#from 11 to 9 pm something

[thebluebygracieabrams]

when will my father learn that him never appreciating me will not push me to try harder it will just make me give up and be like oh well i work hard to impress him and if it's impossible then might as well stop working at all 🤷‍♀️

[bratbby333]

i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it. 

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again. 

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be. 

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her. 

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area. 

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit. 

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love. 

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to. 

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces. 

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine. 

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get. 

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away. 

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you. 

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you. 

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf. 

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month. 

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening. 

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well. 

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease. 

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down. 

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text: 

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours. 

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text: 

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks. 

“What is it?” your coworker asked. 

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face. 

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries. 

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now. 

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony. 

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head. 

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner. 

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest. 

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks. 

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you. 

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?” 

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life. 

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting? 

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room. 

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he  stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.” 

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue. 

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.” 

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you. 

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy. 

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote. 

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him. 

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand. 

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him. 

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment. 

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage. 

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.” 

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening. 

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex. 

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch. 

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most. 

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you. 

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours. 

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do no distribute. 2024.

[badjokesbyjeff]

What Pets Write in their diaries 

Excerpt from a Dog's Diary.........8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!

9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!

9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!

10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!

12:00 PM - Lunch! My favorite thing!

1:00 PM - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!

3:00 PM - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!

5:00 PM - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!

7:00 PM - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!

8:00 PM - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!

11:00 PM - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

Excerpt from a Cat's Diary...Day 983 of my captivity....My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards. There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.'I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage. Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously stupid. The bird has got to be an informant.I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe...for now.

[fellominaarcher]

you're my favorite kind of night - karina x fem!reader

⤷ stripper!karina x g!p femreader

⤷ prev | next

⤷ content warning: sex sex sex (minors dni), smut with plot, penis & vagina, oral sex (Karina receiving), 18+ story, seduction and maybe a little toxic (?)

⤷ I'm kinda bad at describing sex scenes wtf and this is a long ass chapter!!

Seated in the quieter part of the strip club, Karina perched on a high stool, leaning lazily against the bar. Her cocktail sat half-finished in front of her, the ice melting into the amber liquid. The red and purple hues from the club’s dim lights painted her skin in soft, shifting colors as she stared at the neatly arranged bottles of whiskey and wine on the glass shelves.

The faint thrum of heavy bass pulsed through the walls, vibrating beneath her feet, settling into her bones. It was a constant reminder that this club, this life, was hers. Co-owning a strip club was insane, exhausting, unpredictable. But she had to admit, she found joy in it.

It was still early, just past 5 PM. The club wasn’t alive yet, only a few patrons scattered around, nursing drinks before the real crowd poured in. Outside, people were still stuck in traffic, wrapping up their 9-to-5 lives, while inside, the DJ played soft, ambient beats to warm up the place.

A week since that night, the stunt Y/N pulled, the shattered whiskey glass, and the sex that followed.

Maybe, just maybe, she missed her. Or maybe she just missed fucking her.

The way Y/N moved, fluid and confident, sending shivers down her spine. The weight of her touch was possessive, greedy like she owned every inch of Karina’s body.

Karina swallowed hard, the thought igniting something deep in her stomach. Her skin still tingled at the memory of Y/N’s fingers tangled in her hair, knuckles buried deep inside her.

A sharp tap of boots against the floor cut through her haze. Someone was approaching.

A man in a dark suit stopped beside her, clutching a brown A4-sized envelope. Without a word, he bowed slightly before extending it toward her.

Karina exhaled slowly, turning to face him. Probably one of her employees. She accepted the envelope, her grip firm but her expression unreadable.

Karina barely spared him a glance as she accepted it, her fingers tracing over the rough paper. "Good work. Everything I need is in here, right?" Her voice was smooth, measured, but there was an edge to it, something that smelled of an excitement.

The man offered a slight smile and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Yoo. Everything you need is in there," he confirmed, his response short and efficient. With another respectful bow, he turned on his heels and disappeared into the club.

Karina sat still for a moment, staring at the envelope.

Then, with a slow inhale, she reached for her cocktail and downed the rest in one go. The burn of vodka mixed with apple slid down her throat, the sting settling into her chest.

She let out a quiet laugh, a breathy exhale, before leaning her cheek against her palm. Her fingers tapped lightly against the bar, eyes still fixed on the envelope in front of her.

"Think I might be crazy..." She pursed her lips, bracing herself, willing herself to open it. But she just kept staring.

──────────────────────

A sleek, glossy black Peugeot sedan rolled to a smooth stop beside a weathered, faint brown building, a breakfast joint, now shuttered for the night. A few stragglers wandered along the quiet street under the soft glow of streetlights. The air was crisp, neither too warm nor biting cold. A typical night.

11:34 PM.

The chauffeur exited the vehicle and opened the passenger door.

Karina stepped out, the sharp sound of her red-bottomed pumps slicing through the stillness. A dark brown, ankle-length coat draped her figure like a second skin, flaring ever so slightly at her calves as she moved.

In her hand, she carried a brown paper bag housing a Château Lafite 1869 and a small bouquet of red, white, and pink roses. Her eyes lifted toward the towering glass-clad building ahead, a slow smirk curling on her lips.

“Do you need me to walk you there, Ms. Yoo?” the chauffeur offered politely.

Karina turned, suppressing the growing excitement with a subtle purse of her lips. "It's fine. I’ll handle it myself," she replied, voice calm and deliberate.

She stepped back from the car, heels clicking confidently on the pavement. "Stay alert. I may call you later to take me home," she added without looking back.

“Yes, ma’am,” the chauffeur nodded as Karina strode away, fully focused.

──────────────────────

Karina’s steps were measured, precise. Every movement radiated purpose, as if this night had been carved into her bones. She moved through the empty sidewalk like a woman on a mission, her mind sharp and her thoughts singular.

When she reached the entrance, she pressed her hand against the cool glass door, pushing it open with a smooth motion.

Inside, the lobby was pristine, marble floors, soft lighting, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air.

At the reception desk sat a young woman, perfectly poised but visibly inexperienced, eyes flickering up to Karina with a polite, almost cautious smile.

“Good evening, miss. May I ask if you’re visiting someone tonight?”

Karina's stride didn’t falter as she approached the desk, movements fluid and deliberate. Her towering presence, magnified by the length of her coat and the confident arch of her brow sent an unspoken message before she even spoke.

Karina leaned in slightly, voice lowered to a velvet hum, eyes locked on the receptionist with quiet dominance. “Penthouse 114,” she said, her tone somewhere between a command and a whisper.

The receptionist blinked, straightening in her chair. “Ah, I… don’t see your name on the guest list for 114 tonight.” Her voice wavered faintly.

Karina smiled, slow and deliberate. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well,” she murmured, setting the paper bag and bouquet gently onto the counter, “I wasn’t asked to make a reservation. I was asked to come.” She made sure to make the statement.

The receptionist shifted uncomfortably.

Karina’s eyes glinted. “Would you like me to call the penthouse owner myself and explain why their guest is being held at the door?” Karina's tone was faux and borderline threatening.

It was subtle but suffocating, the way Karina’s voice never rose above a gentle murmur yet pressed firmly against the receptionist’s nerves like a blade against skin.

The receptionist’s throat bobbed with a small swallow. “N-no, that won’t be necessary, Ms…?”

“Yoo,” Karina filled in smoothly, her lips tugging upward in a way that felt both reassuring and threatening.

The receptionist exhaled quietly, cheeks flushing. “My apologies, Ms. Yoo,” she stammered. “The elevator is yours.” She gestured awkwardly toward the glass doors behind her.

Karina gathered the bouquet and wine once more, her smirk deepening. “Thank you, darling,” she purred, before sauntering past the desk.

Her heels echoed with deliberate grace, her figure cutting through the pristine lobby like she owned it.

Inside the elevator, Karina let out a soft breath, eyes dark as they settled on her reflection. The weight of anticipation, of craving, pulled at her every step.

And tonight, she wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed.

──────────────────────

The sharp buzz of the doorbell echoed through the quiet hum of the penthouse. Y/N barely registered it, eyes glued to the dense paperwork littering her desk. The company was going through major restructuring by summer—new positions, new alliances, and new problems she’d need to clean up.

The doorbell buzzed again, more impatient this time.

Clicking her tongue, Y/N sighed and pushed back her chair. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants as she shuffled through the dimly lit living room, indoor slippers making soft sounds on the dark hardwood floors. The place was bathed in deep shadows and warm ambient lighting, oozing understated luxury.

Her black tee clung slightly to her frame, and her glasses were perched lazily on the bridge of her nose. Late-night visitors weren’t exactly common, and curiosity tugged at her.

Ignoring the video intercom by the door, she simply unlocked it and swung it open.

Her eyes traveled from the red-bottomed pumps up to the sharp curve of the hips hidden beneath a long, dark brown coat, and finally to that familiar face, framed by waves of midnight hair.

Y/N froze. “Karina?” she breathed, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The faintest smirk tugged at Karina’s lips, smug, knowing, dangerous. She didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to push past Y/N with her shoulder, forcing the door open wider. The subtle bump of her body sent a shiver through Y/N, who stood motionless, caught between confusion and anticipation.

Karina’s heels echoed softly as she sauntered further into the penthouse, her eyes gliding over the pristine interior. Clean, expensive, and scented faintly of vanilla—the same scent she remembered clinging to Y/N’s skin after their last encounter.

She turned, gaze sharp and predatory as it roamed over Y/N, still standing awkwardly by the door. “Vice President energy,” Karina teased with a low chuckle, tossing Y/N a playful thumbs up. “I see that you're the rich who've got a taste.”

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to suppress the small excitement trying to crawl all over her body. “How do you know where I live, Karina?” Her voice held a thin edge of suspicion.

Karina’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. “Hmm… you’ve driven me home more than a few times. I figured it’s only fair.” She gave a casual shrug, dripping with faux innocence.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Except I asked for your address. You, what? Followed me? Dug up my personal records?”

Karina’s lips parted slightly, her smile wicked as if to say bingo. “Maybe I just have a vested interest,” she purred.

The tension was palpable now, heavy between them. Y/N’s pulse quickened as Karina casually placed the brown paper bag onto the marble-topped side table, revealing the bouquet of roses and a bottle of Château Lafite.

Y/N’s throat felt dry as she watched Karina, who stood there, eyes gleaming like a cat that had just cornered its prey.

Then Karina’s fingers slipped beneath the belt of her coat. Slowly, deliberately, she undid the buttons, one by one. The coat slipped from her shoulders like a second skin, pooling on the floor.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Karina stood there clad in dark red lingerie, intricate lace hugging her curves, leaving very little to the imagination.

“You look stupid,” Karina murmured, tilting her head. “Glasses, sweatpants... you weren’t expecting me.” She pouted as she threw the insults to Y/N's way.

Y/N felt her body tense, overwhelmed by the simmering tension radiating from the woman before her. Karina’s voice dropped, velvet and low. “It’s not sensible to feel this way, Y/N…”

And yet Y/N couldn’t look away.

Karina closed the gap between them in a few slow steps, her body grazing against Y/N’s. Her fingers reached up to pluck Y/N’s glasses from her face, letting them clatter to the floor with little care.

Karina tilted her head, eyes locked onto Y/N’s as if daring her to move away. She pressed her lips against Y/N’s, light, barely a whisper of a kiss then deepened it, tasting her like a long-lost craving.

Y/N staggered slightly as Karina’s hands gripped her tense shoulders, guiding her backward, mouth never leaving hers.

Karina smirked between kisses. “Bedroom’s this way, right?” she whispered against Y/N’s lips, voice dripping with dark amusement as she navigated through unfamiliar territory like she owned it.

Temptation incarnate, Karina wasn’t just here for a visit. She was here to devour.

Karina’s breath ghosted over Y/N’s lips as their eyes met—dark, heady, and laced with a tension neither wanted to break. The flicker of defiance in Karina’s gaze only fueled Y/N’s own possessive hunger. The distance between them was close enough that Y/N could feel the silky fabric of Karina’s lingerie brushing against her clothed skin.

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her sides, but Karina was the first to move, her hands trailing down Y/N’s chest before curling around the hem of the black tee. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted it up inch by inch, revealing the toned plane of Y/N’s stomach, the slow rise and fall of breath betraying the restraint Y/N was fighting to maintain.

Y/N’s muscles loosened, her thumb brushed Karina’s lower lip possessively before she leaned in to kiss her, slow and deliberate. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was claiming and it was an unspoken message. Karina moaned softly against Y/N’s lips, letting herself to be enveloped by Y/N's warmth.

Hands roamed, hungry. Y/N’s fingers brushed Karina’s bare thigh and she's standing there in nothing but that sinful dark red lingerie, Karina looked like a wicked dream. Lace clung to every perfect curve, accentuating her figure in a way that made Y/N’s control waver.

Karina’s fingers didn’t stay idle either. She dragged her nails lightly down Y/N’s stomach, teasing the waistband of the sweatpants. She hooked her thumbs in, tugging them just enough to tease the bulge pressing desperately against Y/N’s sweatpants.

The stripper pulled away a little and she grabbed Y/N's wrist firmly, leading the taller woman down the hall of the penthouse and finding the biggest room—the master bedroom, Karina twisted the door handle then pushing the door open and she shamelessly inviting the owner of the place to spend the night with her within these luxurious walls.

Grabbing Karina by the waist, Y/N hoisted her up, and Karina instinctively wrapped her legs around Y/N’s hips, gasping softly. Their mouths found each other again, kissing deeper this time—messy, consuming, as if they hadn’t touched in years instead of just days.

With Karina clinging to her, Y/N strode in further into the room and tossed Karina onto the bed, eliciting a soft yelp followed by a breathless laugh.

Karina propped herself up on her elbows, eyes gleaming as she watched Y/N strip off the rest of her clothes with a predatory grace. Karina’s gaze dropped to Y/N’s hardened length pressing through the briefs, and her breath hitched.

Y/N crawled onto the bed, hovering over Karina, but before she could touch her, Karina reached up and wrapped her fingers around the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her down into another kiss. Their bodies molded together, bare skin meeting bare skin, heat radiating in waves.

Y/N’s hand slid beneath the stripper’s back, unclasping the rest of her bra and tossing it aside. Karina’s breath trembled when Y/N’s fingers grazed her chest before trailing lower, tracing along the lace waistband of Karina’s matching panties.

“Take it off,” Y/N commanded softly, voice velvet but edged with flaming desire.

Karina arched a brow, teasing, but obeyed. Slowly, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and shimmied out of the delicate fabric, tossing it toward the floor. Now completely bare beneath Y/N, she reached up and help to pull Y/N’s boxer down in one fluid motion, letting Y/N kick them off fully.

There was a beat where they just stared at each other with desire burning, resentment simmering beneath, and a dangerous affection neither could admit out loud.

Y/N’s lips ghosted over Karina’s jaw, down her neck, biting softly on the tender skin before kissing the spot she marked. Karina gasped, nails digging into Y/N’s back as Y/N’s length pressed heavily against her thigh.

“I want you to ruin me tonight,” Karina whispered shakily, surrendering to the chaos that only Y/N could stir in her.

Karina's fingers traced along the curves of Y/N's chest as she leaned in close, her breath hot against Y/N's neck. "Mmmm, you're looking so good," Karina purred, pressing soft kisses along Y/N's jawline. Y/N shivered at her touch, a familiar stirring growing in her loins.

Sliding a leg between Karina's thighs, Y/N gently ground her hips against the other girl's heat, eliciting a gasp. "You're already so wet for me," Y/N murmured, cupping one of Karina's perky breasts. Karina arched into the touch with a moan, grinding back against Y/N's hard bulge.

Y/N took a rosy nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the stiff peak as her hand kneaded the other breast. Karina tangled her fingers in Y/N's hair, holding her close. Her sighs were soft.

Y/N worked her way down Karina's body, kissing a trail over her soft stomach until she reached the edge of her waist. Karina lay bare before her, glistening folds already slick with arousal. Y/N couldn't wait any longer, she dived in and her tongue was gentle on the first lap. Her fingers pressed into Karina's flesh as she swirled her tongue around Karina's entrance—making the stripper exhaled out of pleasure.

"Fuck..." Karina moaned out while feeling Y/N's clever tongue swiping her folds and Karina's hand fisting in Y/N's hair as her hips bucked forward, right into Y/N's face. "You're so good at this, Y/N, oh fuck..." Her voice was shaky while she praised the woman below her.

Y/N licked and sucked at Karina's clit, alternating between firm pressure and feather-light flicks that had the midnight haired woman thrashing and begging for more. She drove two fingers knuckle-deep into Karina's slick heat, curling them just right to hit that special spot.

The stripper tapped Y/N's head to halt her and Y/N stopped, lift her head up to meet Karina's gaze and the look in her eyes were questioning Karina's intention this time without even the need to verbalize her question. Karina gestured Y/N with her finger to move up and their lips pressed again, meeting into a messy kiss and Karina tasted herself on Y/N's tongue.

Her tongue danced with Y/N's, exploring every crevice of her mouth. She could taste the sweetness of Y/N's lips, craving more with each passing second. Karina eventually was pressed back on the bed and Y/N got in between her legs as the kisses move down from the lips to Karina's neck.

With that, Y/N positioned herself between Karina’s legs, letting her length slide teasingly against her folds, eliciting a sharp gasp from the woman beneath her. Y/N’s lips pressed against Karina’s neck, voice deep and hungry.

“This is mine,” Y/N growled as she pushed inside, slow and deliberate, claiming every inch.

Karina’s moan filled the room, her back arching, nails clawing into Y/N’s skin as the mixture of pain and pleasure tangled deliciously between them.

Y/N began to move deep, rough, but steady as her body pressing Karina deeper into the mattress as she kissed her like she owned her, swallowing every sound, every gasp, every broken moan. Karina met every thrust with equal fervor, clinging to Y/N like her life depended on it.

The room smelled of vanilla and sex.

Tonight, neither of them cared who was right or wrong. All they wanted was this chaos, the pleasure, the control, the power struggle, and the quiet ache that hid beneath it all.

Y/N gritted her teeth as she pushed in deeper, the wet heat of Karina around her driving her halfway to madness. The way Karina clung to her, legs locked tight around Y/N’s waist, nails dragging red lines down her back, it was like a dare, a silent challenge for Y/N to push harder, take more.

Karina’s head tilted back, exposing her throat as moans spilled freely from her lips. Every slow grind of Y/N’s hips dragged a whimper from deep inside her, but Karina’s pride burned too hot to fully surrender.

“So slow,” Karina panted, voice dripping with provocation as her fingers fisted Y/N’s hair, tugging just enough to force Y/N to look her in the eyes. “I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

Y/N’s gaze darkened, and the next thrust was anything but slow—deep and unforgiving, knocking the breath from Karina’s lungs.

“Oh, fine say that, Karina.” Y/N growled, voice low and guttural as she pinned both of Karina’s wrists above her head, trapping her against the mattress.

Karina’s lips parted in a gasp, but her eyes are blazing with lust and a teasing glint that held no fear. Only invitation.

Y/N leaned down, mouth grazing the stripper’s ear, voice dripping with warning, “You’re mine tonight.”

Karina shivered beneath her, but her voice remained steady as she whispered, “Prove it.”

The words were gasoline on an already blazing fire.

Y/N shifted her grip, one hand still holding Karina’s wrists hostage, the other trailing down her side, fingers digging into soft flesh as she picked up a punishing pace. Each thrust rocked the bed frame, creaking beneath their wild momentum.

Karina whimpered, biting down on her lip to muffle her moans, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She dipped her head and licked a slow line along Karina’s neck before biting down, hard enough to sting.

“Let me hear you,” Y/N hissed.

And Karina did. She let go, voice breaking with a moan that trembled on the edge of a sob. The roughness, the restraint, the sheer dominance. It broke through every defense she’d put up.

“Y/N,” Karina gasped, her voice faltering as Y/N fucked her deeper, rougher.

Karina could feel herself unraveling, her mind clouding as her body melted beneath Y/N’s weight. Still, even with her breath catching and body aching with pleasure, Karina arched her hips defiantly, grinding herself harder against Y/N.

“I'm afraid you might actually like whatever we've been doing,” Karina taunted between breathless moans, that sharp tongue refusing to fully submit.

Y/N laughed bitterly, eyes narrowing as she released Karina’s wrists and flipped her over, pressing her chest into the mattress. Karina barely had time to catch her breath before Y/N gripped her hips and slammed back inside, stealing every ounce of oxygen from her lungs.

“Keep running your mouth,” Y/N snarled as she bent over, her hand tangling in Karina’s hair, yanking her head back so their faces were side by side. “I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t speak.”

Karina whimpered, her pride hanging on by a thread as Y/N’s pace grew merciless. Skin slapping against skin, the sharp sting of teeth grazing her neck, the commanding weight behind every movement, it was too much and not enough.

But underneath it all, there was that addictive thread of emotion, fraying quietly beneath the lust.

Y/N pressed a kiss to the shell of Karina’s ear, almost tender, even as her thrusts remained deep and bruising. “I don’t care how much you push me away,” Y/N murmured, voice strained but sincere. “You’re still mine when I fuck you like this.”

Karina bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, heart pounding. In this chaos, this dangerous push-and-pull, she felt alive and wanted.

Karina’s body trembled as she felt herself nearing the edge, and she gasped, “Y/N, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Y/N promised, voice rough and breaking with her own nearing release.

Y/N’s grip on Karina’s hips tightened as she slammed harder, deeper, until Karina cried out, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. Y/N followed a heartbeat later, releasing deep inside her as she cursed against Karina’s skin, hips slowing as the aftershocks pulsed through them both.

They stayed like that, panting and tangled, bodies slick with sweat and trembling from how very intense their bodies connected within the dim, lavish walls.

Slowly, Y/N loosened her hold, brushing Karina’s hair away from her face as she pressed a kiss to her temple. Soft, reverent.

Karina turned her head slightly, eyes fluttering open as she met Y/N’s gaze. The fire between them hadn’t dimmed, but in the quiet aftermath, something softer flickered beneath the surface.

Neither said a word.

Probably the post-sex stuff getting to them.

Because in this moment, with bruises blooming beneath fingertips and hearts pounding too fast, words weren’t necessary.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

prev | next

[xinganhao]

11:59 PM ⏰ joshua x reader.

there's only one thing that joshua wants for his birthday: to kiss you at the stroke of midnight, come the 31st. with a little help from his friends, this might just be the year that he finally succeeds.

ⓘ mentions of alcohol consumption. writing (word count: 1.7k) under the cut. happy shua day! ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

TIME CHECK: 9:34 PM. 

Joshua Hong is in love with you. 

He’s been in love with you for eight birthdays (counting yours and his), four Christmases, and two shitty Valentine’s (one for each of you). 

Has he done anything about it? Not really. 

Will that stop him from trying? Absolutely not. 

The two of you had promised to make it to Minghao’s by 9:30 sharp, but the song on the radio had been just a little too good as he pulled the car into park. It’s in those four extra minutes that Joshua is reminded just why he’s been so infatuated with you all this time. 

The enthusiastic way you sing along to the AJ Rafael track. The giggles you let out when you trip over the lyrics only to barrel right on to the next verse like nothing happened. The upturn of your lips, the ghost of a smile— 

God, he is so in love with you. 

He plays the part. He pretends the steering wheel is a drum. He bobs his head up and down in time with your off-tune crooning. He belts when you ask him to, his riff of maybe you could save me from this crazy world we live in breaking off into a laugh when your voice cracks. 

The final verse is still playing when you finally give up, nudging Joshua’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” you prompt. “Before Seungcheol blows a gasket.” 

Of course Seungcheol would be the most upset if the two of you were late. Joshua chuckles at the mental image of his friend pouting the whole night. “Alright, alright,” he concedes. 

He’s out of his seat in the next second, jogging past the front of the car so he can open the passenger door for you. You have that exasperated look on your face— the same one you wear when you’re about to insist that he doesn’t have to do this— but it’s softened by fondness. 

“After you, m’lady,” Joshua says loftily, selling the whole act with a little curtsy. 

You’re laughing as you take his hand. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

Once you’ve stepped out of his car, you surprise him by not dropping his hand. “C’mon,” you urge, instead keeping your hands clasped as you tug him forward. 

He stumbles on his first step but follows easily, the biggest smile beginning to spread on his face. The song from the radio is playing on repeat in the back of his mind— a refrain that could be as good as a promise, if he squinted. 

We could happen, Joshua thinks dazedly as you drag him up to Minghao’s front door. We could happen. 

TIME CHECK: 10:42 PM. 

“Oi, loverboy.” 

The pet name snaps Joshua out of his reverie. His head snaps over to Seokmin, who had been chatting his ear off for the past couple of minutes. 

“Don’t call me that,” Joshua grumbles. 

His friends are merciless. Seokmin snickers. Jihoon bites back a smile. Jeonghan rolls his eyes. 

“We were asking what your birthday wish was,” Seokmin repeats. 

Jeonghan chimes in, “Y’know, after we all pulled lies out of our asses to make sure you could spend the day with the love of your life.” 

“Stop,” whines Joshua, the tips of his ears already beginning to flame red. He composes himself just enough to huff, “And I can’t tell you what my birthday wish was. Otherwise it won’t come true.” 

Jihoon mumbles something like ‘true’, but Jeonghan and Seokmin are relentless. 

“Give us a hint,” Jeonghan insists. 

Seokmin raises his index finger and his thumb. “Just a teensy, little hint!”

Autonomously, Joshua’s eyes flick over to where you are. You’re across the room, engaged in conversation with Mingyu and Vernon. The distance is far enough that Joshua can’t make out what’s being said, but it must be a good one; you’re grinning, nodding, gesticulating. 

He holds back the urge to swoon. It’s a futile attempt; his friends all share looks before bursting into raucous laughter. 

“No hint needed,” Seokmin says amusedly. 

As much as Joshua hates to admit it, the man is right. The answer to what he wished for is clear as day, is in the very same room as him. 

TIME CHECK: 11:10 PM. 

Unbeknownst to Joshua, there’s a plan in motion. It’s a rather simple plan, too, and the boys had been convinced they could see it through. 

After all, they only had to make sure that you and Joshua were at each other’s side by 11:59 PM. 

Simple, right? 

Except Seungkwan, Soonyoung and Wonwoo are knocked out of commission after sharing a champagne bottle. 

Minghao gets into a spat with Junhui over one thing or another. Seungcheol and Jeonghan bicker to the point that Seungcheol has relegated himself to one corner, his arms crossed over his chest as he sulks. 

“These idiots,” Seokmin huffs disbelievingly. Must he do everything himself? 

He checks his watch. He has forty more minutes. 

He could probably afford one more drink. 

TIME CHECK: 11:43 PM. 

Joshua can’t believe his friends. 

If they’re not drunk, they’re feuding. Seokmin— who had earlier been so insistent on seeing the telecasted ball drop— is sprawled out on the couch, knocked out cold. 

“That’s one way to usher in the new year,” you muse. 

Something in Joshua’s chest thrums. 

“Guess it’s just us,” he says smoothly. He thinks he deserves a standing ovation for just how even his voice sounds, betraying nothing about the hammering in his chest. 

His nerves are somewhat eased by the smile that breaks on your face. “It’s just us,” you repeat, and you don’t sound particularly opposed to the idea. 

You even sound… excited? 

Joshua tries not to overthink it. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, just to keep himself from reaching out for you. “The view of the fireworks might be better from outside,” he says. “What do you say?” 

It’s a selfish offer. Joshua is trying to mastermind his way into being your New Year’s Eve kiss. God forbid a man try to make a move. 

“I say that sounds good,” you respond, and Joshua barely holds himself back from breaking out into a little dance. 

TIME CHECK: 11:57 PM.

Out on the sidewalk, it’s just the two of you.

The streetlamps cast a warm halo over your head. The fireworks bathe you both in multicolored flashes of light. There’s the sounds of bells ringing, and children screeching, and trumpets being blown. 

All of it feels inconsequential to the thrill running through Joshua’s veins. 

You’re standing by his side, talking about your resolutions for the new year. And you’re so lovely. And there’s nothing Joshua wants more than to finally, finally— 

“Oh?” You fish your phone out of your pocket. “Ah, sorry. Give me a minute, yeah?” 

Joshua’s hand twitches at his side, like he’s tamping down the urge to keep you. “Take your time,” he says. 

His eyes follow you as you hurry off, ducking someplace where he can’t quite see you. Joshua tears his gaze away to look up at the night sky instead.

TIME CHECK: 11:59 PM.

Most of the apartments in Minghao’s building have left their windows open. Some superstition about inviting in good luck.

While Joshua is standing outside, he can faintly hear a blaring television beginning to count down the seconds. 

“Seventeen… sixteen… fifteen…” 

Joshua exhales, his breath coming out as a visible puff of air. His eyes flutter close, the image of the full moon burning behind his closed lids. The thought of being underneath it without you makes the earlier thrumming in his chest twist into something that almost aches.

He supposes that some wishes aren’t meant to come true. 

TIME CHECK: 12:01 AM. 

“Shua!”

Joshua startles. He hadn’t noticed your return, and he’s momentarily distracted from his thoughts as his eyes snap open. You look panicked; it makes his chest squeeze with concern. 

“Hey,” he says immediately, his hand instinctively resting on the side of your arm in a bid to soothe. “What’s wrong?” 

“I missed it.” 

“Missed—” 

“Missed you!” 

Before Joshua can question your words, you’re already ranting. “The clock on my phone is a couple of minutes behind, and I thought I had enough time. I just wanted to pop a mint, put on some lipstick, maybe—” 

The implications of your words hit him like a truck. His eyes widen, and then something almost like a laugh breaks from the back of his throat. 

“You— for what?” he manages, even though he already knows the answer. 

“For this,” you say, and then you’re standing up on your tiptoes. 

The press of your lips against his is better than every goddamn firework in the world. Joshua is sure that absolutely no one in the world feels the way that he does right now. 

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t freeze up for a minute. His free arm snakes around your waist, gently pulling you flush against him. His other hand goes to rest at your cheek as he tilts your head ever so slightly, just so he can deepen the kiss. 

When the two of you break apart for air, Joshua lets you breathe for all of five seconds before he’s kissing you again. 

You giggle against his mouth. And it’s dizzying to him, the way the two of you are smiling as this unfolds; the way the rest of the world is a flurry of noise, but he’s standing still with you in his arms. 

“Shua,” you say his name like a reprimand, gently pushing at his chest to get him off you for a moment. 

His body doesn’t seem to register it. His head instinctively ducks to follow your lips. The sheer desperation of it makes you smile. 

“I’m sorry for being late,” you say, almost shy in your apology.

“My fault,” he responds hastily. “Told you to take your time.”

And, to hell with his dignity— 

“One more, please?” he asks, his tone just a little breathless. 

You’re laughing, again. Not at him, hopefully. He can’t bring himself to care, though, because your hand is already at the back of his neck, tugging him down. 

“One more,” you murmur.

Birthday wishes be damned. A quiet voice in the back of Joshua’s head whispers a disbelieving this is happening as he goes to kiss you again, knowing fully well by the way you respond that this won’t be the last time. 

It’s a fulfilled promise. 

This is happening. We’re happening.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ we could happen by aj rafael. what are you doing new year's eve? by zooey deschanel and joseph gordon-levitt. 7PM by bss and peder elias. tell me it's not a dream by 10cm. fallen by lola amour.

240525 #joshua 🦌 carats, thank you always. i will work hard to live up to the love that carats give me. so i'll be continue to be in your care. yoshi yoshi~ carats, the moon is pretty.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[0omillo0]

BIKER LEE KNOW

x reader <3 angst —> comfort/happy ending

everyone warned you about him, how he plays with girls and then leaves… you don’t believe them, until…

The clock ticked quietly in your room, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. Rain pattered steadily against your window, mimicking the slow tears that streaked down your face. You clutched your phone tightly in your hands, scrolling through old messages, trying to reconcile the sweet, caring Minho you’d been dating with the cold, distant person he’d become over the past week.

You couldn’t help but smile as you thought of the day he took you to the diner on his motorcycle. The ride had been exhilarating, the city’s lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color as you held tightly to him, feeling the comforting warmth of his back against your chest.

When you reached the diner, Minho had insisted on ordering three servings of pudding.

“You’re unbelievable,” you teased, watching as he tucked into the first one with childlike enthusiasm.

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned closer, spoon in hand, and offered you a bite. “C’mon, taste perfection.”

The way he watched you eat—like you were the most fascinating person in the world—made your heart flutter. Afterward, he’d noticed your hair was windblown from the ride and gently brushed it back into place.

“These moments… they make me feel alive,” he murmured, almost to himself…

But that Minho had vanished. It started with him being quieter during your calls, then came the short, clipped replies to your texts, and eventually, nothing at all.

You (Monday, 7:12 PM): Hey, how are you? Did you make it home safe last night?

My Mimo💕🏍️ (Monday, 9:45 PM): Yeah.

You (Tuesday, 4:30 PM): I was thinking about getting tickets for that movie you mentioned! What do you think?

(Seen, no reply)

You (Wednesday, 10:15 AM): Are you okay? I feel like you’re being distant. Did I do something wrong?

(No reply)

You’d tried giving him space, telling yourself he might be busy or overwhelmed. But by Friday night, the ache in your chest was unbearable. The rumors—about him being a heartbreaker, about him getting bored and leaving without a word—crept into your thoughts like poison.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, the tears coming faster now. You curled up in bed, clutching your knees to your chest. “Maybe I was just another distraction for him.”

….

It was a saturday night, the knock on your door was loud, urgent, and startling. You glanced at the clock, 11:47 PM, and hesitated. The rain was heavier now, and the thunder growled low in the distance. You wiped at your eyes, your heart pounding. Who could it be at this hour?

You opened the door cautiously and froze.

Minho stood there, drenched from head to toe. His motorcycle helmet was tucked under one arm, his leather jacket soaked through, and rain dripped from his dark bangs onto his flushed face. He looked… disheveled. Vulnerable.

“Minho?” you managed, your voice shaky.

His eyes softened the moment they met yours. “Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low and rough, almost drowned out by the rain.

You blinked, torn between anger, confusion, and a flicker of hope. Your teary eyes must have been obvious because his expression shifted to one of guilt.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.

Inside, Minho stood awkwardly near the couch, his shoulders tense. He looked around your apartment like it was unfamiliar territory, though he’d been here many times before. You crossed your arms, watching him carefully.

“You’re soaking wet,” you said flatly, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a towel. You threw it at him without ceremony.

He caught it, his lips twitching into a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks.”

You stayed standing, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he just dried his hair in silence, avoiding your gaze.

“Why are you here, Minho?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped mid-motion, the towel hanging limply in his hands. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You think?” you snapped, the bottled-up pain of the past week bursting out. “Do you have any idea how hurt I’ve been? You disappeared without a word! And after everything people said about you… I didn’t want to believe it, but—”

“Stop,” he said, his voice cracking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But it’s not what you think.”

“Then explain,” you challenged, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.

He took a shaky breath and sank onto the couch, running a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling,” he admitted. “I thought if I put some distance between us, I could figure it out. But all I did was screw everything up.”

“Figure out what?”

He looked up at you, his eyes glassy with emotion. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Your breath caught, and you took a step back, your mind racing. “You… what?”

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated, his voice firmer now. “I’ve never felt this way before, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t think I deserved you, and I didn’t want to risk messing things up. But pushing you away was the worst thing I could’ve done.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your ears. Tears welled up again, but this time they weren’t from pain. “Minho, you really hurt me,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he said, standing up and taking a tentative step toward you. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me.”

You hesitated, your emotions warring inside you. But the look in his eyes—the vulnerability, the sincerity—broke down your walls.

Slowly, you closed the distance between you, reaching out to touch his face. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I know,” he said with a soft smile, his hand coming up to gently wipe the tear away.

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but then the dam broke. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, as if he was afraid you might vanish. The kiss deepened, raw and desperate, a mix of apology and promise.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Does this mean I still have a chance?” he asked softly, his lips quirking into a hopeful smile.

You laughed through your tears. “You’re lucky I love you too, Minho.”

His grin widened, and he kissed you again, this time softer but no less passionate.

That night, as the rain poured outside, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the pain of the past week washed away. And for the first time in days, you felt whole again.

tags: @hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

[holdinggrudges]

what's my flavor? - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, oral (fem!receiving), vampire!sam, blood drinking, bloodplay (surprisingly little though tbh), fem!reader (afab anatomy + the word girl used in reference like three times or so), feeding being explicitly referred to as similar to drugs/getting high, mentions of serious illness (made up for plot reasons but still)

word count: 10.5K

summary: Working your way through college, you find a secretary job with great pay and more than enough downtime on the clock to get your coursework done. The only downside is that it leaves you with no choice but to attend night classes. But it's not so bad, especially with Mysterious Hot Guy attending them as well. Oh, and there's been blood bags going missing, but you're pretty sure that's not going to be relevant to your life any time soon.

notes: this was supposed to be pwp. it was also supposed to be posted on halloween. clearly, neither of those things happened. but fuck it, we ball. @cafekitsune for dividers <3

crossposted on ao3

You don’t understand how anyone could get through college without a job. You hear about people surviving off scholarships all the time, and you try your first year, you really do. But, God, something has to change. You can’t imagine working your way through school could be any more stressful than the budgeting, and the skipping meals, and the cards declining at the grocery store. 

So you get a job. A good one, too; a secretary job at an office ten minutes away from your apartment, and only twenty minutes away from campus. The job is easy, with plenty of downtime for you to work on your coursework, and the pay is good. Better than good, even. The only problem is the hours; 9-5 is great, generally, but not very convenient when setting up a college schedule. You’re relegated almost exclusively to night classes. Which is fine. Not ideal, but fine. 

You take four classes, two a night, and it leaves your Fridays wide open after work. It would truly be a perfect schedule if it didn’t mean you were on campus until 11 o’clock most nights. But the classes are relatively empty and none of your professors are total hardasses, so it’s not so bad. Actually, you start to really enjoy it. 

You make a little game out of studying the other students, trying to figure them out. The woman who sits in front of you in your statistics class is a stay-at-home mom, you think. The older man a few rows down in english is retired military. It’s interesting, and it gives you a reason to actually make it to class everyday. Well, that and Mysterious Hot Guy. 

Mysterious Hot Guy (or MHG, for short) is in two of your classes: your 6 o’clock political science class on Mondays and Wednesdays sitting a row down from you, and sitting beside you in your 8:30 biology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He first caught your eye because, frankly, he looks more like he should be on a movie set than night classes at a dinky community college. He’s drop dead gorgeous, and that’s putting it lightly. Even so, that’s not what has you so intrigued. Something about him is off somehow, strange in such a way that it has you completely captivated. Alluring in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, even outside his appearance. 

MHG hardly ever speaks. You’re pretty sure he’s only said one word to you the entire four weeks of the semester so far, and he sits literally a foot away from you every other day. He’s also, apparently, a genius. He never takes notes, never writes a single thing down, he never asks questions and never answers them either, for that matter. Still, you happened to catch a glimpse of his grade on the test your biology professor handed back last week, and he got a perfect score. 

He also doesn’t have a car. Or, rather, he doesn’t have a car of his own. Every Tuesday and Thursday as you’re walking back to your own car at almost 11 PM, he’s climbing into the passenger seat of an absolutely gorgeous vintage Chevrolet Impala that makes you simultaneously green with envy and desperate for him to push you up against the side of it. Or push you down against the backseat. Or the front seat, which you find out is a bench seat after some minor googling. Car like that, you’re not exactly gonna be picky about where. 

Still, even after all your observing, you don’t learn a single useful piece of information about MHG until six weeks into the semester—two weeks out from midterms—when your biology professor announces that you will be choosing your partners for the midterm project. You barely even let the words leave his mouth before you’re turning to your right, pouncing with what you hope is a normal amount of enthusiasm, although you’re so damn intrigued by this guy that all you can do is pray you don’t come across as a total stalker. “Hey. Would you wanna partner up?” 

MHG turns to you, his eyes wide in a way that leaves you a lot less hopeful about how normal your greeting was. “Uh. Me?” he asks, and his voice is…warm in a way you weren’t expecting. He could do audiobooks, or a podcast, or something—he has a nice voice is what you’re getting at.

You laugh. You’re almost a little starstruck—it makes sense; you’ve definitely turned this guy into your own personal celebrity. “Who else?” you respond, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’m ____.” 

He eyes you for a moment before he clasps your hand and gives it a shake. Jesus, this guy must have anemia or something because his hand is fucking freezing. “Sam. Uh, Winchester. Sam Winchester.” His touch lingers for a moment before he tugs his hand back. “And…yeah. Yeah, we can…partner up.” 

Sam Winchester. Finally, a name to put to the face. No more thinking of him as Mysterious Hot Guy for you; you and MHG are on a first name basis now. “Awesome,” you say softly, and you really, desperately hope your smile looks less manic than it feels. “So. Sam. Would you mind giving me your number or something so we can set up a time and place to meet up?” 

He hesitates, but he does scribble a number down on the corner of his empty notebook page. “I, uh. I can’t do…daytime,” he tells you as he slides it over. 

Okay. Weird way to phrase that, but you assume he’s like you, he works during the day or something. So you shrug and take the proffered paper. “Me neither. I have work.” You pinch it between your fingers with a grin. “We’ll make it work.” 

He smiles at you, a shy sort of thing that makes your chest ache to draw out more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

You plug the number in your phone almost as soon as you get home, but it takes you almost an hour to actually text him. You go through probably a hundred different drafts before you finally land on: ‘hey!! it’s ____. does friday work for you? my only day without classes lol’ 

Once you press send, you figure you’ll probably have at least five minutes to freak out and overthink. Sam doesn’t really seem the type to be glued to his phone. Which is why, you suppose, that you nearly have a heart attack when your phone buzzes with a response no more than 30 seconds later. ‘Friday works. 7 at the library?’ 

‘see you then :)’ You debate over the smiley face for a solid minute and a half before finally sending it and then violently throwing your phone across the couch and screaming into your throw pillow. 

When you do finally work up the courage to pick your phone up again, he’s sent two texts back. ‘See you then.’ And then another one, a small bubble containing two characters: ‘:)’ Embarrassingly, you giggle alone in your living room. Oh, this guy is going to be the death of you. 

You spend the rest of the night googling Sam Winchester and coming up with absolutely nothing. He seems to have absolutely no social media presence at all, not even an old MySpace or a private Facebook account. The only reference you can find to his name at all has it listed as one of two sons of some random serial killer from, like, the 1800s, which is obviously useless. 

You give up your fruitless search with a sigh, closing your laptop and shoving it aside. Your tv is playing on some local news station—doesn’t matter which one, they’ve all been reporting the same story for weeks. You click it off, 100% disinterested in hearing about the blood bags going missing from local clinics for the millionth time this month. 

You go to bed and dream of brown hair and eyes that you just can’t quite place the color of, but you can swear you see them flash red.

Friday finds you at the library almost a full hour early. You’d agonized over your outfit all day yesterday, and for another half an hour after work to boot. In the end, you’d decided to go casual. After all, it is just a study date—and actually, not a date at all! A study meet-up. A study hangout, at best. The fact that you did your make-up and your hair for it is entirely irrelevant. 

It’s 6:45 when a cough draws your attention up from your phone. Sam is standing in front of you with another one of those shy smiles, and two coffee cups in his hands. Coffee cups from your favorite cafe. He shoves one in your direction. “Uh. I’ve noticed that you have drinks from here pretty often. And- I hope you don’t mind, but I…I read one of the cups? So. This is for you.” 

Your eyes flick over him, your heartbeat practically pounding out of your chest. So he’s been watching you too. Or—Jesus, not watching, that makes it sound creepy. Observing is a better word for it. He noticed a pattern in your coffee cups. He read one to find out what it was you were drinking. “Thanks,” you tell him, taking the cup from his hand. Turning it to read the writing, you find he’d gotten it right. Maybe you should find it creepy, actually. As it is, you’re sort of having a hard time not swooning. You beam at him. “I’ll…have to return the favor.” 

For some reason, that makes Sam laugh as he sits down across from you. “Sure.” He opens his backpack and takes out his laptop. “So, this project.” 

Sam, as it turns out, is a genius. Or at least exceptionally smart. A project that would’ve taken you hours on your own is done in record time with him, which leaves the two of you there at 7:30 with a fully completed midterm project and half-empty coffee cups. You don’t want to leave, and it seems Sam doesn’t either, as he closes his laptop and asks, “Why are you taking night classes?” like he’s really, genuinely curious. 

So you tell him. You tell him about trying to get through college on your own, deciding you needed a full time job, how it’s probably the best job you’ve ever had. You ask him the same question, and he tells you about his brother, who is, apparently, the one who drives that fucking awesome car. He drops Sam off at classes, and pretty much anywhere else he needs to go.

The two of you chat for an hour and a half before Sam gets a text that says his brother is literally going to leave him there if he doesn’t shag ass and get in the car pronto. So Sam walks you out of the library. 

“You know,” you blurt out before you can lose your nerve, “I feel like our classes would be a lot easier if we put our heads together like this. You know, regularly. Like, every Friday, maybe.” 

He ducks his head, smiling that same shy smile he’d had when he gave you the coffee. “Sure. Every Friday. Sounds…helpful.” 

You don’t realize until you get home that he never actually told you why he takes night classes. It turns out to be a pattern for him, as the two of you meet up week after week. You simultaneously feel like you know everything and nothing about him, and every week you like him more and more for it. Well, for that and the coffee that he gets you every time. 

It takes a week before he moves seats in your political science class. The Monday after the second Friday you meet up with him, you almost sit in the wrong seat because you’re so used to him sitting two rows ahead of you. Of course, when you realize what’s happened, Sam’s staring at you with an amused grin on his face, like he’s trying really hard not to laugh at you. So, you decide, you are friends, at least. And as far as friends go, Sam’s a pretty good one.

You and Sam text, constantly. Despite seeming relatively unplugged, he responds to you instantly almost every time. You hate to get your hopes up, but by the time finals roll around, you’re starting to really like him. You’re starting to think he really likes you too. 

He finishes his biology final on the last Thursday of classes long before you, but when you leave the classroom, you see him leaning against the wall, waiting. Again, you don’t want to get your hopes up, but when he lifts his head and sees you approaching him, you swear to God, you see his whole face light up.  He looks a little pale, maybe. But it also might just be the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“How do you think you did?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

And, you think, it’s now or never, now, isn’t it? Classes are over. You may never see Sam again (although, you like to think the two of you are close enough now that you would at least remain friends outside of having classes together, but still, the sentiment remains). So you change the subject and ask, “Would you wanna get dinner with me on Saturday?” 

He pauses, freezes in place pretty much, and you stop to match him. “Dinner, like…dinner?” he asks, as if that question makes any sense. 

You laugh, a little awkward, and adjust your backpack straps. “Uh, yeah. Like, dinner.” You don’t want to explicitly mention it being a date. You feel like he likes you, you really do, but if you’re wrong…that rejection is going to sting. So you don’t say it, not explicitly. 

But still, Sam’s face lights up with a grin. “Yeah. I’d…really love to get dinner with you, actually. I’ll have to—I’ll text you. But…yes, yeah. I’d love to.” 

You’re pretty sure the smile on your face matches his. “Okay. Then, I’ll see you on Saturday. And you’ll text me.” 

“I’ll text you,” he agrees. 

The two of you linger for a moment before parting, and you have never been more excited to say goodbye to someone in your entire fucking life. 

When you get home, you have a text message. ‘I’ll pick you up. Does 7 work for you?’

You have to take a moment to squeal into your pillow before answering that yes, 7 does work for you, and you’re excited to see him then. And then, as an afterthought, your address.

God, you need to find something to wear.

Saturday comes around, and you’re fully ready by 6. Sam’s almost always shown up early, after all. Your TV plays news footage, stating that the clinics have taken to putting up extra security around their blood banks to no avail. You couldn’t care less, too giddy and girlishly excited to even think about the stolen blood bags. 

6:45 rolls around. Sam isn’t there. That’s…fine. He’s not obligated to show up early. You set up a time to pick you up for a reason, right? There’s no reason for the sinking feeling in your gut. 

7:00. No sign of Sam. But that’s no reason to worry. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. People are late sometimes, and you don’t need to panic just because Sam’s never been late before. 

At 7:30, you shoot Sam a text. ‘are you okay? don’t tell me you forgot about me :( lol’ You don’t get a response. 

You don’t change back into lounge clothes until 8, and you don’t take off your makeup until 8:30, and that’s only because you’re pretty sure you’re about to start crying and ruin it anyway. 

The real kicker is that you thought Sam, at the very least, considered you a friend. Or at least friendly enough to let you down easy rather than agree to a date and then stand you up. Clearly, you severely misread the entire situation. You entirely misunderstood Sam in general, if he’s really the type of person to do this sort of thing. 

Wiping hot tears off your face, you cork open your expensive bottle of wine. Desperate times, right?

Two hours and half a wine bottle later, you’ve swung from devastated to angry. How dare he stand you up? You’re a catch! You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you’ve ignored all of his weird quirks and red flags, and for what? To cry into a glass or five of overpriced wine on a Saturday night? Screw that. You should call him and give him a piece of your mind.

Or…no, you’re pretty drunk, actually, so you probably shouldn’t call him. But you could text him. Yeah. You fumble for your phone, furiously typing out a text and hitting send without a second thought. ‘if u werent interested in me u cldve just said so. didnt have 2 ghost me’ 

Next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes the next morning with a killer headache, a damn near empty bottle of wine, and no response from Sam. While you’re curled over the toilet, the alcohol isn’t the only thing turning your stomach. There’s a worry brewing there too. 

Because the more you think about it, the more that this really just doesn’t feel like Sam. Now that you’re further out from it, you can acknowledge that much. When you ask yourself if you truly believe that the guy who bought you your favorite drink every time you met up, the guy who remembered every single thing you ever told him, the guy whose face totally lit up when you asked him to dinner—when you ask yourself if that guy would stand you up, you truly, honestly don’t believe he would. So the real question is: why did he?

You fight through the worry until about halfway through your shift on Monday when you realize that with finals over, you have absolutely no idea when, or even if you’ll see Sam again. You call him. It rings all the way through until you get his voicemail, and you wish the sound of his voice could calm you, but it only reminds you that he’s not answering. You don’t leave a message, sending him a text instead. ‘seriously, are you okay? please at least let me know you’re not dead.’ You’re not surprised to find you haven’t gotten a response the next time you check your phone, walking to your car at the end of the day. Desperately, heart-clenchingly worried, but not surprised. 

You open your laptop the second you get home, furiously searching anything you can think of. You search for his name again, hoping to find anything that could point you towards family or friends, to the brother he mentioned. You search local obituaries, John Does, anyone who might even bear the slightest resemblance to Sam, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until you accidentally click on one of the articles about the blood theft. There, in a blurry screenshot of footage from the new security cameras one of the blood banks had installed, you see it. You recognize his brother’s gorgeous fucking car. 

Your eyes go wide. Holy shit, you’ve been flirting with a criminal. You scroll up through the article, reading furiously, but it doesn’t even mention the car, focusing instead on the blurry, shrouded figure entering the doors. Is this why Sam went missing? Laying low until he can be sure no one will connect the footage of the car to him or his brother? Why the fuck is he stealing blood bags in the first place? Needless to say, the discovery leaves you with more questions than it does answers. 

The world, unfortunately, does not stop with this revelation. You go to bed. You get up, you go to work, you come home. You think about Sam. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Should you go to the police? It’s not like he’s killing people but…it’s still illegal to steal blood bags. Also morally wrong, probably. Plus, you now have information that could help forward an ongoing police investigation. You’re not entirely sure what counts as aiding and abetting, but you’re not exactly itching to find out where the line is. 

On the other hand, Sam never seemed particularly…criminal-like to you. Strange, sure, but he was nice. Kind, even. You never in a million years would’ve pegged him as some sort of criminal mastermind. That’s got to count for something. Right? At the very least, you think it allows him the benefit of the doubt. So…late Tuesday night, you send him another text, the last one you’ll ever send him. Probably. ‘hey so keep ignoring me if im wrong but are you the one stealing blood from the clinics?’ 

He doesn’t text you back, and you pretend that means you’re wrong. That you can clear your conscience and go to sleep. That you can go to work and stop worrying about vintage cars in blurry security footage. 

Then the sun goes down on Wednesday, and someone knocks on your door. 

The man on the other side of it is unfamiliar to you. He’s wearing a leather jacket, an amulet hanging off his neck. There’s absolutely no reason you should recognize him as quickly as you do. Except that he has this quality about him, something unreal or maybe inhuman, and you’ve seen it before. You can’t quite tell what color his eyes are.

He smiles at you, and confirms it. “You’re ____, right? Sam’s told me all about you.” This is Sam’s brother, the one with the car. The car that you recognized in the blood bank footage. “I’m Dean. Can I come in?” 

You keep your hand on the edge of the door, ready to slam it in his face if need be. “How’d you get my address?” you ask, instead of answering the question. This man could be dangerous. You trust Sam, mostly, but his brother…that’s a different story.

“Sammy had it. Remember? For your little date.” Dean says, taking a step towards the threshold. You take a step back. “Can I come in now?” 

You ignore the fear raging down your spine, the urge to turn tail and run away. Sam carries himself differently than Dean, presents himself in such a way that instead of cowering away from him, you want to keep looking. His strangeness is intriguing, not off-putting. Dean, though, he takes those same qualities and twists them on their head. Dean looks at you, and your entire body screams Danger! Like he’s some sort of predator. “Why are you here?” 

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he snaps. He takes another step forward, but stays notably on the other side of the door. Just barely. “Sam needs help. Are you gonna invite me in, or not?” 

He could be lying. He could be manipulating the affection you already have for his brother to get you to let him in so he can off you, maybe the only person who’s connected him to his crimes. But, if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have just forced his way in? And also, why the fuck would he go that far just to cover up some stolen blood bags? “What’s wrong with Sam?” you ask, stepping back from the door to allow him inside. When in Rome, right?

His lips press together, like he’s irritated, though you can’t imagine why. You’re letting him in, which is what he wanted. He stares at you for a moment before sighing, world weary, like he’s holding the weight of a hundred lifetimes of idiocy on his shoulders. Jesus, this guy’s dramatic. “You have to invite me,” he grits out. 

Your confusion only grows, but you oblige anyway. “Okay…come in, then.” 

Dean steps into the apartment almost as soon as you’ve said it, like you’ve only just now opened the door. You back up a few steps further. 

“Just so you know,” you say, standing up taller and trying to act less terrified than you feel, “I have a gun. So don’t- don’t try anything ‘cause I’ll shoot you.” You’re completely bluffing, of course, but there’s no way Dean could know that. 

“No, you don’t,” Dean says, like he definitely knows you were bluffing. Well, great. “Besides, I’m not here to hurt you. My brother needs help, you think I’m gonna kill the only person who can help him?” 

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Then again, you’re pretty sure this man is a criminal, so maybe he’s just a really good liar. “Yeah, you said that before. If he needs my help so bad, why didn’t he just tell me himself?” It’s not like you slammed the door in Sam’s face and told him to leave you alone. You’ve sent him four texts and a phone call since he dropped off the face of the earth last week. He’s had every opportunity to ask for your help. 

“Cause he’s sick,” Dean tells you. He lifts his hands before he approaches you, like you’re some sort of wild animal that he doesn’t want to spook. Embarrassingly, it works. “Really sick.” 

You shake your head, bemused. “I don’t understand—what does that have to do with me? If he’s sick, he needs a doctor. Not…a random college student.” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, he would. But he’s got…it’s complicated.” He pauses in his approach and nods his head toward you. “Can I come closer, or are you gonna shoot me, tough girl?” 

You roll your eyes, but gesture him closer. “Be my guest, so long as it means you’re gonna tell me something that actually makes sense.” You’re tired of the riddles, frankly. If he doesn’t give you real answers soon, you don’t care how terrifying he is, you’re gonna have to do something drastic.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I can see why Sam likes you,” he mutters, shaking his head. “See, me and Sam…we’re not exactly normal. If I took him to a doctor, not only would they not be able to fix him, they’d probably kill him.” He stops beside you, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks. He cuts an intimidating figure, even without the air of a predator about him. You really, really wish you actually owned a gun.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, voice quiet in the face of this hunter. “That you’re not normal?” 

He grins, big and sharp and toothy. And then his illusion drops. Your eyes seem to fail you, like someone’s dropped the floor out from under you and then told you the floor was never real in the first place. His eyes catch your attention first, blood red and striking. And then, of course, you see his teeth—no, his fangs. Two long, sharp, killer fangs where his canines used to be. “Welcome to the night of the living dead, sweetheart.”

Vampires are real. There’s a monster in your fucking living room. This is crazy. You should be screaming. You should shove this man out the door and lock it behind him and maybe never leave your apartment again. Instead, you blurt out, “So that’s why you were stealing blood bags.” Honestly, a lot of things are starting to make way more sense now. You’re almost embarrassed you didn’t think of it before. 

Dean laughs. “Right on the money.” You flinch as he claps you on the shoulder, and he laughs at you again. 

“So…I’m guessing Sam doesn’t just have a regular old stomach bug, then?” You really feel like you should be having a more extreme reaction to this situation. You just found out that not only are vampires real, but you’ve been actively flirting with one. You think maybe you’re in shock. “This is some sort of weird…vampire virus, or something?” 

“Smart girl,” he says, pointing at you approvingly. “Though it’s not exactly a virus, more like…food poisoning. Actually, we call it blood poisoning. Comes from drinking stale blood—bagged blood, for example—rather than fresh from the source.” 

You frown. “Why drink bagged blood, then, if it makes you sick?” 

“Why do people go vegan even though they need protein?” Dean counters. “Harm reduction. Plus, it doesn’t always make us sick. It’s pretty rare, actually. More common now than, you know, the olden times, but it happened back then too. Storing blood in vials, bottles, anything can make blood go stale, but it means you don’t have to hurt as many people getting it. Some things are worth the risk.” 

That much, at least, you can understand. “So this…this stale blood, whatever—it makes you sick,” you repeat, that same worry for Sam from before roiling in your stomach again. “How sick?” 

Dean grimaces, so whatever it is is clearly not good news. “It can kill us. Pretty easily, too. I have to tell you, I don’t know exactly how it works. Sam’s way better at this sort of thing.” He taps his fingers against your coffee table. “But I do know how to fix it.” 

It’s pretty easy to guess. Dean’s here, despite the fact his brother is apparently dying, and there’s really only one thing you have that they don’t. “He needs blood,” you say quietly, beating Dean to the punch. “Fresh blood.” 

He nods and shoots you a stilted smile. “Quick on the draw, huh?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he sighs, shaking his head. “Sam hates what he is. Doesn’t matter that he’ll die without it, he won’t hurt anyone. He just won’t.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly uncomfortable with Dean’s intense stare, like he can see straight into your soul. “So- so, what am I supposed to do about it?” you ask, your shoulders shrugging helplessly. “I’m still a person. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.” 

Dean takes a step toward you, and this time you don’t step back or shrink away. He’s dangerous, sure, but not to you. Not as long as you’re the only thing standing between his brother and certain death. “Look, Sam really likes you. If he knew I was here right now, and he wasn’t on his deathbed, he’d kill me. But I just—I’ve tried. It’s been a week, and I’ve tried so hard—” He ducks his head as he cuts off, his jaw working over clenched teeth. “I know that you care about him, right? I mean, I saw the texts; I know—I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. I can’t just sit around and watch my little brother die. I had to try. I have to try.” 

Seeing him now, you almost can’t believe you were afraid of him. He looks almost terrified himself. And despite the uncertainty you feel, the fear, well…there’s a clear answer here. Yes, there’s a chance Sam refuses to feed from you, but there’s also a chance to save him. You can’t just stand back and let him die because you’re scared. “Okay.”

Dean’s eyes snap to yours again. They sparkle with hope, and even though the illusion is dropped, even though his eyes are red and his teeth are viciously sharp, for the first time since you first saw him, he looks human. “Okay?” 

“Take me to him,” you tell him, moving past him to grab your coat off the hanger by your door. “Let me try to save him.” 

Dean gives you the key to the apartment and a wish good luck, but stays in the car (which, yes, is just as nice as you imagined, though you wish you’d gotten to experience it under different circumstances). He tells you as you climb out the passenger door, “If this goes the way I hope it does, you two aren’t gonna want me there. Trust me.” 

Apprehension keeps you rooted outside the locked door, biting a hole through your bottom lip. There’s a lot of ways this could go. Quite a few of them could end up with you dead, and you’d be a fool not to acknowledge that. Then again, you’d also be a fool not to acknowledge what you know about Sam, what Dean’s told you about him today. Kind, gentle Sam, who is sick and dying, but apparently still refuses to hurt anyone. Who drinks from blood bags, despite the risk, simply because it means he can live without harming others. He doesn’t deserve to die.

You take a deep breath, and unlock the door. 

The apartment is…Well, it’s a little dingy, but it’s cozy. Homey. There’s clutter and trinkets on every shelf, books that look so old that you fear they’d disintegrate if you touched them. It occurs to you, then, that you don’t know how old Sam actually is. A memory flashes in your mind of his name mentioned in records from the 1800s. Holy shit. 

“Dean?” You recognize Sam’s voice, but it’s thin and croaky. Weak. Really sick, Dean had said. “Are you home?” 

  You follow the sound of his voice into a bedroom, and the stale smell of illness almost makes you stumble back from the doorway. It doesn’t smell bad, necessarily, so much as still and wrong. Sam’s been in this room, wallowing in sickness, for a week. Your heart aches for him. “Not Dean,” you say quietly, hoping not to spook him. You approach the bed, and only just keep from gasping at the state of the man curled up in it. Sam is pale and sunken, visibly weak and malnourished. He’s trembling, shaking all over with chills, maybe, or just tremors in general. 

His face changes when he hears your voice, his brows furrowed in confusion. He opens his eyes and peers up at you over his cocoon of blankets. His eyes, like Dean’s, are red, but unlike Dean’s, they’re glassy and tired, his eyelids fluttering like he’s struggling to keep them open. “____? What…what’re you doing here?” He pushes himself up to sit, and you can see the effort it takes him to do even that, his arms shaking under his own weight. 

You sit gingerly on the edge of the bed beside him. “Dean sent me,” you tell him, ratting Dean out immediately. 

Sam groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The veins in his hands are standing out, ugly, mottled red under pale skin. As if the blood really had poisoned him. “I’m gonna kill him.” Wow, Dean hadn’t even exaggerated, huh?

“Not like this, you’re not,” you mutter, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Jesus, Sam…” He’s ice cold to the touch like he’s been out in the snow for hours. You curl your hands around his, trying to warm him. 

His gaze flicks to them, your hands barely covering his. “Sorry I missed our date,” he says, mournful like he really is repentant, like standing you up is the worst sin he could’ve possibly committed. “It…was a date, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it—I meant for it to be.” You huff out a laugh, sympathetic as you smile at him. “And, you know, somehow I can’t find it in myself to hold it against you.” 

Sam laughs, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his fangs. They’re just as viciously sharp as Dean’s, but they somehow look less dangerous on Sam. You’d worry you’d been charmed or something (isn’t that supposed to be something vampires can do? You have to admit, you’re a little out of the loop of vampire lore), if you weren’t certain that Sam would never do something like that. No, not charmed, not in any sort of magical sense. “I’ll die happy then.” 

Wow, you see the dramatics run in the family. “You’re not going to die,” you say firmly, releasing Sam’s hand to brush his bangs out of his face. He’s freezing all over. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms, make sure he never goes cold again. You settle for pressing your palm against his cheek, your fingers cupping around his jaw. 

“I am, though,” he shoots back, like he’s arguing about who’s answer on the homework is right, not about his actual, literal life. “I’m going to die. But that’s—it’s okay. It’s been a week, so I’ve sort of come to terms with it.” 

“Screw that.” You turn more firmly towards him, pulling your legs under you to kneel on the bed. “Seriously, screw that. I can help you. If you think I’m just gonna- what, stand aside and let you die, then you really don’t know me at all.” 

“Sure. And you’re just gonna fix me, huh?” He shakes his head, turning it away from you with a huff. “All sunshine and rainbows after that. Not like I’ll have to bleed you to get better, right? Oh, wait.” Oh, he’s such a fucking diva, even on his deathbed, apparently.

“Oh, my God—yeah! I sort of figured it wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.” You didn’t spend all that time hesitating at the door because you thought it would be a walk in the park. “But if the choice is between that and letting you die, there’s no contest. I don’t understand why you’re so set on it when I’m sitting here offering you a solution!” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved!” His outburst silences you, especially because it seems to take a lot of energy from him to snap at you like that. He stares you down, red eyes meeting yours, and you…you don’t know what to say to that. 

You can lead a horse to water, but… “Sam—”

He cuts you off with another shake of his head. “Dean…he used to tell me that what we are doesn't make us monsters, it’s what we do. And I really wish I believed that, but the thing is, I…am going to die if I don’t feed from someone, like- like a fucking parasite. What is that if not monstrous?” 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” you tell him. Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his face and replace your hand on his cheek, turning his gaze to meet yours. “I actually happen to think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I don’t know what kind of monster would’ve apologized for getting deathly ill and accidentally standing me up.” 

His eyes flick over your face, like he’s searching for something. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice, thin and mournful, is heartbreaking. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know—I’ve never been sick like this before. It’s possible I won’t have a lot of control if I feed on you like this.” 

That’s sort of what you were afraid of. But that’s the benefit of him feeding from you, rather than some random person off the street, right? You know what’s going on. “I won’t let you go too far,” you assure him. “Sam, please. I want to do this for you. Let me…let me help you.” 

His eyes meet yours, and he seems to find what he’s looking for. He lifts his hand and brushes your hair back off your neck. “If I do this—if—it’ll hurt, at first,” he tells you, placing his hand on your shoulder. Just resting there. It sends sparks down your spine all the same. “But not for long. It’ll start to feel good, kind of like getting high. But if I—I’m not going to bite you if I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop me if I take too much.” 

“I’ll stop you. If I have to.” You trust him, mostly. But you’re also aware that he hasn’t fed in a week, so you’re prepared to have to at least alert him to your blood loss. 

His fingers trail along your neck, goosebumps following in his wake. His eyes follow the path of his touch, and his hands may be hesitant, but you can see the hunger in his eyes. Maybe you can make the horse drink, after all. “Are you sure?” he asks, and his hand moves to the back of your head. Bracing. 

“I told you—” you say, your voice coming out almost as quiet as a breath— “I want to do this for you.” 

“Okay.” He leans forward until you can feel his breath on your neck. It’s almost cold, unnaturally so. “Tilt your head a little more, that way—there you go,” he instructs, and that tone in his voice is…yeah. You are definitely glad Dean didn’t come in with you. His lips brush your skin when he speaks next, “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You’re not sure how you manage to get your voice to come out as stable as it does. You bring your hands up to brace on his shoulders, and your grip goes a bit tighter when you feel his fangs press, just barely, against your skin. “Yeah, I’m—go ahead.” 

You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before. You have no frame of reference of whether this is what it’s like every time, or if it’s just a Sam thing. Or if it’s just a you and Sam thing. But the whole process is intensely intimate in a way you weren’t expecting. Even when he first sinks his fangs in and it stings, makes you draw in a sharp breath. He’s a little uncoordinated, you think, and maybe goes in at a weird angle, because he draws his teeth out to sink them in again, but not before his tongue flicks out to catch the blood that drips down the side of your neck. The gasp that escapes you this time is not just from the pain.

He was right, of course. It does hurt at first. But the pain is offset by his hand on your head, his fingers curling just so to grip your hair. You swear you can feel in real time as he gets his strength back. As your blood flushes the sickness out of him. You’re not sure there is anything more intimate than that. 

You think maybe you expected a transition between pain and euphoria, but there is no slow fade. In between one blink and the next, the pain disappears, replaced with a floaty, echoing pleasure that has your fingers clutching at Sam’s shirt. Everything around you goes a little unfocused, fuzzy, except for everywhere Sam touches, where you swear your nerves are lighting up with sparks and ecstasy. You might be making noises. It’s a little hard to tell, your senses dampened as they are. 

“Sam…” You shove a little at his shoulders when you notice your hands start to shake. He hums, and you feel it on your skin. You can see, now, why he likened this feeling to getting high, although you’re not sure it’s the feeding that you can see yourself getting addicted to. You shove him a little harder. “Gettin’ dizzy here.” 

He pulls back from your neck, and your senses return to you in a rush of sound and a pinprick sort of ache where his teeth had sunk into your skin. You watch, full focused vision returned, as Sam wipes at his mouth and then drags his tongue over his hand, now free of mottled veins, to catch the blood that had, you assumed, spilled as he drank from you. Like he can’t bear to waste a single drop. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly very dry. 

“You taste like…” He trails off, and then his mouth is on you again, but not biting. No, his tongue drags up your throat, and it occurs to you—vaguely, through the fog of earth-shattering, soul-bending lust that settles over you—that if blood had spilled down his mouth, then it stands to reason that it had made a mess of your neck as well. Not that you’re complaining, if this is the result of a little mess. He makes a soft noise against your skin, his breath hot now in a way it hadn’t been before. “Taste like…” His voice peters off again, distracted or just unable to find the words to describe it.

Yeah, screw this. “Let me find out for myself,” you murmur, your hands moving from his shoulders to his face—and his skin, too, is warmer now, almost the temperature you would generally expect it would be—until you can drag him into a kiss. The answer, as it turns out, is blood. You taste like blood, although you sort of assume it tastes different to him. Strangely, the flavor isn’t as off-putting as you would assume, especially not when he groans and uses his grip on your hair to tilt your head, kiss you deeper. You lick into his mouth, tasting your actual, literal blood on his tongue, and you…don’t have the words to describe how absurdly hot it is.  

He’s not careful with his fangs, not really, lets them catch on your bottom lip and draw out pinpricks of blood that he soothes with his tongue. It makes the whole thing a little messy; he’s got blood smeared over his lips when you pull back to breathe. Your eyes track his tongue as he licks it up. 

His hand, the one that’s not braced on the back of your head, brushes against the skin of your waist under the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, still so close that you can feel the words on your lips. 

Is this okay? You almost have to laugh at the question. As if you hadn’t wanted him since the first moment you saw him. “Yeah,” you tell him, a little smile tugging at your lips. “It is so absolutely more than okay.” 

At your confirmation, he smiles too, and his hand rests more firmly on your waist, almost grounding. “Well, I didn’t buy you dinner first. Wouldn’t want you to think I was ungentlemanly,” he says, drawing a soft laugh from you. 

“Aw, well. You did try.” You press forward, leaving a short kiss on his lips as your hand shifts from his face to tangle your fingers through his hair. “Plus, I mean…technically, I—”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss, but you can feel his grin against your mouth. “That does not count,” he protests.

“I dunno,” you say, a little sing-song in your voice as you grin at him. “I did quite literally just save your life. I think we might be a little past dinner.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head at you. He’s not annoyed though. You can tell, because his fingers flex on your waist and then move, brushing up your side. “Uh-huh. Sounds to me like I’m slacking.” He ducks his head and presses two short, soft kisses to your neck, right on top of the pinprick aches. “I’ll have to repay you. You did just save my life, after all.” 

Almost subconsciously, your fingers tighten in his hair. Anticipation settles in the small space between you, a space that grows even smaller when his hand presses against the small of your back and tugs your closer. “I did just save your life,” you repeat, your voice significantly breathier than it was before.

He laughs, a little puff of breath against your skin, and his lips drag down your throat in a line of open mouthed kisses until it lands at your pulse point. You swear to God, time slows down as he breathes in, slow and deep like he’s smelling your blood beneath your skin, and then presses his teeth to it until you can feel the points of them, precarious like water pooled on top of a penny. He doesn’t bite down, doesn’t break the skin, but fuck, you almost want him to. It seems like he wants to, too, as he closes his mouth with a snap. “Fuck…” He pulls back and lifts his eyes to yours. “Can I taste you? Please?” 

It takes you a second to understand what, exactly, he means. He’d already tasted you; if he wanted more blood, he could’ve just bitten you again. Then, it clicks, and you…well, what are you supposed to say to that? Sam Winchester, all big, cow eyes and mouth smeared with your blood, so politely asking to eat you out, like you’d be giving him a gift. How could you possibly turn that down? “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, that’s—yeah.” 

You only see his answering smile for half a second before his lips are on yours again, kissing, biting, while his hand caresses over the bare skin of your stomach. His kiss, his touch, is almost overwhelming, doesn’t leave you much room to think about anything else but him. Not that you really want to. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, pulls back just far enough from you to speak, and even then you can feel his lips move against yours as he asks, “Can I take this off?” 

You really do laugh this time, drawing your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. “I appreciate the whole gentleman thing, I really do, but Sam, baby, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew your name. So let’s just assume that whatever you wanna do, I really fuckin’ want it, too.” 

His eyes flick over your face, and you can literally feel the cocky ass grin he gets at that. It is, unfortunately, like everything else he does, ridiculously sexy. “That long, huh?” He’s such a dick. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your entire life. He tugs back and drags his gaze down your torso, his hand leaving your hair to join the other in toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer, then.” His hands brush against the skin of your stomach as he pulls your shirt up and over your head before tossing it aside, not caring where it lands. You’ll find it later. Or you won’t. 

His eyes lave over your newly bare skin, his hands following shortly behind. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his palms flat against your stomach and dragging them up your ribs. “Can you lay back for me, darling?” he asks, even as his hands press you back against the mattress before you can respond. 

You go easily, not in the least because the name knocks the breath out of you. “Darling?” you echo, shifting until you’re resting comfortably against the nest of pillows at the head of the bed. 

Sam climbs over you, his knee nudging yours until you spread your legs to make room for his hips to settle between your thighs. “Is that alright?” he asks, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw. 

More than alright, if the fluttering in your stomach is anything to go by. “It’s fine,” you say, playing it cool. Then, because his hands are rubbing up and down the bare skin of your sides and his teeth (the blunt ones, not the fangs, because he has much more self control than you do) are nipping at the skin of your neck, you play it decidedly uncool and continue, “Darling.” 

You feel his answering smile against the skin of your collarbone as he and his kisses and his teeth travel down the line of your neck and chest, pausing at the edge of your bra. He lifts his eyes to meet yours through his lashes as his lips press the softest of kisses there. “‘M gonna take this off, now,” he tells you, his voice deep and rumbling. His hands move up your back, and you arch your spine to allow him room to do so. He undoes your bra clasp without removing his lips from your chest, tugs the garment down your arms and tosses it vaguely in the same direction as your shirt without a second thought. 

“I thought about this, you know,” he says, softly, against the skin in the valley of your breasts. “Getting my mouth on you. How it would feel.” He shifts his attention, his lips closing over your nipple while his hand palms your other breast. It draws a soft gasp from your lips, your fingers twisting in his hair. “How you’d sound,” he continues, his voice a little cocky now. 

“Sam…” His name falls from your lips on an exhale, like you’re breathing him in, like he’s pumping through your veins the same way you’re now pumping through his. 

He smirks. If you thought he was cocky before… “Yeah, pretty much—” He presses that smirk against one nipple and brushes his thumb over the other, and while your head is dropping back onto the pillows with a moan, he laves his tongue over it to make you moan even louder— “just like that.” He's got you so distracted, you almost don't notice his free hand trailing down your stomach, brushing along the waistband of your jeans, not until his fingers undo the button with practiced ease. 

“Oh, God, you are so unfairly hot.” You lift your head to watch as he kisses his way down your stomach until he finally reaches your waistband with his mouth, too, and leaves a nippy little bite there. 

He laughs, glances up at you with that fucking smirk as he drags your jeans down your hips. “Unfair to who? You?” The two of you maneuver a bit until he can tug your pants off your ankles and toss them aside, another clothing casualty lost to the war on your sanity led by the swooping in your gut whenever Sam looks at you like that. 

“Not me,” you elaborate, although it’s hard to do so when Sam’s hands are settling on your hips and his thumbs are rubbing slow circles on your skin and dipping just so under the elastic of your panties on every other pass. “But, like, every other guy. How is anyone supposed to compete with…this?” 

This being Sam motherfucking Winchester, who had spent months shyly testing the waters and cautiously flirting so subtly that you were terrified you’d read him wrong, suddenly suave and confident and practically begging to eat you out. Oh, and also being, objectively, the hottest monster. This man has been terrorizing the dating pool for maybe centuries. You shudder to think how many women’s standards he has completely obliterated. 

Continuing the streak of obliterating your standards, he ducks his head, that shy smile on his lips again. “I mean, I should hope no one is competing with me in this particular instance,” he says, voice hesitant as if there’s a chance on Earth you’d ever turn him down. 

You shake your head, and honestly, you can’t help but laugh because a literal vampire is about to go down on you, and somehow the most unbelievable part of this situation is that he thinks he has an ounce of competition. “Are you actually asking me if I want to be exclusive right now?” you ask, drawing a hand up and through his hair, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “Because I feel like I made it so obvious how much I like you. Obviously, there is no competition.” 

You have the honor of watching Sam blush for the first time, and knowing that you made it possible. Your blood flushes his cheeks, makes his face go the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. 

 “Obviously,” he echoes, his words brushing against the skin just above your panties. His hands brush down your thighs, and he pulls one of your legs up and over his shoulder so your heel rests against his back. He turns his head, and with your thigh now bracketing his head, it’s easy for him to press an open-mouthed kiss there, and then another, and then another until he’s brought you back practically to panting again. 

“‘M gonna make you see stars,” he tells you, his lips pressed against the crease where your thigh meets your hip. “And then, because I am a gentleman, I’m going to buy you dinner. And I’m gonna be thinking about this—” He nips at your skin, bares his fangs this time and draws a well of blood and a gasp from you simultaneously— “The way you taste; the way you feel—I’m gonna be thinking about it the whole time.” He draws his hands back up to your hips just to tuck his fingers under the elastic of your panties, lifting his eyes to yours as he tugs on it. “Can I take these off?” 

You think you might die if he doesn’t. “Please.” 

His fangs seem to glint in the light when he grins, but he ducks his head before you can look again, a sort of hyperfocus to his posture as he shifts your hips and legs until he can pull your underwear off your ankles, and finally, finally, leaves you bare to him. He doesn’t waste a second, his hands dragging up your thighs and then spreading them further, his eyes roving over you like you’re the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. “Gorgeous.” His voice, breathy and sweet, washing over you is the only warning you get before his lips press against you in a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

Your lungs expand on a gasp, and then deflate on a moan as he laves his tongue between your folds, the muscle pressed flat and soft like a tease. Or a preview. You’re not totally sure you’re going to survive this actually. You might die with Sam’s tongue licking over your pussy, and honestly, what a fucking way to go. 

“Taste so good all over, huh?” Oh, holy fuck, he’s still talking. His lips brush over your skin and make you whine, and you’re pretty sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice better than you can hear him. “Feel like I should thank you. Letting me feed from you, and now this?” He makes it sound like it’s some sacrifice to let him go down on you, like you’re not gripping his hair so tight you’re surprised you’re not pulling it out. “You’re perfect.” 

“Oh, my God,” your voice comes out high and tight as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks. Your back arches off the bed, but as your hips shift to press up against his mouth, you find his hand pressed low on your stomach, pinning you down. “Sam—oh, my God.” 

You can feel as much as hear the soft, contented hums he’s making, like he’s never wanted to be anywhere more than with his head between your legs and his tongue drawing circles over your clit. His fangs, sharp and dangerous, are almost artfully pressed against your skin, just barely enough to feel the points of them. His free hand, the one not pressing you down against the mattress, keeps trailing up and down the outside of your thigh, making you shiver and press your heel into his back. And it’s so obvious he’s loving this maybe even as much as you are, his whole body shifting as he grinds down against the mattress, and God, that feels almost as good as his mouth on your cunt does. He’s getting off on the taste of you, on making you squirm and whine and moan.

It’s over the second he presses his tongue against your entrance and his nose smushes against your clit—everything after that is a jumble of sensation. The feeling of his tongue fucking in and out, his nose rubbing against you with every movement of his mouth, his hand grabbing at your thigh and holding your legs open when your muscles go tense and tight and anticipatory. 

He draws his tongue out of you with an obscene slurping sound that just has you hurtling even faster towards the edge, your hands grabbing at his hair for dear fucking life, white knuckled. “Are you gonna come?” he asks, his voice low and gruff and almost fucked out. You squeeze your eyes shut, nodding as if it wasn’t obvious from the constant stream of noises spilling from your lips. “Yeah? Go on, come on my tongue. Give it to me, darling, let me taste it.” 

How could you resist that? His words and his stupidly talented mouth draw you over the edge, your pussy spasming as you do exactly as he asked and come on his tongue. True to his word, he does, in fact, make you see stars, lights sparking behind your eyelids. His mouth works you through it until you’re whining and using your grip on his hair to tug him away, oversensitive as you come down from an explosive fucking orgasm. 

He presses kisses on your inner thigh as he shifts it off his shoulder, your body loose and pliant now. “There you go, good girl.” The words make your cunt give a valiant twitch, even as he draws himself up your body until he’s laying beside you and pressing kisses over your face. “Was that good?” 

You peek one eye open to look at him, incredulous. “Was that good—you’re so ridiculous, c’mere.” You turn your head to draw him into a slow, lingering kiss. Much like the taste of your blood in his mouth, the taste of your pussy on his tongue is, frankly, life-changing. You’re addicted already. 

He draws back with a soft laugh, his eyes traveling over your face with such obvious fondness that you have to press another quick kiss against his lips. “Okay, understood.” He brings his hand up to brush over your face, soft and gentle and such a contrast to the obscene pleasure he’d taken in going down on you that it makes your cheeks go warm. “So when can I buy you that dinner?” 

The question gives you pauses, and your eyes flick down his body, curious. “Did you not want me to…” 

You watch your blood, again, flood his cheeks as he laughs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s not—I really like giving head,” he explains, as if that is not literally the hottest thing he could’ve possibly said. 

Fuck dinner, you wanna go five rounds with him back to back right now. “Okay,” you say, because he’s very sweet and he wants to be a gentleman and who are you to take that from him? “You can take me to dinner, if you swear you’ll let me suck you off when we get back. Deal?” 

The way his face lights up is worth having to wait. “Deal.”  

“And,” you continue, your hand smoothing over his hair where your grip had mussed it up, “next time you need blood, let’s just skip the whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing. I am more than willing to supply you; I have a vested interest in keeping you around.” 

He rolls his eyes, but the way he kisses you, fangs and all, tells you he gets it.

[flamingtouya]

𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐩 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞) —

pairing: dabi + f!reader

word count: 4381

cw: getting to know each other (against your better intuition), flirting, bad flirting,some explicit language but nothing too bad, no quirk AU, dabi commits a crime or two

summary: In which Dabi meant to text Toga instead of a random stranger. But these things happen, and you were never one to shy away from troublesome men. This whole thing is told entirely through text messages.

a/n: check out my AO3 for different formatting! :)

Mar 02  10:07 PM

Unknown: Grab bleach while you’re out Unknown: And paper towels

You: who is this??

Unknown: So funny

You: u got the wrong number my guy 

Unknown: Shit Unknown: You don’t happen to have some bleach at your disposal rn? 

You: try the convenience store You: where’s the body at, anyways

Unknown: Ohara street by the fitness park, you should come check it out

You: sounds enticing You: i’ve always wanted to be on a true crime podcast

You: sort of expected myself to be the alive one though

Unknown: I was taught that women tend to be smart about stranger danger and stuff Unknown: You're out to prove me wrong

You: how’d you know i’m a woman? 🤨

Unknown: U sound cute Unknown: And men don’t listen to true crime

You: that’s so sexist You: and correct You: you'd do numbers on reddit

Mar 03 00:16 AM

You: hey don’t leave now

Mar 03 00:34 AM

Unknown: Had a body to take care of

You: you didn’t wait for me? :(

Unknown: … Unknown: Are u fr

You: ofc not You: i don’t hang out with edgelords

Unknown: Whatever u r probably boring anyways

You: entertaining enough for u to keep texting me

Unknown: We all have our moments of weakness 

Mar 03 01:09 AM

Unknown: So wyd

You: you don’t have anybody else to bother?

Unknown: I do Unknown: I want to bother you tho

You: damn, what’d i do to deserve this

Unknown: Is that a complaint

You: i have uni tomorrow and ur buzzing keeps waking me up

Unknown: Mute your phone, stupid 

You: can’t mute unknown numbers

Unknown: Save this one then Unknown: Or block me idc

You: what name should i put it under

Unknown: Dabi 

You: lmao i knew you were an edgelord

Dabi: Stfu

You: good night to you too

Mar 03  07:58 AM

You: fuck

Mar 03 3:56 PM

Dabi: Did you miss me that bad 

Mar 03 4:32 PM

You: i overslept and am blaming you entirely

Mar 03 5:19 PM 

Dabi: Sucks to be a useful member to society

You: why what do you do

Dabi: I'm actually a bit of a part-time freelancer, you regular uni folk just wouldn't get it

You: freelancing around ohara at 1 in the morning sounds like the truly fulfilling purpose we all long for You: did you just get up

Dabi: Hey now  Dabi: Yes  Dabi: I’m still in bed technically, looking at the ceiling fan is so interesting when I don't want to move a muscle

You: you are everything I am jealous of

Dabi: I promise you it’s not that good 

You: first time a guy’s been honest right away. i applaud u

Dabi: Omg no way 

Mar 03 5:40 PM

You: no way what

Dabi: No way you said something witty 

Dabi: Maybe you’re fun after all

You: i’ll have u know that deep down, i’m just a fragile being trying to make it thru this bitch of a world, running on fumes and caffeine all while chasing a childhood dream that i'll never be able to reach anyways because of my parents' expectations of me crushing my soul

Dabi: Damn, being vulnerable already 

You: your turn

Dabi: I’m not sad. My life is great and my parents never expected anything of me

Dabi: That was a lie 

You: so you’re a liar

Dabi: I suppose I might be

You: that counts as being vulnerable. i’m so proud of us. &lt;3

Mar 03 9:12 PM

You: you probably have daddy issues

Mar 03 11:34 PM 

Dabi: Mind your business 

You: so i’m right

Dabi: Nosy sounds more like it

You: that’s a yes then

Dabi: When I tell you he SUCKS so bad 

You: LMAO You: i’m guessing you don’t particularly like your family then

Dabi: It's not the type of stuff I'd tell anybody, especially not to some nosy individual whose number is one or two digits off

You: alright i’ll stop digging You: wait how old are you You: am i talking to some 50 y/o dude You: please no

Mar 04 00:02 AM

Dabi: Chill I’m 48

Mar 04 00:06 AM 

You: say sike right now You: if u rly are then i’m half your age

Dabi: You thought Dabi: Are you actually 24 tho

You: give or take a few days lol

Dabi: When’s your birthday 

You: do you want my social and tax numbers while we’re at it

Dabi: Stfu I wanna see if I’m older 

You: 🤨 You: it’s at the end of this month

Dabi: Baby 

You: are u flirting with me or insulting me

Dabi: Can’t I be doing both 

Mar 04 06:30 AM

You: love me a guy who can multitask You: did you ever get your bleach and paper towels

Mar 04 11:11 AM

You: it’s 11:11 make a wish

Mar 04 2:02 PM

You: my wish is that you’d commit to a humane sleeping schedule

Mar 04 2:59 PM 

Dabi: Anybody hear sum 

You: i heard you’re a lazy bitch You: who doesn’t even do his own grocery shopping

Dabi: Maybe I do. Maybe I got the bleach all on my own like a big boy

You: X

Dabi: What's that mean

You: X for doubt You: it’s a meme

Dabi: Here I thought we were about to get spicy 😔

You: ew

Dabi: I was joking  Dabi: …unless 

You: has anybody ever told you that your flirting is immaculate

Mar 04 7:10 PM

Dabi: What do you study 

You: are you trying to find out my location

Dabi: Let it be known I’m terrible at geography and if I wanted to stalk you I'd already be on it

You: that’s a consolation You: forensic science You: i actually can’t wait for the semester to be over bc my professor is one of the most annoying individuals i have ever had the displeasure of meeting

Dabi: So you do have bleach 

You: never said i didn’t

Dabi: What do I have to do to make the list of annoying individuals. What's my current score

You: we haven’t met You: and i’m not sure if i’d survive u

Dabi: You have a point, I'm super nice tho

You: bet You: are you handsome You: asking for a friend You: the handsome ones are usually more annoying

Dabi: I'll say I’m frighteningly unique-looking 

You: ...well played

Mar 04 10:09 PM 

Dabi: My boss is making me do errand work in the morning like I'm some kind of functioning human being with principles Dabi: The next piercing I’m getting is a lobotomy 

You: thought you were “freelancing”

Dabi: Freelancing only gets you so far. You'll understand when you're my age

You: can't imagine what the back pain must be like You: do you have a tongue piercing 👀

Dabi: Perhaps I do

You: u r so mysterious You: tell me an opinion 

Dabi: Mint ice cream makes my teeth feel weird 

You: that’s not an opinion 

Dabi: Alright, more foods should have mint in them. And coriander. I want to make things inedible for 80% of the human population

You: nvm keep your opinions to yourself 

Mar 05 02:26 AM

Dabi: I've gotta burn this number. Txt u in a few 

Mar 05 05:16 AM

You: what are you, some kind of druglord This message could not be delivered.

You: I knew it This message could not be delivered.

Mar 0512:03 PM

You: ayo are you still there This message could not be delivered.

You: this is only funny if you come clean right now This message could not be delivered.

Mar 05 4:16 PM

You: "text you in a few" minutes? hours? days? This message could not be delivered.

You: just know that if it takes to long i'll forget about u This message could not be delivered.

You: won't even miss u This message could not be delivered.

Mar 06 09:00 AM

You: hello is this thing on This message could not be delivered.

Mar 07 3:15 PM

You: my social security number is 6007 0023 6799 0324 This message could not be delivered.

Mar 07 8:46 PM

You: eggs, vinegar, panko, sprite, sliced ham, parmesan, deodorant sencha if they have the good one ground pepper, lemon juice This message could not be delivered.

Mar 08 04:44 AM

Unknown: Am I still the man of ur dreams

You: I'm killing you You: violently

Unknown: I was hoping softly Unknown: With your song

You: are these messages being monitored You: am i a suspect

Unknown: If they were, could I write that I'm a ruthless baby killer anti-government fuck the police pro abortion the prime minister is an idiot bomb. bomb at the airport, terrorism, detonate Unknown: I guess now they are

Dabi was added as a contact.

You: just when i thought i'd have to find another witty asshole with a tongue piercing

Dabi: Aw you missed me Dabi: Does my tongue piercing make me hot be honest

You: what are my chances of getting an explanation for the past few days You: are u a murderer fr, that would be so cool You: i totally didn't use our abandoned chat as a grocery list btw

Dabi: The only thing I slay is pussy 😎

You: somehow i have doubts about that statement You: animal abuse is no joke

Dabi: I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 100, if you guess it correctly I'll tell u everything

You: 69

Mar 08 08:21 AM

Dabi: It was 72 Dabi: Because you were so close I'll give u one free question. But I want another one in return

You: you're a dirty little gremlin who plays dirty little games You:: do i get to ask a follow-up question

Dabi: No

You: in that case You: which of the following activities did you partake in? 1.) vandalism 2.) drug dealing 3.) drug trafficking 4.) violent crimes 5.) violent crimes that resulted in the death of one or more individuals 6.) assisting someone in a violent crime 7.) assisting someone in a non-violent crime 8.) theft 9.) robbery 10.) hate crimes against a minority 11.) politically motivated acts of defiance 12.) consumption of illegal substances 13.) running and/or hiding from law enforcement 14.) domestic terrorism 15.) human trafficking 16.) money laundering 17.) having a good time

Dabi: What the fuck Dabi: What is this, a multiple choice? Dabi: 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 13 Dabi: My turn Dabi: What's your favourite food

You: fr, just like that You: that's your one question out of everything you could ask? am i really that boring

Dabi: I ask what I ask

You: spicy miso ramen with minced pork You: can we go back to the part where you ran from law enforcement

Dabi: Don't we all have demons that we run from Dabi: Mine are just a bit more persistent

Mar 08 10:52 AM

You: i want another question

Dabi: If you come up with one that's not related to the past few days, go ahead

You: fine i'll take it You: have you ever been caught and gotten in legal trouble for one of your… dubious activities

Dabi: Yeah

You: …and?

Dabi: That's another question. Gonna trade?

You: fine

Dabi: When I was 16, two Officers Of The Law 🐷 caught me dumpster diving behind a 7/11 Dabi: The dumpster diving wasn't the crime but because it was on private property they charged me with trespassing

You: damn, that's a lot of truth from u in just two sentences You: i wanna know ur tragic backstory so bad

Dabi: You could try to get me all sentimental for the 6 minutes after really good sex before the post nut clarity sets in

You: uh huh, taking notes You: anyway. you get one question. think hard

Dabi: If you couldn't have minced pork on your ramen, what would your second topping choice be

You: you're impossible

Mar 08 1:27 PM

You: tori karaage or extra ni-tamago i guess

Mar 08 2:23 PM

Dabi: Doesn't the Karaage lose its crispiness if it's in the broth for too long Dabi: I wouldn't know

You: please let me recommend you a good ramen place, you seem like you'd need it

Dabi: You have no idea. Take me out

You: like romantically? or are you asking me to murder you

Dabi: I love surprises

You: i just laughed out loud in the middle of my lecture

Mar 08 7:18 PM

Dabi: Need your forensic expertise for a sec

You: …oh no

Dabi: It's a purely hypothetical scenario

You: alright lay it on me big boy

Dabi: If a 176 cm tall and 67 kg heavy person were to climb over a 4,60 meter high fence that has electrical wiring on it Dabi: What would the most likely way for them to die be?

You: this is not forensic at all You: how strong is the electricity You: is there a way to shut it off You: where would you hold onto the fence You: can it be damaged

Dabi: Not me, a 176 cm tall and 67 kg heavy person

You: where would THE 176 CM TALL AND 67 KG HEAVY PERSON HOLD ONTO THE FENCE

Dabi: The only points that provide decent grip surface are the hooks holding the wires in place

You: so the most likely way to die would be electrocution You: will that be all

Dabi: How would one determine whether the electricity has been properly shut off Dabi: In the theoretical scenario that you couldn't get close enough to hear

You: the 176 cm tall and 67 kg heavy person should tap the wiring from the bottom with the back of their hand You: that way their fingers curl downwards and not around the wire You: so the person won't DIE from ELECTROCUTION

Mar 09 00:08 AM

Dabi: Excellent Dabi: Gonna do some field research Dabi: Will report back in maybe a day

Mar 09 08:01 AM

You: i'm gonna be so mad if you die before you've had decent karaage This message could not be delivered.

Mar 11 6:10 PM

Unknown: So it turns out that the person did not have to climb the fence after all. Pliers are such useful tools Unknown: Thanks for the electricity tip tho

Mar 11 6:39 PM

Dabi was added as a contact.

You: you're so hot when you're alive 

Mar 11 9:14 PM

Dabi: Do u think I'm a catch 😏

You: judging by the way law enforcement is trying to get their hands on you, i'd say you're pretty slippery

Dabi: The slipperiest Dabi: You couldn't handle me

You: i'd trap you using cheese and a paper box  You: put you in a jar and turn you into spicy miso broth 

Dabi: Would you hold the jar tight at night and tell me everything's going to be okay 

You: of course 

Dabi: I'm liking this scenario 

Mar 12 01:07 AM 

Dabi: Ever thought about what Mint Karaage would taste like

Mar 12 01:23 AM

You: i need u 

Dabi: Tell me more

You: to shut your mouth

Dabi: Are you trying to romance me

Mar 12 07:15 AM

You: i'm actually so upset right now  You: can i vent

Mar 12 07:27 AM

Dabi: Listening Dabi: Am I gonna have to get the tissues out

You: you're not empathetic enough for that 

Dabi: How would you know 

You: call it a woman's intuition  You: i just need someone to bother about my hot girl troubles

Dabi: Let's hear it girl  Dabi: Men ain't shit 💅

You: damn right they aren't You: but unrelated to that You: i ran out of my medication a few days ago and thought if i stretched the remaining 3 pills to last me 6 days i'd be able to make it till the end of the week  You: now my doctor's office is closed and i can't seem to get an appointment anywhere You: and i'm super jittery and on edge and almost had a panic attack just trying to make coffee

Dabi: What type of medication 

You: Ativan You: it's prescription only

Dabi: Nothing is ever "prescription only" 

You: i'm not gonna try some experimential backalley drug You: just feel like dying rn

Dabi: Who said anything about backalley? You actually came to the right guy for this  Dabi: What's the name of the nearest druggery 

You: ...fukuju pharmacy

Dabi: So I've been talking to a Setagaya girl 

You: only moved here for uni, hate to disappoint if ur expecting a wealthy maiden 

Mar 12 10:02 AM

Dabi: Don't you feel like getting a snack from the vending machine  Dabi: Specifically the one next to the pharmacy  Dabi: A bag of skittles sounds nice, doesn't it?

You: ? ? ?

Mar 12 10:34 AM 

You: did you commit a crime for me  You: how did you get your hands on actual fucking Ativan this fast

Dabi: I don't kiss and tell

You: did you follow me home  You: is this how i die

Dabi: You make it so hard to be nice to you Dabi: What do you think I am, a creep

You: if you were here i'd suck you off so good rn

Dabi: Whore Dabi: (Respectfully)

You: lmao ur right You: thank you for real though

Dabi: Stfu

Mar 12 1:33 PM

Dabi: Do u like cats

You: yes

Dabi sent an image.

Dabi: Noodle thieving menace 

You: 🥹 You: that has got to be the fattest street cat i’ve ever seen

Dabi: He’s hella fast 

You: how does it feel to be the one chasing the culprit for once

Dabi: Not nearly as thrilling as being the one committing the crime 

Mar 13 00:00 AM

Unknown: Congratulations! You have been selected as an eligible member for a free trial of Osaka Daily Post. Unknown: If you would like information about your benefits, reply 'BENEFIT' Unknown: If you would like to stop receiving these messages, reply 'STOP' 

You: i know it's you shithead

Unknown: Your message could not be processed. 

You: this is the unfunniest you've ever been ngl

Unknown: Your message could not be processed. 

You: you're truly one of the most annoying individuals in my life

Unknown: Your message could not be processed. 

You: STOP

Unknown: LMAO you thought

Dabi was saved as a contact. 

You: i'm reconsidering if the tongue piercing is really worth it 😤

Mar 13 04:55 AM

Dabi: Any particular reason why you chose forensics 

Mar 13 06:09 AM

You: i've always admired criminals but been to scared to become one You: and if i know about psychotic assholes it might help me to steer clear of them, or so i thought

Dabi: Is it working

You: evidently not

Dabi: Use me in ur thesis  Dabi: I'll be your lab rat

You: nah you're more beneficial to me when you're not stuck behind bars You: what do you have me saved as in your phone

Dabi: I don't save contacts  Dabi: Especially not yours  Dabi: You mean nothing to me 

You: aww do you know my number by heart, that's adorable You: i'm kinda genuinely impressed at how persistent you are at bothering me, it's almost like you like me or smth

Dabi: No fr though lmao if anybody finds my phone you'd be on a list

You: do u delete these chats

Dabi: Always

You: that's so romantic You: admit it you're actually a softie

Dabi: Would that make you more interested in me  Dabi: Then I'm the softest 

You: what do i need to do to make you the hardest

Dabi: ... Dabi: There's absolutely no correct way for me to respond to that  Dabi: You've left me speechless 

You: 🥵🥵

Dabi: What's your worst quality  Dabi: Besides being an irresistible smartass  Dabi: *irritating 

You: was that a freudian slip You: you're so obsessed with me it's adorable

Dabi: Proving my point so diligently 

You: you don't seem like the kind of person who would use words like 'diligently' You: i'm rather talkative at times You: to the point where it gets unbearable to listen to me

Dabi: I never would've guessed

You: what's yours? You: besides the obvious

Dabi: Still putting up with you 

Mar 13 7:45 PM

Dabi: Wyd 

You: i burned my rice a little You: but it's edible

Dabi: Don't you have a rice cooker? Who raised you 

You: my very strict but sweet and committed grandmother who made the best teriyaki salmon in the whole world You: i'd kill another human being to eat her home cooked food one more time

Dabi: So your parents ain't shit either 

You: eh, they're alright You: they're Business People overseas and aren't around a whole lot, means i get my own place though You: so i can have visitors at any desired hour 😏

Dabi: Omg sick Dabi: Me next

You: it was implied

Mar 13 11:11 PM

Dabi: Ok but do u actually wanna meet up sometime  Dabi: No strings attached ofc 

You: i'm down

Dabi: What if I'm a creep after all

You: if anything, it means i won't have to attend my lecture about carbon dots tmrw

Dabi: I can't tomorrow  Dabi: What about the day after Dabi: I'll give u my credit card info if it makes you feel more safe, don't bother trying to buy anything with it tho, you'll be disappointed

You: you may not show it a whole lot, but are you actually a considerate person? You: the day after sounds good

Dabi: Preem

You: oreryu shio ramen, right by harajuku station You: about time you had some good karaage You: my treat You: unless that's too far away for u

Dabi: I would fly across the world for u Dabi: Yes Harajuku works fine

Mar 14 08:49 AM

You: how will i recognise u You: what do u look like

Dabi: As my dad once said. I'm impossible to miss 

You: i laughed

Dabi: Guess it was all worth it then  Dabi: Do tattoos scare you

You: i was gonna ask cause there's no way you got only a tongue piercing and nothing else You: stand there with your tongue out

Dabi: Shouldn't we at least get to know each other before 😳

You: don't get any ideas  You: i don't intend to fuck u You: ...for now

Dabi: That's a relief, I thought I might have to file a restraining order afterwards 

Mar 14 1:42 PM 

Dabi sent an image. 

Dabi: If u see this guy u can still run the other way 

You: hhh fuck You: are u trying to intimidate me You: how do you have so many tattoos but no bedframe

Dabi: Cut me some slack, I just moved into this place 

You: fair warning i'm not as hot as u

Dabi: Bet 

You sent an image. 

Dabi: Why do women always lie. I thought you were better. I thought you were different

You: 😳 You: i'm actually worse

Dabi: We're such a good match

You: don't get ahead of urself. u r still a guy with no bedframe

Dabi: Please shut up

Mar 14 4:16 PM

Dabi: To be clear I'm not bringing flowers or anything  Dabi: And I'm actually willing to let you pay this time lol 

You: you have such a unique way with words 

Dabi: A bit tight on money rn but I'll pay u back some other way 

You: can we make that the first line in our sextape  You: dw i said it's my treat and i mean it You: does that make you feel emasculated

Dabi: Who would I be to say no to free food tf Dabi: If there's a next time I can take you out for drinks  Dabi: Nothing fancy but an old friend of mine owns a bar downtown and his girlfriend mixes a killer mule 

You: if you're gonna poison me after gaining my trust over my favourite food i will be incredibly sad 

Dabi: Give me some credit here. I'm trusting u to not rat me out to law enforcement 

You: you're giving me ideas You: is there a bounty on your head

Dabi: I'm not that important 

Mar 14 9:44 PM

You: so you're just too good to get caught

Dabi: Both flattering and factually correct Dabi: For the record I've never harmed anybody that didn't deserve it 

You: thanks for clarifying  You: i feel so safe now 

Dabi: Anytime  Dabi: If you're having second thoughts lmk before 10 am so I won't spend time getting ready for nothing 

You: 10 am is crazy  You: u r so vain 

Dabi: Alright then I won't 😔

You: i take it back You: be pretty for me

Mar 15 5:30 AM

You: can't sleep 

Mar 15 7:12 AM

Dabi: How the turntables  Dabi: Are you alright

You: yes  You: it's the good kind of sleepless 

Dabi: It's fine if you're having second thoughts, I won't hold it against you at all  Dabi: Just texting like this is nice too

You: fuck no i wanna meet the man behind the screen You: the myth, the legend, the crimelord himself 

Dabi: I'm never showing consideration for ur wellbeing ever again 

You: should've ghosted me before i got attached

Mar 15 9:54 AM

Dabi: Last chance to bail gracefully  

You: you make it so tempting 

Dabi: Getting out of bed then 

You: it's not a bed if it doesn't have a bedframe

Dabi: Shut, and I mean this in the gentlest way possible, the hell your mouth

Mar 15 12:08 PM

Dabi sent a location pin.

Dabi: Is this the place

You: that's the one  You: be there in a few minutes 

Dabi: I'm waiting outside 

Mar 15 12:13 PM

You: omg i think i see u You: im shy

Dabi: U literally have so much blackmail material on me 

You: give me a second You: alright I'm coming over This message could not be delivered.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

STRIPPER!READER'S DAILY SCHEDULE

with time stamps <3

9:30 am: She wakes up sometime after 9 am, stays in bed for a few minutes, scrolling through her phone, replying to any messages sent by Rafe the night before.

She starts her skincare routine with a gentle cleanser, then follows with Nivea cream.

makes a quick breakfast—usually scrambled eggs or avocado toast with fruit on the side and an iced coffee.

She does a quick morning stretch. stretches her arms, back, and legs, working out the tension from dancing the night before. finishes her breakfast and heads to the shower, ready to rinse off from the night before.

11:30 am: does some quick shopping in the mall. mainly shops at Artizia, Victoria's Secret and Sephora.

Rafe had sent her money earlier that morning—no explanation, just a “use this” and a money bag emoji—so she’s not spending a dime of her own.

She takes her time strolling through the mall, phone in hand and AirPods in, knowing damn well she’s not walking out with just what she came for.

At Sephora, she tests lip glosses on the back of her hand and picks up a new foundation she doesn’t need but wants anyway.

She checks out with bags on her arm and a smirk on her face, already picturing the look on Rafe’s face when she sends him the “thank you 😘” selfie in the dressing room mirror.

1:00 pm: she grabs lunch at a restaurant close to the mall—something casual but nice.

sits outside on the patio, drops her shopping bags beside her, and orders her usual—maybe a salad with grilled chicken or a sandwich with fries and a cocktail on the side.

While she waits, she scrolls through Instagram, double-taps a few posts, and answers a couple of texts from the club manager about her shift that night.

When the bill comes, she doesn’t flinch—Rafe’s money covers it, just like everything else today.

She leaves a good tip, reapplies her lip gloss in her phone camera, and heads out with her sunglasses on.

2:30 pm - 8:30 pm: she finally gets home and unwinds. depending on how she feels, she might curl up in bed to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

If she’s not too tired, she’ll make a little snack, light a candle, and lounge around in one of her new Victoria’s Secret sets just because.

At some point, her phone rings—Rafe, calling during a break at work.

She spends at least an hour on the phone with him, sprawled out across her bed, laughing at his dry jokes, teasing him, or just listening to him vent about his crew.

Sometimes they talk about nothing, sometimes they talk about everything; either way, it's the quiet part of her day she looks forward to the most.

9:00 pm: As the sun starts to dip, she gets up and starts getting ready for her night shift at the club.

She takes a long, steamy shower—washing her hair if needed, shaving carefully, and using her favourite body scrub so her skin feels extra soft

Sitting at her vanity, she starts her makeup routine: brows first, then eyeshadow—usually something glittery or smoky, depending on her mood.

She applies her lashes, blends her foundation until it’s flawless, and finishes with highlighter.

Lip liner and gloss come last, always a glossy nude or red that makes her look expensive.

10:30 pm - 3:00 am: She finally gets to the club, strutting through the back entrance with her bag slung over one shoulder.

In the locker room, she greets a few of the other girls, changes into her first outfit of the night, and touches up her lip gloss in the mirror.

The music is already pounding through the walls, and from the buzz of the crowd, she can tell it’s a busy night.

The club’s packed—VIPs everywhere, cash floating around. she knows nights like this bring in serious money, so she puts on her best smile, and owns the stage.

3:30 am: When she gets home from the club, she immediately kicks off her shoes.

She drops her bag by the door without much thought, eager to get comfortable and unwind.

After that, she changes into soft, silk pajamas.

She heads to the bathroom to wash her face thoroughly, wiping away the makeup and sweat from the night’s work.

Once her skin feels fresh and clean, she brushes her hair slowly, detangling the knots and letting the softness calm her down.

Finally, she settles into her bed, taking a deep breath and preparing herself to drift off into a well-deserved rest.

note: finally wrote something not sad and dramatic for this au lol

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 26

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, arguments, mention of loss of appetite

Y/n’s POV

I sit on the edge of the bed, my suitcase beside me, my hands shaking slightly as I unlock my phone. The sinking feeling in my chest hasn’t lifted since I stepped back into this house, and I know now, it’s not going to. I can’t stay here. Every corner of this place reminds me of him, and I need to be somewhere else before I break all over again.

My phone vibrates in my hand, pulling me back to reality.

“Of course.”

I exhale, relieved. At least one thing is working out. I type back quickly, my thumbs moving without hesitation.

“Can you sort me out a hotel?”

A response comes almost instantly.

“Yeah, I’ll sort it now. I’ll send you the booking details in a bit.”

"Thank you, can we keep this to ourselves please?"

I stare at the screen, a part of me feeling guilty for asking, for needing help. But there’s no other choice. I can’t go home because I don’t have one. And I can’t go back to how things were before this trip. 

A notification pops up on my phone, the hotel address and booking confirmation.

The Four Seasons.

My stomach twists as I open the message, scanning the details. A two week stay, completely paid for. 

Two weeks.

It’s generous, more than I expected, but I already know I can’t stay that long. Hopefully, I’ll find somewhere permanent before then.

I let out a breath and open the Uber app, booking a ride to take me straight there. The sooner I leave, the better.

Grabbing my suitcase, I carry it down the stairs and roll it toward the front door, pausing for just a second. 

This is it.

The last time I’ll walk out of this house.

Maybe forever.

I shake the thought off and pull the door open, stepping outside. The complex is quiet, the only sound coming from the occasional car passing in the distance. I pull my phone from my pocket, my screen lighting up.

8:05 pm.

I swallow hard and tighten my grip on my suitcase.

Time to go.

The Uber ride is silent and when we finally pull up in front of the Four Seasons, my stomach is in knots. This is real now.

I check in at the front desk, avoiding eye contact as the concierge hands me the key. The elevator ride feels endless, but when I finally step into the room, I can breathe for what feels like the first time all night.

It’s huge, bigger than I anticipated. A large bed sits in the center, crisp white sheets untouched. Large windows that show off the LA skyline, but I don’t even take it in. I drop my suitcase near the closet and immediately crawl onto the bed, exhaustion wiping me out.

I don’t leave the room for three days.

I don’t order room service. I don’t even turn on the TV. My days blur together, waking up, checking my phone, ignoring texts from Matt and only replying to the ones that aret from Nick.

Nick checks in every day. He doesn’t push, just asks if I’m eating, if I’m okay, if I need anything. It’s the bare minimum, but it’s more than what I can do for myself right now.

Tomorrow, we’re meeting for brunch. It’ll be nice to catch up, to hear how the rest of Hawaii went for him. Wondering if anything more happened with George.

Then, as if the universe is reminding me I can’t just hide forever, my phone pings again.

Calendar reminder: Work meeting – Tuesday 3pm. RE: Surprise Party Tour

I blink at it, realizing what that means. I’ll also be seeing Chris face to face sooner than I thought.

The next morning, I take my time getting ready. It’s the first time I’m stepping out of the hotel since I arrived, and even though it’s just brunch with Nick, it feels like something bigger. Like I’m crossing some invisible line between hiding and facing reality. 

I stare at myself in the mirror, adjusting my jumper, trying to look like I have everything together. But the dark circles under my eyes and the dullness in my expression tell another story.

The Uber ride to the restaurant is short, but it feels longer with how much I’m overthinking everything. I scroll through my phone aimlessly, trying to distract myself, but my thoughts keep circling back to the same place.

What happens after this? How long can I avoid everything before it catches up with me?

When I step into the restaurant, I spot Nick immediately. He’s already seated at a small table by the window, scrolling through his phone. As soon as he sees me, he puts it down and stands up, a relieved smile crossing his face. He pulls me into a hug, holding on just a second longer than usual, like he’s trying to check if I’m really okay without asking outright.

We sit down, and the waiter comes by to take our order. I go for an iced coffee and some avocado toast, mostly out of habit, not because I actually have much of an appetite. The first few minutes of our conversation are light, Nick fills me in on random things, making jokes, telling me about the rest of their time in Hawaii, how hes planning to meet with George when he's back. He talks like he’s trying to keep things normal, but I can tell he’s holding something back.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he leans back in his chair and looks at me with a more serious expression. "So.. how are you actually doing?"

I stir my iced coffee with my straw, watching the ice swirl in the glass. "I'm.. managing." It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

Nick nods slowly, like he’s debating something. Then he exhales and says, "And Matt.."

I freeze for a second before shaking my head. "What about him?"

"He’s not doing great.." Nick sighs, setting his cup down. "Hasn’t left his room since he got back. Barely talks to anyone. It’s like he’s just.. shut down. I’ve never seen him like this before."

I press my lips together, looking out the window instead of at him. I don’t know how to respond to that, because I don’t even know how I feel about it. I exhale slowly, fingers tightening around my glass.

Nick watches me for a moment, then leans forward slightly. "Do you want to talk to him?"

The question lingers between us, heavier than I expected. I feel my heart start to race, but I force myself to stay composed.

"I don’t know.." I admit, and it’s the truth. Because I really don’t. “Maybe not at the minute..���

Nick nods in understanding, not pushing me for an answer I’m not ready to give. Instead, he offers a small smile, his voice softer when he speaks again. "I miss you in the house, you know. It’s different without you there."

I glance up at him, and for a second, I see the sincerity in his expression. "I liked living there too" I admit. Because even though I left, there were parts of it that felt like home.

Nick leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. "Where are you staying now?"

I hesitate for a second, but I know I can trust him. "Four Seasons.." I say, keeping my voice low. "But please, don’t tell Matt."

Nick raises his hands in surrender. "I won’t" he promises. "You don’t have to worry about that."

I nod, letting out a small breath of relief. At least I have that.

We wrap up brunch, settling the bill before stepping outside. Nick shoves his hands into his pockets as he looks at me. "You know" he starts, "when you’re ready, you should come over to the house.."

I swallow, shifting my weight. The idea of going back feels impossible right now, like reopening a wound that hasn't even started to heal. But I nod anyway, because I know he means well. "Yeah.." I say, even though I don’t know if I mean it.

He nods at my reply, understanding that everything is still fresh. We make plans to meet up during the week and go our separate ways.

As I step into my hotel room, I try to shake off the conversation with Nick. It’s not that I don’t miss the house, I do. But going back feels like stepping onto unsteady ground, like I might fall through if I’m not careful.

I plop myself onto the bed, running a hand through my hair as I try to mentally prepare myself for work tomorrow. Avoiding Matt has been hard enough, but now I have to face Chris.

Our conversations have been brief since everything went down. Just the bare minimum. I do miss my friendship with him. He hasn’t pushed for details, hasn’t asked me to explain, but I know he wants to. I know he’s holding back.

And I don’t know what I’ll do if tomorrow is the day he finally decides to ask.

I Uber to the warehouse the next day, my stomach twisting with nerves the entire ride. I stare out the window, trying to convince myself that this is just another work meeting, like all the others I’ve had before. 

But it’s not. 

Because before, I wasn’t avoiding Matt. Before, I didn’t have to worry about Chris asking questions I don’t want to answer.

As the car pulls up outside the warehouse, I take a deep breath, gathering myself. The last thing I need is to look like a mess walking in. I grab my bag, thank the driver, and step out onto the pavement. I adjust my jacket and head inside, hoping that Chris has some sense and didn’t bring Matt along.

The second I step through the doors, I scan the space. A few of the guys are already here, setting up for the meeting, but there’s no sign of Matt. 

Thank god.

I walk further in, acting as if nothing is wrong, as if my whole life hasn’t just been flipped upside down.

Chris is standing near the table, flipping through a folder, but when he sees me, he straightens up. His expression is unreadable, but I catch the way his eyes scan over me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m okay.

I ignore it. I’m here for work. Nothing else.

Everyone gathers into the meeting room and we get straight into business. No small talk, no lingering stares, just work.

Chris pulls out a schedule, laying it flat on the table as I take a seat across from him. The boys are heading on tour in two weeks, and we need to figure out how much Fresh Love stock we need to be available at each location. Logistics, shipment schedules, venue capacities, it all needs to be finalised before they hit the road.

I flip open my notebook, running through the numbers I calculated last night. “Based on the last tour’s sales and the fact we’ve larger venues this time, we’re estimating a 30% increase in demand, especially in Boston and LA. With the new drop, we might see a spike in other locations like Toronto. so we need to get ahead of that.”

Chris nods, tapping his pen against the table. “I was thinking the same thing. We’re adding pop ups along the way this time too, so we’ll need extra stock for those.” He glances at the list in front of him, then looks back up. “We’re not overproducing, though. Last thing we need is leftover inventory sitting in storage.”

“Exactly.” I jot down a few adjustments. “I’ll check with the manufacturers to see how quickly they can push out additional units if we need to restock mid tour.”

He leans back slightly, watching me for a second. “You sure you’re good handling this?” His tone is casual, but there’s an underlying concern to his words.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” I say, giving him a smirk.

There’s a pause, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he nods and keeps going, moving onto the next city on the list. Business as usual.

As the meeting wraps up, everyone starts gathering their things, chairs scraping against the floor as people head for the door. I organise my notes, trying to keep my focus on work rather than the tension that’s been hanging over me since I walked in.

I hear Chris’s voice over the low murmurs of conversation. “Hey, Y/n, can you stay back for a sec?”

I pause, gripping my pen a little tighter before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

The last few people file out, leaving just the two of us in the now empty warehouse office. The silence settles between us, heavier than it should be. I don’t look at him right away, instead pretending to double check my notes, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"You okay?" I ask, breaking the silence.

Chris exhales, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to talk.." he says. "I-I’m sorry for everything that happened."

I shake my head immediately. "Chris, you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault-"

But he cuts me off. "Nah, it is. Or at least, I feel like it is." His voice is lower now, tinted with tones of regret. "If I had any idea what kind of mess this would turn into, I never would’ve brought them out” he says again, like he needs to convince himself. "I thought it was gonna be a good time, just us all hanging out. I didn’t think-" He stops himself, exhaling sharply. "I didn’t think it’d end with you leaving."

I swallow, suddenly feeling the reality of it all again. He’s not wrong. If things had gone differently that night, maybe I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, or living in a hotel, avoiding everyone. Maybe I’d be at home. Maybe Matt and I would still be a thing.

But that’s not what happened.

"It’s not on you, Chris" I say, finally. "You couldn’t have known."

"But I should have, I should’ve been more aware of what was going on around me." His eyes meet mine, and there’s something raw there, something that makes my chest tighten.

"For what it’s worth" he continues, "I broke things off with Rachel that night after dinner. I didn’t invite either of them there..they just showed up. And honestly? It felt intentional, like they were trying to get to you. I don’t know if Rachel was in on it, but Christina.. she knew what she was doing."

I stare at him, trying to process it. 

He ended things with Rachel? 

Because of me?

I had assumed Chris didn’t care, that he had just let it slide, but he actually broke things off with Rachel over it. And not only that, he saw through Christina’s act too.

"I would never want to be with someone who tries to hurt my close friends" he adds, his voice firm.

Something about hearing him say that hits home. I had always thought Chris gave people too many chances, but this? This was different.

"You really ended it with her?" I ask, still trying to wrap my head around it.

Chris nods. "Yeah. That night. I wasn’t gonna be with someone who plays games like that. It was all way too intentional"

I look away, exhaling slowly. "Yeah it seems like everything Christina does is intentional. Chris, if you could’ve heard the things she was saying that night in the club.."

He frowns, his brows furrowing. "What did she say?"

I sigh, shaking my head as I recall Christina’s smug expression that night.

"She was saying that connections like theirs never really go away, and that “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”. So.. you know what she was insinuating."

Chris narrows his eyes slightly, confused. "What is she insinuating?"

I hesitate, not sure if I really want to say it out loud. But there’s no point in hiding it now.

"That her and Matt slept together in Vegas, just before Hawaii." I finally say, watching his reaction carefully.

Chris’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and then his expression shifts, part confusion, part irritation. "No they didn’t?" he says immediately, shaking his head. "That’s bullshit."

I stare at him, waiting for him to say more, waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Matt slept on the couch when she stayed in the room" Chris continues. "I might have been drunk, but I remember that well."

I search his face for any sign of dishonesty, but there’s nothing, just certainty. And suddenly, everything makes even more sense. 

Christina had been lying. 

Trying to get under my skin.

Trying to twist the situation into something worse than it already was.

Chris watches me, his expression softer now. "You really thought they did that?"

I exhale, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. "I didn’t know what to think, Chris. She made it sound like..like it was obvious."

His jaw tightens, and I can tell he’s pissed now, but not at me. "I should’ve known she’d pull something like this."

I exhale slowly, letting Chris’s words sink in. It’s a relief, at least I know now that nothing happened between them in Vegas. That part of the situation isn't as messy as I thought. But it doesn’t make the rest of it any better. It doesn’t erase the fact that Matt still brought her back, still entertained her, still let her linger around long enough to stir everything up. If anything, it just confuses me more.

Because now, I’m left wondering why Matt did it.

Did he really not see what she was doing? Did he not care? Or was there some part of him that still wanted her around?

Chris watches me carefully, probably noticing the way my thoughts are spiraling. "I know this doesn’t fix everything" he says. "But you should at least know that information, can’t have you believing something that wasn’t true."

I nod, but I don’t say anything right away. Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about this one lie. It’s about everything that’s happened since. The trust that’s been shaken. The way I left without saying another word to Matt.

"Thank you for telling me" I finally say, even though my mind is still a mess.

Chris sighs. "Yeah. I just..I feel like I should’ve done more. Should’ve realized what she was trying to do before it got this bad."

I shake my head. "It’s not on you, Chris. Honestly."

We sit in silence for a moment, I know Chris means it, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is the situation we’re in now. And I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.

Chris breaks his silence to apologise again, "Anything else I can do to help, just say the word."

I nod, appreciating the sentiment, but before I can respond, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug. It catches me off guard at first, but I don’t hesitate to hug him back. After everything, it feels good to know that at least this, our friendship, hasn’t changed.

"You want a ride?" he asks as he pulls away.

I hesitate for a second but then nod. "Yeah, that’d be great."

We head out to his car, and as soon as we slide in, Chris gestures toward the screen. "Put the address in the GPS."

I type in the address, and as we pull onto the road, I glance over at him. "Thanks, Chris. For everything."

He shrugs, eyes focused on the road ahead. "That’s what friends are for, right?"

I nod, a small smile pulling at my lips. Despite everything that’s happened, at least I know my friendship with Chris hasn’t been ruined. That means more than I realized.

Matt’s POV

I never got a chance to talk to Nick after he met up with Y/n yesterday, and with Chris in a meeting right now, one that Y/n is also in, I figure now is as good a time as any.

I hear movement in the kitchen, the sound of a cabinet closing, followed by the faint clink of a glass. I assume it’s Nick, so I head out, finding him leaning against the counter.

"Hey" I say, stepping in.

He looks up. "Whats up?"

I waste no time getting to the point. "How was yesterday?"

Nick nods, setting his glass down on the counter. "It was good. It was nice to spend time with Y/n."

I hesitate for a second before asking, "How’s she doing?"

He exhales lightly, crossing his arms. "She’s holding it together pretty well."

I nod slowly, absorbing that information, before asking the real question that’s been nagging at me. "Did you find out where she’s staying?"

Nick pauses, just for a second, then, he shakes his head. "No."

I study him for a moment, trying to gauge if he’s telling the truth. I don’t push it, though. Instead, I just nod again, glancing down at the floor before looking back up at him.

"Alright.." I say, even though it’s not alright.

I wish Chris was home. I could really do with a drive right now to clear my head.

He took the car earlier to drop Nate off at the airport, then went straight to his meeting. I don’t know why, but something about driving aimlessly around, music playing, and just watching life pass by always helps me think. Clears out the noise in my head, even if only for a little while.

Nick and I are still standing in the kitchen, making small talk, but my mind isn’t really in it. My thoughts are circling back to Y/n, to what Nick said, or maybe more to what he didn’t say.

Before I can dwell on it any further, we both hear the garage door open. A moment later, the sound of footsteps echoes up the stairs.

Chris.

I glance toward the stairway as he comes into view, looking slightly worn out but otherwise the same as always. He pulls his keys from his pocket and tosses them onto the counter, running a hand through his hair.

"Yo" he greets us, voice a little rough from the long day.

"Hey, how was your meeting?" Nick says, and I just nod in acknowledgement.

Chris glances between the two of us. "Yeah it was good, just finalised a few things. What’s up with you?" He says in my direction.

I exhale, shaking my head slightly. "Nothing. Just.. thinking."

Chris raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t say anything more. And for a second, I wonder if now’s the time to bring up Y/n.

Nick mutters something about grabbing something from his room and heads upstairs, leaving just me and Chris in the kitchen. The room feels quieter now, like there’s something hanging in the air that neither of us are addressing.

I lean against the counter, watching as Chris pulls a can of Pepsi from the fridge and takes a sip. "What was your meeting about?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

He nods, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just figuring out how much Fresh Love stock we need for each location on tour."

Tour.

The word lingers in my head longer than it should. I can’t believe we’re leaving in two weeks. It crept in so fast, and now, everything feels unfinished.

I really hope I get the opportunity to speak to Y/n before then.

Chris doesn’t say anything else, just leans back against the counter, drinking his soda. I want to ask him if he spoke to her, if she stayed behind after the meeting, anything..but I hesitate.

Instead, I just exhale and run a hand through my hair. "Two weeks.." I mumble, more to myself than to him.

Chris glances at me. "Yeah. Gonna be a long one."

I nod, but my mind isn’t on the tour. It’s on Y/n. On whether or not she’ll even want to speak to me before we go. I need to ask him about Y/n now before I explode.

“How was Y/n?”

“She seemed fine, but I think she’s just on autopilot. You know how she is, she can handle anything.”

I nod, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Y/n might be strong, but that doesn’t mean she’s okay. She shuts down when she’s hurt, and if she’s really just going through the motions, it means she’s not dealing with it, just burying it. And that’s worse.

Chris rubs the back of his neck, then looks at me. “You heard from her at all?”

I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “No.”

The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of everything that’s happened. I hesitate before asking, “Do you know where she’s staying?”

Chris exhales, shaking his head. “Nah, man.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, gripping the edge of the counter. It’s been days, and I still have no idea where she is. Both of my brothers have seen her, talked to her, spent time with her, and neither of them has managed to find out a single fucking thing about where she’s staying. Not an address, not a neighborhood, not even a hint.

“She really doesn’t want to be found” I mutter under my breath.

Chris doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies me. Then, with a sigh, he claps a hand on my shoulder. “Give her time, man.”

I don’t want to give her time. I want to fix this. I want to see her, to explain, to do whatever it takes to make this right. But if she doesn’t want to be found, what the hell am I supposed to do?

Now that the car is back, I can finally clear my head. I grab my set of keys and make my way down to the garage, slipping into the driver’s seat and turning on the engine. 

As the screen on the dash lights up, a notification pops up from the GPS - "Suggesting Last Route."

I glance at it, expecting it to be Nate’s airport drop off or something random. But then, my eyes lock onto the text.

"Last Route: The Four Seasons."

My chest tightens. 

The Four Seasons?

I stare at the screen, my grip tightening around the steering wheel. That’s not where Nate was staying, he wasn’t even staying in a hotel. That’s not a place any of us usually go. There’s only one person it could be.

Y/n.

She’s staying there. 

That has to be it.

Wait? Last GPS location?

Chris drove her there.

The realization slams into me like a bus. I feel it in my chest, heavy and suffocating. 

He knew.

The whole damn time, he knew where she was. He drove her there, watched her walk away, and didn’t say a single fucking word to me. Not even a hint. Not even when I was practically begging for answers.

I grip the wheel so tight my fingers ache. My pulse is pounding in my ears, drowning out every other thought except one.

Chris fucking knew.

I turn off the car and bolt into the house, barging my way into Chris' room, where he's laying on the bed.

"The Four Seasons?!" I yell at him. He sits up,looking shocked, but he doesn’t say anything.

"That’s where she’s staying? You just brought her there?" I demand, my voice sharp.

"Look, man, I didn’t-" Chris starts, but I cut him off before he can even try to explain.

"You knew and didn’t tell me?" I’m furious, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

Chris exhales, rubbing his face like he’s frustrated when I’m the one who should be pissed. "Look.. She text me and asked me if I could do her a favour as soon as she landed back from Hawaii.. I felt guilty for how everything went down, like I was the cause of it all and felt like I owed her one, so I booked her the hotel. Plus she is an employee, I had to help." He meets my eyes, his voice steady but firm. "But Matt, she didn’t want you to know, and I had to respect that.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “You had to respect that?” My voice is laced with disbelief. “What about me, Chris? What about the fact that I’ve been losing my fucking mind, not knowing where she is, not knowing if she’s okay? You let me sit here, tearing myself apart, and you knew this whole fucking time?”

Chris sighs, swinging his legs off the bed so he’s sitting up straighter, his hands clasped together like he’s preparing for a fight. "Matt, I get that you’re pissed-"

I cut him off again. "Pissed? Pissed doesn’t even cover it, man! I asked you! Multiple times! And you stood there and lied to my face."

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "It wasn’t my place to tell you."

I step forward, pointing at him. "Bullshit. You just didn’t wanna feel like the bad guy again. You didn’t wanna deal with me being mad, so you kept your mouth shut and let me go crazy over this while you and Nick played the good guys."

Chris finally pushes himself off the bed, standing up to face me. "I was trying to help her, Matt. She needed space. What the hell was I supposed to do? Force her to talk to you?"

"Yes!" I snap. "Because I deserve that! I deserved a fucking conversation, Chris!"

His jaw tightens, and for a second, we just stand there, staring each other down, breathing heavily. The air between us is filled with tension, neither of us backing down.

Chris runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath before looking back at me. "She wasn’t ready, man."

I shake my head. "Yeah? And what about when she is? You just gonna keep lying for her until then?"

Chris doesn’t answer. He finally looks guilty, like my words actually hit him. But I don’t wait for a response. I turn and walk out, slamming the door behind me.

a/n : we're coming to the end of the series im gonna cryyyyy

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[onedingo]

── .✦ Charleston's 10th Anniversary info

"I had to do it" - Dylann Roof

The Charleston shooting occurred on June 17, 2015, and was committed by Dylann Storm Roof. The attack was racially motivated, as he wrote in his text, which others considered a manifesto.

FED: "so going back to the church, you just pulled out the gun and you shot him, started shooting people or, how.. I mean, how?"

- Dylann: "hm, yeah, that's it"

FED: "you know how many people you shot?"

- Dylann: "if I was gonna guess... five maybe, I'm really not sure exactly"

FED: "did you say anything to them before or after or during?"

- Dylann: "no, I didn't say anything to them before anything"

FED: "what about after?"

- Dylann: [silence] "well, I think during I said like don't talk to me or something like that, you know? But I didn't really talk to.."

FED: "how long were you at at the church before you actually uh... before you pulled your weapon out and you said yourself you shot you think maybe five or so people, how long were you at the church before you decided that you were going to do that?"

- Dylann: "Well I just went in the church you know, and then I sat down with them for like maybe 15 minutes, could have been 20 it could have been 10 but I think it's probably around 15"

dylann spotted in the corner of the image

In fact, Dylann Roof spent more than 15 minutes inside the church without actually starting the massacre, the time is uncertain, some sources say 45 minutes exactly, others say almost an hour but he presented a sincerity in disconnection with time. He entered the church at 8:16 pm, minutes later the shooting started, he spent a few minutes walking in silence and then left the church at 9:11 p.m. There were 12 people there (not counting Dylann) and 9 were killed, one was injured. If 12 equals 100%, 9 equals 75%. This would be a way of representing, in percentage, the number of “income” from the incident.

The attack took place during a Bible study, something very common among Protestant Christians, which Dylann was fully aware of. He had visited the church before, and knew that there was going to be a meeting there and that it would only have black people, since it was an African-American community. Dylann had also researched other places, some other churches too. Although he had focused on churches, Dylann had no religious motivations, and it was a personal observation he made: in African-American churches, white people don't go, because they are totally aimed at the black community, so there wouldn't be any white people inside.

- Dylann: "Well this is African Methodist Episcopal is that what AM stands for i think..."

FED: "that's why you chose that church?"

- Dylann: "oh, yes"

FED: "because you were looking for African Americans"

- Dylann: "right. I wasn't going to another church, you know, because there could have been white people there"

Dylann entering and leaving the church

He had been carrying a total of eight magazines when he entered, holding 11 hollow-point bullets each, for a total of 88 bullets.

Sanders was at the Bible study with his pastor and about a dozen others, including Sanders’ mother and his great aunt, 87-year-old Susie Jackson.

He sat there for about an hour. They prayed together. They talked about Scripture.

Roof took up a seat next to Pinckney.

He pulled out his handgun – .45-caliber shell casings were later found at the scene – that had been hidden behind a fanny pack around his waist, and he opened fire. It is believed he shot Pinckney first.

Tywanza Sanders leaped up, concerned about the pastor. He pleaded with Roof. Said he didn’t have to do this. Tried to talk him down.

He then pointed his gun at the oldest person in the room, Susie Jackson. Sanders tried to shield his great aunt from the volley of bullets. Both were killed. “He was trying to protect his aunt. That’s him 100%,” family friend A.J. Harley said.

Sanders’ mother, Felecia, pretended to be dead. “She watched her son fall,” Johnson said. “She laid there in his blood.”

“I screamed, ‘He has a gun.’ By then he had already shot Rev Pinckney,” Sanders said through tears.

“I said: ‘Everybody get under the table.’ That’s when he started shooting up the room.” Sanders said Roof then gunned down the Rev Daniel Simmons, who had run towards Pinckney shouting: “Let me check on my pastor, I need to check on my pastor.”

“Then Rev Simmons got shot,” she said. The survivor told the court she had hidden under a table in the church’s basement and played dead, clutching her 11-year-old granddaughter, who had also been present at the class, to her chest. “She was saying: ‘Granny, I’m so scared.’ I said: ‘Just be quiet.’ I said: ‘Just play dead. Play dead.’ And so I muzzled her face to my body, I muzzled her face to my body so tight that I thought I suffocated her because I didn’t want her to make a sound.”

As Roof continued shooting, he spared one of the congregants, Polly Sheppard, according to assistant US prosecutor Jay Richardson, asking her whether she had been shot and stating he had spared her because “he wanted to have her alive to tell the story"

Polly Sheppard 911 call transcript video (also used in Dylann's trial)

"clarifications" (his journal)

"I chose to represent myself to prevent my lawyers from presenting mental health evaluation,"

“I would rather live imprisoned knowing I took action for my race than to live with the torture of sitting idle,” Roof wrote. “It isn’t up to me anymore. I did what I could do. I’ve done all I can do. I did what I thought would make the biggest wave, and now the fate of our race sits in the hands of my brothers who continue to live freely.”

"Then I remember how I felt when I did these things, when I committed these murders, and how I knew I had to do something. And then I realized it was worth it."

“I would like to make it crystal clear. I do not regret what I did,” Roof writes. “I am not sorry. I have not shed a tear for the innocent people I killed.”

── .✦ police officers speak out about Dylann arrest for the first time

“Because of his young appearance, I asked him his name. He told me his name was Dylann Roof,” Sgt. Bernat said. “It’s like I was staring Satan in the face.”

“I remember me asking him, ‘What’s your name?’ And he said, ‘Dylann Roof.’ I said, ‘Were you involved in the shooting in Charleston at the church?’ And he said, ‘yes,’” Sgt. Myers said.

“He referred to it as the gun. It stuck out to me when he said, ‘The gun is in the back seat under the pillow.’ It wasn’t ‘there’s a gun,’ it was ‘the gun,’” Sgt. Myers said.

“It was like he was blank, like he was relieved that it was over with. But you could see, because of the way he was carrying himself, that he was ready for the next chapter of it,” Myers said. “It was almost like he was glad it was over, now he’s ready to tell the story.”

── .✦ the victims

if someone also wants to look into their history, i recommend reading this

[bumblebeeswrite]

how about

“I’m too tired to fight anymore” with Eddie 🥹🥹

Static & Silence | Eddie Munson

summary: you’re left behind in Hawkins while Eddie lives his dream.

Word count: 2,956

CW: smut, angst, burn out, emotional exhaustion, relationship strain, fame, physical distance, hurt/comfort, loneliness, anxiety, breakdown

this has been done a hundred times before but enjoy anyway, also hated the bottom half of this but spent hours on it so enjoy 🎉😭

Hawkins felt suffocatingly quiet tonight. Not the eerie quiet of past dangers, but the hollow silence left by absence. Your shared apartment- the one you'd finally been able to afford after Corroded Coffin's advance came through, the one that was supposed to be your haven- felt cavernously empty without Eddie. His spare guitars leaned silent in the corner, his collection of horror movie posters seemed to mock you from the walls, even his perpetually messy pile of D&D manuals felt like a monument to life pausing while he was gone.

Eight months. Eight months since the band had exploded, and eight months of him living out of a tour bus and cheap hotels, chasing the dream across state lines while you stayed here, tethered to the life you'd built together, now feeling frayed at the edges.

You glanced at the clock on the microwave. 11:17 pm. Which meant it was.. what? 9:17 in Denver? Maybe 8:17 if they were further west already. Keeping track of the time zones had become a dizzying chore. He was supposed to call after their soundcheck, before the show tonight. That had been three hours ago.

Your stomach twisted with a familiar knot of anxiety and resentment you hated feeling. You were proud of him, fiercely proud. Seeing videos from fans posted online of him commanding stages, unleashing that wild, magnetic energy that you adored- it filled you with so much joy. But the joy was increasingly replaced with the sharp ache of loneliness and the frustrating static of disconnection.

Phone calls were rushed, often interrupted by roadies shouting or his manager needing something. Conversations felt like navigating a minefield of exhaustion on his end and carefully suppressed neediness on yours. You tried to be understanding, you really did. This was everything he ever wanted. But god, you missed him. You missed the easy intimacy, the shared jokes, the feeling of his hand instinctively finding yours in the dark. You missed Eddie, not the increasingly distant rockstar whose voice sometimes sounded like a stranger's over the crackling long distance line.

The phone finally rang, startling you out of your melancholy moment. You snatched it up before the second ring finished. "Eddie?"

"Hey," his voice came through, rougher than usually, muffled slightly by a low thrum of background noise; muffled music, indistinct chatter. He sounded far away, not just geographically.

"Hey," you replied, trying to keep your tone light, pushing down the 'three hours late' comment bubbling forward on your tongue. "How was the soundcheck?"

"Loud," he said, a familiar tired refrain. "Fine. Whatever. Guitars sounded okay."

There was a pause. Usually, he'd launch into some crazy story, some complaint about the venue's acoustics or a joke about Gareth's latest mishap. Tonight, just.. static. Figurative and almost literal.

"You okay?" you ventured, the question feeling fragile. "You sound.. wiped."

A heavy sigh crackled through the line. "Yeah. Just. Long day. Long week. Long fucking month." He didn't elaborate.

"Did you eat anything?" You asked, falling back on caretaker questions because you didn't know what else to say.

"Uh, yeah. Think so. Some pizza backstage. Cold." Another pause. Then, "How's, uh.. how's Hawkins?"

The question felt obligatory. "Quiet," you said, the word tasting bitter. "Same old. Steve swung by yesterday, asked if you'd beamed back from outer space yet." You tried for a lighthearted tone, hoping for a chuckle, some spark of the old Eddie.

Instead, he grunted. "Right."

Frustration finally won over, hot and sharp. "Eddie, what's going on? You sound like you're on another planet. You were supposed to call hours ago. Are you even listening to me?"

"Jesus, what do you want?" He snapped, the sudden anger in his voice making you recoil a few inches from the phone. "I'm calling now, aren't I? I'm fucking trying. There was some shit with the lighting rig and Jeff needed to go over the setlist changes again, and I had to do some bullshit local radio interview that ran late. Sorry if my entire goddamn life doesn't revolve around Hawkins time anymore!"

"This isn't about time zones!" You retorted, tears stinging your eyes unexpectedly. Damn, you had tried not to cry. "It's about us! It feels like we're drifting apart, Teddie! Like I'm just some.. optional part of your life you check in with when it pleases you to remember I exist!"

"Optional?" His voice rose, laced with disbelief and hurt. "Are you kidding me? Everything I'm doing here, busting my balls day in and day out, dealing with all this insane pressure- you think that's optional? This is for us, fuck! I told you that! So maybe you could try being a little fucking supportive instead of making me feel worse than I already do!"

"Supportive? I am supportive!" You cried, the tears finally springing free and dripping down your cheeks. "I'm here, holding down our life while you're gone! I cheer you on from thousands of miles away! I listen to you vent about the band and the stress! But what about me, Teddie? What about how lonely it is here without you? What about the fact that I feel like I'm talking to a ghost half the time?"

There was a heavy silence on the line, broken only by the background noise on his end and your own choked breaths. You could picture him perfectly, running a hand violently through his hair, pacing whatever cramped backstage room he was in, jaw tight, eyes flashing with anger and exhaustion.

When he finally spoke, his voice was terrifyingly flat. Devoid of anger, devoid of energy.. just empty.

"I can't do this."

Your blood ran cold. "Do what? What are you saying?"

"This," He clarified, his voice barely a whisper. "This.. fighting. Constantly feeling like I'm failing. Failing the band, failing you. Trying to bridge this fucking distance all the time. Trying to make things okay when they're clearly not." He took a ragged breath, and the next words shattered the remaining piece of your composure.

"I'm too tired to fight anymore."

It wasn't a threat to end things. It was a confession of depletion. A white flag waved not in surrender of the relationship, but in surrender to the crushing weight of trying to maintain it across miles while drowning in the demands of his new reality. He sounded broken. Utterly and terrifying.

The anger drained out of you instantly, replaced by a wave of cold dread and empathy. This wasn't your rockstar boyfriend being neglectful; this was the man you loved buckling under an impossible strain, feeling isolated despite being surrounded by noise and people, and convinced he was failing the one person who mattered most.

"Eddie.." you whispered, your own voice trembling. "Oh, honey.. no. Don't say that."

A choked sound came through the phone, something painfully close to a sob. "It's true." I'm so tired. I miss you so fucking much it physically hurts. But then I call and I'm exhausted or distracted, or I say the wrong thing, and we end up fighting. And I.. I just can't keep doing it. I feel like I'm screwing everything up."

"You're not screwing anything up." You insisted, sinking onto the floor, leaning against the cabinets, clutching onto the phone like a lifeline, like you could somehow summon him out of it by holding it tight enough.

"You're just.. overwhelmed. You're burning out, Eds. This pace is insane."

"Then what's the point?" He asked, the question raw with despair. "What's the point of chasing this dream if it costs me.. this? Us?"

"Hey," you said softly but firmly, forcing what little strength you had left into your voice. "Don't talk like that. We're stronger than this. You're stronger than this. We just.. we need to figure it out. Together." You paused, taking a deep breath, the frantic energy of worry settling into your chest.

"Okay- look, what if-.. I can take some time off work. Maybe try and fly out next week-. Where are you playing next?"

"What?" He sounded stunned. "No! You can't just-"

"Yes, I can." You interrupted gently. "Let me come see you. Just for a few days. We need to see each other. Properly. Not like this."

There was a long pause on the line, filled only by the sound of his unsteady breathing. "You'd really do that?" He asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

"In a heartbeat." you promised. "Just tell me where to go."

He told you- Salt Lake City, six days from now. The relief in his voice was obvious, a tiny flicker of light in the oppressive darkness that was now his life. You talked for a little longer, the conversation softer now, navigating the logistics, the earlier anger replaced by a fragile tenderness. He had to go- the call for stage time was approaching. But the goodbye wasn't strained this time, it held a promise.

Six days later, you were standing nervously outside a non-descript hotel near the Salt Lake City airport, your small duffel bag at your feet. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Seeing him walk out of the automatic doors, looking even more tired in the harsh daylight than he sounded over the phone, made your breath catch.

He stopped dead when he saw you, his eyes widening slightly, as if he couldn't believe you were real and not a figment of his imagination. He hadn't changed much- ripped jeans, band shirt under his own denim vest, messy hair tied back loosely behind his ears. But the exhaustion was carved into his features, deep lines around his eyes and mouth.

Eddie didn't say anything. He just started moving, covering the distance between you in a few long strides, and then you were wrapped in his arms, crushing you against him with a force that spoke everything that words never could. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling that familiar sent of peppermint gum and cigarette smoke. He tangled one hand in your hair, holding your head against him, while the other arm banded around your waist like steel, holding you as though he was afraid you would float away.

"You came," he murmured into your hair, voice cracking slightly.

"Told you I would." you mumbled back against his shirt.

He held you there for a long moment, just breathing each other in, taking time to finally understand there were no longer thousands of miles between you. When he finally pulled back, his hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes roaming your face with a tenderness you'd almost forgotten entirely.

"God, I missed you." he whispered, swallowing down a small cry.

"I missed you too." You replied, leaning into his touch, pressing a soft kiss to the palm of his hand.

He didn't let go, just steered you into the hotel, through the bland lobby, and into the elevator, his arm secured around you the entire time.

The silence wasn't awkward; it was heavy with emotion, with the sheer relief of physical presence after months of strained phone called and lonely nights.

Inside his equally bland hotel room, clothes spilling out of a suitcase, guitar case leaning against the wall, room service tray from breakfast still on the desk- the closed the door and turned to you. Now there was an intensity to his gaze. But this time it wasn't frustration or tiredness. It was need. Undisguised need.

He stepped closer, framing your face with his hands again. "This," he said, his voice low and rough. "You, here. This is what I needed. What we needed."

And then he kissed you. It wasn't hesitant like your first reunion kiss might have been under other circumstances. It was deep and hungry, almost desperate- a kiss that poured out all the loneliness, the frustration, the fear, and the overwhelming relief of finally being together again. You responded with equal hunger, your arms looping around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, trying to erase every mile that had ever separated you.

His mouth slanted over yours, tongues tangling in a dance you had craved for months; both comfortable and electric. His hands slid down your back, one mapping the curve of your spine while the other dipped lower, pulling your hips flush against his.

Clothes started coming off, shed with an urgency born not just of lust, but of a need to eliminate every barrier between you. Buttons were fumbled with quiet laughter, zippers lowered hastily, fabrics pooling around your feet on the generic hotel carpet. The cold air hit your skin, but the heat radiating from Eddie, the fire in his eyes as he looked at you, it was enough to have you flushed.

He backed you towards the bed, his gaze locked with yours, never breaking eye contact. He lowered you onto the mattress- thankfully less lumpy than you had expected, and followed you down, his body covering yours, a warm and solid weight that felt like coming home.

"Eddie," you breathed, reaching up to undo the hair tie that kept his hair behind his head. It fell down over your fingers, and you tangled them in it to pull his face back down to yours.

He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less intense. His hand moved between your legs, fingers finding your heat through the thin barrier of your underwear. You gasped as he began to rub gentle circles over your clit through the material, the friction sending shockwaves through you after so long without him. He groaned, the sound vibrating against your lips.

He broke the kiss, trailing we and open mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, murmuring your name like a prayer. "Need you, pretty girl," he rasped against your skin. "Need this. Need us."

He was quick to pull off the underwear separating you. His finger immediately finding your slick folds, slipping inside you easily. You whined against his shoulder, the sudden intimacy almost overwhelming after so much time apart. He moved his fingers with a knowing touch, rediscovering your body, relearning what made you gasp and writhe.

Eddie watched your face, his own expression soft with need and tenderness. Seeing your pleasure seemed to ground him, pulling him slowly from the vortex that had been consuming him. He was entirely present in the moment. With you.

"Please, Eds." you gasped out, reaching for the waistband of his jeans, needing to feel him inside you.

He helped you shuck off his jeans and briefs before quickly settling between your legs again. He paused, looking down on you with so much emotion it made your breath catch. Then, with the care and love you'd been so desperately craving, he pushed inside.

Your head fell back against the pillows as you clutched at his shoulders. When he filled you completely, he stayed still for a moment, buried deep; letting you both savor the feeling of reunion, of rightness. His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your skin. "I love you." He whispered, making your eyes open slowly to gaze up at him.

"I love you. Always." You promised. He began to move, a slow deep rhythm that felt like worship. One of Eddie's strong hands caught the back of your knee, pushing it back and over his shoulder, his rings cold on your skin.

Each thrust was deliberate, possessive, reclaiming. It wasn't just sex; it was communication, a physical conversation making up for all the static and silence. He poured his longing, his fear, his love into every movement.

You met his rhythm, moving with him, hands exploring the familiar territory of his back, his shoulders, his hair. You kissed him, deeply, fiercely, trying to pour everything back to him, just as he was doing for you. The world outside the hotel room door- the band, the tour, the demands, everything ceased to exist. There was only this bed, this moment, his body moving with yours, the shared breaths, the low groans, and soft cries mingling in the quiet room.

The pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, driving your body closer to the head of the bed. There was no hint of exhaustion within him now.

His head dropped onto your chest and between the grunts he kissed your anywhere he could reach.

"Eddie!" you cried out as the climax slammed into you, stealing your breath, making your body arch and convulse around him. Your release triggered his own; with a hoarse cry of your name, he surged into you one last time, finding his own shattering release deep inside you.

Afterward, you lay tangled together, slick with sweat, hearts pounding in unison. He didn't pull away, just collapsed beside you, gathering you into his arms, holding you tightly against his side. He buried his face in your hair, his breathing slowly evening out.

The silence that followed was peaceful, intimate. The fight wasn't over, not really. The distance, the pressures – they were still real challenges you’d have to face. But here, now, wrapped in his arms, the static felt cleared. You had found your way back to each other through the noise.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you for coming," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and emotion. "Needed this. Needed you."

"Me too," you whispered, closing your eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. It was the most comforting sound in the world. You didn't know how you'd navigate the coming months, but you knew you'd face it together. The fight wasn't over, but for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like he was fighting it alone. And right now, that was everything.

[glowettee]

Hi Mindy! I’m a college student and I’m struggling to go to bed at a decent hour (think 3 am bedtimes every day) because of the amount of homework I have. Do you have any tips for time management so I can figure out how to get my homework done all during the day so I’m not losing sleep? (Any app recommendations or suggestions on how to schedule my day would be greatly appreciated). Thank you so much! I love your blog and I love seeing your posts🩷

how to get your life together & actually sleep: time management tips for college✨

hi love! 💌 first off, thank you so much for your sweet words. they genuinely made me smile. i’m so proud of you for wanting to improve your time management and prioritize your sleep (honestly, sleep is like the ultimate self-care, and you deserve it). i know college can feel like a whirlwind of assignments, deadlines, and just… life. staying up until 3 am is no joke, and it’s amazing that you’re ready to make a change. let’s make your routine feel a little more manageable and a lot more magical.

☁️ romanticize your productivity: first thing’s first: mindset. instead of viewing homework as this scary, endless task that eats up your nights, try to romanticize it. create a cozy study ritual. light a candle, make a cute study playlist (ex: lo-fi mixed with soft acoustics), and set up your space in a way that makes you actually want to sit down and work. i know it sounds silly, but giving your study sessions a soft, aesthetic vibe can make them feel less like a chore and more like a peaceful little routine. i have a lot of posts talking about this

🌙 break down your workload: sometimes it’s not about how much work you have but how it’s organized. take a few minutes in the morning or the night before to make a list of what you actually need to accomplish. break it down into small, bite-sized tasks. for example, instead of “study for chem exam,” write down “review chapter 4 notes,” “do practice problems,” and “make flashcards for key concepts.” checking off small tasks feels way more rewarding than staring at a big, vague to-do.

💡 create a time-blocking ritual: i’m obsessed with time-blocking because it feels like giving each task its own little home. instead of doing everything all at once (which is just chaos), dedicate specific chunks of time to each task. for instance:

🌼 9-10 am: review lecture notes

✨ 10-11:30 am: work on that essay (no distractions)

🍓 11:30-12: take a break, stretch, grab a snack

💻 12-1: group project research set timers to keep yourself accountable. i use the “focus keeper” app for 25-minute work sessions with 5-minute breaks. it’s surprisingly motivating!

📅 the magic of reverse scheduling: if you know you want to be in bed by, say, 11 pm, plan your day backwards from there. schedule your evening wind-down routine (like skincare, a little journaling, and tea) and work your way back through the hours, assigning tasks in reverse. this way, you’re prioritizing sleep as non-negotiable and shaping your day to respect that.

✨ my fave apps for dreamy productivity:

notion: perfect for creating aesthetic, organized to-do lists, study schedules, and even journaling about your progress.

flora: turns studying into a game by planting a virtual tree while you focus. if you leave the app, the tree dies (no pressure, right?).

toggl: tracks your time so you can see how long tasks actually take. it’s eye-opening to realize you might be spending way more time scrolling than studying.

clockify: like a little personal assistant that tracks your study sessions and breaks. it’s simple and kind of addicting to see how productive you’ve been.

habitica: makes productivity feel like an RPG game. complete with character upgrades when you check things off. honestly, it’s too cute to resist.

💖 mindy’s personal tips:

📝 batch similar tasks: do all your note-taking at once, then all your problem-solving. your brain doesn’t have to keep switching gears.

🎯 use the “two-minute rule”: if something takes less than two minutes, do it right away (like replying to emails or organizing your notes).

🕰️ the 1-3-5 rule: pick one big task, three medium tasks, and five small ones to accomplish each day. it keeps your to-do list from being overwhelming.

✨ romanticize rest too: treat your sleep as sacred. create a pre-bed routine that you actually look forward to, like reading a few pages of a lighthearted book or doing a little night yoga.

🌸 don't forget how important 'no' is: sometimes, we overcommit because we’re too nice to say no. it’s okay to protect your time! practice polite ways to decline extra responsibilities when you know they’ll eat into your sleep. like, “i’d love to help, but i have to focus on my assignments tonight. let’s plan something for the weekend!”

🌙 gentle evening wind-down: your body needs time to transition from productivity mode to sleep mode. about an hour before bed, turn off your screens, dim the lights, and switch to calming activities. i like using the “calm” app for guided meditations that feel like little bedtime stories.

🌱 become a morning person (yes, it’s possible)

one trick that really works is having something to look forward to. think of a tiny, indulgent ritual that you save just for mornings. maybe it’s a frothy matcha latte with vanilla syrup, journaling in a pretty notebook, or listening to your favorite podcast while you stretch. the key is to make mornings feel like a gift to yourself rather than just the start of a grind.

set your alarm to a song that makes you feel good!! something soft and happy. bonus points if it’s different from your usual playlist because it’ll feel special. place your phone across the room so you have to physically get up to turn it off. i also love using the “alarmy” app because it makes you solve a simple puzzle before it stops ringing (annoying, but effective).

once you’re up, avoid falling back into bed by making your bed immediately. it’s like telling your brain, “we’re up now. no going back.” then, try a quick, gentle morning stretch to wake your body up without feeling rushed. mornings can actually feel soft and peaceful if you give yourself permission to take it slow.

as for getting enough sleep the night before. make it non-negotiable. treat your bedtime like an important meeting you can’t cancel. remind yourself that a well-rested mind works way better than a sleep-deprived one. it’s all about romanticizing rest as part of your productivity rather than seeing it as wasted time.

give it a week, and see how you feel. even a small shift, like waking up 30 minutes earlier, can make your day feel more spacious and less chaotic. being a morning person is just about creating tiny habits that make mornings feel like a calm beginning rather than a rushed scramble.

🌸 micro productivity okay, let’s be real... sometimes the idea of sitting down for a three-hour study session feels completely overwhelming. that’s where micro productivity comes in. instead of blocking out huge chunks of time, break your tasks into mini-sprints that fit into the small gaps of your day.

for example, while waiting for your coffee to brew, you could make a quick list of your priorities for the day. during your commute or while you’re eating lunch, review your flashcards or skim your notes. those little moments add up, and suddenly your workload doesn’t feel as intense because you’ve been chipping away at it throughout the day.

one of my favorite apps for this is “quizlet.” you can make digital flashcards and quickly review them whenever you have a spare moment. or use “ankidroid” for spaced repetition. it’s great for subjects that require lots of memorization.

another trick? the “two-minute rule.” if a task takes less than two minutes, do it immediately rather than adding it to your to-do list. this helps clear out small, annoying tasks that tend to pile up (like replying to emails or organizing your desktop).

i also love the idea of micro journaling. sometimes, when you’re overwhelmed, writing down just one thought or feeling can give your brain the clarity it craves. it doesn’t have to be a full journal entry, just a few words that capture your mood or intention.

don’t underestimate the function of small wins. every tiny task you complete builds momentum and makes the bigger assignments feel more doable. it’s like telling yourself, “i’m already being productive today. let’s keep that energy going.”

the goal is to make productivity feel more like a series of little achievements rather than one massive to-do list. micro productivity helps you stay on top of things without burning out, and it feels way more manageable when your schedule is packed.

💫 stay motivated when your energy is low we’ve all been there. those days when your brain feels like it’s wrapped in a fog, and the idea of tackling your to-do list feels impossible. it’s okay to have low-energy days, but let’s find a way to work with them instead of against them.

first, check in with yourself. is your low energy from lack of sleep, stress, or just general burnout? sometimes just identifying the reason helps you figure out what kind of self-care you need. if you’re physically tired, maybe your focus should be on rest or low-effort tasks. if it’s more mental fatigue, try switching up your study space or doing something creative to break the monotony.

use the idea of “productive rest.” sometimes, resting doesn’t mean doing nothing. it can be as simple as switching tasks to something lighter, like organizing your notes or doing some gentle stretching while listening to a podcast related to your coursework. this way, you’re still moving forward, just at a gentler pace.

set up a reward system to motivate yourself. for example, after 20 minutes of studying, give yourself a 5-minute break to scroll through pinterest or listen to a song you love. use apps like “forest” to stay focused during your work session and then celebrate with a cute coffee break when your tree grows.

also, be kind to yourself. it’s okay if you’re not operating at 100% all the time. instead of pushing yourself to be overly productive, prioritize what actually needs to get done. sometimes, just getting one important task out of the way is enough for the day, and that’s completely valid.

remember, your energy levels fluctuate, and that’s perfectly normal. don’t pressure yourself to be endlessly productive. balance is key. the goal is sustainable productivity, not burning out from trying to do everything at once. listen to your body, adjust your pace, and know that it’s okay to take breaks when you need them.

💫 final thoughts: it’s all about balance, being productive during the day is great, but you’re human. you can’t be on 24/7. give yourself grace when things don’t go perfectly. the goal isn’t perfection; it’s progress. prioritize rest as much as you prioritize getting things done, and your mind (and grades) will thank you.

xoxo mindy

[cameronsbabydoll]

https://www.tumblr.com/cameronsbabydoll/782818663616135168/sccreader-schedule-for-the-week-outfits

Could you do something like this for what Sexist Rafe makes Reader wear? I imagine that it would primarily be dresses but curious to know

sexist!rafe and !reader’s schedule and what she wears

a/n: the way i’d wear all of these outfits (and own some of them)

monday

7:00 am – wake up before rafe, brush hair, apply light makeup

7:30 am – make breakfast for him (in his favorite mug, his favorite eggs)

9:00 am – tidy the kitchen/laundry

11:00 am – "quiet time": reading, journaling, or sewing (his rules: no phone)

1:00 pm – prep lunch

4:00 pm – freshen up before he gets home

6:00 pm – dinner on the table, apron still on

8:00 pm – massage his shoulders while he complains about the world

10:00 pm – lay in his arms while he watches some horrible podcast on YouTube or the wolf of wallstreet

tuesday

deep cleaning day (his idea, not yours)

wear something "inspiring" to make you feel like a good little wife

light baking in the afternoon (you better post it on your joint account)

forced early bedtime: “you’re useless without 8 hours, baby”

wednesday

rafe brings home guys for the podcast

your job is to smile, serve drinks, stay pretty on his lap during taping

hair curled, cheeks blushed, not a single eye-roll allowed

later, rafe fucks you like a trophy he’s won

thursday

his "don't-leave-the-house" day

he wants you domestic and out of sight

you cook all three meals, send him mirror pics in your dress, and wait for his approval

long facetime before bed with his camera angled low so he can "check on you"

friday

grocery day—you go alone, but he checks the receipts and outfit pics after

must be home by 1:00 pm, or he starts texting rude things in all caps

polish his shoes and steam his shirts for the weekend

date night (read: him picking the restaurant and ordering for you)

saturday

brunch with his family or friends

you're told exactly what to say and what not to wear

your role: look young, polite, and absolutely dumb

rafe wants people to think he saved you from being stupid and alone

sunday

rafe’s lazy, controlling day

you’re not allowed to get out of bed unless it’s to make food or give him a blowjob

he wants you in full soft-girl mode: makeup, perfume, matching lingerie

he’ll grope you while you fold clothes or pray for you to spill tea on yourself

[yoiisa]

bllk characters reacting to you being in the hospital .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ REO MIKAGE, BAROU SHOUEI, AND CHIGIRI HYOMA

Tags: TW for car accidents (Reo), complications in childbirth (aged up!Barou), and terminal illnesses/leukemia (Chigiri). hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. Take care of yourself please!

REO MIKAGE ⋆˙⟡

When he got the call, the world stopped spinning.

He'd been waiting in your shared apartment, excited to surprise you. He'd meant to be in Manshine for a little while longer, but unexpectedly, he'd gotten leave. He'd arrived at the apartment, his knee bouncing and his cheeks puffed in a grin, anticipating your arrival at any given minute.

But the hours had dragged on and on and on, and now he was staring at a clock glowing 9:46 PM wondering where the hell you were. His brain didn't bounce to cheating when he'd first realized that you were running late, but not that it was only a quarter to ten, the idea of it was growing uncomfortably persistent in his head. Reo had to admit that being in a long distance relationship was lonely as all hell, but he didn't want to imagine for even a moment you could've cheated on him.

Finally, when his phone began ringing and your name glowed on his screen, he felt the tightness in his chest easing ever so slightly. Reo practically pounced on his phone, before lifting it to his ear.

"My love?" he says as he tries to keep his voice from shaking. "It's so late . . ."

"Yeah, I know," he hears you breathy laugh. "Umm, something happened."

"What?" Reo's voice becomes firm as he stands up from the couch. "What happened [name]"

You're silent for a beat before croaking out, "I got into a car accident. I'm in the hospital."

Reo feels the blood seep from his face. Hearing your weak voice, the defeat, the pain- it's more than he can bear. And to know you're in the hospital on top of it all?

"Which one?" he asks, already toeing his shoes on. "I'm coming."

"Hmm? What do you mean? You're in England I thought-"

"No, I came home early. Tell me where you are lovely."

Your breath hitches as you tell him. He stays on the phone with you the whole way there. He reaches the front desk to check in just five minutes before visiting hours end, and as soon as he's given clearance, he dashes to your room.

It's a bit of a maze, and Reo has to go through about four different doors and no less than 10 different hallways to get to your room, but finally he gets to it. You're awake and sitting up in bed, scrolling on your phone when he finally walks in. Your right hand is in a cast and sling, and the respective arm is wrapped in gauze. A hospital gown hangs loosely from your shoulders and you have a few more bandages scattered around where he can see- your collarbone, your jaw, and a tiny one on your eyebrow.

"You're home," you say with a soft smile.

Reo rushes to your side and hovers his hands over your cheeks. After a moment, you tilt your head to lean into his touch. "What happened?" he croaks. "My love, you're all banged up."

You manage a choked laugh and rest your head against his shoulder. His arms come up and wrap around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. "I was driving and it was my turn to go, but then someone ran a red. I had to swerve, and lost control of the car. He almost t-boned me. Anyways, I hit a curb along the side of the tires, and the momentum made it tilt. My arm's all messed up, but most of the other stuff is just from glass cuts and stuff."

"My love," Reo whispers, kissing your temple. He gently pulls your head back to kiss your forehead, and trails his lips down to your nose and finally your lips. "I'm so happy your okay."

You nod and nuzzle your nose with his. The two of you share a few more soft kisses before you whisper, "You came home early . . . when did you get here?"

Reo hums. "Around 11 AM." He hugs you tight again, his hand on the back of your head. He gently rocks you and murmurs, "By the time I got out of the airport it was around 1:00, and then I wanted to get the stuff ready to surprise you. I got you food from your favorite restaurant and flowers and set up presents I got from Engla- why are you crying my darling?"

"I'm sorry," you whisper as hot tears roll down your cheeks. "I ruined your surprise."

Reo shakes his head and presses his forehead against yours. "No, no, no. . . you didn't ruin anything. This was an accident my love, you couldn't have known that prick was going to run that red. It's fine."

As he wipes your tears, you say "I'll get discharged tomorrow afternoon they said. They wanna keep me overnight to make sure there isn't anything that's not immediately showing itself."

Reo nods and says "We can have that surprise party tomorrow."

You smile and nod. After another hour of your reunion, the two of you curl up on the hospital bed, you tucked beneath Reo's chin.

Once he's assured your asleep, he takes his phone out and calls for a small favor with his father's friends in the police force. Normally he's not one to call in like this through his dad's connections, but no one almost kills you and gets away with it.

And if, a few weeks later, you see on the news the arrest of the guy who ran that red, Reo doesn't know anything about it.

BAROU SHOUEI ⋆˙⟡

"Mmm!" you moan in delight as you place another sushi roll in your mouth. "Thank you so much for getting these for me Sho! I can't believe I went nine months without this."

"Oi, eat slower, you'll choke otherwise. And eat more neatly," he grumbles. Barou is sitting next to you on the bed, and his hand comes up to wipe a rice grain from your cheek.

For now, it's just the two of you in your hospital room since the nurses took your baby girl to get her checkups. Barou was loathed to let his newborn out of his sight for even a second, but at your insistence, he gave in.

When she'd finally come into the world, your little princess, she'd been just as loud as her father is. You just knew she must've gotten his lungs. She screamed and didn't even need to be urged to cry- it came naturally to her, as soccer comes to her dad. Her skin was pink and her tiny fist kept closing around nothing as she writhed in the nurses arms, desperate to return to the warmth of your womb.

She was perfect.

Barou hadn't cried when she'd been born, but you could tell that he'd been equally besotted with her as you were. His eyes widened, and when the midwife and nurses brought him to cut the umbilical cord, he had this strange aura around him, as if he'd found his element. Barou had needed this little angel just as much as she would need him in the future, and he'd be there. God help whoever would try to stand in his way.

However, these past 12 hours had not all been happy and sunshine. Of course there were the normal pains and tortures that came with giving birth, but there'd been a brief moment, around when you'd dilated to 8 cm, when his heart gave out.

You'd managed to fall asleep as the epidural worked its sweet magic on your lower body, but when the nurses came to try and wake you to do another check on your status, you were not waking up. They shook you and called your name, but nothing roused you. To make matters worse, the heart rate monitor chose that exact moment to start acting all weird. Your heart was working in overtime, trying to get an even blood flow around your body, but this was not normal. Nothing about this situation is normal.

Barou almost rang the nurses' necks as he demanded they save you. Your heart was starting to slow now, the erratic beats disappearing in favor for an equally distressing rhythm. The next moments had been a blur of oxygen masks and medical jargon no part of Barou could comprehend. All he had in his mind was Save her, save her, SAVE HER-

"Hey," you snap your fingers in his face. Barou blinks and looks down at you. It's hard to imagine the you he sees now- strong, capable, and glowing- as the pale, lifeless body on the bed. You cock your head to the side and ask, "What?"

Barou takes a moment to just soak your liveliness in, before leaning down to kiss you. It's soft, but it's demanding still. His lips glide against yours and his tongue is soft against yours. You hum and he groans. You can feel the sound vibrating low in his chest.

When he pulls back, he buries his face in your neck, murmuring, "Don't you fucking dare ever scare me like that again, you got that?"

You smile and nuzzle into the side of his head. "Sho, it's okay-"

"No. No it's not. You . . . I . . ." words fail him as he tries to express even a fraction of the complicated grief filling his chest. "We can't have another kid. I can't watch you go through that again."

You're silent for a moment before saying, "We'll see. Don't say anything with certainty now. It's all a matter of the time and place."

Barou wants to argue with you, but then a nurse walks back into the room and interrupts your moment. The two of your attention goes immediately to her, and she settles your daughter into your arms.

"Everything is completely normal," the nurse says softly with a smile. "All her levels are in the average percentile for a baby her length and weight, and she can hear and see perfectly. She's a perfect little bundle, I'm so happy for the two of you."

Barou doesn't take his eyes off of his daughter, his attention drilling into her scrunched up face. You smile up at the nurse and nod, before saying "Thank you so much for everything."

Barou continues staring at his baby girl before finally managing a quiet, "Yes. T-thank you."

He didn't know if he could properly manage to express his gratitude for it all. Saving you and bringing his baby into the world, it's all so much. It's more than he ever saw for himself, when he thinks back to how he was as a teenager. It might be more than he'll ever be worthy of.

When he faced set backs in Blue Lock, he fought tooth and nail to reclaim his glory. Damn anyone if they thought they could take his title of king. But now, he's taking his shirt off and shifting to a chair next to your bed.

Now, he's taking his daughter from your arms and tucking her cheek up against his chest.

Now, he sees her eyes open just a sliver, and he wonders if she knows who he is at all.

When she smiles, a messy, lopsided smirk, he finally cries.

CHIGIRI HYOMA ⋆˙⟡

His heart was pounding and sweat was running down his temple as he put one foot after the other down on the concrete. His hair was pushed back out of his face with an old headband Kunigami had given him in Blue Lock.

Chigiri’s eyes were trained ahead of him, the finish line for the marathon he was running inching closer and closer by the second.

One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.

When he finally breaks through the tape, he gasps for air and continues forward for a few more paces. People around him cheer and hand him things like water and flowers, but he waves them all off. He walks to a water station, positioned a few feet away. He lifts a small paper cup to his mouth and feels the cool rush of water travel down his throat and spread in his stomach.

Perhaps a few years ago, he wouldn't have thought much of the sensation, but now all he can do is close his eyes and marvel. How lucky I am, to be able to drink. To eat. To run.

An image of you flashes in his mind, and it's all he can do to now crush the paper cup in his hand.

He takes a cool wet towel from someone and continues forward now, walking with a small crowd of other people who've finished. They all have items in their hands, things the onlookers gave them as congratulations, as if the runners are the ones who deserve anything.

This marathon had been meant to raise awareness for leukemia, but why is it that no one seemed to mention a patient once around him right now? The marathoners were soaking up all the attention, their smiles mile wide on their faces.

They made him fucking sick.

He chucks the paper cup into a trash can and grits his teeth. Fuck. Fuck!

"Excuse me ma'am!" a high pitched voice calls for Hyoma and he whips around. A little girl, with wide sparkly eyes and a large grin lifts a tiny goodie bag up to him. "Good job!"

Chigiri stares down at the kid before saying, "I'm not a girl."

The girl blanches before bowing profusely and saying, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You just have long hair!"

"And you have a bob, I don't see what difference that makes."

The child blushes and nods emphatically. "You're right. Please accept this as an apology."

Chigiri is about to deny the gift again before he catches sight of a Kit Kat wrapper nestled underneath a pile of other sweets. Slowly, he reaches out and plucks the little girl's gift from her hands.

"Thank you!" she beams. "My daddy ran today too! I don't think he finished yet though . . ."

"No?" Chigiri asked, tossing the bag back and forth in his hands.

The girl shakes her head. "He had leukemia too. He's all better now, since it was a few years ago though, but he's still a little weak from it."

Chigiri pauses. He stares down at the goodie bag in his hand, before giving a stiff nod and walking off, calling over his shoulder. "Tell your dad congratulations for me."

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

The walk to the hospital is a quiet affair. Chigiri has the goodie bag from earlier in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

He checks in at the hospital front desk, the ladies there already well acquainted with him. They smile and wave him through the doors. He takes two elevators before he finally gets to your floor. When he walks through the door, you're lying in your bed, fast asleep.

Chigiri sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He walks to your bedside and takes the now wilting flowers from the vase, replacing it with the fresh bouquet he got earlier.

Then, he turns to you. He walks to your side, running a hand along your bare scalp. He remembered when you had to shave it off, the bald spots becoming too noticeable to keep your long hair still. Chigiri had tried to take the electric razor to his own head, in form of solidarity, but you'd gripped his wrist and said "No."

Your grip had been iron. His wrist might've been bruised. He couldn't believe how someone who'd been through as much as you'd been could muster so much strength, but the look in your eyes had been enough for him to set the razor down.

"You love your hair."

"I love you more," he protested.

You cupped his face. "Keep it for the both of us okay?"

Chigiri grit his teeth and bowed his head. This isn't fair. This shouldn't have been happening. He was supposed to marry you, have kids with you. They should've been the ones grieving the loss of their mother, not Chigiri, who had to grieve the notion that he might lose his forever soon if that chemo didn't start doing everything the money promised it'd do.

"Hyo?" a soft sound broke through his anguish and he opened his eyes.

You were staring up at him, your lips slightly parted. Slowly, you pushed yourself up, with help from your boyfriend of course. He settled you in an upright position before holding the goodie bag out to you.

"There's Kit Kat in there," he says, "your favorite."

You smile and take the bag from his hand. "Hopefully I can keep it down."

He sighs and kisses your forehead, before nuzzling his nose against your hairline. His arms wrap tightly around your shoulders and he clings to you as if him letting go will be the thing that does you in.

When you get better, I'll buy you a whole factory.

He doesn't say it out loud, but it's a near thing.

a/n: This should go without saying, but I send all my love to those of you with any type of sickness or medical "issues"! You are all incredibly brave, and I'm so proud of you all for fighting through it, even if the near future seems dark! MWAH!!

[kanmom51]

Is this JM I see on Weverse or is it a mirage?

Well well well, not a mirage. Indeed JM has given us a sign of life.

And quite a sign of life it was.

Before I share some of my thoughts on this, let's look at the numbers for a sec.

JM posted 29.1.2025 at 20:30 or 8:30 pm KST.

On Weverse it shows up as 29 Jan 20:30.

2+9=11

1+2+3=6

We get:

11/6

Which happens to be the day they are discharged from the military.

Coincidence?

I think not. Not when it's JM posting. Not when he's talking to us about the "what comes next after military"...

But there is more...

If we take the date: 29.1.25

2+9+2=13

1+5=6

13/6

Same date 29.1.25 and we can play around with the numbers some more:

2+9=11

1+2+5=8

8/11

One more of those times where JM's choice of date and time leave you wondering...

Yes, this was JM sending us a Happy New Year (Seollal) message. And Seollal was on 29 January this year. But it was celebrated between the 28 Jan and 30 Jan, so he could have sent the message either on the 28th (that's also when we got the message from Jin and Hobi) or the 30th. He chose to post on the 29th. At the time he did. And he also decided to let us in a little, more than just a cute HNY greeting.

Now that I got that out of the way, let's talk about what JM actually had to tell us.

Translation by @btsinthemoment

Obviously I want to talk a little about what JM had to tell us about JK and himself.

I thought of sharing a few translations here. They differ a little one from the other, but the gist of it is the same.

This one is from @btsinthemoment

and a couple more from AI online translators:

and this one:

Before I get to what JM says here, I do feel the need to remind everyone of just how intelligent JM is, how thought out and well spoken.

This post came to mind:

Don't listen to me, listen to JK.

JM is super articulate and ever so careful when he words his messages. They ever so often are layered and nuanced (just like his songs).

And this message from him is no different.

The structure of the message. I - WE - I. Talking about himself - sneaking in the talk about JK and himself (WE) and finishing up with going back to talking about himself (ending it with his love for us). You might even look at it like a prologue - story - epilogue... framing the "WE"...

As part of the "prologue" JM talks about his daily routine in the military.

He really doesn't need to mention JK at this point, tell us they spend their spare time together, because JK already did.

So, JM just mentions the daily routine, tells us how his days are more or less the same since he's enlisted, but that there has been a change since the start of the year. And this change is in the content of the conversations he and JK have before sleeping (and I do think he's talking about 1 Jan 2025, not Seollal, since he's talking about conversations that the two are already having).

Listen to what he's saying.

The content of the conversation has changed since the start of the year, but them having these conversations, that is very much part of his daily routine.

He is saying it loud and clear:

"Prologue":

"The actual story":

And just like JK "happened" to mention JM in his live (no "happened" what so ever, it was fully intentional, including the whole "when we shower together" comment), JM "happens" (nope...) to mention JK.

This is intentional.

They are telling us something.

They are intertwining their messages.

A message from JK is still a message from him, but he is telling us how JM is part of his life, his day to day life, including the miniscule things like exercising and washing up.

A message from JM is still a message from him, but he is telling us how JK is part of his life, his day to day life, including the ordinary things like having those conversation just before sleeping.

They want us to know (not only speculate or guess either way) that their daily routines are intertwined with each other. Not out of necessity (to those that claim they didn't choose to enlist together or that enlisting together didn't mean spending free time together), but out of choice (spending free time together away from the others, showering daily together, having heart to heart talks before going to sleep).

Let's talk about JM's use of "we" shall we?

Again, this is JM presenting himself and JK to us as a unit.

He is telling us that he and JK have these meaningful heart to heart conversations just before going to sleep.

This is said obviously, clearly. But it's, once again, layered.

JM's words can be seen as talking, planning their professional lives moving forward.

JM's words can also be more.

And make no mistake. JM is in touch with the other members. Members he is super close to and with whom he has conversations about the what and how of after military service. And yet, the ones he is having with JK are the ones he is mentioning. These are not only about the what and how. These are about MORE. And here is where the layering and nuancing comes into place again, JM being JM.

The way he just adds it in: "and what kind of lives we will lead from now on..."

The translations are a little different in their wording, one talking about what kind of life they will lead moving forward or what kind of life they will lead in the future. But to me the message is one and the same.

The two thinking, contemplating, discussing how their lives will look like moving forward together. The two of them.

They are having conversations about how their future will be. And this is once again JM showing us how important they are to one another. What they are to each other.

Someone they plan their future together with.

And I can't help but wonder if this message is one more of little (or not so little) hints and crumbs we've been getting from them since their joint enlistment that something is going to change once they get out. Not with them. They have always have been good and will be good. But about how they will be presenting themselves to us. Not just as individuals (that too), but as the two of them together.

A couple perhaps...