#i feel no way about dealing with someone as long as this without a title or making it official

[xerospaced]

Final thoughts

Yesterday, once again, gave confirmation that the man who is vocal, happy to profess his love and claim you, snaps you up without appreciating the value of waiting, is loud and proud, eager to talk you up and show you off

Is not necessarily the man you ought to depend on nor trust

And once again, the day taught me that the man who moves mindfully, who is cautious when he speaks, avoids inflating your ego, resists luring you into a false sense of comfortability, and moderates his expression of affection

Is often one who possesses the greatest consideration of your feelings

This time, I got a third-person perspective. Unfortunately, impacting someone I love who is deserving of far better

From the mouth of a man so sure in his conviction when he came to his conclusion about my situation despite knowing little to nothing about it as he proudly proclaimed how they manage their relationship

I'm not one for convincing, and, far from being convinced myself, I let him spout his rhetoric

To bear witness, not two months later, the realities of the vapid and changeable intention of man so quick to talk and act without pause

And immediately following that heinous transgression, be rewarded with the reassurance and satisfaction of a man quite his opposite, slow to move and resistant in falling into connection simply based on affection

I would rather the slow. The sure. The patient. The reason.

I would rather the one consistent in distance who is vocal more often when it comes to maintaining our heads and keeping clear vision. Than the man who possesses a tongue quicker than wisdom and opts into the format of loving and commitment before taking time to sit and just listen to what he truly wants, who he's really with, where the desire is rooted and what it is seeking.

I am done trusting men who talk quick and jump quicker.

Half of them don't even know they don't mean it.

This weekend has brought a lot of realities about relationships to the surface. And has reaffirmed my contentment of the space I'm in, giving confirmation to validity of the pace that has been taken.

Pause. Know yourself. Consider the nuance and depths of your feelings. And stop filling peoples heads with dreams and well wishes and fantasies of the wonderful lives y'all could be living. If you just took the time, you might avoid all this nonsense and notice the difference between fun for the moment and potential of significance.

[luveline]

Hey Jade!!! I was just wondering if you could do a soulmate au with Spencer please? Maybe something along the lines of those cheesy ones like the first words are tattooed on or they have the same tattoo idk, whatever you u feel like 😊

—Spencer meets his soulmate. You’re as lovely as he’s always pictured. fem, 1.3k

Someone will love me one day.

Spencer must think it a thousand times. When he has to put his mom in the sanitarium and he feels more alone than he ever has in his life, he knows one day someone will love him anyways. When he gets called ugly, too skinny, nerd, dork, and a handful of words that are even worse, he knows one day someone will say the opposite. He won’t be alone forever.

He was two when they appeared, dark black cursive words tucked against his pulse. Spencer felt ugly nearly every day of his life, wrong and weird, but the words on his wrist have never changed, ‘You’re so handsome I can’t believe it’s you.’

One day someone’s gonna look at him and see handsome.

Today, he feels pretty good. He’s back home in Washington, D.C., the grocery store he loves is open again after a long reconstruction, and they had a bunch of fruit from South America that he’s never tried before. He carries a white plastic bag full of fruit, bread and cheese back to his apartment, each step in the sunshine, the kiss of it warming his cheeks. A busker plays music near the mouth of the subway station. Nobody has yet to scowl at him for being in the way.

He’s wondering what he forgot when he sees you. You’re smiling, the sun on your face and arms, which are strangely full. Books slide against your chest, but besides a little huff and a shift of your elbow, you don’t seem to notice the slim paperback working its way through the crowd in your arms. It drops down onto the sidewalk but you keep walking. You must be in a hurry.

Spencer darts forward to your dropped book, thumb under the title. Charlotte’s Web by E. B White. The spine is flaking and soft from use.

He should call out for you. You’re already getting too far away.

Spencer crosses the road and dives deeper into the city with you. Washington, D.C. isn’t without grandeur —it’s the capital of the USA— and so he finds himself surrounded by potted trees and stretches of well tended grass. School’s broken for the day, children weaving around on bikes and scooters or holding hands with their parents taking up altogether too much space. He loses you in the crowd.

Spencer stops in defeat.

Maybe if he puts the book back in your path you’ll see it on the way back.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t. Spencer keeps your book and starts to walk home. This isn’t how he’d usually get there, but he can manoeuvre around the park.

He keeps an eye out for you. Ridiculously, he’d thought about giving the book back to you and making you smile. He hasn’t talked to anyone who wasn’t a cashier in two days.

“Hi.”

Spencer looks down. “Hi,” he says, spooked by the little girl in front of him.

“Is that for the library?”

He shakes his head regretfully. “No, I– I found it. I’m trying to give it back.”

“Okie dokie. I never read that one before.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not my book to give away… Where’s your mom?”

The little girl points at a mom and a younger child playing on the grass near a circle of benches. There’s a huge dark cabinet with its doors skewed open in the middle, and when he squints he realises it’s full of books. “Oh, is that the library?” he asks.

“Yes!” the little girl insists.

“Okay, well, here’s what we’ll do,” he says, looking desperately for you, disappointed when he can’t see a sign of your nice blue shirt or your sunny smile, “let me go see if I can find the lady who dropped this book, and if she says it’s okay, I’ll keep it for you to have. But you can’t run off from your mom again. Deal?”

The girl grins, thick hair shiny in the sun. “Deal!” she says, running in a burst toward her mother, who startles when she realises she’d left in the first place.

Spencer creeps toward the library. He can’t leave the book here now, he’s promised he’ll try to find you.

You come around the back of the library cabinet with a smile. Free Library, the sign says. Take one if you want, leave one if you can.

You stop in your path when you see him. You smile again, you’re prettier for it, lovely with the sun on half your face, your slight squint. You open your mouth to speak.

Spencer beats you to it. “Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you,” he says, raising your copy of Charlotte’s Web to his chest. “You dropped one of your books.”

You take a half step back.

Spencer grimaces. “I promised a little girl I’d ask if she can have it, I’m so sorry. I get stuck and I don’t know how to say no.”

Your eyes flash down to your hands. “You’re so handsome,” you say, and Spencer’s heart stops dead in his chest, your lips shaping each word without measure and somehow the prettiest anyone’s ever looked as they move, “I can’t believe it’s you.”

His shoulders sag with a deep breath.

You raise your arm to show him the contrasting font laid against your pulse. Hi, I’ve been trying to catch up to you.

Spencer shows you his. You’re so handsome, I can’t believe it’s you.

“It’s you,” he says.

You press your hand to your mouth. “I was walking too fast, right? When I was a kid I thought if I made everybody chase me that eventually somebody would have to say it, but then it stuck, and I rush everywhere I go.” Your voice turns breathless. “But you’re the person who was supposed to catch up to me.”

He smiles softly. “I think so.”

“And I just told you you’re handsome. I’m sorry, I bet that was embarrassing to… carry around, all this time.”

“It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me,” he says honestly.

“I didn’t think you’d be so pretty,” you explain.

“I knew you would be.”

You hold your hand out. He’s about to tell you he doesn’t shake but he finds he really wants to, and you’re not shaking his hand anyways, you’re holding it, looking at the cursive on his arm with a disbelief he echoes in his own smile. You rub the tip of your thumb over the word handsome.

“Do you like books?” he asks.

You nod distractedly. “I love them,” you murmur, looking up.

His entire arm is alive with tingles.

“Do you read much?” you ask.

Every word you trade with one another has this shy longing he’s never felt, like you’re desperate to know about one another but worried you aren’t allowed to ask. Spencer’s about to tell you all about it, how he’s always reading, how books have been with him through everything, but there’s a tug on his shirt that stops him.

“Hi,” the little girl says.

Spencer laughs. “Hi.”

“What did she say?” the little girl whispers.

Spencer looks to you for guidance.

“Of course you can have it. It’s an amazing book,” you say.

“Thank you!” she says, holding out her hands.

Spencer doesn’t mind handing it over. If she didn’t ask him for it earlier, he might’ve never had the courage to look for you. He could’ve left the book in the cabinet and turned around, but he didn’t. And now he’s met you.

You step into his side. “Did you– do you want to get coffee?” You peer down at the bag now slipped from his elbow down to his wrist. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Do you want to have a picnic with me?” he asks.

You nod for so long he has to laugh. “I’d love to,” you say, offering your open hand.

Spencer threads your fingers together. That one day he always dreamed of seems a lot closer than it did before.

[demiesworld]

"I AIN'T WITH THE MESSY SHITS, BUT I NEED SOME SLOPPY TOP"

☆ pairings: toji fushiguro x black!chubby!femreader

☆ synopsis: basically toji eating the pussy real sloppy. yes i got the title from glorilla's "lick or sum" and???

☆ contents: nsfw, oral (f. receiving), pussyeater!toji, pleasuredom!toji, daddy kink, dirty talking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, use of toys (clit vibrator; toys are our friends), pussy slapping, slight dacryphilia (if you squint), just the usual filth

☆ notes: reader is a female and she is black. she is described as being chubby but her weight is not numerically indicated. reader's pronouns are she/her. i wrote this for my big girls bc we need the content (yes im a fluffy mami in rl). i put my pussy into this and im not sorry for the mess i made.

Before you met Toji, you had never met a man that would willingly, and most of the time without asking, eat your pussy out before. Your previous exes didn't eat your pussy out when you asked, or they didn't satisfy you enough to lead you into a mind-boggling orgasm. They left you feeling dry, unhappy, and unsatisfied. It was a blessing and a curse for you to end up with a man like Toji. Someone who didn't take "no" for an answer, someone who will deal with your bratty attitude and fix that shit with his dick in your pussy, and who ate your pussy simply for his own pleasure.

"OHH FUUUCK!"

You were on the bed, laying on your back with your legs pressed against your chest. Toji was laying on his stomach and his face was in between your thighs, his mouth slurping on your clit while his fingers were driving into your cunt. The slickness of your juices were wetting up his fingers and making a mess on the bedsheets. He didn't bother to put a towel underneath you because in his words, "The way you squirt, that shit will just go through the towel anyways," so he didn't do it.

Toji had been eating at your pussy for who knows how long. He had already made you succumb to three orgasms by using only his fingers. This man was putting your body through the wringer. His tongue never faltered in flicking at your hardened clit. Those long, thick fingers of his were fucking into your pussy and making the most obscene, wet noises in the room. Accompanied by those squelches were your shrill, whiny, high-pitched moans. Your back arching up from the bed and toes curling when Toji would suck and nibble at your sensitive nub.

"Tojitojitojitoji!" You babbled on his name, and jerked your hips down towards his fingers. A trail of saliva was coming out of the corner of your mouth as you squirmed about trying to bring yourself to another climax. "Fuck, fuck, I'm g'na cum again! Oh fuck! Fuck!"

Your walls tightened around his fingers and another stream of your juices came squirting out right onto his face. Your man smirked while he pulled his mouth away from your clit and pulled his three fingers in your pussy out. Toji lapped up the wetness you had just made before pulling his mouth away and kissing fervently at your puffy folds.

You jolt from his lips, hips twitching, legs trembling and let out a whine, "Tooojiii, d-daddy, n-no more, I-I can't!" You had tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. Fat, warm tears that fell down your cheeks as you laid there on the bed. "I can't take iiit!! Too much, too much!"

He reaches out a hand to your cheek and wipes away a tear. "Ssh, ssh, baby girl you can take it. You always take it don't you? Hm?" His gruff voice was soft when he was speaking to you. When you were like this, a dumbed down mess from back-to-back stimulation, he knew he had to console you gently. You look at him, nose scrunched up and plump lips pouting. "You can take it baby girl. I know you can,"

Toji sits up from his position and kneels on the bed crawling above you. You were starting to think that your man was going to fuck you, but what he did next surprised yet scared you. He reached underneath the pillow you had your head on and grabbed the hot pink toy wand you had. Your eyes went wide as you stared at the toy then look back at your man. "D-Daddy p-please!! Please daddy!"

Your mind already knew that once Toji brought out the toy wand it was game over for you. He knew how to angle the vibrator just right for you to squirt all over him. Your hands flew to around his broad shoulders and shaky thick thighs wrapped around his small waist in an attempt to keep him from going back down on you.

"P-please daddy, y-you don't have to do that," you begged of him, and squeezed your legs tighter. You bring him down for a kiss to your lips, not knowing that Toji had already turned the vibrator on with a press of the button and was guiding it towards your clit. In between the messy kisses you were stammering, "S-See daddy? C-Can you juss- TOJIIIII FUCK OH MY GOD!" You were interrupted by him pressing the vibrator to your clit.

Toji circles the toy around your sensitive nub and his tongue licks at your cheek. He tastes the dried tears from earlier on your soft brown skin. He glances down at where the toy is rubbing at your clit then looks at the fucked out expression on your face. He smirks cockily at you. "I want you to give me a couple more before the end of the night baby girl." His scarred lip presses a firm kiss to your round cheek. "Then I'll stop."

You shake your head and claw your manicured nails into his shoulders. "Mm! Mm! Mm! C-cumming! Cumming!" You warn him, feeling your stomach tighten, your eyes rolling back when you cum again on the bedsheets. There's practically a puddle of just your bodily fluids soaking the blankets. The room stinks of the scent of musk and sweat, but it doesn't deter either of you from stopping.

"Yeeeeah that's it. That's how daddy fucking likes it." He growls, and places the wand to the side. His hand grabs your chin, turning your face to him and he kisses you roughly. You try your best to respond to the kiss, but your body is tired and your mind has turned into mush after climaxing for the sixth (?) time. Toji doesn't care as he sucks on your limp tongue after gnawing at your bottom lip with his canines.

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Soft, weak moans left from you when Toji was slapping his hand on your pussy. His fingers stroked your folds gently followed by another slap. You unwrap your legs from around him and let your arms flop to your sides. Your body no longer touching him as you become pliable for him.

"That's my fucking girl, my good fucking girl." He hooks his thumb on the corner of your mouth and stretches your cheek. "Open your mouth up for daddy." You part your lips and stick out your tongue, Toji laughs at this before he spits onto your tongue. With narrowed eyes he watches you swallow it then he returns to going back in between your thighs.

His lips kiss on your inner thighs, teeth bite down on your brown skin and leaving bite marks there. Murmurs of, "so fucking good for me", "going to make this pretty pussy cream some more", could be heard from the man between your thighs. Toji kissed and licked on your thighs some more until he got to your pussy. He reached over and grabbed the toy wand, turning it back on then holds it against your puffy clit. Your man had it pressed right against the nerve of your clit while his tongue was delving into your entrance.

You squirm shakingly on the bed, but you once again chase that one high that Toji is trying to give you. In contrast to your body wanting more your words say something different. You whine, "No more daddyyyy!!"

Toji ignores your cries while he uses a hand to keep your plush thigh spread open. He stops eating you out to say, "One more then I'll stop baby girl," He lifts the wand away from your clit to suckle on it. "Come on, baby, come on." He mumbles onto your nub.

He encourages you to cum for him one last time, and by the grace of whoever you did. Your wrecked out body, unable to release any more of your juices due to the constant stimulation, just writhed and clenched as you came for him. A lewd "pop" emitted from Toji when he plucks your clit out of his mouth. He kneels on the bed before you, rubbing his hands on your fleshy thighs and stroking the bruised skin that he caused.

"You did so good baby girl, so fucking good, I'm so proud of you baby." He leans down to peck your lips. When you start to whine and whimper from coming down he whispers, "It's okay baby, I'm here baby, look at daddy," He cups your face in his hands, directing your attention to his green eyes. "Look at me. I'm going to run you a bath okay baby?" You nodded your head and he continued, "You want me to carry you or can you walk?"

Again you shake your head and whine, Toji took this as a "no I can't walk" and he went on to pick you up from the bed with ease. He carried you with his hands underneath your thighs into the bathroom, gently sitting you down on the toilet seat before he went to the bathtub and ran the water. Your man returned back to you, since you were already naked he wrapped your hair up in a shower cap and used a damp towel to clean up any messes on your body.

"Mm, T-Toji... I... good?" You quietly ask him.

His eyes look up to your tired expression, and he smiles approvingly at you. "Yes baby girl you did good for me. You always do."

★ letter from demie: FUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK. it don't make no sense why this can't happen to mee!!!! fuck i hate this!!! anyways!!! tell me what you think of this smut! i think i just let the faucet run on this one!!

[7oji]

imagine you run into an ex-boyfriend after a night out with toji 🎀

◞⁺⊹ toji fushiguro/fem!reader ──── fluff. established relationship. jealous toji ofc. 800+ words.

A sober Toji takes you by the hand to head out of the club after you have had too many drinks. He was having a lot of fun seeing you all red and tipsy, but you would probably blame your hangover on him the next morning.

The deal was that he was supposed to be taking care of you. And he did. He only leaves your side to walk over to the valet.

Those few seconds are enough for your gaze to wander into the crowd before it stops to recognize a guy walking your way.

“That’s my ex...” you blurt out.

Toji returns at the perfect moment to see you tense up. He follows your eyes and his own narrow slightly as he spots a guy your age waving in a friendly manner.

“Is he a problem?” he questions in a low tone, locking his hand around yours.

A bit of alcohol probably drained out of your system, not so much about being trapped without a car and being forced to interact with someone from your past, but more about the fact that Toji grabbed every opportunity to pick out a fight if it was about you. He looked like he enjoyed scaring guys away from your drunk dancing all night.

“He’s okay. We only dated for a while in high school,” you reply after a long breath.

Worried about what you will see in his eyes you avoid looking at him. Instead, he feels a gentle squeeze on the hand before you wave back.

“Heeey,” you greet him as only a drunk girl could. “Long time no see.”

The guy’s expression changes from excitement to a startled look when he notices the large figure beside you.

“This is my husband, Toji,” you introduce him, immediately satisfied at the stunned reaction to that title.

Toji nods at the boy in acknowledgment, ignoring the hand reaching out to him. You swallowed worriedly and try ignoring it too.

A few polite questions are exchanged, all while Toji looks over at the guy with a careful stare, unaware his hand clenched your own in a fist.

“I’m glad you are doing okay,” you finally say after spotting the valet coming closer with your car. “And this was nice, but we really need to go! We have to get back to our kid.”

Easy like that, Toji’s demeanor becomes just a little more serene at the mention of your boy.

You make your way to the car, nudging Toji’s hand in an attempt to stop him from doing much else, but he manages to give the guy a last look with his mouth curling into a mean smile.

“Take care,” he says in a tone that made everyone question if it really was a well-wished farewell.

Your husband turns around to get the keys from the valet. He takes his wallet out and offers the worker a chunk of bills that was large enough to make all people around notice his generous tip.

Toji finally gets into the car in a seemingly carefree manner but finds you already inside trying to contain your laughter.

“What?” he raises his brow.

“You really have a way of making guys sweat, you know?”

He snickers at your words. Not a hint of remorse in sight.

“I suppose I just have a way with people.”

“Oh man, so many memories are coming back…” You give a final breath of relief as you slump on the co-pilot seat.

“Yeah, I’m sure you had plenty of guys following your trail,” he huffs playfully while starting the car. “You were probably one of the prettiest girls in school, right?”

Probably because of the alcohol, but a wistful gleam appears in your eyes.

“Yeah, right. I was lucky to even get that guy as a date for prom.” Remembering how you felt about yourself during those years put you in a sentimental mood, more so in your current state. “You probably wouldn’t even have looked my way back then.”

Toji chuckles when he finally understands why that guy back there had a stupid look on his face when seeing you. It also explains why you didn’t keep pictures of that time, or at least showed them to him.

A bit of nostalgia spreads across his own face as he goes back to his younger days as well. But one look your way makes an affectionate glow replace the melancholy in his eyes. You were a beautiful woman now, and you got all dressed up for him tonight.

“You’re crazy. I would have noticed you instantly back then,” his smile grows a little kinder the more he speaks. “I’ve always been an expert at picking out hidden jewels.”

If you had each other back then, maybe things would have turned out differently. Or maybe not, but you were grateful to be together now. Dewy-eyed at the thoughts, you lean into his side.

“You always know the right thing to say,” your words come out slurred by this time. You start to doze off right then and there.

Toji chuckles and places a kiss on the top of your head before starting the drive back home.

[worldlxvlys]

collide

matt sturniolo x singer! reader

warnings: smutttt, p in v, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, grinding

a/n: hope you enjoyyyy <33

“thank you guys so much for all the support and coming out here tonight” i said into the microphone.

the audience members replied with deafening applause and cheers.

i laughed into the microphone, still soaking in this unreal experience.

i had gotten about halfway through my set, and now was just taking a quick breather.

“i also wanted to give a huge thank you to my best friends, for always being there for me and constantly showering me with love and support” i said as i glanced over to the triplets.

best friends. well, two of them were my best friends. matt, however, was more than that to me.

we were dating, but we hadn’t told the fans yet, not wanting to deal with the hate that would most likely come with it.

but the fans aren’t dumb.

due to their insane attention to details, they were easily able to pick up on the feelings that matt and i had for one another. they just didn’t know that we’ve acted on them.

once i put out my first album of songs, titled chemistry, the fans quickly realized i was with someone. they had their suspicions, but i never confirmed that it was about matt.

most of the tracks on the album were love songs that i wrote over the years. they weren’t even necessarily for matt, i just wrote them whenever i was overwhelmed by my feelings for him and needed a way to get them out.

song writing helped me to process my feelings, and it just so happens that matt takes up almost every thought in my brain.

“i wouldn’t have made it this far without you guys and i’ll never truly be able to put into words how grateful i am” i said while looking at the boys in the VIP section.

in response, nick smiled and blew kisses while recording the interaction, like a proud mom at their child’s performace; chris did an awkward happy dance and screamed “we love you!” , and matt sat there with a lovesick look on his face and a shit-eating grin.

after a few more, we got to my favorite song on the setlist.

“this next song, literally just came out and is already doing so well, and i thank you for that” i was met with more applause.

after introducing the song, the first few chords played and then stopped, teasing the audience.

they went wild. after a few seconds, the intro really started to play.

MATT’S POV

i been knowing you for long enough

damn, i need you right now

she looks so good. her outfit was tight, fitting her in all the right places and accentuating her curves.

you can take your time, don’t have to rush

this might take us a while

she sounds incredible live. her voice is smooth as she effortlessly slides through the runs, never missing a note.

i left all the doors unlocked and you said you’re on your way

when you get here don’t you say a word, got no time to play

she might genuinely be a siren, luring me in with her seductive, yet somehow sweet and innocent-sounding voice. her tone is crystal clear and it almost makes me want to cry.

we can go all the time

we can move fast, then rewind

when you put your body on mine

and collide, collide

she starts to sway her hips to the beat, and i genuinely think i might lose it.

wanna see your body on mine

and collide, collide

her skin is coated with a light layer of sweat, making her body glisten under the lights. she looks like a goddess.

baby it’s all yours if you want me,

all yours if you want me

she looked directly at me when she sang this line, and the feeling of the intense eye contact went straight to my dick.

put it down if you want me tonight

she smirked lightly, no doubt enjoying how red my face was turning. she knows what she’s doing.

she made her way through the song, continuing to tease me. she would slowly run a hand down her body or lean forward to sing to the crowd, giving me a perfect view of her breasts.

god, they look like they’re gonna fall out of her top.

when she got to the bridge, i swear the sound of her voice alone almost made my eyes roll back.

i know that this is love when we touch boy

you got my heart

and can’t nobody make me feel like you do

boy like you do

the fact that there was so much tension between us, despite being so far away was driving me crazy.

it could be one of those nights

where we don’t turn off the lights

wanna see your body on mine and collide, collide

i could listen to the sound of her voice for the rest of my life.

i love it when she talks, when she laughs, when she sings, when she moans.

i swear when she hits certain notes, it almost sounds like she’s moaning. but no one else knows that, because i’m the only one who pulls those sounds from her pretty mouth.

those pretty lips, always soft and glossy, perfect for kissing.

by this point, my dick was throbbing as it pressed against my jeans.

said it’s all yours if you want me,

all yours if you want me

put it down if you want me

let’s collide

her head fell back as she finished the last note, basking in the endless amounts of applause she received.

her neck looks so pretty, i need to kiss it.

she looks up at me again, moving her tongue across her teeth.

yeah, she’s definitely doing this on purpose.

the further she got through her setlist, the more turned on i was.

her tits bounced when she jumped around during her upbeat songs.

at one point, she was full-on twerking. she threw her ass in a circle, her skirt riding up the slightest bit. i fully thought i was going to cum in my pants.

after she finished the last song, she began to adjust her skirt while she gave her closing speech. when she moved her hand, i saw the waistband of her panties peek through.

waistband, if you could even call it that. it became evident that she was wearing a g-string under her skirt.

i completely zoned out of what she was saying, too focused on all of the filthy thoughts that began to flood my mind.

before i knew it, there was another round of applause before she walked off of the stage.

suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

READER POV

after a few minutes, i heard a knock on my dressing room door.

i opened the door to reveal matt and i quickly pulled him in before closing and locking the door.

“hi baby” i whispered.

“hi my love” he said before placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

“you did amazing, baby. and you sound better and better every time you sing”

i looked down bashfully, the corner of my lips turning up into a grin. “thanks”

he placed his finger under my chin, pushing it up to look at him.

“ you shy now, baby? didn’t seem like it when you were shaking your ass on that stage”

i glanced at his lips before looking back up at his eyes.

“you liked that, baby?” i asked as i turned around, moving my hair over my shoulder.

i began to grind on him, moving my ass on his hard dick.

“fuck yes, baby. shittt” he groaned as one of his hands wrapped around my waist, the other moving to grab my boob through my top.

the hand that was around my waist moved under my panties, gently rubbing my clit.

“fuckkkk matt” i sighed out, my head pressing against the door.

his breathing got heavy as he rutted his hips against my ass, pushing his face into the crook of my neck.

“talk to me baby, please. gotta here that pretty voice” he choked out as his voice got slightly higher in pitch.

“ yeah baby? like the way my ass feels against your bulge? want me to twerk on you?” before he could answer, i bent over slightly.

my skirt inched up, exposing my ass and making his fully erect cock dig into it.

“fuck! you can’t do that, baby. i’m gonna cum”

“take these off for me” i said, pulling on his jeans.

he quickly complied, unbuckling his belt and pulling them off while i turned around to face him.

he swiftly picked me up, bringing me over to a vanity and placing me down on top of it.

my back was pressed up against the mirror, which was cool against my burning skin.

he brought his lips to mine in a hot, desperate kiss.

his hands crept under my skirt, pulling my panties off without breaking the kiss.

he smoothly pocketed them before collecting my wetness with his finger, using it as a lubricant to push his digit inside of me.

“shit, matt” i moaned out as he fucked me with his finger.

i reached down between us, stroking his length through his boxers.

he added another finger, stretching me out.

“oh my god, matt. so fucking good” my eyebrows furrowed as i leaned my forehead against his.

“gotta make sure my princess is nice and stretched, never wanna hurt you” he spoke between grunts.

i moved my fingers to the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down and watching his dick slap his stomach.

his tip was red and covered in pre-cum.

he removed his fingers from my aching pussy while i pumped him a few times, before guiding him inside of me.

we both groaned at the feeling of my walls squeezing him as i took him inch by inch.

he gave me a minute to adjust before thrusting into me deep and hard.

i screamed his name, probably loud enough for anyone outside of the room to hear.

“yes baby, lemme hear that gorgeous voice. god, i love hearing you say my name”

matt pushed his hips up into mine with full force, his hands on my waist to hold me steady.

“you feel so good wrapped around me like this baby. you’re so good” he whispered.

he pushed me into the mirror with each thrust, producing a loud thud each time it hit the wall.

the vanity shook under me as he kept up his relentless pace.

matt took my legs and hooked them over his shoulder, continuing to ram into me.

i felt my orgasm approaching, and i grabbed onto matt’s biceps, needing something to hold onto.

“matt matt matt, i’m gonna cum!” i yelled frantically.

“me too, give it to me baby. wanna feel you dripping down my cock” his words sent me over the edge.

with a final cry i released all over him, while he filled me up.

he thrusted a few more times, helping us ride out our highs before pulling out.

“god damn” i whispered out as we watched our juices spill out of me.

“you’re so fucking amazing” he said as he cleaned us up.

after we got dressed and made our appearances look somewhat presentable we stepped out of the dressing room.

“where are your brothers?” i asked with furrowed brows.

i pulled out my phone and saw a text from nick.

we’re going outside to wait. we can hear you freaky fucks from across the venue.

matt and i looked at each other and bursted out laughing.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sturnspepsi @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @sturns-posts @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf

[elsweetheart]

I might be a complete slut to think about it, but imagine dealer!ellie coming in from a night when business wasn't good, and fucking you with the strap to take out her frustration

we’re all sluts here *spoken like the cheshire cat*

all circuits are busy, goodbye

🎀 weed mentions but no smoking of it, ellie is frustrated, mentions of dealing, strap on sex lol, daddy kink, ellie gets a call and answers it during, another lana title from the song dealer how ironic, brief breeding kink ?? i hate this a lot btw

“fuck, man.” ellie sighed as she pushed the door to her dorm open — brows pinched and jaw tense, backpack already slumping down by the door in its usual spot. you sat up from her bed where you were laid down reading, dressed in just an incredibly oversized shirt that she had stolen a long time ago from joel and a pair of socks having had a shower and forgot to bring more underwear. you frowned at her glum demeanour as she harshly unzipped her jacket and threw it aside — not even caring to hang it up.

“wha’s wrong?” you asked sleepily, glancing at the clock as you placed your book aside— only to see she was home much earlier than she usually would be from one of these parties.

“waste of fuckin’ time.” she leant down slightly, lifting her black backpack off the ground just a little as she looked at you pointedly. “see how heavy that is? s’not money in there— it’s all the shit i left this room with.” she threw the bag aside, walking further into the dorm and groaning, hands clasping at the back of her neck as she tipped her head back.

“m’sorry els. bad business is the worst.” you sighed.

“and fuckin’ — then — before i’ve even sold shit, i get word that the cops were outside tryna shut the party down cos’ of noise complaints — so i had to haul ass over the fence in the backyard and get the hell out of there.” she divulges, talking expressively with her hands the same way she always did when she got super passionate. you wanted to smile at this, but didn’t wanna piss her off.

“that sucks.” you pout sympathetically, not wanting to take any of the limelight as you knew she’d probably feel better once she vented.

“i blew off that other party for this one thinking those rich kids would empty their pockets but no— man, i should have hit the other one.” her voice raised a little in frustration, eyes scrunching up in stress.

“s’okay, ellie. there’s always next time.” you reassured and for the first time she actually stopped to take you in for a moment. your bare legs hung off the bed, her tshirt barely covering the necessities. you opened your arms to her and she stepped forward— angry frown still etched onto her face before she let you hug her. the hug lasted about two seconds, before she took your face in her grip and kissed you. you let out a soft moan, her usual kisses long forgotten and to be replaced with a rougher version of her — someone a little frustrated and still very much in love. she kissed you until she was a little out of breath and you could feel your arousal dampening your folds.

she pushed into you with her kiss, making you lean back until you were laying down. your hand tugged the tshirt between your legs to cover your indecency, your hips still on full display, shirt having ridden up. ellie pulled back, standing back up and gazed at you, eyes dropping to the way you covered yourself modestly. she pushed your hand away without a word, panting from the makeout session and the t-shirt dropped from your hand and landed just below your belly button, your bare pussy left on full display. your legs were a little spread from the position she’d laid you in, and you were embarrassed to feel her eyes on your wet heat.

you were sitting up on your elbows, waiting for her next move as you stared up at her with wide doe eyes as if requiring instruction. she wet her lips, hands finally sliding up your thighs as she hovered over you. “need a little something from you.” she whispered, like it was your little secret.

she leant down and kissed you, giving you limited space to reply. “anything els. can do anything.” you whispered back eagerly, between kisses gazing up at her with an expression she can only describe as eager to please.

she pushed your thigh open, head bowing to look at between your legs between kisses. “yeah? gonna let me fuck you? need to fuck you baby.” her kisses sped up, barely giving herself room to speak as you felt her hands start to roam you — touching and squeezing everywhere until you were whining into her mouth.

“mhm, take it out on me.” you whimpered and she hummed in approval. she pulled away without warning and slid two hands beneath you, flipping you to lay on your front with a quiet yelp. without skipping a beat, she pulled you by your legs and slid you towards the edge of the bed til your ass was pressed to her thighs where she stood. she gave your ass a good natured slap before stepping down to get her strap, but not before she stuffed a folded pillow beneath your hips and pressed a kiss to your back. “always my good girl.”

•

you were pretty sure the base of the strap was wrecked with your pearly cum as ellie pounded you from behind, hands pressing down on your back exactly where she needed you. the arousal that had gathered at the base of the plastic attached to ellie’s harness created to a string against your ass cheek everytime she tugged you back to the tip of her cock. “fuckin’ messy pup.” she spoke through grit teeth before groaning when you clenched, creating more tension that pushed back against her own cunt through the harness. “don’t even remember what got me so fucked up.” she breathed out a chuckle as she pulled her tshirt up, so that her sports bra was on display slightly. she tucked the tshirt beneath her chin so she had a better view of you fucking against her. “shit, m’not even nearly done with you. could keep fuckin’ you like this all night. bet you’d like that, huh?” she gave your ass a light slap to prompt a reply — which you gave her in the form of a whine.

“just wanted to be helpful, daddy.” you were so fucked out you had no idea what was coming out of your mouth and you didn’t mind, you loved being in this mindset actually — so submissive that everything else just melted away. everything was ellie.

she didn’t get to respond, because her phone loudly buzzed out it’s ringtone besides you, her phone having been briefly chucked from her pocket when she was strapping up to get out the way. “you’re fucking kidding me.” she groaned quietly, and you expected her to click decline — surprised when she shoved the phone against her ear, tucking it against her shoulder as she used two hands to continue to pull you on and off her cock. you gasped into the sheets, doing your best to stay quiet.

“what, dude. make it quick.” you could tell she was trying to sound like she had enough oxygen in her lungs to resume conversation and if you weren’t so thoroughly fucked out you’d have laughed. you wondered if he could hear the sound of your ass slapping against her thighs as she sped up her thrusts.

“fuck no, i left. is that all? because i’m real fuckin’ busy right now and i’d rather — yes, okay whatever. just don’t call this phone til’ the morning, asshole.”

she’d slapped decline and tossed the phone back on the bed and you let out a relieved moan. at the sound she pulled out and rolled you over, rushing to pull your hips back to where she needed them as she leant over you to kiss you desperately. “good girl, stayed quiet.” she noted briefly and you felt the tip push against your hole again before she was sinking back in, the both of you moaning at just how easy it was. her hand slot between the two of you to grind against your clit as she readjusted. “you deserve… fuck, wanna cum inside that pretty pussy.” she whispered, almost to herself — but the idea was enough to hurtle you closer to another orgasm.

but, you pocketed the idea for now, making mental note to google breeding straps.

[writersblog20]

Pancakes and a Milkshake

Pedro Pascal x reader

Summary: When everything gets a little bit too much and you have a slight moment of crisis, Pedro comes to the rescue with pancakes and a milkshake. Who would’ve thought what pancakes and milkshakes could bring you

Warnings: mention of anxiety and stress, edibles and smoking weed, reader gets picked up in her sleep by Pedro, vomiting because of stress, mention of a nightmare, calming medication

Words: 3,6K

A/N: So this is actually happening and I just can’t…. I need Pedro to take me out for pancakes and a milkshake and comfort me because I don’t know how I’ll survive on Monday. Please wish me luck and pray for me that I won’t make a fool out of myself

Pancakes and Milkshakes🥞🍨

To say you were stressed was an understatement. You were in the midst of exams and school made it way more troubled than it had to be. For example, they just told you that you had to have a conversation with an potential client from the branch where you wanted to go in. So you had to ask your boss, the one you unfortunately fell in love with. You had to choose him because that would be the most obvious decision and it would help you with your grade.

But now you were panicking and stressing about it for obvious reasons. For starters, you weren’t only dealing with the stress and anxiety about your oral exams but also the stress and anxiety with seeing your boss again, for the first time in a very long time, knowing that those feelings come rushing back and you really weren’t waiting for that.

Anyway, the point is, you were beyond exhausted and stressed yourself out to no point. Pedro saw it and wanted to help you but you shut yourself off. You were even counting the days. If it was just an oral exam with your teacher you wouldn’t have 90% of the stress that you were experiencing now.

Pedro stayed with you for a while so he could film in the location without renting a house. You and Pedro met on a set where you helped your uncle and you both hit it off right from the bat. You have never felt comfortable so fast with someone you just met. So when days passed and Pedro told you about the terrible place he was renting, you offered him a room in your house. Pedro didn’t want to be a burden so with some back and forth, you finally convinced him that he wouldn’t be a burden and that you would actually enjoy some company.

So that’s how we got to this point. You and Pedro had some amazing days already. You cooked together, watched some sitcoms and movies that he wanted you to see and it was just amazing. You couldn’t explain how you felt so incredibly comfortable around him. Yeah he definitely deserved the title zaddy from the internet.

So today was a lazy day. But as the days grew closer, the higher your anxiety and stress got to you. You weren’t sleeping well, felt physically sick and drained to the bone. Pedro could see it from a mile away. The bags underneath your eyes and the how much you’ve clenched your jaw that it was even visible when you weren’t clenching. Yeah you were a mess. You did tell Pedro the situation but you couldn’t bring yourself to open up more. That wasn’t because of Pedro. No it was because you didn’t want to say it out loud because if you did, then it would be real so you kept it shut because you really did believe that this was the way to keep in control of the situation when the day would come.

Pedro made some dinner but you really had no appetite. It was silent at the table and Pedro kept a close eye on you while eating the pasta he made and drank some of his wine. “You know what we should do?” he asked you with a smirk on his face and a playful undertone. You looked up and chuckled slightly at his mischievous look. “Edibles….. Or smoke a joint. Doesn’t really matter but why don’t we get high tonight?” he asked you and you chuckled a little, sitting back in your chair, looking at Pedro to see if he was serious, which he was. His face said it all with the raised eyebrow and playful smile on his face.

You looked down and thought about it. “Yeah, why not. At this point I’ll do anything to feel a bit relaxed.” You chuckled. Pedro immediately got a big smile on his face and leaned more forward. “Okay, so I got gummy bears, lollypops, even cotton candy and of course normal weed.” You chuckled. “I’ll think I’ll smoke a joint and maybe take a gummy bear” You told him with a smirk and took a sip of your red wine. Pedro smiled “Alright then.”

After dinner, you cleaned the kitchen since Pedro cooked. He came downstairs with the edible and weed. “You know how to roll sweetheart?” Pedro asked you. You shook your head “No just how to put everything in and crush it but not how to roll.” Pedro nodded with a soft smile “Alright, I’ll show you.” you smiled and nodded. You searched for a vinyl to listen to and put it on the record player. Pedro smiled as he heard the tune. You put some blues on for now and sat next to Pedro.

You had a pretty cozy livingroom to say the least. A lot of things were from wood so it gave a cabin vibe but a bit bigger and a  little more luxurious because of the kitchen and how big your house was. It wasn’t a very big house, more regular but still bigger than a cabin if you know what I mean. The candles illuminated both of your faces while Pedro showed you how to roll a joint. He gave you one so could try it but obviously it wasn’t so  easy the first time and Pedro saw your frustration and chuckled softly, taking it from you. “It’s okay babe, it almost never happens that you get it the first time. It takes practice.” You nodded. You filled the joint and let Pedro roll it so you were still doing something.

You put on the fireplace since it started snowing pretty bad and sat back in your place, your feet up on the table just like Pedro. He gave you a gummy and you clinked it as if it was a wine glass. You both chuckled and ate the edibles before smoking the joint, passing it over to each other. You leaned your head on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. You could already feel some of the tension leave your body and making you feel fuzzy.

You and Pedro started chatting about everything and listening to the music with some laughter in between because of the high. After a while you decided to watch a movie while Pedro lit the other joint. He could see that you were trying to lay down comfortably on the couch but was failing miserably. “Come here, princess. Rest your head on my lap.” He told you softly and scooted closer to you, taking a blanket and a pillow with him. He placed the pillow on his lap as you turned around to lay your head on his lap. When you finally laid down comfortably, he placed the blanket over your body. You held a part of his leg, for some more comfort and Pedro was completely fine with that.

Pedro softly went with his hand over your head and an adoring smile on his face. “This better princess?” You nodded softly, completely relaxed and high at this point. “Yeah, this is very nice. Thank you.” you mumbled a bit and Pedro had that same soft smile on his face. He bended forward a bit so he could place a kiss on your head. Pedro started the movie and now and then passed you the joint. This wasn’t the first time smoking a joint so you knew how much you could take and handle.

Pedro had his arm resting around your body and you felt so safe, relaxed and comfortable with him that you started to feel fuzzy inside and not from the weed this time. Pedro softly rubbed your arm while being glued to the tv. Your eyes started to get heavy and it was a losing battle so you just closed them, falling into a deep slumber.

~time skip~

You woke up from a nightmare and you sat straight up, rubbing your face. You looked around and saw that you were in your room. Pedro must’ve brought you to bed. You were sweating and your breathing was uneven when all the panic and stress started rushing back to you, making you almost sick to your stomach.

You quickly struggled to get out of bed and to the bathroom, clinging to the toilet and threw everything out. This wasn’t new to you. When you were in a serious amount of stress, it would make you physically ill. Once you were done, you flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth before making your way downstairs to get your calming meds.

You went into the kitchen and struggled to search for your meds with shaky hands until you heard Pedro’s voice. “You looking for these sweetheart?” he asked you softly and you quickly looked at him before slowly nodding. He gave them to you with a sad smile. “Where did you get these?” you asked him. “I saw that you placed them in your bag and figured that you forgot to take them out.” You nodded and took them with a glass of water. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” you asked him softly, feeling guilty.

“Don’t worry about that princess. Let me make you a cup of tea. Go sit on the couch sweetheart.” He told you, making you nod. You made your way to the couch and stared out of your window. The whole city was covered white while more was still falling from the sky. You felt some sort of serenity and calmness floating over you. Snow always had that effect on you.

Before you knew it Pedro sat next to you with the tea. “Thank you P, but you don’t have to stay with me. You need sleep.” You told him, looking at him for a minute and then stared out of the window again. Pedro looked at you in all seriousness. “Y/N, You are more important to me. I’ll stay as long as needed princess. Talk to me.” he told you the last part soft.

You felt fuzzy from what he said to you and you gave him a sad smile but stayed silent. Pedro noticed and nodded before scooping closer to you. “Come here than.” He told you and you were aching for some comfort. Pedro already had his arms open for you as a hint. You climbed over Pedro and sat besides him, your legs over his while the side of your body was tightly against his. His arms wrapped around you. He tucked your head softly underneath his chin and gave a kiss on your head. And that was it. Both staying silent but still he provided all the comfort he could and let’s be real, you really, like really needed this.

You started to calm down a bit. “I’m a bit hungry… but like hungry for fast food…” Pedro suddenly spoke out. You looked up at him confused. “I think we should get some pancakes…. Maybe a milkshake with that?” he hinted with a soft smile. You thought about it and smiled at the idea. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” Your voice so soft that you weren’t sure if he heard you or not. “Okay, let’s get some pancakes, sweetheart. I know I great place that’s open 24/7.” Just with the line “Let’s get some pancakes.” Was an opening to your heart.

You got off Pedro’s lap and stood up. You were wearing an oversized hoodie and joggings, and Pedro was wearing some pajamas with a funny design. You looked down at the two of you. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to change.” You nodded and to be honest, you couldn’t give a fuck about your clothes right now. Pedro smiled and threw his arm around your shoulders, leading you outside and towards his car. You stepped in and now you saw what time it actually was. 2 AM. Pedro noticed and saw how your face fell a bit. “Hey, like I said, you are more important. Besides, I can’t pass up on pancakes with you, are you kidding me?” he made the situation lighter and achieved to get a smile on your face. “Let’s get some pancakes than.” You told him back with a soft but confident smile.

“There’s my girl.” He chuckled, making you smile shyly as he drove off. It didn’t take long to arrive. This was a side of the city that you never really went so seeing this restaurant was a positive surprise. It was like a diner straight from the 80’s. pink everywhere, jukeboxes and everything. You smiled at Pedro who held out his hand for you to grab which you happily applied to do so.

You both walked in, still wearing the pajama’s. It was a sight on its own but you wouldn’t want it any other way. You both sat down in the retro seats. You were happy that they had the lights lower so it gave off a homey and nice vibe.

The waitress walked your way and took your orders. Pancakes and a big strawberry milkshake. When she walked away, Pedro leaned backwards and looked at you. “Princess, I need you to talk to me. bobbling this up, is not going to work. Let me help you carry some of the weight. I might not be able to take it away but then I know how I can help and support you.” Pedro sat more forwards as he took your cold hands in his. Pedro started rubbing them, trying to warm them up. You took a deep sigh and decided to just open up. Maybe it’ll work and if not, then you don’t have that much to lose.

You started telling him about it all. Where it started, what is bothering you right now and what’s going on in your own head. Pedro listened intently to your story, keeping eye contact and held your hands, softly drawing circles with his thumb on the back of your hand. “We’ll get through this and I’ll be besides you with every step. I know it might not help a lot but I want you to know that I am certain that you will nail this. You are too amazing and you are so much stronger than you think. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you and this… I know this is a big deal right now, but I know that you are going to get through this with a good grade. Otherwise, I’ll come to your school and make a scene.” He told the last part to lift the heaviness off.

You chuckled slightly which left a smile on Pedro’s face. “You know I’ll do it!” he told you, making you laugh, knowing he was serious. You nodded. “I know all of that but it’s just the feelings. Feelings aren’t rational, at least not in this moment.” Pedro nodded. “But this helps.” You told him with a soft smile which he returned. You felt that fuzzy feeling inside again when he smiled at you with those soft kind eyes, his bed hair and his silly pajamas which you actually loved a lot.

You took a deep sigh as your meds started to kick in. You nodded “I got this. I just need to survive the days following up to it.” Pedro smiled. “and I’ll help with that, I promise.” He told you and took your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on them, making you smile.

The food arrived with the milkshake that you and Pedro would share. You giggled at how old fashioned it looked and absolutely loved it. It even had a red cherry on top with some sprinkles on the whipped cream. “This looks amazing.” You told him with a smile and looked him. Pedro had that same mischievous smile on his face as he had before. He opened his palm and you saw two gummy bears. You looked at him with a grin and took one. “Cheers” you said as you clinked the gummy’s together and put it in your mouth, Pedro mirroring you.

You didn’t have to worry about Pedro driving because it would probably kick in when you arrived home. ( Edibles take a while sometimes.) You devoured the pancakes, now realizing how hungry you actually were. Pedro smiled, seeing how content you were. Both giggling while you shared the milkshake. You both joked around a little and you felt the stress lifting off of you. When you were done, Pedro paid while you put your coat on. Pedro came back and had something in his hands which made you curios but he put it behind his back. “It’s a surprise.” He told you with a smile. You knew he wasn’t telling you right now so you let it go. “Thank you P. For everything.” You told him and he smiled. “Everything for my favorite girl in the world.” You felt flustered and saw that Pedro was blushing and had a shy smile upon his lips.

You stepped in the car and instead of driving home, he drove to an empty field. You frowned a bit, not knowing what was going on. You’ve been here a million times before and it was close to your house but you didn’t understand why you were here.

You looked confused at Pedro, who smiled. “I know that the snow relaxes you, so this is the perfect spot to drink our extra Slurpee’s I got and smoke a joint before we go inside.” You smiled brightly. Pedro knew you too well. He gave you a couple cd’s so you could pick out the music while Pedro put his feet up on the dashboard and put the windows just a bit down. It was now a bit past 3AM but you couldn’t explain how much this has helped you. If you were still at home than you were a 100% certain that you would have a panic attack and a really bad one at that.

You both stared at the snow falling down while slurping on the Slurpee’s and sharing the joint while listening to the music. “P…?” Pedro looked at you. “Could you maybe stay with me tonight? In case the nightmares come back?” you asked him softly and he just smiled, kissing the top of your head. “Of course I will princess.” You smiled softly and stared in front of you again.

“You ready to go home?” he asked you as it was 4 AM now. You nodded with a yawn, which made Pedro laugh as he drove the last 3 minutes to your house. He opened the door and you shivered as you walked in the house. “Do you want to sleep here or in your bedroom? I really don’t mind.” You nodded but almost felt guilty. “Can we sleep here?” you asked him, feeling like a burden. “So a sleepover! Of course! I’ll get the pillows and blankets! You search for a good movie okay?” Pedro’s excitement washed away your negative feelings. You loved how childlike he sometimes could be but in a good way.

You put the couch out (you could put it out and make a bed from it). Pedro came downstairs but wasn’t even visible behind all the pillows and blankets. You chuckled and helped him out. You both tried to make the bed but you were both as high as a kite. So try making a bed and not fall into a fit of laughter. Finally, you both got the couch to work as a bed. Pedro swinged his arms up as an achievement which made you chuckle.

You laid down and got the tv remote, Pedro joining you. You both put on a movie that interested you both and when it started, it was time to get comfortable. You turned towards Pedro and he already held his arm up so you could lay down on his chest. You held his pajama tightly in your hand while his arm was wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You watched the movie a bit but felt yourself grow tired again. “Thank you for being my favorite person on this earth.” You told Pedro, who chuckled. “And you too for also being my favorite person princess.” He told you and pressed a kiss on your head, pulling you close and let out a deep sigh from relaxation.

The panic and stress wasn’t going away but with Pedro by your side, you knew it was going to be okay. And maybe now, you didn’t have to worry about the feelings towards your boss anymore because Pedro had your heart in his hands, and you trusted him with everything you got. So in the end, it actually worked out and your negative feelings were reduced and positive feelings got into that place.

You finally fell asleep in Pedro’s arms in a deep, peaceful sleep, feeling as if you were in the safest place on earth. And all of that because of some pancakes and a milkshake. One thing was for sure, the universe has it’s own crazy and funny way of how things would go.

[ellabsbitch]

training wheels

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, lil possessiveness, ellie kinda stern with r ngl, she is sweet too tho trust, face slapping, fingering, dirty talk ig, idk what else

a/n: i’ve been trying to finish this for literally so long but today i had a sudden urge to finish it so here we are! i hope you enjoy n lmk what you think. also at first i was using the song “training wheels” by melanie martinez but it doesn’t match a lot but i kept the title. also kinda proofread kinda not so sorry if there’s typos.

wc: 4.1k :0

ever since you walked into Jackson, ellie has felt an overwhelming urge to protect you. she saw how nervous you were when you were meeting everyone and it made her want to take you in her arms and never let go.

eventually, you and ellie became very close friends. the two of you hardly spent time away from each other, unless she went on patrol. nonetheless, the first thing she would do when she got back from patrol was come see you. she loved the look on your face when she surprised you when coming home early. you would practically leap into her arms and tell her how much you missed her.

ellie just loved that about you, how sweet you are. you hardly ever became angry, if anything, you were like a ray of sunshine that ellie desperately needed in her life. the way you always were tending to others and never put yourself first made that funny feeling continue to grow in ellie’s chest, the urge to take care of you.

not only were you so kind, you also were so innocent. when you went to the tipsy bison with ellie and her friends, the group cracked vulgar jokes all night that had everyone crying laughing. meanwhile, when ellie looked to you, she saw the quirk of your brow as you sat in confusion. without explaining, she rubbed the small of your back with a soft smile. she liked that you didn’t understand the crude jokes they made.

one time at one of many sleepovers, ellie was sitting on your living room couch waiting for you to finish getting ready for bed when you came downstairs in the most skimpy pair of pink shorts she had ever seen. not only that, you also adorned a nearly see-through white tank top. with a quick glance at your chest, she immediately took notice that you weren’t wearing a bra either.

ellie’s skin grew hot as she watched you walk towards her, looking like you came straight out of that playboy magazine she found awhile back when she was patrolling with dina. you stood in front of her, fingers tangled together in shyness.

“does this look okay ellie?” you said, finally uncrossing your arms, giving ellie a perfect view of the hardness peaking through the fabric of the tight tank top. ellie didn’t even get a second to retrieve the air back into her lungs before she watches as you turn around, showing off the way the shorts fall so short on your ass that it was leaving nothing to the imagination. the air must’ve made its way back to ellie because she’s sighing out as she stares as your beautiful body, at a loss for words.

“you look beautiful, sweetheart,” she gritted out, all while staring at you with so much adoration. she watches as you giggle and turn back around to jump onto the couch and cuddle up next to her.

“thank you els,” you say, looking up at her with wide eyes, having no clue what you are doing to her.

however, as much as she felt the need to protect you, she also wanted to be the one to ruin you. at sleepovers, when y’all slept settled up right against each other, she dreamt about taking you right there. she often fantasized while on patrol about how you would feel if she ever got the chance to have you, leaving her to excuse herself from her designated patrol partner to deal with her problem else where.

slowly, ellie started to cross the line of friendliness and flirting. whenever out with friends, she would find herself resting her hand on the inside of your thigh if you sat next to her (which was majority of the time). whenever she saw someone staring at you if you guys were out, ellie would pull you tightly into her side and run off the person just from her piercing glare. at your usual movie sleepovers, she led you to her lap during the movie rather than your usual spot next to her. all through the movie, ellie’s hands rubbed from the outside to the inside of your thighs, leaving you with tingles in your lower body.

more recently, ellie found herself reprimanding you when you decided you were going to act out. whenever you began to whine after ellie ended up winning in a game of “go fish”, ellie was quick to correct you with a stern pat to the side of your thigh and a simple, “no whining” that immediately shut you up.

one night when you and her went out with dina and jesse, she watched you and dina dash to the dance floor, leaving her and jesse to talk at the bar. as jesse began rambling on about the patrolling routes, her eyes flitted from him to you every few seconds, making sure you were okay. after double-checking on you, she turns back to jesse and finds herself laughing at the impressions he makes of the people at the bar.

she’d gotten so caught up with jesse that for a moment she forgot where you went, glancing to the barstool next to her. the anxiety in her chest fades away when realization hits her as she remembers you were just dancing with dina. however, the anxiety quickly turns into anger due to the fact she wasn’t expecting to look back at you to find you dancing with one of the guys that work at the bar with Seth. though you seemed to just be having fun, the guy clearly had different intentions than you. for a moment, she watched as he pressed himself into you from behind and she swore she saw red. ellie hastily excused herself from the conversation with jesse and made a beeline to you.

you don’t notice her presence at first, that was until you felt a familiar grip around your wrist, yanking you in the same direction. whipping your head towards her, you don’t even get the chance to see her face at the rate she’s already dragging you away from the scene and out of the bar. your feet tangled together as you struggled to match her pace and after a few minutes of trying and failing to keep up with ellie, your wrist starts to feel numb and you whimper when the grip on your wrists does not let up.

hearing your whimper, her grip loosens and she stops walking all together, now turning to fully face you. finally getting a look at her face, you see a range of emotions dancing in her eyes, most notably, anger. you cower under her angry stare, diverting your eyes to your pink converse that contrast greatly next to her black pair.

the ground becomes very interesting to look at while you avoid your favorite pair of green eyes. before you get the chance to count the 5th rock you’ve started concentrating on, you feel her grip your chin, placing her thumb under your bottom lip and her index under your chin. she lifts your head back up to meet her gaze and she looks as mad as ever.

“i don’t ever wanna see you dancing with anyone like that, okay baby? promise me you won’t do that again.” she says, surprisingly soft for the way her eyes beat down onto you. without a second thought, you nod your head, heart beating out of your chest. she shakes her head, reaching her other hand up to run her fingers through your messy hair, “i need words pretty.”

you shake under her stare, attempting to swallow before responding, “no more els, i’m sorry.” her palms find your cheeks, as she cups your face between them and smiles, “good girl.” the ache between your legs, like the one you get when she touches you, returns at her words and you sigh out, leaning into her palm.

never did you question ellie’s actions, or thought of them as weird considering you two were just friends. you believed she knew what was best for you. in fact, you loved when ellie was more possessive over you. though you didn’t understand what exactly was going on between you two, you knew that ellie was the reason for the pounding between your thighs whenever she was near.

~~~~~~~~

tonight was your weekly movie night. you and ellie were currently sat on your soft couch, cuddled up next to each other watching a movie she found while on patrol the day before. with one glance at ellie, you thought you were going to die at the familiar ache that began to grow between your legs.

ellie was leaned back against the couch, legs spread out in relaxation with her arms resting on the back of the couch. her left arm was right against your back and every so often you would feel her hand dip down and rub at your shoulder. your stare doesn’t falter when she glances down at you and smiles, her eyes meet your own before she turns back toward the flashing colors exuding from the tv. the throbbing grows stronger causing your eyes to glaze over in want. you didn’t know what would stop the ache, but you knew you needed her to touch you.

trying not to make your feelings so obvious, you slowly scoot closer into her side and leaning your head on her upper body. your eyes never leave hers through your movements, though she never even looks at you. you almost whine at the lack of attention she’s giving you but you remember her expressing to you how she doesn’t like whining, she would rather talk to her than whine.

you twitch again, moving even further into her, leaving no room left between you two. at your continued movement, her head turns down towards where you’re staring up at her with a look in your eye that ellie can’t put her finger on. her arm drops from the back of the couch to wrap around your waist, holding you tightly to her.

“what is it, pretty?” she whispers, the loud movie playing in the background. ellie watches as you whimper at the compliment and her eyes drop down to see you try to subtlety squeeze your thighs together.

when she looks back up at your face, she notices you biting your lip as you stare back at her. ellie nearly groans out at the way you are looking at her, eyes glazed over in need.

as for you, her intense gaze makes you nervous, leading you to look down at your lap. ellie is quick to pull your chin back up to face her and you whine out at the physical contact. she tuts at the noise, gripping your chin a little harder.

“hey, none of that. use your words baby,” she says with a stern tone and a shake of her head. the grip she has on your chin only intensifies the want you are craving from her.

you feel your cheeks heat up at the nickname and you suddenly feel very shy. truth be told, you don’t know what is wrong so how can you tell her?. all you know is that you need ellie to make it better.

“it hurts els…” you trail off, starting to slowly move your hips. thought ellie knows exactly what ‘hurts’, she tries her best to put on her best worried expression for you.

“tell me what hurts so i can make you feel better baby,” ellie says, hand moving from your chin to the side of your face, holding your face in her palm.

you lean into the warmth of her palm and nuzzle your cheek into it. ellie smiles down at you, watching as you slowly lose your mind as the intensity of your wanting grew stronger.

you sob out to her, control being tossed out the window, “b-between my legs… it only feels better when you touch me.” with your words, you try to drag the hand that is at your waist down where you need it most.

you don’t get far as ellie is quick to snatch your hand in her iron tight grip. the pleasant look on her face disappears in seconds, now replaced with an icy glare conveniently directed straight at you.

“uh-uh, you ask me nicely to touch you,” ellie grits out at you. unfortunately for you, a whine escapes your lips causing ellie’s grip on your hand and face to tighten even more. “i’m trying to be sweet with you baby but you’re acting like a selfish brat. maybe you don’t deserve my kindness.”

crying out, you begin to beg for forgiveness. “n-no i’m sorry els i’ll be a good girl for you, please i’m sorry,” you find yourself crawling into her lap as you speak without any resistance from her side. ellie looks at you with a skeptical eye and she tilts her head slightly to the side.

“be a good girl and ask nicely for me to touch you,” she finally answers, her touch disappearing from your skin. at the loss of her warm hands on your body, you pout, neediness growing stronger.

“please els, ‘m sorry, j-just need you touch me!” you whine out to her, eyes wide as you take on the lustful gaze in her own. she stares back at you, considering your words.

absentmindedly during her consideration, you grind your core into her jean-covered lap, the thick material sending shots of pleasure to your warmth.

hit with the realization of your movements, ellie’s hands pop up and the iron grip on your hips returns shortly after she lands a heavy slap onto the side of your thigh. she holds your hips down onto her lap, the pressure stimulating your bundle of nerves. eyes now tightly shut, you cry out at the closeness, leaving her to scoff up at you. suddenly, there’s a quick slap the side of your face, whipping your face to the side.

your eyes fall shut as heat spreads across your cheek. tears leak down your reddened face, you peek back open to see those familiar green eyes pouring into youl. her fiery stare matches the harsh grip she keeps on your body, not letting up in the slightest.

“are you too fucking dumb to follow my simple directions? my little slut is so needy she can’t listen to a word i say?” her voice fills the previously silent room, apart from the panting that could be heard from the both of you. you shudder, however you fail to respond to her assertions, leaving her to mockingly coo at you, “that’s okay baby, i’ll just have to make you listen.”

an unfamiliar feeling coursed up and throughout your body at the thought of what’s to come. whether it was fear or excitement, it made you grow even more wet than you already were. in a flash, your pink pajama shorts are being ripped down your shaky body.

gasping at the sudden coolness from the air hitting the insides of your thighs, you try to close your legs to stop from shivering. before you could get your legs shut, ellie’s hands glide down to your knees where she yanks them back open to spread you out for her.

“no more hiding from me baby,” lips slowly turning up into a grin as she glances from your face down to what lies between your thighs. slowly, one of the hands that gripped the back of your knee smooths over your legs up to the waistband of your underwear, in which she runs the tips of her fingers across. her teasing causes your core to ache even more leaving you a whining mess above her. she breaks her trance when her eyes meet yours, lips breaking out into a smirk before her head dips down to leave gentle kisses on your lower abdomen.

she leaves a trail of kisses down to the top of your underwear, each one producing a new wave of chills that roll down your body. ellie pulls away for a moment admiring the whimpering mess that you’ve become before she is yanking your soaked underwear down your legs to fall on top of your forgotten pajama shorts.

still spread out on top of her, you let out a loud moan when the chill air hits your naked center. almost as if she knew, ellie’s grip on your legs tightens the second she feels your legs move to close again. another one of her smirks appears on your face and she pulls her head back up to leave a kiss on your lips, yours wet with tears due to the teasing she’s done thus far. your lips mold along with hers while her hands slip up to rub at the sides of your hips. just as the kiss gets intense, her growing more aggressive as you get more worked up, she pulls away and reaches up to cup your warm face with her rough hands.

“you still with me baby?” she quietly ask, her gaze dancing between your eyes. you immediately nod your head and close your eyes to lean back into the kiss, though you’re pulled back before you can even get close. she’s shaking her head at you when you open your eyes, the grip she has on your face tightening. “i need words sweet girl.”

“y-yes els, i’m with you,” you murmur, so entranced by her beauty that you can hardly think straight. she’s staring back at you with that same lustful look, making you squirm on her lap.

she smirks, “there’s my good girl. now why don’t you lay on the coach for me, okay baby?” once again you nod your head before remembering her previous words, then you respond with an, “okay els.”

you slide off of her lap with ease, eyes glancing toward the movie that had been long forgotten by now. a familiar rough hand reaches down to guide your face back towards the reason for your need and you find those green eyes that you adore so much staring right back at you. ellie smiles down at you, hand drifting up to brush your hair back into place from the messy movements, leaving you sighing at her soft touch. her body cages you from above and you shudder when you glance at her lean arms that stand next to your head. the hand in your hair trails back down to stroke your jaw as she gets situated on top of you.

“you just needed my help, huh pretty girl? your little cunt was aching so bad, you just needed me to make you feel better?” she pouts down at you, still stroking the side of your face. you whine at the truth behind her words, knowing she is exactly what you needed.

“yes els, need you to make it stop!” you whine out, back unknowingly arching up towards her touch. ellie can’t help but grin at the desperation of your words, the hand not occupied with your face smoothing down toward the place you need her most.

“i’ll make it better for you sweet girl, you don’t have to whine,” she says slightly giggling at your neediness. you pout at her laughs and as soon as she notices, she’s apologizing. “sorry baby, you just look so cute when you’re needy…” she states with a smile. heat rises up your neck but you can’t be bothered to cower away in embarrassment, too needy for her touch.

without further teasing, she eases her hand down to your spread legs and slowly begins to swipe up and down your slit. you cry out at the feeling, keeping your eyes trained on her concentrated expression. she glances up at your face for a moment before she starts thumbing at your clit.

“you’re so wet baby, and i’ve barely touched you. it must’ve been hurting so bad, huh?” she coos down at your pouting face. you nod quickly at her assumption, rocking your hips to meet each movement she makes on your cunt. “my sweet girl, i’ll make you feel better.”

with her words, she eases her way to your little hole, rubbing at the wetness that’s collecting there. slowly, she sinks her middle finger into her wanting hole and you can’t help but arch your back at the intrusion. you moan out at the new sensation, shuddering from the warmth that she provides you.

“e-els…” voice cracking at the slow pace she drags on, letting you get used to the new feeling. her hand at your cheek strokes your face as she peers back up at you.

“sh, sh, shhh, i got you baby, just take it for me,” she nearly moans herself, your beautiful body captivating her thoughts. her slow pace has you wanting more now that the initial pain subsides and you whine out a, “m-more please ellie!” she grins but nonetheless, slips out of you before gathering up more of your wetness to ease in her ring finger along with her middle finger.

the fullness you feel sends shots of pleasure up your body, leaving you a panting mess below her. she takes your moans of pleasure as a sign to quicken her movements, as she speeds up the attack on your aching center. ellie’s fingers pound into your cunt at an alarming pace that brings tears down your face and whimpers from your lips.

“yeah, this is just what you needed, huh baby? needed me to fuck the neediness outta ya’?” ellie groans out at the sight of the mess you’re making around her fingers. the sight only makes her fingers quicken and she find the spot that will send you over the edge if she keeps up the pace.

“y-yes needed it so bad! needed y-your fingers els,” whining out to her, feeling an overwhelming sensation take over your body. you feel something new building up lower and you welcome it with a loud cry.

“yeah just like that, sweet girl. just let go for me,” ellie replies, eyes never leaving your blown out orbs, glazed over in desire. her pace never falters, even as you’re screaming out as you near your release. you feel the new sensation start to come undone and you call out her name as you release all over her fingers. she guides you through your orgasm, free hand cradling your cheek as she whispers praises from above, and she slowly begins to ease the pace she has on your cunt. the tears don’t stop while you come down from your high, eyes staring up at ellie’s, taking in her words that leave your body shaking underneath her.

“that’s my good girl, you did so good for me. i’m so proud of you baby,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the tears that still trickle for the corner of your eyes. once you’ve finally reached the end of your release, ellie gently slips her fingers from you and wipes her hand before reaching her hand up to join the other as she cradles your face between them. her kisses are littered across your entire face, sending you in a fit of giggle at the tickling sensation they leave behind. ellie pulls away to smile down at you, leaving one final kiss on your swollen lips. she disconnects the tender kiss to look at you once more, admiring your reddened cheeks and watery eyes.

“my beautiful girl,” she states with a soft smile that has you blushing even more. you watch as she gets up from the couch with a quick “be right back” and she disappears into the darkness. when she returns, she has a washcloth and a new pair of underwear along with some new sleep shorts for you to wear. softly, she cleans you up, quick apologies leaving her lips if she grazes a sensitive area. once she has you cleaned up, she helps you get into your new clothes before laying you back down onto the couch. ellie grabs the nearest blanket, yearning to get back to you as soon as possible, and bundles you both up underneath it. she slides in behind you and holds you in between her arms, leaving a kiss to your head when she notices your eyes drifting closed. you hear her mumble out a gentle, “rest my sweet girl,” before you fall into the most restful slumber you’ve had in weeks, between her warm embrace.

[cupids-scream-queen]

A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 6 // 3.5k words

-> Part 5

Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, graphic descriptions of murder, homophobic slur (once), details of dismemberment.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He hadn’t called. He apologized for it at school, telling you that Sidney called, and keeping up appearances, he couldn’t leave her hanging. He told you he’d come by tonight, or perhaps call, but to keep an eye and ear out for him. You promised you would.

The first time your phone rang after Billy left was Tatum, confirming your presence at her house on Friday night—two days away. Agreeing, you wrote down her address, and wrote down a shopping list of supplies you’d need to have in order for it to be, in Tatum’s own words, a successful sleepover. A list including alcohol, weed, and nearly every movie with Tom Cruise in it.

The second time your phone rang was Ghostface, though you weren’t quite sure which one it was at first. The tone was dull and inviting, which initially led you to believe it was Billy, but one key detail led you to correctly guessing Stu—the slang.

“Dammit, he was right,” The voice changer off, Stu was clearly upset. “I guess I do have a way of talking.”

“Everyone does, Stu, it’s called dialect,” You tell him, but he ignores you, continuing to rant about how he doesn’t understand that people can figure out who you are based on what kind of language you use, or how you use it. “It’s kind of like how different actors can play different roles without coming across as the same person. It’s how people speak.”

“So like, how Johnny Depp is in fucking…Edward Scissorhands, and is also in Freddy’s Dead?”

“Kind of. You don’t think of Edward when you’re watching Glen on screen, do you?”

“No, I just see the character.”

“Exactly, it’s because the characters are fundamentally different from one another. You and Billy may operate on the same wavelength, but you two still have characteristics that make y’all unique.”

“Oh. I got it,” You giggled, and Stu joined in for a second. “Sorry, I’m kind of stupid.”

“Is that what Stu stands for?” You teased, and you could practically feel Stu’s comeback.

“No, it stands for Smart Terrific Unit,” He confidently confided. “And it means my parents definitely love me.”

“Do they have resentment towards you or something?”

“A bit, yeah. Ever since my younger sister died. My older siblings moved out of the house, and they kind of distanced themselves from it, too. They didn’t want to be home, they didn’t want to be near me.”

“Was her death your fault?”

“Not really, no. I was just being a negligent older brother, that’s all,” Stu chuckled a bit, but you knew it sounded kind of sad. You hadn’t realized that Stu had actually had to deal with death before, death with someone that he loved.

“My brother died,” You confided. “Not too long ago. And my stepfather. My biological father killed both of them, and then my mother shot him in self-defense.”

“Is that why you started…?”

“Yes, it is. As a form of control more than anything. I guess I just was tired of feeling powerless, so I started to take the power away from people, even if they had nearly nothing. It made me feel better, and it still does. I’m not sorry for it,” You tell him, and you could tell that this was the sort of conversation Stu hadn’t had in a very, very long time.

“So does that mean you won’t stop?”

“I don’t know,” You confessed. “I might, I might not. Not right now, that’s for sure, but once I’m older…who knows? I might become the world’s most prolific serial killer.”

“Naw, that’s the title Billy and I are after. Ghostface is gonna rule the world.” Billy and him. The terrific two. The dynamic duo. The terrifying twins. They weren’t including you in their plans. You felt something like sadness. “What if I joined in?”

“What, you start killing like us? Wearin’ the mask and shit?”

“Yeah, just for a few kills. What if we start planning massive kills, together, and confuse crowds? It’s not like we’re going to get caught if we’re careful.”

“We’d have to run it by Billy, the dickwad likes to control everything,” Stu laughed, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe this weekend after the Slumber Party Massacre?”

“Sure, we’ll run it by him. I don’t see the harm in that—but there’s gonna be harm later.”

“Are you excited to kill Tatum? Do you have a motive?”

“Not really—just peer pressure. I’m far too sensitive. She’s also a bitch and a whore—she cares too much about her appearance and reputation to be anything other than a shallow cunt.”

“Why date her?”

“Get close to Sid and ‘em. Y’know that’s who we’re after, right? Sid. Tatum’s murder is just gonna be because she’s friends with the wrong kind of people.”

“What are we gonna do with Randy?” “Randy?” Stu mused. “Billy’s got something in mind for him. I guess Bill doesn’t like how close Randy’s gotten to you, and if I’m being honest, I don’t either.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“He looks at you like you’re a goddamn fleshlight,” Stu deadpanned, his tone flat. “And I, personally, do not like it.”

“Is there any reason?” You twirled the phone cord around your finger, liking the way this conversation was going.

“If there was, I’m not telling you,” Stu said decidedly. You decided you wouldn’t push him to answer you—if Billy’s display to you earlier was anything to go off of, both killers had a particular spot in their hearts for you, and you were going to use that to your advantage, even if you knew, deep down, you had feelings for them as well.

“Ah. Well, Billy said he’d call me tonight, and I guess I kind of owe him that,” You tell him, and you could sense Stu’s tension.

“Why not just meet up with both of us tonight?” He asked, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“My mom would fucking slaughter me,” You tell him, and he kind of made a small whining noise at the other end of the phone. “If you want, you can come over.”

“I might take you up for that,” Stu said, and you weren’t sure if he was entirely joking. “Might even bring Billy.”

“And what would we even do? Plan a murder?”

“Pay our pal Randy a little visit.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

It was nearly a quarter to one in the morning when you, Billy, and Stu finally all met up at your house. Billy brought the famed ladder, and he and Stu climbed up to your window, where you let them in. This time, both of the boys brought bookbags filled with things you knew were instruments to aid their destruction. You had the same thing as well.

“As you know, Stu and I are Ghostface,” Billy began, and Stu looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “And you’re going to become one of us.”

“Is this a fucking cult?” You playfully asked, and Billy hushed you.

“Now, you’re going to prove yourself to Stu and I tonight. Randy’s home alone, and will be for the next three days. Tonight, you will go and kill Randy, by methods Stu and I employed to Casey and her boyfriend. If the murder is successful, you’ll be allowed to wear one of these,” Billy pulled a mask out of the bag, and another identical one. Stu took out his mask, and started aiming it around like a slingshot. “Don’t dick off with those, Stu, I don’t know if I can find other ones.”

“Lighten up, they’re like five bucks a pop,” He aimed it at Billy and let go, but surprisingly, Billy caught it.

“You’ve lost mask privileges tonight, Stuart,” Billy said, pocketing the mask. “Anyways, you’re going to kill Randy, and we’re going to guide you through what to do. These ain’t your normal killings, they’re fun, gruesome, and belong in a movie of their very own.”

“In other words, you’re Michael Myers wannabes with a phone connection?”

“No—we’re artists,” Stu collapsed on your bed, his shoes on your comforter. You held your tongue from saying anything, even though you wanted to scream at him to get off your bed with his musty crusty dusty ass shoes on it.

“Okay, so what? Am I going to prank call Randy, freak him out, torture him, chase him around a bit, cut him up, scare him to death, then stab him and take his organs out and hang them on the clothesline?”

“Something like that, sure,” Billy eyed you, not suspiciously, but carefully. Wondering to see how you’d fair tonight. He knew you weren’t an amater killer, hell, you’ve done it more times than he and Stu. But he knew yours lacked fanfare. Yours lacked style. You were a teenager with a knife, they were teenagers with a cunning plan. And now you were involved in this plan, and he wanted to see if you were capable of doing your duty and making this plan succeed.

“We’ll start heading out a two, I want to kill him at roughly three-thirty,” You suggested, and the two of them nodded. “What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Get to know you better, babe,” Stu slung his arm around you jokingly, but surprisingly to him, you didn’t move. You watched Billy carefully as you did this, noticing the peculiar glance in his eyes that made you realize that perhaps, Billy had feelings for multiple people in your bedroom.

“We could watch a movie,” You offered, and Billy shook his head.

“Nothing interesting. You’d put on some fucked up 20’s movie knowing you,” He clicked his tongue twice, indicating that he’d thought of something. “What about we play spin the bottle?”

“There’s three of us, that’s a party game,” You pointed out, giggling. Stu nudged you, indicating that you should shut up, or perhaps suggest something different that didn’t involve kissing. “Truth or dare?”

“That’s a girl’s game,” Stu wrinkled his nose in disgust, moving his arm from you. He got up, and trodded towards Billy, and flung his arms around him. “We’re men.”

“You’re a fag,” Billy deadpanned, but he didn’t move. Stu hung off of him like a deadweight, yet Billy did not attempt to remove the boy. You curiously stared at them.

“Maybe we could bake?”

“Isn’t your mother home?” Billy asked, and you shook your head.

“You two suck at stalking. She’s gone tonight, she’s out with some dude. I don’t know who he is, though, and quite frankly don’t care. She’s out of my shit and I stay far away from hers.”

“We kind of gave up on you,” Stu admitted, and Billy hit him in the back of the head.

“Don’t admit shit like that, idiot,” Billy said. He turned towards you. “Don’t worry about him, doll. He’s just a little talkative when there’s murder in the room.”

“Right. Well, wanna see my knife collection?” You offered, and the boys looked like they’d just won the lottery.

“Hell yes!” Stu lept up from his sulking place, and ran over to your side. Billy joined you two as you opened the doors of your closet, revealing two swords hung up on the wall, and a bin full of knives, all with their sheaths on.

“Holy fuck.”

“You really are the Knife Girl,” Billy said, his tongue in his cheek. You hadn’t seen the expression on the boy’s faces before, but you assumed it was as close to pure joy as they could feel.

“No shit, I didn’t get that nickname for nothing,” You stepped away, letting them look at the blades in awe. “I don’t kill with the majority of those.” They didn’t seem to care, though. You watched as they took blade after blade, finding the ones that best suited their hands, finding the ones that were pretty or sharpest or the ones that you most liked. They found your murder blades, the knife they got you, and all sorts of other sharp objects. They liked it. You could tell this was an intimate moment for the three of you.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Three rapidly approached, and the three of you had to start moving to Randy’s house for that night’s murder. Dressed in the Ghostface gear, you clumsily went down the ladder, nearly tripping at a few parts. The long robes of the killer costume was a tripping hazard, and you briefly wondered why they hadn’t mentioned it, until you remembered you were using Stu’s robes, and he was nearly a foot taller than you. It wasn’t a hazard for them.

You crept through the night, joining the boys in the backseat of Stu’s car, and started your drive to Randy’s. The car was silent, but the boys were in their element, though nobody dared to speak a word. Everyone knew the familiar buzz you’d get before you took a life. It was something that was addicting, and you knew it with every bone in your body. You relished the feeling of taking life, and you knew that Billy and Stu felt the exact same way.

You pulled up to the house, which was a small two-story one situated on top of a hill. The flowerbeds were neat and tidy, the house a light white color. The front porch lights were on, and you could see the light on in what you assumed to be Randy’s room.

“Call him,” Stu whispered, handing you the phone. You dialed Randy’s number, surprised that you remembered it at all. “And make sure the voice changer is on.”

You did as you were told, and began your speech to make Randy afraid. Terrified. You could hear his amusement at first, when you asked him his favorite horror movie. You could hear the first tremblings of his breathing when you asked if his bedroom was the one with the light on. You could hear the pounding of his heart as you knocked on the back door, and you could hear how he was absolutely afraid when you, Billy, and Stu knocked from different entrances.

“Get the fuck away from my house,” Randy’s voice was shaky, and you knew you struck a chord with him. “Get the fuck away before you get hurt.”

“Funny thing to say when you’re the one who wants to die.” You taunted, and threw a rock at the window, breaking it. You could hear the yelp on Randy’s end even without the phone. “Randy, do you want to play a game?”

“What the fuck do you want man—what the fuck,” Randy’s desperate pleas on the other end excited you, made you drunk with power. You were in control of the variables here. And Billy and Stu were here to guide you.

“Play a game with me, Randy,” You hear him move in the house, grabbing a kitchen knife. If there was any chance of getting injured, you knew Billy or Stu would step in. They didn’t want to see you get hurt. “Let’s play hide and go seek. If I find you, you die. I’ll count to…hm, let’s see. Is forty seconds enough? Yes, I’ll count to forty seconds. If you hide and I do not find you, you win. If I find you, you’re dead.”

“What the hell,” You could hear Randy crying at the other end, but you didn’t care. You enjoyed this with every fiber of your being, and you wanted to keep this going as long as possible. Stu looked at you, and slipped his mask on. Part two of the plan.

Randy stood no chance of surviving. Realistically, there were far too many of you and only one of him, and he had no experience with anything of this caliber before. One of you would enter the house through each of the entrances, and once you found Randy, you were to whoop or holler or make some kind of noise to alert the others. Once the others are alerted, the three of you are to kill Randy at once, a frenzy of attack.

The third part of the plan was stringing his insides out on the clothing line. This was your added touch, a small detail of gruesome carnage that made Billy swear he would have kissed you right there and then.

You had the front door, and you carefully went inside. The house was still, silent. You paid attention to try and hear any breathing. There weren’t many hiding spots, and you knew Randy might’ve gotten creative. You prayed that one of the boys found where Randy was.

Luck was not on your side. You whooped as you spotted Randy ducked behind a couch, and the two other whoops let you know they were on their way. Scuttling out from behind the couch, Randy tried to attack you with a knife, but you tripped him, causing him to fall. The knife fell from his grip, and you kicked it away from his reach.

Your knife went down on him nearly at once, right in the shoulder blade. Deep. It was joined by a second knife, Billy’s, which was aimed at the back of his neck. Stu was only a few seconds later, plunging his knife into the other shoulder. You started to take your knife out, twisting as you went, Randy’s screams and cries of horror and pain motivating you to do more. You started to stab at his back, hearing the cracking of his ribs encouraged you to do more. Still alive, you heard Randy’s breathing take a sharp inhale as you stepped on his back with all of your strength, lodging your knife deeper within his body. Billy tapped you on the shoulder. Phase three.

You took your knife out of Randy, which took some effort, and you and Stu flipped him over. Randy was still alive, barely moving as Stu undressed him. Completely naked, Randy’s eyes were like a deer’s as Billy placed his knife right above a nest of pubic hair, but then stopped, and looked at you, as if to tell you that this was going to be your kill. You put your knife where Billy’s was just moments ago, relishing the feeling of having someone under your mercy like this. The boys watched as you slowly started to carve your way through Randy’s body, and Randy started to move his arms down to stop you. Billy and Stu lodged their knives in his arms, trapping him to the floor. You made a cut across Randy’s body, and then made the killing blow: ripping his throat out, leaving the blood splatter to the floor. Upon the death of Randy, Billy was the first to speak.

“Do you want to gut him or will Stu and I?”

“I’d like to help,” You said, already starting to poke around in the chest cavity with your blade. “After all, doing laundry is a woman’s job.”

“Spoken like a real one,” Stu joked, and joined you with poking in Randy’s body. You two cut out his stomach and intestines, and handed them to Billy, who put them in a yellow laundry basket that he found upstairs while you were searching for Randy just moments before. Various parts of Randy made it in the basket, including his heart, but Billy took it out of the basket.

“We should leave this in his parent’s room, don’t you think?” The grin on his face was sinister, and you nodded alongside Stu. Billy chuckled, putting the basket on the floor. “Finish gutting him. I’m going to set up a surprise for the happy couple.”

You and Stu did as you were told, finishing emptying Randy’s body. You weren’t sure of their plan with the main body, just that your job was now in action. Stu finished up, placing the last organ in the basket. You stood up, shaking the blood off of your robes and taking the basket to the backyard, where you hung them up with clothespins.

Stu, meanwhile, was carefully arranging a flower display in the corpse of Randy. He was giggling as he did this, moving the body to lay on the couch, and adding the displays of flowers Randy’s mother kept around the house in the chest cavity.

Billy was upstairs, arranging Randy’s heart on a silver platter, with a fork and a knife on either side of the plate. He joined the two of you downstairs, inspecting the handiwork.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a new partner,” Billy said, watching you hang the intestines up. “She’s good.”

“I like her,” Stu said, giving Billy a small kiss on the cheek. Billy nodded, and placed one on Stu’s forehead. “She’s got balls.”

“She’s going to need them for Friday’s murder,” Billy stepped outside. “We’re going to go, alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You grinned at them, and the three of you went in the car, taking the stuffy robes off. You weren’t quite sure how Tatum or Sidney would react to the death of Randy, but you sure as hell were looking forward to the publicity of the body. Your handiwork was going to be on television. A dream come true for a girl like you.

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-> Part 7

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[attackurheart88]

Morpheus was gone for a long time, forced to sit naked in a glass dome in silence for centuries.

Within that time he thought.

He thought about the dreaming, the kind of state it must be in the dreams and nightmares that inhabited it. How worried or scared they might be. He thought of Luceane and wondered how she must be feeling. Would she or any of the others still be there when he returned? It hurt to think of it. He thought of his sister, death. It was she Roderick wanted after all. What would she do if in his situation? Would she have called for help? Did she know he was after her?

Morpheus was uneasy. He knew there was a way to leave this prison, yet he refused to take it. Allowing his siblings to see him in this state? To beg and plead for their help? No. That could never happen. If he asked or if they came, Roderick Burgess might as well start killing him now.

Amiss this inner torment there was you. Morpheus's first wife.

You came long before Calliope and Nada and even Killala. You were everything Morpheus needed, patient, kind, and strong. Through your marriage, Morpheus wasn't always the best husband that he admits. Yet you never left him. Not when he made you feel lonely or he made you cry after an argument. You were patient and loved him even when he was selfish and cold. Until one day you left.

There wasn't a warning. You didn't scream or yell or even cry. He just woke one day to find you gone and you never returned.

You would often ignore him when you got angry and leave for weeks and months at a time. So Morpheus wasn’t concerned at first. Until years had passed without even a word. It was then Morohies realized you weren't coming back. That he had truly crossed the line.

And even since Morphies has tried to find someone else, another woman or God like yourself but there was none. No one was as patient as you were. So many had left him unable to deal with his temperament. They claimed he was too harsh or too egoistic. It didn't help that Morpheus wasn't good at communicating his feelings. He didn't like to show weakness and very few were able to accept that. Hob, Mathew, his sister Death, and you. You always knew how to put up with him, how to calm him down, and brighten his day.

Although all of his relationships ended for different reasons, Morpheus was still the catalyst. He grew obsessive. Trying to find the one who could fix him the one who could allow him to move on from you. But no one did. Not Calliope or Nada or Killala or Thessaly. And now that he was alone with his thoughts he had all that time to think of you.

It was when thinking of you Morpheus felt better.

He regretted the way things ended. He regrets allowing you to leave without stopping you. He regrets taking in other women and giving one of them his child. It was an honor that should have been given to you.

It was that which led him to your realm.

As soon as he dealt with the matters of his court he found himself wandering back to you. The person on his mind for all these years.

Morpheus greedily took in the sight of you seated on top of your throne. Your eyes were deeper and even more magnetizing and small lines reminded one where your smile reached. Although you aged slightly over the centuries in Morpheus’s eyes you were just as beautiful as the day he first met you. His eyes lowered to your body. The dress you wore did not reveal any unnecessary skin but it did hug your body tightly. Demonstrating any and every curve of your skin.

Morpheus swallowed. Hoping to bring his thoughts to the back of his mind.

“Did you need something Dream of the Endless?” Morpheus had to stop himself from flinching at your cold tone. You rarely called him by his title. It was always Morpheus and darling with you. Dream lord was so distant and formal.

“I wish to apologize.”

It was then Morpheus spoke in depth of his thoughts and actions since the time he married you. He spoke about his other paramours and what he hoped to gain from them. How they were at the core, a way to replace you. He spoke of the things he missed like your laugh and how beautiful you looked in the early morning. The warmth of your skin. Softness of your lips. He spoke of his regret and cowardice. The amount of letters he had written but never sent. The times he would sit down and cry at the sight of your favorite flower or an old portrait. He spoke of your former room, closed off still preserved with everything you left behind.

By the end Morpheus had laid himself bare before you. It was a sight to look down and watch as he kneeled, opening his heart to any hateful words you had to say and being so willing to accept them.

It was clear to you that Morpheus has changed. The man you once knew would have never subjected himself to such a state. To allow himself to be so vulnerable and give you the power to see him. To hurt him. It was then you realized your feelings not have disappeared after all.

[poppitron360]

I’m trying to branch out from my usual angst by writing a happy(ish) fic.

Summary: Jason goes back to Camp Jupiter after the war and reveals that he and Leo are dating. He struggles so deal with the backlash from that while simultaneously having to cope with being long-distance.

CW: Swearing, Octavian

Word Count: 2,423

VALGRACE FANFICTION- “Fuck ‘em”

When Jason had announced to Camp Jupiter that he was seeing someone, he wasn’t sure what had been more appalling. That the someone in question was a boy, or that he was Greek.

Octavian had, of course, been outraged on both accounts: “We let a man like this become Praetor! He is fraternising with the enemy in a very un-Roman-like fashion!”

That’s what he called it. “Un-Roman”- like for some reason Jason was any less Roman because he was bisexual.

But it wasn’t just Octavian spouting bullshit. There was a shift in the way people acted under his command- they seemed less trusting, like Jason had become some foreign invader. Even though he had stepped down as Praetor and given his powers to Frank, he still held the newly-created title of “honorary Praetor”, alongside Percy, to commemorate all the work he had done defeating Gaia. People should still listen to him, respect him. But it was different now. His boyfriend was a Greek.

He didn’t dare tell them it was the same Greek that had fired on New Rome, albeit under the influence of evil spirits.

Some of them had been supportive, especially those in the fifth cohort. They were used to being outcasts.

“Children of Vul- I mean, Hephaestus, though?” His friend, Dakota, had said, “They’re good to have around. Large, beefy, big muscles. Good fit for a son of Jupiter like you.”

Jason laughed nervously, “Uh-huh. Yeah… large… muscles… right.”

Oh my gods, Praetor Grace had a twink. That was another thing he didn’t dare tell them. He let them imagine their leader with a powerful hunk for a boyfriend- at least that way he could keep some dignity.

He felt bad being embarrassed by Leo. He was awesome. He had a badass flying dragon. He told cool jokes and made Jason laugh. Jason was proud to call him his boyfriend. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself every morning. Then he’d step outside, and be faced with the weird looks and behind-the-hand whispers, and suddenly he didn’t feel so proud. He didn’t hold it against Leo, though. He loved how the kid acted so unapologetically himself- unlike Jason, who needed everyone to like him so much.

Jason didn’t care about the stares when he was with him. The asshole comments from Octavian seemed like distant memories when he looked into those big, dark eyes, complete with the playful little twinkle and mischievous smile. But when he was without Leo, he was a nervous wreck. The only thing that kept him going were Leo’s monthly visits. That was the one thing they couldn’t take away from him. He counted the days in his head to when he was gonna see him again. When Octavian was being shitty, he’d just think “twenty more days”, “ten more days”, “five more days”, “one more day”.

He met Leo and Festus outside the New Rome border. He picked the tiny guy up in his arms and twirled him around, and then kissed him. Leo’s skin was warm to the touch, like it always was when he was nervous.

“I missed you so much,” Jason whispered, although there was no-one around to overhear.

“I missed you too, Sparky. Camp isn’t the same without you.”

“Are they treating you well there? Anyone still giving you shit for your powers?”

“I’m fine Jason, everyone’s super nice,” Leo replied, although Jason could tell it was probably exaggerated. Not a lie- just a projection. What Jason wanted to hear. He decided not to call him out on it- Leo just didn’t want Jason to worry, that’s all.

“You’ve not been spending too much time in the workshop, I hope? Actually go outside once in a while.”

“I’m outside now.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You worry too much,” Leo said, standing on his tiptoes to kiss him.

But Leo had worries of his own. They talked causally for a while, before Leo interrupted him with a question that Jason had been dreading.

“Why do you always ask me to meet you outside the border?” Leo asked.

Jason had a pre-planned response for this, “I just wanna keep you separate from my work. At Camp, I’m a leader. A soldier. Praetor Grace. With you, I can be myself. I can be Jason. I want it to stay that way.”

Leo’s eyes held so many different emotions, it was hard for Jason to tell what one was most prominent- sadness, resolution, hope- Jason had spent many hours searching those eyes for the secrets that they contained, and he still had not found them all. Leo sighed.

“They… they don’t know about me, do they?”

Jason hesitated- but he couldn’t lie to Leo.

“They know I’m dating a son of Hephaestus… they don’t know it was the same son of Hephaestus that fired on New Rome,” he admitted.

“You’re embarrassed.”

“No, I’m not!” Jason said, which wasn’t entirely true.

“You are! You’re worried about being seen with me! That’s why you meet me out here- you don’t want people to know you have a dangerous freak for a boyfriend. Praetor Grace and the scrappy little street rat he took pity on,” Leo looked down and kicked the dirt.

“I think you’re a pretty cute street rat,” Jason said, ruffling Leo’s messy, greasy hair. Then his smile turned serious, “Leo, I don’t want you to think that I think of you that way. I’m not embarrassed by you, it’s just…” he looked at the sky and sighed, “There’s a lot of expectations that I have to live up to. And when I’m with you I get to say “fuck ‘em”, but when I’m there…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Leo said. He looked up at Jason with those big, busy eyes- drawing ordinance survey maps of Jason’s face in his mind, “I really do, Jason. I understand feeling like you need to be someone else to get people to like you. I get it.”

Jason smiled and hugged him.

“We can stay like this. You don’t have to let me inside the border. We can just say “fuck ‘em” out here,” Leo mumbled, his voice muffled in the fabric of Jason’s hoodie.

“One day,” Jason assured him, “One day I wanna say “fuck ‘em” to their faces. There’s a really nice café in New Rome I wanna take you to.“

“But we don’t have to say “fuck ‘em” today.”

“No.”

His time with Leo came and went. Jason went back to his duties, to the stares and the whispers.

He sat on the lunch table with the rest of the fifth cohort, chatting idly about the local gossip.

“Heard we got some exchange students from Camp Half-Blood,” one of them remarked, “Because we’re doing that now, apparently.”

“They have all these freaky little behaviours- it’s not sitting right with the other cohorts.”

“Yeah, Greeks are weird,” Jason remarked, leaning back in his chair, “And I should know- I’m in love with one.”

The whole table went quiet. Jason seemed to realise what he’d just said.

“Oh,” was all he could manage in response.

Dakota broke the silence, “Man, I thought you were just his sugar daddy, I didn’t know you guys were actually in love!”

“I-I didn’t know either, ‘til I just said it,” Jason stuttered, still in shock, “But… yeah. Yeah, I love him.”

“So when do we get to meet him?” One of the other members of the fifth asked.

“Well,” Jason leaned forward, contemplating, “He comes to visit me every month. He’s coming again in thirteen days. I could…”

He looked around the dining hall. He took in the sneers as people caught his eye. The whispers and snickers and pointing. He realised that that would never change. As long as he was open about who he was, there would always be backlash. The only thing he could do was to not let it get to him. To say “fuck ‘em”. And as terrifying a prospect as that was, Jason was ready. He was ready to rise above the snide remarks and disrespect and yell “I’m in love with Leo Valdez!”

Because he was. He loved that tiny imp of a kid. He loved his loud mouth and weird quirks. He loved how Leo would hold his hand and tap out little morse code messages that Jason didn’t understand, but would speculate for days what they meant. He could look it up, or ask Annabeth, but he loved to fantasise.

Leo was leaning against Festus in their usual spot outside the border. When Jason saw him, he tackled him with such force that Leo’s hair caught fire in surprise. Luckily, Jason pulled away before it could burn him.

“You’re in a good mood,” Leo observed, patting out the flames on his head.

“Yeah, well… I’ve decided,” Jason told him, “I’m ready. I wanna take you inside the border.”

Leo stopped fussing with his hair and looked up at Jason, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Jason assured him, holding out his hand, “Come on!”

Leo grinned and took Jason’s hand. A little spark of electricity ran along Jason’s spine. He took off for the city, pulling Leo behind him. Leo was giggling in that cute way he did when he got exited and thought no-one could hear him. They ran like the wind- literally. As Jason yanked him along, he summoned the winds to push them faster, lifting them up into the air slightly. They were inside New Rome now, Jason dragging him through winding streets and bustling crowds. Jason felt truly free, running along with Leo. He was overjoyed. For once, he didn’t care about expectations or who he should be. They were just two kids having fun.

They stopped outside a sidewalk café with Romanesque architecture, like the rest of the city. There was one of those classic red-and-white-striped awnings over the front, and clusters of tables and chairs littered the pavement outside.

“Lunch?” Jason asked, turning to Leo, “They do paninis and toasted sandwiches.”

“I would kill for a panini right now.”

“What about drinks?”

“Diet coke?”

“Gods, no. You’re not having any more caffeine, Mr Hyper. I’ll get you a lime soda,” the conversation was dull and mundane, but Jason found it comforting. They had spent so much of their time together with the weight of the world resting on their shoulders. Now that that was finally over (and Jason rapped on the wooden café table at the thought, praying he wouldn’t jinx it), they could finally settle into a monotonous rhythm, like and old married couple.

Wow. That image took him by surprise- him and Leo growing old together- but it was a good sort of surprise. Jason didn’t push the thought away, instead, he let it wash over him, clinging to the notion that they had hope. A future in the making.

Lunch was going awesome- until Octavian showed up.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Praetor Grace- sorry, former Praetor Grace.”

“Honorary Praetor,” Jason corrected, not looking up from the menu he was reading, “Still ranked above you, Octavian, so a position you should treat with respect.”

Jason didn’t bother looking up to see Octavian’s reaction. He continued to ignore the kid, until he saw him turn to face Leo.

“Hey! Isn’t that the Greek Scum who destroyed half the city?!” He yelled, “Guards! Guards!”

“Octavian, no,” Jason commanded, looking him directly in the eyes, “I saw to it that Leo was pardoned. That incident was not through his actions.”

“It very much looked like it was through his actions, from where I was standing!” Octavian replied, angrily.

Jason stood up. He grabbed Leo’s hand, partially for reassurance, partially as a way of telling Octavian to suck on a cavalry sword- a way of saying “Fuck ‘em”.

“Oh… oh my gods! That is your little pet?!” He pointed at Leo like he was a disgusting patch of mould.

“Uh-huh. And what’re you gonna do about it, Octavian? Run and tell? I am fucking fine with everyone knowing. In fact-“ Jason leapt up onto the café table, still holding onto Leo’s hand, “Listen up, motherfuckers!”

“Jason, what’re you-“

Jason squeezed Leo’s hand to reassure him and Leo stopped protesting, but he still looked worried.

“I’m in love with Leo Valdez!” Jason yelled, “He’s tiny and Greek and he’s awesome. You motherfuckers might look down on him. You might think he’s dangerous, or that he’s a freak. But I see how awesome he is. And sweet. And badass. And cute. And funny. And none of you-“ he pointed a finger at the crowd of passers-by, who were giving him annoyed and disgruntled looks, “Get to say a fucking WORD against him!” He turned towards Octavian, looking down at him and jabbing a finger in his face, “Especially a slimy little piece of shit like you, Octavian.” Jason jumped down from the table, reclined in his seat, picked up the menu, and studied it with his glasses at the end of his nose much like how an old man would study a newspaper.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna enjoy lunch with my boyfriend.”

Octavian scoffed, and left.

“Jason…” Leo was staring at him with those eyes of many feelings. Jason counted wonder, shock, horror, pride, lust, reverence and a seventh emotion he couldn’t quite describe.

“I’m sorry if that was too… loud, Leo. I don’t wanna make you feel-“

“Y-You’re in love with me?”

“…Yeah. Yes. I am,” Jason searched for what emotion was the brightest in those eyes, but there were too many and it was too confusing. He could never pick just one, “Is it too soon? Should I have waited? Should I have asked you first before yelling it in the street-“

“No! No, it’s fine. It’s… amazing, actually. And I love you too, Jason, I really do.”

Jason squeezed Leo’s hand again. Now that Leo had said it, Jason saw the love surface above the mess of other feelings in those eyes. He saw it bud and bloom like blossoms in springtime across Leo’s fiery irises. He wanted to get lost in those meadows of brown and gold, and when Leo closed those eyes to lean in to kiss him, Jason was slightly crestfallen at the fact that he couldn’t keep staring at them. Soon, though, Leo’s lips were against his, and his disappointment melted away. He had plenty of time to stare into those eyes later. They had their whole future ahead of them, and nobody was gonna stand in their way.

[smartycvnt]

Lost

Title: Lost

Pairing: Damian Priest x Reader

Word Count: 512

Damian stormed out of the bedroom with no warning. Y/n vaguely remembered feeling him sit up in bed, but she had begun to drift back to sleep by the time he fully got up. The night had not been a good one as Damian and Finn lost the tag titles. There was tension within the group, new tension that nobody really knew how to deal with.

Y/n had done a good job of keeping her nose out of that, but now, she knew that Damian needed to talk. They couldn't avoid it forever, especially not when it was tearing Damian up like that. Y/n loved that Damian cared so much, but she hated watching him tear himself up over losses like this. Nobody could keep the championship forever, no matter how hard they tried.

"Dami, baby, please come back to bed." Y/n was tired, so she didn't care how whiny she sounded. It had been a very long few nights trying to calm Damian's nerves about the match and waiting up for him as he spent hours in the gym each night.

"Go away," Damian said quickly. Y/n frowned as she stared at him leaning agains the wall by himself. Damian tried to hide the subtle shaking of his shoulders from Y/n, but it was no use. She knew what he was going through, and she knew what he needed to get over it. He had been there for her when she lost her title, and Y/n would do the same for him.

"Dami, baby?" Y/n asked softly as she stepped up behind him. Damian glanced at her, which was when she saw that he was legitimately crying. He tried to look away, but Y/n could see the look of shame on his face.

"I really wish you'd just leave me alone. I don't want you to see me like this," Damian said quietly. Y/n could still hear the way that his voice trembled with emotion. She turned his face towards hers, so that she could wipe away some of the tears as they fell.

"It's okay," Y/n cooed soothingly. Damian leaned into the touch and reassurance that Y/n was offering him. Y/n walked him back into the bedroom. The two of them laid in bed together, but this time, Y/n held Damian in her arms as he let his frustrations out. Gently, Y/n lifted Damian's chin and brushed away some of the tears with her thumbs as they rolled down his cheeks. "Let me dry your tears like you dried mine."

"Thank you-," Damian pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm, "-for not making me feel weak because of this. I don't know how lost I would feel without you right now."

"Hey, it's not so scary when you have someone to be lost with," Y/n told him. Damian smiled as he started to sit up again. "I'll always be free to wander around with you a little bit."

"Well still, thank you."

[setsugekka]

❥hate & hurt (with all my love) (m)

↳ two things always remained true:

1) for better or for worse, change is inevitable.

and 2) chan always came back.

bang chan x fem!reader — childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits, heavy angst, romance, sexual content [12.5k wc] cws: physically abusive parents (somewhat detailed), parental death, emotional manipulation, drinking, recreational drug use, sex as a coping mechanism, unhealthy relationships, language, heavy themes throughout. sexual content: penetrative sex (unprotected), a lot of carelessness emotionally.

February is cold, and that's reason enough to find little joy in this month as well and many of the ones surrounding it, but your space heater at work giving out twenty minutes into your shift at work is certainly cause for more.

You can't help but wonder, how do situations like this always come to find me?

Typically not anything too egregious, but most can admit that the small things tend to add up. Now, work is cold, and you have an unreasonably large number of books to wade through that must, ultimately, find their place amongst the numerous shelves that line the walls and walkways.

What else could possibly go wrong?

A lazy thought to yourself accompanied by a similar, tired blink as you bend down behind the front counter only to then hear the doorbell ding to signify the entry of a patron. Because of course they would right now, when you've already resigned yourself to the horrors of sorting by last name.

The words begin to tumble out of you before you've even stood fully again—halfway into turning your head towards the sound as it quickly dies out behind the door closing. "Welcome, what can I do for—"

The rest of them die in your throat, which is no match for the feeling of anxiety-fueled dizziness once eyes meet.

"Chan."

In fifth grade, Chan had decided he was going to be your best friend.

It really had been as simple as that; the memory sticks out despite a long line of them that involve him, the way he had caught you on the curb after school as you waited for your parents to come pick you up—cupcake in hand, not even particularly caring of sweets.

Of course, he couldn't have known this, you weren't best friends yet.

"You're going to be my new best friend." he proudly declared, no room for argument from you.

At such a young age, girls and boys being best friends is far less of a topic for discussion as it would become later on in middle school, in high school. Not even something on the radar, in fact. Chan was friends with a lot of girls—one in particular—classes were small, and it had been simple enough to keep up with your peers even if none too close to them, yourself.

Everyone knew Chan and Sana were a package deal, until Sana's parents had decided to move elsewhere, leaving Chan without that one person that really held him down in a way that no one else really seemed to. You couldn't help but wonder why he had chosen you as the follow-up, and as adults, the idea of it wildly amusing to the both of you no matter how many times it had been rehashed.

Suppose there's something special, maybe even magical about the concept of having one, true best friend when you're a child. Nothing else like it, no one else who holds that special place in your life. Difficult to keep on keeping on without that role being filled.

Whatever the case may have been, you found yourself next in line.

And perhaps you were too young to consider how wildly bizarre such a proclamation really was in the grander scheme of things. No concept of ulterior motives (and really, what ulterior motives could this child even have), but with a bright, dimpled smile and a baked good that you didn't have any particular interest in, suppose you were down to partake in his first round of try-outs.

"Okay," you remember answering, and firmly at that. Probably because you didn't have someone holding down the title in your life, either. "Best friends then."

"Hey…"

Voice wobbly, you drop the book in hand and circle around the desk to greet the man. It's been three years at least since the last time he'd come around, not that you were ever keeping count. The two of you do something of an awkward dance with one another as you first go in for a hug and then halfway through contemplate whether or not it's appropriate to even do so. Chan, at least, attempts to meet you halfway before you second-guess the gesture.

Eventually, a messy hug is decided upon by the both of you, though not without its chaotic logistics and limbs tangling among one another like two people never before engaging in such an act with another person before.

The irony in that.

"Hey," Chan says then through a smile that's so forced you wish you could ignore it. "Didn't know you worked here."

Of course not, how could you?

"Oh, yeah, a little over a year now."

Silence.

There's a part of you that sort of hopes the floor will open up and swallow you whole, but you force yourself to remember that it's a bit like this every time he comes back around. Always too much time between the last, always so much history but not enough of it that's recent. Huge, towering holes of time left unaccounted for between you with every year that passes by. Every year since he left.

You don't blame him, not purposefully, at least. Moving away was the right call for him, and even the frequency in which he did come back coming as something of a surprise to you with how tormented his relationship with his family always had been.

Hopefully Chan says something soon, because you're out of beginning statements, not that you had all that many to begin with. Besides that, the skin on the inside of your lip is beginning to grow thin from nervous chewing, and you'd rather not have to swallow blood along with the mounting lump in your throat.

It wasn't always like this.

Chan's eyes fall to the floor between the both of you for a split second before flashing back up and towards you. It's a face that says I know, it's weird, and I'm sorry for that, but with no real ability to make it any better either. In fact, you suspect he's about to make it worse.

Call it Bestie Intuition, or whatever.

"So," he says with a drawl, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before finally finding the strength to get the words out. "My parents died."

Oh.

There's so much history in that statement. So much feeling, and contempt, and distaste that even when he says the words as plainly as can be, you can't help but catch the hint of relief that accompanies them. It's bad enough when someone's parents pass away, even worse when there is so much love there that it's excruciating.

Where does that land those who take solace in the fact then?

Maybe once upon a time you could have reacted to the statement with unbridled and hysterical glee. Congratulations buddy! Drinks on me! a potentially anticipated response maybe five or six years ago, but now there's too much space, too much distance between the two of you to say anything other than the obvious. The standard fare towards people in grief even if they aren't, actually.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That makes one of us."

You can't even blame him, knowing everything that you know. Parents are people and deserve the amount of respect that they give to others, and they certainly never took it upon themselves to be deserving of it from Chan, or anyone close enough to him to hear the yelling coming from the other end of the phone line, much less see the cigarette burns and bruises left when he was finally comfortable enough around someone to roll his sleeves up behind closed doors.

For people like them, you hoped Hell to be everything that the religious fanatics had ever made it out to be, and maybe even a little more.

"Anyway," he says abruptly with a sigh, not wanting to linger on the fact too long. "Next of kin, so I'm sort of tasked with dealing with the aftermath of everything. They have a shit ton of books in the basement and I heard this place takes in that kinda stuff if it's worth anything."

"Yeah, we can give them a look, for sure."

"You want to come over tonight and maybe take a look around before I bother dragging everything over here?"

Forever constant, forever in a state of metamorphosis. You wonder how the two can exist simultaneously in such a way.

He continues the thought. "They didn't die in there or anything, but you're welcomed to rummage through my mom's old shit and take anything you want. Jewelry or whatever."

"I'm sure that's precisely what you need, a constant reminder of that woman every time you see me wearing a set of earrings." you chuckle softly.

Chan grimaces. "Good point, maybe don't wear them around me. Either way, you know they have that big firepit in the back so we can have some drinks, get some food, catch up?"

Catch up. Code.

Besides the fact that Chan makes very little effort to keep up with you in all of the time that he's away; social media messages back and forth exchanged between the two of you dwindled down over the years to nothing more than the standard handful expected of friends. Birthdays, Christmas, maybe New Year’s if we're feeling particularly giving.

There's no catching up, and every time Chan has returned for one reason or another since having originally left, the knowledge that you come to learn about the new him, his new job, new everything—is limited.

A chain link fence erected between you, and perhaps the very second of his departure. You have a difficult time pinpointing the precise moment of your realization. Always held at something of an arm's length now—you can see him through the holes and around the silver, metal wiring—but you couldn't get through it if you tried.

You can't help but wonder if his new best friend lies somewhere on the other side, right beside him. Or maybe he has simply grown past the necessity for such things. An emotional crutch because he needed it as a young boy, as someone trying to make sense of the world around him and why his parents hated him so much for seemingly just existing.

Then he moved, and things got better. Chan built the fence, but never told you.

You can't help but wonder if you remind him of everything that he has tried so hard to distance himself from. Maybe you don't need a pair of earrings for that, after all.

A fence to keep him within the barrier of healing that he has created upon leaving, or to keep you out?

"Okay."

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:12 : want to catch dinner tonight?

To: Weasel (lovingly)

19:13 : can't, something came up

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:14 : what could have possibly come up on a thursday night?

To: Weasel (lovingly)

19:20 : chan's back in town. he stopped by the shop while i was at work. we're gonna catch up.

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:21 : ahhhh riiiight. 'catch up' i know what that means. same thing it always does when he comes back around and is bored -_-

To: Weasel (lovingly)

19:21 : hyunjin please. his parents passed away.

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:22 : okay? good. they were pieces of shit and i'm sure he's thrilled i don't see why he's got to pretend to drown his sorrows with getting his dick wet. he barely even talks to you when he's not around.

From: Weasel (lovingly)

19:30 : whatever. i love you. hit me up tomorrow to pick up the pieces. i'll be around.

"Fuck."

Breathy and punched out of your lungs with a particularly hard thrust, you attempt to find purchase in the sheets beneath your fingers as Chan roughly rocks into you from behind. His hands feel tight around your hips to hold you in place for him, and while you can't very well view the expression on his face from this angle, you can certainly hear the litany of bitten back groans that just occasionally drop from his lips.

"Close, close—" you follow the expletive with then, and his grip on you gets even harder—hips firmer and faster as you snake a hand down between your legs to get the rest of the way there.

You remember the first few times that you and Chan began sleeping together—taking your relationship to the next level—the both of you used to joke as if there was anything particularly romantic or emotional about it for either of you. But he used to be more involved in the process, more present, more engaged and interested and with some insatiable desire to please…even if you guys were just friends who would fuck every now and then.

The first time he came back after moving, you recognized the change.

"Chan—" you say, and receive no response.

"Fuck, you feel so good—" you continue on, an attempt to bring back some of the passion that you remember so vividly once having been there.

"Want you—"

"Shhh," you finally hear, accompanied by a particularly harsh thrust that feels something akin to some sort of threat. A few beats of silence follow after it, as if he's rethinking having ever done it to begin with before eventually landing on his feeling of correctness in doing so. "Don't talk so much."

If you were anyone else—maybe less used to this, less expecting of it—it might ruin the whole thing for you. Instead, you're thankful for the position and the way that he can't see how you roll your eyes at him, at the way that he is now before you come.

Yours brings about his, a louder, still pulled back groan as if anyone in this house is going to hear him. Chan wastes no time pulling himself from you and then flopping over to lie beside you as you situate yourself similarly.

It's always like this, every time; every feeling held so heavily in your chest bubbling up to sit inside of the dryness of your throat. Choking, drowning. Never actually dying, no matter how much you wish for the release from this.

Hyunjin always tells you not to go, and in the end, your mind is made up to do just that long before you ever even inform him of your consideration to do so. Your new best friend—though you don't call him that.

For whatever reason, you've still not been able to relinquish the title; put up 'help wanted' adds in the absence of the original title holder.

Because he's still around. Sort of.

You always wonder why you feel like crying afterwards, swallowing the burn down just in time for Chan to get up and head to the bathroom for his own clean up. It's a means to an end, less about remembering anything that ever existed between the two of you, and more about forgetting.

"I talk too much?" you finally say sarcastically as he disappears into the connected bathroom. Chan doesn't bother to stop and turn back, or really acknowledge the fact at all until a few, long moments and you hear the shrieking of the shower knob turn.

"Sometimes," he says.

"God forbid I try to spice things up with a little dirty talk, for old time's sake."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't."

Blinking slowly, the memories of doing this so many times before all come flooding back to you. A heavy sigh through your nose and you're sitting back up to collect your clothing from the floor beside the bed.

"Okay Chan," you say in response, now with evident contempt laden within it. "I won't say anything next time. I'll just come over and you can do whatever you need to do with me and then I'll go quietly, alright?"

You wonder if anything you say will even bother him, but just as quickly you hear the glass from the shower walling slide open and the man in question's head pops out from around the corner.

"You didn't come?" he says angrily, exhausted. Knowing fully well that you did. "You didn't enjoy yourself, right? Don't make me out to be the scumbag that's using you for whatever-the-fuck like you don't come over here time and time again knowing exactly what's going to take place."

He disappears back into the shower, ending it off with the additional "as if you can't just say no."

Dressed again and quickly heading down the stairs to take your leave, you don't bother informing him of the fact—you're sure he knows as much—it's far from the first time that the two of you have partaken in this exact scenario. Doing the same thing over and over again, each time thinking that the outcome will be different for some inexplicable reason.

The thought comes to mind as you reach the bottom of the stairs and upon glancing to your right, are met with a family photo of Chan with his parents—smiling, grinning ear to ear, as if the child in the photo isn't wearing jeans at the beach in the summer time because father dearest gifted him with a brand new cigarette burn only a couple of nights prior.

The thought being: perhaps he's just dealing with some things, even unbeknownst to himself. The death of loved ones is difficult even in the best of times, and you're not entirely sure where hating your abusive parents falls within the scope of that. Probably coming along with a whole different set of complications that often go unexamined, unspoken of—because God forbid you ever say it out loud, to anyone, that the people that were supposed to love, cherish and protect you did any and everything but that, and in fact, made your loving of them an abject impossibility.

Chan never told anyone else in his life about his parents abuse, only you; because the first time he admitted hating them with a shaky yet certain voice, you held his hand, gave him another red solo cup full of beer, and told him that you understood.

So, where's your red solo cup now?

It wasn't until your shared sophomore year of high school that you really started picking up on the signs.

There was always regret in that, too. That you should have noticed it earlier, but you were kids and what did you know about family dynamics that sat quite a bit outside of your own norm. In your own home, you had parents that loved you, supported you—they weren't perfect but they tried, and it wasn't until a few years into Chan's coming over to yours for dinners and hangouts that the comments about how nice your home life is started to come with more and more frequency.

"It's so nice here," he would say, as if dreaming of a life just like yours for himself. He probably was. "Your parents are so kind."

In high school—when he started going out to parties more, skipping school more, underaged drinking more like the troubled kids in movies and television shows might oftentimes be depicted in such a crude and stereotypical way—did you decide to finally take him up on one of his offers to come along with.

Sitting in the backyard of some stranger's house, probably a college aged guy that you can't imagine has any good reason to be hanging out with young high schoolers, Chan scooted his lounge chair closer to you with a sort of tipsy messiness that had you giggling at the time, though that joy was relatively short-lived.

"Remember I told you I wanted to try out for the swim team," he said just before taking a sip of a beverage he had no business drinking for his age. "I didn't make it. Go figure."

You reeled, shocked by the fact. "What? But you're good, I've timed you myself."

From a distance. Never able to get close enough before to see the implications of everything that surrounds him.

"Yeah," he sort of laughs, like he has to or else he'll cry. "Can't swim if I can't take my shirt off, can I?"

Eyebrows knitting together, you look at him contemplatively, like it's a puzzle you're meant to put together yourself except that you're missing so many of the pieces necessary in doing so. Chan's lips thin into a straight line, looking out into the empty, dark of night ahead that leads to nowhere before taking another sip of his beer.

A puzzle gifted to you, carefully handed to you personally to keep along with him. It's not so easy to just say things sometimes, sometimes…the best that you can do is just set someone up to ask so that you have a reason to say it.

"Why can't you take your shirt off?"

"We heard about Chan's parents."

Breakfast with your own folks is easy. Usually.

Mother's voice is compassionate, but beneath the words is something else—you figure that she must have some kind of understanding, if not the full picture. You never told them, it wasn't your place and you knew Chan wouldn't have wanted you to. Still, the adults in our lives have a way of knowing things without us really saying them—years of life and experience on us, after all.

"Yeah, I saw him yesterday, actually."

"How's he taking it?" your father then asks, equally compassionately-knowing.

"It's always hard I guess, he's doing his best."

"You should have him over for dinner some time," mother then adds, and internally you're screaming. "We always loved having him."

You know. They were the only set of parents in his life that loved him. Part of you doesn't want to deprive him of that, even now. Even after all of the miles of growing apart the two of you have done over the years.

You can't tell them that he only calls you when he's back in town to fuck you, there's guilt in tarnishing their opinion of him no matter how deserving of it he may be. It's not really his fault, you think to yourself, and then wonder if you'd be willing to give any other man who treats you this way the same kind of leniency in doing so.

What makes him so special? Special enough to treat you like this.

Best friends.

"I'll ask him," you lie, no intention of doing such a thing. "We have plans later in the week so I'll see what he's up to." you continue to lie, knowing perfectly well that he hasn't messaged you at all since the night before.

Three days go by without a word, and on the fourth, Chan finally messages you again.

From: Chan

13:03 : hey, i'm gonna set some of my folks shit on fire tonight in the back yard, do you want to come over?

You read over the message two, three times—biting the inside of your cheek in thought for a moment before putting your phone back into your pocket and proceeding with filing away the book in hand. This can wait, it's early enough in the afternoon that he doesn't need a reply right now, and besides, it's not like his parents’ stuff nor the firepit is going anywhere any time soon.

Plus, you're still kind of pissed off about last time, contemplating your willingness to put yourself right back into the same situation all over again, and not giving any thought to why it is that you keep doing so to begin with.

A few minutes pass, and you hear your message tone again.

From: Chan

13:08 : don't ignore me, we don't have to do anything. you're seriously mad about last time?

13:08 : you're really gonna ignore your best friend?

You're wise enough now to know manipulation when you see it, but maybe not wise enough to do anything about it just yet.

To: Chan

13:10 : yeah, i'll come over. but only because there's a photograph in there i really want to fucking burn.

"What are you going to do with the house?"

When you ask the question—and rather abruptly, at that—Chan is mid-overhead swing into tossing one of many ugly, ornate throw pillows into the billowing blaze of the fire that resides in front of the both of you. It lands with a plop, the fire moving to accommodate it only to quickly thereafter swallow it as intended. He already has another one awaiting the same fate tucked up under his other arm.

"Sell it," he says simply enough, tossing the other pillow and then hunching over to pick up his beer bottle again. "If I never see this place again it'd be too soon. I'd be happier setting this place ablaze, but you know, laws."

"Yeah, I've heard people are a little touchy about arson nowadays." you chuckle.

It's only then that you really put two and two together—the death of his parents, the selling of the property, and what that means for any future of him ever returning to this city again. If you had to guess, it's a weight lifted off of his shoulders, the no longer having to play pretend with these people even with the rarity in which he has done so now into adulthood.

No more pretend, no more reason to ever come back here.

Your chest feels tight at the thought. All Chan has spent the past few years doing is creating space between you and him, and now? The final nail in the coffin of your friendship. It was good while it lasted! you imagine him saying to you in some flippant, heartless way while not necessarily meaning for it to come out as such, but you can't help but latch onto the thought and think it further through—when was it good? Not for a long time, now.

"It's getting chilly, we should go back inside soon."

On your lap sits the picture from the wall at the bottom of the stairs, and as you pick it up and stand to throw it into the fire, Chan happens to take notice of your choice. The two of you meet eyes, and for a second you wonder if there's a part of him that wishes to protest in your doing so—you wait, give him time to say not that one, or anything of the sort, but instead you're met with a bizarre concoction of softness and relief. As if he's thankful for your being there, because you're strong enough to do it, and maybe he kind of isn't sometimes.

Chan takes a sip of his beer as you throw the framed photograph into the flames, right where it belongs, and as the both of you watch it burn, you still watch him out of the peripheral of your vision.

"I still have some of the scars," he says. No particular feeling behind the words. Stating the obvious.

"I know," you reply softly, opting into biting your tongue so that the pressure of angrily gritted teeth doesn't give you a headache. "I see them every time."

"Why did we never date?" you ask, somewhat drunkenly and from the far end of a couch that no longer adorns ugly pillows as decoration.

Chan's eyes narrow towards you, beer bottle in hand and a movie that neither of you care about playing on the television that's actually kind of nice—he has decided to take that back with him instead of destroying it. Him enjoying it would probably piss his parents off more, anyway.

"What kind of insane question? What do you mean why?"

Inside, the house is warm but empty and dark in a way that somehow feels fitting, all things considered. It's somewhat eerie—maybe because people who were once evil and now are dead once lived between the walls—too much space for how little space the both of you take up inside of it. Strangers inside of someone else's home, a place that doesn't belong to either of them, even with the ties of familial relation present.

"I feel like it's pretty common in high school that best friends catch feelings and eventually date, or at least try it out just to see because they don't know any better—Oh! Remember when Jisung thought we were totally dating in junior year just because he saw us sneaking off to your car during lunch period?"

Chan snorts into his bottle at the memory. "I mean, we were definitely sneaking off to do something, but it didn't have anything to do with us dating."

"I don't know, I guess it's fascinating that through all those years, and hormones, and puberty, and even actually sleeping together we just never…thought about it."

You had. Pretending that you hadn't was a long-upheld lie told not only to him, but especially to yourself. Chan was unreachable past a certain point, and you knew it well enough. In high school, the relationship between the two of you had reached its blissful peak, though you suppose you hadn't known it at the time.

The top of the mountain. Then graduation came, and the subsequent scaling down the other side of it.

"I was never in any position to have a girlfriend, you know that."

He doesn't bother going into detail, he doesn't really need to, either.

Unable to take his clothing off for the swimming team, unable to take his clothing off for any potential partners. Only for you.

"My parents asked if you wanted to come by for dinner some time, by the way," you finally say, though originally with no intention of doing so. Part of you silently begs for him to say no.

He smiles gently. "That's nice of them."

Close enough.

A few awkward beats of silence make themselves known between the two of you before Chan finally sets his empty beer bottle down and slides himself closer towards your end of the couch. He doesn't say anything—doesn't really need to when his hands curve around your calves and pull you down into a lying position against the cushions for him to settle himself between.

Up over your knees and down the slope of your thighs towards the button on your jeans, he's quick with it—always has been—and shimmying the fabric down your legs along with your underwear, well, you knew this was going to happen.

Chan sits up, thumbs his own pants open and pulls them down his hips just enough to expose himself as necessary. He extends a hand towards you to help you up and to bring you over onto his lap, though you're met with the intrusion of fingers before anything bigger makes an attempt.

Whining into the crook of his neck, Chan smells like burnt firewood and beer. As well as cowardice and selfishness and a lot of regret shared between the two of you.

When you're ready, you say as much—sinking down slowly onto him and being met with the trembling exhale of his breath against your ear once fully seated. One hand comes up to the back of your head as if to hold you in place, as if you have anywhere else to go.

At least this time you know better. Better than to try to engage him in any way outside of precisely what this is at its foundation. It's been a long time coming, but you know where you stand.

It still feels like shit, though.

Fit and strong, Chan lifts you up and pulls you down along him in all of the right ways, because sex with him has never been anything but perfect. Just the right amount of everything to a shocking degree, though it has waned ever so slightly over the years.

Pulling away from his neck, the circling of his t-shirt slides to the side ever so slightly to make one of many scars along his body known to you. It's not new—far from it—and you know the stories behind most of them anyway. This one in particular; a long burn about the length of a toothpick just over his shoulder. Mother curling her hair in the bathroom and he young child having the audacity to desire loving attention from her.

How can anyone be so cruel?

Leaning down, you kiss it lightly, then thumb over it gently as if doing so will offer him some sort of solace whilst inside of you.

Instead, it does the opposite.

"What are you doing?" he says, sudden and curt but still dragging your body along his own. "Don't touch—"

You're happy to apologize for having done so, and there's terror that springs up in your chest though it feels somewhat displaced. An acute feeling of fright at what's about to happen to you in the way that his voice changes with each word that drops from his mouth, and before he is even able to finish the sentence, Chan is pulling you off of him entirely, and pulling his pants back up instead.

"Why do you have to do this? Why do you always have to do shit like this? Every single time."

"I'm sorry! I didn't really think about it, I didn't think you would—" you stammer in response, word vomiting in an attempt to quell the volcano in front of you at any cost.

"Didn't think I would notice? Like I don't have a perfect mapping of every single scar, every single memory that these people left on me in all of the years that I was under their care?"

The last word being so rife with sarcasm that you can't help but recoil from the way that he says it. It's so stupid, so so stupid because of course he knows. As if he will ever be able to forget so long as he lives.

You claw to get dressed again, scrambling your things together quickly as Chan stands and runs a hand through his hair like he isn't entirely sure of how he wants to even deal with this. Like he's trying not to say something that he doesn't mean, or maybe something that he does.

"Can't we ever just have a nice, fun time together?" he finally lands on, exasperated and airy in the words. "Can't we just fuck like old times when I'm in town without you doing something to make me fucking regret it?"

You full stop. Rage and confusion and hurt feelings simultaneously all making their way through every nerve and every bone in your body—a race to see which one gets out first and is the underlying emotion within your reply.

"Regret it? You regret it?"

Rage wins.

"You fucking regret it?" you ask, once again laden with sarcasm as so many times before, because the concept of what he says is just so selfish that you can barely even fathom it. "We were best friends for years, we grew up together, you were everything to me and when you left, I understood why—I was happy for you, I wanted you to heal. Then the messages died off, your visits died off, and the only time you've ever been bothered to come and find me when you are in town is because you know I'm an easy lay for you, isn't that right?"

Chan doesn't answer, but his face has since twisted into something you can't even really recognize. Somewhere between disgust and awareness, though you can't be certain which one is meant for who.

"Right?" you nod, continuing on—halfway into a laugh now as if delusionally humored by the fact now that everything is laid out onto the table. "We're not friends, we're certainly not best friends anymore. You come find me when you're in town because you know that even though you've moved on from this place, from everything that happened to you here, from me—I haven't. And when you fancy yourself a pathetic fuck for old times’ sake, you know exactly who to call, right?"

There's only a second of silence, Chan begins to say no. Not that you let him.

"Right? Isn't that right? You can say it, we're all friends here, allegedly." you laugh again.

You grab your bag from the floor next to the couch, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way towards the front door.

"That's not true." he says, defeated, like the words are what he means but he knows his actions have said otherwise time and time again.

"Sorry about your scar, I shouldn't have done that," you say with finality as you reach the door and crack it open for your departure. "Now please do us both the favor and never contact me again."

"You look so pretty like this, you know."

One of Chan's old things that he would be so amused by was calling you pretty, gorgeous, beautiful—something of the like—when either covered with his cum, or stuffed full of his dick. It became such a thing, that he would make allusions to it even outside of the bedroom, though no one else in your shared circle of friends would ever become any of the wiser about what all of the giggles were about.

The night before he moved and with legs hooked up over his shoulders, you remember the words like they were yesterday. Like they were important.

Maybe to you they were.

"I'm going to miss you saying super annoying stuff like this," you said, an airy giggle punched out of you with his deeper drive inside. "Who else will call me pretty while balls deep inside of me?"

"I don't think you'll have a particularly hard time finding that."

For years, the words would pop up in your memory—trying to dissect some hidden meaning between them. As a relatively inexperienced teenager, you didn't really understand what he had meant by it. Now, obviously, it's not that uncommon for guys to be in their lovers’ guts and calling them pretty, it's actually pretty common. Though, Chan hadn't said it since then.

The first time back since moving, Chan fucked you the same as always, though a little bit quieter, a little less verbal, and with eyes that didn't meet your own quite as much as you remembered from before. Only a year between, maybe you were remembering it differently than it was. Maybe you had just placed a lot of extra thought and feeling where it never really belonged to begin with.

You didn't recall it feeling so much like just sex as it did upon his return, always a little something extra, a little something different that felt like some kind of intangible more that also sort of wasn't there at all.

And thinking back to before the move, before everything changed—you remember lying with him after the fact as he checked social media from his phone, damp from sweat and other such sticky bodily fluids.

A fingertip lightly tracing over the scars, and Chan softly smiling into the touch.

"And then I told him that I don't think I was going to want to fuck some guy who wants me to do his laundry every time I come over, like, isn't that fuckin' weird?"

"Extremely weird," you reply, nodding lightly towards Hyunjin in agreement as you take a sip from your beverage. "Sounds like he wanted you to be his mommy or something."

"Uhg," Hyunjin sighs out in answer to such a concept, leaning back into his chair and slinging one arm up over the back. "Totally fuckin' weird."

It's a typical spot for the two of you to be dining at: a small, relatively unknown corner restaurant that sells mostly sandwiches and drinks and not much else outside of that. Not far from your job, and an ideal meeting place when Hyunjin texts you to catch a break and get a bite to eat real quick.

You take a bite of your food in the small lull in conversation, though Hyunjin's strange, stiff movement stirs your attention quickly back to him. Mouth a little too stuffed full of bread to ask, you unfortunately have no other choice but to try to make out what's happening based on the expressiveness of his face—and expressive he is—first eyes wide in shock, then narrowed in what you can only gather is disapproval of some sort.

"Not you…"

"Hey."

You don't choke on your food and that's impressive enough of a feat once it immediately dawns on you just who it is and why it is that Hyunjin is so suddenly displeased. They don't have history—not really, not personally—but he's heard enough in the meantime since Chan has left that he's been able to construct enough of his own opinion about the guy.

They met once, Hyunjin was cordial enough. Earlier into Chan's Return To Fuck And Then Disappear Without A Trace tour that he was much more able to pretend that he respects the man at all.

"What?" Hyunjin says, already an evident bite to it that you have concern might start something of a scene. "What do you want? What are you doing here?"

"Easy man," Chan answers, hands up in the air in front of him like he's already admitting defeat at the scene. Probably a good idea. "I just want to talk to her. No funny business."

"You'll have to forgive me for not exactly believing you have the best intentions at heart. You never really do, after all."

"Look, I know you have some problem with me and that's fine but I didn't come here to fight with you about—"

"Alright, enough."

When you finally speak up, it shuts the other two up almost immediately. You're thankful for that, because you don't really want to have to fight or plead or get into something of a shouting match just to settle this situation. Especially in public.

So, you sigh, putting your fork down against the plate and looking up towards Chan as he stands beside the table—a strange sort of half-frown curved into his lips, like he knows it's there and he's trying to not look so pathetic but he also can't entirely help it.

"How did you find me?" you question, exasperated.

He shrugs. "Snapchat location. Sorry."

Turning to look towards Hyunjin—who is now rolling his eyes at the simplicity of the mistake—you shake your head and whisper something to the effect of rookie mistake, then stand slowly from the table and point a finger straight into Chan's face.

"You've got thirty minutes. Hope you brought a script."

Chan's truck is just like you remember it.

It's not often that you find yourself riding with him in it, and for obvious enough reasons. Neither he, nor his parents, ever sold it once he moved out of town and thus it has remained in the driveway of his folks' home for years—awaiting he return once more.

One of the tires feels a little bit wobblier than you remember, perhaps an alignment that needs retuning and a suspicious clicking sound that may or may not be coming from the transmission. No doubt the wear and tear of years of neglect, but Chan doesn't really need the thing to be in perfect working order anyways, as the backend is filled as full as road-safety-possible with things he intends to drop off at the dump.

A fifteen minute drive of silence, meaning that he only has another fifteen once he parks the vehicle and the two of you sit in each other's company awkwardly.

If you intend to keep count, of course.

The radio is on but it's so low that you can't make out any of the words being said, paired with the static of being such an old model—it gives you something to hone your attention in on though, rather than the nervous way in which Chan picks at the skin around his nails as he presumably tries to figure out how to make this better without ever admitting fault.

You can make it a lot easier on him, because you've already come to a conclusion of your own approximately a week prior—maybe even more. Maybe the last night you were with Chan at all.

"I don't want to have sex with you anymore."

"Why?"

He answers it surprisingly quick, and that kind of makes you feel worse about the whole thing; such a nasty, sinking stomach feeling that hangs in your gut about how it really only ever has been about the sex for him ever since he left. That you carry no other meaning, no other interest to him outside of being able to offer that when he happens to come around.

Might as well tell the truth, the whole truth.

"Because you don't make me feel like I'm actually there."

Chan's eyes remain glued on you, and although his expression is one of confusion mostly, there's a particular hint of disgust that settles through upon hearing that. Like he didn't know. Like this is news to him.

"Rather, having sex with you makes me feel as though you wish I wasn't."

Looking at Chan is hard, but you suppose it has been for a long time. Like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, one with the high probability of misfiring and killing the person standing at the wrong end.

You take the opportunity as the man sits dazed to grip at the door handle and jimmy it open with the kind of practiced ease that tells the story of having done so many times previously. A door rusted and misshapen from the elements, a door that Chan undoubtedly would have to reach over and open for anyone else.

But not you. No, you've been here so many times before, you know this door like the back of your own hand, and that makes all of this hurt just that much more. Every happening, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant carrying the weight of the world within—the weight of years of friendship, the weight of something else not dare ever said.

Slipping out of the seat, it takes Chan a few moments to even realize what's happened; already a good bit of the ways back down the nasty, dirty road of the dump back towards the main road. You hear the truck rev back to life, tires spinning beneath themselves before he manages to pull it back around and meanders up beside you as you continue walking towards the pavement with phone in hand.

"Come on, don't do that. Why are you walking home, seriously?"

It must be your lucky day—though, you're not entirely sure how much of that can be true on account of the way that all of this has played out. You know when to take the wins that life hands you through the abundance of otherwise losses, though, and when you manage to snag a rideshare that's only five minutes away from your current and completely bizarre location, you breathe a sigh of relief, and allow yourself the freedom to tell your best friend precisely what it is that's been eating away at your mind since that night. Since before that night, really, though it's been difficult to come to terms, find the words, and swallow down the feeling of wanting to vomit every time you have to make peace with it in some way.

"Because we're not friends," you say firmly, looking him dead in the eye as you do so. "We haven't been for a long time, and I hate to admit that now I'm wondering if we ever really were."

The truck slows to a standstill as the words wash over the receiver, and you're proud of yourself for how strong you must appear to look.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, is what really rattles through your mind with each step away that you take. Go back to him. Don't go back to him. He's fucked up and you know that but you know he's a good guy. Dealing with his issues isn't your responsibility.

You are not a rehabilitation center for fucked up men.

Between the back and forth in your mind, the to and fro in such a way—an internal battle that feels like every organ inside of your chest is being strangled and wrung out on the cool, dusty flooring beneath your feet—that is the one thing you keep reminding yourself like a cultist chant. Over and over and over again until you're inside of your ride and swept off towards your home.

Where you can cry in peace, be honest with yourself and your feelings and not have to put on a face of strength in front of a man who wouldn't be able to bear the truth upon his own shoulders if he tried.

"What if I said I thought I was in love with you?"

You had huffed out something of a laugh at the words, not really sure what to do with them but opting out of putting much stock in what was said at the time either.

There was a brief glance towards him, not that it made much of a difference in the pitch black darkness of the bedroom closet where the two of you were seated. It was another house party that you somehow had gotten roped into—the last week particularly bad at Chan's house, and he had the bruises on his arms to prove it.

When things had been particularly bad at home, Chan acted out just that much more in an attempt to not have to think about it—not have to count how many days there were left until he would be able to escape. Heavier drinking, more reckless driving, longer nights out and less days in school for you to be able to check up on him, so sometimes coming out was the only way you'd be able to keep something of an eye on him.

He wasn't drunk this time—a brief moment of relief felt—squashed by him admitting instead to partaking in the joys of recreational cough syrup abuse.

And so, here the two of you sat now; two in the morning on a school night as Chan rests curled up in the dark of someone's closet because the trip had become just a little bit too much. You didn't know much about this sort of thing outside of the bit of reading you'd done, but auditory hallucinations were not uncommon.

"And why would you say that?" you asked him in response, because it wasn't really the time for this sort of conversation, and you weren't sure if there ever really was going to be a time for it either.

"Why not?"

"That doesn't seem like a very good reason to say it," you replied, playing it cool as best as you could, all things considered. "Plus, I don't know that you're in the best state of mind to be making any sweeping declarations of love to anybody."

Chan sat up straighter, as if his ability to be upright was meant to prove you wrong on the matter. His hand fished around in the dark for something—grabbing at your sweater, then your leg, until inevitably finding its target in your hand and clumsily curling fingers within your own.

"You're always so difficult when it comes to talking about feelings, but I guess that's something that the both of us understand pretty well, isn't it?"

Yeah.

You hadn't bother responding verbally to it, and eventually Chan changed the subject towards some other inane story that barely had a conscious beginning, middle or end. Or maybe it did—your mind still wholly left back on the original comment, revisited frequently for many years to come.

Over two days, twenty-two missed calls, and fifteen ignored text messages, the one that finally has to drop the wall that you've now erected between the two of you is one that you always knew to be coming anyway. Reading the words hits you harder than expected though, maybe because you thought you would have more time to make things right.

From: Chan

18:09 : i know you're not talking to me but wanted to let you know i got someone to deal with selling the house, so i'll be leaving town tomorrow finally. it was nice seeing you.

You lose count of how many times you've banged on the old, ornate wooden door in front of you, though you accept that little time has passed since your beginning of doing so. Do you look deranged to any potential passerby? Probably. You can't be bothered with that right now, however.

Halfway into another swing towards it, the door finally budges and pulls open abruptly—Chan stands there with something of a confused, slightly dim-witted expression that would likely have the ability to melt your heart if not for the beating that it's already taken in his brief stint of being here. Bandaged and bruised and with wounds barely scabbed over, your heart aches upon laying eyes on him again because now you know for sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that this will be the last time.

Chan always came back. Until, of course, he wouldn't anymore.

"I…" he starts, slowly, clearly somewhat confused by not only your fervor in banging on the door but also just your being there at all. "I didn't think you would come. I was on the phone, I thought it was—forget it. Hi?"

"What happened with my parents a year ago? When my mother went on vacation without my father?"

You watch Chan's eyebrows slowly pull together at the center of his face, contemplating not only the question itself but the purpose of you presenting it entirely. When you urge him further, he stutters and falters under the time crunch, garbled words lost in a mouth that has no idea what to do with them.

"I—I don't know!"

"Last summer, I was considering staying abroad somewhere. Where was I thinking of going?"

This time the thinking through of your question is shorter, most likely on account of his catching on to the reasoning behind them.

"I don't know."

"And when I finally adopted my dog, the dog that I loved so dearly and had been looking forward to so much, what did I decide to name him?"

Chan's features have since twisted into something more akin to compassionate sadness—and no doubt because he has figured out the purpose behind all of this.

"I didn't know you have a dog."

"I don't," you sigh, fighting tooth and nail to choke back the sob that threatens your throat and chest. "He got hit by a car five months after I adopted him."

Closing his eyes, Chan's body goes limp in front of you as his head drops to face more towards the floor than to you. You don't really understand how it is that he couldn't have known, gone all of this time without knowing anything happening in your life, and still thinking that everything could remain precisely as he left it between the two of you during his short visits back.

Treating you like you only matter when right in front of him, something that he has no choice but to acknowledge then.

"My mother had an affair, it almost ruined their marriage. Actually, I would say that it has, they've just stayed together through it anyway, I don't know why. I wanted to go to Switzerland, because it'd have been such a huge change of scenery. And his name was Greg, because I thought it would be funny to give a dog a person name."

Chan lets out a small huff of laughter through his nose, seemingly unsure as to whether or not he's even allowed to find humor in such a thing now.

"It is funny."

"Why did you shut me out when you left?"

Even just saying the words feels like a punch to the gut—toppling over and grasping at your midsection in thought of it as you somehow manage to say what it is that you've been thinking for all of these years since then. It feels so bad to acknowledge it for what it is; eyes stinging and so unfathomably choked up that it feels as though you're drowning on the doorstep of people who eventually got what was coming to them. For living as terribly as they did, and taking their poor son down with them until he remain unable to self-regulate even after they've passed on.

"Do you want to come in?" Chan says then, a shake to his voice that you haven't heard from him in a long, long time.

It reminds you of the first time he told you about everything. About them. About his life. The terror of opening up and being honest and God forbid…telling somebody the truth.

"Please…please come in," he finishes in a plead.

The house is mostly empty now.

He's certainly made quick work of it, and you can't help but assume it to be largely on account of wanting to end his time attached to this city as swiftly as he possibly can. There's a strange, looming ambiance of sadness that sits idly in the air as you follow Chan inside, up the stairs, and towards what once was his bedroom. So many memories residing in these walls—almost none of them pleasant—you imagine a child that at some point in time was happy here, playing with toys, loved…until one day everything changed. Forever and for always.

Chan keeps his hands stuffed into the pockets of his gym shorts like he's afraid of daring to touch the walls or the railing of the stairway. Like having done so had once resulted in one of the many scars that sit along his flesh to this day. It's only once the two of you reach his bedroom door and he nudges it open does he finally withdraw them and usher you inside with the flip of a switch along the wall.

Inside, only a small handful of things remain; bed still intact with a small box set beside it, as well as his suitcase sitting next to the doorway.

He takes short strides towards the bed, slightly hunched as if still nothing more than a child who is the recipient of a scolding like so many times before in this home. Old habits die hard.

Chan sits on the mattress with a metallic creaking that follows the bend of it, and with a pitiful running of his palms over his face, he finally manages to gather the courage to look you in the eye again.

"When I was eight, my dad started telling me that no one would ever love me like they did. No one would ever love me because there was nothing about me that was worth loving. I don't think I ever told you this."

He hadn't, but the thought of it makes your stomach drop. You wonder how many other stories of the same caliber he has still tucked away in the back of his mind, things that he dares not spare conscious thought to, yet they seep into everything that he does regardless of the fact.

He chuckles a bit before continuing the thought.

"It's like, you try not to believe that stuff, you know? But when the people who are supposed to be the ones who are everything to you are the ones saying it, it's hard not to believe it. I grew up seeing depictions of families on television, from my friends, the movies—that was never my reality—but I had to believe that they loved me, because if they didn't then how could anyone else possibly do so?"

"Your parents were shitty people, Chan," you say firmly.

"I know. I mean, I know that now, right? Because I'm an adult, and even as a teenager I knew that. Maybe I was lucky in the way that I started hating them young, it gave me the gift of sight, to see them for precisely what they were and not have that veil kept over my eyes for any longer than I had already lived with it, but still…"

"It's hard. Hard to accept. To move on from."

"Yeah, exactly."

Remaining steadfast in the center of the room, you can't do much else besides look upon him as he continues thinking through the words that he wishes to say to you. He's missed so much of your life as an adult, and it's no one’s fault but his own. The price he has to pay, but still a difficult pill to swallow as someone who wants nothing more than to have him there.

It's always been like that, for as long as you can really remember.

"I don't think I ever really knew what love actually was, or looked like. What it felt like to have it, or to give it to someone else. I think I tried. I think I tried a lot, with you, with us. But—"

Chan grimaces then, as if the memory of so many attempts to do something right and failing are all coming flooding back to him like a tidal wave. He flexes his hands twice, a subtle jerk to his head before finishing his words.

"I just couldn't ever get it right. So when I left—"

"You stopped trying."

With a couple of small nods, Chan's eyes finally come up enough to meet yours. "Yeah."

More than anything else, you know there is deep self-loathing and disappointment embedded within him. Thoughts and feelings and regrets that the man has spent years trying to bury in hopes of never having to face them ever again, now all laid out on the table before you in the most honest and vulnerable display.

I love you, I love you, I love you, you think to yourself as you watch his eyes dance and glitter in the shining light of the overhead lamp. Chan had said it to you once before, so why can't you now? Frozen in place and terrified of the potential outcome from such an outburst. Say it, say it, say it—

"Anyway, after tomorrow I won't be back here. The rest of the paperwork I can do back at home, so we don't have to, like," he pauses mid-sentence, glancing away for a split second before attempting to come back to find your gaze—falling short of it and looking past you, instead. "Ya know, do this again. This is the last time."

Ask me to come with you, ask me to come with you, ask me to come with you. "I guess that's for the best, for you."

He laughs again, now giving up the ruse of ever trying to look you in the eye at all and instead looking off to the side, elsewhere entirely.

"For me, for you. For both of us, probably."

Chest tight and that familiar choking dryness in your throat once again making itself known, you have no other option but to attempt to swallow it down—take this well, guard yourself and your own feelings when it comes to him because he has dropped the ball in doing so time and time again. Chan can't be what you want him to be for you, and maybe he never really could have been. A teenage dream; where love conquers all, even very real, very present trauma.

"I just didn't want to leave and you think that I've been like…doing this on purpose. Hurting you, I mean. I've never wanted to do that. You've only ever been the person in my life who has meant the most to me, and I'm sorry for how I've treated you since I left. When I came back. Everything. You don't deserve that."

I don't, but you can be better too.

"You remind me of being here, but you probably think it's only in all of the worst ways. That's true, but it's not only that. You're the only thing that makes ever coming back to this city bearable," Chan says, now finally able to meet your eyes again. "I should have done a better job at making the feeling mutual."

You want to speak, so badly have so much that you wish to say. The words get lost in your throat before they ever meet the air of the room, however. Say it, say it, say it.

"Well, I ought to get you home, huh?" he then says with a bit more of a chipperness to his tone. Standing to his feet and making his way towards you. "Your parents like me, don't want to burn every bridge when I leave."

It takes you by force before you have even so much as an opportunity to consider otherwise; arms stretched out and around him, pulling him close and hard against you, completely closing any of the distance that remained between your bodies. Chan collides into you with something of an amused and stumbling huff, but allows the embrace to carry on while you shove your face into the soft, warm plush of his black sweatshirt.

The sob that rips through you is nearly choking, and you no longer have the ability to fight it back any longer as your fingertips grip hard into the fabric beneath—as if in an attempt to keep him there, precisely where he is. Precisely where he has always belonged.

Don't go, don't go, don't go. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Chan holds you there in the middle of his childhood bedroom, full of horrific memories, old cigarette smell, and almost certainly a long forgotten splattering of blood that had been missed over the years.

"Hey," he whispers eventually, what feels like hours having passed since the first moment of your intimacy shared like this. "Hey…don't cry."

The words are so softly spoken, it almost doesn't sound like the man you know at all. You can't help but snort at the fact though, because what an absolutely asinine thing to say, all things considered. Still, Chan sets his hands on your shoulders and pulls you back just enough to get a good look at you—tear-stained cheeks and wet eyelashes clumped together in a mess with a quivering lip that just won't seem to quit.

And still, he smiles. Lips thin and tight, but at the very least, he is at peace. He is happy.

Because of you. Because of your love for him, felt but not spoken.

"Remember the good stuff, yeah? It wasn't all bad, though maybe you were better for me than I ever was for you. I think that might have always been destined to be the case. Ever since I picked you back in grade school, just looking for another girl to save me, huh?"

"Why do you say stuff like that?" you manage out through a sniffle, a lazy attempt made at drying your face in the aftermath. What you really mean, however, is why do you still believe you have nothing to offer? Why do you still believe you're unworthy of other people's love?

"Hey." he says again, and this time you're able to give him your attention as you look him in the eye from where you stand.

The two of you stand like that in silence for a long moment. Chan nervously biting at his bottom lip as if everything that he has ever wanted to say to you lie just behind it, desperately waiting to be freed.

"I—"

Chan kisses you then for the first time in years. Soft and meaningful, as if everything he has ever thought and felt reside in it. No good at words (neither of you are), so maybe this will simply have to do.

Heart beating so fervently against your chest that you worry your ribcage may shatter beneath your flesh, Chan brings himself away and creates space between the two of you once again, though his eyes never leave yours for a second.

"Come on, let's get you home. You can come by tomorrow morning before I leave at noon if you really want to kick me to the curb yourself."

Waking up feels harder than ever, but simultaneously different in a new and exhilarating way.

It's sunny out—surprising enough considering the time of year—and you can hear your mother downstairs making breakfast as your father's footsteps make a sound one after the other as he heads up the stairs and most likely towards your bedroom to inform you of the impending morning feast.

But you don't have time for breakfast, because you have your future to enact.

You've pre-packed a bag, done so shortly after getting back up to your room the night before. The decision has been made to tell him, tell him everything, be completely open and honest about your feelings because you've never been more sure of anything before in your life.

Chan isn't perfect, but he doesn't have to be. You know him well enough to know that along with his faults come the newfound ability to become better, to grow, to heal. To work hard to become the best version of himself he can possibly be. Not only for himself, but for your future together as well.

Two knocks at your door, you call for your father to come in.

In hand, he has a small, white envelope, and though you can't quite put your finger on why just yet, you feel the beginnings of your stomach dropping in real time as he motions to hold it up for viewing.

"This was left at the doorstep this morning, must have been early, was already there when we stepped out to go for a walk."

You sit up abruptly, reaching wildly at the item and begging for what you think to be true, to not be.

Please don't do this, please don't do this, please don't do this.

"It's addressed to you," he finishes, though it's already in your hands by the time the sentence finds its end. Bless your father, always a perceptive one, takes his leave immediately thereafter.

Prying the envelope open, you pull out what's inside. White, folded paper from some notebook with the edges where it was torn all frayed and messy. You try desperately to swallow back the sob that's already attempting to make its way up and out of you, though you don't have the strength in you to do so as you unfold the item and inhale shakily to center yourself for reading.

We were so close, please, I love you.

At the top, right hand corner of the paper sits a scribbled little picture of a cupcake—brown paper to hold it and pink frosting with little blue and purple flecks on top for sprinkles. He must have found some colored pencils and decided to make good use of them for this in particular, or bought them precisely for this.

'Back at home, I've been a swim instructor for young kids for a few years. It's deeply rewarding, and I finally get to do the swimming thing like I've always wanted to. Well, not exactly, but at least I can take my shirt off in the pool now and I don't have to feel bad about whether or not people are looking at the scars.

I have a dog, too. Her name is Berry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for the joy and the loss of your friend, I think I'll always deeply regret that, right along with everything else about your life that I've missed when we could have just as easily shared it together.

I've never been very good at saying stuff, and neither have you. I think that's what always made our friendship so easy, because we clicked so well on a level that didn't require words. I've never had that with anyone else, and I don't think I ever will again. I have a lot of regrets, they all kind of involve you haha. Not your fault, you've always been amazing, but I don't think I've ever really known how to give that back in the way that you deserve to receive it. There's a saying, 'people know how to give love, but they don't as easily know how to receive it,' and I guess I've somehow landed myself as the worst of both worlds, because I don't know how to do either of them.

All of this is to say: sorry for lying about when I was leaving, I guess you've probably gathered by now that I'm a coward who ran away all over again, just like I did before. I run away when I'm given the opportunity to do so, because that's all I've ever known how to do. I want to be honest with you, I really, really do, but I'm scared about what that could mean. How I can't run anymore if I am.

I don't want to lie, and I can't tell the truth. So, I ran.'

By the end of the letter, your eyes are barely able to focus on the words—blurred vision through tears and shaking hands that won't allow you to hold the paper still between your fingers. You sob and sob, choked and desperate for quick breaths that have you heaving where you sit at the loss of the one thing you've wanted—the one person you've wanted—through it all. A beacon of hope, a small glimpse of promise as the two of you stood together in one another’s embrace in the middle of his old, and now to be forgotten, bedroom floor.

You clutch the paper tightly in hand, nearly crumpling it entirely before you realize you don't want to ruin it, but the act of having done so folding the bottom left edge over just enough to show there to be more written on the other side. Numbers as well as letters.

And so, you turn it over.

This time, a crudely drawn picture of a key next to a house; a stick figure in a black hoodie, another stick figure in the coat you had been wearing the night before, and a small, cute dog.

Below it all sits another note, much shorter and succinct in length.

'but if by chance you find the strength to say the words that I can't—no more walls, no more fences.'

Then just below that sits an address, and a gate code that has you jumping out of bed and reaching for the closest pair of pants that you can get your hands on, as if every second is more time wasted, more time slipping through your fingers at finally making all of this right.

'143—you figure it out haha.'

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

[lumiconic]

“ if you’d say you love me ”

✧ some way or another, every member of the global pop sensation 6REEZE has fallen head over heels for you.

✧ kunikuzushi, venti, kazuha, heizou, aether, xiao ; fluff, slight hurt comfort ; idol au ; not proofread

  the first to be sucked into your irresistible gaze is kunikuzushi, known as the main dancer kuni to 6REEZE’s devoted fanbase, STORM’S EYE. it’s almost funny, considering how kuni is known for being the sharpest and most angry member of the group, who dismissively flicks his hand at fans pleading for his autograph. somehow, it was always you who was able to see past his thorny exterior to the blazing passion underneath.

  as the group’s manager, you know almost everything about each of the boys, from their favorite colors to their most coveted dreams. only kuni refused at first to open up to you, calling it a waste of time because he had more important things to do than team-building. there were some tiny hints of disappointment on your face whenever he opted out of the group hangouts early, but you never forced him into anything, no matter how eager everyone else was.

  yet, there was some tiny part of him, buried far beneath, that almost wanted you to make him. to be given an excuse to learn more about you, and to be known as well as you knew the other boys. he never acted on it, and so it’s by complete chance the first time you show having knowledge of him beyond what he’s voluntarily shared.

  he was in the rehearsal room, packing up his bag and wiping the sweat off his brow after another long day of practice. while his singing and rapping skills were mediocre – for an idol, of course, which made them still far above average – he had been scouted solely for his skill at dancing and thus had to train much more in that area than any other. while it was his passion, he still found himself exhausted beyond belief at the end of the day.

  you opened the door without looking up, talking on the phone to someone about future marketing plans (i’m sorry, but if you want heizou to model that line then you need to take aether too because he doesn’t have enough deals yet). kuni cleared his throat.

  your head shot up and your eyes landed on him. “kuni!” you said, sounding surprised and ending the call with a tap of your finger. “oh, do you want this? here – ” you dug in your tote for a moment, then tossed a bottle to him. startled, he threw out his hands and almost fumbled the catch. 

  “ragnvindr energy?” he read the label out loud. the neon pink coloring on the plastic wrap almost hurt his tired eyes, but he was still able to discern the title. “what is this?” 

  “isn’t that your favorite brand?” you asked, sounding surprised.

  “yeah, but – how would you know that?” he said, the usual bite in his voice gone, replaced by confusion as he stared at the bottle. you tilted your head. “well, you bring it practically every day and keep it in your bag, so,” you shrugged, “i just noticed. that one’s my favorite, so i thought i’d have you try it too. which flavor do you like best?”

  there was some strange pulse of feeling through his chest at those words. that casual recognition, the easy way you stated that you had noticed something about him. that you were paying attention. He couldn’t explain why it felt so important. so heady and exhilarating in a way that almost rivaled the feeling of dancing.

  “green tea,” he said, without thinking. “the more bitter it is, the better.”

  you laughed, and he sucked in a breath. the sound was like – the first rays of light peeking over the horizon in the morning; like rain drumming on leaves in the midst of a storm. like music. so easily, he could be lost in that rhythm the way he gets swept into a song even in just the first few beats of an addictive melody.

  “green tea, huh. you aren’t supposed to have that much caffeine, but i saw how hard xiao was pushing you today.” you lifted your shoulders in a what can you do gesture, then pressed your index finger to your lips. “maybe try to drink more water in the future, but for now you definitely deserve this. let’s keep it our secret, okay?”

  “o-okay,” kuni stumbled over the word, surprise still freezing his wide-eyed expression in place, hating the choked breath lingering in his throat as you smiled back at him. a blush rose to his face at the sight, coloring the apples of his cheeks bright red. “thanks.” 

  “of course! once this next m/v comes out, you’ll have more room to breathe,” you said reassuringly. “just hold out til then.” he nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking embarrassingly. what is this? [name] of all people, causing this reaction? get yourself together! they’re just your damn manager, not your – 

  he silenced his inner thought before it could finish that humiliating sentence.

  “well, see you later,” you said, waving goodbye and leaving the room as you tugged your phone out of your bag, already returning to your itinerary of plans to make. there was silence for a long moment, his eyes still focused sightlessly towards the door. kuni looked at the bottle in his hand, turning it over multiple times before unscrewing the cap, lifting it up, and dumping the whole thing over his head.

  he stood there for a moment, the smell of artificial sunsettia flavoring soaking through his hair and cool, sticky juice dripping down his cheeks, soaking into his long sleeved exercise shirt, and pooling at his feet, an speechlessly angry and dumbfounded expression on his face. the heat in his cheeks refused to dissipate. then he took a deep breath in, hoisted his bag over his shoulders, and headed for the showers.

  the second person to be enchanted by you is venti, the main singer, with a pleasant, boyish voice that can go unexpectedly deep and serious. considered immature and childish, he’s also the most rebellious of the group, in a way; the one who would disappear for hours at exactly the wrong times, fetching expensive gifts for the other members and interrupting meetings with the company heads to interject his own opinions on music and production.

  this was yet another day that he was spending doing the opposite of what he was meant to; visiting a local café, one of his personal favorites because of their cutely decorated cakes and lattes, wearing thick black sunglasses and a face mask.

  currently, he was hurrying away from the café, holding a bag with a small box of petit fours and a caramel-apple flavored special edition coffee, trying to lay out his plans for the rest of the day. i just need to get out of here, then i’ll get right back to the company and start practicing again. it’ll only be about ten minutes to go straight home, it shouldn’t take that long…

  “oh my god! is that venti?! like, from 6REEZE?!” 

  … damn it.

  “can i please get a photo? i love 6REEZE, i know all your songs! i have, like, every single photocard released since you debuted!” the nervous babble of the girl who spotted him was admittedly somewhat flattering. “h-hey, sure, a photo’s fine!” venti said, a dazzling smile leaping to his face as he bent slightly to make a peace sign at the camera. the girl clutched her phone in both hands as she took the photo, like it was a priceless item of some kind. 

  “oh, me too, please! you’re my favorite!” begged her friend, bouncing excitedly; her hysterical voice reached a new pitch as venti did finger hearts in her photo. “hey, what’s going on over there?” “what, is he some kind of celebrity?” voices began to bubble through the crowd at the noise, and soon enough, there was an entire group of people shoving up against him, asking for pictures and autographs and asking questions that he could barely hear. 

  panic was starting to burn in his chest, flustered words of hey, excuse me, i’ve really got to go spilling from his lips, with no end in sight to the mayhem. then, he spotted a familiar figure; you, hand shielding your eyes from the sun, peering out over the crosswalk for, presumably, him. your gaze lit on the commotion, and then on him. your jaw dropped slightly in surprise at the uproar being caused simply by his presence. 

  he made eye contact with you through the crowd, panic sparking in his eyes, an unmistakable help me forming on his lips. there was annoyance on your face, and for a second he thought you were going to leave, but instead you opened your mouth as wide as it would go and shouted, “HEY! IS THAT CHILDE FROM DCKZ?” pointing – somewhat unkindly – at a random passerby, a tall boy with bright ginger hair.

  screams rose from the crowd, the unique sound of teenagers seeing their favorite, most handsome celebrity crush, and in the following roar of sound as the poor boy was swarmed without warning, venti was able to slip away, flicking his sunglasses back down onto his face. 

  you met him in the center of the crosswalk, quickly starting to walk again. you chided him gently, smacking his arm with the back of your hand at his impulse to suddenly disappear, and he apologized, only sort of meaning it.

  “part of me is kinda annoyed that someone like childe would get more attention than me,” venti remarked wryly, hooking his mask with one finger and pulling it back over his face, careful to tuck his two toned braids into the back of his hoodie. “with his one-note singing, he shouldn’t have half the audience i do.”

  “sure, but don’t worry, that won’t last for long,” you said, your eyes sparkling with determination as you strode confidently through the streets; venti’s slightly shorter legs scrambled to keep up with your quick, assertive pace. “you’ll be a superstar someday. i’ve always been sure of it.”

  there was a sudden, strange feeling of a lump in his throat; his green eyes flickered to your back, the 6REEZE tour hoodie that you were wearing and its list of sold out dates written down the smooth, high quality fabric, and strange whispers of memory fluttered into his mind. a thousand days spent practicing, the moments right before rising onto the stage, his heart pounding so hard he could barely think and sick nervousness boiling in his stomach, rendering him almost unable to speak. and you, of course, holding out a water bottle, a sheet of lyrics, a helping hand, as always.

  his breath caught and a frantic whirl of thoughts spilled into his mind. the feeling that there’s something he was always overlooking before, something obvious that he never noticed even though it was right in front of his face, like he was missing something crucial, something so important that now that he had noticed its absence it was like a puzzle piece had been cut out of his still beating heart.

  wind blew past his face, and time seemed to slow down in the next second; you turned, a smile flitting to your lips and the words “hey, go a bit faster!” falling into the air as your hand flashed out, connecting the space between you, and grabbed his wrist. in that moment, there was no other way to describe you than… angelic, with golden sunshine drenching your face, your fingers cool against his skin, and he struggled, suddenly, to take air into his lungs.

  “anyway, what did you leave for?” you asked, abruptly breaking the spell. venti shook his head, disoriented. “w… what? oh – i,” he held up his paper bag sheepishly. “i wanted to get a coffee.”

  “oh? from where?”

  “just this café i like,” he said, almost embarrassed of the answer. “well, can i try something?” you asked. he fumbled in the bag for a moment before taking out a small pastry, a layered cube of strawberry shortcake. you popped it into your mouth and chewed for a moment, and he found himself holding his breath with the hope that you would like it.

  “wow, that’s really good,” you said with surprise. “can i come with you next time?”

  there was no excuse for the shot of adrenaline that rushed through him at the innocent question, and he was so thankful that you weren’t facing him as a giddy smile crossed his face. “sure thing!” he said, brightening, and quickened once more to continue in pace with you.

  the third person to melt into your fascinating mind is kaedehara kazuha, the songwriter of the group and main rapper; a fan favorite for his calm and relaxing exterior that belies a fierier soul underneath. it helped, of course, that he wrote extremely popular and romantic songs. you had a strong friendship with him, as he was the member you had known the longest, practically since he was a trainee and you were both much younger.

  right now, he was laying on the floor of your apartment and listening to a demo track of a new song, already planning the words to the sweet, delicate piano melody, while you sat on the couch scribbling in a spiral bound notebook, eyebrows knit in a concentrated expression. you heaved a sigh, ripping out a sheet of paper and crumpling it into a ball before tossing it on the floor frustratedly. kazuha paused the music. “what’s wrong?”

   “i’m just – trying to figure this out,” you sighed. “the words just won’t come to me.”

  “what are you writing?”

  “… poetry,” you said begrudgingly. when he laughed, hiding the surprised and excited thump his heart made when he heard that word, and then the following shock at those emotions, you threw a pillow at him. “stop it! you write this kind of thing too!” 

  “yes, but i get paid to do it,” he pointed out, refraining to mention that it was also his main pastime outside of his idol duties. “can i see it?” you shook your head instantly, and his lips tugged downwards into a frown. so, [name] writes poetry. what a coincidence. his eyes glittered, fixing his unhappy look on you.

  you closed your notebook and gave him a big smile, slightly pained in a way he could only recognize due to your years of friendship. “really, it’s just a hobby. it’s about time for dinner anyways. shall i start making something?”

  “no, show me,” he requested, tilting his head, dark red eyes locked onto yours. “please?” he wanted to see them so badly, a hint of desperation seeped into his voice. he almost cringed at that sound. but why was he so curious? of course, he inexplicably loved the idea that you had one of the same hobbies as him. composing poetry and songs? it was as if you were made to be together.

  he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, and tasted salt on his tongue for a second, the pain jolting him back into his right mind. partners, of course, is what he meant. friends. nothing more than that. how could he be having such stupid thoughts about you, his oldest friend? 

  your voice drew him into reality again. “okay, fine, just don’t judge me. it’s… really dumb,” you admitted, closing your eyes and cracking open the spine of the notebook. kazuha ran his fingertips over the paper, ridged with line after line of your cramped handwriting in thick ink. as he took in the contents of the pages, his eyes widened. this is…

  “a love poem?” he said aloud. you squeezed your eyes shut as he started to read the words halfway down the page. “… lost to me like dandelion fluff / i grasp for another handful / another breath, wishing for you cupped in my hands.” he rocked backwards, clapping his hand over his mouth not soon enough to muffle the laughter.

  your cheeks colored and you snatched the notebook back. “ugh, kazuha! get out of here! i didn’t even finish it yet!”

  “no, no! i’m not laughing at you!” he said, though he was a bit. such a tacky way of words, and yet… “it’s just so sentimental, i never would have expected this from you. it’s, sort of sweet.”

  “well, you never know,” you said, placated slightly by his words. “and anyway, i’d never show it to anyone but you. it’s just for fun.”

  you’d never show it to anyone but me? logically, he knew there were a thousand reasons for you to say that, ranging from him being another poet, to him being your close friend. and yet, he latched onto the one he wanted the most. 

  “who’s it for?” he asked, as casually as he could, as calmly and slowly as he could. as if there was no meaning behind that question at all. as if the idea that such a poem could maybe, possibly be for him didn’t make his heart explode into fireworks of joy, without him even knowing why. no, not quite; of course, he knew why. his job was writing love songs, anyway. he had just never thought that of all people, it would be you who caused these feelings he’d sang about a thousand times yet never experienced.

  “i’m not telling,” you said, sticking your tongue out childishly before looking embarrassed. his heart plummeted into his stomach. even though it was an answer to be expected. he couldn’t explain this crushing disappointment at your refusal to speak. “w-well, anyway… why don’t we go get something to eat now?”

  it was unmistakably an escape from a conversation you didn’t want to continue. yet, kazuha wanted to ask you to wait, so he could see another poem of yours. even if it led to heartache, he wanted to know so badly that it almost hurt. the possibility of you writing something like that for him was something he wanted more than anything in that instant. and yet…

  more than that, he wanted you to be comfortable around him. that was truly what he wanted most. so… “okay, sure,” he obliged, and you set down your precious notebook as the two of you stood to leave, him casting one more glance towards it and wondering after its tantalizing contents. 

  as you both stood in the elevator, waiting for its descent to the bottom floor, he turned to you. “hey, what was the name of that poem again?”

  “dandelions,” you said, another embarrassed flush tinting the tips of your ears. “it’s silly, but— ”

  “no, it isn’t. dandelions,” he repeated, the word tingling on his tongue. it felt like he was on the verge of something new, somehow, that familiar warm, sparking feeling he always got right before an idea for a brand new project. “i like it.”

  the next single is soon released, titled wishes in the breeze, a heartfelt ode laced with sugary-sweet declarations of love for an unknown person. you find a copy of the tape– its cover plastered with an image of the boys sitting together with their backs to the camera, kazuha in the middle, one eye showing as he turns his head– outside your apartment door; in the liner notes of the tape are shreds of a poem in red ink.

  the third to fall prey to your beauty is shikanoin heizou, the main visual and most outgoing, charismatic member of 6REEZE. of course, he’s quite talented as the other members, but his true strength is in his magnetic personality that draws in new fans almost every day. he always knows just what to say, a perfect comeback locked and loaded on his tongue and ready to burst no matter what the situation is.

  after wishes in the breeze won ‘best new pop song’ at a prestigious teyvat awards event, you and 6REEZE were invited to a celebration dinner with many other famous artists. heizou was standing with the other members and holding small talk with a punk-pop girl band trio that recently released an album that swept the awards, golden apple. 

  “heya, [name] just came in,” the shortest girl said, tilting her head towards the entrance. “ain’t  that ya manager, heizou?” he smiled instantly, and agreed, “ah, yes!” with a gleeful look on his face. “i wasn’t sure they were going to show up, they don’t usually like big crowds, but i guess this was too important of an opportunity to pass up.”

  he swiveled to greet you, hand already raising in a wave, and as his gaze landed on you, the world seemed to stop turning for a moment, the words falling out of his mouth and disappearing.

  highlighted underneath the dancing lights, there you were; in a forest green tuxedo, the silken material of your sleeves almost glowing as you rubbed the back of your neck nervously. your hair was styled in such a way that you looked like royalty, sweeping over your shoulders, and when you turned your head slightly and the bright color of your eyes was caught in the glimmer from the spotlights above, he could just feel his heart in his throat and the bittersweet taste of longing.

  heizou was unable to speak for a few seconds, almost unable to breathe. it was lucky for him that kazuha caught sight of you and waved you over, because he couldn’t get a single syllable out, let alone a greeting. you crossed the room to the small group.

  “how fancy,” kuni scoffed, sharp nose turned up as he jutted out his chin. “no wonder it took you so long to get here, primping like this.”

  you pulled at your sharp collar. “it’s a little stifling,” you said with just a hint of sweat to betray your flustered interior underneath your calm expression. “i don’t usually get dressed up like this, but… it’s for such a special occasion, and it’s a little fun too – ”

  “it looks amazing, [name]!” venti exclaimed, stars in his eyes as he grabbed your hand and pumped it up and down. “seriously, the best! you didn’t have to go so all out for us, we would have been happy with just a fancy sash or something,” he laughed. you accepted his handshake without a change of expression, as the other boys oohed and aahed dutifully.

  “i mean, come on! this is so fancy, i’m shocked to see [name] all dressed up and looking sharp! i wish we could see you like this more often,” venti continued, turning to look at heizou with a smile. “right?” 

  the question was surely meant innocently, as a query for the other contender for flirtiest member. it was most likely that venti had expected only a oh yes, it’s quite stunning, but not as stunning as [name]’s cute face by itself. but heizou had no smart remark, instead offering only a “yeah, it’s fine,” with a flat, unchanging face, before turning on his heel and practically running for the exit. “hey!” venti said, surprised, as if trying to call him back, but it was no use; the red-head boy was already out of earshot in a matter of seconds.

  “ah… ? heizou?” you said, taken aback as you watched heizou’s rapidly retreating frame. “did i… do something wrong?” a strange sadness seemed to fill your chest, and your hand fell away to rest limply by your side.

  pushing through the double doors, heizou finally managed to escape. he ducked around a corner, hunching over and staring at the floor, his breathing fast with exertion and agitation. “that’s… just not fair,” he mumbled into his hand, palm pressed to his mouth and face burning red. “to suddenly show up in something like that? it’s practically playing dirty… ”

  he sunk to the floor, getting dust on the legs of his suit, but he barely noticed, burying his face in his hands with only thoughts of you rushing through his head. he had no doubt the others were wondering after him, but there was no chance he could go back in his current state, barely able to think straight. 

  “man, [name]… you really are dreamy.” 

  though the mood of the celebration was dampened by heizou’s partial absence and your dejection, you managed to go to bed that night with a smile on your face due to the fun atmosphere and the others making a special effort to cheer you up. the next time you saw heizou, he presented you with a gift box tied in an intricate knot with a silk ribbon. inside, was a less formal version of that outfit, in a popular style that you could wear out on the street.

  “because you said you thought it was fun,” he says, tucking his hands behind his back to conceal their shaking. “i thought you would like something like this. to wear whenever you want. but if it’s too much, or silly, i – ”

  “i love it, heizou,” you say firmly, cutting him off. “thank you.” when you hesitantly pulled him into a hug, his arms came up automatically to wrap around your back, his breathing almost stopping with an nervous thrill that traveled up his spine. he wondered for a second if you could feel his heartbeat and how fast it was pounding inside his chest, before pushing the thought aside and letting himself just feel the warmth of your arms for that short moment.

  the fifth person captivated by your kindness is aether, the youngest member and the least experienced, with no solid lead position. every person in 6REEZE has their fair share of fans, but he had a noticeable lack of support compared to the others; the company that managed the group, SHOGUNATE ENTERTAINMENT, just seemed to have it out for him, barely giving him any solos or spending any time marketing him.

  of course, no one ever voiced their concerns at his treatment aloud, not when he seemed so truly optimistic. nobody wanted to be the person to make that grin disappear. spending all day, every day practicing, waving the others off when they asked him to take a break, every moment was dedicated to the betterment of his idol persona, never letting that golden smile drop from his face.

   it felt like it was a thousand degrees on the set of their next m/v, yet aether was still practicing, the sound of their upcoming release today and tomorrow blaring through his ears. it was the only song he had heard in at least a week, but he couldn’t take a break for even a second if he wanted to remember the whole thing without one mistake.

  when his twenty-third(? he lost count around number fifteen) runthrough of the song finally finished, leaving him kneeling on the floor, he shut off the music. in the silence of the empty room, there was some kind of pounding still echoing in his head, making it hard for him to think straight. as he rose to his feet, his vision blacked out for a moment.

  “aether, you’re still here?” said a sudden voice, laced with surprise. he looked up to find you, apparently having just entered and in the midst of rearranging a couple of set pieces. as your gaze traveled over him, your eyes widened slightly. “are you okay? you look so pale.”

  “yeah, ‘m fine, just – just tired,” he mumbled, swaying on his feet slightly. your worried expression swam before his eyes. “is it hot in here, or… ?” were his last words before he stumbled and fell, the ground rushing up to meet him faster than he could react with his exhausted, nonresponsive limbs, eyes closing and unable to think properly.

  huh… ?

  the world pulsed around him in blinking black dots. somehow, he hadn’t hit the ground yet. it felt wrong that he would still be falling; he forced his eyes open with great struggle, and found that you had caught him. how strange… why couldn’t i move… ?

  you gently lowered yourself to the floor, allowing him to rest his head against your leg. “aether,” you said, your voice pained and worried, “how hard have you been practicing? have you taken any breaks today?”

  “no, i was trying to learn the choreography without – ” the words caught in his dry throat, breath scraping painfully, and you looked even more worried as he coughed. “without pausing at all.”

  a tch sound escaped your lips, expression more concerned than he’d ever seen it before. “you must be so dehydrated.” you bit your lip. “aether, you know you’re just hurting yourself this way. this level of work… it’ll hinder your progress, rather than help it.”

  despite the discouraging nature of your words, it was gratitude for that acknowledgement, and some thick, warm emotion that brought a strange moisture to aether’s eyes. he tried to rub at his eyes, but his hand was shaking too hard. “no, i have to do this.”

  “why?” you demanded.

  he barely knew how to put it into words. “i’m just… the weak link,” he said, tears pricking for a moment before he blinked them away, one hand resting on his temples and shielding his face from your concerned gaze. “i’m not good at anything, so i have to practice and practice to make up for – ”

  “you’re not the weak link, aether,” you said firmly, your voice so kind and earnest that it almost brought tears to his eyes yet again. “you’re like – the glue, you can do everything perfectly well. there’s nothing wrong with not having a specialty. you work so hard, and always go out of your way to support everyone. don’t let me hear you talking like that, okay?”

  “but – ” he tried to protest, then almost melted underneath the force of your angry, anxious eyes. even with the embarrassment of being in this situation, there was some foreign ember of warmth in his chest that burned hotter with every word from you. he couldn’t explain it, but it was like hearing those things from you was rejuvenating somehow; soaking into his body and leaving him feeling looser, calmer in its wake. he didn’t know if it was because it was you specifically, and he was almost afraid to think about it. 

  “no buts!” you snapped. “i refuse to listen to you thinking this way about yourself. you’re incredibly capable and strong, and don’t you dare bottle this up and work yourself to the point of passing out again. i know you can do it, without punishing yourself for no reason. it’ll be okay.”

  “… okay,” he nodded. you pressed your hand against his forehead and winced. “you better not be getting sick. now go home and rest up. i don’t want to see you here again until tomorrow afternoon, got it?”

  you walked him to the exit, making sure he drank almost the entire contents of his water bottle, with orders to go to sleep extra early. yet, even with those directions, he tossed and turned almost all night, still feeling the force of your laser-hot gaze every time he closed his eyes. 

  the day filming started, there was no doubt in him that he could nail the entire choreography. even xiao commented on his movements seeming more sharp than usual, his voice more fluid as well. of course, there was a reason for that, but he would never have voiced it aloud that he wanted just one more second of your eyes on him. just one more word of praise that felt so much more real coming from you than anyone else.

  there was a six-second focus on him for the second chorus, and he poured all of his saved-up energy into that moment. “i want you here, i want you with me in my arms,” he sang, throwing his entire body into the next twirling movement, and pointed straight at the camera with the unfaltering wish that you would see and know he was speaking to you. “you’re my love, the one i’m wishing for, today, tomorrow, forever!”

  the sixth member of 6REEZE to love you is xiao, the center and leader of the group. though STORM’S EYE has no shortage of love for him due to his mesmerizing voice and mature good looks, he is the least social of the boys, known as ‘ice prince’ because he’s so aloof and cool at fan events. there is no one in public knowledge that he chooses to let his guard down around; even in vlogs, he barely socializes and keeps to himself, practicing or listening to music on bulky headphones.

  SHOGUNATE ENTERTAINMENT works mainly out of an enormous compound filled with training rooms and facilities for all of their groups and other productions. the residence reserved for 6REEZE is attached to it. technically, it could be shared by the group, but the only people who really live there are venti and xiao, and venti is almost always out on other business (or so he claims) anyway.

  the roof of the apartment has an amazing view of the entire city and the sky. it’s the perfect place to go when a break and fresh air is needed, meaning xiao can almost always be found there. and now, after an incident in which a very important standalone project where he was meant to collaborate with a girl group has been cancelled due to strong pushback from fans, he’s vanished, and you know exactly where he’s gone.

  watching the door still swinging shut from his sudden exit, president miko clicked her tongue carelessly. “ah, so immature. do you remember when we were young enough to be able to throw tantrums whenever things went awry, ei, dearest?” she tilted her head at the purple haired woman, who sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “we could secure another collaboration, but apparently not with any girl group. perhaps xing/yun or LUPICAL… ?” she mused. “could someone please go after him?”

  “i can – ” kuni volunteered, already raising from his seat, before you rocketed to your feet, pushing your chair in. “i’m on it! please email me your consensus later!” the other boys watched, taken aback, as you gave a hasty bow and practically sprinted out.

  you found him on the roof, of course, leaning over the balcony with a stony line to his jaw. you approached, and he raised his hand without greeting. “what happened back there?” you asked tentatively.

  “how can they take away an opportunity so selfishly?” he spat. you weren’t sure whether he was talking about the fans or SHOGUNATE ENTERTAINMENT, but nodded anyway. as the leader, he was naturally under the most stress, and when he got into a bad mood there was nothing to do but wait it out. 

  “i don’t know if i can do this anymore,” he said, feeling the smallest crack in his voice and dragging a hand down his face. “we’re always being watched, always having to obey stupid rules that don’t even make sense! this was an important collaboration, i’m not a commodity that will lower in value if i work with a girl! if our fans can’t handle us acting like normal people, they aren’t even our fans, are they?”

  “i know,” you said, trying to soothe him, placing a hand on his arm only for it to be shaken off. he glared out at the city for a moment, eyes focused above the horizon. “it’s just not fair,” you continued. “but xiao, there are alternatives – ”

  “i don’t want alternatives,” he interrupted, “i’m not sure if i even want to be an idol sometimes. all these rules are too much.” he turned and met your eyes. “and you know the worst one of all.”

  “of course i do.” you reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “but are you serious about not wanting to be an idol? because, if you ever chose to leave the company, i… can also leave.”

  “you can’t put your career in jeopardy just for this.” he gave a frustrated huff. “this stupid company is just so stifling. i didn’t think being an idol would be like this when i first signed up.”

  “well, that’s why i’m here, right?” you offered. “to make your life easier. my career isn’t as important, so as your manager, i could – ”

  “you’re more than my manager.” his tone was gentler, the earlier roughness somehow melting away, and the words were quiet enough that nobody could possibly hear, meant only for you as he tilted his head, golden eyes finding yours. “you know that.”

  “xiao.” 

  “i won’t let you endanger your own job prospects if i leave.”

  you stared at each other for a moment. the wind stirred your hair around your face, framing it in the most beautiful way. his heart caught in his throat. the painful look of uncertainty mixed with determination that you wore was sure to be mirrored on his own face.

  “i would never stay here, without you,” you said finally, your voice tight. “i’ll go wherever you go.”

  he opened his mouth, unable to form words as a response to this, and you looked at him. there was nothing in your eyes but earnestness, and he thought for the millionth time how heart-stoppingly beautiful you were. he cupped your face with both hands, and there you were in silence for a long second, the cotton candy sunset gleaming down onto you.

  “[name],” was the word that finally escaped his lips, taking in your sweet scent that enveloped you like an angel’s aura. you wrapped your arms around his neck, murmuring xiao in the quietest voice, a secret that wreathed through the air, like smoke curling into a calm breeze. “i love you.”

  you kissed him, then; and when your lips met, he felt his worries melt away, and the overwhelming thought that he couldn’t care less if the whole world knew about your relationship; it was like he could feel everything, like he was frozen and time only started moving again when you were together. eternity could pass in a heartbeat and he would never know, not when he was holding you.

  whether 6REEZE was together or not, whether he stayed an idol, or the trifling problems of his everyday life – nothing like that seemed to matter when he was with you. it felt inconsequential. no matter what the company wanted from him, he could do it; as long as he could continue to kiss you like this, he would do anything in the world. 

© lumiconic ; please reblog and follow if enjoyed

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Demon or Deity? Deciphering Spirits

How to Confirm That You’re Talking to a God or Goddess

You can thank St. Augustine of Hippo for this. In the early 5th century, he wrote a theological essay against Paganism titled, “On the Divination of Demons.”

St. Augustine’s mother was Christian, and his father was Pagan. He understood both sides. He wrote many philosophical arguments for Christianity, his largest being The City of God.

In "On the Divination of Demons," Augustine fought back against an Oracle predicting the invasion of Serapis's temple. He argued that demons spoke to this Oracle. He argued that All Pagan Gods are Demons in disguise. He ridiculed fortune tellers and future predictions comparing them to the circus.

Do the arguments hold some sort of validity?

While Spirits can impersonate Deities this guy can now be pushed away from the conversation.

I’ll ask that question again.

Can Spirits Impersonate Deities?

The short answer is Yes.

The long answer depends on your experience level and knowledge.

If you are not used to the deity’s signs and how they communicate or you do not know which red flags to look out for, you are prone to deceit.

Red Flags

Messages drastically change.

For example, recently you received a sign from the Goddess Hekate. She wants to work with you.

The next week, another message tells you that She does not like you. Deities rarely change their mind without good reason. Double-check the divination.

People do everything for you.  

Deities do not need to go through others to speak to you. Even if you cannot hear Them directly, deities can contact you in different ways. If someone else does a reading that sounds completely different, question it. Especially if it’s random and not requested. Do not use other people to translate things for you all the time. Spiritual journeys are personal. They are meant for you, and a lot of people get hurt this way. Other individuals love taking advantage of people using them for their own motives. Just be careful out there.

Overly negative or apocalyptic.

I've heard an unfortunate amount of people claim that the world was going to end after contacting their spirits. Why would they let go of any worshippers telling them that? Why would they give someone a sense that they are the chosen one? Question that. No one is special. We are all here for the human experience. Try dealing with that first even if you don’t want to.

The entity is trying to force you into things.

You do not need to answer spirits. A deity could ask you to worship Them. You can also say no. With years of experience, I have never heard of a deity punishing someone for not working with Them. If a message sounds like a threat, then question everything, and it’s probably best to ignore it.

How to Guarantee That You’re Speaking to a Deity

Ask the same question several times.

Use your preferred divination technique writing down all the answers to your questions. After one day has passed, repeat the same method rephrasing the questions asking the spirit again. Sometimes there are inconsistencies. Question what feels right and what does not.

Thoughts belong to whom?

Are the thoughts yours or are the thoughts external from you? Sometimes strong emotions are mistaken for spiritual signs. It’s easy to get caught up in your own head and let it take over hijacking the metaphysical exercise. Always question this. Did you anticipate a specific answer? This can also lead to derailment. It doesn’t hurt to ask again to gain confirmation. Before contacting your deity, stabilize your emotional state.

Gathering valuable resources.

Contrary to what I just said you can seek outside opinions for valuable resources. Become familiar with the deity’s information beforehand and ask about other peoples’ experiences. Just don’t let people take over the work or tell you how to think. Try to do the work yourself. Research is key.

Different techniques for you.

Try a different form of divination to see if the answers are around the same or greatly vary. This won’t hurt and it will help you learn more. Trust your instincts in spirit work. It’s okay to question things.

Protection orders.

If there is constant anxiety and worry, then do yourself the favor and put-up protection wards before spiritual communications begin. It will give you some peace of mind and it doesn’t hurt anything at all.

[starsreminisce]

“It seems like you have a great deal of magic constantly in use at once.” A shrug. “It helps me work off the strain of my power. The magic needs release—draining—or else it’ll build up and drive me insane. That’s why we call the Illyrian stones Siphons—they help them channel the power, empty it when necessary.” “Actually insane?” I set aside the empty stew bowl and removed the lid from the meat pie. “Actually insane. Or so I was warned. I can feel it, though—the pull of it, if I go too long without releasing it.”

I wonder if this is what Elain and Lucien will restore when they get together. I've posted before about how I believe Feysand's bond is mental, Nessian's bond is physical, and Elucien's bond is emotional.

In HOFAS, we learned that about 10,000 years ago, Prythian had High Ladies until Silene rejected the title, which Feyre has since reclaimed. We also learned about King Fionn and Queen Theia, particularly how Queen Theia behaved with someone she loved versus her mate.

This overwhelming insanity might stem from the fact that the High Lordship is meant to be shared between two mates, a balance we're beginning to see with Feyre and Rhysand, Kallias and Viviane, and hopefully, Thesan and his lover. It's noteworthy that Rhys's and Tamlin's parents were mates as well.

I also wonder if this was meant to happen sooner had Lucien's mother decided to be with Helion rather than staying with Beron. This could be yet another consequence that their offspring, Lucien, is destined to correct.

However, what if Elain and Lucien are destined for something even greater? HOFAS reminded us how having both a High King and a High Queen brought peace to Prythian, especially in times of interworld conflict. Perhaps their union could herald a new era of stability and unity, shaping the fate of Prythian in ways yet unseen.