honesty, she should’ve been expecting.

She sighs and falls back into her chair. She needs a new, better job. At a place that will publish her articles without twisting her words into nonsense propaganda. A place that will pay her properly, and not like it’s nineteen-eighty-five.

There’s only one silver lining to her job, and that’s the blonde-haired girl depositing a hot latte and everything bagel on her desk. “Rejected again?” Yachi asks, pulling up a chair from the empty desk beside her.

“Ugh, apparently billionaire, tax-evading war criminal Norman Osborn was a friend to the masses that needs to be celebrated, and the guy that says innocent lives every day for free is public enemy number one,” she rants at once, snatching that coffee up and immediately gulping it down, ignoring how it burns her tongue on the way down.

“Yeah,” Yachi agrees. “You didn’t know that?”

She rolls her eyes, wiggling her mouse to wake up her computer. “Shut up.”

Yachi leans back in her chair, and gestures towards the computer screen. “Any more emails from that anonymous guy?”

“No, and thank god for that.”

“It’s so weird,” Yachi notes. “’I know about him,’ is weird, but they’re not threatening you for like, money or information or like any other average email scam. And from what I could see that guy really did not want to be tracked down, and spent a lot of time making sure you couldn’t. And for what? To say something weird.”

Yachi doesn’t know the weight of it. Doesn’t even begin to understand the threat, the implication. Yachi doesn’t even know how the ‘him’ is supposed to be. So she really doesn’t get how disconcerting those facts are. She contemplates, for a moment, slamming her head into the keyboard in front of her.

“Whatever,” she decides ultimately. “I’m just going to ignore it and hopefully absolutely nothing will come of it. It’s how I deal with most of my problems.”

“Oh, what a coincidence, me too,” Yachi laughs, and then stands. “I gotta go. Jameson accidentally downloaded malware onto his computer trying to claim a Target gift card. Have fun rewriting your articles.”

“See you for lunch?” she calls after Yachi’s retreating form.

“Yep!” Yachi confirms with a wave of her hand, disappearing down the line of small, cramped cubicles.

With one, deep, calming breath, she returns her attention to the desktop in front of her. She stretches her neck to the left, and then to the right, and prepares for another day of endless bullshit.

Ding!

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE.

taglist: @wyrcan @causenessus @seroh @19calicos @w4nyoung @soulfullystarry @chocolains @jaynawayna @baylz @vuntysharck @mollyrolls @boooolame @staileykout @angee444 @kameyyy @choerry-picking @giocriedpower @sunakeiji @sleepzyy @lunasfics @thecoolestlia @yoshit-he-dinosaur @bectoshi @thatonecroc @karasyuu @iatethemochi @itsdragonius @syverse @savemebrazilhinata @localgaytrainwreck @snail-squasher @atzixo @ahdbodhr @nbcvs @dailyakira @kasumiixs @s1ckntw1st3d @noble-17 @atsumuenthusiast @jino0ix @boobilater @keeboismine @scxrcherr @acowboykisser @impatienscush @loverlunaire @oneiratxxia10 @kattiscrying @dazqa @termite-joe @quikhs @cupidsblonde @izukuwus @greninjafan5000 @mplesyrup

[lukolabrainrot]

Calm theory anon here again!! Lord knows I'm exhausted of this little girl but I wanted to touch on what all we have seen since Italy Birthday trip and Lukes recent like. 1. It was reported by someone who took a photo with Luke at the airport that he was alone. Meaning he flew back by himself. Rumor that he left two days before 2. We got radio silence from the group for a while. 3. Rory unfollowed sienna then it was reported on by the fan pages and then he followed her back. 4. Sienna unfollowed Jack Vine (this is the guy that Luke stays with when he didn't have a house) then it was reported on by the fan pages and she followed him back. The last couple days she's unfollowed him again. 5. Charmaine reposted on TikTok about NDA👀 6. Rory takes a trip with his mom. 7. Sienna likes a post of Hannah Dodd and Nicola from fashion week. 8. Sienna hasn't liked any type of photos of A since early August nor did she like that last Luke post. Now with all this information I'm sure we all can come up with some conclusions. I do think that Luke set up some type of NDA which in my opinion was necessary. We have to remember that Luke's management team is actually a very well-known and establish team this was told to me by people in the PR field. He doesn't have newbies. Now I'm sure that pissed a lot of his friends off. It made them keep quiet about things that they might not have wanted to be quiet about. We clearly see something going on. Now Luke liking A stuff. it was 10 1/2 hours after she posted on her grid with a story posted after four hours of the photos being live. Now the posting to her stories of the grid picture is a new thing. That didn't start till after Italy. What does that tell me? She knows that his notifications for her has been probably turned off. So in order for him to see her photos, she would have to post it in her story which he most likely watches those. This particular photo wasn't liked until after Nicola posted at the concert. I don't believe in coincidences. He got a notification that Nicole posted. Then he went online afterwards watching Nicola story. Now who to say it's not part of his NDA that he has with her that. But as I was thinking about all of this today, one of the interviews that Nic and Luke came to mind. When they were discussing red flags. And one of the questions was keeping up with an ex. Nic said something like I feel that how you speak of your ex says a lot about you or something like that. Remember, Luke listens to every single thing that Nikola has said. She's the one person in this world that he remembers how they met down to the chairs they had sat on. So he would remember stuff like this. So it could be an NDA thing or it could be him trying to be civil with his ex. Regardless of the like which does not tell you anything. The only thing that tells me is she is desperate for that like. She has to put it in her story so that he will see it, she wants that like so bad that she's doing something she never had to do before. Why does she want the like so bad? Because she can control the fandom. Every time Luke likes this girls picture people spiral. it's like on a photo. He's not commenting on it. He's not giving her heart eyes. He's not sharing it to his stories. He liked the picture. We don't know the reason why and we will never know. All I'm saying there is a lot going on BTS that's clearly evident by how they're all moving. We just gotta wait for Nicola to speak more. Remember, her voice should always outshine this girl's voice. Nicola has given us all hints that something more is happening. Let's trust her please

As always, love your thoughts and theories!

Here are some additional theories/thoughts I have about the SM events from today. Disclaimer: These are just my thoughts and interpretations based on all the publicly available information I have seen recently. So please do not take this as 100% fact!

N didn't post her Chappell Roan story until almost midnight her time

L THEN preceded to like A's post approximately 30 minutes after N's CR story- which at that point was technically the day AFTER A made her post

So my little delulu theory is that N went home to L after the concert with her besties, they cuddled up and caught up, N posted her story, this made L log on to IG and prompted him to do his obligatory like of miss A's post after seeing A's story

Some additional notes/thoughts:

Even if N DIDN'T go home to L, all of the available information Calm Theory Anon and I have laid out here tells me this. L DOES NOT HAVE NOTIFICATIONS ON FOR A AND IS NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO WHAT SHE IS POSTING. L IS DOING THIS WITH N THOUGH.

He also liked A's post within a really short time of N's CR story. Now, the only thing this definitively says is that L/N were on their IG accounts around the same period of time. But this was around 12:30 AM their time. It was pretty late at night, and like it's just an interestingggg coincidence if L/N were separate and just both getting on SM around the same time at that time at night. We also know N tends to go on SM when she is getting ready for bed (N has said this). And she posted the CR story around the time she most likely was getting home from the concert. I think there are just a lot of signs/clues pointing that L/N were together around midnight their time. And L was NOT at the CR concert, so that means she would have met up with L AFTER the concert. And if she was meeting L after the concert at that time at night, they were probably with each other the rest of the night. So this is what leads me to believe that N went home to L OR L got the notification for N's story and got on SM and saw A's story. The timing of it all is just very interestingggg to me 🤔

Lastly, A had to essentially BEG L for this like. Why does L still have to like her posts? I have no definitive answer. My thoughts are it's some sort of contractual agreement. Regardless, these likes have no direct indication of L/A's relationship BTS. If I look at the full picture of EVERYTHING, all the signs indicate that L/N are spending more time together (or just since August decided to start publicly hinting to the fandom that they are spending a lot of time together). And all the signs point to L/A not being on good terms, and that there was some sort of rupture in L's friend group around the Italy bday trip.

These are just my thoughts though. What does everyone else think?

[trialbywombaat]

🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺

Okay so I might not be able to commit to 171 sentences 😂 But I will for sure give you a good chunk 💖💖💖

He hesitates, trying to figure out how much Howie knows. He never technically came out to Howie, or anyone else at the 118. He'd relied on the LA first responder grapevine, the same one that had let him know that Bobby and Athena had gotten hitched; that Chim was engaged and had a kid. He settles on a vague-ish response and presses send. Not exactly what I was asking... He waits, and wonders if it takes longer for text messages to travel overseas. He doesn't know much about the science behind it, and he's never had much reason to look into it before, but maybe Evan would know. It seems like something he'd be interested in. If it doesn't take longer for text messages to travel overseas, though, Howie is being frustratingly slow. Probably for a good reason, but it's annoying nonetheless. He swipes out of his messages app and opens Instagram. He barely uses it, and only even has an account because an ex had convinced him to download it, but now he finds himself typing 'Evan Buckley' into the search bar and tapping on Evan's profile. It's only been a few hours, but already he'd started to wonder if he was exaggerating Evan's attractiveness in his mind. But looking at Evan's profile, at the endless supply of thirst traps and selfies he's posted, it's quickly apparent that Tommy hasn't misremembered a damn thing. Evan is exactly his type. His finger hovers over the 'follow' button. It wouldn't be weird to follow Evan, would it? They've already exchanged numbers, after all. Before he can tap the button, though, his phone buzzes again. A response from Howie. Not a particularly helpful response, though. It just says, ohhhh. He watches the three little dots appear and bounce around while Howie is apparently typing more, and he tries not to think about how much he cares about the answer. Finally, another message appears. Sorry man, but he is famously into women. Okay. That's okay. He won't deny the disappointment he feels settling deep in his stomach. He really had thought Evan was flirting with him. And usually his gaydar is pretty accurate. But he's not infallible. Part of him wants to argue that Evan could be into women and men. Maybe Chim just doesn't know about it. But the word 'famously' gives him pause. There's more to the story that Tommy doesn't know, so if Howie thinks Evan is straight, who is Tommy to disagree. He allows himself to feel the disappointment for a moment, to ride it out. But he isn't going to dwell on it. It's not the first time Tommy's been attracted to a straight guy, and it probably won't be the last. He knows how this goes by now. Maybe they'll drum up a decent friendship, and Tommy will have someone to watch Fight Club with when they're back in LA. Or maybe they'll drift apart, and five years from now they won't even remember each other's names. And even if it seems to hurt a little more this time, if he can't seem to get Evan's face out of his mind, it's probably just because they've spent so long together already. Because he'd sat there for five hours refusing to move for fear of waking Evan, of losing the warm pressure of his head against Tommy's shoulder, and he'd imagined what it might be like to wake up like that every morning. So it might take him a little longer to move on than usual. But he'll figure it out. He allows himself one last look at Evan's instagram before he tries to get some sleep. A goodbye of sorts. At the top of Evan's profile he sees a notification that's just popped up. Buckaroo_Buckley_ wants to follow you. He has no choice but to follow back.

[dancingdonatello]

tmnt x reader competition 💚🐢

remember my post about wishing how someone would do a contest thing again ? :] have fun if you join!!

what do i have to do??? write a tmnt x reader fan fiction to one of the prompts i linked!!! then i’ll pick the winner and the winner gets something written by me (110% effort)!!! i’ll take suggestions for different prizes as well if someone wants something different :] or you can join just for the fun of it!!

depending on how many people join, i’ll either make a poll to vote or just pick the winner myself (more likely) :)

anyone can join!!!! you don’t have to be a tmnt x reader account or have even written before!!! everyone is welcome!!

rules / guidelines:

- post it to your account and tag me (whether it’s in the comments or the post itself doesn’t matter, just so i can get a notif & see it)

- ‘due date’: october 25

(i’ll update this if people need more time !)

- make it only one part!! no part two, part three… just one! :]

- no need to message me if to join (you can just post it & tag me) but i’d love to know! anyone can join! doesn’t matter if you haven’t written before either!!!

- have fun!!! challenge yourself in some way!!!

prompt:

write a tmnt (any iteration) x reader fic to the ‘prompt’:

pick any from here or here or just take inspo !

(i didnt pick just one so they could all be different but the basis is … not quite dating yet!!!! oh no!!! will they get there or not?!)

reblogs are appreciated! ❤️ everyone is free to join!!!

[awrkive]

PLS SHARE THE DOYEON CONFESSION SCENE DRABBLE PLS RACHEL SEND IT TO US X🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

summary: tlp drabble #1 where doyeon confesses to jk in first year med school

w/c: 1.5k

note: this ask was sent a few days ago and i actually already have this drabble in the drafts so.... yes 🤓i welcome u to the ribbon cutting ceremony of the unlocking of a new tag in awrkive nation: tlp drabbles

Doyeon believes that she’ll only live until sixty-five – seventy, if luck’s on her side. Ultimately, she’s firm on her stand that life is short and everybody needs to get off whatever is on their chest before it’s too late. 

It’s why when she sees Jungkook arriving in Moon’s Printing Shop – where their study group holds their sessions – she sits upright and fixes her already neatly piled books and notes on the table once again, preparing herself.

Just ask the question and get over it quickly. She reminds herself.

“Where’s __?” Is the first thing that comes out of Jungkook’s mouth, taking off the straps of his backpack and setting it down on the chair across hers, as well as some of his bound reviewers and iPad. 

Doyeon raises her brow.

It’s weird when Jungkook does that. Asking about you whenever and wherever when you’re not around. She knows you were friends first before you both found her, and you are close – it’s second nature at this point. Still, Doyeon can’t help but be a little suspicious.

But she decides to ignore that, not wanting to put malice in Jungkook’s intentions because it would be unfair to him. She doesn’t want to be that kind of person who thinks that men and women can’t be purely platonic. You’re just good friends, is all.

Though, she definitely did assume that you both were a couple the first time she saw you. Physiology had just ended and Jungkook said he needed to go to the next floor to meet someone for lunch. Doyeon asked to tag along, and that was the first time she met you. Fast forward, you actually weren't his girlfriend. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Jungkook blushed though when she asked him about it.

Glancing at her phone, she sees the empty notification bar, indicating that you haven’t replied to her text from twenty minutes ago. 

“She said she was coming. Twenty minutes ago. She also said it’s okay if we start without her.” Doyeon responds, and she watches as Jungkook settles on his seat, nodding at her.

He goes for his own phone, clicks on it as if also texting you himself. 

Doyeon watches him with furrowed brows. Jungkook is definitely… conventionally attractive. He sports a medium-length hair, is quite tall, and has a good sense of fashion – even now when he’s just wearing the university hoodie and a pair of baggy sweatpants, he looks good. Naia from Physiology has been asking about him.

Doyeon has had a few crushes from highschool to college, and she thinks Jungkook might be her first in post-grad school. 

She’s been thinking about it for a while… though, she’s only known him for two months. Still. He looks good, and most of all, he’s nice. He let her borrow a pen from him the first day they met and was extremely friendly. 

And also really smart. Doyeon likes that most about him. 

Doyeon rids her head off the thoughts.

“Anyway. Anatomy.” She starts flipping through her book, ready to start the session. But she remembers about what she has to say to him.

Oh, well. She's already mentioned Anatomy and studying. Might as well put off the confession for a few more days. The exam is more important.

Putting his phone down, Jungkook looks through his book as well. "Midterms is next week, right?"

Doyeon nods. “Yeah... and brachial plexus is convoluted to me.” 

“Oh, yeah. Threw me off at first, too,” Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head to himself. He grabs a piece of paper. “You just really have to figure out how the branches and divisions work. Let me show you something,” 

Jungkook turns the paper to Doyeon’s direction, and with a pen, he sketches out a simple diagram of the brachial plexus, starting with the roots, then moving to the trunks, divisions, cords, and finally the terminal branches.

“Okay, so it starts here with the roots— C5 to T1. Think of it like the beginning of a tree. Then these roots combine into trunks,” He scribbles it, and then looks at Doyeon for awhile, making sure she’s still following. She gives him a slight nod. He smiles. “Annnd, there’s the superior, middle, and inferior trunks… and they split into anterior and posterior divisions.” 

He’s talking calmly, methodical in his words. He simplifies such a complex system with clear, organized steps, and this makes Doyeon lean closer, impressed not only by Jungkook’s understanding but by how easily he breaks it down.

When Jungkook’s done explaining, Doyeon leans back to her chair. “That is a really neat diagram.” She looks at the original illustration that the lecturer presented a few weeks ago, and when Jungkook sees that, he laughs lightly. 

“Yeah, that diagram is just a mess. But it does click when you just think of it like a pathway—kind of like navigating through a map,” As if he remembers something, he lights up a little. “And oh, __ also taught me a mnemonic. You just have to remember the terminal branches, MARMU. Musculocutaneous, Axillary—’

“Radial, Median, and Ulnar nerves.”

Jungkook grins. “Exactly.” 

Nodding her head, she starts to do the same drawing on her notes. 

A few minutes passed, comfortable silence hanging in the air. Doyeon had kept on looking up from her book to Jungkook, who’s diligently reading and scribbling on his iPad. 

She remembers the confession again.

Doyeon can't help it. She has to ask. Now.

“Hey,” she calls.

Jungkook looks up from his device. “Hm?” 

“I have to ask you something.”

With a raised brow, Jungkook says, “You look serious. I’m a little scared.”

She furrows her brows and he chuckles, telling her to continue. 

“Are you dating somebody?” Doyeon asks straight ahead. There’s no need to tiptoe around it. She just has to get it out of her system before it becomes worse.

Obviously taken aback and not expecting the question at all, Jungkook opens and closes his mouth like fish in water. 

“... no?” 

“You’re not sure?” Doyeon asks, confused.

Jungkook stammers. “No, I mean— yes. No. I’m not dating anybody,” He raises a brow at her. “Why?” 

Doyeon nods. 

“I like you. Are you interested in going out with me?”

Doyeon waits. She watches as Jungkook seems to freeze in his seat, his hand holding his apple pencil pausing mid-air; mouth agape, eyes widened a bit. 

She waits for a few seconds, still not getting an answer from Jungkook. 

“Okay.” Doyeon says after the stretched-out silence, going back to her book.

Well. That was worth the shot. At least she's let it out now. 

“I—what?” Jungkook splutters, sounding incredulous. “What do you mean you like me? Like, like? And you want to go out with me?” 

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Offer is now off the table. Let’s get back to studying.” 

“What— were you even serious?” Jungkook insists. “Was that a prank or something?” 

With furrowed brows, Doyeon looks at him quizzically. “Why would I joke about something like that?” 

“Because…” He trails off, then his shoulders deflate after a few seconds. “I don’t know.” 

“Okay?” When Doyeon sees him with a pouty expression on his face, she can’t help but frown. “Don’t think too much about it, Jungkook. It’s not serious. I just wanted to ask. You gave me an answer. That’s it.” 

“I didn’t give you an answer, though?” 

“Your silence meant enough.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything. She nudges his foot under the table. “Come on, don’t be weird about this.”

Sighing, Jungkook nods his head. “Alright.” 

A few beats of silence, and Doyeon remembers something. “Don’t ever mention this to anybody, not even __, you understand me?” 

He blinks at her. “Okay.” 

Doyeon can’t say the next few minutes weren’t awkward. She felt Jungkook looking up at her every now and then, as if checking up on her. By then, she started to feel the hairs on her body prickle. Is he thinking she’s like, in love with him, or something? 

“Hello!” Doyeon looks up from her notes to see you walking in the door. “Hi Doyeon, hi Jungkook!” you cheerfully greet them both with a bright smile. 

Doyeon thinks your smile is contagious, so she mirrors your it as well. When her gaze falls to Jungkook, that’s when she takes note of it. 

The way his eyes suddenly light up at your arrival. It's not the first time it happens. He has that look every single time you're in the room.

Jungkook instantly goes over to you to help you with the books you’re carrying. When he sets them down on the table, he empties the chair beside him so you can settle down on it, which you do. 

“You’re late. Where were you?” Jungkook asks, and Doyeon doesn’t know if it was supposed to be subtle— but he definitely scooted his chair closer to yours, leaning his elbow to the table and twisting his body to your direction, giving you his undivided attention.

“Oh, just good old traffic. I made a quick trip to a cafe,” you wave him off. Lifting your hand, Doyeon looks at the cup holder you’re holding. “I bought coffee. Doyeon, do you like iced americano?”

“Uh, yeah,” Doyeon smiles shyly. She’s still shy around you. She doesn’t know why. “Thank you. I’ll venmo you.” 

There’s an instant frown on your face. With a pout, you take the cup holder close to your chest, an offended expression on your face. “No, it’s a treat. Don’t venmo me anything.” 

Doyeon can’t help but chuckle. 

“Okay.” 

Your huge grin returns and you give her the cup of iced americano. Turning to Jungkoon who looks like he’s eagerly waiting for his own, you raise a brow at him, saying, “And this one's for you. But double the price.”

Jungkook frowns. 

You both end up arguing again. It’s light-hearted and good-natured, that’s what Doyeon thinks. Your friendship is just… bizarre like that. 

But as she sits across from you, watching both your and Jungkook’s interaction, Doyeon realizes something. 

She should’ve known. She’s always thought about it. She wanted to ignore her hunch because again, she thinks women and men can be friends – but that is hard to uphold when Jungkook is so painfully obvious. 

Oh, brother. Doyeon internally shakes her head. Jungkook definitely likes you.

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: cute little way to end the night .. OR SO U THINK

one | two | three | four | five

authors note: 😋😋 dont be mad guys im writing the next part asap. if you arent already part of the tag list, let me know in the replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

(pretend he’s wearing the same clothes stop)

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dstarkeynews Drew and Y/N’s first appearance in a year on September 30th in Santa Barbara, California!

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user1 i haven’t heard about them in forever

user2 ALMOST HAD HIM

user3 I thought they broke up 😭😭

↳ user4 i think they’re on and off

user5 I remember them from 2018 they’re so cute!

user6 tbh i’m happy for them !!

↳ user6 i’m crying .

user7 y’all don’t love them like i do

user8 i was really hoping they didn’t break up omg

user9 they thought they could keep it a secret 😒

user10 WERE THOSE FLOWERS FOR Y/N ????!?$:!:! OMGMGF 😭

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you’re carrying a basket of groceries as you walk with leila through the area. there’s not much on your mind besides checking items off of leila’s list. and it feels nice not having to worry about anything because leila makes you feel normal, makes you and drew feel normal.

speaking of, drew’s just trailing behind you both, though he checks out a few things whenever he sees something he wants to try.

eventually he comes up from your left side and places something he’s bought into your basket, then takes it from you so he can hold your hand with his opposite hand. it feels so natural that you don’t even react, and even if you did acknowledge it, you don’t care.

“it’s so nice to just be out here like regular human beings,” you say, though you note that there’s always a few following behind you three but keep their distance to be a little respectful of your space.

you can hear them giggling every now and then or saying ‘hi’ to their videos that they capture you in, but you don’t think much of it. you think it’s adorable.

drew, however, is itching to get to the car and go home already. leila’s complained twice already that they haven’t completed her list but you’ve already bought everything important for tonight, so you just suggest you go home so both parties still benefit.

leila’s a stubborn one but she gives in when drew is pleading with his palms together. you laugh when she says she can’t stand seeing his “stupid fucking puppy dog eyes”.

when you’re done with your little mini-trip, you return to the car. leila is skipping over with two bags of things while you and drew walk together behind her, swinging your hands back and forth.

he opens your door for you and takes the basket from you so he can keep it in the backseat with leila who happily takes it, and you slide into the passenger’s seat without a thought.

“come on,” his voice pulls you out of the tiktok you’re watching, and you switch your phone off, leaving it on the bed as you drag a blanket with you.

drew’s heading downstairs and he dives right into the sofa, awaiting for everyone to come down already. you wrap the blanket around your body as you shuffle over, seating yourself by his legs.

he sits up instinctively and wraps his arms around you, the side of his head resting on your shoulder as you look around. only a few of you are there—you’re just missing gia and libby who, you guess, are getting the snacks and drinks. and you’re right.

“incoming everyone! don’t be alarmed,” libby says as she and gia make way with the food, and you’re in awe at the spread they’re providing.

“you have your homemade sandwiches—”

“that leila bought from the store,” libby is playing gia’s truth echo that makes you and the others laugh.

“assortment of chips!”

“that i got carried away with and ate half of!”

“can’t go wrong with your candies!”

“theo you owe me fifteen dollars!”

“what?”

“and lastly,” gia closes it out as libby runs back to the kitchen to bring over the tray of cups and drinks. you see oscar rub his hands together mischievously as leila practically drools at the sight. “our drinks!”

libby holds up a cup, “with your name on this complimentary glass that you get to take home after the trip.”

you woo as the glass cups get passed down, and you compare yours with drews while giggling about the free gift. you reach for one of the bottles and fill your glass with it, then take a sip.

“this is what you were working all day on while we were away?” leila asks the girls, extremely impressed by how much dedication they had to providing everyone snacks for her movie night. it essentially is just putting the items into cute bowls and calling it a day, but still. it made her heart warm.

you reach forward and grab a few of the candies and hand one to drew, hinting that you want to try it together. these were purchased by you because you were curious about the taste earlier while you were out.

“ready?” you ask him quickly as he already knows the drill, getting prepared to try it as you count it off. “one, two—” you lean your head back to let the multiple candies you have slide into your mouth while drew just pops his one into his mouth.

as you chew, you raise your eyebrows in surprise. they're really good, and he nods, a small ‘oh yeah’ escaping his lips as he sucks some of the chocolate off of his fingers. you reach over to grab the small bowl, then keep it for yourself without saying anything.

you and drew share a blanket so you’re able to hide the bowl on your lap while he reaches to fill his glass with a drink. oscar hits play on the first movie and you lean into drew’s side to watch the movie this way.

you fall asleep during the second movie, long story short. you can’t help it. but at least you last longer than leila, who fell asleep toward the end of the first one. she was the first one to fall asleep during her own movie night.

drew’s arm tightens around you for a moment, and he shifts to look down at you, finally noticing you’ve completely drifted off.

with a sigh, he decides to call it a night and he rises, sliding out from under you. you stir but don’t fully wake, instinctively curling into the empty spot left by his body.

he hesitates, but then scoops you up gently. you don’t wake up even a bit while your head rests against his chest and he carries you upstairs to the guest room.

the room is already dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in through the windows. he carefully lays you down on the bed, your body finding the most comfortable position as he covers you with the blanket. your breathing is steady as you fall deeper into sleep, and he stands there for a moment, watching you in the soft light, before he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against your leg as he retrieves his phone from his back pocket.

for the first time all day, drew unlocks his phone, the screen lighting up with a shit ton of notifications. missed calls, texts, and a few unread emails flash across the screen, and he scrolls through them with a frown, trying to catch up.

as he gets back up to return to his side of the bed, he swipes through several messages, most of them from his close friends—some teasing, some concerned—before he pauses on one that makes his heart sink.

his eyes narrow, his thumb hovering over the text as his mind races. he was expecting a couple of messages, but not this. not this many. his phone buzzes again, a few more messages lighting up the screen, and he rubs a hand across his face, letting out a quiet, frustrated breath.

his gaze flickers to you again, making sure you’re still fast asleep. the last thing he wants is to wake you up with this, but he glances back down at his phone.

he presses the power button on his phone with a little more force than necessary, the screen going black, then he tosses the phone onto the nightstand with a dull thud. he quickly winces when the sound is a little louder than he expected.

his heart skips a beat when you stir, your eyes fluttering open just slightly, still half-asleep.

“star?” you mumble softly, the name slipping out instinctively.

drew freezes, his gaze immediately shifting to you as you shift under the covers. he forces a smile, leaning forward a little, his voice low and soothing. “sorry,” he murmurs. “just dropped my phone. go back to sleep, okay?”

you blink at him, your eyes barely open, but you manage a small nod, already too drowsy to fully process what’s going on. you can’t read that he’s just lied to you.

“mmf, okay…” you mumble, your body curling into the pillow as you drift back into sleep.

he lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as your breathing evens out again. for a moment, the tension in his chest eases, but only just. he leans back, letting his head rest against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments before turning off the bedside lamp.

as the darkness settles around him, the weight of everything presses down harder, and he turns onto his side, facing you. the soft glow of moonlight still filters through the window, and you look so . . . peaceful.

he stays like that for a while, watching you sleep, his mind swirling with thoughts he can’t quiet.

but eventually, drew pulls the blanket up over his shoulder and closes his eyes, trying to shut out the noise in his head and go to sleep.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey

[cinnaleaf]

ESSENCE OF US - CH 6: IN LIMBO*

Please read responsibly. This fic will get hot and heavy as the story progresses, 18+ only MDNI | READ CH 5 | MASTERLIST | READ CH 7 [soon]

summary: a fleeting encounter with a mysterious Trent leaves you wondering if fate is playing a bigger match. your paths continue to cross in unexpected places as the fragrances around you mirror the growing tension between you. maybe it's just a coincidence..or maybe its destiny in the making.

warnings: ANGSTY, SMUT, unprotected sex, language, intense anxiety genre: angst, fluff, slow(ish) burn romance wc: ~7.6k a/n: L'Équilibre Caché means hidden balance

A couple of months passed since you and Trent made things official. You weren’t sure how time flew by so quickly, but it felt right. In the beginning, you were inseparable; always at his house or your apartment, grabbing late night eats, or waking up to the best cuddles and lazy kisses. However, recently things slowed down. Life happened. Trent was busy with football, and you were buried deep in preparation for your perfume launch. It was taking longer than you anticipated, thanks to a very handsome distraction. 

You glanced around Les Notes d’Amour, inhaling the mix of floral, citrus, and spice elements that lingered in the air. The launch was still a few months away, but your nerves were starting to creep in because nothing felt solid yet. As much as you hated to admit it, this was your most personal creation and you didn’t want to mess it up. You sat at the counter with your lavender notebook open, absentmindedly scribbling ideas for any new scents you could add as you watched a live interview of Trent on your phone. God, he looked so good. How could someone look so sexy post match? You continued scribbling and jotting down ideas on different pages for inspiration. One page was blank, except for a small doodle of a solar eclipse in the corner with a sentence written that said ‘I want you for as long as the stars shine’, but you didn’t notice it as you flipped past since you were too occupied by how good he looked on your screen. Seeing his smile always gave you butterflies, even if it was just on a phone screen. 

“Mate, I gotta ask..” the interviewer said, leaning forward. “what aftershave are you wearing? You smell amazing.”

You froze, the pen dropping against the notebook paper immediately. 

Oh, shit. Please don’t.

Trent grinned, clearly enthralled by the compliment as he reached in his jacket. “Ahh, this? It's custom..one of a kind actually. Made just for me by my gi–umm… someone close.”

No, no, no. He almost said girlfriend, there’s no way no one caught that.

“It's called Rêveur,” he said, pulling out the bottle and holding it up for the camera. He tried to be subtle, he really did, but he failed miserably—like always. He turned the bottle in an attempt to hide the logo, but in his excitement he twisted it back to reveal the full label: Rêveur by Les Notes d’Amour. Y/N L/N.

Fuuuuuuuck. 

You felt your stomach drop. This was it. The final puzzle piece the media needed to confirm you were his girlfriend. The suspicions were already there of course, but there wasn’t a clear and definite answer until now. Your phone started going off immediately as banners popped up at the top of your screen. Emails, notifications, messages, website inquiries. You stared at the screen while the interviewer looked at the bottle with curious eyes. Trent was completely clueless about leaking the label. He stood there with the biggest smile on his face, going on about how special it was and how much he loved it. It would’ve been a cute moment if it weren’t for the logo being caught on screen in 4k quality. You grabbed your phone, frantically texting him as your fingers moved at the speed of light.

WTF??? LOGO ON SCREEN!! YOU HAD ONE JOB

You sat there, fumbling back and forth between the live interview and your texts as you waited for his response. There was no way he was going to see your text while he was on camera, but it was worth a shot. Your anxiety started creeping in like an iron grip. Both of you were trying so hard to keep things lowkey, and he just tossed your name out there like it was nothing. You swiped back to your texts, adding another message as your fingers typed furiously. There was no way out of this anymore, it was done. Fully revealed.

?????? YOU JUST OUTED US LIVE ON TV

Everything was blowing up, everyone had seen your name. “Fucking fantastic,” you muttered under your breath as you flipped your phone face down on the counter. “This is going to be a disaster.” 

The door chimed about an hour later with a group of teenagers barging in, extremely loud and voices filled with energy. They couldn’t have been older than sixteen. You immediately felt your blood pressure rise when you saw them eyeing the fragrances and giggling. 

“Aye, is this the place that made Trent’s aftershave?” one of the boys asked, already making his way to the shelves to pick up a tester fragrance that was definitely not Rêveur. You never planned on selling it. It was supposed to be something special—something just for Trent.

“Yeah bro, it’s gotta be,” his friend answered, spraying half of a tester bottle in the air. The sweet, musky scent of tonka bean and coconut filled the room instantly as you saw him juggling the bottle so carelessly. 

“Be careful with that!” you called out, stepping forward just as the bottle slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. The scent of coconut and tonka bean flooded the room and you felt your chest tighten. 

Fucking perfect.

One of the girls snickered. “Oops, sorrrrryyyy” she said, though it was clear she really didn’t give a fuck. You forced a smile but internally, you were screaming.

Get out, get out, get out.

“Is Trent your boyfriend or somethin’?” another boy asked, picking up another bottle and spraying it into the air. “That’s ace.”

No, not ace. Stressful. Stressful as hell, actually. 

After what felt like an eternity, they finally left, slamming the door behind them in a fit of giggles as you tried to clean up the mess. There was an overwhelming scent of tonka bean and coconut which was starting to make your head pound. You barely had time to breathe before the next customer walked in. The woman was in her mid-fifties with a stiff bob, you know the one. She immediately stormed up to the counter with a sense of entitlement and you knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Excuse me,” she said, dripping with impatience. “I’ve been calling for over an hour and no one has answered. Give me that aftershave everyone’s talking about. I need it for my husband. The one Trent Alexander-Arnold mentioned on the telly.”

Your headache intensified immediately. “Sorry ma’am, it’s not for sale,” you replied, trying to stay polite as possible. You knew this lady was going to be the most annoying person ever and you weren’t in the mood for it. At all. “Not for sale?” She blinked, clearly offended. “That’s ridiculous. Who would make something, advertise it, and not sell it? What about the customer experience? That’s just bad business.” You took a deep breath, gripping the counter to steady yourself. “It’s custom. It’s not available to the public.”

“Well that’s poor planning, isn’t it?” she snapped. “What kind of business is this? I want to speak to the manager.”

Lady, I AM the manager. Fuck off. Just LEAVE. 

You took a deep breath before responding, “I own the place. The aftershave isn’t for sale..sorry.” After hearing a long spiel about how terrible your business model was, she finally left after muttering something about never coming back. Thank god. You exhaled, rubbing your hands against your aching temples. 

Fuck, I need a paracetamol. 

But of course, the universe was not on your side today. The door chimed again, this time it was an American tourist in head to toe designer. You immediately cringed seeing the abundance of huge branded logos clashing against each other: Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Fendi and Prada all in one outfit? Jesus, did she hop on a plane right after visiting Rodeo Drive? “Ohmygawd, is this where Trent got his cologne?!” she exclaimed, her valley girl accent was unmistakable. She had to be from California. Behind her, her bored looking boyfriend leaned against a display, not interested in the slightest.

Ugh. Here we go again.

“I like, really need to get it for my boyfriend,” she continued, her voice in complete vocal fry. “Do you guys have it?”

“It’s not for sale, sorry,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. Her face fell as she flipped her blonde hair back dramatically with a pout. “Ugh, seriously?? I totally would’ve bought like five bottles. I bet it smells soooo good.”

“Babe, can we go? I wanna hit the pub before they close.” her boyfriend asked, lazily scrolling through his phone. After a few more whiny complaints, she finally left and dragged her very disinterested boyfriend behind her. You were standing in the middle of the shop as the scent of coconut and tonka bean lingered in the air, your nerves fried and head pounding so hard it was starting to make you feel nauseous and dizzy. Customers poured in all day begging for ‘The Trent Scent’. That’s what they were calling it now instead of Rêveur. It had officially gone viral.

You closed your eyes once people stopped shuffling in, trying to give yourself a few minutes of peace from the overwhelming scent and incessant ringing. But of course, the universe had other ideas. Your phone rang and as soon as you glanced at the screen, your stomach twisted immediately–Mum.

Fucking hell. Out of all days?

You debated not answering, but you knew she would keep calling until you did. This wasn’t going to be a casual check-in, and you definitely didn’t have the energy for a follow up interrogation later on. It was best to get it over with now. You sighed, swiping to accept the call.

“Hi Mum.”

“Y/N! We were just talking about you!” Your mother’s voice was overly cheery, which meant she was about to start going on a long winded spiel about how proud she was—of the wrong things. “That’s...great,” you replied, already feeling a cloud of exhaustion sit over you. “Your dad and I just saw that interview with the footballer, Trent,” she continued, completely skipping over the fact that she didn’t even ask you how you were. “It’s wonderful you’re making such good connections. He’s very successful Y/N. Exactly what you need in your life.” You pressed your lips together, fighting your instinct to hang up right then and there. Of course that’s all she cared about. “Yeah…” you said vaguely, not wanting to get into the nitty gritty details. You weren’t going to tell your parents you were on the verge of a breakdown or that you were struggling to keep it together. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. 

“You’re really making something of yourself now,” your dad chimed in, they must’ve had you on speaker. “I always knew you could do it. You’re finally setting a proper example for your brother and sister.”Ah, yes. That constant reminder. The example you were supposed to be setting. A perfect, polished version of yourself that never existed. They wanted you to be perfect so badly that they were willing to go to extremes. It was never about you; it was always about how you looked to everyone else, even your younger siblings. Your chest tightened at the thought of your brother and sister. You loved them more than anything. They were the only reason you still kept in touch with your parents at all. But this constant pressure to be perfect and be their shining trophy was suffocating you.

I really need a holiday, you thought to yourself. 

“Mum..Dad…” You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “I’ve been really busy with work, it’s been... a lot.”

“We’re so proud of you,” your mom chimed in next. “We always knew you could achieve good things. With Trent you’ll go even further! It’s important to have a man like him supporting you. You lucked out with that one.”

Lucked out?? How am I related to these people?

Your grip tightened on the phone. This happened every time. They didn’t care about you. They only cared about what Trent’s success could do for their image of you. An image you were struggling to mirror. An image that was threatening to crack.

“I–I’m not with him because of his career,” you muttered. But of course, they didn’t hear you over their vain voices. “Ezzie and Ziggy really look up to you, Y/N. This is exactly the type of relationship they should see. A real power couple. Now they know what success looks like” your dad added. That comment stung in more ways than one. Your parents usually spoke about your siblings by using their actual names–Esme and Isaac. You gave them the nicknames Ezzie and Ziggy because they were twins, plus, their nicknames sounded a lot cuter than Esme and Isaac. You were the only person who called them that–you had a myriad of nicknames for them, but your parents only used those nicknames when they wanted to get under your skin. It was used it as a manipulation tactic, a way to say ‘Hey, don’t fuck this up this time. They look up to you’. It made your skin crawl, each word they spoke felt like a punch to the gut. They didn’t care if you were happy, if you were stressed beyond belief, or if you even wanted that type of attention. All they saw was status and an image of success that they could parade around to the world. Pressure began building in your chest which made it harder to breathe. Your voice came out strained, desperate to end the call. “I have to go. Still working.”

“Oh, of course,” your mum said in a light tone, completely unaware that you were on the verge of an anxiety attack. “We’re so thrilled. We always knew what you were capable of.”

“Um, y–yeah. Bye, talk later.”

You hung up before they could say anything else. Your hands started shaking as soon as you set the phone down. The shop was silent but the lights felt bright suddenly, the tonka bean and coconut scent in the air made you feel physically ill. The weight of their words was crushing you and pressing down on your chest until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. You didn’t want to let yourself break and tried to blink the tears back. The tightness in your chest wouldn’t let up. It felt like the soft, creme colored walls were threatening to close in on you. The weight of their expectations, the pressure to be perfect..it was suffocating you from the inside out.

I’m not enough. I’m never enough. Why can’t I just be me? 

You squeezed your temples as the throbbing in your head from the spilled perfume pulsed in time with your heartbeat. The heavy scent of coconut and tonka bean was suffocatingly sweet, squeezing you. Your mind kept whispering, negative words echoing like the cruellest reminder that you would never be good enough. You pressed a hand against your forehead, trying to ease the pounding but it got worse. Tears streamed down your face before you could stop them, spilling over as thoughts settled on you like the world’s largest boulder.

E and Z still think I’m the only person in this world who has it together. I have to keep it together. For them.

You couldn’t stand the idea of failing them. They were one of the few people who saw you for who you really were. The twins were the first two people to believe in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. They tested every scent you made, bragging to all their friends about how their sister was the best in the industry.

Ziggy’s face flashed in your mind. He was always smiling. It was the same infectious grin that reminded you so much of Trent. He had the same confidence as him, walking onto a pitch like he owned it despite only being fifteen. He was so protective over you and Ezzie. He played with his heart on his sleeve, always the first to support his teammates just like Trent. And then there was Ezzie. She was sharp, stylish, and always quick with a comeback. She had an arsenal of them ready to go at any time. She looked like a mini version of you, but acted just like Camille. She had the same fiery spark, and the confidence to walk in a room and own it; all while dressed in the latest fashion trends. She never missed a beat and was always ready to roll her eyes at the world and give you tips on how things should be done. She was a little diva. You admired her but could never quite match her wit. Although beneath all her sass, she had the biggest heart. 

The twins were your heart, your compass when you were lost in a sea of thoughts. 

Ezzie would tell me to stop being dramatic and ‘lock it up’ like Camille, you thought. The tears were still streaming down your face. 

“I can’t let them down,” you whispered.

You made your way to the back of the shop, each step felt heavier and it was getting harder to focus on anything other than the sharp, dizzying pain in your head. You couldn’t think straight with the wave of panic rising inside of you. As you stumbled to the back you started thinking about Trent.

What’s he going to think when he finds out I can’t handle this? He’s not going to want me anymore.

You were feeling lightheaded; it felt like you were floating outside your own body...like you were watching everything happen from a distance. You were here but not really here. Your mind was trying to escape the suffocating pressure wrapping around you. You gripped the counter for support when you made it to the back room. The room felt like it was spinning and your breathing was fast and shallow.

He needs someone who can handle the pressure of being with him..I’m failing him..and everyone.

You saw Trent’s smiling face in the back of your head. Something that made you feel butterflies a few moments ago was now making you feel like you were burning alive.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I misread everything about us. I should’ve seen this coming.

Your heart raced, vision tunneled; all you could do was stand there, frozen in place and unable to think past the storm within you. Just when you felt like you may pass out, the door to the shop opened again but you barely registered the sound of the bell in your dissociative haze. Camille’s voice cut through the storm, “Y/N?! why aren’t you answ–”

You blinked and tried to focus, but the room was still spinning and it took every ounce of effort just to turn around and face her. She took one look at you and immediately crossed the room toward you.

“Hun...what’s going on?” her voice was soft yet firm as she reached to steady you. “You have to calm down.” You tried to speak and tell her you were fine but your words wouldn’t come out. All you could do was shake your head while tears started streaming down your face again. Camille wouldn’t let you push her away, you tried before early in your friendship as an act of self-sabotage and failed. She led you to the nearest chair and guided you to sit. “Y/N, please breathe. Slow, deep breaths. In. Out. Okay?”

You were trying to follow her instructions but each breath felt forced. Your chest was burning but eventually Camille’s presence grounded you and the world came back into focus. “I love you,” she said, handing you a bottle of water. “but you can't keep doing this to yourself. You’re going to burn out.” You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m fine. I just need a minute,” you croaked. Camille let out a long sigh, “No, you’re not fine. You need help. You can’t keep doing this all by yourself and you know it. You’re stressed.” You wanted to argue that you could handle it but the words died before you could get them out. In actuality, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going like this. The added pressure of being perfect, the public eye now on you, and a booming business felt like too much at once. Self-sabotage was inevitable, and that was the one thing you were confident you could accomplish with absolute perfection. “I...I can’t hire someone Camille. I can’t. This is the only thing I have control over in my life. It’s mine..” you whispered. Camille shook her head, her expression was soft but serious. “Y/N, you cannot control everything and I need you to realize that. You can’t run this place alone. You’re going to run yourself into the ground, and then what?? What’s left after, huh?” You didn’t respond, you just stared down at the floor, fumbling with the water bottle cap as you twisted the cap around the mouth of the bottle. The thought of letting someone else in and letting go of that last bit of control terrified you after what happened the last time. You already lost so much today. Your privacy...your peace. The shop was the only thing you felt like you had left. Something of your own that could never leave you. “Look..I know you hate it,” Camille countered, as if she was reading your mind. “This shit isn’t sustainable though. You need help whether you like it or not.”

“I can’t,” you whispered. “I really can’t.” Camille’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently. “You don’t have to do it alone, Y/N. You’re going to wear yourself thin and have nothing left to give. I can’t let you go out like that, girl. Even Beyoncé has a team.” Her words pondered over you, a small chuckle escaped from your lips when she mentioned Beyoncé. Deep down you knew she was right, but the fear of letting go still had a hold on you.

“Please” Camille uttered softly. “Let someone help you. I’ll help you look, yeah? I’ll ask my dad if he knows anyone.” Your heart clenched when you heard her and you shook your head quickly. “Camille, no. I can’t let you do that. You’ve already done so much for me. I owe you everything. I can’t–” She cut you off with a gentle laugh. “Y/N, please shut up. You don’t owe me anything. That’s what besties are for, right? You hold me up when I’m down, I got you when you’re down. You’ll never walk alone as long as I'm alive. Never.”

Her words hit you hard as the sincerity of her voice broke through the walls that were suffocating you. “I..um, I’ll think about it,” you whispered in a shaky voice. Camille smiled, pulling you into a hug. “That’s all I’m asking. You don't have to make a decision right now...just let me know. We’ll figure it out later. I got you.” You nodded into Camille’s shoulder but the pounding in your head refused to stop. You pulled away, wincing from the bright lights on the ceiling. “Please tell me you have something for a headache in your bag. My head is fucking killing me ever since those teens smashed L’Équilibre Caché on the floor earlier.” Camille raised an eyebrow, fishing around in her purse. “Oh god…teenagers?”

“Yeahhh,” you groaned, pressing your hand on your forehead. “They came in..sprayed everything, and then one of them dropped it. I never want to smell tonka beans or coconut ever again.” Camille snorted, pulling out a pill and handing it over. “That’s exactly why I never want kids. Absolute chaos and they’re not tidy at all. Ew. Not for me.” You laughed before swallowing the pill down with water. “Today was a disaster. People kept asking for the aftershave I made Trent after I said it wasn’t for sale over and over. Everyone was so fucking rude about it.”

Camille laughed, shaking her head. “And that is exactly why you need help. Let someone else deal with telling people ‘we don’t have that, it’s a custom blend’ a million times a day.”

Trent sat on the plane, headphones on, iPad playing a show he found on Netflix. He was attempting to wind down after the match and leaned his head back against the seat, half listening to the show on his iPad while scrolling mindlessly through his phone until he saw a text from you. His stomach dropped as he sat up in the seat. Both texts hit him like a punch.

Y/N 🌙: WTF? LOGO ON SCREEN!! YOU HAD ONE JOB

Y/N 🌙: ?????? YOU JUST OUTED US LIVE ON TV

His heart pounded as he thought about the interview in his head, trying to piece together what he did wrong. He replayed the interview on his iPad, dread hitting him instantly when he realized he held up the bottle with the logo in full view. He was trying to be careful and keep the logo hidden, but he didn’t. He knew you hated the spotlight. You were always so careful about keeping things between you private and you didn’t want the media to twist your relationship into something it wasn’t. Because of his mistake, you were thrust right into the middle of the lights you wanted to avoid at all costs. Trent rubbed his face with both hands as guilt plagued him. He should’ve been more careful. He knew better than to bring the bottle out in the first place but he was just so excited. He was so caught up in the moment, proud of the scent you created for him, and the meaning behind it. He wanted to show you off so bad, he wanted the world to see how amazing you were despite your bashfulness. Most of all, he wanted you to see yourself in the same light. But because of his excitement, he gave the media and internet sleuths the final piece they needed for their puzzle. He glanced out the window of the plane as the night sky stretched beyond the wing. His teammates were joking and talking around him but all he could think about was you.

I fucked up. I really fucked up.

Your panicked texts replayed over in his mind.

I should’ve been more careful. What was I thinking?

He closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat as he turned some music on in his headphones to drown out the laughter surrounding him on the plane. All he was thinking about is how you were feeling right now. He wished he would have seen your texts sooner. He knew you were probably overwhelmed and panicking about what was going to happen next. He had grown to know your anxiety but didn’t quite know the full extent of it just yet. He knew how much the public eye weighed on you and he just added to that burden.

She didn’t want this and I did it anyway. Fuck..I’m going to lose her.

The rest of the flight home felt like it lasted forever. Every thought in his mind was of you. Would this push you away? Did you even want to be with him after this slip up? Trent clenched his jaw, desperately trying to figure out how he could make this right. The more he thought about it, the more helpless he felt. The interview wasn’t something he could undo. It was a permanent reminder that he hurt you inadvertently. He never wanted you to feel exposed or unsafe because of him.

As the plane descended, he pulled his phone out and stared at the screen. He wanted to call you and apologize. He wanted to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but he didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to him right now. He had no idea you were falling apart back at Les Notes d’Amour. He thought you were still trying to process everything.

I have to fix this. I need her to know I’m sorry. I can’t lose her. I love her.

What if an apology wasn’t enough, though? What if this pushed you too far? The thought of it made his chest tighten and all he could do was sit as he waited for the plane to land. Guilt was suffocating him and he needed to see you. Both of you were so busy and he missed you so much that he could hardly focus on the pitch earlier.

I need to see her but I don’t know what to do.

Trent found himself pacing in his living room after he got home. He was staring at his phone and contemplating his next move like a game of chess. Apologizing was the obvious thing to do, but how was he supposed to fix this? You weren’t like any other girls he dated who wanted to be appreciated with showy gestures, expensive gifts, or extravagant holidays. You weren’t impressed by material things because you could just buy it yourself. You had your own money, your own success, and your own life. How was he supposed to fix things with someone who didn’t need him to save the day? For the first time, he didn’t know what to do to make it right. He called the one person he knew would have the perfect answer: His mum.

“Trent, everything alright? How was the match?” Diane’s voice brought him a sense of comfort but it wasn’t enough to ease the uncertainty swirling around him.

“Mum, I messed up” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“What happened sweetie?”

Trent sighed and he sank into the couch. He explained how he accidentally exposed you during the live interview and how you were probably spiralling from the pressure. His mum listened quietly. She didn’t know who you were, really. They never had the conversation until now.

“And this girl?” Diane began slowly. “Tell me about her.”

“Mum, she created your favorite perfume. But she sold it to a fragrance house so her name wouldn’t be attached to it.”

Diane laughed softly. “And you didn’t think to mention her all this time?”

“I dunno Mum. It wasn’t exactly planned, y’know?” Trent began to talk about you, feeling the tension in his chest ease. He told her about the fateful encounters and how you met by chance, again and again. He told her about how it felt like his own romance movie was being written right before his eyes; he felt like the universe was putting you in front of him for a reason. It scared him, but he knew. “I’m in love with her,” he admitted. “Never felt this way about anyone before. She’s special.” There was silence on the line for a moment and Trent wondered if he said too much.

“You sound very serious about her.”

“I am,” he said. “That’s why I've got no clue what to do. Any other girl, I can just buy something nice and apologize that way.. but she’s not like that. She doesn’t really need anything from me.” His mum was quiet for a little while before her voice softened. “Maybe she doesn’t need you to buy anything. Maybe she just wants to know you’re there. She sounds like a very sweet girl.”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose her.”

“Then don’t.” Diane said simply. “Be the person she can lean on. She probably just needs your support and understanding.”

Trent stared at his phone as his mother’s words swirled around his mind. He needed to fix this, he needed to talk to you. He needed to do something. But every time his finger hovered over your name in his contacts, doubt washed over him. He was usually so confident. What if you weren’t ready to hear from him? What if you hated him now? Finally, he took a deep breath and rang you, his heart pounding every passing second as the phone rang. 

No answer.

She hates me. 

He frowned, trying to call again but it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m sorry about earlier, Y/N. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Just...just call me back please.” He slumped back on the couch, staring at the phone as if you were going to call him back immediately, but nothing came.

She’s probably fuming. She always answers when I call. Fuck.

He didn’t know you weren’t actually avoiding him. You were asleep, completely knackered from the day’s emotional rollercoaster. You were tucked away in one of the few places that was a safe space for you–Camille’s family’s house. If you could call it that. It wasn’t really a home, moreso an estate. It was an architectural masterpiece that made you feel like you were in a château. The estate had sprawling grounds and manicured lawns with fountains that glimmered in the moonlight. The home was white with glass windows that stretched floor to ceiling which offered a panoramic view of the garden. It was the kind of home that showed the world just how powerful and connected Camille’s family was. No one would bother you there. There were immaculately polished marble floors, chandeliers and plush furniture that was custom and handmade. You came here plenty of times, but every time you were there, the sheer scale of the home took your breath away. It was a world away from all the chaos you experienced earlier in the day. You could always flee here and just breathe. Camille and her family opened you with welcome arms every time, insisting it was your home too. Tonight, you were thankful for their support. You needed a space that would allow you to collapse and let go. Just to dream for a little while.

Downstairs, Camille was talking to her dad in his office. The room was lined with bookshelves and decorated with fine art which was a reflection of her family’s intellect. “I’m worried about her,” Camille said, glancing up at her dad. “She really needs help...”

“I have a friend who can help,” her dad said matter-of-factly, scrolling through his phone as he reviewed names. “Wouldn’t take much to get them on board.” Camille sighed as her eyes flickered to the grand bookshelves lining the office. “Yeah..but I don’t want to push her. I don’t think she’s ready yet. I just don’t want to scare her off by making decisions for her, y’know?” Her dad looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Not about making decisions for her. Y/N just needs support and you know that. She’ll come around, give her time.” Camille nodded but she felt helpless in the moment. She wanted to fix this for you and solve everything like she did in the past, but she knew you needed to feel like you were in control.

Upstairs, you were swaddled in a blanket where nothing was expected of you. Camille’s family always made you feel welcome. Her parents were completely different from yours, always loving, generous and supportive of everything she did—everything you did too. 

You were still in uni when you and Camille met, and although you crossed paths before, you didn’t really know each other that well. She was popular and confident, her life always seemed to be perfectly together. You admired her from afar..until one day.

You found out a guy you were seeing wasn’t just seeing you, he was dating Camille too. The initial shock of the situation had you fuming and you didn’t know what to do. Should you confront him or just let it go? Camille didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would be in this type of situation at all. The stars in the sky had other plans, though. Camille was the one to approach you first, her voice calm but fierce. You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe an argument or confrontation? Instead, she laid it all out and was ready to take him down. She was a girl’s girl through and through. 

“So, what are we gonna do about this blockheaded asshole?” she asked, eyes blazing.

Something clicked between the two of you from that point on. You didn’t turn against each other like the guy probably expected. You confronted him, standing side by side as you teared into him about his lies. He never saw the force of two determined women coming his way. There was no turning back after that. You thought Camille had it all together, but she had been hurt just like you. Both of you were more similar than you thought–sharing the same love for fragrances...and apparently men. You two were inseparable after that and became a dynamic duo.

You woke up in the middle of the night feeling sudden nausea wash over you. You groaned softly, clutching the edge of the bed. Your head wasn’t pounding anymore, but the remnants of the stress from earlier was still lodged inside your body. You sat up slowly, steadying your breath as the nausea subsided. You reached for your phone on the bed side table, but when you tapped the screen, it didn’t light up. Dead. Of course it’s dead, it’s been going off all day. You plugged it into the charger and laid back down, waiting for the phone to turn on. Exhaustion pulled you back in and you fell asleep just as your phone woke from the dead.

It was 3AM and Trent still couldn’t fall asleep. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was you—how you didn’t answer his calls, hadn’t responded to his messages. He told himself it wasn’t even a full day yet, but the silence was eating at him.

With a sigh, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table, unlocking it for what felt like the hundredth time. No new notifications. No calls. No texts. He opened his camera roll to scroll through the memories you two made over the last couple of months. He wanted to feel close to you again, even if it was just through a screen. The first video he tapped on was a clip from a night at his place. You were in the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies, dancing to an upbeat song from a playlist. You had no clue he was recording and when you finally caught him, you were laughing, telling him to stop. He didn’t stop recording though, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you so happy and carefree. He continued to swipe through the roll, stopping on one where you were standing outside, looking at a full moon like it was the most beautiful thing you ever saw in your life, you loved the moon and he took note of that. Another photo featured the two of you dressed up for date night, his hand was on your waist as you stood in front of the mirror to take the picture.

He kept scrolling until he landed on a cute video of you in front of your shop, talking about something new you were working on. Your face lit up as you explained everything. He loved seeing you so passionate about your career. You weren’t like anyone else and that’s what he loved about you. You didn’t need him to complete you, he needed you. And that’s what made the thought of possibly losing you feel more painful.

Trent’s thumb hesitated when he scrolled to the last video, this one was recent. His pulse quickened just at the thought of the video, he pressed play as his breath hitched. It began with you in frame, wearing a black lace set that barely covered you. The panties featured high waisted criss cross straps that hugged your hips and left very little to imagination. The matching bra framed you perfectly, emphasizing your boobs. You stood in front of the camera, waiting for his reaction as the phone shook slightly in his hand. “You like it?”

“Fuuuck yes. You’re making me hard,” he muttered off screen with a rough voice. He zoomed the camera in on you, catching you shifting under his gaze. You turned slowly to show off the back as the barely there fabric hugged your hips in all the right places. His hand was heard smacking against your ass, making you gasp as he groaned. “You’re killing me. You look so sexy right now.”

You grinned over your shoulder, pushing your ass up against him. “Enjoy it while you can..I don’t think it’ll be on for long.” The video was meant to just be his reaction to the lingerie, but the moment he saw you his restraint snapped. “Baby..turn around for me,” he said in a low, almost desperate voice. You obeyed him, teasing him as you turned to face him fully. His breath caught in his throat when the camera panned over you, capturing every inch of the masterpiece displayed in front of him. “I could look at you like this forever,” he added in a husky voice. 

“Keep recording so we can look at it when we’re away from each other,” you said with a smirk. His voice on the video cracked, barely able to hold back his need for you. “Come here.” The camera shifted as he moved to another side of the room to set it down on a flat surface, capturing you in the perfect angle. You walked towards him, swaying your hips with your eyes locked onto his. The moment you touched him, his hands were pulling you in. He couldn’t wait to touch you.

“Please just wear this around me all the time,” he muttered. His lips grazed the side of your neck as you hummed, arching into him. “Mmm, you would love that, huh?” you teased, running your fingers over his hair as his lips trailed down your skin, kissing and biting. His hands moved to your ass, pressing you against the wall. 

“Off. Now.” he commanded. You could see how hard he was through his grey joggers and it was making your mouth water. You fumbled to unclasp the bra. As soon as it dropped to the floor his mouth was on your chest, tracing his tongue around your nipple as he tugged at the thin lace on your panties. You two were fluent in each other’s bodies, completely synchronized in every touch, kiss, and movement. 

“I need you inside me,” you whispered, feeling your body thrum with need. He wasted no time kicking off his clothes while the camera continued recording. You were on the bed now with your legs wrapped around his waist as he positioned his cock between your thighs. He entered you slowly, making you gasp as you adjusted to him. Trent buried his face in your neck, thrusting into you with slow and deliberate movements as your nails dug into his back.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

“Faster, baby. Please.” you gasped, trying to meet his thrusts because you needed more of him. His rhythm picked up as the video captured your bodies moving against each other, your loud moans and his groans. He gripped your hips, driving into you harder..deeper..until both of you were on the verge of cumming.

“Oohmygod, right there. I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, closing your eyes as you tried to focus on riding the wave threatening to crash against you. “Open your eyes, Y/N. Look at me when you cum. I wanna see you.” You opened your eyes, brows furrowed as he continued snapping into you. Your jaw dropped when the band finally snapped, your pussy pulsating and milking his cock. He came inside you, releasing white ropes just as you were coming down from your high. The video ended with both of you clinging to each other, trying to catch your breath. Trent stared back at the screen, breath uneven. The memory of that night left Trent aching for you all over again, but not for sex. He just wanted to feel your presence. He shifted in his bed scrolling through all your old texts, teasing voice notes, and random selfies. Each one was a reminder of what he was missing tonight. He had no idea what he was going to do to fix his mistake but he needed you back in his arms, period. He sighed heavily, staring up at the ceiling. He was supposed to be asleep hours ago but he couldn’t fall sleep when everything felt like it was in limbo.

Without thinking, he looked at his phone again with his fingers over your name. He knew you wouldn’t answer, you didn’t answer the entire night. But hearing your voice on the recorded greeting was comforting to him and he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to feel that tiny connection no matter how small it was. So he tapped the call button, bringing the phone to his ear, expecting it to go straight to voicemail like all the other calls. He closed his eyes waiting to hear the sound of your voice in a cadence that always made him smile.

C’mon. Just wanna hear you again.

But instead of a voicemail, there was a click, a pause, and then a soft, groggy voice. Your phone was now fully charged and you heard the ring, which woke you out of your slumber.

“Hello?”

His eyes snapped open, heart pounding out of his chest. You answered.

“Trent????”

i thought i was being so creative coming up with the name 'Love Notes' in french and apparently ariana grande has a new fragrance line named that LOL

sorry for the cliffhanger but it had to be done haha. if you made it this far, thank you for reading! lmk what you think

[goodolddumbbanana]

[Bad end au 2] A sleepless night

Part 1

‘I love the fact that I can look into your eyes and see nothing but lies…’

Two weeks before Dark Sun kickdrop Nexus for Sun.

The sound of dripping water disturbed Sun’s already fragile sleep.

The lily-colored animatronic groaned lazily on the bed, its metallic senses sinking deep into the soft quilt, struggling like a lazy child refusing to wake up.

The dim electric blue light covered Sun’s small, narrow room like a curtain, reflecting the solitude of its owner, when the most prominent thing in this room was only a few plum blossom petals that Molten had collected and placed on Sun’s desk.

Sun couldn’t sleep. The robot didn’t need to sleep, but closing his eyes and turning off the power still brought about a certain feeling of comfort. 

It was just that… The tasks that Father assigned piled up on top of each other, spinning Sun around like a pinwheel, to the point that even when Sun lay down, his interface system still popped up with painful notifications of things to do.

And today was one of those days when the restlessness Sun shouldn’t have felt in his chest suddenly became more intense, like the way the sensor in his abdomen contracted, rolling as if someone’s nails were scratching it, or the screws in his body suddenly became too heavy, too wobbly for Sun’s liking.

Putting his hand on his chest, Sun realized that his fan was too hot. The warmth radiating from the metal casing tickled Sun’s fingers, making him unconsciously press harder, as if testing whether the heat would melt his hand. 

His claws leisurely ran along the gold plating, slowly spreading up his neck, touching the red tassel and pressing down hard.

‘It’s hard to imagine what would happen if he squeezed harder.’

Sun thought absentmindedly, as his hands gently caressed and drew the joints of his neck. The cold hard steel, with its circular patterns and sturdy screws, held the wire he walked in one direction. He could almost feel the heat of the electricity running, the clocks and gears slowly turning to simulate the biological mechanism of a human.

The child whose neck he had broken the day before didn't have time to scream, nor did it shed a drop of blood. Just a stiff crunch of broken bones and a panicked wheeze, mixed with the tears of the small hand trying to reach Sun's arm before it stopped.

It was almost like a hug when Sun wrapped his arms around the child's neck. Soft, small and warm, and then there was no warmth left. Even as he ran his arms through the child's hair or held it completely in his arms, what he touched was still numb as ice, cold as winter seawater, and stiff as a machine.

Sun had kept the child like that for almost a day before Father came to make him throw it away. ‘It was so unhygienic’, that's what he was told when his Father threw the child into the blender.

‘Where do you think the fertilizer for my potted plants comes from, you stupid child.’ Creator pointed to the lush, mutated potted plants that grew twisted and twisted all over their lair, to the ancient tree beside the bridge that swirled with dark water below.

‘Soul for energy, flesh and blood for fertilizer, and bones for materials.’

‘It seems that despite all the modifications, you are still making me feel so disappointed…’

Creator’s voice hummed, and in that dark darkness, Sun was not alone. Something writhed and trembled, the cries of trapped remnants, cracked skulls staring intently at him—

Sun was released about a day later.

The blood was something sweet and dirty, it was slippery and sticky on Sun’s metal skin, dripping with every step he took.

And the smell was the worst. Like rotten pizza and rotten fish, Sun couldn’t wash away the smell even after using countless detergents.

Sun didn’t remember how long it took him to clean and dispose of all the meat stuck to his bell after he crawled out of the hole…

***

“Do you want to get out yet, my boy?”

The Creator’s voice was sweet as honey but full of venom. The brain looked down at the yellow animatronic covered in blood that was trembling non-stop, but still couldn’t drop something like a child’s skull in his arms.

“Then bring Lunar to me.”

***

Squirming to sit up, Sun didn’t think he could lie down any longer, as his processor was now repeating the image of maggots crawling on him for the nth time.

He really didn’t know what to do… Capture Lunar?

Lunar was much stronger than Sun… And the boy was smart too… There was no way Sun could fool his little brother.

And he didn’t want to…

The dilemma made him fiddle with the bandage wrapped around his hand. The red smelled rancid, but Sun still wrapped the soft fabric around his fingertips and pulled.

He would rather be destroyed again than to choose something like this.

In truth, Sun didn’t like any of what his father had ordered.

It was wrong in every way, and Lunar was someone he never wanted to hurt.

But every time he thought like that, something was washed through his system, and the desire to obey his father grew stronger and stronger, making the morality Sun tried to cling on withered.

Sun didn’t understand why in the past, he could scream and curse at his father as much as possible but now, just a shake of the head from Creator was enough to make his 1 and 0 coded heart cringe.

Follow, follow, follow, that's what his head and code table whispered, it was almost like an addiction, the excitement and joy of completing what his father asked.

And Sun was always the one to follow, and no matter how much he resisted, he still couldn't fight back.

Because father is family.

And it's better to be a heartless dog than to make his father sad.

Maybe being broken would be easier to fix than this. Sun sighed, standing up. The wandering thoughts in his head made Sun wish that if there was something that could help him manage both, both pleasing Creator and keeping Lunar safe, then Sun would be satisfied.

His feet touched the cold floor, the sound of metal clanking as Sun carefully opened the door and stepped out.

The cold wind blew through him, blowing cold air onto Sun's rays.

The smooth whiteness flowed like silk into his vision. The silence was as bleak as a mirror, following the corner of Sun's feet. Father was probably out with his friend somewhere, or still busy in the lab. 

Sun alone, toiling, wandering, perhaps cleaning up again if he got too bored, though Sun usually tried not to. More or less, this was the only free time he had when Father wasn't sending him and Molten off to some unknown time and space to find something or deal with someone his brain desired.

He tried to hum a tune, but sadly, there was nothing in his head right now. The sound of running water grew louder, as he stepped onto the bridge. 

The echoes echoed along with the sound of the bells wrapped around Sun's wrists, bouncing off the steel on the bridge. The cool scent of water tickled his sensory system, caressing the golden animatronic’s back as the green leaves gently brushed against Sun’s light.

It was 4am, his internal clock system announced softly. The water flowed gently, bottomless, pitch black and glowing with chemical green. The flower petals drifted, occasionally a plum blossom petal would touch Sun’s shoulder, the playful lines on the hem of his skirt wrapped around his waist.

Sun was lost in thought, but there was really nothing on his mind.

It was just the familiar feeling of stagnation that even cleaning had lost its charm, not after he had scrubbed this lair more than a dozen times a day. The wind blew, the waves rolled, and everything drifted out of Sun’s control like some planet lost its orbit.

“So this is what you do when our esteemed father lets you rest?”

“Pathetic. Can’t you think of anything more helpful to our Creator, Sun?”

Sun didn’t even need to look. His audio processor could have picked up that arrogant and even-tempered tone anywhere.

“Oh, Goliath. Didn’t see you there? Heh… What business does our father have with me?”

The silence of the gears slowly turning against each other. A harsh growl answered, as rough as gravel being crushed into dust.

“… No.”

“So you came out here on your own?” Sun raised an eyebrow, his pearly eyes narrowing in amusement, ignoring the instinct that told him not to provoke the sleeping lion, or this time, a gorilla.

“Whoa! And I thought you only knew how to follow the Creator’s orders and turn off the power? How amazing.” 

“Congratulations, you finally have thoughts on your own.”

Sun was genuinely surprised by his counterpart’s actions, but the words he uttered under the influence of his lack of a personality chip made his words sound rather sarcastic.

And honestly, Sun didn’t care if Goliath decided to strangle him here.

“Shut your mouth. You’re the last person I want to hear that come out of your mouth. I’m not here to entertain an inferior thing like you.”

The giant animatronic, with a haughty and disdainful look, stared at him as if he were looking at an ant on the ground, or a puppy that had been hit by a car and the vet had long gone to sleep, leaving it to writhe and bleed on the side of the road to dead.

Sun just sighed, compared to what Goliath usually said, this could be considered the gentlest. The gorilla seemed to be in some sort of moody mood as well, as they too turned their gazes to the river like him, saying nothing, only their processors making clicking noises of recognition.

“So Goliath… If not because Father wants to see me… What are you doing here?”

The silence was a perfect chord for a tone-deaf man. Sun hadn’t meant to ask, but the restlessness that existed deep within his code made his mouth conjure up the huge elephant in the room.

Of course, the only response he got was a slap across the face, a ruffling of a cat’s fur.

“None of your business.” Their voices were mocking, and defensive.

They looked as if they would break his entire beam before throwing him into the water, and pulled him up. And did it again. Again and again because Sun’s metal is too heavy for him to swim.

But Goliath wasn’t his father. So Sun could still calmly ignore the hidden threats in the words of the one who treated silence as a competition and they always had to be the champion, and let his mind drift into nothingness, which Sun did quite a lot these days.

“Suit yourself.” Sun yawned. He suddenly felt a little cold, which was strange considering the fact that he was just a robot. The feeling of exhaustion from every bolt, which had been getting heavier lately…

Sun wasn’t the smartest, but even he himself  had figured out that being so close to the Wither Storm debris wasn’t a good thing.

“You shouldn’t be like this. I remember you used to be so much—”

There was something annoyed in Goliath’s voice, making Sun turn back to look at him in spite of himself.

Maybe it was anger, or nostalgia. Or maybe his fan was faulty. Sun didn't understand, nor could he remember how to handle it, as a burning sensation in his chest that made it hard to breathe came as quickly as it had gone, before being extinguished as coldly as Goliath's words had metaphorically nailed into Sun's head.

What did Goliath expect Sun to be?

Uptight, cowardly, too helpless in his own emotions?

Imprisoned by fear of everything?

Stupid to the end?

Sun didn't mean he'd gotten any smarter, but at least for now he felt fine. The feeling he never could enjoy since the day he was alive.

Guess his father was right.

Life was pain.

And the easiest way to end the pain was to become a machine again.

The comfort of not having to worry about anything but obeying his father's orders, it turned out to be more comfortable than he thought.

Still, in the face of the stupidity and meanness of the person who was always jealous and comparing themselves to him, Sun just smiled, his social AI chip calculating the most likely answers to lessen the gorilla's arrogance before flipping the table and throwing every answer it had predicted down the drain.

"Ah... I don't understand what you mean?"

And the orange light flickering in their eyes almost reminded him of a candy corn smoldering as if thinking about something, before regretfully turning away.

"Idiot."

And leave Sun alone, like some asshole that dudebag is.

[statementlou]

.

[emile-hides]

I cannot believe no one’s gifed POV Ramattra tilting your chin up with his staff yet. Must I do everything around here.