#deals with heavy shit but like it seems like it should be getting more attention

[mtjester]

Sleep deprivation is something else…baby is so small but is gaining weight so quickly, it feels like half the time I’m stuck in cluster feedings, and I haven’t hardly gotten more than 1.5 hours of sleep at any one time…I want to do stuff like read or write with the extra free time I have, but my brain is mush and I end up lazy on the couch with baby and watching stupid amounts of anime

I’ll be happy when I can get through a full sleep cycke again someday 😩

[fear-is-truth]

void. ── patrick bateman x reader

⟢ WARNINGS: fantasying about violence, sex & murder ・ foul language・sexism・ reader discretion is advised .ᐟ

⟢ TAGS: bateman’s pov・fem!secretary!reader ・“y/n” used i’m so sorry

⟢ WORD COUNT: 1,875

a/n: english is not my first language, but i loved the book & movie sm (might write a part two.)

VOID

I flip through the pages of GQ, my attention divided between an article on the season’s latest must-have suits and the image that keeps surfacing in my mind.

Paul Allen’s assistant. She started working here a few weeks ago, and ever since, I can’t seem to get her out of my head. It’s irritating as hell. She’s not like the women I usually deal with—clones of one another, in varying shades of blonde. This new girl is different.

It’s not like she’s anything special—at least not in the usual sense. I remember watching her, studying the way she fumbles with a stack of papers, fingers trembling slightly. I wonder how they’d feel like wrapped around my cock.

She’s not like the others. Not like Evelyn, with her relentless neediness, or even Jean, who’s dependable but she is, well, Jean. Reliable, dependable, and utterly forgettable.. y/n—there’s something about her that feels different. Unspoiled. Innocent in a way that’s almost laughable in this city, like a virgin lamb wandering into a den of wolves, completely unaware of the danger that surrounds her. And it makes me want to ruin her.

It’s intriguing. It’s also fucking annoying.

I toss the magazine aside, the pages crumpling as they hit the sleek surface of the desk. My eyes drift to the window, where I can see the city stretching out below, a concrete jungle full of meaningless, vapid people.

My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored wall, and I adjust the knot of my Charvet tie, admiring how it complements my gray wool suit by Cerruti 1881. Everything is meticulously in place: my Valentino loafers shine under the soft glow of the overhead lights, and my skin is flawless, practically glowing from the morning routine of an intense workout and the application of a moisturising mask from Jean Paul Gaultier. I run a hand through my slicked-back hair, appreciating the perfection I’ve crafted.

I feel a pang of something—sadness? Anger? No, it’s more like emptiness. A void that no amount of money, no designer suit, no fucking (and later slaughtering) prostitutes can fill. I’ve been feeling it more often lately, especially when I’m alone with my secretary who’s in love with me. She’s always there, always willing to please, but she doesn’t challenge me. She doesn’t excite me. She’s just… there. I pity her, in a way, though I doubt she even realises it.

“Van Patten,” I reply coolly, leaning back in my chair. I feel the leather creak beneath me, a sound that irritates me more than it should.

“Going to Harry’s Bar later?” he asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Typical. I stare at him, considering the offer. Harry’s is fine, but the thought of spending the evening listening to these idiots prattle on about which bar serves the coldest martinis or which girl they’re planning to fuck next, makes me want to drive a nail through my skull. Still, there’s a game to be played.

“No,” I say finally, my voice flat. “I have plans.”

Van Patten shrugs, clearly not giving a shit, and turns to leave. But then he stops, his gaze shifting to the hallway behind him. I follow his eyes, and there she is—her, holding a stack of files that looks too heavy for her.

“Oh, by the way, have you seen Allen’s new assistant? McDermott’s been talking about wanting to fuck her her non-stop. I’d like to fuck that pretty little thing too.”

I don’t react outwardly, but inside, I feel a flicker of something—anger, perhaps. Not for her, but for myself. For the fact that I’m letting this get to me. Because I too want to fuck her. “McDermott’s an idiot,” I say coolly, eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s not his type.”

He snorts. “She’s not anyone’s type. Too shy, too pure. She looks like she’d freak out if you even touched her. You know how some guys love that innocent act. Wouldn’t last a day with someone like Bryce or Preston. They’d eat her alive.”

“Get out, Van Patten,”

My thoughts drift to Allen’s last dinner reservation—Dorsia, of course. Bastard. I can’t even get a table there without months of planning, but Paul Allen—stupid, oblivious Paul Allen—walks in like it’s nothing. It makes me want to crush him, to take everything from him. Including her.

Once he’s gone, I stand up and adjust my suit jacket, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. I step out of my office, my eyes scanning the hallway until I find her.

She is standing near the copier, a stack of files in her arms, her head tilted slightly as she tries to figure out the machine. She isn’t flaunting anything, and yet, she still manages to catch my eye. The black dress she’s wearing is Donna Karan, I’m almost sure, though the cut is a bit too conservative for my taste. It clings to her figure, revealing just enough to pique my interest but not enough to satisfy it. Her shoes, I note with some disappointment, are Manolo Blahnik. Not quite as stylish as something from, say, Azzedine Alaïa— not predictable choice, though not without merit. The impression of someone trying to fit into a world she doesn’t fully understand. Cute.

“y/n,” I say, my voice cutting through the hum of the copier. She jumps slightly, looking up with wide eyes that are both fearful and curious. Interesting.

“Mr. Bateman,” There’s no coyness in her voice, no flirtation. Just that same goddamn innocence. My mind wanders, imagining what it would be like to run a blade across her soft, supple flesh and watch the light fade from those innocent eyes Her skin parting under the sharp edge of a knife, the warmth of her blood spilling out, the sound she would make. But as quickly as the thought comes, it dissipates, leaving me with a hollow emptiness that I can’t quite explain. It’s a thought that would normally excite me, but with her, it feels… wrong. Unnecessary. Maybe even wasteful.

I realise I don’t really want to hurt her. At least not in the way I’ve hurt others. Quite unsettling, I feel… disappointed in myself, as if I’m losing my edge.

“Call me Patrick, or Pat.”

I correct, though I don’t know why. I’ve never cared about what people call me before. I glance down at the papers she’s holding.

“Your boss is not in yet?” I ask, knowing full well he isn’t.

“No, he’s not,” her voice is breathless, carrying a slight tremor—I wonder how my name would sound on her tongue when I’m fucking her. I also wonder what sounds she’d make. Soft kittenish noises, maybe. Doesn’t seem like the type to spew profanity, but one can never tell.

“I’m just trying to get these copies done before he arrives.”

I nod, pretending to care.

“He’s lucky to have an assistant like you,”

A blush spreads across her cheeks, and she stammers out an thank-you, though I barely register it. My focus shifts to the gold chain around her neck—Tiffany. Cheap, sentimental. It doesn't belong here, but it suits her somehow, in that unsophisticated way.

“Though, if I were you, I’d be careful. He’s not exactly known for his discretion.”

“I’m…sorry?”

I smile, she’s taken the bait. “Paul’s habits aren’t exactly… discreet. Let’s just say he’s not very particular about who he spends his nights with. Or what he picks up from them.”

She blinks, the implication sinking in, and I see a flash of something in her eyes—concern, maybe disgust. Good. Let her think about that. It’s too easy to manipulate her, to plant seeds of doubt in that pretty little head of hers. I flash her a smile, one I’ve perfected over years of dealing with people who are far beneath me.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” I continue casually, “about what’s going around these days. AIDS is a nasty business. You can never be too careful.”

“But don’t worry,” I add quickly, my tone lighter. “You seem like someone who’s smart enough to avoid trouble.”

She doesn’t respond, just nods slightly, still processing what I’ve said. I can see the effect my words have had on her.

“Did you know,” I say, shifting to something more conversational, “that Ted Bundy once worked at a crisis hotline? Spent his days talking people out of killing themselves. Ironic, isn’t it?”

I don’t expect her to catch the reference—most people don’t. It’s just another way to distance myself from them, to prove my superiority. But then, she surprises me.

“Yes, I read about that,” she says quietly, looking up at me with a mixture of curiosity and something else—understanding, perhaps?

“It’s strange, how someone can seem so… normal, but be so twisted underneath the mask of sanity.”

I pause, taken aback by her response. She got it. She actually understood. For a moment, I feel a flicker of something—something almost like respect. But it’s very fleeting, quickly replaced by the familiar emptiness.

“Exactly,” I reply, my voice smooth as glass. “People are rarely what they seem.”

There’s a brief silence, and I let it linger, watching her as she processes our exchange. I’ve rattled her, but I’ve also piqued her interest. It’s a dangerous combination, one that I’ll need to manage carefully. But I’m feeling bold.

“By the way,” I continue, “I was planning on having dinner at Dorsia tonight. Why don’t you join me?”

She looks up at me, confused, unsure, and I feel a flicker of satisfaction. She’s still trying to figure me out, to understand what I want. It’s amusing, really, how little she knows.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bate– Patrick,” she says, her voice faltering. Her innocence, her reluctance—it’s almost intoxicating like pure, uncut cocaine.

I smile again, this time more warmly, but it’s just a mask. “Come on, doll. It’s just dinner. Besides, it’s not like your boss will miss you for one night.”

“Okay,” she agrees quietly. There’s that softness in her voice again, that genuine gratitude that I don’t understand.

“Excellent,” I say, satisfied. I turn to leave, but not before giving her one last look. She’s already turned back to the copier, but I know that she’s not thinking about the papers anymore.

She makes me feel… something, though I’m not sure what. It’s frustrating, maddening even. But it also gives me hope. Maybe she’s the key to filling that void. Or maybe she’ll be another disappointment, like the rest. But tonight, at least, she’ll be mine to toy with.

Hopefully that will be enough to stave off the void for a little while longer.

read part ll here

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟓: 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

God Isn't Here

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Bad Boy Hongjoong wanted to change for you. Be the better man you deserved, but what if you ended up changing more than him?

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 :  3.70k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Slice of Life. Toxic family. Smut. ANGST. Sad Stuff.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: BadBoy!Hongjoong x Religious!GoodGirl!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Heavy religious background. Mention of a cult like life. Lots of trauma. Pet names. Swearing. Corruption and slight manipulation. Thigh riding. Dry humping. Oral. Crying turned to sobbing. (I'm sorry this is a shit show). Fingering. Sight sir kink (I can't help myself). When I say this is messy....this is MESSY, FILTHY, DIRTY. Breast play. Clothing is literally being ripped apart. Slight ass play and mention of anal. Hickies. Mention of sex toys. There is way too much dirty talk cause Hongjoong has a filthy mouth. Use of the name slut. So much sobbing please forgive me I was in a mood. Cowgirl. Unprotected sex. Loss of virginity. Spanking.

Thank you, @historyinmybed , for requesting Hongjoong. Also, thank you to my anony for requesting the plot ♡♡♡

Note: I want to point out that this fic this is no way hating on any type of religion. I came from a very religious household, so I get the idea of internal hatred to yourself and 'god'. But please take this fic with a grain of salt. Believe what you want to believe and practise what you wish to practise. No one should tell you what you can or can not worship. That's your life. Not there's.

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Perfection. That was what your family described you as. Their perfect little daughter. Naturally pretty, above-average smarts and a people person. Well, that was what your parents dressed you as. They weren't half wrong to be fair. You wanted nothing more than to be the sweet daughter that your parents wanted. But once your heart fell for the mysterious man that stumbled in the back of your bookshop one day. Perfect was no longer the description to view you as.

Rough, mysterious, heartbreaking bad boy. He looked like he jumped straight out of a dark romance novel. He was everything you were not and when he laid eyes on you, he knew he wanted to know you, have you, hold you. To fuck the innocence out of you. But he proceeded with caution. Not wanting to scare you away. He was known as a player, someone that fucked around and partied most weekends…

Yet he changed.

Changed for you. He dotted on you. Followed you around like a loving puppy that found his favourite thing in the world. Which he had. You were his everything and the love of his life and he would do anything for you. And he made sure you knew that every chance he could. Bringing you flowers to your work or gifting you with a home-cooked meal even though he wasn’t the greatest cook. He wanted you to know that he loves you. Forever and always. And when you were cuddling on the couch in your shared apartment―the apartment your parents didn’t know you had―one night, Hongjoong couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He tried not to do something you didn’t want but fucking his fist to the thought of you was no longer working. He needed the real deal. And tonight he tried his luck. His touches were slow, sensual. You almost didn’t notice them while you were so focused on the new show Fionna and Cake in front of you. But when his fingertips grazed the end of your sleep shorts, your head snapped to him seeing he was completely focused on you, not even paying attention to the TV.

You gulped looking at him with such wide innocent eyes. The tingle in your gut made you confused but it also intrigued you, wanting to know what it was but you were also scared it might be considered unholy. You see, you were fighting an inner battle. Yes, you had left your family's practice and ran away with Hongjoong after he convinced you of your family's toxic lifestyle. You wouldn’t ever consider your life being involved around a cult-like community but yet it was all you knew. And when you opened a bookshop in your hometown your parents made sure to monitor the shop like hawks but neither of them would have thought someone like Hongjoong would stumble into the doors of the sweet establishment. Without even realizing, that day you starting losing your faith in god, if you even had any. It was just a way of life to you and you didn’t know any better back then but now you explore the world day by day with your sweet lover boy and god definitely didn’t have anything to do with that.

“W-what are you doing?”  As if you couldn’t sound any more cute than you did right this minute. His eyes darkened, sucking in a breath as he watched you squirm. Your doe eyes watched him intensely, your hand snaking down to grab his, holding him still. Did you really not know what teasing was? Then again you didn’t know most things until he came along. When he first kissed you, he still remembers the shocked expression you made and how you slapped his chest slightly saying ‘We aren’t supposed to do that.’ But now all you do is kiss him. Morning kisses, hello and goodbye kisses. If you walked into the room he would grab you for a smooch. He loved kissing you and even though you would not admit it, you craved them too.

“I’m just wanting to touch you, Darling.” His soft voice sent shivers down your spine. You gulped, not knowing what exactly he meant. You gave him a confused expression, and it finally clicked in his head that you didn’t know what was going on. “Can I touch you, baby?”

You smiled letting his hand slip into your own, tilting your head “But you are touching me Joongie.”

Oh fuck, you look so goddamn cute and it made him want to pin you to the couch and fuck you into next week. He wanted, needed to teach you this side of life you didn’t know about. Take it slow, Hongjoong repeated to himself, placing his hand free hand on top of yours. He closed the distance between your lips but just kept enough space to let you pick whether or not to actually kiss him. And when you gave him a simple smile before sealing your soft lips on his, he took it as a green light to push you further.

“I mean touch sensually...” He peaked your lips again. “Touch you where the ache it.” He kissed the corner of your mouth as both of his hands got free, letting his finger graze your top thigh before slowly slipping towards your inner thigh. Your eyes never left his, eyebrows knotting in anticipation. Your brain was screaming at you, saying what you were about to do was sinful and bad. But your body craved to see what he could do. Could he really help take that ache that pulses in your stomach? The idea of giving yourself to Hongjoong more than frightened you… it excited you.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You didn’t mean to sound so seductive but Hongjoong drank every word you spoke. And the way you said it would have any man eating out of your hand, yet you didn’t even notice. Merely thinking you were simply asking an innocent question.

“Oh, Darling.” He dipped his fingers further up your thigh helping you open your legs without a thought, too focused on what Hongjoong might say. And he thought, for maybe two point five seconds on what he might say. Does he ease in and take it slow like his brain has been repeating for the past month or does he just drop his filter and see how you react?

He chose to fuck around and find out….

“I want to put my fingers deep inside your pussy.” Your eyes widened at the lewd words that spilled off your lover's tongue. “I want to know what it feels like to fuck you, make love to you.” His fingertips graze your covered core and it makes you jump, whimpering out. You gripped his wrist trying to stop him but you didn’t move him away, too curious to see what he’d do. “Would you let me see what your cunt feels like angel?”

“Y-you can't make l-love to me yet. We aren't married.” That was what you took out of his whole confession, man has got his work cut out for him. He had to laugh a low deep grumble making you shiver. His fingers were still playing with your covered core, trying to pull at the buttons of your pants. “We haven't decided if we want kids yet.”

“Kids?” Okay, now he was the one confused, “Who said anything about kids, darling?”

“Y-you know…” damn now you feel stupid, of course, this was another thing your parents taught you wrong. You tried to learn things on your own, only just recently finding out what a male privates were called. You felt so small in this outside world and you tried your hardest not to let Hongjoong see just how closed off you were growing up but sometimes it slips out, just like now. And the only way to get out of this was to explain yourself. “You only mate to have bare children. No pleasure or love… it’s a ritual that a married couple preform to conceive kids.”

Hongjoong tried to not look shocked but then again he really wasn't. When he found out you were living in cult-like conditions he did everything in his power to get you out of that situation whether you liked him to or not. He couldn’t just leave such a sweet thing like you to be devoured by the jaws of a sick bastard who played a so-called god. “My sweet, sweet baby. There is so much more to love-making than bearing children. Do you want me to show you?”

He gave you one last slow kiss, holding your cheek with his free hand keeping you in place. You sigh in the kiss, feeling a kind of relief and safety. All he wanted to do was keep you comfortable and not do anything you were unsure of. But now you wanted to give back. Give back to his kindness and understanding. You wanted to know, to know what it felt like to be with someone completely. But your mind kept playing the idea that you were betraying your god. You were fighting an inner battle and you didn’t know what to do. “Y-You can s-show me Joongie.”

He shifted his weight, turning to look at you straight on. He placed both hands on either side of your face before asking again. “I need you to say yes baby. Do you want this? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You might have said that a little too quickly for your liking but Joong. Oh, he’d been waiting for this moment and it couldn’t be any more perfect. Grabbing your hips he pulls you up onto his lap. Your face was flustered a bright red. Your hands instantly gripped onto his shoulders as his own snakes under your loose top, feeling your bare tummy. He kisses you on your lips, then a peck on your cheek, then jaw. Before moving down to your neck. His hot tongue licked a long strip against your skin making you shiver, digging your fingers into his shirt. He chuckled feeling your hips wiggle, trying to subconsciously relieve the ache.  He held your hip with his right hand, helping you move slowly, letting you take control, for the moment. He wanted to ease you in, let you find your rhythm. “J-joongie I f-feel.”

“Feel what baby? What do you feel?” He pulled away to look at you, using his free hand to slowly move down your navel before landing just above your core. Your eyes stayed closed, rocking your hips slowly. Your clit was brushing against your jeans just right and it was sending your head into a spin. You didn’t know how to describe the feeling but it felt, good. Right, almost. And then he cupped your pussy making you jump.

“I feel hot… I think I-I’m sweating d-down….” You looked down, seeing his hand holding your core. He looked down to, knowing exactly what you were saying. Chuckling against he rubbed his two middle fingers along your covered slit.

“It’s not sweat Darling. It’s called cum. It comes out of you when you’re feeling good.” he continued to rub you making your mouth fall agape slightly. He leaned towards your ear kissing the top of your neck before whispering. “and it tastes delicious too. Can you give me a taste baby?”

You hesitantly nodded, “Yes, but is…” He looks at you in your wide eyes. “ W-what about g-gods way…”

“Fuck god. He doesn’t know a good thing if it was staring at him in the face.” His voice was laced with aggression. But his lips against your neck were soft, gentle. “Forget god, baby. It’s just you and me.”

You and me…. Something he has said to you since you met. Sneaking out he always said it was you and him against the world and the day you had packed your bag―with what little you had―and left while your parents were out you knew he’d be there for you. You still wonder if your parents even read the note you left them. But then again they most likely would have thrown it away, not caring for a sinner like you anymore. “I don’t know if I c-can…Hongjoong…”

He stopped. For a moment. Anger was surging through him. Your family fucked you up so much and all he wanted to was find each and every one of those preachers and kill them where they stood. He wanted to protect you, hold you. Love you. “Yes you can angel. You can do anything you want. You are so strong.”

And with that you kiss him, taking in a big breath in through your nose. He pulled away first making you chase his lips but as his body sinks onto the floor, you watch with curiosity. He sat on his knees, never breaking eye contact with you. His hands find the buttons on your jean shorts, helping you loosen them before ultimately slipping them off. Everything was happening so fast yet so slowly as well. your body was shaking, feeling exposed without your pants but as his gaze switched from yours to your core between your legs, you couldn’t help but whimper. “Hongjoong…”

“It’s okay baby I’m going to make you feel good. I promise.” He lent in pushing your panties to the sides and finally getting a good view of your soaked cunt. “Fuck, you are so pretty baby.” he wasted no time in licking a long strip along your folds making you make a high-pitched noise that was music to Hongjoong’s ears. He got to work, suckling, biting and tending to your core. You had thrown your head back against the couch, grabbing your lover's thick dark hair and spreading your legs wider for him without realizing. A strange feeling was brewing in your lower tummy and you couldn’t find the words to explain it. You were feeling all types of emotions, happiness, guilt, hatred, lust and everything in between. And then Hongjoong took his fingers against your core making you jump.

“Hongjoong, w-wait…” But your lover didn’t listen cause he knew you’d just start talking about god again. He needed you to listen to him and if words weren't going to work. Maybe a demonstration would. His mouth cages your clit while his finger begins to sink into you slowly and you felt electricity surge through you. Everything you did for your parents. The little girl that “raised right” was slowly slipping away and it was terrifying you. Tears started prickling down your face, feeling so good but so guilty at the same time. Why did your parents have to do what they did to you? Why couldn’t they have raised you normally? Were you could make your own mistakes. You hated them. You hated everything. Everything except Hongjoong. “G-god…”

You didn’t know what you wanted to say but you knew he wasn’t going to listen, in fact, he snapped instead making a chill pool inside you. “God isn’t her baby, now let me have my meal. Got that?”

“Yes sir…” You cried, feeling him put another finger inside you.

“Fuck say that again…” He groan against your clit.

“S-Sir…” You obeyed, feeling his fingers thrusted in a harsh pace making you scream out, tears pouring out of you more and more with your mouth spilling out saliva onto your chin.

“That’s right baby. This is my pussy yeah? I get to play with her―Fuck her whenever I want. Do you understand?” He chuckled, nibbling on your puffy nub.

“Y-yes sir. Please, have me whenever you’d like. I’ll be good. I promise. Fffuuck!!” You’ve never sworn before but it felt like a word needed for this occasion. A band in you snapped, feeling yourself clench around Joong’s fingers. He slowed down until he came to a stop, but not pulling his fingers out just yet. He had to see your face, the way your nose scrunched up when his thumb pressed firmly on your clit and fingers slowly slipping from inside you helping your ride out. Hearing you swear was single-handedly the sexiest thing you could do. He stood up quickly, grabbing your wrist so he could pull you up making you stand. But your legs didn’t want to work so he hand to hold you up.

“Don’t worry baby. You’re always good baby. My sweet girl.” he pecked your nose making you smile. He rubbed away some of your tears with his left thumb. You both stood there for a moment letting you catch your breath. But without you noticing he undid his belt and jean buttons, shaking his jeans off. You only then noticed when a hard object poked your tummy. Looking down you see his appendage under his boxers. You had to gulp worried as to how it might fit inside you. He licked his lips watching you inspect him, he had no shame, slipping his thumb under the band of his boxer before pulling it down, letting his cock spring free.

You gasped seeing his dick whack his navel. Its red angry tip leaking out some pre-cum and twitching just at the thought you’d touch it. You looked back at his eyes with wide doe eyes, almost silently asking what was going to happen next. He swung you both around so his back was facing the couch before taking a seat on it. He pulled you along letting you take a seat on his lap. The feeling of his hot cock against your pussy made you clench around nothing. Your nerves were shot and you were shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Ready?” He simply asked, snaking his hands under your top tugging on the fabric slightly. You nodded, answering with a small yes before he took the end of your shirt and ripped it down the middle. You gasped, moaning without thinking. Your chest was suddenly exposed to him, leaving you completely bare for him. He had a sadistic smirk painting his features, leaning down he licked your left nipple making you whimper out his name. Your hands found his shoulders, letting him attack your chest with harsh red and purple marks. His hands that layed on your hips moved behind you. One grabbed a hand full of your ass while the other one glided toward your asshole. He put pressure against your hole and it made you wiggle in his grasp. He lived for your reaction.

“Sensitive Doll? I wonder what I would feel like to fuck this tight little ass too? Hmm.” His dirty words made you feel filthy in the best way. His thumb slipped into your puckered hole for a moment sending a new feeling through your system. Anything he did was pushing your buttons correctly. It was like he knew your body better than you did. “You’re just a dirty girl, aren’t you? Wanting to be fucking in the ass? Bet I could fuck this pussy while I have a pretty dildo up your ass. Hmm. Would you like that? You want to be my little slut?”

“I-I’m not dirty…I..I..” You didn’t know what to say feeling conflicted in his words. But he couldn’t care, your body was reacting perfectly to his words and that’s all he needed.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll fuck you nice and full. And then we can go shopping. I plan on showing you all the pleasure you’d been missing out on.” his laugh was lewd, almost cruel sounding and you couldn’t help but moan in response. He lifted you up slowly without you taking much notice, only focusing on his finger thrusting in your asshole softly. It was only when a sharp pain started forming in your front you snapped your eyes open looking down.

“F-fuck…Hongjoong!!” he helped you sink down slowly until you had him completely nestled inside your aching cunt. You were crying again. But it was different this time. The pain was only slight, you actually didn’t mind the pain. But it was the value of what you had just done. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you sobbed. Crying from all the frustration. All the anger you had against your parents. Against your community. You had now completely turned your back on the god you once worshipped. All your life learning certain things was for nothing.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” he rubbed your back, feeling a tingle in his gut. God, you felt so good, your pussy was clenching him perfectly but he felt sorry for you. You had lived only one way and he came in and changed your life in a blink of an eye and it wouldn't had been easy one bit for you.

He had made a promise to himself that night. While his hips started to move and your body started to stutter with him. While his lips were on yours or sucking sharply on your neck. While his hands smacked your plump ass helping you ride his cock at a desperate pace. And when he bent you over the edge of the couch so he could fuck you from behind while you creamed all over his cock for the fourth time. He was going to love you, now and forever. He was going to teach you new things every day and always make sure you were the best version of yourself. And he was going to also fuck you in every room of this house…

That last part might of just been more for his sake but it’s the thought that counts.

- ♥︎

[bucketsofmonsters]

I was wondering, in Proper Etiquette (my favourite of your writings) Reader is wearing dresses and corsets all the time (which is Wonderful and corsets are Not Evil Actually they're literally a bra that supports the weight of heavy layers of skirts BUT I DIGRESS) but how would Rygel react to his wife, feeling a little cold as fall comes along, asks to have a sweater like he's wearing and some warm pants or a wool skirt and petticoat to wear with the sweater, rather than her usual fine clothes that clearly aren't built for the weather in her new home

You’re so real for the corset thing, I will defend corsets until the day I die. Also sorry this took me forever

Rygel ran hot. You were well aware of that fact by now. Every time you pressed up against him he radiated heat, more than any person you’d ever been near, although to be fair you didn’t have much of a frame of reference. 

What had taken a bit longer was realizing they all did. 

When you’d first arrived it had been summer, a little colder than the summers you were accustomed to, but nothing too severe. 

But then winter had come, and with it, something unfamiliar to you. With it came the snow. 

It was a perfect coincidence for them because while they seemed largely comfortable in the cold of your new home, you were not. You were instead accustomed to a little rain in the winter, maybe some cold winds, but nothing an extra layer or two couldn’t combat. 

This was far from that. At first, the snow had been delightful. You’d only ever heard stories and caught glimpses of it on the peaks of faraway mountains, but here it was all around you. 

As the novelty faded, it became a bit more of a problem. 

You tried what you’d always done, adding layers and bundling up, but you just didn’t have enough. Nothing you had was built for this kind of cold and it wasn’t like you could borrow clothes from someone, you’d drown in the sheer amount of fabric.

So instead you stood, bundled under layers that were helpless against the biting cold. You’d barely been outside for a few minutes before you’d rushed back into the warmth of your room but the cold had settled in your bones and couldn’t be snuffed out so easily. 

Your jaw was clenched to stop your teeth from chattering, your whole body wound tight, trying to preserve what little heat you had. 

“I’m not built for this,” you said with a huff as you collapsed backward onto your bed, wrapping yourself in blankets. 

Rygel huffed out a laugh from his desk, his attention still focused on whatever he was reading. “Not built for what?”

“Winter. Not here at least. I think I might go into hibernation.”

He froze, eyes widening before he turned to you. “Oh my god, you’re cold. Of course you are, I should’ve prepared for this.”

You cut him off. “No, I’m fine, really. I’ve been keeping inside as much as I can, the layers have been helping, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

He did not seem convinced. “We don’t have any clothes that’ll fit you. Hell, we don’t have warm enough clothes anyway. Shit. You should’ve told me.” His words were dripping with concern as the full implications of his mistake hit him. 

“Rygel,” you said, trying to cut through the worry and reassure him. “I’m fine, really, it’s not a big deal. I can stay inside for a season, god knows there’s more than enough fires and blankets in this place to keep me warm.”

“I should have realized. I forget how fragile your kind are, I should have seen this coming, gotten you some real clothes. As much as I love those dresses, we have to get you in some furs. ”

 “We are not fragile, you are just all far too sturdy. And besides, I like my dresses.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed dismissively with a smile. “Sure we are. I really should have been more careful with you though. Your safety is more important than anything. I will keep you warm if it’s the last thing I do, even if we do have to cover up those pretty little dresses. Now, how will I ever manage to keep you warm until we can get you some better-suited clothes?”

You climbed onto his lap, ducking underneath his shirt, and pressed up close to him, absorbing his heat as you felt a chuckle run through his chest. “Maybe I shouldn’t get you warm clothes,” he said as a steady arm wrapped around you. “I think I prefer this.”

You hummed in agreement. “Plus it’s very dignified.”

His hand scooped under you, lifting you while keeping you close to him. “Very.”

You happily nuzzled further into his chest and he returned to his work, his arm still firmly wrapped around you. You were sure he’d find something for you, get you warmer clothes and make sure you were safe and warm and happy. His concern more than convinced you of that. 

And when all else failed, at least your husband ran hot.

[sp0o0kylights]

Still working on the BB fic but have another snippet of that Stobin Timeloop AU. This can be read as stand-alone.

Steve Harrington snaps on a completely random Friday.

Well--not completely random. It's both the day of the Big Sportsball Game as well as Hellfire’s grand finale--but neither of those things should matter to Harrington.

Not that he needs a reason to lose his shit--Eddie’s long used to being threatened, insulted or outright attacked out of the blue. 

It’s the whole reason he built up the persona he had--because the scarier he was, the more people left him alone. 

Unfortunately it would appear that Hawkins fallen king hadn’t gotten the memo, given he seemed hellbent on kicking Eddie’s ass. 

"Come on Harrington, we can talk about this." Eddie says, as he’s shoved back, scrambling for a way out, as the former jock gets up in his face. 

The guy had called out his name the second he pulled into the parking lot (sans Buckley or any of the freshman they shared, which has Eddie's back up instantly) but Eddie had simply ignored him.

It was too early to deal with whatever had Harrington sounding like his ass was on fire.

Pity Steve had charged over instead, a look in his eyes that said whatever happened next was going to hurt.

Eddie carries a switchblade, but hes never had to use it before. 

Had instead made an entire production about having it, including cleaning his nails with the blade or stabbing it into the cheap wood desks when a teacher stepped out of the room. 

Had shouted that he’d pull it even when Harrington had charged him, but the guy didn't even blink.

Thus forcing Eddie to confront the fact that he really doesn’t want to stab someone.

Particularly not someone whose family has the police in their pockets (or did with Chief Hopper, though Eddie doesn’t doubt that the Harrington Hoard won’t immediately grab onto the next pig to get promoted.) 

His panic leaves him flailing but somehow, (and unfairly Eddie may add) Steve seems to expect this. 

Knows how to navigate it.

Eddie's back hits the metal of the van and he winces, expecting the hit, the pain. 

If he can duck, if he can make it so the first punch only grazes him, he can grab his fucking knife and wave it around, see if that gets the asshole off him, except--

Instead of hitting him, Steve reaches past, to yank one of the van’s passenger doors open. 

Herds Eddie inside, slamming the door behind him before snatching a fistful of Eddie's shirt and hauling him forward. 

"What--" Eddie asked, confused, right before Steve smashes their lips together. 

It's a hard kiss, practically a claim. 

Steve kisses him like a drowning man gasps for air and Eddie can only fall into it, stunned. 

(The stunned portion only lasts long enough for Eddie to blink before he's kissing back, hot and heavy.

He's been horny for Harrington since the asshole did a trick shot that showed off his ass and involved flipping Hagan off at the same time, sue him.) 

Thinks as he does, that this is probably a trap.

That even if it isn't, then whatever it is Steve will make him regret it--even if he started it. 

(Not like Eddie can claim he wasn’t enjoying it, either. He’s giving as good as he gets, dick quickly overwhelming any rational thought in his brain. 

He clings to Steve like a lifeline, gasping when the jocks takes his bottom lip between his teeth and lightly drags it out, begging to be let into Eddie's mouth. 

This isn't reality.

 Cannot be reality, must be the start of a wet dream or some…vivid hallucinations because when Eddie grinds himself upwards into Steve, cock chasing friction, Steve presses back.) 

"Fuck." Eddie moans when Steve finally releases him, panting up at the ceiling. 

"Do I have your attention now?" Steve asks, voice raspy and Eddie finds himself able to die happy, because that tone is downright possessive. 

"Yeah big boy, you have me--it." Eddie corrects himself fast, the words practically blending together. 

Steve gives a strangled sort of laugh at that, and instead of getting up, presses his face down onto Munsons shoulder. 

Eddie expects him to spring up at any moment. Declare insanity maybe, or far more likely threaten him about telling anybody.

If past bar hookups were an indicator, he'd  throw a few slurs in for good measure. 

(And those men had been at a gay bar, not Hawkins high school parking lot.) 

It's nothing Eddie can't handle, but Steve…isn't doing any of them.

Instead his breathings gone weird, body trembling--and Eddie can see how Steve is holding himself up.

Like he's worried about Eddie taking his weight.

Slowly, carefully, he raises a hand to the back of Steve's hair.

He presses in slow, waiting to be yelled at, waiting to be rejected but never is. 

"You can lay on me, Harrington, I won't break." Eddie tells him and knows his voice is too sweet when he says it.

Too lovey dovey, too awed. 

Too late, for him to recover into a normal voice but fuck it. Not like Eddie was known for making smart decisions. 

Nothing could have prepared him from the wounded noise Steve makes in return. 

"Hey--hey." Eddie says, in rising panic. "I've got you." 

"I know." Steve raises, and head coming up at last, cheeks red and tear stained but his eyes are clear.

Clear and fucking haunted.

 "I know you do, Eds, but we don't have time. Which is why I need you to listen to me, because I'm not the Steve Harrington you know."  

Utterly reeling from being called "Eds" it takes Eddie a moment to digest what was just said. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve sighs, a blast of frustration, and Eddie finds himself automatically scritching at Steve's head. 

For some reason that seems to help. 

"Your D&D finale’s tonight, right?" 

"Yes." Eddie says slowly, his mind spinning uselessly, every coherent thought derailed by something new. The moles on Steve's neck. The way he shifts, how his leg is tangling with Eddie's, awkwardly because it's cramped as shit back here. 

"I'm way past this. I've lived this. More than once." 

Aha. 

So it's a mental breakdown Steve's having. 

"I'm still waiting for you to make sense, Harrington." Eddie says to buy himself time to think. 

"Steve." The younger man corrects and he's holding Eddie's gaze. "And I'm not making sense because saying it sounds stupid." 

Eddie can't help the little derisive laugh that breaks out of him. "I hear a lot of stupid things, one more won't kill me." 

"I know, you're famous for your rants about them." Steve snarks back, but it's teasing. 

Friendly and familiar, like he's used to bantering. 

Not just that, but bantering with Eddie, specifically.

He doesn't know what to do with that, so he tugs a little on Harrington's too perfect hair. 

Demands an explanation with that little jolt--and somehow, Steve doesn't haul off and punch him for it. Instead a shudder rollers through him, eyes closing just a touch and--Oh.

Oh, Harri-Steve, likes it.

"I'm from the future." Steve says, which does indeed sound stupid. 

Eddie blinks. "What?" 

"Robin and I are stuck in a time loop-- we keep living this week over and over." He continues, only now he's leaning his head against Eddie's arm. 

"Every single time, you take the longest to get on board and buy in, and every single time I fail to get everyone out alive so fuck it. Fuck all of it--I'm speedrunning this part." 

Oh this is beyond breakdown. 

This is 'took something he shouldn't have and then some' and Eddie knows how to trip sit. 

He just…doesn't want to get punched for being the first person Steve released his repressed homosexual urges out on, drugged or not. 

(The fact Steve's still letting Eddie pet him like a cat absolutely does not have anything to do with it, no sir.)

because his mouth bypasses his rational mind most days and today is no exception. 

"Okay." Eddie says. "Let's say you are from the future and not shot up with what I'm assuming you were told was steroids and was very much not."

 Steve rolls his eyes. 

He never bothered to dry his cheeks and Eddie does it now for him, with the hand that's not in Steve's hair.

Steve leans into it, which somehow feels like the craziest part of it all.

"Prove to me that you're from the future." Eddie challenges.

"Oh the kissing wasn't enough? Fine." Steve bitches, before rattling off facts like he's blowing through answers on Jeopardy. 

"You call your guitar sweetheart and apologize for cheating on it anytime you use your other guitar, who is named Arwin. Your favorite mug in Wayne's collection is the Garfield one and you can play Master of Puppets by heart even though the album came out last month."

"And this is coming from the future and not one of the freshmen we somehow share custody over…?"  Eddie says, even while alarm shoots down his spine.

Had he told the kids about his Garfield mug? 

That his acoustic was named Arwin…?

He suddenly couldn't recall but that made the most sense. Had to make sense.

Steve huffs, annoyed.

Its very cute, and Eddie bites his own lip hard to keep himself focused. 

A finger dips under Eddie's collar, wrapping gently around the chain that sits there before he can react.

 "This," Steve emphasizes with a gentle tug, "was your mom's. She gave it to you the morning of the accident." 

Eddie's world stops.

Not the same way it stopped when Steve kissed him, it stopped in a way they felt like ice had been dumped over his head. A flash freeze that squeezed his chest, claws digging into his exposed heart.

The only person who knew about the pick was Wayne. 

No one else, not even his band, his closest friends, knew the origin of it. 

To tell someone that, to say it was not only his mothers but that shed given it to him the morning before some drunk asshole t boned her shitty, shitty car and killed her-- was akin to handing over step by step instructions on how to hurt him. 

Eddie would go to the ends of the earth for that pick, and he had never let anyone know just how important it was to him.

Except Steve Harrington, apparently. 

"Okay." Eddie says, "Okay, you're from the future. You said--" He pauses, swallows. 

Fights down his disbelief even as the dots connect, because why else would he tell anyone about his pick? 

The only reason he can possibly conjure is if he needed someone to give it back to Wayne, because he, for whatever reason, couldn't.

 "You said you're reliving this because you can't get everyone out alive?" Eddie managed to get out, grappling with the knowledge that "everyone" included him. 

"Yeah." 

 "Are you also my boyfriend or something?" 

"If we can make it there, then yes." Steve says, slightly hysterical. "And really? You're finally gonna believe me?" 

"Are you arguing here for me to believe you or not, Steve, you're giving conflicting signals--" 

"No it's--you've fought me on this man. I've tried every method of getting you with us and every time you argue until the bats show up but one kiss and you're all for it?" 

"Give yourself some credit, it was a grand slam of a kiss.” Eddie replies, because it was by far and large the best kiss of his life. 

He’d follow Steve to hell and back if more kisses like that were on the table, mental breakdown or no. 

Steve snorts at him, a half-hysterical sound. “Noted.” He says. 

Then; “You believe me though?”

“Not at all!” Eddie chirps with a wobbly grin that betrays him.  “But on the off chance you’re right the uh…the thing about my pick…” He trails off self consciously. 

“I should have guessed that was what it. You only ever tell me that when you’re dying.” Steve fills in for him, and it’s weird, to know that for two seconds Steve Harrington apparently read his face and correctly guessed what he was thinking about. 

Abruptly decides he doesn’t want to think of his impending doom any longer. 

“So how about we skip the dying part and focus on the boyfriend part?” He says, poking at Steve’s cheek. 

Steve makes a face at him, before grabbing a his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“We gotta fix this mess first, Munson.” He tells him gently, looking up at him through his lashes and oh, that is a look Eddie will keep for the rest of his life. 

“Lead on, lassie.” Eddie tells him to hide how dazed he feels. “Let’s go save the world and shit.” 

With one final kiss to the palm of Eddie’s hand, Steve does. 

[daengtokki]

©¹¹ᵒⁿˡʸ

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: ~7.2k

rating: fluff (kinda?) to smut to fluff ಇ (sub/switch!seungmin/softdom!reader)

comments: this is my first time trying out non idol Seungmin. @xirxe requested au fluff! I started a coworker au, and then got more info from them after I started writing furiously. I'm still working on another one more specific to their request, but I decided to finish this one as well. "Finish" …because I don't know when to stop ever. It got very long and turned much more sex-heavy than originally intended. Anyway, I miss writing long pieces and now I might write a part 5 for Blind Date (⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄)

⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

The first time you see him, he’s in one of the appliance aisles. Actually, it’s the first time you hear him, because what gets your attention is him laughing hysterically with another coworker, goofing off, sitting in one of the display office chairs. And he’s just about to be launched down the aisle when you turn the corner.

“Oh shit…caught,” you hear one of them say, and you’re pretty sure it was Changbin. But they both stop dead and look at you like you already handed out their punishments.

The reality is, you don’t care what they’re doing, because the store is nearly empty of customers. The snowstorm outside is making sure of that. But you’re new, and you’re above them—that’s all it takes to make things awkward. They’re probably expecting you to start bossing them around immediately.

Nope. You walk by them and smirk, “don’t break anything please…”

They giggle and pick up where they left off as soon as you turn the corner and disappear. You remember who the dark haired one is, but for some reason, the name of the blond in the chair is escaping you.

The second time you see him, he’s fighting with the coffee machine in the breakroom.

As soon as he hears you walk in, he stops beating his open palm against the side, looks back, smiles, then tries the button again. “Do you want a cup?” He asks.

“Doesn’t seem like it wants to give us any.”

“Surrounded by brand new Nespresso machines…stuck with this.” He opens the top, closes it, then pushes the button again. This time it works, and a moment later, his coffee is pouring into his cup.

“Maybe I can ask about getting a new one for us.” You watch him watching his coffee.

He swirls it and brings it to his nose before taking a sip. “I’ve tried. Hopefully you have better luck.”

To your surprise, he sits directly across from you at the table. You look at him, try desperately to remember his name. You forgot to check the schedule when you saw him earlier in the day, but you don’t want to ask. And of course he isn’t wearing his name tag.

“Where’s your name tag?” You ask, trying not to sound too much like a manager.

“Uh…” he slaps his chest where it should be, looks down at it, thinks. “I must’ve lost it.” The smirk on his face is…cute.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“You’re very helpful.” He shakes his bangs away from his eyes—blond, a little too long. You can see his big dark eyes a little better, just for a second until his gaze drops back down to his coffee.

“I try.”

He’s quiet for the remainder of your break, but when you rise to leave, he does as well. You head toward the office, and he follows. Just before you get there, he makes a left turn.

Now you can finally look at the schedule and figure out his name.

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

The very next day, you still have no idea who he is. The copy of the schedule was nowhere to be found, and your computer access is still limited. Try as you might, your login just won’t work. All you have to do is ask him, though. It’s not that big of a deal. And honestly, if you weren’t wearing your name tag, he probably wouldn’t know yours either.

A soft knock on the office door makes you jump. You check the time—8am. If only you could find a schedule, you’d know who was supposed to be here right now.

“Good morning!” You’re greeted with a familiar face when you open the door. He steps inside, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Do you have a job for me?”

“Do I…I’m not sure. Is anyone else here?”

“Uhm, well you opened the doors,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “and I just came in because the door wasn’t locked, which was lucky, because it’s cold out and I did not want to stand out there and wait.”

“Okay, so we’re here.”

“Just us, yes.”

“Do you have a login for the computer?”

He nods and smiles, takes a seat, and starts typing. “You don’t?”

“It doesn’t work yet.”

“Oh okay, that sounds about right for this place.” He gets up and turns the seat for you. “I don’t have as much access as your login would, but it’s better than nothing.”

You sit down and spin back to the computer, look around, click a few things. His profile photo stares at you from the corner, and you have to force yourself not to accidentally click on it. He’s watching over your shoulder, leaning in a little, trying to be helpful. You catch the faintest scent of whatever he's wearing. It's not cologne, though. He just smells clean and nice, probably how his bedroom smells.

You find a page of contacts, phone numbers. Good enough for now. “Thanks,” you turn to him and he’s staring down at you with a goofy smile.

“No problem. I’m going to go make some coffee.”

As soon as he leaves, you don’t grab your phone and call another manager, and you don’t even keep the contact page up. You go back and click on his profile.

“Oh! Kim Seung Min, that’s your name.” You stare at his profile photo. His hair is darker in this, and the contrast makes his skin look pale and his eyes look even bigger. His smile is so wide, like he's actually happy to be there. He’s very photogenic; it’s a good photo. A work ID photo really has no business looking this nice.

A few minutes later, he knocks again, and you quickly exit out of the screen as if he can see you through the door.

“Sorry, I just…I saw the new machine," his little nod and blink makes your breath catch in your throat. "I made you some.”

Seungmin hands you a mug of coffee, a little darker than you’re used to, but he obviously watched you put milk in yours yesterday, and tried his best to copy it.

“Thank you, Seungmin.”

“I can remake it, if it’s not good.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

You look at the screen, heart starting to race. Did you only think you exited out of his profile? No, it’s not there. What is he talking about?

“Oh…oh, no not yet. No answer. I’ll call again in a few minutes.”

“I can help you with the opening stuff, if you’d like. I’ve done it a few times with the other managers.”

“The guy I saw yesterday and the one I’m seeing now don’t seem like the same person.”

He stares blankly for a few seconds, puffs out his cheeks, looks around. “Me?” The blush in his cheeks is rising. “Am I being too responsible right now? I can stop.” Seungmin smiles so big you can see all of his teeth.

It’s hard keeping your own smile in check. This one has to know how cute he is, and there’s no way he doesn’t use it to his advantage. “You can stop in an hour.”

“Deal.”

The two of you survive, dancing around each other for a few hours—you, purposely avoiding him several times by swerving to a different aisle. Him, well…he acted responsible all morning, smiled every time you made eye contact. When noon finally comes around, another manager shows up, and the snow finally stops.

Changbin also arrived at noon, and as soon as he and Seungmin looked at each other, all responsibility flew out the window. But you turned a blind eye to whatever goofing off they decided to do. And Seungmin, unfortunately, didn’t look in your direction the rest of the day.

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

“Does your login work yet?” Seungmin comes in and digs around in the pockets of his jacket.

You’re slumped over on the table, phone in hand, trying not to fall asleep, but you sit up when you see him come through the door, “It does.”

This is the first time you’ve seen him in three days. He was off, then you were off for two days. Now you’re on break, and he just started his shift 15 minutes ago. You’re not sure why he’s in here, and whatever he’s looking for in his pockets doesn’t seem to be there.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and then finally pulls something out. It’s his name tag. He pins it to his shirt, very crookedly, then takes it off and tries again.

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well,” you squint at it and try to make out the little sticker by his name, but he’s too far away.

“The trick to falling asleep is to try to stay awake.”

“What?” You look from his name tag to his face. His hair is dark again. “Your hair.”

“My hair? Oh! I got tired of being blond.”

You like it dark. It’s not dark, though, not really. It’s a natural brown color, but he obviously did it himself, because you can still see some blond streaks coming through. It makes his skin look warm. Yes, you like it.

“If you try to keep yourself awake in bed, you fall asleep. I was trying to read on my phone last night, and I really wanted to finish the chapter, but I ended up dozing off and dropping my phone on my face.”

It’s so stupid, and so clever. And cute.

Seungmin smirks at you and turns to walk away, and then he turns back. “Does it look okay?”

You stare at him. Does what look okay? His badge? Everything from where you’re sitting looks very good, now that he mentions it. Long legs in his black jeans, a little loose around his tiny frame. There's a rip over one thigh, and you can see some of his skin peeking through. The belt holding them up had to have an extra hole poked in it, because the end of it is long enough to stick out from the dark blue work shirt.

“My hair, I mean.”

“Yeah, I like it.”

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Seungmin isn’t alone today. His work buddy is here, and you can hear them all the way on the other side of the store. An hour or so later, another one comes in—this one you haven’t met yet, because he’s been gone all week. But as soon as he clocks in and returns to the floor, you hear all three of them laughing and acting up.

You don’t want to have to compete with two friends to get to him, but you will.

A walk by the phone accessory aisle gives you a chance to peek at them. Seungmin is sitting on the floor, legs crossed, arms propping up his long body.

Nobody else in the store seems to bother with making them work, so you don’t either. At least not now, in your first week. It’s hard enough starting a new job without worrying about making enemies—and besides, the minute you laid eyes on his him, making a new friend became your agenda.

---

And of course they all sit in the breakroom together, chatting loudly. As long as one of those two are here, you don’t imagine you’ll have any opportunity to talk to him.

They’re not teenage boys, but you wouldn’t really know it if you could only hear the conversation and not see them. You almost walk in on them, but the noise startles you just as you reach for the door knob. Stopping and listening in is not your smartest decision of the day, but once you stand silently for a few seconds, you can’t move.

The first voice is easily recognizable—it’s Changbin.

“She doesn’t talk much…she hasn’t spoken to me at all. Well, except when she told me not to break anything.”

“Well I haven’t even seen her yet, so I guess she—“

“It’s shitty being new. I’m sure she’s just trying to get used to things.”

Seungmin’s voice is surprisingly quiet.

“Maybe. You’ve worked with her more. And I always see her looking at you…so.”

“So…what?” Seungmin is still quiet but there’s a tiny bit of offense behind it.

“So maybe you’re making it easier for her to adjust.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

"Don't play dumb, Seungie...older woman, authority figure." Changbin laughs,

“Cmon Min…” this time it’s the other one talking, “we know you’re a little bit of a slut sometimes.”

He doesn’t say anything in return, but you hear his chair being pushed back, and then he gets to his feet. It takes you a second to loosen yourself from the spot, but you manage just in time and duck behind the corner.

Seungmin runs right into you when he turns and he nearly knocks you to the ground, but his hand grabs your arm to steady you. “I’m sorry…you alright?” His voice is still quiet. He’s whispering, probably because he doesn’t want them to hear.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You look up at him, and you can’t help but wonder if what they just said about him is true. They were obviously trying to rile him up, but friends are also brutally honest sometimes.

“Are you going on your break? I wouldn’t go in there yet, if you are.”

“I was going to, yes.”

“Changbin and Hyunjin are in there, and they can be a handful sometimes.”

“And you’re not?”

A nervous laugh comes out, “uhm, maybe sometimes. They’re not the best influence on me.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I can go back and make you a coffee. Actually…”

“Seungmin you don’t have to do that.”

“…I can take you across the street and we can grab some better coffee there.”

“Seungmin,” you widen your eyes at him, because his are huge.

“Please, I want to.”

“Are you flirting with me?” You're not sure why he wants to protect you, but that's clearly what he's doing.

Another nervous laugh. His ears turn red. He stutters, “flirting…um, uh no I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

You hear them before you see them. They open the door and turn the corner before you can react—Seungmin freezes and stares at you. Changbin pushes him into the wall as he walks by, laughs, nods to you, and disappears.

“Guess the breakroom is safe now.”

“Yeah.”

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Once today, Seungmin caught himself staring at you. He dropped his eyes back down to his phone immediately, heart racing, face red. Part of him wanted you to catch him looking, the other part is still nervous.

You asked him to watch the register specifically to keep him away from his jerk friends, and you tried not to make it too obvious, but he knows. From here, he can see you wandering around, and you can see him. They’re nowhere to be found. It’s quiet.

He won’t tell anyone (well, not them), but he likes when it’s quiet and he can be by himself. And as much as he hates watching the register, he’s glad you put him up here, because it gives him a a chance to read and people watch. Now he’s just waiting for you to walk by.

A text pops up on his phone:

Did you get in trouble Seung?

He ignores it.

She’s looking at you right now…she’s swooning

He tries to ignore him again, but he looks up and around, trying to find you. Seungmin knows Changbin is just being an asshole, but maybe you are looking at him. He’s hoping you are.

“Seungmin?”

He jumps, and nearly drops his phone. “Hi…hi. You’re very quiet.”

“Sorry. I can wear a bell, if that helps.”

“A bell? Like a…a collar?” Seungmin watches as your eyes grow big. He has no idea why he said that, and now you probably think he’s a pervert. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that.” He goes back to his phone only to see more texts—a string of laughing emojis—oh, there she is—she can’t stay away from you.

“Yeah…bell, collar. Makes sense.”

“That was..." he groans, "so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. At least I know where your mind is now.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not…I mean, I’m just a ditz.”

“You’d look much better in one.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his cheeks. “Please don’t hate me.” His eyes pop open again, “I’d what?”

“…look cute wearing a collar.”

“I would?”

You mhm and walk away. Just leave it at that. Were you flirting? Deflecting? Making him feel less stupid?

Seungmin doesn’t feel any less stupid. A comment like that to the wrong person could mean getting fired, and he just said it to his new manager.

But he doesn’t think you’d get him in trouble. He has no reason to think you wouldn’t, but…no, you wouldn’t.

You pop up behind him again, and once again, he jumps. "It's gonna take a lot more than that to make me dislike you."

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

The next time you see him, he’s on his way out. You’re making coffee, he barrels into the breakroom to grab his things. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a great mood, so you keep your attention on your mug.

Seungmin is in his locker and mumbling to himself. And then… “oh, I didn’t know anyone was is here.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just ready to get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The ghost of a smile is on his lips as he grabs his coat and runs back out the door. You were hoping for one more awkward moment with him before either of you left tonight, but now it’ll have to wait.

But he comes back in a moment later; doesn't speak, doesn't even close the door. Just looks at you.

Seungmin has no idea why he came back in, but he was hoping a good excuse would come to him in the few seconds it took to get here. Now he's just staring stupidly and chewing on his lip.

"Hi," you smile at him and sip your coffee. "Did you want a cup before you catch your bus?"

"How'd you know I take the bus?"

"You shrug, "It's in your availability, silly."

"Oh, right. So you're not just watching me all the time?"

"I didn't say that."

They're heard before they're seen. Changbin and Hyunjin push themselves right through Seungmin on the way into the breakroom.

"Oh, hi boss," Changbin reddens and smirks when he sees you standing there, "Is this a bad time?"

"I have to go, I'll see you tomorrow." Seungmin ducks out quickly before you can even say goodbye.

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

“Don’t forget your coffee,” Hyunjin squeezes Seungmin’s shoulder as he sneaks by him.

“My what? I didn’t bring coffee in with me.”

“It has your name on it.”

He turns and see it’s sitting there. Just a black coffee, but not from here. It’s from the coffee shop across the street. And yes, his name is written neatly on the side.

“Somebody brought you coffee. How sweet.” He smirks. “Have a good shift.”

Seungmin picks it up and takes a sip. It’s still hot, so it was just set here recently. And of course he knows who put it there, because he can be a little stupid sometimes, but not that stupid. He looks at the schedule on his phone to see who he works with, and you’re right in the middle of his shift. You’ll be gone soon, but, at least he didn’t just miss you.

---

“Thank you,” he says, walking up behind you. You have your coffee in one hand, phone in the other.

“For what?” Seungmin doesn’t scare you, his voice is too sweet and soft, even if he does sneak up.

He looks at his cup, then to you.

“You’re welcome. Hopefully you always take it black.”

“Most of the time, yes.”

“Oh, and you’re getting cut today.“

“My shift was cut?”

“In half. I told the boss I needed you here until I was done.”

“You do?”

“No, but I figured half a shift was better than none. And I can give you a ride home, if you want. It’s too cold to wait on the bus.”

Seungmin sips his coffee, because he’s not sure how to respond just yet. His stomach is swirling, though, and he’s trying to conceal his smile. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You turn to face him, “in trouble for what?”

“Favoritism.”

“You think you’re my favorite?”

He nods once, mouth still covered by his cup.

“You’re right, you are.”

---

The rest of the shift drags, and of course it would—you’re putting him in your car and taking him home in a few hours…this will be your first time seeing him outside of work. You try to keep away from Seungmin as much as possible, though, because he’s right. If you’re not careful, everyone will notice the attention you’re starting to give him.

“I’m a bit of a drive from here,” he says when you finally walk down the same aisle as him. “So if you don’t want—“

“If you can handle it on the bus, I’m sure I can handle the drive.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I don’t mind. You can get the coffee next time, if it makes you feel better.”

“Yes,” he reaches out and looks at the order on the side of your cup. “I can do that.”

･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It is a long drive. But you don’t mind, because he’s comfortable in the passenger seat; head back, eyes closed. You sneak a glance at him every chance you get, and each time, it looks like he’s sleeping soundly. It’s nice seeing him so close, letting your eyes linger even more than you dared to before. Even in the dark. The shape of his nose and lips, his jawline, his ear. The way his hair falls so nicely, and so effortlessly.

But of course he catches you, looks right back, and smiles.

“You really have such a long ride to and from work every day, Seungmin?” You blush, even though you don’t think he saw you staring.

“Yeah, it’s not bad. I’m used to it.”

“Are you saving for a car?”

“No, I can’t drive.”

“Oh, do you want to learn?”

“I’m not sure, thinking about driving makes me nervous.”

“I don’t want this to come across weird, but…how old are you?”

“I am 23. Am I too young or too old?” He flips down the visor and opens the mirror.

“Are you flirting?”

“You did it first.”

“No, I think you might have flirted first, actually.”

“When?”

“When you tried to keep me out of the breakroom. But I guess that was more for my own sake than anything.”

“I didn’t want you to have to listen to them.” Seungmin sits back again, and you can feel his stare burning into you.

“I heard them.”

“You did? What did you hear?”

“Your friends think you’re fucking me…or that you’re going to. And that you’re a slut.”

He’s quiet, and you hope you haven’t gone too far by actually saying it as crassly as they did.

“I’m not.”

“You’re not a slut?” You smile at him, hoping to break any tension you may have created. Thankfully it seems to work, because Seungmin laughs and covers his eyes. Then shakes his head.

“Or you’re not gonna fuck me?”

You can’t see his reaction, because now you have to watch the road, but he’s quiet again and it’s killing you.

“Take a left up here.” He says.

You decide to avoid eye contact completely until you get him home, and luckily, it’s not much longer. You pull into a spot as close to the door as possible, put it in park, and look at him.

He’s still relaxed, sitting back, eyes wide open and staring at you.

“I’m sorry, that was…uh, maybe too much.“

“Do you wanna come up?”

—-

Of course you do. The last three weeks you’ve spent trying to keep your distance has been torture, but you’re still nervous as you follow him down the hall to his apartment. You’re certain that as soon as you have him where you want him, you’ll snap out of it.

“This one,” he says it quietly, a little timid, maybe. You like it. “It’s probably a little messy.”

“I don’t mind.”

It’s not. Seungmin’s idea of messy is your idea of tidied up. And it’s a cute little apartment. Just looking at the couch—the big striped throw pillows, a few plushies, it doesn’t look like a typical single guys apartment. It’s cute, and it’s comfortable. It’s really cute. The kitchen is small and most of the counter space is taken up by an espresso machine and all of the things that go with it. It’s neat in here, too. Not a dish or cup out of place.

“I like it,” you turn and he’s there, an inch away from you. “Can I see the rest?”

“Of course.”

The rest being his bedroom, and he leads you right in. It’s a little darker in here, but it’s still very him. It’s sweet, a little bit colorful, and very very soft.

The dog plush on top of one of his pillows reminds you of something important, “oh, you're collar. It's at home.”

“My collar? You got me a collar?”

“Yeah, it’s really cute.” You close the gap between you and grab the neck of his shirt, “sit.”

He does. Seungmin sits on the edge of his bed, not breaking eye contact. He leans back and rests on his hands, stretches out his long torso, spreads his knees as you put a leg between them. "What does it look like?"

You run your hand up to his throat and very, very lightly close your hand around it. No need to scare him off immediately. You want to squeeze, but right now you’re perfectly content just touching him "It's red...dark red, and has a gold chain across the front."

"A bell?"

“Of course. A tag, if you want.”

His eyes light up, and his hand wraps around your thigh, thumb moves in gentle circles. It sends a little shiver up your arms. He’s making your head swim, and you need to get a hold of yourself.

"...but you won't be fucking me."

"Huh?" he stops, and his mouth opens a little.

It seems a little bold of him, but he slides both hands up your thighs, up your hips, and hooks his fingers underneath your leggings. You told him he won’t be fucking you, and yet…

He pulls down, gently, until you can kick them to the side...and he looks up at you with pleading eyes. You grab a handful of his pretty hair and put his lips on you, and he kisses your hip so softly, you feel like you could melt.

“No," you push him back a little and straddle him. He’s resting on one elbow, and the other hand is slowly moving up toward your ass. “No, pup…I’m fucking you.”

He mouths the word pup, bites down on his lips, tries to hold back his smile. “Yes, please.”

“Please? Oh, I knew you were the one.”

“I am,” Seungmin falls to his back, and sighs…moans, “I am, noona.” His hips buck up and he looks down at his quickly growing erection. Seungmin was probably already halfway there when he invited you up.

He needs let loose, but first you feel him over his clothes. He’s a handful, and he twitches when your fingers move along his length.

“Please…” he whispers, and his puppy eyes are impossible to deny. Now you want to give him everything. “Take care of me.”

“Oh, Seungmin…” you unbuckle his belt, unbutton, unzip. Very slowly. “I will.”

“Minnie.”

“Hmm?” You run a hand over him again, and the red, needy tip of his cock peeks out from his briefs. “What’d you say?”

“Call me—“ he’s cut short by your lips wrapping around his head. His moan cuts through you, your pussy throbs, and your mouth sucks him in a little more. “…call me Minnie.”

“Minnie,” you moan, licking the pre-cum from his stomach. “Minnie, you’re so hard for me.”

Finally, you pull at the sides of his jeans, slide them down his legs, and throw them to the side. You suck him in as far as you can—he squirms, and his hips jerk up toward your mouth, pushing him in even further. A slap on his thigh settles him, letting you work him at your own pace. You don’t want him anywhere near close yet, because you’re just getting started.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” You look at him, stroke him slowly, take in the rest of his body. His sweatshirt is still on, but pushed up just enough for you to see his stomach.

“Yes, I’ll be good.”

You lean down and kiss his stomach, run your tongue across his belly button, “take that off.”

Seungmin listens and pulls his sweatshirt over his head.

“Look at me.”

He does. He doesn’t break eye contact when you suck him back into your mouth, stroke hard and slow, lick the pre-cum leaking out of him again. His moan is desperate and whiny, just how you like it.

“You’re so pretty, Minnie.” You crawl over him, leaving kisses on his body as you go, and when you stop at his throat, he whines a little and licks his lips. “So sweet.”

You’re making him blush. And you give him no warning when you take his dick and slide it across the wet fold of your cunt. His fingers grip your thighs, and you let him hold on as you push him in. Despite how wet you are, it takes a little work. You slide down slowly until he disappears completely inside of you.

The sound he makes for you is so much better, so much softer than you thought it would be—he’s already begging for more.

You grind your hips into him and stretch yourself around his thickness, get used to how much he’s filling you up. “Minnie,” you moan. “Fuck.”

You could do this until you come. You might. He seems like he's enjoying himself, too.

His hips lift and hit you deeper. You let him, because it feels too good. He mumbles something, but you’re too lost in how he’s making you feel.

When your hands grip the sheets next to him, his wrap around your arms, slide up, and then back down. “You feel so good,” he purrs.

You lift your hips and bounce on him, slowly at first, because he’s already losing it. He has no problem making noise and his moans drown out whatever he’s trying to say…

so good… don’t… stop… please… ah… so tight...I'm gonna...

“Oh no baby, not yet,” you slow down and grind on him again, hitting just the right spot. You lean back and hit it even harder, over and over. Each pound against his hips makes him whine. “Pup, you’re gonna make me come already, you’re such a good boy.”

You do. You look at him as you squeeze him tight, relax, and gently bounce up and down. Seungmin smiles and licks his lips—the only sound is the wet slide of him being covered in your come, and it's all he can keep his eyes on.

He bucks up hard, “I wanna come,” and again, you let him. He’s getting away with far too much, but he feels so good, and he’s too cute, and he’s too gentle. And you can’t wait to make him come. But not yet.

“Soon Minnie, I promise,” you lean forward and groan with the change in angle. “I want you all night.” You place a kiss on his chest, bite and kiss his nipple.

“I can come for you…all night.”

“I bet you can.”

“Kiss me, please.”

“I am…” you laugh and work you way further up.

“Please,” he whispers. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks.”

“You have?”

“Yeah…mhm, I have.”

“Oh, you…you like me, huh? I mean—”

Seungmin nods, “don’t you like me?”

“I like you very much,” you kiss the corner of his mouth, bite his lip, and then finally press your lips against his. He kisses so eagerly, so hungrily, you almost can’t keep up with his tongue.

He hums and moans down your throat, holds onto your thighs tight enough to leave marks—fucks you, slowly and deeply, rolling his hips so smoothly you can already feel another orgasm rising. You wonder if he even knows how good he is.

“Min—” you just barely get it out around his lips. “Minnie…”

He slows down, but doesn’t stop.

“Easy,” you finally pry him off of you and push him down, hand just below his throat, “take it easy.”

“Sorry,” Seungmin slows his hips down even more, and eventually comes to a stop. His fingers are still digging into your skin, and his chest is heaving.

“No,” you run your fingers up and down his throat, kiss him one more time, and pull him up by the back of his neck until he’s sitting. “Nothing to be sorry for, you’re still a good boy.”

This has been too easy. You weren’t sure how easy it would be to get him underneath you, falling apart, begging for more…but you had a feeling he wanted it just as much as you. What you weren’t completely sure of was how much control he’d give to you.

Luckily, Seungmin is just what you hoped he would be: gentle, pliant, needy for attention, and very horny.

He melts into your touch—your fingers running through his hair, your thumbs running over his ears, still red and warm. You kiss and suck at the skin on his jaw, not caring if you leave marks. And very slowly, you start to move your hips again.

You have his shoulders for leverage now, and your arms are wrapped loosely around him. From this position he could take so much more control, but he doesn’t. He’s content just watching you move on him, looking up every so often until you look back. Every time you do, a smile tugs at his lips, and you can tell he just wants to kiss you again.

Keeping it from him is becoming a challenge. He craves touch and affection, and he might be the most patient, well-behaved fuck you’ve had in a long time, so you will give it to him eventually.

“Seungmin?” His name feels so nice rolling off of your tongue.

He looks at you…flushed, sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose. He answers by sliding his palm up along your spine.

“Seungmin…” you lock your arms around him, pull him in until your foreheads are touching, and start fucking him faster. He holds you steady, pulls you toward him, grinds you on his cock just how he likes it. “Oh god…ah, just like that, pup. Fuck.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward and kisses, “that feels good, hm?”

His words come out so heavy and warm and thick. You can’t stop him, you won’t. He keeps his pace and movements so steady, and it feels so good you could cry.

“Come for me, please. I wanna hear you.”

Seungmin, you whine his name, pathetically, like you’re falling apart, because you are. You moan and your legs start to shake, but he holds you tighter and keeps you moving on him. In and out, back and forth. Right where you need it. Over and over.

You cry out, and he smiles as he works you through it—gradually slowing down as you relax...then he lifts you up and off of him.

“No, I’m not done with you.”

“Just a little break,” he pushes his forehead against yours again, closes in on your lips, but you shake your head.

“You’re not in charge, pup.”

“I’m not, I know. Catch your breath.”

“You feel so good...I wanna keep going.”

“Not yet…” he grabs you around the middle and puts you on your back. “Relax.”

“Minnie…what are you doing?”

The room spins. You close your eyes. The bed shifts as he lays down, and you feel a blanket being pulled up and over you. And then his arm is there, pulling you against his warm body and holding you tight. Seungmin is turning everything upside down. You’re melting into him, and you like it.

“What about you?” You mumble into his chest, “I wanna make you feel good.”

“You are…don’t worry. We’re just catching our breath.”

“Seungmin”

He rubs your back, “hmm?” pulls away just enough to look at you.

“Nothing”

“Nothing? You sure?”

“No. What are we doing? Ooh…you like me.” It’s hard not to smile when you say it out loud again. “Do you, really?”

He laughs and tries to hide his face behind the blanket. “Yeah, sorry. Am I complicating things?”

“You are, but it’s okay.”

“Is it too much? We can keep going, if that’s what you want. You can take over again.”

“Is this what you like, sweetie?” You slide a fingertip along his jaw and over his ear. “Just being like this? Kissing…” you pull him close for one, “touching.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Seungmin is excited and relaxed and nervous all at once. You’re a little more than he was expecting, but he’s not going to complain. He wanted this. He still wants it.

Another kiss on his lips, “you just want taken care of, yeah?”

He nods.

“Good,” as soon as you wiggle your hand free, you slide it down his stomach until your fingertips find him, still hard. Taking care of Seungmin is the only thing on your mind now; making him feel good, giving him all the attention and affection he needs. Making sure he comes back for more.

Slow, gentle strokes—a kiss between his eyes, on the tip of his nose. You almost get teeth when you go for the smile on his lips.

His hands are all over you, touching everywhere he can.

You swallow every little moan that passes his lips, every hitch in his breath when he can’t keep from pushing his hips against you. He gets closer, and he wants more, but you just keep kissing him and touching him just enough.

“Can I…”

“Hmm?”

His eyes scan your face, and he pushes you flat on your back again. Before you even think of protesting, he’s on you, lips on your neck, hands on your thighs, hips grinding into yours. He stretches you out and his thumb finds your clit, still swollen and sensitive.

You focus on kissing him and letting him work. It’s not that you can’t give up control—you just usually don’t. Seungmin is making it easy, though. His pace isn’t too much. He’s not smothering you, and he’s not selfishly pounding you into the bed. Your thighs are resting on his lap, hips up, legs curled around him. And every time he slides in, his dick hits right where you need it to. You can breath between his kisses, and you can enjoy every soft movement of his fingers.

“Should’ve let you take over sooner…”

A pretty smile spreads across his face, and you get lost in his eyes; two big black crescent moons, squished by his pink cheeks. You’ve never had someone smile at you like him. Not while they fucked you like this, at least.

“So good...feels so good,” you barely hear him when he breathes it out. "Does it, baby?"

His mouth is on yours before you can answer, wet and messy, teeth biting and pulling at your lips—down to your throat, he bites and sucks and licks at the sweat forming there.

“You like leaving marks, pup?” You ask, but in your head is an echo of him calling you baby.

The mhmm against your neck makes you shiver.

“Should I keep them out for your friends to see?”

Seungmin is up and back in your face… "yes"…forehead against yours, “please.”

He’s getting so close. Whiney shallow breaths, slow deep thrusts.

“Come in me…it’s okay.”

That…and your fingers grabbing for his hair—that’s all he needed. It hits him and he falls onto you. Your hands move to wrap around his waist, and you hold tight as he slows himself and fills you up. All of his weight on you feels so good, though. His sweat and his heat, his heavy breaths moving across your face.

He shifts to kiss your neck again. Softly, though...no marks this time.

The room is quiet for a while, and only sounds are your legs rubbing against the sheets, against his thighs, the wet release of Seungmin’s lips on your skin.

“You okay?” He finally breaks the silence. “Was that okay?”

You nod and knead your fingers into his shoulders, “you have a good touch, pup.”

“I like that," he sighs, pulls himself out, crashes down next to you. But his arm stays draped over your stomach,

“Hmm, what do you like?”

He props himself up and bats his eyes at you, “I like being pup. Do you call…um, do you call other guys cute nicknames?” Seungmin looks away when he finally stutters it out.

“What makes you think there are other guys?”

And now his face turns bright red. “Oh, sorry, you’re just...you seem like you know what you're doing. You know what you want."

“It's alright. There hasn’t been anyone in a while.”

“Just me,” he whispers, and smirks.

“You’re my only pup.”

"Good."

Lips press against your shoulder, his arm squeezes and brings you closer. You can't help but lean into his embrace. Even now, after everything is done, at least for the moment, you can't escape your growing feelings for him. Sex didn't quench the desire—you don't want to get dressed and leave, you don't want to be done and rid of him until the feeling returns.

The guys you usually sleep with are one night stands for a reason, and you never think of them again when they leave. And you certainly don't give them cute nicknames.

"You threw me off a little, though."

"I did? What did I do?" he laughs, and he has no idea how much it cuts through you. "You were amazing."

"You're so sweet."

Seungmin searches your face, but he can’t figure out what’s going on in your head. It seems like you feel the same as he does, or it did, but right now is when it matters. You caught each other, you poured yourselves out all over place. Now what?

"What's wrong?" he gets even closer, and his nose is almost brushing against yours. "Coming down from everything, maybe? Do you want me to get your stuff so you can get dressed?"

"No, I don't wanna leave."

The relief that washes over his face—you can see it. He isn’t trying to be subtle, because Seungmin has already confessed his feelings to you. You kind of did, too. The difference is, you lied, because you weren’t totally, completely, one hundred percent sure until a few minutes ago.

Now he’s looking down at you like he didn’t just give you three orgasms, and like his come isn’t slowly dripping out of you.

“Not yet.”

“You can stay as long as you want.”

“I can take us to work in the morning.”

“You wanna spend the night? Ah, I can make us dinner, and breakfast…unless, maybe that’s too much.”

“No, it's not. But I am wondering something..."

He’s so eager to hear. He rests his chin on you and grins, “what is it?”

“Can we do that again? Can you really come all night?

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 1

Part 2

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness.]

...

Danny was used to seeing the dead. He was one of them, actually. People have been dying for thousands of years and will continue to die for thousands more. Hearing the whispers of people who should have passed on was nothing unusual, even if it gave him an uncomfortable sense of wrongness.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t like Gotham City.

Don’t get him wrong! Gotham was a lovely place to live; if you were psychotic. But the gothic architecture that never seemed to crumble, the visible smog that settled over the skies like a thick blanket, and the acidic aftertaste the water had were just enough to make Danny uncomfortable as he trekked through the streets. It had just rained, and the random sounds of water dripping off buildings made him flinch. Puddles kept reflecting the surroundings unusually. The smell of wet asphalt was heavy in the air, nothing like the freshness of Amity’s rain.

He felt itchy and weird in his skin, like something was trying to burn it off. It was just past three am, and Danny had just gotten off his split shift at some high-end nightclub. The Iceberg Lounge, or something like that. He’d gotten a job as a busboy since he was too young to work as a bouncer or bartender. Honestly, he was lucky they let him have a job at all. He took every shift he could, sometimes going over the legal limit of what a minor was allowed to work.

His boss allowed it, however. On a few conditions.

Listen in on the customers and report anything interesting to management. Danny was tiny, way too small for his age of sixteen. But he was great at making himself unnoticeable, which allowed him to keep his ears open for exciting deals and whatnot that were going around. He didn’t feel good about the work, but it kept food on the table. So far, the worst he’s reported was a plan to move against Red Hood and his gang. It wasn't ideal, but Danny could put up with the prying eyes and greedy hands so long as he got paid on time.

Oh, but the dead? They were so much worse.

The dead always noticed him. And they always talked to him. He could barely think straight with all the ghouls, specters, shades, and other souls that always clamored for his attention. Gotham’s dark atmosphere bred hundreds of angry souls who refused to move on until their business was finished. But without a steady source of ectoplasm or a natural portal, most of them stayed as shadows of their former selves. They stuck to the city's underbelly, brewing in anger and making the town sicker than it already was. Some of them, the stronger ones with a real bone to pick, chose to haunt the living, clinging to a person’s back and leeching off their life energy. Those were the ones Danny had to deal with the most in Gotham.

It was horrible. Everything was just so sad and angry! The city had a lot of fucked-up people living here, and the worst of them had so many shades sticking to them. They all wanted something. It made Danny feel like he was always having an allergy attack. The city just messed his senses up in the worst way possible. Danny would gladly be living anywhere else if it wasn’t for his need to hide and survive.

Kill them. Danny shivered as he turned a corner, and a shadow reached out to stick to his shoulder, whispering filthy words into his ear. Kill them for me. He brushed the spirit off, ignoring their hiss. His back ached, and his head throbbed. Danny just wanted to climb into the shit hole he called home and fall asleep on the thin futon he’d shoved into a corner.

So he did.

Danny climbed the rickety fire escape up to his apartment as quietly as possible (the main staircase was out of order) and shimmied himself through the broken window that never opened all the way. His backpack was stored under his futon, in the floorboards, and he collapsed without changing his clothes.

Maybe tomorrow’s shift will be better. He thought, closing his eyes.

…

It was not better. His next shift was as shitty as all the others.

“Take this to the east balcony on the second floor.” Danny’s supervisor for the night, Tamia, shoved a heavy tray laden with beer bottles and fancy cocktails into his hands, pointing vaguely to the staircase he’d have to use. It was only thanks to Danny’s ghost strength that he didn’t collapse under the weight.

“Isn’t that where the boss is?” He asked, squinting past the bright lights, barely making out the short outline of Oswald Cobblepot as he talked up some rough-looking characters.

Tamia nodded, distracted. She was already back to whipping up complicated drinks and barking orders at the other servers. “Yeah, so don’t fuck this up. In and out, ya hear?”

“Got it, Tam.”

She waved him off, and he began the rough journey to the second floor, skirting around the edges of the packed tables, avoiding the odd penguin, and taking careful steps up the staircase, floating just barely above the floor to make sure he didn’t slip. Guests and other workers ignored him, but their shades reached out, caressing him in a way that made him want to squirm. He couldn’t shake them off, not while he was carrying the tray.

She killed me, one whispered as a lady dressed in diamonds passed.

I was drugged, said another when a burly older man walked by.

Danny pressed close to the walls as a group meandered on by. My teddy bear! A little girl’s voice cried out, and he couldn’t tell which of the group it was coming from. He took my teddy bear! I want it back!

I can’t help you, he thought viciously, trying to charge the air around him with hostility. It was difficult. The humans would pick up on it if he harshed the vibes too much. Too little, and the shades would ignore it. A nearby penguin squawked in alarm, but the spirits backed off, so he counted it as a win.

Finally, he reached the east balcony. The thick curtains were closed, but his sharp hearing still caught a few words through the club's noise. Something about the gang war Red Hood had prevented (the one Danny had reported on.)

But it wasn’t his job to worry about that. He wasn’t a hero anymore. Instead, Danny politely knocked on a pillar holding the curtains up, waiting to be let in.

The conversation quieted. “Who is it?” asked his boss.

“Drinks, sir,” Danny replied simply. The curtain was let open, and by the Ancients, Danny wished he’d never taken this job.

The balcony was brimming with the dead. It reeked with the heavy stench of death.

He suppressed a cough, clamping his mouth shut as he passed out drinks. His hostile aura was drowned out by the sheer amount of spirits clamoring at each other, practically at each other’s ghostly throats. Some of them had real definition to their features, telling Danny that this was not a group to be messed with. One of the spirits was on the verge of gaining its own consciousness, dripping a familiar green Danny had come to associate with his rouges. The spirit's burning eyes turned to him, and Danny was overwhelmed with the scent of rot rolling off it. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

He started to pass out drinks, suppressing the urge to shiver as hands gripped at his face, his clothes, his arms, his everything. The shades had noticed him. They clamored around him, filling his head with white noise. It was horrible.

Mr. Cobblepot eyed the boy, noticing how his newest employee had tensed up and gone noticeably paler in the presence of his guests.

The kid had practically folded in on himself as another aide swept aside the curtains. His hands trembled just barely, and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes straight on, instead looking past their ear or at their foreheads. He also noticed how Red Hood, sitting directly to his right, had gone stiff when the kid entered the room. The crime lord wasn’t showing his face, but he could still see how Hood tracked Danny’s movements like a hawk, tensed like he was about to leap out of his chair and assault the kid. Danny, for his part, had clamped his mouth shut and did his duties diligently and quickly, seemingly not noticing Red Hood’s attention on him.

Everyone began murmuring again, continuing their conversations now that they had booze to loosen their tongues. Mr. Cobblepot took a tentative sip of his fancy cocktail, non-alcoholic, of course. He couldn’t have his thoughts inhibited while in the middle of a business deal.

The kid was in and out like a ghost, barely making a sound as he slipped past the curtains once more, tray clutched to his chest.

“Who was that?” Red Hood finally tore his attention away from the kid’s retreating back and turned to the host of the evening.

Mr. Cobblepot waved him off. “A new hire. Don’t worry. All the paperwork is in order; he’s not here illegally.” Lies slipped off his tongue like honey, and luckily, Red Hood was too distracted to notice. “Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?”

Danny practically ran down the stairs and back into the kitchens. He barely had time to shove his empty tray into Tamia’s hands before he slammed the back doors open and heaved the contents of his stomach out next to a dumpster.

Ancients, that was horrific. Danny knelt there for a few moments, dry heaving some more until his stomach was well and truly empty. Acid burned the back of his throat.

“Holy shit Danny! What happened?” Thin hands clamped down on his shoulders, making him flinch. The touch softened, and they started rubbing circles on his back instead. It was Tamia, no doubt having run after him when she saw his pale face.

Danny shuddered and shook his head. “Sorry.” He gasped. “I think-I think I’m allergic to something they were wearing.”

“Fuck.” Tamia cursed softly. “If I get you a drink, will that settle your stomach?”

“Probably, yeah.”

His (totally awesome, reminded him of Jazz) supervisor stood up decisively. “Then I’m getting you some water.” She told him. Two wispy shades curled around her neck, chittering at him with anxiety. “Sit out here and take some deep breaths. We’re short-staffed tonight, so I’ll send Mia to the balconies instead. We can’t afford to send you home.”

“And I can’t afford to miss a shift.” He joked. His heart wasn't in it.

Tamia turned and opened the back door. “Well, if you’re already cracking jokes, you’ll be back to waiting tables in no time~” She cackled over her shoulder.

Danny smiled at her retreating back. Tamia was a nice person, and he didn’t meet many of those these days. She was tall, with dark skin and a wit to match Nightwing’s. He’s sure she was only looking out for him because he reminded her of her two younger siblings, dead from a house fire a few years ago. (If he had to hazard a guess, the two shades that clung to her with such desperation were what was left of those very siblings.) It was fine. He’d take any pity he could get.

Coughing slightly, Danny leaned back on his heels and looked up, trying to see past Gotham’s cloud cover. Instead of stars, he saw two white eyes narrow at him from the top of the building. A dark mass writhed above the eyes, making the figure they belonged to blend in with the background. Danny yelped in surprise and fell on his butt. When he looked up again, the eyes were gone.

Well, shit.

Danny scrambled to his feet and tore open the back door, almost running into Tamia, who had a bottle of water in her hands. “Tam!” He blurted. “Get the boss! The Bat is here!”

...

[Pretty short cause I gotta skedaddle off to work. This is a planned fic that will be pretty short, and I'll link the next part below at a later date. Hope you enjoyed it!]

[froshele]

You know we pick on the Aspirant but I think we don't do it comprehensively at all, because even among cultists I think they truly are special.

Nobody else is entirely normal compared to the librarian either. It's just that they have solid reasons to be doing their thing:

1. Exile has the world's most dramatic relationship to his father possible and is hopping continents and cities instead of working it out, sure. But it's (partly) because he's an Antaean, and Duffoure Senior really and genuinely forreal sucks.

2. Dancer is ... in a possibly survival based position that they choose not to leave for better things despite knowing that it's full to the gills with horrific occult threats to wellbeing. To be fair, they are within rights to prefer that to the attention of their patrons, but basically on the we respect sex workers and, what, adult entertainers website I don't really need to elaborate on the fact that whatever Dancer gotta do is whatever Dancer gotta do. At some point it may switch from getting that bag to becoming a chorus dancer for the Thunderskin, or to becoming a full time esoteric furry, but to be honest go sib go I refuse to fault the Dancer for anything they're my favourite. They were in what may be read as an inescapable pipeline and they won that shit, no notes, pack it in everybody.

3. It is a beautiful day and Priest is a terrible priest, actually I'm unsure of what Priest's deal is, I think Priest might just be Priesting correctly. Their religious framework sacralizes their despair and mania, which like, ok, not healthy maybe, but it gets them through the day without chugging opium!

4. Detective and Physician are just ill but functioning guys with jobs who happen to have totally justified brushes with the Mansus and make some rash decisions.

5. Medium??? Is a totally legitimate businesswoman don't even fret about it :)

Aspirant, though. Aspirant isn't forced into their life nor has it thrust upon them nor do they respond in any sense normally to being willed a bunch of occult stuff - they're just, like... Like That, from the jump, from the moment they as a surly hospital janitor have access to occult concepts. And the Like That that they are is totally divorced from their mechanically represented condition; everyone else has the same condition. Nobody else seems to make the same choice for the same reason, Just Because They Can -- the ending text is the same but I think the context, right, the context really does a lot of quite heavy work here.

Everyone else is /capable/ of pursuing one of Aspirant's victories, but, um, they don't really... I mean their heart's not in it, nobody seriously reads it as canon when they do. I bet you didn't even remember it was possible to ascend under a different Hour as the Dancer!

Which brings me to this: nothing at all has happened to make the Aspirant talk or think in their very instrumental and personally cruel type of way. Their existence as a menial hospital worker is far from as precarious as some others', their main gripe seems to just be that it's not very stimulating.

There's no backstory causing it, they're not undead, they seem to have not been working before because they think it's beneath them, they don't metaphysically or personally /need/ to be doing what they do. They do what they do /specifically because they crave that mineral,/ that mineral being for some reason immortality and phenomenal cosmic power.

And they WANT it. They want to be an unspeakable bodiless radiance or an ithastry-golem or one of the Grail's heaps of awful devouring minions more than anyone should have strength to want anything. It's a fixation for them, an obsession, possibly a symptom of their mental illness, since we have to manage what is actually a very strongly crafted but probably unintentional representation of bipolar with schizoaffective traits.

From specifically the point of view of ludonarrative integration I think it's fair to diagnose everybody in that game with a dread-fascination cycle in some capacity with some form of something in that general region. But Aspirant is probably the one with the worst coping mechanisms, and the one in the most need of help -- everybody else has friends or coworkers or voices to talk to at least, and something else to do in their life. The Aspirant... paints ominous pictures and smokes opium.

Exile grieves their dead, you get a card about it and heaps of exposition and all. BYT seems to be doing the whole thing kind of half as a bit at least at first, and I guess you could say they deliberately don't get too close to anyone. Physician is academically curious and honouring a patient's last wishes. Detective is just doing their literal actual rentpaying job. Dancer likewise, at first. Priest. Ghoul, if you want to get deterministic about it. But Aspirant just does all the culty horrible things the others have to be professionally inured to doing, /for no initial reason and with no training at all/ except a desire to cope badly with The Wolf, Despair.

Aspirant is just ... Aspirant. They just... are Aspirant. They're the most Cultist of all the cultists, even the other POV guys in that game.

Whatever Librarian does calmly and from a hinged mental state, no matter how eldritch, has nothing on Aspirant, who woke up one beautiful day [arning, burning, yearning, burning, yearning, burning, yearning, burning, ye] and completely uprooted their entire life to become an antisocial, occult hermit who isn't even very good at it

[ornii]

Folie à deux

The Madness of Two,

2020, The Grammys.

Your feet pattered the limousine floor as you checked your watch, a slight panic in your face. It was the Grammys this night and with your almost meteoric rise to stardom, this is the first time you’ve felt, Anxious about it. You take a deep breath and relax, slowly letting the world fade around you. It always seems so otherworldly.

It all began with posting a few SoundCloud songs, eventually one blew up and it seems your music name began to make the rounds. Taking that opportunity, you released an album under your name and it spread like Wildfire, big Celebes we’re posting snippets on social media and overnight, you somehow took over the world.

Media deals. Record Labels, Advertisers, all were hounding for you. The next big thing, and it seems it all lead to a climax and here you were. Pulling up to the Grammys, you took a few deep breaths and waited for the door to be opened for you, as your chauffeur did, cameras flashed, cheers and screams were all over the place. You put on a smile and head inside to the main foyer, you were greeted by the obvious managers of said Grammys and was Starstruck by those inside, Multi record winning Artists, people who are considered gods. You were standing with somehow. Your awe was cut off by a voice.

“Mr (L/N)?” They ask, you turn around to a woman with a mic, not a reporter but the woman managing the seating.

“I’m glad you made it safe, if it’s okay with you, you’ll be seated next to Ortega.” She said, you raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Brian Ortega? I didnt know he liked the Grammys.” You say and she chuckles.

“No no, Miss Ortega.” She said; which Just confused you even more, you shrugged.

“Uh, Sure.” You say, you began to mingle, trying to keep up appearances as some of the most influential artists Dawned your presence. Ranging from Movie directors like Spielberg, to Multi Grammy winners like Canadas own, Aubrey Graham, better known as Drake. Ten minutes to countdown you reach your seat and relax. Everyone begins to get ready, and your train of though was on what you would say if you would, could possibly win a Grammy.

“Hey.” A Voice draws your attention and you turn to face it, and your eyes laid upon someone that made the world grind to a halt, all you could see were those beautiful eyes, soft skin and a smile that could make the darkest moments in your life shine like a supernova. and it finally dawned on you, you’re Sitting next to, Jenna Ortega. You remember when Iron Man 3 was released in Theaters, and the Vice Presidents daughter that Tony had to save, that was her! And stuck in the middle! It took moments for you to realize the impact She actually had on you.

“O-oh! Hi!” You day, your voice cracking slightly as you try not to get lost in her eyes. She offers a slight handshake and you take it, not really able to speak.

“Jenna.” She says.

“Y-yeah I’ve seen a lot of your movies I—“ you begin, but stop trying not to sound like a fanboy in front of her. She genuinely smiles at her.

“Thanks. I don’t mean to pry but you are working on more music right? With that much talent you can’t stop right?” She says and you nod.

“Anything for you.” You thought, “Shit that’s creepy why did I say that?! JUST BE COOL.” You think and nod.

“Yeah, didnt think I’d get this far, nice to meet someone my age, makes me less anxious.

“I know, feels kind heavy, doesn’t it?” She says, “All these celebs, kinda feels weird being here.” She says awkwardly. And you build up the courage to utter one sentence.

“It should, you deserve to be here.” You say, it actually catches her off guard and she can only smile and say “Thanks.”, genuinely. You two hush as the ceremony begins. It was fairly uneventful, besides You and Tyler the Creator tweeting memes at each other, before the first set of awards were given, and one of the main four was presented. Best New Artist of the Year, it was heavily contested, Alaina Castillo, Summer Walker, Normani, Giveon. You definitely wanted Giveon, Heartbreak anniversary was your jam. As Keke Palmer took the stage she has the envelope and smiles.

“Good luck.” You hear Jenna say from the side and, that boosts your confidence to levels you couldn’t imagine.

“And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to… Your Very own! (Y/n) (L/n)!” She says and the crowd explodes, the look of shock was on your face, you rose up being congratulated by many, Jenna claps for you as you approach the stage, still stunned. You take the Grammy with a look of sheer luck and disbelief, you stand there at the Mic and just stand there for a moment.

“Uh- Sorry i had no idea I was gonna be here.” You say and they laugh, you shrug it off.

“Well, I suppose I should say something.. first thing is, well it’s been a crazy year, I went from barley making college payments to buying my parents a new house, cars, anything they could ever want and, it’s all thanks to you all.” Your anxiety was soon filled with sadness and cheers began to bellow.

“You all don’t know how much this means to me, thank you. And, god bless you all.” You raise the Grammy to a rousing applause, you return back to your seat and wipe a few tears. But a tissue was handed to you, but none other than Jenna. You two share a smile and keep the Ceremony going, but I hope you didn’t expect just one.

“Song of The Year! Album of The Year! Record of the Year!” After the third one you hear the song play as you head up with the last one and you take it, and you turn to everyone awkwardly.

“Okay i didnt expect to be up here four times.” You say to more laughter, you try to keep it short and sweet. “Seriously this is becoming a bad trend, I’m just some kid from nowhere, and you all believed in me, and I’m so glad you put your trust in me, in us. My team, my family, my fans, these are all for you.” You hold up the fourth Grammy and as usual it was arousing applause.

Nearing the End of the celebration you walk out of the Grammys with Four, FOUR; in your first appearance there. Two under your arms and to in your hands. You attempt to show them all laughing. But before you can continue you turn around to Jeanna who’s taking pictures of her own and motion her over, to take pictures with you, she rolls her eyes sarcastically as the anxiety and fear washed away to golden confidence. You both pose for the pictures and they flash so desperate for a header and they got one.

“(Y/n) (L/n) and Jenna Ortega? What could this mean for the two blossoming stars?”

[hyperbolicreverie]

❄️ share a WIP snippet? 👀

Gladly! This one is from the post-Dressrosa WIP I mentioned in my last post. Here are two snippets:

Zoro’s eye goes wide as his arm dips under Kikoku’s unexpected weight, and Law almost congratulates himself on startling the generally stoic man. He knows from experience that swords like those Zoro favors are much lighter, and while Kikoku is by no means the heaviest longsword out there, there’s still definite heft to her. “How the hell are you swinging around something this heavy with those stick arms of yours, Torao?” And good feelings gone. Bastard. Law very much wants to protest that a history of severe illness that directly affected his musculoskeletal structure as well as being in possession of a devil fruit that consumes a stupid amount of energy that might otherwise go to his body are perfectly legitimate reasons to not have passed whatever arbitrary strength expectations are rattling around inside the other swordsman’s green head. That there were several reasons why different people develop muscle at varied speeds and levels of effectiveness. A hissed “I do not have ‘stick arms,’” is what comes out of his mouth instead, because being around the Straw Hats makes him dumb. “Yeah, you do,” Zoro says absently, but he’s not really paying attention to Law or any embarrassing outbursts he may have just indulged in, focusing instead on Kikoku and acting much like a kid in a candy store. Law guesses he hasn’t had a lot of experience with longer blades. Well, aside from the one that put the scar on his chest. That one was pretty big. “Does she bite?” Zoro asks suddenly, as Law starts walking off. “Kitetsu bites.” “Kikoku? No, she doesn’t bite,” Law says, turning back briefly. Zoro just nods, still giving the lion’s share of his attention to assessing the nodachi in his lap. If anyone were to ask him later, Law will deny the admittedly shit-eating grin that steals over his face. “She might scream at you, though. Hope you weren’t planning on going back to sleep.” He more feels than sees Zoro’s head snap up behind him as he continues to walk away, ignoring the shout of “What do you mean, scream? Oi, Torao!” that comes from behind him. It’s fun being on the other side of the Straw Hat stress equation, he decides. He should do this more often.

and

Law takes a deep breath. His fault for alluding too much, perhaps, but Luffy’s got the bit between his teeth now and quite frankly, Law is far too tired to deal with the full and complete spectrum of Straw Hat’s stubbornness. “My full name is Trafalgar D. Water Law.” He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Recognition, maybe, of something shared. Complete obliviousness, perhaps. With Luffy, it was impossible to predict. An advantage in battle, certainly, but not when you were trying to have a conversation with him. What he gets is the most put-upon sigh he’s ever heard come out of the man’s mouth, and a look that actually appears to be somewhat annoyed. “Torao,” Luffy says, almost plaintively. “Your name did not have to get any more complicated.” Well. Now Law’s just offended. “It’s not complicated,” he protests. “Your name is almost as long, and you don’t seem to have any trouble shouting the entire thing from the rooftops anytime someone asks who you are.” “Yeah, but—” Luffy says, as if it were obvious. “My name is my name. Of course I know how to to say it, Torao. It would be really weird if I couldn’t.” He squints suspiciously at Law. “Besides, it’s all easy sounds. Half of yours sounds like you’re gargling on rocks.” He shrugs. “Torao is easier. Saves time.”

[shuyamino]

PUTTING YOU IN YOUR PLACE

pairing(s) : ✒ ،، mysta rias x reader

content : ✒ ،، mild NSFW | reader is gn (no pronouns used) | reader has a crush, but is stupid about it | college!au | tension | reader is a bit of a brat, mysta isn't having it

notes : ✒ ،، this is just the finished portion of this fic. i meant to write the rest (which is him fucking you) but i just never did, but this portion is good enough too tbh. have fun!

also, pls dont treat ur crushes this way. LOL

minors + ageless blogs dni (u will b blocked) ;; read through content before reading more!

“Are you even listening to me?“

You look up from your notebook with your eyebrows pinched tight. You were listening for a while, but you initially figured Mysta would just taper off and finish his portion of the project. Mysta’s lips are pursed, and even with the library chatter, you can hear the incessant tapping of his feet. The growing animosity between the two of you can be cut by a butter knife at this point. As elated as you were to be paired with him, it seemed like neither of you could get through these study sessions without arguing.

It was mostly your fault with your knee-jerk reaction to act cold. By this point, it was all autopilot. And as much as you wanted to apologize —

“No. I’m doing my work, unlike you.” You reply after a beat of silence, hoping your voice stays stable. You mentally cursed yourself – why was that your initial response to him? It was stupid. You’re in college, acting like a three-year-old with a crush. You’re basically one step away from pulling his hair in the playground. “Are you done talking?”

“I–” Mysta pauses to take a deep breath. “Okay. We need to talk.”

You pause. The bitter edge of Mysta’s tone made your heart sink – maybe it was time to apologize. Come clean and explain why you were acting like a child but you bite your bottom lip and should listen. It’s easy to sit still and let him talk.

“...I should go, actually.” You say instead. Your body moves before you can help it – standing up from your chair and moving to pack your things. Mysta is quicker. He stands from his seat and blocks you from getting away. Your attempt to step back is met with the heavy, wooden table. “Mysta, move.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell your deal is.”

Your eyes scan the library floor – it wasn’t as filled with other students. Mysta insisted on climbing up to the top floors because the louder floors ruined his attention span. Still, even if there were fewer patrons – you two were still in public, even in the more secluded corners of this floor.

Mysta doesn’t budge, continuing to crowd into your space.

No, no. This can’t be happening – 

Your cheeks burn. Mysta is looking down at you now, his face twisted to an annoyed sneer. He’s not the tallest person but is significantly taller than you – forcing you to tilt your head up just to meet his gaze.

“What is it? Did I say something to offend you or piss you off?” Mysta continues. His breath fans against your cheeks as you stand there, hoping to push down the incessant pounding of your heart. “I know I can be a dickhead sometimes, but you’re just…always one!”

You drop your gaze to the ground, your fingers fidgeting with your sweater sleeve. You’re conflicted – a part of you elated that Mysta is initiating…something. But a more prideful part of you wants him away.

“Why are you looking away?” Mysta clicks his tongue. “If there’s something I did wrong, you should tell me. You had no trouble spouting shit at me before – what changed now?”

“W-well…” You begin, voice pinched. You close your eyes before sucking in a shaky breath. “Can you back up first?”

A pause. Mysta wasn’t going to move anytime soon.

“...P…Please…?”

The sudden shift in the air is almost palpable when that word slipped from your mouth. Mysta’s eyes lidded – the usually bright blue irises darken as he stares down at you. A pleased smirk curves his lips – one that should piss you off; instead, it makes your face burn brighter. Even under the consistent air conditioning of the library, you feel hot under the collar. You clench your fists, hoping to ground yourself by doing so.

“Are you blushing?” He asks, incredulous. A deep chuckle slips past his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. Your jaw slacks, mouth hanging open at his reaction. He leans closer to get a better look at your face. “Oh my god, you are.”

“I-I’m not!” You protest. “Fuck off.”

“Ah, there it is. All that bite but no bark.” Mysta’s voice drops an octave, a tone you weren’t used to. He’d always been such a loudmouth; not once could you have predicted he could drop his voice like this. “You could easily punch me or push me off. I’m not that much bigger than you.”

“I’m not –” Your words get caught in your throat. “I-I don’t…”

“What is it? Do you like it when I talk to you like this?”

“We’re in…we’re in public.” You snap, hoping it would be enough to deter him, though the slight tremble in your voice wasn’t convincing enough.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” A sparkle of mischief flashes in Mysta’s eyes, and it looks like his smirk grew wider. “If all I needed to do was talk like this to get you to shut the fuck up, I would’ve done it sooner.”

“Fuck you, Mysta.”

Mysta hums. “You said it yourself – we’re in public.” He even dares to sound scandalized. As if he wasn’t the one crowding into your space. “...Unless you’re into that, of course.”

He’s absolutely shameless. You knew this from his crude jokes, but he never fails to catch you off guard. 

Just as you were about to push him away and escape the suddenly stuffy library – a pair of girls pass by, chatting with one another. You were overlooked entirely, but their voices broke the brittle tension between you. It collapses all at once. Your face cools down, and the heat is much more bearable than before. Mysta shifts back and turns his attention towards the two girls – you couldn’t fully catch his expression, but you spotted the slightest glare from the side.

The two women pass without much of a glance. It wasn’t long until they were out of earshot.

Mysta sighs, irritated, before turning back to face you. The almost-predatory glint that settled over his blue eyes sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Why don’t we talk more in private?” Mysta whispers against your ear, his cool breath fanning against your flushed skin. Any convictions left in your mind disappear as you nod your head.

[cottondo]

Fizzarolli x reader | black lace

chapter four | still luv u

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•

pills n potions. we're overdosin'

i'm angry, but i still love you.

•

•

•

The show was almost over. You may have found out that it was going to be just a one night deal, but you had different plans.

Making it the best night of your life, you made absolute sure that every single demon out there in the audience knew your name afterwards.

Doing the best that you could in such a long time of not being very . . children friendly, you actually put on quite the show.

You could only hope that Fizz was impressed. At least, he seemed like he was relatively interested in you and your pole moves.

He had danced with you, and even wrapped his body around yours with the help of his ribbed limbs, but, it was all for show. Obviously.

However, in those moments being tangled up with him, you really thought that getting used to that feeling would have been easy. It surprisingly wasn't.

At one point, your hands slipped down the pole because of how clammy they got, and it made some embarrassment in you, grow. You hadn't done stage performances in front of, or, with, someone you were in love with before.

Dancing was hard in general, so slipping on a stage at Ozzie's already meant you were off to a bad start. Nerves don't come easy, even if you were dead.

Fizz bitched about it in your ear, away from his microphone, and made sure you knew not to mess up again.

"Get your shit together, kid." His eyes narrow in on you, as you dance beside him on stage.

It stung a little, sure. You were never unconfident, but somehow, Fizz's opinion of you made you rethink anything you did. Are your footing positions right? The way you spun, was it okay? Should you have not thrown in an extra sexy dance move to make the crowd gasp and awe at you if it means the attention pulls off of him?

You didn't know. All you could focus on are the couple things he was obviously annoyed about. Everybody made mistakes, it was inevitable. But not at Ozzie's. The rules are different here.

You sat on the low stool in the dressing room, knee bouncing, elbows on top of your knees, and head resting in your hands. Shit.

Fizz would never want you to come back now, would he? After all, you were just a last resort to him, anyway. So what did that tell you?

 

  The door to the dressing room opens, and Fizzarolli was talking loud on the phone. You could hear him from the other side of the door before he came in.

When he slammed the door behind him on the way inside the room, you couldn't help but flinch and look up at him, startled.

"Yeah, yeah I know. Yes! Look, it won't happen again, because it was a one time deal. Kay? Cool." Fizzarolli glares at the wall ahead of him, before side eyeing your sitting figure. You two share a heavy look, a thickness flooding into your chest and stomach, before he looks away and waves a hand.

"Yeah. Alright . . bye." Fizz ends the call and looks to you once more.

You dart your eyes a few times up at him, nervous, though it comes off more as curiosity, and lift your head.

 

"I thought you said you danced before." He says.

You blink, furrowing your brows. "I hav—"

"That wasn't dancing! That was slipping."

You sink into the chair and look away from him. There was an underlying annoyance resting in your mouth. It was ONE simple mistake. He didn't have to be such a dick about it all night.

 

"It was an accident. My hands got too warm." You go to explain. Fizz sighs, rounding you to meet the vanity counter. When he looks in the mirror, you look at his reflection and hold a more somber look.

His expression changes lightly, meeting your gaze in the mirror. "Look, Ozzie doesn't allow mistakes. If you have one, you gotta play it off - - quickly."

Something you already knew.

You nod. "I know, I'm sorry. You just make me nervous."

His face drops in the mirror, and now completely looking to the side at you. "I do? Why?"

You shrug innocently up at him, the faintest of smiles trying to work their way to your face again. Why . . Why is an ugly letter. You didn't know why. You weren't sure what made you like him so much. The way he made you feel just by looking at him was a mystery, but unfortunately, real.

"Actually," a soft chortle escapes your mouth as you speak, and you can't help but to nervously smile up at him. "I've wanted to work with you for, like, ever. The real you, I mean." You begin to fidget under his stare. "And it finally happened- - I'm just really sorry I wasn't what you wanted."

Fizz seemed to feel something— you think. You weren't sure what it was. He looked down after staring at you for what seemed like it might have been just slightly too long. After a moment, he recovered, and went back to fixing himself in the mirror. He placed both hands on his jester hat, and situated it to fit just a bit better than before, even if there was nothing wrong with it.

"I'm pretty great, we can agree on that," he drops his hands and turns to face you, expression twisting into a type of confusion. "But, why? Are you just another one of those sex freaks that're obsessed with my replicas?"

Now, you wouldn't be opposed to having a replica of him in your house, and not just for those purposes, but that's not what you were here for.

"What?" Your eyes narrowed, and you'd been taken aback slightly. "No! I used to like your jokes- - That's how I found out about you."

"My jokes?" He asks. You'd thought he was dumbfounded by the question, from the way he was now staring at you. "Really?"

Was it really that hard to believe? That demons and imps could like him for him, and not for some showboat personality he's manifested for the Lust Ring?

"Yeah," you say, nodding. "When I got stuck working at Loo Loo Land, I guess it kinda just made me notice you twice as much, now . ." You glance down to the floor, then back up to him. "You had that passion for the circus ever since you were little. I think its cute." You look over to him, then gaze down at his arms. Fizz notices this, and looks away with a groan. "I was seven, y/n." His arms cross.

You titter. "Yeah, but its still there. You're good at what you do, you know?"

Fizz manages a smile towards you. You soak it up. "It took allot to get here. I had to be good." His eyes roll.

"Well yeah, but not everyone can do what you do." Your smile is soft and genuine up towards the jester. He notices it, and slightly, you swore he smiled a little more back. It was cut quickly though.

You think he didn't know what to say. Instead, he waves his arms, and lets out a little huff of air, shuddering a shoulder to rid the emotions of the topic.

"Listen, you're a nice kid . . But, I don't think this place is right for you." He says, turning his back to face you, so you couldn't see the bit of a cringe curling onto his face. The mirror reflection allowed you to still see it, though.

All hope you had for connecting with him was quickly deflated, and it showed in your slouching shoulders. "Maybe you should try to stick with Loo Loo Land for now."

You shift on the stool uncomfortably. "Wh- - can't you just give me another chance? It was my first time here," there a soft tone of underlying desperation in your voice, mixed in with some slight irritation.

That wasn't fair, right? People make mistakes.

"Look- - If Ozzie tells me you can come back, I've got your number." Fizz crosses his arms, turning back to you. You couldn't fight with him on it. That would just make things worse.

But, damn, you really wanted to.

You stand, taking the little bit of dignity you had left in you, and grab your jacket. With a tense pressure forming on the side of your skull, your eyes get one last look of him before you could make your leave. "Sorry to be such a disappointment."

That was it. Your feet make you leave the room, and you figure that's the last time you'll ever get to step foot in that dressing room again.

   •

 

The ride home was uncomfortable in the car, even if it was just yourself.

Your thoughts were so loud, and you've been fighting back tears basically the entire time.

By the time you get back to your living space, the pit in your stomach was emptied, and slowly filling it, was bitterness.

You slip your shoes off, and trudge your way into bed. Clothes on, hair done up, you didn't care. That sulking feeling grabbed you tight, and sucked the life right out of your veins.

It just wasn't meant to be.

Your hand reaches over for your phone, and you tap on the music app you've known and loved. You press the button on it, and it starts to play.

'I can't stand it, but I still love you . .'

[uglypastels]

Headlights // Eddie Munson

Summary: Hawkins has seen it all; communist conspiracies, government cover-ups, fires, pests... but can it deal with a killer on the loose? 

word count: 1.5k

Warnings: dark fic. Cursing. Blood. Knife violence. Death. Suspense.

"Mmm... corn syrup. Same stuff they used for pig's blood in Carrie...

Now, don't you go blame the movies. Movies don’t create psychos. Movies make psychos more creative..."

– Billy Loomis (Scream, 1996)

Another day had gone by. He drove down the dark forest lanes. Back home where a microwaveable meal was awaiting him. It had been a day that he could call normal. A lot of patrolling, looking out for nothing, scaring away rascals and punks from the alleys behind Main Street. 

Officer Phil Callahan had spent five of his years at the Hawkins police department, and with each day passing, he thought he had seen it all: Communist conspiracies, government cover-ups, fires, pests, freak murders… his soul had had enough. It was far from the promised neighbourly disputes and lost cats he had expected when joining the force. For crying out loud, things like that should not be happening in Hawkins. 

Still, those things went away, and life seemed to go back to normal, letting the next nightmare creep up on him and the rest of his town slowly. So, he never got used to it, no matter how hard something hit him. 

And this time, it hit hard. 

Callahan slammed on the breaks, and the wheels screeched against the asphalt. He pushed back his glasses over the bridge of his nose as he let his back rest against his leather seat. His heart was racing, and his fists seemed to have locked into place over the steering wheel. His eyes were ready to bulge out of their sockets as he stared at what stood ahead of him, only a few feet away from the bumper of his car. 

She looked just as scared as he did, not that it helped the situation in any way. The way she had run across the street had only given Phil a second to react, but nothing he could have done at the speed of his driving would have reached the level of what had already occurred. 

The girl stumbled across the last few paces to the car driver's side. She had reached it just in time before her legs started to give out, and so she reached out for the door handle instead smashing her palm over the window. As she fell, a dark smear of blood streaked the glass. 

Callahan cursed to himself with a whimper. He had seen the state of her from afar but had assumed, hoped, she had simply fallen. Perhaps a landslide took her down a hill, and dirt had darkened her light sweater. 

He fumbled with the door and managed to get out of the car without hitting her body. 

'Hey, hey, hey,' he tried to look her over, find where the blood had come from, 'can you hear me?' 

'Help,' she mustered out. 'He's still – help me.' 

'Yes, I'm here to help you. I'm officer Callahan, with Hawkins PD; I can help you.' He tried to keep her attention; the car's front lights gave him just enough to see her face. Unfortunately, what once was clearly radiating skin was now fading. Her eyes were bloodshot, mouth smudged red, but not lipstick. She was shaking with each heavy breath she managed to take. As she sputtered out some non-coherent words, Callahan leaned back into the car for his radio. Surely, Hopper was still at the station, maybe Flo. 

'Please,' she screamed out in pain, tears mixing in with the blood. Phil was trying to fight the panic that was overcoming him because, shit, isn't this exactly what you trained for? These kinds of fucking emergencies. 

'He's still there–' she cried, 'Help.' 

'Who is?' Someone else had been with her; someone else was hurt. But no more came from the girl. She had just enough life to take Callahan by the sleeve and pull him to her. Her lips formed a weak plea, but the word never managed to come out. The back of her head hit the cement as her empty eyes stared out ahead at the night sky. 

The curses flowed out of Callahan's mouth as he tried to radio the station. Code after code followed, but the numbers were blurring in his mind. He had no idea what was happening. And the idea of someone else being out there, possibly just as hurt as the girl– 

He had finally received a response from the police station, and knowing that the little help that could come was on the way, Phil Callahan grabbed the torchlight he had packed in the glove compartment box and started walking. He still did not feel right to leave her lying there, but if anyone else was out there in those woods, they might also be in need of help, and quickly too.

He wasn't sure where the girl had come from, as she had just kind of… appeared in front of him, but there was an opening between the sideroad shrubbery, and he noticed the specks of blood, and thus, that is where he went. 

'Hello?' he called out into the dark, 'anybody out there?' He hoped his shaking voice was covered up enough by the volume. 

The dead leaves crunched underneath his boots. The wind blew through the trees, and so, Callahan barely had heard it at first. 

Groaning, deep and painful. 

'Hello?' The officer turned around, trying to identify where the voice was coming from. Then, keeping his ear out for the sounds to return, he kept on walking. 

And it was only a few more feet before he heard it again, much closer as well. And then they spoke. 

'Here!' They had wanted to shout, but the weak croak was all that the person could push out of his throat. But it was also enough for Callahan to locate. A ditch in the ground had covered them up, but with the light of his torch, he saw the shape of a man's body just fine, especially with more groans, now mixed in with coughs. 

The police officer recognised him immediately: notorious Eddie Munson. The number of times the kid had shown up in handcuffs at the station for his petty crimes had almost made it seem like he enjoyed it. The big mischievous grin on his face would indicate that, at least. But now, as Phil Callahan looked down at Eddie, he saw none of that cheerful need for disobedience in the boy. Instead, he saw fear and dread. His long dark hair was matted, wet and stuck to his face. He was clutching his hand to his side, and only then did Callahan notice that Eddie's black shirt wasn't just black– it was glistening red in the moonlight. His jeans, torn on purpose, were also soaked in blood. 

'Were you with the girl?' 

Eddie's tearful eyes blinked, hopeful, 'Yes! Is she-' he coughed, 'is she alright?' Each of his words came out with a spittle of blood, staining his teeth and lips. Phil came somewhat closer. 

'Yes, she's in my car,' he lied for the kid's sake. He had to keep him talking, and if he knew the truth… 'Help is on the way. Can you tell me what happened?' He had walked up to Eddie now, trying to see what exactly his wounds were. The way in which he held his side, right at the ribs, indicated the source of the blood. He pressed onto his own wound harshly. 

Eddie tried to sit up but winced with each move. 'I don't know, man,' he sniffed out, the blood filling his mouth as he cried out his story, 'we were just hanging out at the lake, and suddenly this– this fucking freak came at us with a knife.' 

'A knife?' 

'Yeah man.' Eddie pulled his hand away to show the hole in his shirt, a deep cut right beneath it. He hissed as the immediate lack of pressure made him feel faint as more blood continued to escape him. 'Fucking butcher's knife. He– oh fuck,' he looked up at the sky, stars blurry in his tear-filled eyes. The pain was becoming unbearable. 

'He got me and then stabbed her, and I- I-' he was choking up, with emotions but also physically. The coughing was rough. Callahan tried his best to calm him down. 

'It's alright, Eddie; you're save now, ok? An ambulance is coming soon.' God, he hoped it was. He could not have two dead kids on his conscious. The image of that poor girl, lying there on the street was already too much. He probably shouldn't have left her, but otherwise, who would have known Eddie was down here– 

'I tried to fight him,' Eddie continued heaving steadily, 'that's when he got me in the leg. She could walk, so she– she was going to try and get help, but fuck man, it hurts.' He clutched with all his weakening strength at his side. The blood was still pooling around him. 'I don't want to die, man.' 

'You're not going to die, Eddie. Not on my watch.' Callahan hoped. In the distance, a siren was going off. 'You hear that?'

'Yeah,' Eddie shook his head with tears.

This wasn't how it should have gone. None of it. This wasn't how he had planned it.

thank you for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

and please support your (not so) local creators by liking AND reblogging.

I would love to know what you thought of the story, so please consider leaving a comment, or maybe an ask or even an anonymous review ;P

you are also more than welcome to join the taglist. right here.

[em0zombie]

Diluc headcanons !

彡 Warnings: cute shit and maybe a little bit of sad things up ahead? Only SFW !!

First off, he has tanned skin because of how much he works. He obviously works with fire so it does contribute to it! Plus he has a claymore so he more than likely has to work out to keep his balance with it in check

Oh and he has a stubble just like his father, makes him seem more mature so he keeps it plus it reminds him of his father

If he were to like someone, it wouldn’t be a crush like thing, he would LOVE the person. His desire for others is very serious so if his S/O were to think that he is having an affair he would loose his mind.

He would definitely wants kids, doesn’t look like the type to want them but would die to look after some. He remembers how his father took care of both Kaeya and him so he wants to set that image for others.

Whenever the kid trio of Mondstat (Fischl, Bennett, and Razor) are late into their adventuring Diluc lets them stay over the night at the winery if they’re close. He doesn’t want to see other young people of this nation see anything bad or even deal with anything that could cause them harm.

He’s not squinting because he’s annoyed, he’s squinting because he can’t see that well

Sleep talking is one of them, he only has it whenever he works later than he should

Used to be a heavy sleeper and not a morning person before his father’s death, now he deals with waking up over the smallest sound

Would try to bake small things for his S/O even though he’s horrible at it, would settle for tea instead since it’s what he likes best other than grape juice

Has thick thighs and arms, WOO WEE🫡‼️

Scars on his body ofc, all of that fighting can cause injuries

Has long, thick lashes; he never noticed until you brought them up

Favorite gemstone are Rubies!

Will definitely accompany you on commissions, wants to get rid of these commissions quick so he can spend time with you

Shakes his bangs out of his face sometimes, TELL ME IM WRONG

Since he’s the most handsome man in Mondstat, people try to ask him out more than they should and he usually just replies in short responses “No” “Sorry” “Let me be”, and his favorite: “My lover is calling me.”

Whenever he sees the way Bennett acts he sees his younger self which aches his heart

Would actually try to impress you with his skills, surprising I know! Learning new moves to catch your attention is the reason as to why he can do a bunch of tricks

I wanna add more but I can’t think of anything else ughhh

[pampanope]

Graves Headcannons from Shadows’ POV (Part 3):

part 1 Part 2

((Hey ya’ll, hope the weekends a good one! More Graves stuff~))

The Graves manual made it back to 7-11 a mere two weeks since his last entry.

He groggily left his blanket cocoon of warmth, shambled towards the door, wrenched it open ready to chew out the impertinent little shit who’d been rapping at it incessantly, only to have the massive binder shoved into his chest with enough force to stun him; too stunned to catch the identity of his unwanted visitor, who had the sense to haul ass immediately away from the doorway.

There was giggling accompanied by several voices and boots scampering down the hallway.

Ballsey, noisy, and reckless enough to bother an officer at 0600 on his one day of zero responsibility? Clearly they were the fresh batch of recruits he’d been working on, still too new and wet behind the ears to have callsigns of their own.

If he was any other lieutenant 7-11 would’ve given chase, hunted each of them down and handed out extra drills and the honor of scrubbing one of the barracks’s communal showers.

Alas, he was only himself; lazy at his core and an unrepentant enjoyer of his day off. No baby Shadows he needed to teach, no training with his platoon, and no paperwork. Unless the more senior staff or an act of god (Graves) said otherwise, 7-11 wasn’t gonna exert more energy than he needed to.

Sleep ruined, 7-11 rubbed the grogginess from his eyes and plopped the heavy binder onto his desk. Might as well add some shallow, surface level Graves trivia, because anything deeper was too much for his fuzzy mind.

~~~~~~

-it’s not that he’s ashamed but he’s very self-conscious of his accent; he’s aware of the stereotypes attached to it, so he softens and flattens it a bit when dealing with clients.

-but when he’s relaxed, exhausted, fighting off sleep’s siren call? The accent thickens, sweet as molasses.

-turns red when he thinks he’s been caught nodding off though. Everyone should pretend they didn’t notice and wait for sleep to drag him under. Calling attention will just fluster him.

-some of you’ve seen or heard the boss mumble in his sleep; again, pretend you never noticed.

-He seems to bristle or shy away a bit at showing vulnerability or receiving affection.

(Like a growly coyote that won’t admit to enjoying head scritches, 7-11 mused fondly. Let’s see if we can fix that.)

-although he likes the occasional drink, Graves tries to keep a sober head most times as commander, especially on missions (the Graves Alone Xmas fiasco, as many Shadows have taken to calling it, was a damn fluke, an aberration, and 7-11 will make sure there will never be a repeat)

-he bites. Hard. No, i will not elaborate.

-has a fragrant woodsy scent (it’s fucking distracting, especially during spars)

-Graves is possessive. More on this another time.

-gets severe road rage; Graves will shout, abuse the horn, roll down the window to insult you, your mother, and your shit driving in that order, and stick a hand out to flip you off; he’d flip you off with both hands if he didn’t need one on the wheel at all times. (The Shadows are glad he isn’t reckless enough to try and overtake anyone while cuts him off, he’s just REALLY loud about it.)

-he isn’t bad at cooking, he’s actually pretty good. Just limited in what he makes, but they turn out delicious. (“Hell, if you get stuck with me in some safe house, at least you won’t be swallowing down burnt MREs while pretending you wouldn’t sell my ass for a single corn chip.”) In this, he’s excellent wife material self-sufficient.

~~~~~~~

7-11 decided that was enough writing on his day off before shutting the binder. He got up, did some luxurious, toe curling stretches, and padded towards the bathroom to get the day started.

If he’s lucky, he could find a warm patch of grass to nap on before the sun rose to high. Preferably somewhere pesky baby Shadows wouldn’t find him.

[callsign-bunnie]

Your stalker!GhostSoap story has taken prime real estate in my brain. Here's an idea inspired by it.

Soap going to a bar (for a possible hookup/trying to get ghosts attention/trying to get ghost mad) but instead getting the attention of some bad people. Him ending up being roofied. As badguy™  is attempting to leave with Soap, Ghost (who definitely hasn't been following Soap) steps in and makes the badguy™ leave/beats the shit out of him. Ghost tries to get the very intoxicated Soap home safely while batteling his own inner demons as Soap is literaly throwing himself at Ghost begging for him to fuck him. Ghost not wanting to take advantage of Soap, and especially not wanting their first time to be like this, but struggling as Soap is desperately trying to get Ghost to help him deal with his intoxicated "heat"~

I'm doing this one for Horror Night! This is part of the Stalker!Ghost universe! This is kind of early on, before the actual story. Soap doesn't remember it.

--

This was too risky. Ghost shouldn't be doing this. It was too close. He was too close. But he needed so desperately to be close to Johnny. He needed to be around him.

He needed Johnny more than he needed air. It scared Ghost.

He knew he'd always been a little fucked up. Okay, a lot fucked up. His dad had ensured that. But, he had considered himself at least a little rational when it came to love.

Soap took that apart, bit by bit. It'd started out with a glance. Just a short one. Soap had came out of his class and Ghost had been walking by to get to his own and Ghost had caught a glance of him.

Soap hadn't even seen him. They hadn't met each other's eyes. It had been completely one sided.

Ghost had found himself awake in the middle of the night, still thinking about Soap. Every inch of his body, imagining what it would be like to touch him.

But Ghost had desperately shoved those feelings down the next day.

Or tried to, because he ended up seeing Soap again. He was hanging out with an English Major. Ghost knew of this English major, his name was Rodolfo Parra, and he was known for having a couple screws loose in his head about his best friend, Alejandro Vargas.

Ghost had considered trying to be friends but that required... getting to know him... and talking to an actual human being.... But, the fact that Soap was friends with someone known for being psychotic was curious to Ghost.

So, Ghost may have been using it as an excuse. Maybe Parra didn't matter at all, and Ghost just wanted to get to know Soap.

So, Ghost did the most rational thing in his mind.

He broke into Soap's dorm. He didn't take anything, just looked around. Snooped.

From there it escalated. Ghost became addicted to Soap. Getting to see him, being in his things... It was all euphoric to Ghost.

Which was how Ghost found himself here. So close to Soap that he could almost reach out and touch him. It was hard not to. But Soap was engrossed in a heavy conversation, flirting with the guy in front of him.

Ghost didn't like to slutshame, but Johnny was kind of a whore. Ghost... only minded because Soap wasn't sleeping with him, he'd admit that. But man, it was hard to watch Soap throw himself at someone else.

Ghost looked away, sighing softly. He was pathetic. He should just go up to Soap and talk to him. Say hello. Start a conversation. But he just couldn't. He didn't want Soap to know him, truthfully. He'd run screaming the moment he did.

He looked back over, noticing the guy Soap was talking to was gone. He hesitated. He'd just go over and say hi. Strike up a conversation. He was almost about to, but the guy returned.

Soap laughed at something he said, Ghost couldn't hear over the sound of his own heartbeat, and touched the guy's arm. Fuck.

Soap downed his drink and then nodded to something the guy offered, smiling. But... Ghost picked it up immediately. Soap stumbled a little. Soap was fairly clumsy, but this was different. His face seemed to change and clearly something was wrong.

However, the guy- didn't he call himself Matt??- just waved off the concerned bartender and started to guide Soap out of the bar. Ghost followed, immediately.

This didn't feel right.

Soap was kind of stumbling and he leaned heavily into Matt. Ghost stayed a small distance behind, not wanting them to know he was following them.

Then it happened. Matt started to get kind of pushy and Soap started to try to push him off. "I don't feel good, I change my mind..."

"You can't fucking change your mind."

Soap tensed and shoved again at Matt. Ghost didn't even give Matt a chance. Sure, maybe Matt was just pushy but Soap was clearly in distress.

Ghost grabbed him by his collar and ripped him away from Soap. "Man, what the fuck?!" Matt cursed, but Ghost didn't think. He just slammed his fist right into Matt's face.

Matt stumbled back, in shock. Ghost knew better than to give them a moment to recover. They could get the upper hand that way. He shoved him down and crouched, just laying into him.

Ghost blacked out. He didn't stop until Matt was barely moving, and then he just dragged him into an alley nearby. "I hope you fucking die here." He spit.

Soap was staring at him. Ghost winced and then the situation crashed into him. "I-" Oh god, what if Soap started to scream? What if he was horrified?

"You saved me..." Soap whispered, and then Ghost recognized his expression. It wasn't horror. It was awe.

Ghost hesitated before shrugging. "Are you okay?" He asked as he came over.

Soap seemed to just melt and fell into Ghost, holding onto his arm. "Take me home, please..."

"Alright." He didn't bother to ask for Soap's dorm. Soap was way too intoxicated for that. He gently guided him home, feeling like he couldn't breathe from how close Soap was.

Soap was hugging onto his arm. Hugging it, in fact. "You're so tall..."

"Thank you." Ghost was so stupid sounding. He was going to off himself.

Soap nuzzled into his arm and made a soft noise. "Are you going to take care of me?"

Ghost choked. "What?!" They'd gotten to Soap's dorm and he stopped, looking at him.

"You saved me... I want to thank you somehow..." Soap got out his key, fumbling with it and whining. Ghost took it, gently, and unlocked the door, helping him in.

"No... No thanks necessary." Ghost shook his head. He just wanted to get Soap into bed so he could leave.

However, Soap had different ideas. He started to feel Ghost up, pouting. "Let me thank you..."

Ghost was frozen. Soap was touching him in a very suggestive manner and his brain was not coping well. Soap slid his hands under Ghost's shirt and Ghost jerked back when he felt him touch his skin. "No, you need to sleep." His voice was not as commanding as he wanted it to be.

Soap frowned, not seeming to really comprehend. Then... he started to cry. Like... actually cry. Real fucking tears. "You don't think I'm attractive??"

Fuck. Ghost immediately shook his head, almost considering giving in just to make Soap feel better. But no, Soap was clearly not in his right mind. "I find you attractive, you just... you need to sleep, okay?"

"You don't... if you did, you'd want me..." Soap did finally sit on his bed, though. He rubbed at his face.

Ghost shook his head. "No, it's not like that at all-"

"Then fuck me... please..." Soap looked up at Ghost, looking so earnest.

God, Ghost wanted nothing more than to give in. But... he couldn't do that to Soap. Not Johnny. Johnny was too precious for that. He wouldn't defile him.

He tried another tactic. "Sleep, and I will in the morning, hmm?"

Soap seemed to accept that. He grinned and then started to pull his clothes off.

Ghost was gone before they could even hit the floor. He didn't think he'd be able to handle that.