teaboot · 1 day ago
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Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.
This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.
You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.
For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.
White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.
Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.
Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.
The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.
There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.
The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"
You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.
Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.
Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.
Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.
If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.
If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.
When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".
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feeder86 · 1 day ago
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The Curse of Deansgate
An understudy for Chris Peterson? Most of Ned’s friends could not believe it. Nor could Ned, to be fair. The fact that Chris was even doing Broadway was almost just as unbelievable. Hollywood superstars, like him, rarely gave up the time for a twelve-week stint in a production like ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’. It was going to be, without a doubt, the hottest ticket in town.
Ned watched through some of Chris’ old movies before rehearsals began. He devoured them all: the romantic comedies, the science fiction classics, as well as the action hero thrillers where Chris’ shirt was pleasingly absent for multiple scenes. Ned swooned, still feeling unable to comprehend his good luck. He’d done the Broadway circuit for a few years now and was slowly building a name for himself. A major role in his last show had earned him the attention he craved within the industry, despite the show actually selling rather poorly. But Ned simply loved the theatre and couldn’t wait to see Chris in action on stage. He imagined that the guy would feel quite nervous performing to a large crowd every night, especially after exclusively working on movies for so many years. And, as his understudy, Ned would be sure to support him. He fantasised about them becoming best friends and forging a bond like no other. He felt the bubbling excitement in his stomach as the days ticked down, getting closer and closer to the beginning.
The media coverage was already everywhere, even before the two week rehearsal period. ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was a rarely performed production due to the superstition surrounding its commercial failures in the past. Written in the early twentieth century, ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ had apparently never once completed a full run in any theatre; although Ned doubted that to be completely true. Like all superstitions, it made Ned laugh to think that the play would make the usually level-headed investors go weak at the knees; much like all the actors he had met over the years, too superstitious to utter the words ‘Macbeth’ on stage. But a ‘cursed’ play certainly made for an awful lot of clickbait; cleverly helping to fuel the audience’s anticipation, as well as the advanced ticket sales.
However, there was also another reason why the play was being discussed so much; one that Ned felt a little more nervous about. The director would be the incredibly talented Gordon Harrison; an absolute master; especially here on Broadway, crafting incredible productions over a career that spanned decades. He had once played the lead in ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ back when he was in his twenties, and was resurrecting it now, perhaps as a form of nostalgia for himself. However, if anyone was to meet Gordon, it might not have been his ingenious directing creativity that they first noticed. Gordon was known to be one of the largest men working in the industry; a ginormous gut and wide butt, weighing in at a waddling five hundred pounds or more. 
Ned was sure that many people had probably made fun of Gordon’s weight over the years, but none so publicly as Chris Peterson. It had apparently happened early on in Chris’ career, when he was still making a name for himself, playing a small role in one of Gordon’s rare movie productions. When asked what he thought of the renowned director, a young, pretty-boy Chris had been less than complimentary, remarking to a journalist about how grotesquely greedy and lazy the fat director was on set; rarely getting out of his reinforced chair to offer notes to the hardworking performers and crew surrounding him; also referring to him as just another ‘failed actor’ who had shifted to directing once his first career ended. They were throwaway comments, but even Ned remembered the media storm that inevitably came from it. 
Perhaps not for the right reasons, Chris Peterson undoubtedly became better known afterwards. He’d been remembered and picked for bad boy roles where a little edge to the character’s personality was definitely a requirement. From there, he’d only gone from strength to strength, after his management eventually taught him to hold his tongue a little more when it came to badmouthing people he had worked with. Now, the director’s offer of the lead role in this play had been widely seen as an olive branch to the handsome actor, as a way to leave the past behind them; one that had been graciously accepted by Chris’ management team who convinced him to sign up straight away. And so, for the first time ever, the money was pouring in from investors, hoping to get a slice of success as ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was about to be performed to the public for the first time in thirty years.
Some men just had that aura about them. It was the thing Ned most remembered about Chris Peterson, the first time he strolled into the theatre. Like any Hollywood hunk, he was painfully handsome, not to mention stylish. But Chris was also incredibly tall and muscular, giving the perception that he could have turned his hand to any sport at all, had the acting career not worked out so well for him. Ned remembered how aroused he was, sitting in the wings, watching the final act, when Chris rehearsed the penultimate scene, completely shirtless: the broad back, the stunning chest, the insane six pack. Not that Ned was a stranger to the gym himself, it was pretty much given in his line of work, but there was just something so awe-inspiring about the physique of a true Hollywood leading man.
Unlike any other production Ned had ever been involved in, there were journalists waiting outside from day one of rehearsals. Gordon had made it clear that no one was to talk to them or pose for pictures, but that didn’t stop them shouting for attention each time the cast walked out. Usually they wanted to know about Chris, or about how Gordon was doing, working with a guy who had so badly insulted him almost ten years ago. If Ned had been allowed to answer them, he could have told them that, in fact, everything was absolutely fine. Ever the professional, a now twenty-seven year old Chris took to the theatre work with ease, and Gordon didn’t seem in the least bit resentful towards him at all. Perhaps that was the point. The reality was so fundamentally boring, keeping the air of mystery kept the media writing about the play and building that appetite for it.
As for Ned’s dreams of becoming best friends with Chris Peterson, well, that had always been unlikely. Although the man had learned all their names and was friendly enough, Chris kept himself to himself during break times and retained that Holwood mystique with the rest of the cast; continuing to be one of the only people Ned knew who could get away with wearing sunglasses indoors and still look sexy. But, in regards to being an understudy for him, Gordon had told Ned straight out that it was never going to happen. People were coming to this production to see Chris and that was exactly what they would get. It was the investors who had insisted on there being an understudy, just in case, but Ned was never going to actually get the chance to perform to an audience. He would simply stick to his significantly smaller role, dying before the end of the first act each and every night.
“Break a leg!” Ned smiled at Chris as the curtain was about to go up on their first night. He still got butterflies each time he had the opportunity to talk to the guy, even after the long rehearsals.
Chris smiled back, seeming as cool as could be; as if none of this phased him in the slightest. Then, with a final intake of breath, he stepped onto the stage, in front of a cheering crowd, surreptitiously dotted with some of New York’s harshest critics.
There was the strangest of feelings in the theatre that night; like an unheard frequency that was somehow ringing in the ears. Chris’ performance was powerful and moving; rising above anything they had witnessed in the rehearsals. Ned could already see the awards and accolades the Hollywood star was about to amass. The final act was a marvel, and Ned saw their large, oversized director sitting in an extra large chair on the front row, smiling with pride the entire time. When the final curtain fell, the audience rose to their feet, but Gordon remained seated. He looked pleased with himself, like he had just accomplished something he had been working towards for many, many years.
At the afterparty that evening, the excitement was electric. Everybody knew that the show was a hit; perhaps the biggest success they would ever be involved in; the pinnacle of their careers. Their director stood, having graciously acknowledged everyone in the cast and crew for all they had done, only leaving one final man to congratulate. He called Chris to stand beside him and slipped his big, heavy arm over the hunk’s broad shoulders.
“You’ve joined a very exclusive club this evening,” Gordon smiled. “There are very few ‘Gentlemen of Deansgate’ out there!” he nodded; acknowledging the fact that he too had once played the part, some twenty-five years ago. “You’re never going to be the same after this.” 
The grin on Gordon’s face was a little too perplexing for Ned. He couldn’t quite make it out. He held Chris’ stare for an almost uncomfortable time, until finally raising his glass and toasting the biggest Broadway smash in many, many years.
The reviews the next morning sang with praise, just as they had all expected. Ned poured over them all, hoping for even a brief mention of his own performance. Instead, Chris had stolen the show, and the promotional image of him in the final scene, shirtless and steamy, dominated much of the pages that were dedicated to the reviews. By lunchtime, Ned could recite almost all of them word for word. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had felt the curious atmosphere in the theatre that first night. Each review, every single one, seemed to comment on it in some form; like some magical awakening of acting greatness. Still, Ned cut every last one of them out, saving them all for his own personal scrapbook.
“Do me a favour,” Gordon insisted, raising his hand to get Ned’s attention as everyone else busied themselves backstage for the second night. “Drop these off with Chris, will you?” he insisted, thrusting a box of doughnuts towards Ned.
“What? Take them to his dressing room?” Ned asked, delighted and nervous about getting the opportunity to go and see Chris before the curtain went up. “Does he even eat doughnuts?”
Gordon chuckled. “Oh, he eats them alright!” he smirked, already waddling away to deal with something more pressing.
Ned held the large tray of doughnuts in his hands, feeling empowered, simply to go and see the star of the show before he went on stage. He raced along the corridor like a man on a mission and knocked firmly on the door until he heard Chris’ deep, masculine voice telling him to come inside.
Half dressed, Chris’ fine torso was on show as he collected all of his bits for the first act. Ned felt like he had entered at the absolute perfect time. “Um, Gordon sent these over,” he mumbled, trying to think straight and not stare too much at the gorgeous man in front of him. Just how many people would have paid serious cash to be standing exactly where he was right then?
“What are they? Doughnuts?” Chris asked, dropping his belt on the floor and heading straight over. He reached in and grabbed one with each hand, pushing one immediately into his mouth with the biggest bite Ned had ever seen. He moaned aloud and chewed quickly, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
“I didn’t know you were so keen on doughnuts,” Ned chuckled awkwardly, simply standing there, holding the box, not knowing where he could put it down. Chris was still purposefully in front of him, seemingly getting ready to take another round.
Chris didn’t answer. He simply moaned as he gorged on doughnut after doughnut; not even caring that his mouth was now covered in sugar. Ned stood there, watching the car crash in slow motion as the entire box was devoured in less than three minutes flat.
“Fuck!” Chris chuckled, swallowing the last of it all. “I had no idea I could do that!” he smirked, turning to look at himself in the mirror, then laughing at how immediately bloated his stomach had become. “Bring me another one of those trays after the show and I’ll let you suck me off,” Chris suddenly declared, reaching his hand down to his crotch and readjusting the suddenly obvious erection that was pressing against his purposefully tight pants. 
“What?” Ned asked; his heart beating faster than ever before. Had he heard that right?
“Don’t act coy,” Chris shot back. “You heard me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Bring me another tray of doughnuts after the show and I’ll let you suck me dry,” he repeated, reaching for Ned’s limp hand and placing it directly across to his boner. “Deal?” Chris asked, knowing that there was no way Ned would ever refuse him.
Ned left Chris’ dressing room almost shaking with elation. Was this really happening? The hottest, straight hunk in the world was going to let him go down on him after the show? Surely this was just a dream? 
With the first act soon over with, Ned snuck out to the doughnut place across the street and bought the exact same tray of treats that had been delivered earlier. He stood around, pretending to wait purposefully in the corridor, having concealed the order under a pile of clothes in his small, shared changing area. 
The next thing Ned knew, he was back on stage for the curtain call. He’d started to doubt himself; to dispute reality. He was going insane. Chris hadn’t really made such an advance on him, nor made the bizarre request! He was just slowly succumbing to madness. But as they all cheered their way off the stage, Ned felt a very firm hand on his shoulder and the Hollywood superstar bringing his mouth close to his ear, whispering. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
After the buzz of the first night, the second night always felt anticlimactic, with people darting off quickly after the show ended. Ned waited until there was a slight lull in the noisy corridor, until he stood outside Chris’ dressing room holding the doughnut tray, knocking until he heard the call for him to enter.
This time, Chris was sitting. already stroking himself in his chair; legs parted and pants removed, ready for Ned to do what he had come here for. Of course he had a large penis, Ned thought to himself, watching the sexy guy stroking it like he was filming a porn scene. 
“Give them to me!” Chris demanded, having eyes only for the tray that Ned was carrying. He reached out, ripped them from him and immediately began gorging, like he had before. Then, with only a nod of his head, he ordered Ned down to his crotch.
Slipping onto his knees, Ned could hardly believe what he was about to do; something he never imagined could be done. He started slowly, determined to get it exactly right; to give Chris as much pleasure as he could. If he delivered Chris the best blow job of his life, he would. He pursed his lips and worked his tongue to perfection, hearing Chris moan with pleasure as he pushed those doughnuts into his mouth. He felt the guy’s large, sticky, icing-covered hand press onto the top of his head, pushing him deeper into his crotch. Ned obliged, willing himself not to gag as his throat opened further. Then, absolute magic. He’d done it. He’d made the Hollywood superstar climax in what sounded like the most intense orgasm imaginable. 
Ned stood, feeling proud, looking down on the hunk slouched in the chair. The man was a mess, covered in icing and sugar all around his face; his toned stomach now bloated and hard. The man seemed dazed, either from the eating, or the intense relief of having ejaculated so forcefully. He sighed multiple times and began tapping his own face as if to bring himself back into reality. “Fuck! That was good!” the man growled, before sitting up and casually feeding himself the larger fragments of doughnut that had fallen onto his chest during his rampant gorging minutes earlier.
Grinning, Ned knew that this was a tale he would be able to recount for the rest of his life: the day he sucked off Chris Peterson in his dressing room!
“What are you doing this evening?” Chris asked, finally getting to his feet.
“Um, nothing much,” Ned replied, feeling the shadow of the large man cross over him.
“You know this city, don’t you?” Chris pondered. “You’re from here, aren’t you? You can take me out.”
“Yes,” Ned answered, without evening thinking; his heart almost leaping out of his chest. “But I wouldn’t know where to take a Hollywood star like you. We’d be harrassed by journalists the whole time if I took you to the bars I usually go to.”
“Then don’t take me to the bars,” Chris shot back. “Take me back to your place and order in.”
“You… you want to come back to my apartment?” Ned spluttered, overjoyed and simultaneously embarrassed by the thought of hosting Chris Peterson in the miniscule space he rented in the city. Still, he had kept the place fairly clean… Maybe Chris just wanted another opportunity for them to be alone together again.
“Is it far from here?” Chris asked, already gathering all that he needed and slipping a few items of clothing back on. 
“Not far,” Ned replied, realising that he didn’t really have a choice either way. “We can head out through the back and be there in five minutes.”
“Good,” the man nodded, already pushing Ned towards the door. “Lead on.”
Just over an hour later, Ned was accepting the second delivery at his apartment whilst Chris lounged on his couch, gorging himself on the pizzas that had arrived five minutes earlier. The moment he went back in, Chris dropped his greasy pizza down and made to grab the bag of Chinese food, not caring that the slice landed topside up on the couch, leaking the oily residue into the material. 
“I didn’t know that you were such a foodie,” Ned sighed, hoping that Chris’ hunger wasn’t going to get in the way of them having more fun later on. He ran to grab a cloth and began attempting to get the stain out.
Chris’s kisses were passionate and arousing after all the food. Ned had seen some bizarre Hollywood diets in his time, but this binge eating of Chris’ had bloated his stomach up like nothing he had ever known. He was gentle around the man in the bedroom, wondering whether he might throw up should things get a little energetic. Hosting a Hollywood superstar, making him climax in his very own apartment, it felt like a moment Ned had been waiting for his entire life; an experience he could boast about for years to come. Had Chris wanted to stay the night, Ned would have been more than delighted, but the man seemed restless and keen to get back to the hotel he was staying in, ordering himself a ride and bidding Ned a goodnight.
Gordon didn’t seem to care when Chris didn’t show in time for their pre-show meetings, rolling in with just enough time to get into costume and get on stage. For the first time, the backstage crew began to grumble about him, knowing that they were only one week in, with another eleven long weeks to go. But just as the lead actor had seemingly lost all passion for it, so had their esteemed director; no longer bothered by the silly little mistakes that were made by the lighting department on the fifth night, nor the fact that Chris had missed his cue several times by the start of week two.
On their opening night, the show had felt like a slick, well-oiled and ambitious machine. Now things were getting sloppy and haphazard. The excellent reviews of the previous week were being replaced by curious clippings in gossip columns about Chris’ amateurish performances. Not only that, but a rogue cell phone had snapped a picture of Chris during his shirtless scene looking significantly thicker than he had seemed in the promotional shots. Ned had seen it first hand as he continued to slip into Chris’ dressing room after a performance for some fun. He’d known that the make-up department had painted on a six-pack for the last three performances. However, nothing could mask the unmistakable width of Chris as he turned to his side; a distinct paunch starting to form. All of a sudden, that one picture seemed to be everywhere and all of the press interest in the play turned directly towards Chris’ weight gain.
“There’ll probably be more people trying to get pictures of you tomorrow,” Ned warned as he snuck into Chris’ dressing room and caught the guy gorging himself on a couple of boxes of cookies that had been left in there for him.
Chris scowled and nodded for Ned to lock the door behind him. “That’s tomorrow’s problem,” he grumbled, sliding down in his chair and pulling out his hardness for Ned to suck on as he ate.
Ned assumed the position, noticing the roll of stomach fat that was beginning to encircle Chris’ waist. His fingers slipped onto it as he took Chris’ hardness in his mouth, noticing the soft and doughy nature of it, slyly ruining the ultimate Hollywood sixpack. Ned knew he was in some way enabling Chris by not walking away and failing to challenge him on his eating but when else in his life was he going to have the chance to be with a global superstar like this?
With the doughnuts gone, Chris stood up and removed the last of his clothes, ready to fuck Ned over the table at the back of the room. Ned obliged, catching the view of Chris’ softer glutes in the mirror as they began kissing; the back fat standing out so much, the skin starting to roll. “Chris…” Ned started, knowing that he could no longer stay silent. “Don’t you think you need to do something about this?” he asked, pinching the actual lovehandles that had blossomed in just over a week.
“Do you want to get fucked, or not?” Chris growled back, clearly too consumed with arousal to think of anything else. Discussions about the guy’s weight were clearly off the table. Ned, lay across his table, spread his legs and allowed the horny glutton to at last get some exercise.
Their esteemed director seemed slightly different over the following days. Unlike Chis’ stomach, which seemed to grow more prominent each day, Gordon appeared to be deflating. His large gut didn’t seem quite so extreme as he strolled about at a faster pace, going from department to department. There was a twinkle in his eye as he saw Ned and a look that suggested that he knew exactly what went on between him and Chris behind the closed doors of the dressing room.
The man had rejected calls for the shirtless scene to be altered so that Chris could cover himself with a shirt, positively laughing at all the press that surrounded the hunk’s sudden gains. “All publicity is good publicity,” he grinned as if he hoped for a boost in ticket sales from it all; not that there was any need. The show had been booked out for weeks before they’d even started rehearsals. 
News outlets began reporting that Gordon had insisted Chris diet immediately and that he had threatened to kick him out from the show should he not comply. However, none of it was true. Of all the people working on that production, the director was the only one who was not in the least bit flustered by it all, even as Chris’ management seemed determined to find a way to get him out of the play and end this constant barrage of bad publicity. 
Ned felt it all very personally, having fallen for Chris during this strange period of his life. But with so much gossip and speculation flying around, how much longer could his fling with Chris stay a secret? A public ‘outting’ was absolutely the last thing either of them needed right then.
“Eight more weeks to go!” Gordon sang, almost tauntingly at them all as Chris stepped up behind the curtain, a rounded stomach pressing out, ready for the shirtless scene. Gordon appeared to wait, listening intently for the inevitable gasps of the stunned audience as the former hunk went out on stage. Then the director would chuckle to himself and stroll happily away.
Getting in to see Chris was becoming harder and harder. A team of people seemed to surround the man the entire time he was at the theatre; men and women who had been flown over from Hollywood to kick Chris into touch. None of it seemed to be working. Even under the strict eyes of his babysitters, Chris’ stomach seemed to be expanding daily. Tensions with the director seemed to flare up as Gordon failed time and time again to renegotiate the star’s watertight contract. The looming fear that the play would end hung like a dark cloud over all of them. As Chris’s belly blossomed into a small, stout and rounded beer gut, each of them looked at each other and sighed. Would this be their last show? How much longer could this insanity continue?
Like a petulant child, Chris appeared to detest all the fussing around him. Sometimes, at night, he would appear at Ned’s apartment, having snuck out undetected from his hotel. He’d order take-out, complain bitterly about his situation and completely fail to show any self-awareness of his own part in the evolving crisis that surrounded him; even as he gorged on pizza after pizza. He’d drawn Ned in, making him feel like the only one in the world who could sympathise with him; the one sane person in his life whilst all the madness threatened to consume him. Ned had been flattered. He felt special. And even though he could see the giant ball of stomach fat growing larger and larger; even as a double chin began to spread itself under Chris’s handsome face and his tight glutes softened with each passing day, Ned still fell for him and stayed up late into the night, pleasing him in any way he could.
It was week four when everything seemed to crash around them. Ned saw the news flash up on his cell phone before anyone at the play got in contact with him to let him know. Chris had left the production, paying a hefty, multi-million dollar fee for exiting early and ending the show.
“You’re up!” Gordon sang down the phone an hour or so later. “You’re my Gentleman of Deansgate!”
“But I thought…” Ned mumbled back; his head spinning.
“One last performance!” Gordon exclaimed excitedly. “Chris’ team were quite insistent upon it as they added a nice buffer into the cheque they signed this morning to get him out of his contract.”
“Why?” Ned asked, remembering how adamant Gordon had once been that he would never allow Ned to understudy for Chris. “What does it matter to them?”
“Just be here early,” Gordon replied, immediately ending the phone call.
Ned didn’t know how to feel. The last few weeks had been the strangest of his life. On the one hand, he felt elated that he was about to have the biggest career highlight to date, seeing his name appearing in the articles about Chris’ sudden departure as the Gordon’s team sent out their official press release about the final show. However, he also knew that he was unlikely to see Chris ever again. The media had already reported that he had left New York for his home in Los Angeles. Just like that, it was all over.
Gordon positively skipped about backstage, racing between the different departments. There was no denying that he had lost a significant amount of weight in the last few weeks and the spring in his step seemed to catch everyone off-guard. Everything had to be perfect once more and the sloppiness of the last few weeks had to end immediately. Yet, despite all the demands and high standards Gordon was insisting upon, there was still a smug, sickly grin plastered all over his face.
“He’s just had a massive payout from Chris’ people,” whispered one of the lighting guys as Ned watched the man with obvious confusion etched across his face. “I was here late last night when they were all negotiating.”
“Well, I expect it must be a relief for him now all the tickets will have to be refunded for the rest of the run,” Ned nodded.
“That stuff’s all covered,” the backstage man replied, shaking his head at Ned’s misunderstanding. “I mean Gordon himself. He’s just had over five million dollars from Chris to let him go early and to ensure there’s this last performance tonight.”
“They paid Gordon personally?” Ned asked. “But that makes no sense!”
Twenty minutes later and the crowds were starting to move into the theatre, bitterly disappointed that the main attraction for attending this play had inexplicably left the production. Ned had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to please the audience, no matter what he did that night. Ned had braced himself for Gordon’s assertive approach to managing him, yet the man had barely uttered more than a few words. Despite micromanaging everyone else, as the new lead actor, Ned felt almost as if he was going into the whole thing blind. Gordon stood behind him as the music began to rumble into life, placing his hand on Ned’s shoulder just before his cue. The role had been Gordon’s once, many, many years ago. Perhaps he felt like he knew how Ned was feeling. “Welcome to the club,” he whispered, grinning excitedly and nudging Ned onto the stage.
If Ned could have found the words to describe the feeling as he acted on stage that night, his explanation would have been akin to the accounts of out-of-body experiences. It was as if he no longer needed to recall the lines of dialogue; like they simply flowed through his body. His movements did not feel like his own; his walk and stature had altered. It was as if he embodied the character and had no control over any of it at all. In the papers the next morning, they would criticise him for mimicking Chris’ performance to the very last detail, but in Ned’s mind, the only thing he had actually done was to step out onto that stage. Everything else had been autopilot.
Unlike the final show of every other production Ned had ever been in, the mood that night was too low to celebrate afterwards. People hugged backstage and collected all their things, knowing that they would not have an opportunity to do so at any other time. Meanwhile, after all the obligatory praise, Ned headed back into the main dressing room as if his mind had drifted below a dense fog. He simply sat in his chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. What on earth had come over him?
Half an hour later, a drunken Gordon came skipping into the room, holding a glass of champagne for himself. “You did wonderfully!” he beamed at Ned, despite the fact that Ned had already been told that Gordon hadn’t seen a moment of it; too busy celebrating backstage. “And now, no one else will perform this play for many decades to come!” he beamed. “‘The Curse of Deansgate’ has struck again! An incomplete run, just like every other time it’s been attempted. No financial backers will go near it again,” he laughed, as if this had all been such a vast, cunning plan from the very beginning.
“Everything worked out pretty well for you, though,” Ned managed to utter, catching the scent of something sweet down the corridor and suddenly feeling remarkably hungry. 
“Even better than I expected,” Gordon nodded emphatically, running his hand down his surprisingly deflated gut. “But the curse has never been about financial ruin, has it?” he laughed. “The curse has always been something much more insidious. I taught that arrogant fuck a lesson and got a very decent payout at the same time.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeming pleased with what he saw. “It’s been a very successful few weeks!”
“You never really did forgive Chris, did you?” Ned asked, feeling the strangest sense of familiarity with Gordon. The man’s last words to him before he had gone on stage had been to welcome him to the Deansgate ‘club’ and now that Ned was there, he felt as if he could ask Gordon anything and be told the exact truth.
Goron closed the door that he had been propping open with his large body and stepped inside so that he could not be overheard. “Of course not,” he laughed. “And you sealed your fate the moment you started sucking him off back here after each performance.” He looked down at Ned disapprovingly. “You’re a serious actor. You should have known better than that!” he scolded him. “Perhaps I should have fired you then and saved you from all this.”
Ned dropped his head. Gordon was certainly right there.
“I hadn’t ever planned to let you take the lead. But when Chris Peterson’s management figured things out, the opportunity to throw you under the bus was simply too easy.” He looked down at Ned with triumph dancing in his eyes. “Lay down with dogs and you get fleas.”
“What did they figure out?” Ned asked, having the strangest feeling that the way his mind was so clouded at that moment was all related to something much larger.
“Here,” Gordon grunted, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “I’ve been told to give you this.”
An envelope was thrown into Ned’s lap without Gordon even making an effort to step forwards. Ned opened it up and found a plane ticket to Los Angeles, departing at 2.05am. 
“Lover Boy wants to see you!” Gordon explained, holding back a snarl.
Silently, Ned felt elated. From the moment he’d read that Chris had left New York, he had believed that their fling was over. Now he was realising that he hadn’t been forgotten after all. “Well, I guess there’s no point in sticking around here these next few days, anyway” he sighed, looking around the dressing room he would have to vacat shortly.
“No, I quite agree,” Gordon smirked. “I’ll message him to let him know that you’re on your way.” He placed his hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Now that you’re the very latest Gentleman of Deansgate instead, I have a feeling that you’re about to meet the real Chris Peterson at long last…”
Ned felt eyes on him the entire time as he made his way to the airport and flew across the country, not really knowing what was going to happen when he finally arrived. In the arrivals lounge, a driver was waiting, holding up a banner with his name written across it. Ned’s only backpack was taken off his shoulders as he made his way to the expensive car that was to carry him away. 
They pulled up forty minutes later at the most obscene residence, overlooking the Hollywood hills. The whole residence seemed llavish beyond words. Unlike the chill of a New York winter, the sun shone gently on Ned’s face and he sighed in appreciation at his own good fortune.
A member of Chris’ extensive team came straight out to greet him, ushering him inside almost as if he was expecting a team of photographers to ambush them from the gates . Everywhere was pristine and surprisingly immaculate, from the large marble pillars to the extensive windows at the back of the property, overlooking an enormous swimming pool and the incredible view across the valley.
Ned sat down at the large breakfast bar in the kitchen, where pastries and snacks filled several plates for the members of Chris’ entourage. He was told to help himself whilst the man left the room to let Chris know that he had arrived. Whilst Ned ate, he heard the splash of someone emerging from the pool and suddenly saw the large, looming shape of Chris Peterson marching across the terrace towards the expansive kitchen. Dressed in only his swim shorts with a towel lazily draped over his shoulders, Chris moved with an assertive speed that Ned had not seen from him before; although, his fat stomach popped out in front of him, firm and rounded under his large pecs.
“Excellent!” Chris cheered, spotting Ned and striding straight over to place his hands on his secret lover’s shoulders as he ate. Chris’ strong fingers massaged Ned’s shoulders, not offering any other sign of affection, most likely because his team were all so close by. “Did anyone see him arriving?” Chris asked someone behind them.
“No, sir. It was all very fast and discreet,” replied a deep masculine voice.
“Good,” Chris replied, his hands massaging more softly now and leaning in to whisper into Ned’s ear. “I bet you’re hungry after all that travelling.”
Chris suddenly stood bolt upright and marched about once more, heading to the refrigerator and pulling out as many things as he could.
“Sir, sir…” counselled a woman from his staff. “You don’t need to do that. We’ve got this covered. You can head back to the pool. We’ll look after Ned.”
Chris looked across at Ned, as if calculating whether he could trust his entourage to do what they were promising. “Fine,” he spat, turning around and marching straight out, clearly in a mood about something. “But I need results. I need all of this mess sorting out now!”
Coming down from the high of his great performance the night before was almost impossible. Ned had hardly slept at all on the plane and he had the remarkable feeling of being almost drunk. Time seemed like nothing at all as Chris’ friendly team fussed around him. He was led out onto the terrace to watch Chris’ gruelling swimming training with his coach. Every now and then, the unnecessarily angry actor would call out to his team any time he looked up and saw that Ned wasn’t being looked after with something to eat or drink.
“You’ve got one fucking job!” he yelled from the pool, making them all rush about to serve Ned something else.
Ned was half asleep when he heard Chris’ voice mumbling around him. “Fucking wake him up then!” he ordered one of his team, before huffing and coming over himself. “Ned… Neddy…” he called out in a voice that was barely soothing. “It’s dinner time, buddy!”
Ned opened his eyes.
“He’s awake,” Chris nodded to two guys, who promptly lifted the back of Ned’s deckchair up so that he was sitting upright. “It’s time to eat now, buddy,” Chris explained to Ned, like he was a toddler, using the kindest voice he had heard from him all day. “Mmmm! Look at all this!” he cooed, as a perfect height table was rolled underneath the deck chair so that a table sat just in front of Ned, loaded with different items.
Overcome with hunger, Ned set to work without questioning any of it. Once food was in front of him, nothing else seemed to matter.
“Good. This is good,” Chris nodded again at his team, as he looked back and forth between them and Ned. “He seems to like this the best,” he pointed at one of the dishes, as if that was a cue for them to get more. 
Faced with so much food, Ned found it hard to concentrate. He was given large, chocolate flavoured drinks that were thick and almost difficult to swallow, however Chris seemed to nod his head in approval each time Ned managed to get one down.
Ned wished that everyone else would disappear. He felt so uncontrollably horny for Chris, yet there were always people around, making it impossible for them to come together. Something about the food seemed almost… erotic. He’d never felt this way before, nor eaten so much in only a few short hours; although he wasn’t quite sure how much that was.
As night time approached, Chris entered Ned’s bedroom carrying a large tray of doughnuts. “A little treat before bed!” he winked charmingly, throwing them down on the mattress.
Ned felt his body lunge for them and he began stuffing the first one into his mouth. Chris hopped on beside him, throwing his arm over Ned’s shoulders like they were old friends, rather than lovers.
“That fucking play, huh?” he grumbled to Ned as the guy ate. “Gordon did us both dirty with that one… and I had no fucking idea!” he laughed, like he had had some lucky escape. “That’s why it’s always important to have people looking out for you behind the scenes. That could have been the end of my whole career!”
Chris noticed a large piece of Ned’s third doughnut break off as the houseguest ate a little too fast. Chris picked it up, not caring about the sticky icing that had spread across the sheets, but keen that Ned should get it down him. 
“I’m afraid I’m not going to try and stop you eating, like you did with me.” He looked down at his own, stout gut and sighed. “Look at all this!” he complained, grabbing a large wedge of it. “How the hell did you ever let me fuck you, looking like this? It’s disgusting!”
“You’re beautiful,” Ned mumbled through a mouthful of food, spitting a little out.
Chris tutted and exhaled in frustration. “You’re wasting it!” he growled in annoyance. Getting more fed up when Ned tried to apologise and did the same thing again. “Look, just sit back a bit more and let me take care of this,” he insisted, handing Ned yet another doughnut and feeling his hand into the eager guy’s crotch, grabbing at the hardness, but not stroking until Ned started to eat. 
Ned had never known bliss like it: the tastes on his tongue and the pleasure down below. Each time he swallowed and opened his mouth to moan, in went a fresh doughnut. There were multiple points when he felt like he could have climaxed, yet Chris seemed to hold him back until the very last moment. He came, feeling like a strong jet had erupted from his groin, opening his eyes moments later to see Chris dropping the emptied doughnut tray onto the floor and wiping his hands on the bed sheets. “Was that nice?” he asked, returning to that slightly patronising tone.
Ned nodded, feeling utterly spent.
“Good,” Chris smiled. “Would you like the same again tomorrow?” Chris asked, like he was trying to bargain something out of Ned. So when Ned nodded, stuffed full of food and bloated, the man couldn’t help but chuckle, heading back to his own master suite.
Chris had lost weight. With all his training and determination, Ned had never seen a belly shrink so quickly. Yet, over the coming days, he felt an onslaught of fat begin to slide onto his own stomach, inflating it with softness in an unnaturally speedy manner. Sometimes he would wake from an afternoon nap to find a measuring tape had been wrapped around his arm or thigh, by a member of Chris’ staff; no one seeming in the least bit surprised at the sudden transformation, despite monitoring it closely.
Ned knew he should be paying more attention to his body. But food was everywhere and his brain felt like it was in such a fog. Dressed only in a pair of swim shorts, he couldn’t detect a stretching in his clothes, nor remember where he had even put his cell phone to communicate with the rest of the world outside of Chris’ incredible house. Nothing he seemed to do from that point on appeared to annoy Chris, with the man’s face lighting up each time he saw a shirtless Ned lazily trotting towards the breakfast bar to eat. The other staff were relaxing too, with fewer of them there in the day now. The ‘crisis mode’ of the previous week was now over. 
Chris lifted his arm and still felt a slight stubborn clinging of fat around his love handles. “Do you want some ice cream?” he asked Ned, as if this would somehow remedy the problem. Without waiting for an answer, he headed over to the freezer to fetch it and dumped the complete tub in front of Ned, along with a large spoon. 
Back Chris went to the mirror, turning and flexing, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Ned.
“It’s almost time for you to go home soon,” he smiled. “A couple more days and things should have worked themselves out.”
“I don’t think I want to go home,” Ned replied, feeling his heart sink.
Chris laughed and came over to pat his chubby friend on his back. “I know. I know,” he smiled. “But what am I supposed to do with you once I’m back to my old shape?” He looked down at Ned’s shirtless body and seemed to grimace at the rolls of fresh blubber along his side. “You’ll just be getting more and more out of shape and I don’t really want that hanging around outside by the pool.” He ruffled Ned’s hair playfully. “I’m sure you can understand that,” he laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of water out from the refrigerator and sliding a bowl of potato chips closer to Ned instead. Then, off he went onto the terrace, diving into his pool once more.
Ned didn’t see Chris after that. The guy had disappeared later that afternoon after a lucrative advertising deal had emerged. He read later on that Chris had claimed his appearance in the play had been caused by some form of abdominal distension, unrelated to weight gain. Several so-called ‘experts’ disputed that, but when the hunk reappeared in beach shots looking just as fit as ever only a few days later, all other explanations seemed to be implausible.
No such rapid recovery came for Ned, however. Once home, his ravenous appetite seemed to consume him and he was dropped by his agent only six months later after piling on a ridiculous amount of weight in that period. And, although he could never prove it, Ned always had a suspicion that Chris Peterson’s team had been at least partly behind his declining career; desperately wanting to reduce his influence after everything that had happened with their golden boy.
Ned’s handsome face seemed to bloat and his chiselled jawline was engulfed and framed by an unflattering amount of neck fat. His pecs drooped within a month and his stomach fat swelled into a giant ball of surprisingly squishy blubber. Pants were hard to come by, given how wide his rear had become after the first year. Ned found that he had to detach himself from his old life and form something new; taking inspiration from the only other man he had known to have gone through the same experience….
It was thirty years later when Ned sat in the same old theatre where they had performed ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ all those years ago. It had taken him decades to finance a new run and convince his investors. But, at long last, the show was ready to audition the lead roles. 
Years ago, after Ned had had time to think and understand it all, unemployed and gaining pounds and pounds of lard by the day, he wrote it all down; every last detail of that play he would one day hope to direct: the lighting, the sound, the timings, the instruments. He didn’t know which parts were important to whatever power fuelled the curse that he had lived with for so long; transforming him into the gluttonous man he had been all these years. Everything had to be perfect.
“I’m very grateful to you for coming all the way over here to audition,” Ned smiled at the handsome, young hopeful standing on the stage: the image of his beautiful father. 
“I’m very flattered that you wanted me,” the athletic twenty-seven year old replied. “I believe you were the understudy for my father when he performed here? It was his only Broadway appearance.”
“Yes, yes,” Ned nodded. “That seems like a lifetime ago!” he lied. “And I’m sure your father would be very proud to see you standing there now, ready to fill his shoes,” he smiled, pretending to be sorry that Chris Peterson’s drug-fuelled car crash had claimed his life five years earlier.
The audition went well; not that Ned had ever seriously considered anyone else for the role. Revenge could come in many forms, but few as sweet as this poor boy.
“I think this show is going to be a huge success!” Ned grinned, eyeing his new lead actor’s cute butt as he skipped out of the theatre having just signed a watertight contract. “I can’t wait to get started!”
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notjustjavierpena · 2 days ago
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Ofrenda
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Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator
A/N: Happy Day of the Dead to all of my followers! I hope you’ll take this time to reminisce about the loved ones that you have lost, and smile when you think of them. I thought of my mom the whole time while writing this, and it makes me sad to know that I live in a country where we view death so gloomily when life should be celebrated. I have written this with utmost respect for the Mexican tradition, trying to do endless amounts of research. I have also written this with endless gratitude to be able to express my love for Javier and his family as well as my own mother at the same time. We never get enough time together, so this beautiful holiday is so heartwarming. Hope you like it ❤️!
Summary: You make an altar with your family for Javier’s mother during Día de Los Muertos.
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)
Tags: +18, depictions of grief, loss of a (grand)parent, family dynamics, so much love in this little family, domestic bliss, non-explicit descriptions of sex, love confessions
Word count: 3k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60151243
Ofrenda
You are in the kitchen, cutting the stems of marigolds on an angle into the sink. The scent of the flowers is citrusy and slightly spicy, complimenting the lemon cookies that are in the oven and nearly done. Beside the sink lies several bare stems too because Lucas is holding a bowl of their petals in his small hands. 
He shows it to Inés, “You need to take a handful.”
“But I want cookies,” she only looks down into the bowl of orange for a moment before her attention turns to the oven, her little hands reaching out until you manage to stop her. She makes a noise of complaint but the mood of the room makes her dial down on how much she wants to fuss about it.
“The cookies are not for us!” Her brother replies with a serious look in his eye, clearly feeling authoritative in the task at hand, “They’re for Abuela (Grandma).”
“I’m sure you can have a few of them. She won’t mind,” Javier declares with a chuckle as he enters the kitchen too. His presence makes you smile to yourself, another burst of citrus filling the room as you cut yet another collection of flowers. You’ve filled almost two vases with them, have chosen the ones decorated with your favorite patterns, and fluffed them to look like two balls of sunshine. 
“But she needs them. If she doesn’t get them, she doesn’t know where to go,” Lucas insists with a pout when his father crouches down between the two of them. He gives a look of concern as if he is the only one taking this seriously. You look over your shoulder and feel a flash of pride at how sensitive a boy you have made, but you don’t intervene because you know Javier has the situation under control. 
“Sí, mijo (yes, my son),” he places a hand on the back of his son’s head, pulling him in to kiss his hair, “They’re for her but I am sure she’ll be happy to see you enjoy them too. She liked sharing with whom she loved.”
“Cookies for grandma and Inés,” Inés says proudly as if she finally understands the importance of the baked goods. Lucas’ expression eases a little as he stares at his baby sister’s longing but then he says her name. 
When she whips her head around, he shakes the bowl of flower petals, showing them to her again. You can see how much Javier loves how he is taking this to heart. 
“Just a little handful, okay?” Lucas encourages. 
Inés’ little fingers dig into the petals, bringing up a much larger fistful of the bright orange marigolds than intended. She stares at them with wide eyes, enchanted by the strong color. Her little mouth falls open with a quiet pretty and she nods seriously. Lucas nudges her with his elbow, directing her back to the task, “Come on, we gotta put them on the ofrenda (altar) so Abuela knows we remember her.”
They exit the kitchen and make their way to the small altar you’ve set up in the living room. You check the timer on the oven but there’s still eight minutes to go, so you and Javier take a vase of flowers each and carry them to the table that’s been draped with a bright, woven cloth, and adorned with pictures, candles, and memories of Javier’s mother. 
As you set down the vase of marigolds, you spot the tiny figurine that you have come to know so well too; a figurine of La Virgen de Guadalupe. She stands by the picture of Javier’s mother, face tipping towards her as a silent protector. The photograph of her is from when she was young enough to be just a few years out of high school, smiling widely with her dark hair tied back like you have seen so many times in other photos. She looks so much like Javier and how you remember her from the very first photo you saw of her, the one that you sneakily glanced at back at Don Chucho’s ranch on Javier’s desk in his teenage room. The one that the figurine stood guard over. That was before you knew what kind of life awaited with her son but you’re sure it was when you realized what kind of husband he would be. 
Javier sets down his vase as well, his eyes lingering on the photo of his mother for a moment before he busies himself with adjusting the flower arrangement, testing out a few angles. You touch his shoulder in silent support and smile gently at him. It earns you a little smile in return, one that seems full of gratitude and love. 
“You okay?” You mouth. 
Javier nods. He finally lets go of the vase and at the same time, a deep breath of air, suddenly satisfied with his work because his heart feels lighter. Not long after, he leans in to kiss you briefly on the lips, eager to make you giggle as he steals another peck while you complain about being covered in specks of flour and sap from the flowers. It’s messy, you say. He thinks you’re perfect. 
As you draw away from each other, Inés and Lucas scrunch up their faces and crinkle their noses at the display of affection. However, even so, you can see the tiny smiles hidden behind the mock outrage. They stand by a little impatiently as they watch you smooch, a drizzle of orange petals trailing Inés due to her getting distracted and forgetting they’re still in her hand. 
“Inés!” Lucas has the same exasperated look on his face as earlier when he notices the mess. You said earlier that it would be Inés’ first year of joining in on creating the altar and understanding its purpose, and Lucas has taken his role in it very seriously. He is clearly feeling the responsibility of teaching her the tradition right now. 
“Sorry,” she drags out the word, a guilty expression on her face, and tries to bend down to scoop some of the petals into her palm again, only seeming to increase the mess. 
Lucas puts down the bowl of petals to help her, coming off as slightly distressed. He has furrowed his brow as he concentrates, acting as if the entire success of this moment is relying on him, “Abuela can only visit if you put the flowers on the table!” 
“Luke,” you crouch down after exchanging a look with Javier. You soothe your son by running a hand up and down his back, “Abuela is always with you. This is just to do something extra special for her.” 
“But what if she can’t find her way?” Lucas asks with concern on his face as he puts down the bowl and starts gathering marigold petals, “We have to make it special.”
“Mamá’s right, we are making it special, mijo, because of all the care you’re putting into this. That’s what’ll guide her here tonight, not whether the cempasúchiles (marigolds) are perfectly placed on the table,” Javier reassures gently and crouches down beside the two of you, Inés mirroring him immediately. All four of you start picking up the remaining petals from the floor and Lucas visibly relaxes a little more, reassured that things might not be catastrophic after all. 
Your husband takes Inés’ small hands in his and guides her through the process of gently scattering the flowers across the table, their vibrant color standing out beautifully against the crisp white cloth. The orange and gold complement the papel picado on the wall behind the altar too. 
“Flowers for Abuela,” Inés scans the sight before her and then claps her hands with a big grin. She beams with pride, so much so that even Lucas finds her joy infectious and smiles as well. Inés points her little fingers to her work, “Making it special!”
“She’ll see those flowers and know you put them there for her,” Javier explains, still crouching on the floor next to Inés. She leans into him. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her even closer so he can plant a little kiss on her cheek, tickling her with his mustache until she giggles.
“Did Abuela like flowers, too?” Lucas asks and moves onto his father’s other side, resulting in him also getting dragged closer. From the look on Lucas’ face, you can see that it has been his plan all along
“She loved them,” Javier answers with a reminiscing smile, “You remember how many flowers there are in Abuelo's (Grandpa) garden, don’t you?”
“Yes!” Both Lucas and Inés say right after each other.
“Abuela planted them and she loved them just as much as she loved lemon cookies,” their dad recalls fondly and there’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Well, almost just as much.”
At the same time, the timer in the kitchen dings. Inés whips her head in your direction expectantly and you laugh softly as she itches to tell you to get a move on, 
“I’ll get the cookies,” you say to make Inés sparkle with glee. You give Javier’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before slipping back into the kitchen. You can hear your children chatting softly with their father as they stay by the altar.
In the kitchen, you take the cookies out and place them on a cooling rack, enjoying the familiar scent of sugar and butter that wafts through the kitchen. The cookies are still very hot to the touch but you carefully transfer a bunch of them to a plate. 
“Here we go,” you say as you reenter the living room. 
“And she had this laugh… Oh, when you really got her going, it would echo through the whole house,” Javier shares. 
“Like Mom,” Lucas says and follows you with his eyes.
“Much like Mom, yeah,” Javier agrees and you smile shyly as all eyes land on you. They have shifted to sit down on the floor in front of the altar, moments ago staring up at the colorful display while Javier told stories of his mother. Now, the three of them have stopped talking when they see you place the lemon cookies on the table, anticipation on their faces. 
“Hola, esposa (hello, wife),” Javier says with a soft smile, the kind that makes your cheeks warm because you know he loves you. 
“There are plenty of Abuela’s favorites left in the kitchen,” you say as you take four cookies from the plate and make sure the rest of them look presentable. Then you kneel down next to your family, handing each of them a still-warm cookie, “Careful, they’re still hot.”
With the altar complete, the four of you sit together on the floor, a quietness settling over you. Between the picture of your mother-in-law, the lit candles flicker and cast soft, dancing shadows. The combined scent of the marigolds and the lemon treats makes the room smell lemony and spicy, and small decorative butterflies catch the eye between the paper banners. 
Inés nibbles on her cookie, looking deep in thought, so you reach out to brush her hair out of her face. Her soft voice finally asks, “Do you miss her, Papá?”
Javier stops right as he is about to take another bite of his cookie. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment. It seems like a gut punch but one that he has learned to expect from having small children. He thinks for a second then nods. When he speaks, his eyes are shiny as they prick with tears and you can hear a slight trembling in his voice, “I do, baby. I miss her every day.”
Inés looks shocked at having caused her father to cry. She puts her cookie down on the floor and you quickly scoop it up. She crawls to sit in front of him on her knees, wiping away a tear that has made its way down his cheek after reluctantly escaping the corner of his eye, “Are you sad?”
“Yes, sometimes,” he breathes and looks down, sniffs, “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to say sorry,” Lucas argues, looking to you for reassurance. 
You nod and move to sit closer to Javier, pulling him into an embrace which he returns by holding your arm. You look at your son while resting your chin on top of Javier’s head, “Go on, Luke.”
Lucas takes a moment to find the right words, visibly skimming through the lessons you have taught him to find the one that applies here. He joins the hug, “Mom says that it's okay to feel sad when we miss someone because it means you really love them… It makes me feel good to miss Mom when I am at school because then I remember her.”
Inés, who has been quietly observing, joins as well. She rests her head against his shoulder, "We love you, Papá."
“I love you too,” he says and the words seem to give him a little courage, “Of course, it makes me sad, mija (my daughter). But having you, your brother, and Mamá here. It helps.”
“I know I say it all the time but I wish I could have met her,” you chime in and kiss the top of his head repeatedly, trying to keep it together yourself, “She sounds like an amazing woman.”
“Inés and I wish that too!” Lucas adds, “We can do this every year!”
“Make cookies!” Inés exclaims excitedly. They both eventually pull back after remembering the baked goods. Returning to lemon cookies laid out near the ofrenda, they chew happily. You snicker at Inés' excuses to eat anything sugary and squeeze Javier tightly before drawing back too.
“I think she’d like that,” Javier sighs with a little smile, taking in the picturesque view of his family.
A few more minutes pass and you gently remind your children of the time, “Alright, it’s getting late. Let’s say goodnight to Daddy and Abuela.”
They exchange hugs and kisses with their father, and then - while she is perched on your hip - you hold Inés near the altar. Both of your kids lay their palms on the table, talking gently.
“Goodnight, Abuela,” Inés says and pats the cloth.
“We love you,” Lucas adds tenderly.
They follow you upstairs to brush their teeth, wash up, and get into their pajamas. You finish bedtime routines with much more hugs and kisses, tucking the both of them in and thanking them for a nice day. Inés still has questions about her grandmother but you tell her that it’ll need to wait for tomorrow. When she seems restless, you trace your finger over her face until she dozes off. 
When both kids are asleep, you return downstairs dressed in your own sleepwear. You find that Javier has cleaned the kitchen and is sitting on the couch in the living room. He glances at the ofrenda out of the corner of his eye, looking thoughtful and melancholic. You can see how much Inés resembles him in the evening light. 
You silently go to sit down beside him, holding his hand between the two of you. 
"Thank you for today," he says softly, leaned back into the sofa and his head turned towards you, "For helping the kids understand."
“You are so wonderful with them,” you reply with a gentle smile, "They love her because you love her, and because she's a part of who you are."
“Still, I couldn’t do this without you, mi vida (my life),” he stresses and inches closer, slowly removing the gap between the two of you. You lean in and rest your forehead against his, a sigh of relief escaping him at being so close to you, “You make everything better.”
You don’t respond with words. Instead, you close the remaining distance between you and your husband, kissing him lovingly in the glow of the altar and the moonlight shining in through the window. 
Yet Javier seems to have more in mind when he reaches up to cradle your cheek with his large hand. He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, eager as he deepens the kiss. It earns him a chuckle from you as you draw back slightly.
“Not in front of your mother,” you whisper to tease playfully. 
“She’d probably tell me to make sure I’m treating you right,” he laughs quietly, thumb still caressing your face, “Keeping you happy.”
“Then you are succeeding,” you tell him with sincerity, keeping all the playfulness he has ignited at bay to show love instead. He responds by getting up from his seat and pulling you by your hand, making you giggle girlishly as he brings you to blow out the candles for the night while whispering in your ear. 
Then he leads you upstairs and makes love to you, slowly and passionately. It’s all long, slow kisses and quiet gasps as you arch your back when he touches you to orgasm. He knows you inside and out, what you need, and what you feel. You’d like to say that it’s the same the other way around, that you know him just as deeply. 
In the afterglow, you rest your head on his chest and feel his hand caressing your hair. His heartbeat is slow, his breathing almost steady again. You look up at him and feel so much affection that your head swims. An idea pops into your head in the beautiful clarity that follows being with him like this, “Tomorrow we could go to the cemetery if you like. We could take your dad too and get him to bring some flowers from his garden.” 
“I’d like that,” he replies, his fingers playing with and brushing your hair to the side absentmindedly, “Pop would appreciate that. It’s been a while since we all went together during Día de Muertos. Yeah, let’s do that.”
“That’s settled then,” you kiss his chest.
“Fuck, I love you, esposita (my little wife),” he says happily, absolutely in disbelief at your perfection. 
“I love you too,” you respond with a shy grin.
.
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If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️
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madamechrissy · 3 days ago
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Keep This Low Key
💜 Pairings: Choso x Fem reader- Rating: Explicit- MDNI
💜 Contents/Warnings: Choso isn't super submissive like most stories, but he is a sweetheart and a doll baby! Has a tongue ring for reasons. In this chapter, fingering, cunnilingus, making out, sexual tension, friends w/benefits
💜 Word Count: this chap - 9.4k
💜 Summary: You have been Choso's best friend for years, and one night he has a date with Yuki, his girlfriend, while you have a date with Ino, your boyfriend, only for them both to break up with you at the same time! You all think of calling each other, but run right into each other. Choso brings you home since you didn't even have your car, and you two are crying over a couple beers and a silly movie, only to have a sudden idea.
Why not say fuck dating, fuck heartbreak, and just fuck each other? No drama, no mess, no upset, and you two are such good friends, nothing can go wrong, right? The only agreement is no feelings, and if you all find a s/o, you'll end things. But the moment Choso opens his heart to you, and the moment you start falling, things get messy, as you realize he's the best you've had, and you're falling hard. Will you all stay friends, become more, or will everything blow up?
✨️ Split POV, Mostly Reader but also Choso at the beginning <3 Comments and reblogs appreciated ✨️
💜 Masterlist 💜 Playlist 💜 (still in progress)
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Chapter One
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Choso’s POV
“What do you mean, you don’t want to be with me anymore?” Choso asks that cold fall night, voice breaking as he looks over at Yuki, who is standing in front of that movie theater, the one they had planned to go see tonight, and she’s all dressed up, her blond hair swishing as she shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, Choso, you’re sweet but… there’s someone else I have feelings for, you’re a doll, really, but… I’m interested in him more. I never wanted to hurt you, but this was just something casual to me.” Choso breaks down then, feeling emotions wreck him, his heart thrumming in his chest, blood rushing through his veins.
“But I am falling for you, Yuki. Please.” He takes her hands then, and she sighs, Choso feels his world crumbling. “I thought you felt the same?”
Yuki looks into his violet eyes, frowning. “Fuck I feel like shit for this. But no, Choso for me it was just fun, you’re not my type exactly.”
He blinks his long dark lashes then, full lips setting seriously now at her words. “Not your type?”
“You’re gorgeous, sweet, so soft… I just need someone a little harsher, a little more manly, I’m sorry.”
He scoffs then, raising a dark brow. “Not manly, remember how I had you screaming my name over and over?” His voice is a low whisper, and he watches her reaction to them, but clearly not enough to matter.
“Well, you certainly are good at that.” Her pretty face blushes, her brown eyes looking away, and Choso starts to feel such anger, his heart clutched by her mean hands, he’d been falling for Yuki for some time now. They’d been together six months, that was not nothing and she so casually is tossing it aside.
“What did I do wrong?” He asks, his voice breaking in the middle. She is sighing then, as people walk in and out, arm in arm.
Yuki was the only girl Choso had ever been with, after having pined away for her for all of college, and finally he thought she gave him a chance. He gave all of his attention to her, even not spending time with his best friend, you, who he misses so much, because Yuki was so insecure about you.
He still tried to keep in touch and even bought you coffees and would hand them to you as he walked by your work every morning. You had been his best friend since middle school, he couldn’t not have you in his life. However your boyfriend also seemed insecure about your friendship with Choso, so there was some sad realization from both of you as you smiled so pretty and thanked him every morning.
That you all were so close it intimidated both of your significant others.
Choso had spent countless nights with you on the couch with him, watching movies, throwing popcorn at each other’s mouths to catch. Some nights you’d take his bed, and he’d sleep on the couch, other nights you’d both pass out and wake up awkwardly laughing, perhaps you’d drool, or Choso would snore. But that was all it was, friendship.
There was a time he’d wanted more, and he’d tried to tell you so many times, but you had been enamored with a boy at school, his name was Satoru, some popular white haired jock you had a thing for. You’d been in love with him all of high school in fact, so Choso had eventually let it go, the thought of more, and focused on truly being your friend. And friends only.
Then he’d seen her in Senior year, Yuki, and he’d had it so bad for her, she was so strong and feisty and enamored him. You eventually realized Gojo was not interested in you more than casually, and you had brought up something that he’d stopped, and he wishes he didn’t. He remembers it so clearly.
‘Cho, I have something to confess.’ You’d said softly, as Choso had been waiting for Yuki to come out of her class, so that he could invite her to the last dance of the school year.
‘Hey angel, what is it?’ He’d asked as he smiled at you, so pretty in your school uniform, surely by now you and Gojo were an item he figured, he didn’t know then that Gojo had hurt you.
‘Why haven’t we ever tried to… um, date? Am I not your type?’ You’d asked, looking down nervously at your Mary Janes. Choso’s mouth dropped open, for four years he had dreamed of those words, but now…
Now it felt a little too late, he was so enamored with Yuki, and you were his best, dearest friend in the world, he’d made himself resigned to that. “But you’re in love with Gojo?’
‘I thought I was, but Cho I think-’ Yuki had walked out then, and Chose had ruffled your hair and kissed your head, running after her like a lovesick puppy, just like you had with Gojo for so long.
Choso wished he’d have done that differently, but at that point he’d had feelings for Yuki, so both of you decided to stay friends, forever, no matter what, but what were you going to say? How would that have changed…
And shit, now he needs his best friend, as the girl he’s fallen so hard for so casually breaks his heart. He feels tears drip out the corners of his eyes, brushing them carefully with his thumbs, which have black nail polish chipping just a bit. Yuki sighs, shifting side to side and stepping up to Choso then, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t cry, shit… I could go about this nicer I guess. Choso Kamo, you’re a great guy, you really are, and I had fun. A lot of fun. But I need someone more serious, not in some silly rock band, I’m really sorry.” He glares then, jaw locking, as Choso’s band had certainly been doing very well, and getting much bigger. But Choso also worked his ass and made good money too.
Choso had his own house and had taken care of his little brother Yuji by himself, even putting him in college, when their grandparents who raised them passed away. He was focused on his music more lately now that Yuji was not with him, but he still made sure to have a savings, and lived pretty comfortably in his own place.
“I am serious, you’re giving me excuses about me being the problem, when it’s pretty clear you just… had someone in mind.” His brows draw together, as he brushes his hair back, half up in a bun tonight. Yuki opens her mouth to say something when a car drives right up, and it’s Suguru Geto who rolls his windows down in his silver sports car.
Choso knows Suguru from high school, Satoru Gojo’s best friend, Choso was cool with him but certainly not close. He looks at the two of you, dark eyes darting back and forth, before sinking back in his seat awkwardly. Choso’s violet eyes are wide as he stares at Yuki now, who’s biting her lower lip nervously, a hand on Choso’s shoulder again, gently.
“I’m sorry, Cho.”
“Don’t call me that.” He takes her hand off gently, he wants to smack it off but he can’t treat a lady like that, even if she’s currently awful.
“I’m sorry, man I came early I guess.” Geto says from his car, and Choso scoffs as he looks back at Yuki.
“Really, you’re not just leaving me, you’re leaving me with the man you’ve been hot for since high school?”
“Look, I am sorry. Maybe you can understand?” She says, as Choso blinks rapidly at her audacity, scoffing.
“Ouch.” Suguru says, and Choso is close to punching him, clenching his fists, covered in black rings and tattoos. Suguru was who Yuki had been in love with forever, Choso knew that, but he thought it was long gone. Suguru had moved to run a family business a year or so ago. “I’m sorry, man.”
“I don’t want to hear from you.” Choso says then, through his teeth, as he feels the situation overwhelming him, nothing about the cool night air can chill him, his skin on fire. “Go then, if that’s what you want.”
“Choso, maybe we can be friends one day? I’m so sorry.” She says then, and he laughs, covering his face, shaking his head.
“No. You’ll never be my friend.” He turns and walks away as he has to hear the sound of Suguru’s car zipping off, and her laughter out the window. Just a few days ago she’d been in his arms, he’d made her cum… fuck five times with his mouth alone, and she’d said he was the best she’d had.
How can it change so quickly?
He had a feeling he was further along in his feelings than Yuki, but he didn’t know she clearly didn’t see him as more than ‘fun’. Choso didn’t just do those things for fun, no Yuki was it for him, he’d even been contemplating getting her a promise ring, he’d gone with Yuji to shop around just last week.
He’s glad he couldn’t decide on one.
He is heading back now towards his car, contemplating calling you, fuck he needs you, needs your understanding, how you listen, your advice. You rub his hair back as he lays his head in your lap, and he’d done it for you, when Satoru had broken up with you on prom night, when you’d been such a mess in your pretty dress, and he’d danced all night with you.
When you’d picked Choso up as he’d been a drunk mess from his last girlfriend breaking up with him and took him to your place, and took care of him. He’d woken up and you’d looked so uncomfortable, he’d slept right in your lap, and you’d just sat there on the floor like that, your back on the couch. He’d bought you a massage, he felt so bad, but you’d just smiled.
You were the one who had helped get Yuji into college, his little brother had the biggest crush on you. It was adorable. He was like a lost little puppy after you, and you were so sweet with him, too. Yuji still asks about you, and when he visits he makes sure you’re coming over for dinner, heartbroken you were dating some guy named Ino now, but Choso supposes he’s nice enough.
He’s protective of you.
He wants to call you so bad, but fuck he can’t just put this on you, not when you’re on a date. Not when you all haven’t even seen each other anymore really. How can he be selfish, he doesn’t want you to feel used or feel like he’s put you on some back burner as a friend. He keeps staring at your name, but in his phone it used to be Angel 💜
Before Yuki had changed that one.
Choso leans against his car now outside the theater, where it’s quiet and the cold air is blowing more and more as fall brings in the chill, and he fixes your name right back to Angel 💜 Because why the fuck not. His heart is in pieces as he wishes he could hear your voice or see your smile. Fuck Ino was lucky…
Suddenly he sees a figure, a gorgeous shape on a woman a little bit towards the theater, he sees a nice ass and legs in a teeny dress, as the woman is shivering from the cold, then he hears her… crying. Fuck, is that you crying!? Choso runs back up to the sidewalk across from the theater, where there is a strip of restaurants, and he calls out your name, could it be…
You turn then, and he’s stunned for a moment, his breath caught in his chest as he drinks you in for a quick moment. Choso has never seen you in something like this, a tight little bodycon dress, black with silver chains around the waist, and your perfect breasts are revealed far more than he’s ever seen. He forces his eyes up to your face, then his heart breaks more.
You have mascara streaking down your cheeks, and you’ve eaten your lipstick off, just a red line on your full lips now. You sniffle when you see him, rubbing your arms, covered in goosebumps. Choso snaps himself out of it, taking off his jean jacket quickly, slinging it over narrow shoulders, and pulling you against his chest, feeling how hard you are shaking.
“What happened, angel?” He whispers, and you sob more, clinging to him now, as he buries his head down, bending low, inhaling your shampoo, some fruity scent he always loves. You’re tilting your head back to look up at him, looking so small and helpless in his big jacket, as you clutch his black dress shirt.
“I wanted to… to call you, Cho. But I didn't want to ruin your night.” He blinks then, watching your lip trembling, and he’s brushing your hair back, you’d curled it he notices, fuck you look beautiful even if you were upset. He shouldn’t think that but he can’t help it.
“You can always call me.”
“No, I can’t, Yuki hates me. Messaged me to stay away.” He rolls his eyes now, shaking his head. “It was months ago. I’m sorry I shouldn’t even be in your arms.” You pull back now, and he pulls you against him once more, looking down at you. “Cho, you’ll get yelled at.”
“You’re my best friend, I’ll hug you all I want. But also… fuck.” He takes a breath then. “It’s a long story I guess, but she fucking left me.”
“She what!? Is she stupid you spoiled the fuck out of her, and you’re so sweet, and hot… what!? You’re Choso.” You say then, and he melts, as he hugs you so tight again, and rocks you side to side.
“Fuck that for now, you’re clearly more upset. What happened? Did he… did he hurt you I’ll fucking kill him-”
“No not… he broke up with me too.”
“He what!? Is he a fucking idiot, you’re the perfect girl, so caring, and smart, and just look at you.”
“I’m a mess. Ugh. My feet hurt, Cho.” Choso turns then, and you giggle through your tears. “No way.”
“Hop up now, you don’t weigh shit. I’ll carry you to my car.” You tentatively wrap your thighs around his waist now, your arms around his neck, and he hoists you up, you squeal a bit, you’re so cute he thinks.
He shouldn’t think that, you’re just his friend, but how can he not?
“You’re the best friend, ugh I missed you. I forgot how high up you are here.” You tease, finally smiling against his cheek, before kissing it, and he’s happy you can’t see the pink on his cheeks. “I’m like fifteen pounds heavier than in high school you know.”
He rolls his eyes, you’ve got a perfect body, and have men drooling wherever you go. You’re silly not to see it. “Everyone is fifteen pounds bigger. I think it went to your ass though.”
“Cho!” You’re now laughing as he carries you down, laughing with you. “You saying I got a nice ass?”
Yeah you do, but he’ll keep it to himself for now. “I’m saying you had no ass in high school. Your pants wouldn’t stay up.”
“Neither would yours! You just gained muscle, jerk.” You tease, squeezing a bicep and making his breath catch.
“And you look beautiful, perfect, I promise. Just as beautiful as high school if not more so.” You exhale, he feels it tickling his neck as his hands press into your thighs, feeling the muscles as you squeeze him, and then the plush of your inner thighs where his thumb is pressing in.
Fuck they’re nice. Has he ever really noticed? He used to carry you around but you’d worn jeans typically, you were more casual then, he’s noticed you’ve gotten more dressy and girly with Ino. He then tenses further as you squeeze him tighter, and he feels… he feels your heat against him. He stops at his car now, easing you down, cursing himself with his eyes shut.
Choso just got hard carrying you.
He looks down as you hand him his jacket, seeing that outfit again. “Thank you for saying that, really. But even if I look good, it doesn’t matter. I am not enough for him, apparently.” You’re crying again, and he puts that jacket back on you, shaking his head, tilting your chin up.
“You know better. You’re more than good enough for anyone. Now, my place or yours? We’re far overdue for drinks and a movie session.”
“Can I sleep over at yours?”
Usually that would be so casual, but now suddenly… looking like this, he gets flushed thinking of it. “Um, of course you can. Do you wanna grab clothes?”
“No, I’ll just steal your shit.” You tease, leaning up on your tiptoes in your heels, kissing his cheek again. “I used to do that all the time.”
“I know you have so much of my hoodies, ugh.” You just grin, and he’s so happy to see you smile it melts him further, fuck he almost forgets how upset he is now that you’re here.
“Come get in, then we’ll tell each other what happened, yeah?” He holds the car door open for you, leaning over and seatbelting you in, putting him far too close to where your breasts were pushed up in your dress. He struggles to focus and find the clip of the belt, his breath against your skin, and he watches your nipples stick out under the thin material.
Fuck.
“I can do it, silly.” You tease softly, but he hears your voice is breathy, and he finally finds the clip, before sitting next to you and revving up his car, his black Mustang he’d had for years. You stretch a bit, showing too much leg when you put them on his dash, taking off your heels. “Do you mind?”
“No, of course, take em off. Never seen you in heels like that.” He tries not to focus on the fact that even your ankles and feet are pretty, let alone your calves and thighs. Fuck you have nice legs, and he shouldn’t be thinking that, so he struggles to think of the night instead. Of you being hurt, of him being hurt. Of what exactly happened so quickly.
“You’re a lifesaver, I swear.” You sigh then, leaning back, snuggling against his jacket and smiling prettily at him. He swipes some of your mascara off your cheeks when you hit a red light.
“So, you wanna tell me what happened?” He asks softly, you nod a little bit, biting your lower lip.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you, it’s embarrassing though…”
“You can tell me anything, remember?”
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Your POV
Earlier that night
“You’re breaking up with me!?” You’d demanded then, as your boyfriend winces, you all are at dinner and everyone clearly hears you, people whispering, furthering your hurt and embarrassment.
You had been dating Ino for over six months now, that wasn’t nothing. And recently you both had gotten physical, too, something completely new to you, even at age twenty three. Ino had been your first, and you thought it…
“Did it mean nothing?” You whisper furiously, his brows draw together, and his eyes close. “My first time, you knew that. Why do it if-”
“I have feelings for you, you’re so beautiful and sweet. I swear it’s nothing you did, okay?” He touches your hand and you glare, smacking it off.
“It’s not you, it’s me? You’re saying that fucking line, Ino!?”
“Will you calm down-”
You stand then, scoffing. “Calm down, fuck no. We just did that, you just took it and now you- was I that bad?”
He stands, taking your shoulders and leading you out front, into the freezing night air, and you’re shivering. He takes off his jacket and you throw it on the ground, glaring as he sighs, his head falling back. “You are great, I swear. It’s not the physical, it’s more… you’re so immature.”
You scoff now. “Me, immature? You can’t even do anything without trying to please your family, I do shit on my own.”
“Or with your friend?”
You scowl now. “Don’t you bring up Cho, it’s not like I’ve hung out with him one fucking bit. Because you’re so insecure. And he’s a far better man than you! He wouldn’t leave someone after… that.”
“Listen I know it was important to you, I just have to tell you, there’s someone else in my heart.” You gasp now, stepping back. “She’s been in my heart, and now she’s finally agreed to date me.”
“So I was a fucking placeholder? Could you not have fucked me then, because it really wasn’t shit.” He stumbles back now, glaring down at you. “Could have fucked someone much better.”
“You seemed to like it-”
“I faked it. You can’t make girls cum with no foreplay, fucking idiot.”
“I fingered you-”
“For two minutes. Yeah then you went like two minutes. No I didn’t cum, fucking idiot. But I was okay with that, we could like learn from each other. I thought our relationship was doing so well, I thought I was falling for you.” You feel your tears threaten now, and Ino sighs, holding your shoulders gently.
“You’re a beautiful, smart girl, and successful. You’ll have whoever you want.”
“But I was with you. Because I wanted to be. What did I do to fuck it up, will you just tell me?”
“You fucked nothing up. It’s just… shit.” His phone rings then, and you see a name on the caller ID, Ino’s ex. You glare now. “It’s not what you think.”
“Tell me you didn’t fuck her while you fucked me.”
“I didn’t, plus me and you used condoms.”
“And!? The point!?”
“Jesus, you’re so dramatic. She’s much easier.”
“Easier!” You shove him then, turning and stomping away, and Ino chases you, grabbing your wrists. “Fuck off.”
“Let me take you home, it’s freezing and you’re in heels. You can’t just walk, please I know I hurt you, but I can’t let you just walk alone in the night.” You glare through your tears back at him, and watch him gulp, as he takes breaths, cupping your face tenderly, but it’s disgusting to you. “You looked so perfect tonight, I’m so sorry I hurt you. I know you were excited.”
“Why ask me on a date to break up with me?” You ask, choking on your sobs, fuck you thought he was the sweetest, the relationship had consisted of him doing everything for you, he was kind and caring and gentle. And he’d said he was falling in love with you.
You waited five months to sleep with him, you were a virgin (thanks to pining away for popular Satoru Gojo most of your school life) and then after so long of being one, you’d figured you would wait. The only man who you’d thought of sleeping with was your best friend, Choso, not that you’d ever let him know, or anyone know, you’d shoved that down.
And fuck you want to see him, you miss him so much, since you both had quit hanging out, his girlfriend hates you, and Ino doesn’t like Choso. So you’d stopped talking, aside from Cho sweetly bringing you a coffee every morning at work, smiling down at you with his gorgeous grin, always decked out in some goth outfit that fit him like a glove.
You still watched his rock shows from the back, he didn’t notice you, but even if they both didn’t like you as friends, you’d made a promise in middle school to be friends forever. A pinky promise at that, and both you and Cho quietly kept that, even if he didn’t know that you were there, supporting him.
Long ago you’d hoped for a chance, but you’d been so blinded by a Satoru Gojo infatuation you think you let his opportunity slip, and then you decided you’d be his friend, and his friend only. And how you need him now, to hold you while you cry, to listen to you, to stroke your cheek with his tattooed hands, covered in that dark polish you used to paint for him.
You miss him, you miss your friend.
Ino is still talking, and leaning down, almost as if to kiss you, and you smack his face, making his mouth drop open. “What’s that for?”
“What are you doing?” You demand angrily, the cold night air doesn’t serve to cool you down, your skin is on fire.
“Kissing you goodbye.”
You laugh then, through your tears. “Oh hell no. Fuck off, and never talk to me, ever again.”
“We could be friends? I really do care for you.”
“I will never be your friend. Ever. Now let me go.” He does then, but as you try to walk away he’s following you. “Go!”
“Let me pay the bill and I’ll drive you. Or let me get you a ride, please, it’s not okay to let you go like this.” You roll your eyes at him, stomping away now.
“My life is none of your concern now. I’ll walk.”
You want to call Choso so damn bad, fuck… but you know he’s with Yuki, shit he was thinking of serious things with her, he’d been in love with her so long. You could not ruin that for him, or bring your problems to him, you all could not have that relationship anymore, you couldn’t be that close.
You’re sobbing as you look at his name in your phone, it was Cho Bear 💜 But Ino had gotten mad, so you’d just changed it to Choso. As you walk down this long street, your tears falling and freezing your cheeks, you change it then, smiling just a bit, back to Cho Bear 💜 Because, fuck Ino.
Then you keep walking, as it all starts to hit you, that Ino had taken your virginity, and fuck you made him wait so long you did not think he just wanted to fuck, no he wanted a relationship and you weren’t good enough, even though you tried to give him your everything. You were some placeholder for him until his ex-girlfriend took him back, it was all some time waster to him.
Sex the couple times you all did it was truly not good, it didn’t hurt or anything and he was gentle, but you didn’t get pleasure. You’d had to rub your clit to feel anything and then it was too quick for you to cum, having to bust out a rose toy later on each time, it was about four times you all had fucked. You assumed it would get better but it never did.
So you kind of turned him down a bit, and maybe that is why he didn’t want you, but you were still a good partner, you tried to just get him off instead though, because you wondered if something was wrong with you. Now you wonder if something was just wrong with him.
Not that you ever want a damn boyfriend again, but you wouldn’t mind actually fucking, it seems so wasted all these years, you’re twenty three and the last damn virgin you knew, aside from Cho, but you’re sure he fucked Yuki by now. And you’re sure that man can fuck something about those big ass hands and long fingers…
You shouldn’t think of him like that
He’s only your friend, and barely that now.
Your feet are aching as you near a movie theater, where you and Ino had your first date, and you break down then, on the sidewalk, shivering and holding yourself as sobs wrack your body. You’re so mad, so upset, you can barely stand it, shivering in the night and your feet want to die. You need to order a ride, but you’re shaking so bad it’s hard to hold your phone.
Suddenly, you hear it, your name, and it’s…
Is that Choso!?
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Now you are sitting on Choso’s black leather couch in his living room, one of his shirts swallowing you. He’s huge, buff and muscular, and way taller than almost any guy you knew, his shirt hits your knees and he chuckles when he sees you in it. You’d washed your face, thankfully Choso kept your things under his sink still, fresh faced, eyes puffy, your hair in a bun with one of his pony tails.
His violet eyes light up when you all talk, past the horrible moments of both of your nights, and now you all are watching one of his dumb horror flicks, with the stupidest fake blood there was. You’re both sipping on ice cold beers, throwing your heads back with laughter, it feels so good, so comfortable you think, to relax, to be yourself.
You’d definitely tried to live up to Ino’s expectations, to what his ex was like, so put together and perfect, but with Choso you could be yourself, bare faced in a big Nirvana shirt. Choso wraps his arm around you then, and he’s bare chested, just his black sweats on, and you try to ignore how good his skin feels against yours, how good he smells, how good he feels altogether.
Choso was so handsome, tattoos across his ribs, bands of more tattoos on his shoulders, a partial sleeve on one arm that goes down to his hands. Big hands, one touching your waist, taking it over completely, your shirt scrunching as he’s laughing at a part of the movie. Your body reacts violently, more so than when he’d leaned across you to seat belt you in.
You can’t ruin this, you can’t.
But he’s got you wet just leaning close and laughing, grabbing the popcorn bowl and standing then, as your eyes drink in his body, the firm well formed pecs and flat brown nipples, his rippling abdomen. Your eyes dip to his dark trail of hair below his belly button, throat going dry, and why when you’ve seen him plenty over the years, you have always known he’s hot.
“Want another one, angel?” He asks, and the name makes you blush for some reason, as you nod shyly, fiddling with the edge of his shirt on your thighs.
“Yes, please. Thank you!” He saunters to his kitchen, bending down and you see the strong muscles of his back when he stands. He swipes his hair back as he hands you another, it’s loose and hits his collarbone, as he smiles softly at you, sitting back next to you again. “Damn Cho Bear, working out?”
“That nickname, shit it’s been a minute.” He sips on his beer, leaning back on the couch now, and you watch his Adam's apple bop up and down under a little bit of stubble that’s grown. “You look like you’re working out too.”
“Mmm, just a couple times a week, nothing like you. I only do the treadmill and read my books on the phone.” He laughs then.
“Reading porn while getting in steps?”
“Hey!” You shove at him a bit, then he sets both of your beers on his little glass table, tickling you now. You’re gasping for breath, twisting and turning as he’s grinning over you, fingers tickling your waist. “Stop, stop shit!”
“You’re so cute though. At my mercy.” He sticks out his tongue as he tickles you, and your eyes find his tongue ring fascinating for far too many reasons, as you overheat, and you realize he’s between your thighs. You tense now, since you didn’t even have on anything but crotchless panties you’d worn tonight, and he’s brushing against you.
He pauses then as well, looking down your body, hands gripping your waist gently, thumbs pressing into your rib cage, as he looks right at your breasts, visible under his shirt, the outline of them. He gulps and looks down further, to where his shirt had rode up your thighs, up to your hips, exposing black lace panties, that covered goddamn nothing.
He just stays there over you, his breath caught like yours, hands trembling now as he exhales, eyes looking back up at yours, his pupils so dilated, his pretty eyes look black, his eyes lidded and heavy suddenly. You arch your hips up just slightly, and he lets out a soft moan from the back of his throat as he looks there, as he sees you, a hand moving to press on your tummy.
“Cho, I’m not um… I’m wearing…”
“He didn’t fucking deserve to see that.” He whispers then, and your breaths come even quicker, as you’re slowly reaching a hand up to his chest, feeling his hot skin under your palm.
“He was my first.” You say softly, and he grimaces, shutting his eyes then.
“I’m looking at you like this, when you just… fuck I should be a better friend, I’m so sorry-” He leans back but you pause him, hands firm on his biceps now.
“I don’t mind. He was my first and I didn’t cum, like not once? I don’t know if he sucked or if I sucked. But it was pretty new, only a few times before he left.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. I know you wanted it special.” He says softly, leaning down, still over you, his hair falling softly on your skin, you brush it back, mind whirling.
“It’s okay, I know you are hurt too. Um, did you like sex though?” He is blushing now, looking away for a moment, nodding. “I guess I was turning him down and just getting him off because I didn’t. It’s kind of awful of me. Maybe-”
“It was that bad? Shit. Like he hurt you?” You shake your head. “Was he selfish? Not enough foreplay?”
“You seem so experienced now, we were the last virgins in Japan.” You tease with a smile, and he leans on an elbow now, laying on his side, a hand stroking your thigh before he stops himself, cursing. “It’s okay, I like it.”
“Are you sure?” You nod nervously, as he brushes his fingers up and down your thigh, and you whimper before you can stop, covering your mouth embarrassingly, as his lips part. “Fuck you’re sexy. Shit, I’m sorry.”
“No… um… Cho…” You lean up on your elbows then, bringing his attention back to your breasts, now outlined so well, he has to clear his throat, as his hand still rests on your thigh, above your knee. “Have you ever thought of fucking me?”
“Have I what!?” He sits up then, covering his face, and you panic, turning away and covering yours.
“Oh my god I’m so stupid, of course you haven’t, Yuki was your love, and I look nothing like her. And-”
He pauses you then, hands on your shoulders, and you can’t bear to look at him. “No, no, you’re beautiful, of course I have, I just got embarrassed, like you knew I have or something.”
“Y-you find me attractive?” You ask, not looking at him still, he has to tilt your head to him, sighing.
“Of course I do, I always have. There was a good three years of pining for you in high school, and you’ve just gotten hotter. But I never wanted to lose our friendship.”
You take a breath now, turning and looking up at him, a hand trailing down his abdomen, watching it flex under your touch. “So, what if we have sex, like maybe you can teach me things? And just sex, nothing else. No strings attached.”
“I’m in a dream.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I am, you’re in this shirt, looking so beautiful, asking me to fuck you?”
“Well, yes. I wanna get off and enjoy it. Also I don’t ever wanna date again, at least not any time soon. I imagine you don’t either.”
“Oh fuck no I don’t wanna date. I don’t think I can take that pain again.” You cup his face gently, and he kisses your palm, as you feel your pussy clench around nothing at just thinking of it. “You sure you wanna do this? You’re so new to sex.”
“You are too, though you seem to have had a better time.” You say with a giggle, and he tilts his head to the side.
“Did he not prep you at all?”
“Um, he fingered me for a minute. But I was really dry, and it’s not dry when I play with myself.” Choso’s bright red now, his eyes bugging out. “Shit, TMI?”
“I mean…” He clears his throat, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, then back at you. “No, if we do this I think we should be so honest, we’re best friends we can really do that.”
“Exactly! Give each other instruction, on our bodies. Right, and I’m comfortable with you, you’d never hurt me.” You say with a soft smile, as you scooch closer, and you hear his breath catch, his hands trembling a bit as you take one, putting it on your chest, where your heart races. “Just sex, and no feelings. Any other rules?”
“Yes, if you find someone else, please tell me.”
“Of course, and same with you! Honesty all around.”
“Pinky swear?” He holds one out, and you giggle, nodding, wrapping your finger with his, then you’re both sitting there, his other hand still on your chest. “Did he not eat you out?”
It’s your turn to blush. “No, he licked it for a second before the first time, but I am not sure it counts.”
“And no one has?” You shake your head again, and now his hands slide down your body, pressing into your hips, he watches you gasp, your head leaning back, eyes fluttering shut. Your body has never felt like this, never responded this way. “So I have a request then, for us to do this.”
“Of course, anything you want, Cho Bear.” Anything for him to keep touching you, fuck he’s leaning down now, and you can’t take it, seeing sweet Cho Bear so sexy. You knew it was there, but you’d never seen it.
“Let me pleasure you only tonight, then we’ll do more if you really like it.”
“But I wanna do things too!” You pout, and he smiles, leaning even closer, his lips a breath away, noses touching.
“You can next time. I wanna see how many times I can make you cum, as a friend you know.” He whispers against your ear, Choso Kamo, Cho Bear, your sweet little best friend…
Fuck he’s grown up, huh?
And fuck he’s turning you on breathing against your cheek more than Ino did touching you, fucking you. Your body eagerly reacts, to the point it’s ridiculous, but you nod then, shyly. He chuckles a bit, as he picks you up suddenly, and he’s carrying you like you’re nothing, so strong and big, to his room, all goth and decked out in music posters, his guitars lined on his wall.
He lays you down on the center of his bed, with dark red blankets, fingering the hem of your shirt. “Are you comfy taking it off? I really would love to see you, but not if you’re nervous.”
He’s so goddamn sweet you think, how dare Yuki be such a bitch to your best friend, you think. You nod nervously, raising his shirt over your head now, baring yourself to him for the first time, and you can’t meet his pretty eyes. You hear him moan softly, and your eyes look at him, where he’s staring at you hungrily, running a hand through his hair.
“Fuck you’re so pretty. So perfect I… fuck.” He leans over you again, the bed springs creaking under his weight, and your nipples press against his chest. “Is it cool if we kiss first? Is it too romantic?”
“I’d like to kiss you.” You respond, and he moans again, that sound makes you even wetter, as he’s kissing you for the first time, and you melt at it, at his sweet firm lips, so gently brushing yours. He gently does it again, and again, as your tongue darts between his lips, craving more. He cups your face, pulling back.
“You’re so beautiful.” You get emotional suddenly, after the horrible rejection, this sexy ass best friend of yours, who you love so much, makes you feel so seen and so noticed. “Is that cool to say?”
“Yes, it’s good with me. Thank you Cho, you’re handsome, so handsome.” He’s blushing again, so cute you think, kissing you softly, before he’s between your thighs, and now kissing a trail down your throat. “Ah!”
“You taste sweet.” He says against your skin. “I talk alot, um if it’s annoying tell me to-”
“Choso, no I love it. You couldn’t - ah- annoy me, oh! Mmm!” He’s sucking on a nipple now, looking up under those long black lashes, as you feel the cool ball of his tongue ring on your nipple. You’re getting so wet, and gasp when he finds your clit, swirling with his thumb, and he pulls back, eyes seductive as he looks down at you.
“You’re so wet, fuck that’s sexy.” He murmurs, fingering the sticky mess, and you’re shifting your thighs for more, whining out. “And those sounds you make, oh my god.”
“Cho… please, touch me more?” You ask, and he nods eagerly, slipping a thick finger inside your eager entrance, and you’re crying out just from that, as he presses up and hits some spot that makes you gasp, seeing stars. “Cho, what!?”
“Your G spot, pretty. It’s - ah- there, mmm.” He’s leaning lower, kissing your tummy as he keeps pressing, now pumping his finger in and out, and you’re dripping down all Choso’s black rings, so wet you hear yourself, your hands now clutching the blankets tightly. “Look at you, you’re so perfect, perfect pussy.”
“Cho!” You don’t expect this, him talking so dirty, when you’ve known Choso as this sweet, innocent thing. But fuck he’s hot, as he’s sinking two fingers now, and you wince just a bit at the stretch.
“So tiny, want just one?” He asks, but you shake your head.
“I can take two.” You whisper, earning his smirk, it’s not a sweet Cho Bear smile, it’s seductive and sure, as he shoves two fingers in, and you scream out, as he’s kissing your soft tummy, then lower, and you feel yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Oh my… s’good I…”
“Two of my fingers aren't like normal, are they angel?” He whispers, and you shake your head in agreement.
“Thick.”
“Mmm, why don’t you cum on my fingers first, let me feel you pulsing.”
“Pulsing- wh- what- ah! Fuck!” You scream out then, feeling so intense you can’t take it, overwhelmed as he’s scissoring his two thick fingers, looking at you hungrily, and then he rubs his thumb on your clit, making you shatter. You cum all over his fingers, soaking his entire hand, as your orgasm washes over you. “Oh my god fuckfuckfuck!”
He’s moaning then, leaning up and kissing you, exhaling his sweet breath against your lips as you’re trembling violently, eyes rolled back when he slips his fingers out, still pulsing out wetness. He sucks you off his fingers then, moaning and rolling his violet eyes back, his strong cheekbones more pronounced as his cheeks hollow. Your mouth drops open at how sexy he looks, as your pussy aches.
“So yummy, I knew it.” He whispers, kissing you again, and you taste yourself, heating up more as he’s pressed between your thighs, you feel how hard he is under his sweats, and fuck he feels huge, too. You grind up and he pauses you, inhaling sharply. “Fuck don’t do that.”
“S-sorry, oh my god what was that!?” He grins then, sliding down until his face is between your thighs, and he’s spreading your lips apart, staring right at you. Your thighs close but he stops them. “Cho…”
“That was a warm up. Are you ready for me to taste you?” He asks, constantly asking permission, which touches you, and you nod then, so nervous. “Good, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
“A good girl Choso you’re a freak now? Oh my, ah! Mnh!” Now he’s sliding his tongue up your slit, and you’re jerking, hips bucking up, as he’s spreading your thighs wide with his big hands, pressing into the plush of your thighs, and sliding his tongue up to your clit now, which twitches under his tongue ring. “Choso Kamo! Choso you’re… that tongue ring!? What the fuck, holding out on a friend.”
He laughs against you, breath tickling you, taking one of your hands then, putting it on his head. “I’ll make up for it and get my best friend off so much she’ll pass out if she pulls my hair.”
“Pull it? Like this?” You pull gently, and his eyes flutter shut, white teeth biting a lower lip. “You sure, it’s okay?”
“I want you to put me there please?” He asks softly, eyes big, pouting all cute, making you giggle. “Put me where you want me, and fuck my face till you cum.”
“I don’t know where!”
“I’ll lick, and you pull my hair and press my face into that spot you like, sounds good?” You nervously nod, and then his tongue is fucking devouring you, you hear the sounds of him drinking you in the night, completely lewd, the squishing obscene, and you’re a mess, screaming out as he hits your clit again.
“There, please! Is it really okay-” He nods, moaning, and you’re yanking on his hair, shoving him against your pussy, as your thighs are on either side of his handsome face. He’s moaning as you do, grinding against the bed, flicking his tongue so fast you cum even harder than his fingers, and his tongue ring is flicking on your clit now, the sensation making you gush out.
You’re so overwhelmed as your toes curl, as your eyes roll back, and you’re grinding your hips against his face, and he’s sliding his hands to your ass, gripping the fat of it and yanking you closer, burying his face further, sucking your clit into his mouth, and making you fall apart again. Your hands are enwrapped in his silken hair, as his eyes look up at you then.
Your heart falters in your chest then, as he’s sucking on your clit, vibrating it with his moans, and your orgasm washes over you in waves, you stop pulling his hair, instead you’re gently holding his face as your hips roll back, overstimulated now. He takes a breath as he watches you, finally leaning up, the lower half of his face covered in your slick.
You’re a twitching mess, tears in your eyes when he licks his lips, smiling up at you now. “You all right, Angel, too much?”
“It’s a lot but holy fuck. It’s amazing.” You say softly, earning his grin brightening his face, as your emo best friend lights up, between your thighs. “How do you breathe like that!?”
He chuckles. “It’s a talent. Do I really have to stop, I wanna get you off more.” He pouts again, and you’re barely able to stand when he kisses your pussy again, he’s so good you’re just infuriated Yuki got this, that anyone did, it’s that good.
“I’m so sensitive- mmm!”
“Good, one more for me could you please? You’re so yummy, please.” You giggle then, breathless, your body on fire at how good you feel.
“Oh god, I mean a little more. You’re way too good at this, I’ve never even gotten myself off that good.”
“How do you get yourself off?” You blush even as he’s kissing the lips of your pussy.
“Um, rose toy. But that tongue ring of yours? Hits so much better.” He’s kissing your pussy over and over, sliding his finger back in, you’re so soaked it’s stupid, a mess under your best friend, and his eyes crinkle just a bit as he smiles up at you.
“You look so sexy when you cum.” You’re covering your face nervously, and he laughs softly, pulling them down by the wrists. “You do.”
“You don’t have to say all that.”
“I mean it. I would never say what I don’t mean.” You get emotional again, you don’t know if it’s the night, or how hard you’ve released all that tension built up, or if it’s… if it’s Choso, looking at you like that.
Friend, friend, friend.
Right?
You can keep it casual, if anyone can it’s you and Choso.
Right?
“Only if you want more, of course.”
“Oh, I might pass out. But yes, please.” Choso smiles again, and dives back down, now he’s using his finger and hitting your spot, and lavishing your clit with his tongue, as his free hand slips up and squishes a breast in his big hand, and you’re gasping for breath as all of your senses focus on pleasure, fading out your vision, your grip of reality.
Fuck you’re not mad he ate Yuki out, you’re furious Choso ever ate anyone out but you, and you’re so mad you had been just missing this for all these years. He’s so good you wanna confess love from just how he’s flicking his tongue back and forth, how he’s pinching your nipples, and you’re clinging to his wrist now, bringing a finger to your lips, sucking on them.
He’s moaning, fingering you and lifting his mouth up as you do, as you stroke your mouth up and down, swirling your tongue, and his violet eyes glint in the night, his soft sounds from his throat making you wonder how he sounds when he cums. How he looks when he busts, how he tastes, as you suck on thick fingers, and Choso flicks his tongue one more time, and you scream around them.
You’re barely able to focus as he slides up you, and you’re crying out, as he settles between them, watching you with hungry eyes, as you pull back with a pop, blushing. “It seemed hot to do?”
“So fucking hot, shit.” He whispers, kissing you over and over now. “Are you okay angel?”
“Yes I’m better than okay, I’ve never felt like this. I should have asked for this sooner.”
“Well, we both were lovesick. Weren’t we?” He’s laying on his side, propped up on an elbow, rubbing his hand up and down your hips and waist as you turn to your side too.
“We were, and I’m done, Cho, I’m so done with relationships. I think this could be perfect, and we don’t have to change.”
“You really did change, I noticed. Not that I don’t like you dressing girly, but it’s a little different than I’m used to.”
“I know you also were trying to be so much more… serious?”
“She said not manly enough.”
“You’re manly as fuck. You’re just also sweet, and open. You don’t care about society shit, fucking love that about you. Don’t you dare change, not when you get a girl again. Promise?”
“You promise too, you’re so perfect. And if I can say…” He leans close now, and you feel yourself react, every inch of your skin sensitive. “You have the yummiest, prettiest pussy ever.”
“Oh stop! Flattering me huh?”
“No, it’s true. You do. He’s so stupid.”
“She’s so stupid.”
“Can I kiss you after or should we keep it to… like a prelude to playing? I really like kissing you.” You feel your heart stop, because every time you kiss Choso, you feel something you never have. You don’t know if it’s desire, chemistry… it’s dangerous but when he asks like that? When you want it too?
“You can, I like it alot too. But… let’s just make sure we um keep it around sex I guess? Before or after?”
“That works for me.” He kisses you softly, brushing your hair back, until it gets more heated, and your teeth are clicking, tongues wrapping, dripping saliva between you both. You’re moaning softly, and he’s gripping you so tight, your hand slides down his stomach, but he stops it.
“Cho, lemme suck you. I kind of know how!”
“Well that’s one thing I didn’t do.”
“What!? How did she not?”
“I asked you the same.” You roll your eyes.
“Did we have shitty lovers?”
He laughs softly. “Selfish ones. You can try that tomorrow, just let me have a night where it’s about you.”
His words and how he says them touch you so deeply you can’t help but have tears fall, and he frowns in concern as he brushes them away.
“Am I too much, I know I can be-”
“You’re perfect, it was just sweet is all. I’m tired and buzzed, and just came so much I think I’m fucked up.” He’s kissing your forehead now, nodding as he helps you sit up now. “I should probably sleep, I’m still emotional, I think.”
“Do you want the bed?” He asks, grabbing your shirt and sliding it over your body slowly. Him dressing you feels almost as intimate as undressing. He sits next to you on the bed, tilting his head, and you try to remember it, friends, friends, friends.
Best friend ever, best mouth ever.
But, best friends.
“We could cuddle or is that weird?” He brings it up then, and you contemplate it for a moment.
“Cuddle buddies huh?”
“I’m such a good cuddler.”
“Okay, we can try but I get hot at night. And kick all the blankets. And roll in circles. And-”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
“No!”
“Uh huh. We can sleep separately, maybe it’s too weird?”
“Yeah maybe. Maybe just in the same bed?”
“Sure, sounds good to me. Let me get you some water.” He comes back with a glass of ice water, and you sip greedily, sighing.
“You’re the best friend ever, Choso Kamo.” He’s grinning as he lays next to you, popping a big body pillow between you, wrapping his arms and legs, and fuck you want to be that pillow, but you worry it would make things so complicated.
“You’re the best friend, fuck I thought I’d be a wreck tonight. Thank you.” He says softly, brushing a thumb down your cheek.
“Thank you! For… well shit a lot. I’m so mad I’ve missed out on this mouth this long, I think I’ll be mad when I can’t get it.” He blushes again, as you hold the hand on your cheek now.
“I don’t think I’ll date any time soon, so don’t worry.”
“Same. And I have a favor to return in the morning.”
“I can’t say I’m not stupidly excited. I hurt.”
“Cho, I can do it now!”
“You go to sleep. I told you, I want it about you.” He yawns then, covering his mouth and then shutting his eyes, and you admire his perfect features for a moment, brushing his hair back and he practically purrs, making you smile.
It takes a long time to sleep, tossing and turning a bit, as the thoughts of Ino have faded to goddamn near nothing, and you’re sleeping next to your best friend, thinking how sweet it would be in his arms. This was your idea, and was it insane, could you all truly do this? You think it’s worth finding out.
You sleep finally when Choso has thrown his body pillow and snuggled against you, kissing your cheek. You giggle as you snuggle into his warm embrace, feeling so comfortable suddenly. “You look like you need cuddles.”
“I guess I do. Good night, best friend. Little Cho Bear.” You tease softly, and he smiles against your neck, snuggling under the blankets he’s thrown over you both.
“Good night, Angel.”
Angel, why does the name make your pulse race?
You can’t wonder too long, as sleep drifts you off in his arms.
Surely it won’t be too complicated, right?
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(Taglist open- excited to hear what ya'll think, this was a long one!)
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just-a-creep-babe · 3 days ago
Note
Are your requests still open? I'm not sure about your time zone so I hope it's ok if I ask how would you think relationships with the creeps would be realistically? Like how would Jeff, Masky, Ej, and Ben act if they were real and actually interested enough to date someone? I was just interested in your interpretation since I really enjoy how you write them! ✨
I feel like I’ve maybe gone over a few of these points before but I can’t remember for certain 😬
Either way, I hope none of these were too repetitive!! And tysm!! 🥰🫶
Requests are closed but commissions are open!
Masterlist: x
Jeff the Killer
It’s no secret this guy’s crazy egotistical
So as soon as he sees someone he’s interested in, it's like he just needs to have them
They’re an ego boost; a prized trophy that further proves he’s better than everyone else
He almost doesn’t see them as a full person, but more of a commodity
Really, it doesn’t matter whether or not they want the relationship—as far as he’s concerned, he knows what’s best for them
And, coincidentally, what's best for them is him
He's a super controlling partner
Literally the embodiment of your body, my choice
Part of him expects his s/o to pliantly conform themselves to his every whim and desire
But the other part secretly thinks it’s super hot when they talk back to him
He's always liked the feisty ones, and it gives him the perfect excuse to put them back in their place~
In terms of emotional intimacy, his partner really shouldn't expect much
Jeff mentally blocks all of that kind of stuff out, and he thinks people who are open about it are weak
At best, he'll ignore his partner's efforts to connect with him on a deeper level
And at worst, he'll belittle them and use their vulnerabilities against them as a manipulation tactic
So it's overall best to keep some amount of emotional distance from him, in all honesty
The plus side to dating Jeff is that he's super protective
To the point of it being suffocating, so it isn't all that much of a positive, but I digress
Since he sees his partner as his possession, and since he's very protective of his things, he'll be damn sure nothing bad happens to them
And everyone better damn well know that they're off-limits or he will remind them by carving it into their skin
At the end of the day, Jeff primarily wants sex, first and foremost
And secondly, he wants someone that'll inflate his ego; either by being a pretty piece of eye candy by his side or by constantly gushing over him and blowing smoke up his ass
Deep down, he does want someone to care for him—someone he could love and trust, and who would protect him as much as he'll protect them—but he's way too emotionally damaged to even admit he wants that
He definitely doesn't make it easy to love him
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BEN Drowned
Honestly, a relationship with him would be relatively chill
All he really wants is someone to fuck and hang out and game with
He does have a dark side, which manifests as possessive/obsessive behaviors and manipulative tendencies, and a good dose of neediness to top it all off
But it's to be expected
And, really, if his s/o just behaves and gives him all of their love and attention, then it's not like they have anything to worry about, anyway
As long as they game with him every night for at least 3 hours, have sex with him a minimum of 4 times a week, answer his texts within 10 minutes, and never spend more time with someone else, then everything's fine
He's prone to spying on them through their devices, especially if they don't do the above-mentioned things to his liking
And he'll use anything in his arsenal to ensure that they stay wrapped around his little finger
Like I said, super needy and manipulative
He'll fuck with their self-esteem, their worldview, their perception of the people around them until they can't imagine living without him
He'll become their world; he wants their life to revolve around him and him only
And if things don't go his way, it'll only get worse
Much worse
He's not above eliminating anyone he's jealous of, or even isolating his partner until they don't have a choice but to accept him back into their lives
He will fully turn psycho if he, for whatever reason, thinks that he might be losing his partner
But until that time comes, until the relationship reaches that point, it'll all be smooth sailing
He's smart enough to know just the right amount to push things to keep the relationship afloat for as long as possible
Which, despite being one of the chillest partners on a surface level, quickly makes him one of the most dangerous ones when things go south
He'll stop at nothing to keep the person he likes
And his partner will never be any the wiser of the darkness that lurks behind his easy-going intentions
They better hope they never reach the tipping point that reveals his true nature
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Eyeless Jack
He's actually the chillest creep to be in a relationship with
Unlike the others, Jack firmly clings to those remaining scraps of humanity within him
If he hadn't been transformed, he'd be a perfectly fine and well-adjusted member of society
So a relationship with him would be like, well, any other relationship with a normal person
He has his emotional hangups here and there, and he isn't perfect; he struggles with communicating his feelings and intentions, and he can close himself off when he's following down
But that's par for the course as far as relationship difficulties go
The biggest issue that'll come up that probably doesn't have a Buzzfeed article to help you out is dealing with his demonic side
But even then, he's gotten fairly good at controlling himself, so it'll never be too disruptive—as long as his partner keeps an open mind about the whole thing
He'll be more possessive, and he'll get jealous more easily, but he'll never lash out at his partner because of it
If anything, if he smells someone on his partner, he'll just want to scent them—so all he needs is some physical contact to reassure him
He can get insecure about his nature from time to time, but again, a bit of reassurance goes a long way
Honestly, the most dangerous thing about dating Jack is probably his urge to mark his partner
Marking a human has a few... complications, to say the least
He's naturally bound to get more possessive and much more sexually needy, which could lead him to injure his partner
But, you know, that's just part of the risks that come with dating a demon hybrid
A relationship with Jack has its ups and downs, which honestly might get more intense than a regular human relationship, but even then, a lot of humans are far crazier than Jack, even despite his nature
Even though he deals with some pretty powerful entities, he'll make sure his s/o is safe at all times—no one will ever be able to hurt them
And even though he's a cannibal, he'd probably be too protective of them to take a nibble out of them
Like, sure, he'd love to taste them—and he'd be willing to bet they taste divine—but even if they'd be open to trying it, he wouldn't want to risk it
Overall? 10/10, can not recommend dating this man enough
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Masky
Masky's very hot and cold in a relationship
The stress of work combined with the physical and mental strain of being in Slender's proximity all the time does not make things easy for him
He's prone to lashing out, closing himself off, abusing whatever substance he can get his hands on, and generally spiraling out of control
Which does not make it easy for his s/o
Since Slender took an interest in him when he was still fairly young, he's almost always had symptoms of the Slender Sickness, so he's not super experienced with long-term relationships
Meaning that alongside dealing with his mood swings, his partner will also have to guide him through the ups and downs of dating
Which is just a whole extra set of difficulties his s/o will have to face
Being in a relationship with Masky really isn't easy
But the thing is, when things are good with him, they're really good
It's like he only knows how to operate on extremes; his lows are incredibly low and his highs are intoxicatingly high
When he's on a high, he'll make his partner feel like they're on top of the world
Nothing can get in the way of pleasing his partner; not time or money or even the boundaries of the law
He'll shower them with attention and affection, he'll take them on once-in-a-lifetime experiences—he'll make them feel truly heard and loved
Their connection will be like none other; he'll make them feel like they've conquered the world together
But when he's on a down, honestly, his partner might just be better off ignoring him until he gets better again
Which could take weeks or even months
But ultimately the distance will likely be better than being around him when he's going through it
Because although he isn't proud of it, he may get violent and even abusive without necessarily meaning to
And once he snaps himself out of it, he'll be upset to the point where it'll make him spiral even lower
And once he's over it, he'll be right back to gift and love-bombing them all over again because it's his way of apologizing and making sure he won't lose them
As great as things could be with him, and as addictive as he might get, his partner should keep some kind of distance from him—for their own sake
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phantomspiderr · 2 days ago
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mirror kink w/ evan ‘buck’ buckley x f!reader
kinktober '24 ~ no 6
a/n: I really took a feeble attempt at kinktober and I realised I; 1) am not good at writing smut and 2) get really uncomfortable writing it really easily🙃 anyway I’m gonna try finish one more fic for Thursday and maybe next year I’ll try flufftober instead
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“What are you doing with that?” You snicker as you watch your big, strong boyfriend heave your full-length mirror into the room until it’s placed against the wall next to your bed. At that moment you are more than grateful that he is shirtless, his muscles define more with the exertion and it makes your body heat up more than it already is. When Buck moves his attention back to you he’s grinning ear to ear seeing that you’re still lying in the same spot he left you only a moment ago. You’re half-dressed and your breathing is still rapid from the eager make-out you both just shared. A quiet giggle passes your lips as Buck crawls on top of you, your hands instinctively circling his neck and he lowers his head to kiss you quickly. Then in a second, his lips are by your ear and finally, Buck replies to your question.
“I’m going to fuck you,” his head raises until his eyes meet yours, “and I want you to watch.” You catch your bottom lip in your teeth before pulling your body up toward Buck. You’re back to exchanging heated kisses, tongues delving in for a taste as you both feverishly work on removing the rest of each other’s clothing. Buck’s hands are rough; they tug your jeans down your legs, turning them inside out until they’re off completely. Then he dives straight back into kissing you. Your noses brush together, breath mixing as you share another heated kiss. And another. And another. Delicately your hands fumble with Buck’s belt buckle and just as you’re getting close to undoing it one of his hands pushes between your bodies to hook around your wrist. He pries one of your hands away, pressing it into the mattress as he laces his fingers with yours. Absent-mindedly your other hand just follows, expecting him to do the same with that hand but his other hand never appears. Instead, it unexpectedly slips into your underwear, the touch of his fingers has your legs falling open even more.
Your breathing stutters and Buck finds this as an opportunity to move his kisses to your neck, going from placing gentle kisses to biting down just ever so slightly. His head keeps nudging yours to the side as his fingers start circling your clit just the way you like. Your mouth is agape, quiet pants falling out and then a much louder whimper when your eyes open and see the reflection in the mirror. It’s like an out-of-body experience. You watch as Buck’s bicep tenses, defining the muscle again with every movement. You can’t tear your eyes away from the reflection, it has you breathing harder and it doesn’t go unnoticed. You can see Buck raising his head and you can feel the lack of his warmth in the crook of your neck and your hand but it just doesn’t register in your mind that it’s happening to you. His eyes are glued to the side of your face, watching your reaction when he roughly thrusts two fingers into you with ease. Your eyes don’t shut instantly or roll back like they usually do, they’re locked onto the mirror as you eagerly keen. 
“You like watching baby?” His gravelly voice brings you back, reminding you that this is actually happening and you’re not imagining it. Your head snaps back until your nose brushes with his again and then you’re nodding the best you can whining out ‘yes’ over and over as Buck’s fingers continue to thrust into you. Finally, you remember you have control of your body and move your limp arms back around his neck, pulling him down just enough to capture his lips again. A moan escapes you when Buck changes the pace and your head slips to the side, pressing your cheek against Buck’s and feeling the slightest scratch of stubble on your skin. Your eyes fall back to the reflection in the mirror and your breath hitches before another moan slips out. Buck places a few gentle kisses on your cheek, a sweet form of affection amongst the passionate exchange. “You gonna cum for me sweet girl?” Buck changes the movement of his hand, and now his fingers barely rock into you as his palm presses against your clit.
“Please,” you say through a pant, enjoying the new angle as your body curves up into his. It’s a slow build and you have to fight to keep your eyes on your reflection. Your fingers grip his hair and you feel his lips ghost over your jaw, his breath fanning down your neck. Then a choked sound of disappointment escapes you as Buck pulls away. He shushes your cries, “Hold on angel.” His fingers curl under the material of your underwear and he removes them in one swift motion and discards them haphazardly. His rough hands slowly trace up your legs causing goosebumps to rise. Buck suddenly moves off the bed, standing in front of the mirror facing you and his hand circles around your ankle.
“Come here,” you sit up and turn your body toward him and as gently as he can Buck pulls on your leg, dragging you to the edge. You look up at him, mouth agape as his hands come up to hold your face. You feel tiny looking up at him like this, head fuzzy as you wait for another instruction. Buck bends until his lips are on yours again, he gives you just one sweet kiss before he asks you to lay back. You rest back on your elbows and watch as Buck gets down on his knees, prepared to worship you like you deserve. For a second his eyes lock on yours and you see the sudden pink hue grow on his cheeks and it makes your heart flutter. He tries to hide his momentary shyness by pressing gentle kisses on the insides of your thigh, hoisting each leg over his shoulders and slowly his confidence grows again. Your eyes flutter to the reflection behind him, you can see his defined muscles ripple with every move and a long sigh falls from your lips as he raises enough to place a line of kisses on your hip. There’s a smirk on his face when your eyes fall on his again and he’s suddenly diving between your legs without another thought. A satisfied moan echoes through the room and your head falls back as you feel his tongue circle your clit in just the same way his fingers did. Buck doesn’t seem to waste any time, pushing two fingers back into you and your head snaps back up to watch. Your eyes keep moving from his face glued between your legs to the mirror. You can see every curve and line of your own body, something that you’ve worked hard to grow to love which is easy when your boyfriend worships every inch until you believe how very beautiful you are. You actually find it kind of hot being able to watch yourself in the mirror like this, moans falling past your parted lips as your tits bounce softly with every thrust of Buck’s expertly moving fingers. It’s when Buck begins to suck on your clit, teeth just grazing the small bundle of nerves, that you start to feel yourself hurtling towards the edge yet again. You blink rapidly, trying to keep your gaze fixed on the sight in front of you as your moans grow louder by the second. You can feel your legs tensing, heels digging into Buck’s back as he works hard to get you to the point of climax. Your body tingles and his name repeatedly falls past your lips. Then it happens, it washes over you in waves, loud whines echoing as your body shakes. If you could bottle this feeling you would so you could experience it over and over again whenever you wished—but you suppose that’s exactly what Buck is for. You can’t keep your eyes open any longer and you fall back on the bed as even as you hit your peak Buck doesn’t seem to stop. He continues until you’re begging and thrashing on the bed, he has to remove his fingers so he can use both hands to hold you up as your ass now slips off the bed completly. You can just hear the filthy sounds as Buck continues to devour your centre over the sound of your pleas. Your hands yank at his curls as you become more overwhelmed with every passing second, your thighs squeeze his head in a feeble attempt to close your legs but none of it seems to affect him. You don’t know when your first orgasm ended and your second began but you’re practically screaming, sure your whole neighbourhood will think you’re probably being murdered. There’s a veil of sweat covering your whole body and your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest as you continue to pant like a dog. Your painful grip on his hair slackens as he begins to slow his movements, finally showing you some mercy when he pulls away from you with a satisfied grin.
Slowly, you feel your back sliding along the bedsheets until you’re face to face with your gleeful boyfriend. He’s pulled you off the bed to sit in his lap on the floor. His eyes are glued to your face, taking in the blissed-out expression dawning on your features. “You okay?” Buck basically whispers, one hand coming up to brush against your cheek. A breathy giggle escapes you as you nod, mumbling out a yes as your hands come up to wipe away the glistening juices dripping down his chin. Buck protests by nipping at your palm, causing more giggles to erupt and his strong arms wrap around you, tugging you closer till he can kiss you. Immediately the gentle pecks turn into his tongue delving into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. You groan deeply when his hands anchor onto your hips and drag you down over his still-concealed cock. You can tell he’s becoming desperate now and so your hands find their way between your bodies fumbling again with his half undone belt. This time he lets you, glad when you manage to unbutton his jeans and feeling instant relief when you reach a hand into his underwear. Buck moans against your lips, feeling satisfied just from your touch. You manage to raise yourself just a fraction to free his cock from its confines and in doing so you disconnect your lips. Buck looks up at you with pure love in his eyes but he’s quick to move his lips to your chest now, sucking a purple mark onto the skin just above your breast. While he busies himself with that you surprise him by dragging the head of his cock through your folds, it elicits a deep groan to vibrate against your chest. Then almost in unison, you moan as you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch and his head snaps back until his eyes are on yours. Your arms come to rest around his neck, fingers combing through his hair and you rest your forehead against his. Your noses press together as you both take deep breaths, Buck tilts his chin up to place a chaste kiss on your lips once you’re fully seated in his lap.
“God, you’re so beautiful.” Buck smiles as he pulls his head back just a fraction, his hands now digging into your plush sides. A grin makes its way onto your own face and you find a sliver of energy in your tired limbs to begin rocking your hips. You both let out a shaky breath and you feel Buck’s arms firmly wrapping around you and the beginning of his hips thrusting upward. You suddenly catch your reflection directly opposite and you moan, you're unsure whether it’s from seeing yourself in this position or the angle at which Buck’s cock is hitting that spot deep inside you.
“You like this sweet girl?” Another whine comes from you and you feel Buck’s chest vibrate, a muffled chuckle coming from the crook of your neck. You watch in the mirror as Buck now takes over most of the work, he uses his strength to move you as he thrusts his cock into you over and over. You can see a red trail form on his skin as your nails scratch along his pale skin. He groans loudly when you do it, enjoying the mix of sensations and it seems to spur him on to go faster. You’re practically crying from the overstimulation you feel between your legs but you beg over and over for him to let you cum again. “You’re so pretty. You sound so pretty, baby.” His mouth is on your neck as he speaks, mumbled words only making you cry out more. It happens before you can even register it fully, your third orgasm hitting you like a train. You can barely make out the blurry image of you sitting bouncing in his lap, tears filling your eyes as Buck now uses you as some kind of toy. “Just hold on angel,” Buck’s words are strangled and he uses all of his strength to keep you moving, his cock still pistoning into your convulsing walls, “I’m almost there.” Your head falls onto his shoulder, cries mixed with moans still falling past your lips and it only seems to add to Buck’s pleasure and just moments later you feel him cumming. Buck moans loudly as he keeps you moving until he’s completely ridden out his orgasm. His chest heaves as he slows his movements and he loosens the tight grip he had on your hips. Buck finally stops, allowing your body to slump more against his and gentle hands ghost up and down your spine. Quiet whimpers still escape you as you come down, legs still trembling as your muscles continue to contract. Slowly, you can feel your body begin to relax and Buck patiently waits until you’re able to lift your head. 
“Hi.” He grins when he’s finally able to see your pretty face again, one of his hands coming up to caress your cheek. 
“Hi.” You manage a small smile, your body growing heavy with exhaustion. Buck’s thumb wipes the tears that have left trails on the top of your cheeks and he can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to your other cheek as you nuzzle into his gentle touch. 
“You okay?” His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper and you briefly nod at the question. His hand gently pulls you close and he places another kiss on your forehead. Your head sinks back onto his shoulder and he’s quick to wrap his arms around you again. You share a quiet embrace and when your eyes open they find your reflection once again. You watch the slowing rise and fall of Buck's back as he attempts to calm his breathing, faint crescent moons litter his shoulders from where your nails had obviously dug in a little too hard and his curls are now sticking up all over the place from the repeated tugging. An absentminded smile pulls at your lips when your eyes finally see your face, tear-stained cheeks and puffy lips. A heat that crawls all the way up your stomach to your cheeks and a post-sex glow that shines in the setting sunlight peaking through the blinds. You could definitely get used to seeing yourself in the mirror if it was always like this.
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loserboyfriendrjl · 24 hours ago
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Sirius ignored the sick, twisted feeling in his stomach as he knelt down, cupping James’ face gently, hooking his fingers around his glasses.
“You’ve lost these, mate,” He said bitterly, pushing the glasses up James’ nose, his eyes hollow and lifeless.
James had always been life. Bright and burning and beautifully so, he had a way to draw attention, to light up the room, wherever he went; a charming smile, a joke that made everyone laugh. A loveable person — Sirius would know best.
James had always been life. Yet now, he was lifeless.
A tear rolled down his cheek. Then another, then another, a part of his soul lost and to never be found again. He pushed James’ curls behind his ears, and ruffled his hair the way he himself always did.
He wondered if it had hurt. If James had died in pain; he needn’t have wondered if he had died a noble death. He did, Sirius knew it; James, always noble, always chivalrous, always loved.
He wondered if Lily and Harry had escaped. If they had gotten the chance to get away and leave, escape and never look, never come back.
Soft cries echoed along the music box, a melancholic, grieving melody. Yet to Sirius, that was a sign that in the ruins, in death, there was life, still.
The stairs creaked under his weight as he pushed past the debris, past the fallen, past the doors and stairs, stumbling in his desperation as he pushed the ajar door open.
Lily lied on the floor, eerily peaceful, almost as if she was sleeping. Her auburn hair a halo around her head, her skin pale, a girl who had been once so fierce and alive reduced to nothing but silence. Sirius remembered the many times she had been loud, vivacious, charming, cheeky, perfect in her imperfections and mistakes; an intelligent girl that had turned into a beautiful, determined woman.
A home that had been so full of life, the ruins of a house so silent.
Harry’s cries snapped Sirius out of his trance, and he rushed to his side, gribbing the cot’s bars with his hands, so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Hey,” He whispered, letting out a small, relieved chuckle, “hey. You’re safe with me.”
Instinctively, Harry’s small hands reached out for his godfather, who cradled him to his chest, kissing his split forehead, a lightning bolt-shaped scar etched on his forehead. Harry pressed his cheek to Sirius’ shoulder, who knelt, for the last time, and closed Lily’s emerald green eyes.
Once so full of life, then so lifeless.
Sirius slipped past the bedroom, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb against Harry’s back as he slipped outside of the house.
Where the alleyway started stood Hagrid, his face covered by his giant palms, sobs rippling through his chest.
“Sirius!” He croaked. “Oh, Sirius, such a tragedy! They ‘ere such good people! Brightest of yer age, they were!”
Hagrid engulfed him in a hug and, with Harry to his chest still, Sirius finally allowed himself to soften, tears rolling down his cheeks. He sniffed, breaking apart from Hagrid after a few moments.
“’m sorry for yer loss,” The taller man said, bowing his head. “Must be really hard fer yeh.”
Sirius swallowed. “Yeah. But Harry needs me.”
“‘Arry’s coming with me,” Hagrid said, looking slightly confused.
“What? No. I’m his godfather, Hagrid. Lily and James wanted me, if something happened to them, to take care of him.”
“‘S Dumbledore’s orders, mate.” He looked down at Sirius. “‘E said ‘Arry’s coming with, then he is.”
Sirius frowned, rage boiling in his veins. “No. Hagrid, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of him myself. That’s how things will go, that’s what James and Lily wanted. I’m not going to leave Harry; not now, not ever.”
Hagrid bit his lip, deep in thought. “Leave ‘im with me, and you can come with and talk to Dumbledore later. He’ll tell you what to do.”
A thousand thoughts raced through Sirius’ head, until something finally clicked.
“Alright.” He said, gently placing Harry in Hagrid’s arms. He looked at his motorcycle, then back at the man. “Take it. You need it more than I do, either way.”
He nodded. “Yer a good guy, Sirius. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.” He sat down on the motorcycle, Harry safe by his heart.
“Press that button,” Sirius added, “and then the one next to it. Makes you be able to fly, and makes you invisible. Should make it easier for you to get to where you’re supposed to be.”
Hagrid thanked him. Sirius watched them take off into the night sky, then shoved his hand into his pocket, finding the all-too-familiar wood of his wand. Then, wordlessly, he Disapparated.
Peter fucking Pettigrew.
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xuchiya · 2 days ago
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"stuck in this fairytale" || choi san || mini-series || seventh part
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| genre: prince! san. fluff. angst. adventure | mentions: cursing. | here's the first part
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When you woke up, the first thing that caught your attention was the soft murmur of palace maids bustling around just outside your chambers. You sat up slowly, blinking away the remnants of sleep, your mind still hazy. The sun’s rays streamed through the embroidered curtains, casting golden hues across your room. Confusion settled in as you heard more shuffling and hushed voices. Why was there so much commotion this early in the morning?
Just then, the door creaked open, and Wooyoung entered, dressed impeccably in fine silk robes, his usual mischievous smile playing on his lips. He looked every bit the prince he was, but there was a hint of excitement dancing in his eyes today. "Good morning nerdy girl! Good that you're up," he hummed, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.
He crossed the room with graceful ease, heading straight for the large, ornate closet that housed your dresses. Your brows furrowed as you watched him start sifting through them with swift, decisive motions. 
"Jung Wooyoung, for the love of Jungkook's seven days a week kink, what is happening?” you asked, still disoriented from your abrupt awakening.
He paused briefly, glancing over his shoulder with a playful smirk. “One, he is dedicating his love for seven days not his kink and second…" he said casually before resuming his search. "Well, it’s the kingdom’s anniversary today. Big celebration, remember?”
Nodding slowly as you try to remember if Wooyoung or any of the Kim siblings mentions the anniversary. Wooyoung finally stopped his rummaging as he reached the back of the wardrobe, pulling out a dress that immediately caught your eye. He turned to face you, holding it up for you to see with a triumphant grin. The gown was a masterpiece, a striking piece of craftsmanship. The bodice was designed with intricate embroidery, fitted into a corset style with puffed short sleeves that added a regal flair. The skirt flowed in layers of soft blue fabric, light as air, and shimmered faintly in the morning light, reminiscent of a calm ocean at twilight.
“Come on!” Wooyoung urged, holding the dress out in front of you as if it were a prize. “It’s going to be a big day!”
You hesitated, taking in the sheer beauty of the gown, and your mind drifted for a moment. But Wooyoung was already a step ahead, sensing your apprehension. He walked over to you and, with a warm smile, placed the gown in your hands. “Don’t worry," he said softly. “It’s not really a big event that needs everyone to interact. There’s a huge celebration at the square, we can go there.”
You looked up at him, his face bright with reassurance and excitement. His confidence was contagious, and you couldn't help but feel a flicker of eagerness stir inside you. With a small nod, you stood up, holding the dress close to your chest. “Alright, if I end up winning all prices, not my fault.”
Wooyoung beamed, clapping his hands together in delight. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s get you ready. The kingdom won’t know what hit them.” With that, the palace maids hurried in, ready to assist with your transformation, and the preparations for the grand celebration truly began.  
Today’s celebration was monumental, a day of grand importance, honoring not only the King’s birthday but also the rich history and countless discoveries that shaped the kingdom into what it was. The palace was already abuzz with excitement, the walls echoing with the laughter and lively chatter of nobles and attendants preparing for the festivities. Outside, beyond the castle gates, the kingdom itself seemed to hum with life as people flocked to the streets in anticipation of the grand event. 
You stood by the entrance of the palace, your eyes drifting toward the lively streets just beyond the palace gates. The town was already alive with the colors and sounds of celebration. Vibrant banners fluttered in the breeze, strung across the buildings, and the distant beat of drums echoed through the air, carried by the laughter of children. You watched them dart through the streets, flying kites and spinning small wind spinner toys, their joy infectious as they chased each other under the midday sun.
You found yourself smiling at the scene, a sense of excitement building within you as you waited. Wooyoung had told you he’d only be a moment—just grabbing his satchel, he’d said—but as the minutes passed, you grew more curious. Your thoughts wandered between the anticipation of the festival and the conversations you'd share with Wooyoung once you were outside, away from the palace's formality.
But unbeknownst to you, chaos was brewing inside.
At that very moment, Wooyoung, his mischievous grin practically glowing with excitement, was pushing San—quite literally—toward the palace entrance. San, who had been completely unprepared for this, stumbled forward, trying to catch his balance as Wooyoung spun him around by his shoulders.
“Come on, San!” Wooyoung said with a laugh, shoving a satchel into his hands. San let out a small, surprised "oof" as the bag hit his chest. Before he could even register what was happening, Wooyoung spun him again, his hands firm on San’s shoulders as he marched him straight toward the palace doors.
“Wait—what?” San managed to sputter, blinking in confusion as Wooyoung, still moving with incredible speed, reached past him to pull the palace doors open. In one swift motion, Wooyoung pushed San out through the doors and into the bright sunlight, leaving him standing on the palace steps.
“Enjoy!” Wooyoung chirped with a wink, before slamming the palace doors shut behind him, cutting off any further protests.
San stood there, bewildered, clutching the satchel tightly against his chest. For a moment, he simply blinked, trying to piece together what had just happened. His mind spun. Wooyoung had been relentless, but this was a bit much even for him. Before he could even make sense of the whirlwind that had just taken place, a realization hit him—he was now standing outside, alone, with you waiting just a few steps away.
His heart raced. Wooyoung had convinced him that today was the perfect opportunity to make amends—to make things right after being so uncharacteristically awkward around you ever since you’d arrived in their world. But the suddenness of being thrown into the situation, quite literally, left him flustered and unsure of what to do next.
“San?”
Your voice broke through his scattered thoughts, sending a jolt of surprise through him. His breath hitched in his throat as he turned to face you, his eyes wide. There you were, standing just a few feet away, your expression warm and curious as you looked at him, completely unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded inside. And not only that, you were wearing one of Hongjoong’s masterpieces.
One of the dresses was made for a princess. San felt his heart skip a beat. He swallowed hard, clutching the satchel even tighter to his chest like it was some sort of lifeline. His mind scrambled for words, for something—anything—he could say that wouldn’t make him seem like a complete fool.
“Hi,” he managed, a shaky and somewhat awkward smile tugging at his lips. His voice came out softer than he’d intended, as if all the confidence had drained from him the moment he saw you.
For a moment, he stood there frozen, still trying to process what had just happened. Wooyoung’s words echoed in his head—this was his chance to make things right. But now, faced with the reality of being here with you, San could barely think straight. He wanted to apologize, to explain himself, to make up for all the times he had stumbled over his words or seemed distant. But right now, all he could do was stand there, heart racing, trying not to look too overwhelmed.
You tilted your head slightly, your gaze softening as you took a small step closer. “Are you alright?” you asked, your voice laced with genuine concern. There was a gentle warmth in your eyes, the kind that always seemed to calm the chaos in San’s mind. It was that look—the one that made him want to protect you, to be someone worthy of standing by your side.
San let out a small, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m… fine. Just, uh… Wooyoung… you know how he is,” he mumbled, trying to regain his composure, though it was clear he was still a little flustered.
You smiled, your eyes sparkling with amusement, at his sudden odd attitude that he rarely shows despite knowing him for being strict, serious and seeing this other side of him made you feel at ease as it resembles the San in your universe. “He can be a handful,” you agreed, shaking your head.
There was a brief pause as San glanced down at the satchel in his hands, then back up at you. He knew this was his moment to say something meaningful, to make up for his earlier awkwardness. But instead, all he could do was offer you a small, hopeful smile.
San stood beside you, his expression a mix of eagerness and apprehension. The guilt of his earlier accusations weighed heavily on him, and today, he was determined to show you just how much he regretted them. "Are you ready for an adventure?" he asked, a tentative smile breaking through the clouds of uncertainty.
His question took you by surprise though you shook it off you hesitated, recalling the confrontation that had unfolded days before. The thought of his earlier accusations nagged at you, making you wonder if this was all some elaborate prank or, worse, a trap. "Is this a prank?" you asked, skepticism lacing your words.
San’s face fell slightly, and you could see the hurt flicker in his eyes, but he maintained his resolve. "My father would have my head if I would joke about this, I swear.” He extends his hand to the buzzling streets, “I just want to show you my world, our culture." He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if to shield your conversation from prying ears. "I have made a graceful mistake by accusing you of misdeed. You were simply helping me—us to lift this curse even if you have no background whatsoever."
You stared at him in disbelief. You never thought you would hear him apologise, heck admitting his fault, it brought you familiarity on how San would apologise even for the smallest thing, like breaking the tip of your favorite pencil and buying you a box of similar pencils. As you looked into his eyes, you could sense the sincerity behind his words. After what felt like an eternity of silence, you sighed, your heart softening. "Okay, but if this turns into a trap, you owe me," you replied, crossing your arms defiantly, yet unable to hide the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
“Shall we…?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with a quiet sincerity, as he gestured toward the vibrant, bustling town beyond the palace gates. You have forgotten about Wooyoung as you were so focused on this new side of San and agree nevertheless.
San walk alongside you, your hands brushing against each other as you explored the market stalls brimming with sweet treats and handmade crafts. San led the two of you on sampling the festival's delicacies—warm, spiced pastries and sugary confections—your laughter ringing out as you tried to guess the flavors together. In his eyes, he saw you glowing in the soft light of lanterns, your eyes sparkling with excitement, and he felt an overwhelming urge to protect that happiness.
So when he sees your smile, a smile breaks on San’s lips as he feels his insides churning in excitement as he sees you smile. At him.
Just a few hours earlier, San had found himself standing outside Wooyoung’s room, his pride nearly suffocating him. He had replayed the moments leading up to your fallout in his mind over and over, and the more he thought about it, the heavier his heart felt. He needed advice, even if it meant swallowing his pride. 
Knocking softly, he opened the door to find Wooyoung lounging on his bed, a book in hand. "What’s wrong, San? You look like you have seen a ghost."
San took a deep breath, fighting back the embarrassment that threatened to bubble to the surface. “I know I speak words that hurted your friend but I am willing to correct them …” Wooyoung places his book down, watching his cousin beat himself up. He chuckles, “Just tell me San.”   
San sighs deeply, “I really need your help to make it right with Miss Brigid."
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? What did you do this time?"
San explained, his voice a mix of frustration and regret as he recounted the confrontation. "I may have spoken before I thought and I hurted her emotionally. And I need to show her that I care, thankful even for helping us all from this curse. I want her to trust me again."
A grin broke out on Wooyoung’s face, his heart melting. It reminded him of San in the other universe, he was a gentleman. "You’re going to need more than a simple apology for that. I know you thought of the festival which is good, she really likes them. It’s the perfect opportunity to share our culture and make some happy memories."
San nodded, a flicker of hope igniting within him. "And what if she thinks it’s another trap?"
"Convince her otherwise. Remind her how much she means to you. But I mind you dear cousin, it takes at least thirty minutes of convincing, and you’ll have her by your side." Wooyoung’s words filled him with determination— plans before Wooyoung ran off somewhere.
Now, as you traversed the lively streets, San began to share the rich history of his kingdom with you. He pointed out the various stalls selling traditional crafts, explaining the significance of each item with an infectious enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but smile at his passion, the tension from before slowly melting away.
Every moment spent with you during the festival would be a chance for him to show you the beauty of his world, a stark contrast to the weight of the curse that loomed over them. It would be an opportunity to create joyful memories that might distract both of you, if only for a little while, from the heaviness of reality. He resolved then and there to make the day unforgettable for you, to share in the joy and revelry that the festival promised. It was a chance to embrace hope amidst uncertainty, and he was determined to make it special—because you deserved that, and so much more.
The vibrant sounds of the festival enveloped you as you stepped into the bustling town square, excitement buzzing in the air like a live wire. Colorful banners hung overhead, fluttering in the gentle breeze, while the enticing aromas of roasted meats and sweet pastries filled your senses. Everywhere you looked, families and friends were enjoying the festivities, laughter ringing out like music. 
He walks towards one the stall, claiming something while the vendor bows before you watch San walk back towards you. You raised him an eyebrow, “Souvenir for your father?”
San chuckled as he kept the gift in his pocket, “No and my father has no habit of collecting such things.” You chuckle too, looking at the other stalls, “But you do.”
San nodded, surprised at your sudden guess, “Y-Yeah, I do.” His eyes trails on your figure as you peered over other stalls with their merchandise, an excited look on your face as the vendor explains the stones and other artifacts.
He moved beside you, "That’s a traditional kimchi stall! You have to try it," he insisted, leading you to a vendor with an array of vibrant jars filled with pickled vegetables. You sampled a piece, the spicy, tangy flavor exploding in your mouth, and laughed at the way San’s eyes lit up at your reaction. His delight was contagious, and you felt the warmth of connection blossoming between you.
As the sun began to set, the atmosphere shifted, and the festival transformed. Small make-shift lanterns were hung on the streets, making it lively and nostalgic as you both made your way to the riverside where the lanterns were laid.  Lanterns were lit, their soft glow illuminating the faces around you. You felt a sense of anticipation in the air, and San’s excitement was palpable.
"Tonight’s the lantern ceremony," San said, his voice laced with excitement and nostalgia. "It’s a tradition to release lanterns into the sky, symbolizing our hopes and dreams."
The crowd began to gather around you, and soon you found yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with San. The warmth of his presence was comforting, and the closeness between you felt electric. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, your heart fluttering in sync with the excitement in the air. As the ceremony commenced, the lanterns floated upwards, their soft glow contrasting against the deepening night sky.
As the first lantern lifted off, memories came rushing back—moments you hadn’t thought about in a while.
"Nerdy girl, I’ll see you later!" Wooyoung called out, throwing his arm around you in a playful side hug before disappearing into the crowd. You frowned, puzzled by his abrupt departure. He was the one who dragged you here in the first place, and now he was off somewhere else.
Huffing in mild frustration, you crossed your arms, lips pursed as you stood to the side, feeling out of place. You had planned to stay home tonight—away from the noise and crowds. You preferred quiet, open spaces where you could finish a good book in peace. But Wooyoung had insisted, showing up unannounced and practically forcing you to come along.
It was your university's foundation celebration, and while the event was loud and bustling, it couldn’t overpower the cold bite of the season. You tugged your cardigan tighter around yourself, watching as more students gathered for the lantern ceremony.
“Hey,” a voice startled you slightly. You looked up to see San, bundled in a cream hoodie layered with a jean jacket, black ripped jeans, and high-top Nikes. He smiled, a little sheepish. "Hey, San," you greeted him back.
He glanced around before meeting your eyes again. “Did you come here alone, or are you waiting for Wooyoung?”
You rolled your eyes, letting out a small sigh. "Neither. Wooyoung dragged me here and then ditched me."
San chuckled, shaking his head. "Classic Wooyoung."
Just as you were about to respond, fireworks exploded in the sky, vibrant bursts of color lighting up the night. The crowd cheered, but the booming sound made your chest tighten, sending a sudden wave of unease through you. Without thinking, your hand reached for San’s. It was a habit of yours whenever loud, heavy booming sounds startled you—Wooyoung had always insisted on holding your hand to calm you down. San’s fingers instinctively intertwined with yours, and the touch sent a jolt through you. The simple contact felt electrifying.
You glanced up at him, expecting him to pull away, but the way he looked at you that night—a mixture of surprise, warmth, and something more—left you breathless. In that fleeting moment, it felt as though the world around you had vanished, leaving only the two of you, suspended in the beauty of the night.
And though the fireworks continued to crackle and the crowd buzzed with excitement, all you could focus on was the warmth of San’s hand in yours and the silent connection that now lingered between you.
As fireworks burst overhead, and San beside you, sharing laughter and fleeting glances. In that moment, you absentmindedly reached for his hand the booming sound echoing inside your chest that it scares you, intertwining your fingers with his, and felt a jolt of electricity at the simple contact yet the way San looked at you that night never left your face. 
It was as if the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you suspended in a beautiful moment.
But then, reality snapped back into focus. You felt a gentle tug, and as you turned, you realized San had moved behind you, his hands encircling yours as he helped you release your lantern into the night sky. The gentle pressure of his grip was both grounding and exhilarating, a reminder of his presence that sent shivers down your spine.
"Make a wish," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, sending a thrill coursing through you. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the flickering light of the lantern guide your thoughts, the closeness of his body heightening your senses.
San watch you close your eyes and open them momentarily, a smile on your lips. San became curious, “What did you wish for?". You shake your head, “It won’t come true if I say it.” you said softly, glancing back at him. The sincerity in his gaze made your heart race, and for a brief second, you felt the weight of everything else fade away. His eyes held a depth of emotion that made you want to lose yourself in them.
As your lantern floated higher, you looked at San, the shared moment brimming with unspoken words. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you amidst the rising lights. His fingers tightened around yours, a silent promise that ignited hope in your chest.
"Brigid if I may—" he said, his voice low and earnest, "I— I am sorry. My deepest apology may not take away those hurtful words I have said to you, doubted you when all you did was act out of kindness." His admission hung in the air, heavy with sincerity, and your heart swelled at his words. In that instant, with the glow of the lanterns illuminating your faces, you felt something shift between you—an understanding, a connection that transcended words. You took a step closer, emboldened by the magic of the moment, and whispered, "You're forgiven, San."
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As the townspeople retreated back to their homes, the echoes of laughter and music slowly faded into the quiet of the night. The once-bustling streets were now empty, save for the soft flicker of lanterns that lined the paths leading to the palace. You and San walked side by side, your steps falling in sync, the festival’s energy still buzzing between you like the faint hum of a melody carried on the evening breeze.
The festival had been a whirlwind of color and sound, filling your senses with life and vibrancy. Even now, as you walked through the grand palace gates, you found yourself still basking in the afterglow of the shared moments with San—the warmth of his presence, the laughter you both exchanged, and the unspoken tension that lingered beneath the surface, a reminder of the unresolved words from before.
“I must admit,” San began, his voice breaking the peaceful quiet with a playful lilt, “I was quite astonished by your reaction to the kimchi stall.” His lips curved into a teasing smile, his eyes bright with amusement. “You handled the spiciness like a true warrior.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the warmth in his words spreading through your chest, easing some of the tension you hadn’t realized was still there. “I’m hot myself so it’s nothing.”
San chuckled beside you, his gaze lingering on you with something deeper, but before either of you could speak again, the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by the hurried sound of footsteps. A figure came bounding down the grand staircase of the palace, moving so quickly that it caught both you and San off guard.
 The familiar sight of freckles scattered across the person’s cheeks immediately clued you in—it was Prince Hongjoong. His typically composed demeanor was nowhere to be found as he scurried down the steps with such haste that it seemed as though he were being chased by an unseen force. His rich robes fluttered wildly behind him, and his usually sharp eyes were wide with urgency.
“Prince Hongjoong?” San called out, already moving towards him. But in Hongjoong’s haste, his foot caught the edge of the last step, and time seemed to slow as he stumbled forward. His body pitched forward violently, and in that instant, San lunged towards him, his arms outstretched, catching the prince just before he hit the marble floor.
 You rushed forward as well, your heart in your throat, reaching out instinctively to steady him by grabbing his hand.
“Prince Hongjoong!” you exclaimed softly, concern evident in your voice. But just as you reached for him, Hongjoong lifted his head to look at you, and the moment his eyes met yours, you froze. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, the sound reverberating in the vast hall as your heart plummeted. Your body moved on its own, stumbling back a step in shock as the breath was knocked from your lungs.
His eyes—once filled with such vitality and fire—were now clouded over, a ghostly white veil covering them entirely. They looked almost hollow, as if cataracts had consumed his sight. The image of him like this sent a cold, prickling sensation down your spine, fear creeping into your bones. Your hand instinctively dropped from his, and you staggered back, wide-eyed in disbelief.
Your voice quivered when you managed to speak, your mind struggling to comprehend the sight before you. “W-What happened?”
Hongjoong’s face was pale, his expression distant yet filled with a weight of sorrow that made your chest tighten. His hand still gripped San’s arm for support, but his body seemed fragile, as if the weight of something unseen was bearing down on him.
“The curse…” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and strained as if even speaking pained him. But the weight of those two simple words hung in the air like an oppressive cloud, chilling you to your very core. Time seemed to stop. The word “curse” echoed in your mind, and a thousand thoughts flooded in at once, each more terrifying than the last. Your blood ran cold, and before you could even fully grasp the situation, dread took over.
 The realization hit you like a tidal wave—Wooyoung.
Without another word, you let go of Hongjoong’s hand, your breath growing ragged as panic set in. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest as you turned and sprinted down the corridor, your footsteps echoing off the walls like thunder.
“Brigid!” San’s voice called out after you, filled with concern, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to listen or wait. You had to get to Wooyoung.
The palace hallways blurred past you as you ran, your pulse quickening with each step. The air around you seemed to grow thicker with each passing moment, the walls closing in as fear gripped your heart. Each second felt like an eternity, and all you could think about was your friend—your mind racing with the thought of him trapped, helpless, suffering because of something beyond your control.
By the time you reached Wooyoung’s chamber, the door was already slightly ajar, and you could hear faint murmurs coming from inside. Pushing the door open, you were greeted by the sight that made your heart lurch in your chest.
Several healers stood around Wooyoung’s bed, their faces etched with concern and helplessness. They fanned him frantically, their hands moving in practiced motions, but despite their efforts, Wooyoung’s condition was deteriorating. He lay gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven movements. His skin was clammy, beads of sweat clinging to his brow, and his eyes—once full of mischief—now fluttered weakly, barely open.
“No… no, no, no!” you whispered in horror, your voice trembling as you rushed to his bedside. Without thinking, you pushed your way through the healers, collapsing to your knees beside him and grabbing his hand, clutching it desperately. His hand was cold, far too cold. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gripped his hand tighter, willing him to stay with you.
 “Woo… please,” you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to be okay! I—We just have to find her temple or whatever, and speak to her. Please, just hold on!”
The words tumbled from your lips in a rush, a desperate plea to keep your friend tethered to this world. But even as you spoke, the panic clawed at you, threatening to consume you whole. The healers worked tirelessly, but the look in their eyes told you the truth—they were running out of time and the answer should be shown soon.
“Miss Brigid,” one of the healers spoke softly, trying to pull you away, but you shook your head fiercely, refusing to leave his side.
“No!” you cried out, your voice breaking. “He can’t… Please do something! Not like this!”
You leaned closer to Wooyoung, tears still spilling down your cheeks as you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Wooyoung. You have to fight. I know you’re strong. You’ve always been so strong. Don’t give up now. I can’t lose you.”
For a moment, the room was still, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him struggle for breath. But then, like a miracle, Wooyoung’s chest rose deeply as he took a slow, steady breath. His face softened, and the tension that gripped his body eased, allowing you to breathe properly too. Relief washed over you as you let out a shaky breath, your hands rubbing his arm in comfort.
“Wooyoung-ie,” you murmured gently, your voice a mix of relief and affection.
He chuckled weakly, his voice barely a whisper, but the teasing warmth in his tone was unmistakable. “Stop being so dramatic, nerdy girl.”
A watery laugh bubbled out of you, the tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now they carried the weight of relief rather than fear. “I can’t help it,” you sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your hand as you smiled down at him.
The room fell into a peaceful quiet, the tension slowly melting away as the weight of the curse seemed to loosen its grip—at least for now. You didn’t know how much time had passed, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that you were staying with Wooyoung, refusing to leave his side, afraid that if you let him go, he might fall into another episode of the curse’s cruel grasp.
You lay beside him, listening to the gentle sound of his breathing, the silence of the night slowly engulfing his room. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the dark space, making the world feel almost serene despite the lingering fear. Wooyoung remained on his back, his gaze distant as he stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
It was Wooyoung who finally broke the silence. His voice was low, almost hesitant, as if he had been wrestling with the decision to say the words aloud. “You guys have to move tomorrow morning without me.”
You blinked, pushing yourself up slightly to look at him. “Would you be okay with it?”
“As much as I want to go with you…” His eyes met yours, filled with sadness and resignation, the weight of it almost pulling you closer. “The healers were right. I need to stay behind and recover.” His voice softened, his gaze searching yours for understanding. A moment passed in silence before you noticed a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
“Speaking of that … San will be coming with you, and… what happened earlier, huh?” His eyebrows raised mischievously, teasing as always, as if he found joy in lightening the mood even when things were heavy.
You huffed, rolling your eyes in playful exasperation. “Please, he just showed me around and apologized. It’s nothing.”
“A good night, you say…” he stretched the words, eyes gleaming with a sly look, “…sounds more like a good date, doesn’t it?”
A surprised laugh escaped you, and you swatted his arm gently. “Stop it, Wooyoung.” His chuckle lingered in the air, but soon enough, the playful exchange faded into quiet.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. You hesitated, feeling the weight of everything unsaid. Slowly, you sat up a little more, studying his face—his exhaustion, the hidden strain beneath his teasing exterior. His smile had faded too, replaced by a look of quiet resignation.
“I have a question,” you said, your voice softer now, the tension in the room subtly shifting. Wooyoung pushed himself up slightly, resting against the headboard with a sigh. He looked exhausted, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that told you he was ready to talk. “This curse,” you began, your voice quiet but firm, “you said your cousins have curses too. How many cousins do you have in total?”
His expression darkened slightly at the mention of the curse, his usual playful demeanor slipping away. He paused, considering the weight of the question before answering. “There are five of us,” he said finally, his voice low, as if speaking the truth aloud might invite more danger. “Each with our own… burdens.”
 “There’s Noella, Hongjoong… San, of course. And Yeosang and Yunho—those two are brothers.”
You furrowed your brow, the idea of more people like Wooyoung—people trapped by the same unseen forces—settling in your mind. “Five…” you repeated softly. “What kind of curses do they carry?”
His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, a mixture of pain and reluctance. “Each one is different. Unique to us. Some are… easier to bear. Others, not so much.” He looked away, his gaze distant, as if remembering something painful. “We don’t talk about it much, not even among ourselves.”
A sense of unease crept up your spine as you processed his words. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Wooyoung’s eyes snapped back to yours, and there was a flicker of regret in them. “It’s not something you just tell someone you care about,” he said, voice quieter now. “Not when you’re trying to protect them.”
You felt a pang in your chest at his words, understanding the burden he must have been carrying all along. “But now… I’m part of this.” The realization settling in.
His face softening as he reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently. “And I wish I could shield you from it. But…” he trailed off, looking down at your intertwined hands, “things are changing. Fast. And you deserve to know everything.”
The room fell into silence again, the gravity of the situation weighing on both of you. But this time, the silence wasn’t awkward or forced. It was a shared moment of understanding, one that connected you both even deeper than before.
“.. If Noella and Hongjoong,” you mused aloud, “their eyes turned white, like they had cataracts or something.” You paused, remembering Hongjoong’s earlier appearance. “You… can’t breathe properly sometimes. But I haven’t seen much of a curse on San.”
Wooyoung nodded, clicking his tongue as if impressed by how quickly you were putting the pieces together. “Well, it depends on what each family line is good at. Take Hongjoong-hyung’s family, for example. Their line is all about predictions—their eyes are their source of power. The curse took that from them.”
Your mouth fell open in shock. “Wait… then you—” You stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. “You have powers too?!”
Wooyoung grinned at your sudden excitement, though he pressed a finger to his lips to shush you. “Not so loud, nerdy girl.” He winked, but his smile turned mischievous as he raised his hand, and with a simple flick of his fingers, the trees outside the window swayed violently, as if caught in a powerful gust of wind.
Your eyes widened in awe, your mouth dropping open again. “Wait… wind? Air? Your family business is trading goods… Does that mean you and your family use the wind to your advantage? That’s why your shipments always arrive on time!”
Wooyoung chuckled, nodding at your deduction. “So smart, nerdy girl,” he teased, though his tone carried a note of pride.
You smiled back at him, the another fact settling over you like a warm blanket. It was almost unbelievable—like stepping into the pages of a fantasy novel you’d once dreamed of living in. Yet, here you were, in a world where curses, powers, and ancient family lines held the key to survival. It was strange, but in a way, it felt like this was where you were meant to be. The thrill of adventure mingled with the responsibility of saving those you cared about.
But as your thoughts began to drift, another name popped into your mind. “If you have a curse related to air,” you began slowly, “and Hongjoong’s family is cursed with their vision…” You hesitated, frowning as you pieced the puzzle together. “What about San?”
Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as if surprised you hadn’t figured it out already. “I thought you knew by now.”
You raised an eyebrow in confusion. “He doesn’t show much of his curse like the rest of you.”
“That’s because,” Wooyoung replied thoughtfully, “it doesn’t have to show like ours. San’s curse doesn’t manifest physically—it reveals things.”
“Reveals?” you echoed, your mind racing as you tried to recall any moments when San might have mentioned or shown signs of a curse.
Just as you were about to delve deeper into the mystery, Wooyoung reached out and gently tugged you back down onto the bed. “Don’t stress yourself out too much,” he murmured, his voice soft with concern. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”
You blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change in tone, but the exhaustion in his eyes was enough to keep you from protesting. Wooyoung was right—you couldn’t afford to burn yourself out, not when there were still so many questions left unanswered. With a reluctant sigh, you allowed yourself to settle back down beside him, your head resting on the pillow.
The room fell silent again, the faint rustling of the wind outside and the steady rise and fall of Wooyoung’s breathing the only sounds that filled the space. Tomorrow, you’d have to face whatever dangers awaited you, but for now, in the quiet of the night, you found solace in the simple act of being there—by his side, safe, for just a little while longer.
“I’ll stand by you,” you whispered, tightening your grip on his hand, “no matter what.”
Wooyoung’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. “I know you will. That’s what scares me the most.”
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Before the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, you and San had already mounted your horses, the soft clopping of hooves the only sound in the stillness of dawn. The chill of the early morning air nipped at your skin, but you both were cloaked in thick woolen garments to ward off the cold. As you adjusted the straps of your satchel, a weight of uncertainty settled in your chest. The book you had brought with you offered insight, its pages filled with knowledge, speaking of those who, threatened by curses or danger, would seek refuge in the most remote parts of the land—where the river met the open sea, deep in the mountains.
You hoped this would be the case for the person you sought.
“I believe they could be hiding there,” you murmured, more to yourself than to anyone else. The possibility weighed heavily on your mind.
San, riding beside you, tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, glancing at the others preparing for the journey. His eyes met yours, and a spark of determination lit in his gaze. “Are you ready, Brigid?” he asked, his voice steady, though you could hear the underlying tension. He knew the journey ahead would be long and treacherous, but his confidence remained unwavering.
You straightened in your saddle, the satchel strapped across your body securing the precious book and a few spare clothes you might need. The road ahead was uncertain, but the stakes were high. This quest could be the key to ending the curse and protecting the heirs of the kingdom. You nodded, offering him a soft smile. “I’m ready. This is for all of you.”
San’s lips curved into a smile, a genuine warmth radiating from him that momentarily chased away the cold. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude clear in the way his eyes softened.
You returned his smile, feeling a surge of loyalty to the prince and the cause you were fighting for. “It’s my pleasure, Prince San.”
At the sound of his title, San’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he quickly waved it off, trying to mask his reaction with a playful grin. “Please,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “just call me San.”
Holding the map tightly in your hand, you and the others navigated through the winding path toward the mountains. The sun had now fully risen, casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape. The river beside you was calm, its surface reflecting the blue sky, while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves around you. The morning was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos and danger that had haunted your recent days. As you rode, you found yourself momentarily lost in thought, remembering how this journey was something you had once dreamed about. It reminded you of the countless times you wished for an escape from the unrelenting stress of college. Now, here you were—on a real adventure, though far more perilous than you'd ever imagined.
Above, the clouds were fluffy and vast, and birds chirped merrily, soaring across the sky. It made you feel hopeful, if only for a brief moment. You allowed yourself to believe that perhaps this journey would be okay—that you would find answers and finally lift the curse. But that fragile hope was quickly shattered. A sudden unease gnawed at you, sending a chill down your spine. Something wasn’t right.
Your gut instinct flared, a warning you couldn't ignore. Your eyes darted around, scanning the trees, the mountains ahead, the riverbanks—anything that might explain the ominous feeling creeping over you. The peaceful morning now seemed like a deceptive veil hiding something darker.
Sensing your sudden change in demeanor, San slowed his horse, gave the map to the guards and looked over at you, concern etched on his face. He reined his horse in closer, handing the map over to one of the guards. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low but tense.
“I… I don’t think we should go any further,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. Something in the air felt wrong, as if the very atmosphere had shifted.
San frowned, his eyes scanning the surroundings. “Murks?”
“I’m not sure. It feels… stronger than that. Whatever it is, it’s not just a murk.” Your voice trailed off, the growing sense of dread tightening your chest. You could feel something powerful closing in.
Suddenly, San gasped, his hand flying to his head as he clutched it in pain. His groan was guttural, full of agony. His horse sensed his distress and neighed in panic, its hooves stomping nervously. The other horses also picked up on the disturbance, becoming restless and uneasy. Whatever was coming, they felt it too.
You leapt from your horse without hesitation, rushing to San’s side. You grabbed the reins of his horse, calming the frantic animal as you called for the guards to assist. Together, you managed to dismount San from his horse, carefully laying him down on the grass at the side of the road. His face was contorted in pain, his body trembling as he clutched his head, his jaw clenched tight.
“San… San…” you called out, your voice laced with worry. You knelt beside him, feeling utterly helpless. The panic inside you grew with each second that passed, but you tried to steady your breathing, knowing you had to be strong. “This… this is the symptoms…”
San’s groans deepened, his fingers digging into his skin as if trying to tear the pain away. You had seen something similar before—the day after the festival when Wooyoung had collapsed, writhing in agony from the curse that burned him from the inside out. But San’s curse seemed different, more intense, more dangerous. His entire body was shaking, as if it were on the verge of breaking under the pressure.
“It’s like the same as the others,” you muttered, your hands hovering over San, unsure of how to help. “But worse…”
San let out a strangled breath, his voice broken and high-pitched. “Are we … close?” he gasped, barely able to form the words. You didn’t know how to answer, your mind racing.
“It… it reveals when it finds its answer…” you murmured, recalling something Noella had once said about the curse’s nature. It didn’t just manifest—it revealed truths, painful truths that were hidden deep within.
San’s body continued to convulse for what felt like an eternity, though it was only minutes. The guards stood nearby, helpless as you were. When the pain finally subsided, San lay there, gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat. His usual strength seemed drained from him, and he looked so weak, so unlike himself. His eyes fluttered open, though they were blurry and unfocused. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and when he finally focused on you, his lips trembled into a faint smile.
“Don’t… don’t frown,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and faint. “I… I don’t like it when you frown.”
Nothing but your attention was focus solely on his hand. San's scales shimmered under the dim light, casting an eerie, yet mesmerizing glow. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the dark iridescent scales, tracing their path as they climbed up his arm and disappeared beneath his sleeves. It felt surreal, as though the danger you’d both tried to ignore was suddenly and violently laid bare in front of you. Your heart raced, not just from fear but from guilt. Guilt that you hadn’t tried harder to understand his curse or to help him sooner.
“San… your hand…” you whispered, your voice trembling. You could hardly believe what you were seeing. The curse you had once thought distant, almost abstract, was now physically manifesting before you, inescapable and terrifying.
San followed your gaze, his own face turning pale as he saw the scales spreading further. His jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, his eyes fluttered shut. He seemed to accept it, as if he had known this day would come. But his silence—the heaviness in his expression—told you that the weight of it was something he had carried alone for too long.
The guards, still holding him up, exchanged uneasy glances. You felt their confusion mirrored in your own heart. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This was no ordinary curse—this was far worse than you had anticipated. The scales weren’t just a sign of his affliction; they were a reminder of the power he had been struggling to contain all along.
“I’m so sorry…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion. “I never tried to learn about your curse… I was too focused on everything else—on everyone else. I didn’t see you…” Your words came out broken, the weight of your realization pressing down on your chest.
San’s expression softened, though there was a deep sadness in his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I pushed you away. I didn’t want you to see this… to see me like this. I thought I could handle it on my own, after all this is my doing.”
You shook your head, your eyes filling with unshed tears. “No, I should have been more mature, I was here— I am here to help you. I should have focused on you instead of being so wrapped up in my own thoughts. You needed me, and I wasn’t there…”
San’s heart ached at your words, and without thinking, he reached out with his scaled hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he placed it on top of your head, ruffling your hair the way he always did when he wanted to comfort you. His hand was cool against your scalp, but the familiarity of the gesture made your heart melt. You almost cried on how much you miss this feeling, comforted and doted.
The guards around you froze, eyes wide at the sight of their prince, a figure known for his strength and stoicism, acting with such tenderness. But San didn't care about their reactions. His only focus was on you.
“You worry too much, witch,” he said with a small, tired smile, though his eyes glimmered with something softer, something warmer. It was as though in that moment, despite everything—the curse, the danger, the pain—he found peace in your presence.
His words sent a wave of warmth through you, momentarily pushing aside the fear and uncertainty that had gripped you. You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection and concern, remembering what Wooyoung had told you the night before: If the pain is slowly harming them, if it’s too much to bear, it means you’re getting closer to the answer.
You nodded slowly, determination settling in your chest. This wasn’t the end—it couldn’t be. You had a purpose here, and that purpose was San. His curse wasn’t just something you had to understand; it was something you had to help him break, no matter how dangerous or difficult the path ahead might be.
With a deep breath, you looked into his eyes, the weight of your vow clear in your voice. “I’m not giving up on you, San.”
San’s smile widened, though the pain still lingered in the edges of his expression. “I know,” he whispered softly, his hand still resting on your head as though drawing strength from your resolve. “I believe in you.”
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taglist: @passerbyforfun . @seongwars . @candied-czennie . @ffenjoyerdazme
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joanquill · 3 days ago
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Tea Time
Seeing William enjoying tea despite the sun being out, you decided to visit your reclusive vampire companion.
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William James Moriarty
A/N: Since I couldn't write Halloween requests last year, I thought writing some shorts could be compensation ^^" The monster versions of the guys will just be based on the Halloween merch(?) I found :)
Tag/s: Vampire!William, Modern!Reader
Warning/s: Profanity
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"For a vampire, you sure look anemic," you greeted William as you walked into the garden, watching him enjoy tea while wearing a sun hat, sunglasses, and long sleeves.
"Good afternoon to you as well, (Y/N)," William calmly greeted as he sipped his tea.
"Isn't it dangerous for you to be outside even if the sun's setting?" you asked, using your shadow to shield him from the sunlight.
"It's fine. I put on some sunscreen earlier, and a little sunlight every once in a while is not so bad," William reassured, making you hum as you sat across from him.
"Well, you look very pretty," you grinned, earning an unamused look from William as he kept his smile.
"What brings you here today?" he asked as he poured you a cup.
You shrugged your shoulders, tapping the cup lightly as you stared inside.
"Just wanted to visit..." you answered, taking a sip as William observed you.
"Nothing else?"
"Nope," you confirmed, focusing on drinking the tea.
"...He cheated on you, didn't he?" he asked, making you freeze as you set down the cup.
"Five times! Can you believe that asshole!?" you scoffed in anger as William poured you another cup, lending an ear.
"Ugh, I swear every decent guy is either dead, gay, or taken..." you muttered in despair with your face flat on the table as William listened to your woes.
"Sounds difficult," William mused, drinking from his cup as you looked up at him.
"Can't you introduce me to someone? Maybe a descendant of a friend of yours?" you joked, making William breathe out a smile.
"Unfortunately, no," he answered, making you sigh in disappointment.
"May I ask why you are in such a hurry to meet someone?" he asked, making you raise a brow.
"Don't people get married and have kids really young in your time?"
"Perhaps I can give you a history lesson during your next visit,"
"Never mind!" you quickly turned away, remembering the math lecture he gave you last time.
You let out a deep sigh as you nursed your teacup, "I swear I'm going to die alone..." you grumbled, sliding down to the table.
"Hm... I'll be sure to visit," William monotonously added, making you scoff as you threw the table napkin at him.
"You are no help at all!" you chuckled, making William smile as he effortlessly caught the napkin with a smile.
"Now, will you answer my question?" he asked, making you stop and bite your lip.
You dragged out a sigh as you sank into your arms.
"I don't know... Everyone around me has been getting married and having kids, and it... it just feels like I'm falling behind," you answered, making William look at you solemnly.
"(Y/N)-"
"And I know everyone goes at their own pace... but I just want to be with someone, you know? Don't you?" you asked, catching William by surprise.
"What? Don't you have a special someone?" you half-jokingly asked, making him awkwardly smile.
"I did... but that's all in the past now," he confirmed, surprising you.
"...Sorry," you sheepishly apologized, making William chuckle.
"Don't worry, it's been years... And they died of old age," he reassured, perking your ears.
"What were they like?" as you asked William, the alarm on your phone went off.
"Ah, shit... Sorry, let's continue this tomorrow," you hastily said as you fixed yourself.
"You're welcome to visit anytime you wish," William reassured, waving goodbye as you rushed out of the garden.
"But hey!" you shouted, catching William's attention, "Maybe they got reincarnated? Maybe we can try to find them tomorrow!" you suggested, waving goodbye as you rushed out of the manor, not wanting to deal with the late-night traffic.
William breathed out a smile as he watched your retreating figure, a solemn smile on his face as he kept his eyes on you.
"Seriously... They haven't changed at all,"
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taeyongdoyoung · 8 hours ago
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blessed-cur(s)ed
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summary: your bestie is obsessed with the idea of your blood but there's a chance it might kill him so he dares you to try it on the most popular guy in your school for supernatural beings pairing: vampire!heeseung x powerless witch!reader side couple: future vampire!sunoo x (idk what!)sunghoon implied at the end 👀 genre: fantasy, humour, romance, lowkey insta-love but actually classmates to lovers? warnings: flirty bestie!sunoo (yes, that's a warning in itself), nerdy AND popular guy!heeseung (canon event, methinks), mentions of blood, talks of death, experiments, book of cur(s)es, the bet trope with a twist, attempted murder (but not really), kissing, biting, kneeling, swearing, song references author's note: happy halloween, everyone! 🧛 i wanted to write something spooky-themed for the occasion and what better way than vampire enha to celebrate ❤️ i accidentally deleted my fic like a 🤡 so im reposting lol
word count: 2.8k
"I want to drink your blood sooo bad," Sunoo, your vampire bestie, keeps telling you.
Now, you may find that a bit strange. How is he a vampire and why are you so chill about it? Well, the thing is, you've been attending a school for supernatural beings for the past couple of years.
You come from a family of witches, but your powers haven't manifested yet. There is completely nothing special about you.
Well, except for one thing. Your blood, apparently. Your witchy ancestors loved experimenting with their own blood and according to some old book containing curses and other supernatural information, they turned it into a poison for vampires.
Which can be problematic, considering your bestie's obsession with how good you smell.
"Sunoo, shut up, I keep telling you that my blood and that of my entire family can literally kill you!" you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time only this month.
"Pfft, don't tell me you still believe that stupid old book? Your ancestors probably lied 'cause they were afraid vampires would bleed them dry. I mean, judging by your amazing smell, your great-grandparents' scent was probably just as tempting to vampires," Sunoo argues passionately.
"You can't risk it, Sunoo! I don't wanna lose my best friend just because you can't control your urges," you sigh loudly.
"Oh I can control myself alright, I've been living on deer and rabbits for as long as I remember. Just one tiny taste, honeypie, pleaseee, I swear, you won't even feel it," Sunoo continues the incessant begging. "My fangs aren't that sharp."
"Sunoo, no! I'm not even worried about myself, I trust your dorky ass, but you can literally die," you constantly remind him.
"Can being the key word!" Sunoo, ever the optimist says. "But what if I don't? What if your ancestors were full of shit?"
"No, die is the key word!" you fight back. "I can't lose my best friend. No means no."
"Ughhh," Sunoo complains even more. "What if we test it on someone?"
"What?!" you hiss-whisper.
"Some other vampire. What if we convince them to drink your blood and see if they die," Sunoo suggests boldly.
"That's attempted murder!" you look around to make sure none of your classmates heard you. Maybe it's a good thing most of them are so preoccupied with their own looks that they pay no attention to you two...
"It's not if they survive!" Sunoo keeps looking from the bright side.
"You're crazy," you shake your head. But the idea does sound fun...Wait, no, you're not even considering it!
"What about him?" Sunoo murmurs in your ear, just as someone enters the classroom.
It's Heeseung. Only the most popular guy in your school. The most liked, the most talented in all subjects, the most unattainable.
There's no way you could ever pull him. There's no way you could even convince him to drink your blood.
"Only vampires from my family know about the book of curses your family possesses," Sunoo nudges you gently. "You just have to get him alone and I'm sure he'll bite. Both literally and metaphorically."
You shake your head in disagreement.
"He won't. He's wayyy out of my league."
"That's bullshit and you know it," Sunoo rolls his eyes. "You're very pretty and you smell incredible! I bet you taste so sweet-"
"Dude, your obsession with my smell and potential taste is deeply concerning," you point out.
"Talk to him. I bet he'll be interested."
"What's in it for me? I don't wanna kill the guy..."
"You won't, I'm pretty sure. But just in case, I'll...say I killed him. If he happens to...you know. Not that vampires are alive in the first place, but whatever."
"That's the bare minimum, considering it's your idea,"
"Ugh, fine. I'll do your assignments till the end of the year," Sunoo promises. Knowing he's among the top students, constantly battling with Heeseung for the first place, this sounds like a very tempting offer. And considering this is your last year of high school...
"Deal," you shake his hand and get up from your chair. There are still a couple of minutes till class starts. So, you do the one thing you never thought you'd be able to do.
You approach THE Lee Heeseung.
"Um, hi," you greet him.
"You talking to me?" Heeseung looks up from his phone in curiosity.
"Yeah. Sorry, am I bothering you, Heeseung?"
"No, you're good," Heeseung chuckles and God, that sound is so smooth. "I just didn't think you knew my name."
"Are you kidding me? You're like the most famous guy in our entire school."
"I've been told. Is that why we've never talked for...um, let me think, the past four years?"
"Maybe so," you laugh nervously. "Sorry. You're kinda intimidating, you know that?"
"Me?" Heeseung repeats cutely, as if he's never heard a more ridiculous claim. "No way. So, did you want to ask me something?"
"Erm, yes, actually. Do you wanna hang out sometime? Like...do homework or stuff?"
"Sure, that sounds nice. Your place or mine?" he immediately agrees which is a huge shock to you.
Your place is out of the question. Your witchy parents would be furious if they found out you're trying to get a vampire to drink your blood. And his place sounds just as bad. If the poor guy drops dead in his own home with you being there, his vampire parents would be unhappy, to say the least.
"How about the forest?" you blurt out without thinking.
"The forest? That's a strange place for doing homework, no?"
"It's, um, quieter than the library," you respond dumbly.
"Forest it is," Heeseung complies to your complete amazement. "See you after class?"
"Yes, that'd be awesome," you mumble and hurry back to your seat as the teacher enters the classroom.
"How did it go?" Sunoo asks you quietly.
"He agreed to go out with me," you reply, still in shock.
"See? I told you he'd bite," Sunoo says with a wink.
But instead of being happy, you're dreading it. Because Heeseung seems like a really nice guy. And you're planning to use him as a guinea pig! And for what? To appease Sunoo's silly idea and get him to do your assignments for a year?
Class ends sooner than you'd like and you meet up with Heeseung in the forest near the school.
Little does your inexperienced ass know that your other classmates use the forest as a hook-up place! So, when Heeseung has no intention of doing any homework with you and kisses you without warning, you find yourself in an even more unexpected predicament. You're kissing him back, because duh, this is THE Lee Heeseung. When a chance like that appears right in front of you, you take it and don't let go. He smells and tastes so good and you finally get Sunoo's obsession with you. Heeseung wraps his fingers in your hair, deepening the kiss. Damn, you never expected he'd be into you! You're enjoying this unbelievable moment to the fullest when suddenly, he breaks the kiss and asks:
"Can I bite you? Just once, I promise. You just smell sooo freaking nice," Heeseung begs as if in a daze.
Fuck. If Sunoo was here, he'd tell you to agree rightaway. But your moral compass happens to be stronger than your loyalty to Sunoo's weird idea.
"I'm sorry, Heeseung, but no."
"I swear, I won't hurt you," he keeps pleading. Damnit, he's turning into Sunoo 2.0.
"It's not that. I feel terrible now, but I haven't been entirely honest with you. There is this old book of curses that my family possesses. And in it, it says my ancestors did some experiments with their blood. Apparently, theirs and my blood can be poisonous to vampires. If you bite me...you can literally die," you confess in a hurry, before you can change your mind. Heeseung deserves to know the truth.
"So...you approached me to actually do homework?" Heeseung blinks, still confused.
"No, I approached you because my dumbass best friend wanted me to use you as a test. To see if my blood is actually like sweet venom to vampires so he can get a taste of me next," you tell him everything like a fool.
"Oh," Heeseung appears so crest-fallen your heart is genuinely breaking for him.
You drop to your knees guiltily.
"I'm so sorry. Feel free to kill me."
"Not if you kill me first," Heeseung smirks coldly and attacks your neck with his fangs.
Fuck, no! You try to push him away but he's too strong! What is wrong with him? You literally just told him he might die if he drinks your blood. Why is he doing this? Is he suicidal or something?! You keep attempting to get him off of you but it's no use. As your blood is entering his system, you begin to feel so weak and dizzy. Oh, well. You kinda deserve it.
Just as your eyes are about to close and you are on the verge of losing consciousness, Heeseung's teeth leave your skin. He holds you in his arms so that you don't fall.
"Sorry, did I go too hard on you?" he asks sweetly, ever the gentleman.
"Are you crazy? What part of you can literally die did you not understand?"
"I apologize. You just smell and apparently, taste, so fucking sweet, I couldn't possibly resist. I won't do it again, I swear."
"That's right, you won't. Cause you will be dead!" you repeat, feeling completely exasperated.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm already dead," he jokes. "But seriously, my reading shows there is a huge chance old books like that are not entirely reliable. I probably should have told you that sooner..."
"Yeah, you should have!" you try to be angry but you also feel so worried for him. Even though you don't know him that well, you've already gotten attached.
"I'm really sorry," Heeseung repeats.
"Why are you apologizing? What if this actually kills you?"
"Oh, I know you'll be the death of me."
So, you wait. Nothing immediately happens, which would be reassuring, if it wasn't for Heeseung's desire to keep kissing you, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to do. Boys...
A while later, you both go to your own respective homes. The next day, you arrive at the school, informing Sunoo of what recently transpired. He's really excited that Heeseung is still alive and wants to drink from you as soon as possible. But you tell him to wait a little longer.
When the first class starts and Heeseung isn't there, you think nothing of it. Maybe he overslept. But when the second class starts and Heeseung still hasn't showed up, you begin to worry. He's the best student, he never misses class, he's so diligent and hard-working.
Fuck. You killed him. That's why he's not coming to school. You immediately rush out of the classroom, ignoring your teacher's harsh reprimands. You'll deal with that later.
That is when it hits you. You don't even know where Heeseung lives. And what would you do even if you did? Show up at his place, asking his parents: "Um, sorry, but is your son still alive? You know, regardless of being a vampire?"
That would be even crazier than what happened yesterday. You run into the forest to escape your growing panic. You run and you run until you no longer remember which way the school is.
And that is when the miracle happens. You spot him! Sitting next to a tree.
"Heeseung! You're alive!" you scream in relief and rush to hug him.
"Of course I'm alive, silly," Heeseung chuckles, hugging you back.
"Why didn't you come to class?" you explain your worries to him.
"I was feeling unbelievably peckish. Thought I'd hunt for some wild animals, but nothing helped. I'm still hungry as hell."
"That's strange," you reply. "Do you think it could be because of my blood? Do you feel any different?"
"I don't know," Heeseung shrugs. "I'm just so fucking hungry. Can I bite you again, please?"
"No, Heeseung, we still don't know whether or not it's lethal. It just might take more time. If you drink more of my blood, something bad could happen."
"You're right, I know," Heeseung's head drops in disappointment. "Forget I even asked."
"I have a turkey sandwich in my bag?" you offer. "I know vampires don't eat food like that but still..."
"You know what? That sounds really delicious, can I please try it?"
"Um, sure," you don't know why he's asking so politely since you literally just suggested it. As you unwrap and hand him the sandwich, you are amazed by how quickly he devours it.
"Damn, this was the best meal I've ever had!" Heeseung exclaims in surprise.
"Huh," you blink at him and touch his forehead on a whim. Why is it so warm? He was freakishly cold yesterday. "Are you feeling sick?"
"No, I feel much better after this sandwich, why?"
"Erm, not to concern you or anything but your skin is like super warm."
"That's...not normal for a vampire," Heeseung reasons.
"Exactly," you respond and touch his wrist with your fingers. Squeezing his veins lightly you feel something. Something that shouldn't exist. Something that you previously thought impossible. "Um, Heeseung...you have a pulse."
"What?!" he checks for himself, confirming what you just said as true. "Do you happen to know where I can read that book of your ancestors?"
"I carried it in my bag today, just in case," you praise your past self for being so clever and pull out the old book, handing it to Heeseung.
As he reads the section that contains information about your ancestors' blood.
Heeseung nods in contemplation as he finds the thing he's looking for.
"Just as I thought. This book isn't the original text your ancestors wrote. It's a translation. Or maybe I should say a mistranslation. Look, here," he points to a particular place with his finger. "It says forever cursed shall be the vampire that our blood drinks but the grammar is all wonky. Not easy to spot. It should be forever cured. I think your blood has the ability to turn vampires into humans."
"So...you're a human now?" you blink in surprise.
"I guess so."
"Fuck, Heeseung, I'm so sorry!" you cry out apologetically.
"Are you kidding? I've wanted to turn human my whole life!"
"What, why? Why give up immortality?"
"Because I just want to a normal, boring life, marry the girl of my dreams, settle down, have kids. Is that too much to ask for?"
"No, I get it," you sigh wistfully. "My parents are so disappointed in me and the fact that my witchy powers haven't manifested yet. But what if that's all I have? Just a normal girl whose blood turns vampires into humans..."
"There's nothing normal about you," Heeseung chuckles but the way he says it makes it sound like a compliment. "Hey, does that offer for doing homework in the forest still stand?"
"Sounds great to-" you don't even get to finish your sentence because Heeseung is kissing you again. Damn, you forgot that the word forest was code for making out.
Oh, well, there are worse things you could do...
Bonus:
"So, can I drink your blood now?" Sunoo asks.
"Bro, did you not hear what I just said? I turned the most popular vampire in our school for supernatural beings into a human! He can no longer even go to our school. His parents must be furious with me. I'm lucky they haven't killed me. Hell, I'm lucky they're letting me date him. I really don't get it."
"You know that doesn't sound too bad to me, right?" Sunoo keeps begging.
"I may have survived Heeseung's parents but what makes you think I'll survive yours?"
"You're my best friend. They'll get over it," Sunoo shrugs carelessly.
"You're literally addicted to the idea of my blood. Get help!"
"You wanna kiss me so bad it make you look stupid," Sunoo sticks his tongue out childishly.
"You wish," you roll your eyes.
"Do you think Heeseung will be mad at me if I bite you? Oh, right, he's human now, so he can't hurt me," Sunoo leans in.
"Sunoo, no!" you try to push him away.
"You'll let me one day, I know it," Sunoo grins widely, showing you his sharp fangs.
They might scare another witch, but not you. You know how powerful your blood is and while Heeseung was miraculously happy to turn into a human, 99% of the vampire population would rather die than become humans. So, you believe you're safe with Sunoo. For now. If you can only find someone whose scent is more tempting to him than yours...
"Good morning, everyone! Today we have a new student, his name is Sunghoon," the teacher announces all of a sudden. "Let's welcome him!"
"Hi, Sunghoon!" the class says in unison.
"Damnit, he smells incredible," Sunoo whispers in your ear.
Ah shit, here we go again...
The End
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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 9 hours ago
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In celebration of this day that I, crumb anon, accidently de-anoned myself like a complete dumbass by booping, I have written a crumb about boops!
Being booped on the nose is quite the odd sensation! People typically don’t expect to be touched on the nose, let alone seeing something there, but perhaps that was why it was the one thing that managed to get Reader's attention after going into shock.
Being from the modern world, Reader wasn’t used to such bloodshed. It was completely natural that she would shut down at such a gruesome sight, but just because it was natural doesn’t mean it was helpful or good, especially when the scene was so fresh and the danger potentially so close.
Calling out to Reader with worried chirps did nothing, shaking did nothing, patting shoulders and cheeks did nothing, she was used to it all and thus ignored it.
But the monkey duo never booped her nose before. Reader had done it before to them a few times when they were deep in thought and wanted their attention, with a quick "boop!" on the nose before she offered to pick them up for their travels, or offered them their choice of the food that Spirit managed to bring back.
If it worked on them, perhaps it would work on Reader?
With a quick boop from their tails or hands, Reader flinched back, surprised but now looking at then instead of the carnage in front of them.
Quickly managing to convince Reader to hide, the monkey duo picked up on booping as a useful tool to gain Readers attention. Deep in thought and not enough cuddles? Boop! Reader is talking to Spirit and not paying enough attention to them? Boop! Reader booped them? Boop them back!
Reader curled into herself, crying from homesickness? A gentle boop, and cuddles and purrs until Reader has a smile on her face again, no matter how small it may be.
Unfortunately, post curse break, Reader is more likely to flinch back and distance herself from them if they boop too much in an attempt to get her attention on themselves[they are warlords, not cute cubs, they have to remember that], so the boops do decrease dramatically.
But they don’t stop.
Sometimes Reader has nightmares, or is going down a negative spiral of thoughts, or is too homesick to enjoy anything about being on flower fruit mountain with them, so they give her a quick boop with their tails, making sure to stage it as an accident or unintentional, so Reader doesn’t get too spooked from the thought of having the attention of two warlords on her.
And it works! While Reader does stress at the beginning the first few times, once she "realizes" that they aren't doing it on purpose, she does calm down, and even smiles sometimes! While they would prefer if they could hug and kiss and cuddle all the negative feelings and thoughts away, this is about what would make Reader most comfortable and happy in the long run.
For her, they can wait for an eternity.
They just have to sneak an immortality peach into her food first.
_____
This was meant to be a fragment of a crumb with like three sentences rip, this ran away from me!
I shall add to this later. However, I need sleep and wanted it posted today. So enjoy the Crumb, everyone!! I love this so much!!
Just imagine two little monkies booping your nose. They'll probably also give you little nose kisses. So cute~
Now imagine two monkie demon warlords booping your with their paws / claws. These two have sharp claws most of them time (shape shifting helps them not to, but Wukong is forgetful. Don't worry, he won't scratch you... he might be on accident, though, but he will feel really bad about it. And try to kiss away the pain if you let him.)
Macaque would definitely be more careful with his claws. He won't let a single tiny scratch on you, and he'll slap Wukong if he accidently scratches you. And vice versa, but since Macaque is so careful, he won't get slapped.
Hope you all love this as much as I do. Ahhh, it's so cute and angsty!!
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iphoenixrising · 3 days ago
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Something God/Messanger of the Gods/WhattheFuckEvenIsThis, HowIsThisMyLife au
I refuse to lie about it. This? Totally got the idea from a yaoi. 
**
From the Heavens, the Father of the Gods looks into the seeing waters at the realm of mortals. The young man with a soft smile, raven black hair, and shockingly violet eyes draws Bruce’s sighs, his son long denied him.
A promise to the boy’s mother while she carried their halfling child, that he would allow their son twenty-one years on Earth to live among other mortals. Once he came of age in their world, then he could be told about the Gods and brought into his power.
The more his three other sons clashed nowadays, it’s become obvious the boy is sorely needed.
Alfred, his second-in-command of their heavenly armies, stands by his right hand, watches the boy smile at a customer and hand over warm beverages humans seem to enjoy.
“He is certainly your blood, Sire,” Alfred comments idly, wondering how the mortals could be so dense as to not see the blatant appeal of the boy behind the counter. His face, while handsome with his father’s strong jawline, is pale with otherworldly beauty. His eyes shine with peace at every person that steps up to speak with him.
“Indeed. It is finally time for him to come home and take part in his birthright, old friend.”
Alfred turns away from the half-God they’re observing, “it has been a long time coming, hasn’t it, Sire?”
For a moment, the Father of the Gods, the former Titan, Bruce, looks sadly at the boy, hands fisting on the edge of the seeing water’s cradle. Even stone here in the Heavens would crumble under his fists.
“It is beyond time, my old friend. It is time he comes home.”
**
He is back to sitting on the throne when his three sons answer his call.
Dick, his firstborn, the God of Rebirth and Renewal.
Jason, his second born, the God of the Underworld.
Damian, his youngest, the God of War.
When the three appear before the massive door to his throne room, their voices echoing, the surge of pride in them fills his chest to near overflowing. His sons all grown into Gods of valor and might.
“Damn, Goldie,” Jason teases, a salacious grin at his brother’s normal tight body suit perfectly outlining every salacious inch. He pinches the material between two fingers, a contrast to his sharp, black, three-piece suit and the Demon’s intricate armor. “Betcha get all hot n’ bothered when it’s time ta hunt, ya feel me?”
Dick just snorts at his younger brother, knocking his hand away to sweep the taller God up in both arms and hold him off the ground.
“I know that just means you missed me, Jay. We haven’t seen each other since that last fight in the Underworld, when those underlings tried to overthrow you. We made a great pair, remember?”
Damian removes his helm, rolling his eyes at the antics of his older siblings, tries to remember he is the bright one of the family. (Even though he would obviously say Barbara is the smartest and Cassandra the most fearsome.)
“Yeah, yeah. Good ta see ya, too. Now pum’me down.”
“Aw, you’re no fun anymore. Where’s the snarky little hellion I used to give noogies?”
“See, that’s what policin’ damned souls does ta ya, yeah?”
Grinning behind his hand at their bickering, the Father of the Gods stands from his throne, strides down the white and gold steps, waves a hand to open the massive gold doors to his throne room to take in each of his sons into his arms, warm to his core at how well each still fits into his embrace even all grown up.
“Not to worry,” Bruce interrupts their banter. “Your sisters will see to everything while you are gone.”
He has their attention, and sighs, palming the side of Dick’s face, ruffling the white streak in Jason’s hair, and finally rests a hand on the back of Damian’s neck.
“Gone?” Damian’s immediate reaction is suspicion because Father gives the utterly worst tasks. 
“Barbara can handle being the Goddess of the Elements. Cassandra will make a formidable Goddess of War, and Helena will… enjoy taking on Goddess of the Underworld.”
“Not likin’ th’ sound’a this,” Jay straightens, slides his fingers over the lapels of his suit, smoothes out the lines. 
“If this is anything like the last few adventures, Bruce, you can just send someone else–“ Because, yeah, Dick has other things to do than run all over the place on another crazy God hunt. 
No thanks.
But rather than use the usual methods to gain their agreement, their great Father instead… sighs.
“The truth, my sons, is that I have called you all here because this undertaking is of the utmost importance. I can trust only you three, no others.  But, more to the point, I don’t think any but all of you together can accomplish it in time.” And it’s jarring to see the Father of the Gods look sad, tired, worn in the way of mortals. “In many ways, I am…torn that you will learn the truth in this manner, but come! Let me show you instead.” He leads them to the viewing pool where Alfred stands idly watching. 
The younger Gods crowd around the delicate bowl seemingly grown from the floor, full of the prophetic waters, a gift from Barbara.
For Father to need them like this, a task only his first sons could accomplish, they’re all a bit breathless wondering what this could possibly be. 
“A mortal?” Dami sounds less insulted than surprised, staring into the image in the waters. “A mere mortal, Father? It takes thousands to wage a decent battle.”
A second glance when Jason’s eyes narrow, when Richard leans further over the waters, licking his lips, and Damian pauses, tilts his head to be certain he is not imagining it.
A blink, a glance at his enraptured brothers, and the gentle glow about the mortal man, the curve of his pink mouth in a welcoming smile, the vibrant blue-violet of his eyes, the curve of biceps and shoulders, the way he merely moves is –
Mesmerizing.
“He ain’t a mortal. Can’t be. N’ I’d know if he was one a’ mine masquaradin’ on Earth,” Jay leans his forearms down on the water’s vessel.  “I can letta demon be beautiful, don’t geddit wrong. But that sweet lil’ innocent is something else entirely, ya feel me?”
“But he’s in the mortal world,” Dick reasons, looking back at what he assumes is their next prey. “He functions like he belongs there,” he gestures to the man taking money from customers, talking with a soft grace, a kindness they can feel through the waters without hearing a word.
“He should not be,” Damian’s hands tighten on the vessel, delicate gold and white creaking with the strength of it. “Mortals cannot see what he is as we can. They could–“ cause him harm, take him, own him, almost leaves the God of War’s lips. He balks at that line of reasoning, but still, his mouth waters in anticipation, his eyes cannot look away.
The Father of the Gods nods sagely, a worn sigh raising his chest, “unfortunately, he has borne many burdens from living in the mortal world. Some that would have broken a lesser creature. But, as you can see, my sons, he remains steadfast.”
Dick hums, still watching as the mortal is now apparently taking a large stack of cups from a plastic sleeve and putting them back down on some kind of holder. Seemingly ordinary as they come, but if this is the subject of their father’s attention, there must be more than meets the eye. As the eldest, he’s very well aware of their Father’s tendencies for a good, dramatic quest.  
“As much as I enjoy watching him,” and that is no false statement, not with how beautiful and soft and sweet this mortal absolutely is, “what does he have to do with us?”
Their Father breathes in sharply, “the matter is…complicated. What I want you to do is bring him here before me. I wish to finally see him with my own eyes.”
All three of his sons straighten, yell out denials of such a thing.
“It would kill him!” Damian raises a fist.
“Ya know a mortal can’t take alla this,” Jay waves a hand in B’s general direction.
“It would be kinder to end him with one shot,” Dick’s tone is flat, but he unconsciously positions his body between the viewing vessel and his great, powerful Father.
And Bruce, under the angry eyes of his sons, looks away. “It’s true he is mortal, but… he is only half.“
And now the boy’s ethereal beauty, softly glowing aura, the very subtle allure is answered when his sons look back, and their want for him doubles.
(A halfling. A mixture of man and God that could be a spectrum of delectable creatures. Most were brought to the Amazons for safe keeping, as the eventual maturation into their power as a divine event would surely give them away to mortals and other less ethical Gods. In a word, a truly earth-shattering awakening.) 
“This is why I can only entrust what must be done to the three of you.” Bruce looks between them at his long-missing son, long separated from him, and back to his beautiful Godlings. He pulls at the strings he knows are connected, “Only another God can bring him into his power so he is strong enough to stand before me. But, he is…unique. A single God cannot do it alone, but the three of you together. You, my sons, may be strong enough to awaken him. As it is, I fear another could come upon him first…and possibly takes him for themselves.”
As he predicted, Jason’s eyes narrow, a deceptively casual flip of his fine suit coat. Damian’s mouth raises in an over my bleeding corpse sneer, hand hovering over his sheathed weapon. And Dick arches a brow at their Father, arms crossed over his bare chest. While he absolutely sees through his Father’s ploy, he can’t help the throb in his veins to hunt, catch, keep when he thinks about any of his fellow Gods or Goddesses coming upon this apparent halfling before they do.  
“All right, all right,” Jay flips a half-assed salute, “we getcha, B. Ain’t gotta be a manipulative asshole ‘bout it.”
Dick snickers because well, it isn’t a lie.
Their great Father shrugs a shoulder, “I’m giving you the evidence you need to understand how important this is, Jason. This halfling is…special. Even I do not know what power he may bring forth once it is his time to awaken. The water itself will show no further future for him,” and an arm gestures to the view of the mortal. 
All three of his sons noticeably perk. Nothing like a good mystery to reel them in.
**
It’s a totally normal, sane day. 
And you know what? That’s nice once and a while.
With the tips he got yesterday, he’s going to be able to make his rent on time and being, you know, not homeless really is a thing worth celebrating.
Steph hands him the next order, and the two of them move around one another behind the counter in that comfortable way when you work so well with someone, it’s like the two of you share a brain. 
When it gets busy in the evening close to closing time, they get a nice little rush of people to close out the night.
They’ve got ten minutes, but most the machines at καφές (or ka-feys) are already cleaned and ready for tomorrow morning’s shift. Steph is whistling behind the counter while she counts out the tip jar, smoothing out wrinkled bills and cashing out the change for more dollars.
“It never fails,” she bemoans while he wipes down the back counters, “we make bank any time you are front and center, Timmers.”
His face gets pink where she can’t see and he scoffs for appearances, “people like seeing you more than they like seeing me, you know.”
“The bouncy, energetic vibe doesn’t always do the trick. Apparently the boy-next-door Hallmark type really does.”
He turns, clearly offended here because he works out when he can, was a gymnast in high school and everything!
He’s not a Hallmark throwback, fuck you very much.
“This is why I hate you.”
“Lies. You love me,” she makes kissy noises while he rings out the bleach rag and carries the bucket back to empty in the kitchen sink. 
Toss of the day rag in the dirty bin, wash up a few remaining dishes while he hums to himself, stoked about having enough in tips to splurge for a pizza with some left to go into savings for the someday when he can go back and finish college.
He thinks about his lonely little apartment buried in a tenement building a few blocks away in the infamous big city. Just one more sad story in a building of sad stories trying to make the next day count. 
If anyone had asked him five years ago where he’d be on his twenty-first birthday, this probably wouldn’t have been the answer.
The bell chimes with incoming, and he groans to himself as he’s on way through the swinging door, wondering which machine he’s going to have to dirty up to make whatever this asshole–
(The three men at his counter immediately zoom in on him, three sets of incredible eyes make him pause a moment, and luckily not melt into a proverbial puddle on the floor because this trio of man sandwich? Are the most breathtaking men he’s ever seen outside of a magazine, movie, or tasteful porn. He finds his heart picking up, beating harder in his chest, his face getting warm, his mouth watering when a quick mental flash of clothes on his bedroom floor is just the birthday gift he’s been waiting for.)
-wants.
Tim puts on his best how can I help you smile with his pulse thudding dully in the back of his mouth.
“Welcome to καφές,” and Steph totally appears magically by his side, like her inner wingwoman instincts called, staring at the buffet in front of them. “What can we make for you?”
**
Jason, Damian, and Dick.
This feels like a joke somehow.
It’s a joke because all three of these god-tier hotties seem to be…flirty? Kind of super obviously?
Steph sighs as she makes the Americano, watches Tim over her shoulder as he rings up the customers, and the one with the smooth accent literally puts a $100 bill in the tip jar.
In the tip jar
Without looking away from Tim.
The younger one has attitude for days, but he’s putting on the charm when he asks for Tim’s name (c’mon, we have name tags) in a low purr, and what would Timothy suggest for someone who likes light and sweet, hands on the counter close to Tim’s in a perfectly casual way.
The leaner one, who has an ass that could be considered out-of-this-world-hot, literally puts a hand on Tim’s, nodding with attentive eyes while Tim gives them the specials of the day (for the third time), and Steph comes very close to burning the shit out of herself while making his latte.
(They are so obvious. Tim what are you even doing right now? Why, whyyy isn’t her best friend telepathy working RIGHT. NOW?!)
They’re from out-of-town, on some business, and know nothing of the sights. Would he happen to be from Gotham? Could he suggest a nice hotel where they might get accommodations?
It’s right then. Right. Then.
She has to do something.
Because they? Are best friends. And she is invested as hell getting him laid. 
(After that awful break-up with Conner last year, he hasn’t gotten back on the proverbial horse. And this? Is his opportunity of a literal lifetime.)
“Tim! Could you help me just a minute–“ is sweet and soft, her smile warm and welcoming. “If you guys wouldn’t mind having a seat over there, Tim can bring your drinks in a jiffy!”
The looks are absolutely sinful and even her sweet best should be picking up on the UST less than a foot away from him.  She bites the inside of her cheek at how pink his face is when their customers finally take a few steps away from the counter.
She pulls him back around the set-up to the sinks by one wrist, almost hopping up and down with excitement.
“Wh-what did you need help with? Did the espresso machine go down again?”
“Are you fricking kidding me right now?” She whispers furiously, “Tim. Timmy. Honey. Sweet Summer Child. You are going to listen up and do exactly as I say.”
Now he’s rolling his eyes because something is definitely coming that he isn’t going to like.
“You are going to take out their drinks, and tell them you know a perfectly nice hotel not far from here. If they seem interested, you’re going to tell them you’d be happy to give them directions or maybe show them where. Le Grande is only a few blocks away, and you might have a chance to be the jelly in that sandwich.”
“Are you serious?” He deadpans. “They’re just…being nice. It’s late, they want coffee,” he shrugs awkwardly, “you know. Just really friendly people?”
“This is Gotham,” she deadpans back, “there are no friendly people. But they? Are so into you. Take their drinks, tell them you know where they can stay the night, a place with a nice bar and good reputation. If they invite you to have some birthday drinks with them, then, for the love of God, Tim, say yes. Maybe if you get a few in you, they’ll invite you to their room for a game of hide the salami. If they do, you’d better come back with stories for days.”
“I love you, but you make me crazy,” and he walks around to finish up the drinks, shaking his head with a grin. “C’mon, like I would even show up on their radar? I’m betting CEOs or Hollywood kept husbands.”
And now the game has begun. Steph goes around behind him to clean-up the mess. “Tallest is an underwear model. I’ll accept nothing less, not with an ass like that.”
“Unless they’re in porn,” he comes back with a lowered voice, chancing a glance over his shoulder to find the three beautiful men looking back at him from the only table still with chairs on the ground. 
“I can see it,” she returns with a laugh, “I mean. They are off the charts.” But she gives him the side-eye, bites down when he is completely gone.
And Tim doesn’t answer, can’t for the way his breath is literally taken away. His crazily eidetic memory spits out Damian when their eyes meet from across the mostly closed shop, Jason and Dick are talking low, glancing at him with flirty, interested smiles, but Damian hasn’t looked away, those green eyes incredibly intense. 
Like picturing someone with their clothes off, tied to his bed, third orgasm ruined, and the next one carefully planned out for the execution, kind of intense.
Damian licks his lips, making it obvious, while those eyes take a slow sweep down his body, and Tim can’t help the abrupt strike of heat that shivers up his spine. 
**
“He is more beautiful in person,” Dick says low in the old language. “Father was right to send us.”
Jason glances at their older brother, sitting back in the rickety chair with deceptive ease, the very picture of beg me to fuck you. For the last ten minutes, he’s been picturing that cute little barista panting under him, eyes dazed and desperate in the same breath. 
“Kinda begs the question howz he been able ta live with mortals like this. Someone oughta found ‘im out by now.”
Without looking away, catching the curve of cheek go pink with his attention, Damian smirks behind his hands. “Father said twenty-one years. Perhaps he was be-spelled as an infant. That would explain why he was forced to stay here with mortals rather than live among other halflings sired by Gods.” 
And in their world, curses are more common than one would think.
“If the spell had an anchor date, no one would notice him until the duration.”
“’S already hard ta take m’ eye off’n him,” Jay admits low, rumbling deeply in his chest, “gonna be soon if he ain’t already there, ya feel me, boys?”
Dick hums an affirmative, eyes narrow on their prey.
“Should we discuss an actual plan to bring him into his power?” Because Damian is already salivating for the man moving behind the counter.
Initially, Damian had been against father’s wishes. He was in no way prepared for the first glance in the waters, only slightly less enthralled now that he’s been in the mortal’s presence. His soothing nature, his song-like voice, the pink of his lips, the deep darkness of his eyes, the radiance and calm Damian felt immediately soothes something desperately angry that has always animated him as the God of War. 
In that moment, not having this man is unacceptable. He has every intention of joining Richard and Jason in bed with this Tim, aiding them in pleasuring this man over and over and over. The need is compounded after facing Tim’s easy smile and soft laughter. Damian finds himself hungry, arousal burning him from within, replacing the fire of his rage with something more primal. He immediately imagines that softly smiling face to be twisted with unbearable pleasure, bare and beautiful with his thighs over Damian’s shoulders, voice hoarse from moaning, crying, begging. 
All that in his mind’s eye while watching Tim’s moving mouth, imaging how he would taste. 
Dick’s mouth quirks when he catches the very intense vibe his youngest brother is setting off, sees their important assignment get adorably flustered. The other mortal behind the counter is talking with flailing hands and easy to read lips, his senses reach out with the wind to catch as much of their conversation as possible, gathering information on their prey. 
He smirks when the female mortal seems to be on their side. The hunt won’t be as difficult as he’d first imagined when he had answered their Father’s call. 
Jay laughs at their younger brother, “thought that one was obvious from how hard yer cock is in yer pants, Demon.”
The God of War doesn’t bother to look away from their eventual conquest, “tt. Crude as usual. Unlike you, I do not usually have a taste for mortals. He is the first I’ve come across to elicit this…reaction.”
Dick smirks when the female rightfully compliments his ass, tuning back into the conversation while he subtly watches their assignment come back around the bar and work the machines. He’s already formulating a plan, not counting on their individual power to simply overtake Tim with eye contact. Commands might not work either, but they would need to test it on him to know for sure. Jason’s usual seduction didn’t make Tim speechless with desire, Damian’s intimidating aura didn’t terrorize him or incite him to violence, and Dick’s mostly-feral predator vibe didn’t trigger Tim’s fight or flight. Come to think of it, their usual effect on mortals didn’t seem to happen to Tim at all. 
“Ta be honest…halflings like him,” Jay hitches a thumb in the direction of their prey, “are at least prepared fer what’s ta come, see, ‘cause most halflings are on Paradise Island with the Amazons. Gods n’ Goddesses can find ‘em there, n’ the Amazons keep ‘im all safe. ain’t like that until after a full God brings ‘im ta power. This?” and Jay gives a sweep of one hand to encompass everything, them, the mortal world, the coffee shop. “Well, this ain’t ‘xactly the precedent.”
“Surely, since he is still technically mortal, he is...fragile. How can we take him without killing him before his power manifests?”
Dick’s eyes narrow, “simple. He already has an aura of a godling. It’s only getting stronger, and will be more so as long as we are close. By the time he’s ready, he’ll be strong enough to take us.”
“I feel that,” Jason smirks a lil, crossing his ankle over his knee, chair facing toward the pretty thing just waiting fer ‘em. “He’s further along than any I ever felt not pantin’ under a God.”
Dami shifts slightly, rolls his shoulders back. “You say this as though he is ...different, Jason.”
“Come offa it, Dames. Why else would the big man hisself call alla us fer one halfling, eh? Like that ain’t so far under his usual, yeah? I’m thinkin’ this pretty boy might be Daddy’s dirty lil secret.”
Damian straightens, finally taking his eyes off their conquest to glare at his half-brother, “you believe our Father has lain with a mortal and born another child? This man?”
Jay shrugs a careless shoulder, “Only explanation as ta why he asked alla us ta be in on the deal. Way it’s s’pposed ta go, ya only need one God ‘er Goddess ta bring a halfling. So, why’s B called in the big guns unless he’s somethin’ more? C’mon, Demon. Unique my ass.” His forefinger makes a circle around their table, putting the bigger question out there.
“If he is half blood of our Father,” Dami’s voice goes low and thick, thoughts churning dark behind his eyes, “then taking him to bed–“
Jason laughs out loud again, eyes glittering in the overhead lights, flecks of jade in a sea of blue. “–is gonna be the fuck of yer immortal life, Baby. Anyone with ‘im is gonna ride ‘im like an animal ‘till he screamin’ an’ all that power is gonna fill ‘im right on up like a cup runnin’ over.”
It’s very obvious when Damian’s eyes dilate, slide back to their pending conquest.
Dick looks over at his middle brother with a frown, “don’t count your chickens, Little Wing. The hunt isn’t over.” He turns back to their prey, “we have him in our sites, but we have to actually catch him.”
Jason clicks his tongue, “I got it on good authority we can convince ‘im. I mean, ya lookit us lately? Mortals are all over me on any standard day.”
And, it’s not a lie. Of the three of them, Jason directly interacts with mortals the most. Whether in the Underworld overseeing punishment, or in his high-end nightclub in Los Angeles, Jason lives among mortals with Father’s blessing (as long as the Underworld is kept closed and the guilty submit to justice). 
“Well, we gave him a backstory, so the next step is having a den to secure him. Jay, that female mentioned Le Grande. Sound familiar?“
“Oh yeah, it does. No worries, Big Wing, I’m onnit,” and a salacious grin the working barista happens to catch. 
While Jason Todd now lives in the City of Angels, Gotham was always his first stomping ground. Whenever he wants a vacation from his nightclub or the hell loop management he’s got going on down below, he comes back to Gotham to live a little in the old style. He pulls a phone from his inner jacket pocket, makes a quick call, his voice low and hypnotic, watching as the female puts all their drinks on a small tray for the halfling to carry to them. 
He hangs up when the Penthouse is on the way to being prepared, any time Mr. Todd, and a slow smirk slides over his face while he imagines that pretty boy ready ta be debauched in all right ways, laid out against blood-red sheet in a very impressive bed, that pink mouth open and panting their names like a prayer.
(Fuck, he’s getting more powerful. We ain’t gonna have much time. He and Dickie share a side eye while their Dames gets caught further under this boy’s spell. Fer a first mortal, their lil murder muffin picked one hell of a time ta get a taste.)
“No worries, boys. Nest is gonna be swanky as fuck ‘cause I got standards n’ all.”
“I’m more concerned about whether it’s safe, Jay. I don’t want anyone else finding him for a while, at least not until he is able to go before Father.” Dick subtly watches their prey, keeping tabs on the beauty coming so close to his time. The faint power humming like an aura is a drug to any full God in the area.
“We can make him agreeable enough to keep others from finding him.” Damian waves off, unconcerned. “Once he is fully awakened, his stamina will increase exponentially. Then it is a matter of keeping him in bed long enough to acclimate accordingly.”
“Not if he’s immune to our sway over mortals, Little D.” Dick’s eyes narrow, his gaze turns shrewd, “So we are going to keep him agreeable by being on our best behavior and seduce him the right way, slow and gentle until he gives us some indication he can take…more. Everyone understand?”
The scoff from their God of War includes a roll of the eyes because this man is their spoils. Things like slow and gentle aren’t necessary when you are claiming what you’ve rightfully taken. 
Jason, however, smiles wide and white, “ya said the secret word, Dickie.”
(No one has to verify it is indeed seduce.)
“Just keep in mind. We’re here to help him, not hurt him. The sex is going to be fantastic considering how innocent he looks, but we’re also keeping him safe.” 
“The only true concern is Chaos. If any of them get a hint of him, we will indeed have a battle on our hands,” Damian idly observes, just the thought of what his Chaos Grandfather would do to this beautiful being makes his fists clench, makes fury find root in his heart where the the urge to claim what is his, theirs, grows stronger. 
Dick immediately straightens, has a second to shutter at the image of Ra’s appearing before this (their) mortal and seducing him out of his innocence, Ra’s keeping him chained to a bed with jeweled restraints, Ra’s taking advantage of his power, his body, his very essence.
Dick seethes just thinking about it.
“We’ve already found him,” Dick tries to keep his voice steady, eyes all for the boy laughing at the female’s antics, moving around the machinery with knowledgeable hands, “the plan is we keep him secure until he’s stable enough with his power to enter Father’s presence, then they won’t be cause for concern. Chaos cannot enter the Heavens. There, he will be the most safe.”
Jason and Damian both give him their attention.
“C’mon, Dickie,” is smooth in the way Jason can be, their bringer of punishments. “Ya ain’t tellin’ me alls yer thinkin’ ‘bout is keepin’ that lil piece safe? Wid’ an ass like that? Getting all pink just talkin’ the talk?”
Damian hums softly, “he will be exquisite.”
“Like I already said,” Dick smiles widely when Tim finally picks up the tray with a last few words to his co-worker who is cleaning the machines they just used. “The sex is going to be fantastic.”
 **
The three hottest men on the planet have unfairly low standards, or he’s being fed a line. Tim can’t really decide which.
Steph was just telling him to take them to a hotel in hopes they wanted him to come up for a drink. 
And that is literally happening here.
Right in his face.
After handing out their drinks, Jason’s low drawl (and God what that is doing to Tim’s brainpan should be considered a crime here) casually name drops the most expensive hotel in Gotham, just like so Timmy, we jus’ godda nice room there. It ain’t far, but ya could take us th’ easy way. Maybe come up fer a drink after yer shift?
“We would absolutely love to have a drink with you, Tim. A thank-you for staying open long enough to give us a place to orient ourselves in a new city.”
“I agree with Richard. We owe you quite a debt, don’t we? It is only polite we…compensate you for the inconvenience, yes?”
He knows his face is pink with what is absolutely nothing less than an invitation to a foursome with three gorgeous men he has a hard time looking away from. 
Their eyes feel like hands moving down his body, under his clothes, and in a crazy kind of way, he’s not having paranoid thoughts of kidnapping and human trafficking that could possibly explain why these men wanted ordinary, every-day, boy-next-door him.
His hand unconsciously tightens around the tray he’s holding by his side, “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think this-“ he makes a circular motion with his free hand, “is going to happen. You guys are, ah, a little above my level, and not in a bad way. The flirting is…nice. It’s been a while okay, and I’m weak, but whatever. Anyway, Le Grande isn’t far, so not hard to find, and I’m sure anyone would be happy with some of that um…compensation.  So, please enjoy your drinks and have a good night,” he gives him his professional, glad to help you smile, turns on his heel, and walks away without a backward glance.
(Even if he’s mentally facepalming himself to Mars the whole way.)
**
Steph is beyond disappointed. She’s literally radiating some kind of what the fuck are you thinking energy while they finish up with the machines, doors now securely locked, main lights out, and the night is finally over.
Their last customers took their drinks with a disappointed air and left not long after his little speech, casting glances at the counter where he was stocking things up while Steph watched them mournfully go.
She had about five minutes of incredulous ire, but he literally lays it out for her.
“What do you think men like that want with someone like me?” 
Knowing her, she’d be picturing him naked with a collar around his neck in some rich guy’s mansion somewhere, and she relents a little because yeah, he has a pretty valid point.
The streetlights glow softly in the night as Tim waits while Steph locks the door, and they walk the usual five blocks to her building. Talking about the end of the night is taboo by now, especially when they pass the street leading to Le Grande and just keep walking.  They talk about their plans for their next two days off–
(“I have a hot date.”
“Mmhm, Dungeon and Dragons, Tim?”
“What? Hello, D&D was so last year…. It’s Warhammer, actually.”)
– and Steph bemoans his fortune one last time.
(“But like, what if-“
“I don’t think I want to speculate. If I do, then I might realize that was a bonehead move.”
“Aw, Timmy. The next time hot guys flirt, give them the benefit of the doubt. You could have at least said yes to the drink.”
“Well, I am twenty-one today.”)
He waves, waits until she’s in the building before moving deeper into the Gotham night. He’s careful about staying in the shadows with his head down to avoid notice. It’s not great here in the Narrows, but he loves his place above the old theatre even if the rent is just this side of ridiculous, especially for this part of town.
Still, it’s always a 50/50 walking home. 
The several creepy alleyways between the shop and his penthouse could house just about anything, from a robbery to a shooting to kidnapping most nights, and he hunches further in his hoodie, keeps his head low. Against his better judgment, he’s thinking about them instead of the pitiful cupcake waiting in his fridge with a candle on top and ordering a fresh pizza.
He thinks about the humor in Dick’s eyes, and the interest in Jason’s. Not to mention how…intense Damian had been. He’s helpless to wonder if those gazes would be the same if they were all in bed together…
His face is suddenly a little hot, and he firmly decides he’s totally allowed to speculate about what-if he’d legit said something like, “a drink? That would be really nice actually.”
Yeah, that would have led them to a very nice hotel room with a minibar, and maybe some making out to start.
(He might be sitting on Dick’s lap once he’s had a few drinks in him, getting hotter with each new purposeful brush of hands against him.
Pressed up behind him, Jason would tip his head back for dirty, deep kisses, pulling off his mouth with an audible sound.
“Yer birthday, izzit? Well, me n’ my boys def’nitely gotch the perfect present f’ ya.”
Damian would lean in to talk against his ear, make him shudder in their arms, “It’s easy to unwrap, Timothy. I can promise you would enjoy it.”
And if he whines when Dick bites down on his throat, then only the three hottest men he’s ever seen would be able to say for sure.)
He’s completely into the what-if and is probably why his resident-of-Gotham-fight-or-flight instinct doesn’t kick in.
Before the man with the gun ever turns around to face him, Tim can tell he’s dangerous because he’s scared. Desperate and scared are such a bad combination.
But even if the man with the gun is desperate, the small family huddled in terror have so more to lose. 
Tim's eyes go wide because his night just changed forever, and his automatic reaction is to take a half step forward, to reach out a hand, to a "don't do this, please don’t do this," rolling right out of his mouth. 
He’s helplessly looking from the gunmen to the family pinned down in this dirty alleyway leading to his place and the theatre, heart throbbing in fear for the little boy in a nice suit clutching his mother and father with tight fists.
And something in Tim firms, cements, in the immediate, abrupt belief that this is going to end in his favor. Something inherent in him knows he has control of the situation. 
The gunman’s barrel is aimed dead center. 
(A killing blow.)
"You aren’t going to do this," something in him pushes and pulls, something that makes him so sure, so fucking sure, no one in this alley is going to die tonight. (But, his knees still knock with fear and adrenaline while his brain pan works in overdrive.) 
A shudder goes through the hand holding the gun, eyes he can't really see in the dark, narrow from below the brim of a dirty hat.
"Get lost, kid.” But the guy plainly swallows, sweat beading off the side of his face, muscles tight with strain. “This isn’t any of your business." 
Tim grits his teeth, doesn’t move forward in case he sets something off. "All of us can identify you, and you aren't going to get enough shots off to kill everyone, not without being noticed, even in this neighborhood." His eyes slide back to the family when the motion of the father pulls the small, blue-eyed boy behind them, shielding him. 
You are going to go home tonight, alive and together, Tim promises the little boy with his eyes. Everything is going to be fine.
(And if he could stop it from happening to that little kid with a trembly lower lip and three-piece suit because he got to go with his parents for a night at the movies, then he damn sure isn't going to run.)
"So you?" His own voice goes deep, dark, and from somewhere past all his own fucked-up pain and trauma (his past scars buried in grief and mourning and moving forward because for fuck's sake, there was nothing to go back to) . "Aren't going to hurt anyone." 
“You seem pretty fucking cocky, you little shit.”
“Only because you know I’m right. GCPD always has patrols here, so you won’t get far.” 
The gunman sneers, his arm starting to get tired holding up the shiny automatic. 
The mother over the gunman’s shoulder has a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet, but the small family is subtly shuffling slowly backwards. Tim gets it. He needs to keep the attention on himself, give them time to get out of the line of fire. "The way I see it, you've got two options here." 
He slides his wallet out of his back pocket, holds it up over his shoulder between two fingers. "Take this as a door prize and run. Or, try to shoot us, potentially miss because that .38 special is a piece of crap, and have a pretty nice cell at Blackgate for the trouble. Robbery is one thing, but murder? Definitely a whole different type of crime."
The father keeps slowly hedging his family back, trying not to make sudden moves while Tim keeps his wallet waving back and forth, keeps the motion so the gunman stays trained on him. 
The tension is palpable while he waits for the gunman’s decision, the next move, the next flinch, the resounding blam as the gun goes off, his pulse thudding in the back of his mouth even while he knows everything is going to work out in their favor. 
Take the wallet and run, he keeps thinking over and over and over. Don’t look back at them. Take the wallet and run.
A huff in the night between them, and the gun barrel disappears inside a ratty coat, the gunman darting up to snatch the wallet out of Tim’s hand and hightail it the fuck out of the alley.
Once he’s gone and the echoing footsteps fade, the relief is palpable.  The father lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank-you,” he tells Tim gravely from across the alley. He turns to scoop up the little boy, weave an arm around his wife’s waist, and steer them back toward the theatre and into the light. 
Tim, heart thudding in his chest, turns to put his back against the rough brick and mortar. His knees feel weak with relief and adrenaline now that the obvious surge in bravery (reads as stupidity, tempting a guy with a gun and all) has left him panting and shaky.  “Sure, it’s fine. Being shot in Gotham isn’t really a big deal.”
He’s pretty sure he muttered it to himself because the small family fleeing their almost-demise doesn’t turn. But the voices from the mouth of the alley gasp in outrage.
“What almost happened?!”
Tim jerks because he didn’t think anyone else was behind him when the gunman took off. Imagine his surprise when his customers are standing there staring at him with wide eyes.
“Shot?” Jay is already striding forward, hands all over the barista to look for injuries because dammit, were they too late and someone already got at him? 
Dick has a hand on Damian’s shoulder, pushes the youngest toward the running gunman in an obvious message before joining Jay at their halfling’s side. 
He notices how big those blue eyes are with Jay’s long fingered hands pulling and tugging and touching. He catches the pink in Tim’s face when Jay’s hands finally wrap around his hips, thumbs in the niches. Their prey is in their trap now, theirs to reel even closer. All they have to do is keep him cornered and wait for the right moment to strike.
“N-no, nothing, I’m fine, really!” Tim sputters, stepping back out of grabby hands, face hot with how strong Jason’s hands are. “I mean, that’s-that’s pretty standard for Gotham, actually.”
Dick has no qualms palming the side of Tim’s face, tilting his eyes up, using just a bit of influence in his tone when he asks, “still, did he hurt you, Tim?” 
“No! No, I’m okay. Situation defused. I just had to give him incentive to leave without firing the gun.”
Dick hums, thumb moving over the cut of Tim’s jaw. “He was dangerous. Standing up to him was very brave, Tim, but you could have been seriously hurt. I’m a little worried about letting you out of my sight with guys like him running around.”
Jay’s eyebrow arches because wow, Dickie. ‘At was nice. But even if he knows the oldest is trying to push, trying to make Tim fall under his spell, become more..open...to suggestion as Gods have sway over mortals. It takes Jason a second to realize their little mortal ain’t looking all dreamy-eyed n’ dazed with Dickie’s influence. 
Means, they’ve godda play this the way Dick said from the beginning. Tricks ain’t gonna make it easy fer any of ‘em.
Not that he’s got a problem chasing when they play hard-ta-get. 
“I mean, I made it this far in life,” Tim jokes weakly, breath shuddering when Dick’s thumb feathers over his lower lip. “I don’t – why were the three of you passing over this way? I know I gave you foolproof directions earlier.”
Instead of answering, Jay wants to give it a go, lets himself pours on the voice, “Ya look shakin’ up a lil’ there, Baby. Lookit this,” wrapping his long fingers around one of Tim’s hands, thumb rubbing over the softly beating pulse in his wrist. “Yer hand’s tremblin’. Might wanna come back ta th’ hotel n’ get a drink after all, feel me? Getcha nice n’ calmed down. Ledd’us drop ya off once yer better. Make sure ya don’t run inta no more trouble. ‘Course we want ya ta be safe n’ sound, don’t we?”
With the darkness in Jay’s eyes, the possessive hold Dick has on him, Tim can barely swallow, can barely catch a breath.
Luckily, his mouth catches up before his brain has time to process the logistics of where the hell did you come from again?
“I can’t, sorry. I kind of gave up my wallet when–”
“After what you went through, it’s our treat,” Dick soothes, his other hand itching to touch skin, “consider it a birthday drink.”
The two of them give a more overt push.
Tim sucks in a breath to decline, but when Dick takes his hand, the what-if in his brain pan flares to life again, and everything feels so much like fate or destiny. Like he was meant to say yes the first time and here he is getting some kind of divine do-over.
(Does he even believe in all that shit? Probably not, just his brain trying to help him get laid is more likely the case.)
Either way, how can he say no a second time?
**
The answer. 
He doesn’t.
In less than ten minutes, he’s packed between Dick and Jason in a booth at Le Grande’s very posh digs, a place he’d probably never see in his life considering only the Gotham elite had a place in the VIP lounge.
He’s nervously wiping the condensation off his drink, trying not to think of Jason’s massive thigh pressed up against his or Dick’s hand casually on his knee on the other side. Jay has some ridiculously tall beer, and Dick is sipping on a blue drink from a martini glass. Tim has a water with lemon since, you know, his wallet was taken and he literally has no identification to prove he’s of age.
Out of the dim, Damian stalks toward them like a sleek panther stalking prey, those jade eyes zeroing in on their table. With a smirk, he slides into the other side of the booth and holds Tim’s wallet between thumb and forefinger. He places it in front of their...night’s acquisition, already eyeing the barista’s soft t-shirt and jeans, calculating how fast they can strip him of the clothes.
Tim’s mouth drops open when he opens his wallet to find money and identification still there, “h-how did you…?”
“I am very persuasive,” Damian purrs over the music, “it is a gift.” He has a moment of satisfaction, recalling the thief’s absolute terror when Damian took on his godly form, full height with spiked armor and flaming sword, glowing green eyes behind his helm, ready to strike the criminal down with one mighty blow.
“Return the wallet and never seek to harm another soul as long as you remain on this mortal coil.” Was like ground glass, the flaming blade scant inches from the criminal’s nose.
He didn’t kill the mortal, hadn’t seen the point really.
Tim’s soft smile and awed, “thank-you, Damian.” made dealing with another pesky mortal worth the trouble. “Did you call the police? Turn him in?”
“Unfortunately, he threw your wallet at me and ran. I chose not to follow.” A small lie but Damian will take Timothy’s appreciation nonetheless. “However, I believe he will refrain from petty theft from here on out. You must have made…an impression.”
He gives Jason a side-eye to make sure his brother understood.
Before Tim could ask more questions, Dick winds an arm around his shoulders and cheers. “Great job Baby Bat! You saved Timmy’s wallet!”
“Of course, it was my pleasure to assist our beloved barista.”
Tim’s face goes warmer, even without a drink.
“All right,” Jay grins down at their little halfling, “now’s ya can have a drink wid’ us, yeah? Gonna celebrate turning the big two one in style, feel me?”
“Don’t worry,” Dick soothes, “we have a place upstairs if we celebrate too hard. Have to warn you, I’m a cuddler and I sleep naked.”
Tim doesn’t know if his face can get any more red.
While their little halfling looks about ready ta bust, Jay takes advantage of the distraction, motions to the cocktail waitress making rounds. She scurries right on up to their table, squints at Tim’s ID for a few minutes and then back at him. 
Dick orders a round for the table in a tone that is mesmerizing and she assures them she’ll hurry back with their drinks.
Tim only downs three drinks that night, but the soft buzz is nice enough to take the edge off.
He learns Jason manages a nightclub, Damian is a weapons enthusiast, and Dick apparently does some kind of contract work for environmental agencies. All of it is pretty vague and none of them go into detail as to why they’re in Gotham in the first place, or where they’re originally from. Instead, they ask him numerous questions about his life and his job. His parents and family (all of them long gone. He’s got Steph and Ives now). Why he stays in one of the most dangerous cities on the planet. You know, understandable questions if not a little intense.
While he’s pleasantly sinking into the soft feeling, the three men around him don’t seem to be affected by the alcohol in the slightest but are intently listening to him talk about his life.
(College was a pipe dream. Right now, he’s just keeping afloat, squirreling away every dollar he can for the inevitable move out of Crime Alley. One day his shitty laptop will be a state of the art system. One day, he’s going to get into social work or something to help other kids like him, so another doesn’t slip through the cracks to live a partial life. He’s rambling like fuck when he tells them this, keeps going past it without noticing the look passing between the three.)
Their attention is...odd. Nice but odd.
He hasn’t felt important to anyone since Conner broke it off, breaking his heart without trying to hurt him. Theirs was just another tragedy that is his life.
Jay disappears for a moment and brings him water when he declines another drink, not wanting to walk home with stumbles, not after that situation with the gunmen could have ended horribly–
The night changes when he admits he’s never seen a room in Le Grande, never been through the doors before tonight no matter how long he’s lived in Gotham, and accepts the invite up to see the penthouse. All of it happening so easily is terribly close to what he’d imagined in his secret fantasy, that his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything other than yes.
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the--blackdahlia · 2 days ago
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Stomach Bug (Keaton!Batman x Reader)
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Title: Stomach Bug
Summary: You've got a stomach bug. Bruce wants to help
Warnings: Just fluff
For @blackberries45
“Alfred, have you seen (y/n)?” Bruce asked Alfred. It was the afternoon, and he had expected to see you somewhere around the mansion, but couldn’t seem to locate you. Master detective at work.
“Mrs. Wayne is resting in one of the guest rooms. She has a stomach bug,” Alfred put a ginger ale, some crackers, and soup on a tray.
“Why is she in the guest room?”
“Something about not wanting to get you sick Master Bruce.”
“I literally run around Gotham during the rain and go down shady alleys. A stomach bug isn’t going to detour me,” He took the tray from Alfred and headed down the hall to the guest room. He quietly walked in. You were wrapped up in a fluffy blanket with a box of tissues right by you. You had the TV on, soap operas playing but you weren't really paying attention to them. Bruce sat the tray down on the dresser and walked over to the bed.
He gently placed a hand on your forehead, frowning when he felt how warm you were. Your eyes flickered at his cooler hands, finally opening and looking up at him.
“B-Bruce?” You sounded so hoarse. It made his heart hurt.
“How are you feeling babe?”
“Like absolute shit,” You groaned, not trying to sit up. You just snuggled more into your blankets.
“You didn’t have to leave our bedroom to sleep in here,” Bruce looked around at the room. “In fact, I don’t even remember the last time this room was used.”
“When we had that fight a couple of months ago,” You laughed a little, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. Bruce climbed into the bed by you and helped you sit up.
“Alfred made you soup. And send crackers and ginger ale,” Bruce grabbed the glass and held it to your lips, letting you take a couple of large drinks. “I know you don’t want to eat, but I think you should at least try. You know how good Alfred’s soups are.”
“I guess I can try. But you don’t have to be here. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Sweetheart, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now. Gotham will be fine without me for one night.” He got the soup and fed you. You made it about halfway through before you waved off the rest. Once he sat the bowl down, he had you wrapped up in his arms. He didn’t like how warm you felt, but he knew it just needed to work itself out.
“Thank you, Brucie,” You whispered, resting your head on his chest as sleep started to claim you again. Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He always did when you called him Brucie.
“I’d do anything for you,” He murmured, rubbing your back. “I love you so much.” He watched you sleep, knowing that he would do anything to take care of you.
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dreamer1084 · 2 days ago
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Natsuyuu Anime S7EP4 VS Manga Vol21 Ch.83
It's a bit complicated this time. Many dialogues from the main characters (especially Kitamoto) have been slightly changed. I took so many screenshots, then I gave up and decided that most of the changes weren't important. I'll only post the ones I think are really needed to post.
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"It doesn't matter if there are something (youkai) here" was deleted. I think Natsume in manga was getting used to coexisting with youkai.
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Completely different attitude towards Sensei LOL Deleted Natsume's inner thought "If it's not dangerous (I want to go there again)"
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Natsume's inner thoughts in manga were directly conveyed through his attitude in anime.
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Natsume's anxious thoughts were deleted, and Kitamoto's dialogue was also changed. From "Because I like it here. I've always liked books, and when I was a child..." Became "Because I like books, and when I came here, I remembered that when I was a child.." In fact, Kitamoto's dialogue changes were so many that I couldn't compare every sentence, so I just skipped most of them afterwards.
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Kitamoto in anime seemed more likely to feel helpless, because he could not have actual communication with the bookstore clerk. In manga, Kitamoto completely planned to inform her or the old lady at the cashier if he found any weirdo.
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Anime deleted Natsume's inner thought about telling Kitamoto not to come near the clerk.
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Deleted the dialogue where Sensei said "It actually want to eat my prey, how hateful" and described the youkai as just a little mouse-like thing.
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Deleted Natsume's comment "Although I can't directly feel the existence of youkai"
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The scene where Natsume poured too much soy sauce was moved forward in anime (Only sky and dialogues in manga). In addition, anime seemed to make Natsume just think about the bookstore and not pay attention (even having eyelids showing that he didn't sleep well), while manga showed that Natsume was unable to taste. And it seems that Natsume's reaction to the curse on his tongue was simpler in anime (almost all the dialogue related to the inability to taste was deleted)
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In manga, Natsume did not make good progress because the evil youkai would transfer the curse. Anime simply said that it's not easy to find. Also deleted Kaeda said that if Natsume really told the shop owner to close the shop, he would be considered a weirdo.
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In manga, Natsume was visibly angry, and Kaeda watched his expression thoughtfully. As for the anime, she didn't watch Natsume at all, looking for curses while recalling the previous events with a smile.
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Anime added that Kitamoto told her "Don't make that scary face", which made her embarrassed and Kitamoto laughed because of it.
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Kitamoto's dialogue here had the same meaning but different tone. In manga it was more like a conversation between friends, and in anime, it was more polite.
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Kitamoto's dialogue here has also been changed. In manga, Kitamoto gave the mystery book to her because "seems like you are interested in mystery novels", while in amine, he paid more attention to how "it's easy to read" (because she said she has never read books) Then the dialogue "Before I come over next time" was deleted in anime (it feels like Kitamoto was looking forward to her thoughts in manga, while in anime he wanted her to read it slowly) Also, manga had a bag to put the book in, but anime didn't.
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In manga, Nishimura should be calling Kitamoto, but anime added Tanuma explaining that Kitamoto seemed to be too tired to fall asleep. Also in manga, Nishimura was worried that Kitamoto looked like Natsume when he first moved here. But this dialogue was deleted from the anime.
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As I said before, anime deleted any dialogue about the feelings from his tongue.
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Contents of this page almost completely disappeared from the anime. Well, the first half of this page was Natsume's thoughts, which can be felt from the animation. And the second half was about Natsume regaining his sense of taste. (And Kitamoto returned to his normal self.) But anime did not mention he could not taste things. Anime only gave us two still images of Natsume explaining that the curse has disappeared. :(
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moonlight0934 · 3 days ago
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Joker Junior, Your Unreliable Narrator
Joker paces in front of Tim, who is unclear on what’s happening. 
“Oh, Junior.” 
Is he talking to me? That’s not my name, is it? I thought it was Tim. 
“Junior, Junior, Junior, you’re such a naughty little boy. Why did you break Daddy’s restraints?” 
Tim looks at where Joker is pointing. Joker is wearing a disapproving look as he directs Tim’s attention to a metal table with broken straps. 
“I did that?” Tim asks, his voice sounding off. Almost like it’s not supposed to sound that way. 
I sound so serious. I think I just need to lighten up a bit. 
Tim giggles. 
“I don’t know. I don’t remember doing that, but I’m sorry.” 
“Aw, it’s ok, Junior.” 
“My name isn’t Junior.” 
Joker’s eyes narrow, and some part of Tim knows that something is about to happen. That something is wrong. He ignores it though as he does with most of his fleeting thoughts. He can’t seem to grasp anything for more than a few seconds. 
“Do you mean that your name is Joker? You were named after your dad, so you’re Junior, and I’m Senior. Do you understand, or do you need more of your meds to help you understand?” 
“I think I understand, but I thought my name was Tim.” 
“Tim?” Joker sneers, his face twisting. 
Tim cocks his head to the side. 
“Is someone else Tim? Do I know him?” 
“I think you’re confused, Junior. I’ll get your meds, and then you can take a nap while Mommy makes dinner.” 
“Mom doesn’t like to cook?” 
Tim finds himself thinking of a woman with light brown hair, and blue eyes. 
“Of course your mother likes to cook. She loves to cook.” 
Tim finds himself nodding along though he’s not sure what he’s agreeing with. Joker walks to another table, and grabs a syringe. 
Man, I don’t like shots. 
Joker walks back over, and Tim flinches when Joker reaches for his arm. Joker slaps him across the face, knocking him to the ground. Then he roughly grabs Tim’s arm, and jams the needle into Tim’s skin. Tim feels everything float away quickly after that. 
Junior wakes up slowly. His head feels funny, and nothing really makes sense. 
Where are Mommy and Daddy? I don’t feel good. 
He sits up, realizing that he’s on the bed that’s nestled in the corner. Normally he sleeps on the table, and the bed is reserved for Mommy and Daddy. 
It must not be sleeping time. I’m so glad that they trust me to nap by myself without tying me down. 
Junior stands up, his legs feeling a little weak, but he pushes through it. 
I want to find Mommy. 
There’s a blonde woman in his head with white face makeup and wild eyes that gives him a soft smile. He wanders over to the door, it’s locked. So, he sits down on the floor to wait for his mommy to come back. However, it doesn’t take long for him to get bored. Junior jumps to his feet, then begins racing around, trying to find something to do. 
He finds some spare materials that are lying around, and then throws himself back down to work. He loses track of time quickly, for once not even wondering where the information that his brain is giving him came from. Joker and Harley come in after a while, and they both stop at the sight in front of them. 
“Daddy, Mommy, hi. I made something for you,” Junior says, jumping to his feet. 
He runs over, and holds out the makeshift bomb he just made. 
“Aw, Junior, you made us a bomb? That’s so nice, sweetie. Can you believe that we missed his first bomb?” Harley asks, elbowing Joker. 
“No, I can’t. That’s very thoughtful of you. We’re going to use this tonight.” He puts it to the side. “Now, Mommy and I made dinner together. Can we trust you to behave if we go eat dinner in a different room?” 
I haven’t been in any other rooms. Yes, this is awesome! 
“Of course you can, Daddy. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t give me permission to.” 
Harley smiles widely at Joker, then back at Junior. 
“Well, I’m glad that you’re having such a good day, baby. Daddy was worried, but your memory seems to be improving. You remember who you are, and who we are, right?” 
“Yep, I’m JJ, and you guys are my parents. My only parents.” 
I feel like I’ve heard this before, but why would I have any other parents? That’s so stupid. 
“Good. That’s my good little JJ.” 
Junior nods enthusiastically. 
“I think this means that he can get his hair done awake tomorrow night,” Joker says, sounding happy. 
Junior laughs, and the noise sounds just right to his ears. He doesn’t sound serious anymore. 
Well, I don’t need to be serious around my Mommy and Daddy. 
Harley takes Junior’s hand, and they walk out of the door. Junior’s eyes dart around, taking in everything even though it’s just a hallway. The hallway is crumbling concrete just like everything else, but Junior still takes everything in like it’s a castle. Joker opens up a door which leads to a very bright dining room. There’s a table that has a green table cloth, and the room itself is decorated for a party. 
“Woah, Daddy, this is so much color. The table looks like your hair.” 
Junior laughs again, but this time Joker joins in. 
Wow, I sound so much like my Daddy. That is so cool. Wait, do I want to sound like him? 
Junior turns back to Harley. 
“Thank you guys for making dinner.” 
“Any time, Pumpkin.” 
Harley sits him down on the left hand side of the head of the table. The plates are just paper plates, but Junior’s has a cute design drawn on it. 
“I drew that for you.” 
“Thank you, Mommy.” 
Harley beams at Junior, and he grins back. They end up talking about how exactly Junior put the bomb together over dinner. Eventually Harley takes Junior back to his room while Joker goes to get ready for their plans for the night. Harley tucks Junior into the actual bed. 
“We won’t be back tonight, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you, sugar.” 
Junior nods. “Thank you for loving me, Mommy.” 
Harley beams at him as she walks back out. Junior can hear her tell Joker, “I can barely bear to be away from him. I love him so much, and he’s turning out so well.” 
Junior smiles, letting his eyes fall closed. 
Tim wakes up wondering where he is. He’s alone, but there’s loud laughter coming closer to him. 
Wait, who is Tim? Oh, well it probably shouldn’t concern me. 
Junior stretches with a yawn. Joker and Harley walk in, holding hands. 
“How are you feeling today, Junior? Do you need more meds?” 
Junior shakes his head. “No, Daddy. I know exactly who I am, and what my life is like. I don’t need anything.” 
“Ok, well, that’s wonderful. You’re going to be helping Daddy put together a few toys for our nemesis. Do you know who that is?” 
“Batman, right?” 
“That’s right. Good job, Junior. Now tell your mother that you love her, and give her a hug before we get started.” 
“Good morning, Mommy. I love you,” Junior says, running over to hug Harley. 
She hugs him tightly before tilting his face up. “Can I do his makeup before you get started?” 
“Of course you can. I’ll get everything set up.” 
Junior follows Harley to the bathroom, and she starts putting makeup on his face. Tim wonders briefly why he trusts Harley Quinn to touch his face, but the thought is gone almost as soon as it shows up. 
“Are you alright, Junior? You looked apprehensive for a second.” 
Well that’s a big word for such a dumb bitch. 
“I’m fine, Mommy. Thank you for doing my makeup and making me look pretty.” 
“Aw, it’s no problem, baby.” 
Harley kisses the top of Junior’s head, then takes his hand to walk him back to the other room. 
Joker looks up when they walk in. “You look good, sonny boy.” 
Junior smiles at the compliment. “Thank you.” 
Stuff is scattered across the table, and Junior cocks his head. 
“This is for more bombs, right? Bigger ones, or lots of smaller ones. These are much better materials than the ones I had yesterday.” 
Joker nods. “I didn’t realize that you knew quite that much about bombs, but since you do, you can help me. Only with supervision of course.” 
They sit making bombs, Junior laughing at all of Joker’s stupid jokes. They spend almost the entire day making bombs. 
“Ok, you’re going to get a shower, and then we’re going to redye your hair,” Joker says after dinner. 
“Ok, do you guys need any help cleaning up?” 
Joker shakes his head. “No, your mother and I have that down. Just go.” 
Junior goes back to his room, grabs more clothes, and heads to the bathroom to shower. He finds himself tracing the scars across his abdomen after taking his shirt off. Joker comes to the bathroom a few minutes after Junior finishes his shower. 
“Are you done, son?” 
“Yes, Daddy. I’m done.” 
Joker walks in to find Junior with his arms folded tightly across his stomach. “Are you alright?” 
“Yes, but…” 
Harley steps into the doorway as well. 
“Why am I ugly?” Junior asks, his brow furrowed. 
“You’re not ugly, sugar. Why would you ask that?” 
Junior moves his arms to show off his scars. “I have a lot of ugly spots.” 
“Those aren’t ugly. They’re proof that you’re a good person. That you’ve fought off the people in the world that have tried to put you in a box. People that have tried to make you like everyone else. That you’ve fought against people like Batman who try to ruin everything good about you.” 
Junior looks down. “Ok, if you’re sure.” 
“I am. Now, let’s get your hair dyed.” 
It’s not a long process since it’s mostly just touching up his roots, but Junior feels happier when he sees that there’s no black roots poking out from between the green. 
“This is better,” Junior says with a nod. 
Joker and Harley put Junior to bed before heading out together. Junior is about to drift off when he hears Joker start talking again. 
“He’s turning out well, huh? This boy is going to be my ultimate revenge against Batman.” 
“Yeah, he’s turning out well. Our little Joker Junior,” Harley says happily. 
Junior wonders for a second what Joker means by revenge, but he doesn’t dwell on it too long. He lets himself drift off to sleep instead.
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bogkeep · 1 day ago
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i remember the shift, when i went from being "some random kid online who likes to draw" to "popular fanartist within a small community". it was on the fan forum for a webcomic nearly a decade ago. i had been posting my art on tumblr for a couple years already, usually getting between 0 and 15 notes on each, with a couple exceptions here and there. as you can probably imagine, being an awkward queer and autistic teen had never made me feel particularly popular before. i wasn't really lonely, personally, though many of my peers are and were, but the idea of many people actively wanting to be my friend and thinking i was genuinely cool - that was incredibly novel.
i have always loved getting attention for my work and find people interested in what i have to say. like, who doesn't? it was a very fulfilling and inspiring experience when it started happening to me on a regular basis, to the point where i could expect it. i went from being constantly apologetic about how annoying i imagined myself to be to others, to feeling confident that at least some people were excited to have me around. absolutely revolutionary to realize that people weren't just pretending to like me, they liked me for realsies, and that putting myself out there and being sincere and genuine in my enthusiasm and interest was actually a positive trait many people valued. wild!!!!!!!!
when you come from a place like that, of course you try to be everyone's friend. that's the scarcity mindset. you have to hold on to every friendship ever offered to you because it's such a rare and precious thing and you don't know when or even if it might happen again. but if you get Popular, well, at some point you learn that you can only nurture so many friendships at once, and that you can't click with everyone. like, it only makes sense. but it sucks!! learning the necessity of rejecting people and letting them down is a harrowing journey, but one that must be made.
there's many deeply lonely people out there, especially online, a space of Connection. connections to other people are so good and necessary and being lonely is an awful thing to be. this means there's a lot of people who can't even imagine not wanting more friends, let alone not be constantly looking for some. it's always a bit of a tragedy when a Very Lonely Person tries to attach themselves to someone Socially Overencumbered, as that's highly unlikely to end satisfyingly for anyone involved.
anyway, i think capital f Fame is like that, but times a hundred thousand. it's deeply fascinating to me how Fame is treated as this deeply aspirational state when it's proven again and again to be a cruel and abusive mistress. like, i understand - don't we all want some attention, some validation, for someone to recognise us on the street with stars in their eyes, like OH you're the COOL PERSON who did the COOL THING and i want nothing more than a HUG and a SELFIE and also i made you this HAND MADE GIFT and PAINTED A PORTRAIT OF YOU... that's the dream, isn't it!! to be recognized for your skill, to be admired, desired! THAT'S WHAT EVERYONE WANTS, ISN'T IT.
but it isn't.
there's a limit to everything. there's a whole spectrum of Getting Attention and Validation between "literally everybody ignores you and everything you do" and "paparazzi follow you everywhere you go" - and i can promise that you can find a lot of fulfilment and joy on the lower end of that scale. it's difficult to explain sometimes, especially to people who get No Attention - it's like telling someone who is starving that the most expensive restaurant in town isn't really worth the hassle, a good affordable sandwich will make you so much happier, trust me. like maybe it's just personal preference and what i can personally tolerate! but i had merely a whiff, a crumb of what they serve at that place, and it's Not That Good. easy for me to say huh!!!!
i'm basically a nobody on the wider web, but i've still had my fair share of unpleasant stranger interactions both of the rude and overly familiar variations. i've been treated as a commodity rather than a person. i've been put on a pedestal and dragged through the mud by the same people. it kinda sucks!! and i don't want to tell people that they should never ever put themselves and their art out there because people might be cruel, because that shouldn't be the expectation! yet for some reason, it is!!!! people experiencing Fame have to deal with all kinds of inhumanely horrible things literally no human person is equipped to experience. many people say that's the price people pay for fame, but that's said by people who haven't experienced even a Fraction of the stochastic terrorism an Audience can do to you if they choose. not all attention is good attention.
i know none of this is a fresh new hot take. i know we all know stalking is unethical and traumatic. but i am still so fascinated by the divide between people who don't understand why anyone would reject any form of adoration and those who have to work very, very hard to keep their boundaries intact.
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