#spring break is here though so i wanna blow through a few!

[whenemmafalls]

Taylor Swift Eras Tour Poster for Each Era Part 6: The reputation Era (2017-2019)

[koqabear]

Wanna Play A Game?

⊹ playlist ⊹

“You’ve always been a bit skeptical of Beomgyu’s friend group. But for him, you pushed it aside, opting to give in to his pleas as you find yourself in Soobin’s vacation home during spring break. Only, it seems that things are only going downhill.”

??? x fem! reader 

Also featuring: Soobin, Ryujin and Yeji from Itzy, Wooyoung from Ateez

Genre: slasher, thriller, mystery, angst, smut, mystery member(s) oooh 

Word count: 13K

Warnings: Use of substances (weed and alcohol), everyone’s kinda an asshole, arguing, vomiting, blood, wounds, biting, weapons, death and murder (duh), kidnapping, blindfolding, handcuffing, pet names (angel, cutie, good girl, etc.), manipulation, threats, gaslighting, please don’t question how everything works. (Or do, I might’ve made a timeline already.) let me know if I missed anything!

Smut warnings: dubcon. Mean Dom(s)! ???, sub!mc manhandling, praise, degrading, mind breaking(?), sensory deprivation, handcuffing, biting, marking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, unprotected sex, choking, creampie

Notes: fanfic author watches scream vi and gets inspired by a single scene (shocking) (also the playlist is a bit weird and messy so watch out for that)

Three characters, your only hint. Who could it be? One, two… maybe three? 

[Dark themes ahead, read at your own discretion. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume, nor do I condone any themes discussed. This story does not reflect the idol’s true character or morals, and are merely used as characters in fiction.]

“Guys, come on, don’t be fucking stupid.” 

The fire is warm against your hands as you swat away the mischievous ones of your friends, the group laughing and poking fun at you as they lean in; dangerously close, playing with fire as though to taunt you. 

The lights in the kitchen turn on as the shadow of another of your friends roams around inside, a few of you turning to look in curiosity before you’re back to chatting in your circle. The puffer jacket that's been zipped all the way up seems to be doing nothing for you as you find yourself sinking into your seat even more, hands deep in your pockets as you nuzzle your numb nose into your jacket. 

“You sure you don’t want some?” Yeonjun is close and quiet as he speaks to you, his voice no louder than a murmur as he nods to the blunt that’s been passed back to him. Shaking your head, you shiver as a particularly harsh wind passes through the group. 

“No thanks. Too cold for this shit,” you say, gesturing to the way you’re practically ready to curl into your seat. Yeonjun simply huffs out a laugh at your antics, nodding his head softly before he brings the blunt to his lips. 

“Could always shotgun it,” he teases, ignoring the way you scoff as he takes in a deep breath; his hands are red and stiff, and he looks back at you as he sends you a wink— smoke blows in your face as you sputter, shoving him away as the two of you burst out laughing. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, scrunching your nose as Yeonjun passes the blunt to the other person beside you; Ryujin takes it happily, slumping back into her chair as she shakes her head in amusement at your antics. 

“Think I’m gonna go inside, it’s freezing out here,” you say, groaning softly as you go to stand up— your legs feel stiff, a strong shiver coursing through you as you shrug off everyone’s pleas for you to stay out for a bit more. Shaking your head, you bid them goodbye as you go back inside; the glow of the fire slowly disappears as you’re left in the dark for a second, trudging through the grass and making your way tiredly to the back porch.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to get up the stairs— but it’s so damn cold that you feel as though your legs might snap off, and the hot tub that greets you as you finally make your way to the back entrance is quite the funny sight; maybe if the weather would’ve been nicer, you would’ve found yourself in there instead. 

There’s a whole week to let the weather get better, you think, finally letting your hand out of your pocket as you open the glass door. The heat that greets you is instant, and you let out a sigh of relief as you stumble inside, stepping onto the kitchen tiles as you lock eyes with Taehyun, Beomgyu looking up curiously from his seat at the counter. 

“Are they coming back in?” Taehyun asks, leaning back against the counter as he takes another sip of his drink— soda, you note surprisingly, despite the grandiose liquor cabinet that Soobin showed everyone earlier being just a few steps away from him. 

“No, I was just the first one to cave in,” you say, going around to take a seat next to Beomgyu, “what’re you guys doing in here all alone?”

“Same reason as you,” Beomgyu says, tilting his head as he drums his fingers against the counter, “it’s too cold out there.” 

You hum softly at his response; checking your phone, you sigh, placing it face down as you lean into the palm of your hand dejectedly. 

“What, can’t handle not being able to use your phone for a day?” Beomgyu laughs, taking in your expression as you pout softly, “the cell towers should be back up tomorrow, don’t worry.” 

“This area always has some of the most unpredictable weather,” Taehyun grumbles, speaking for the first time in a while as your eyes jump up to meet his, “I dunno why they picked this place for spring break.”

“Cause it’s perfect, that’s why,” Beomgyu answers before you can get a word in, nodding your head in agreement as he begins to recite Soobin’s words, “no neighbors, no cops to crash the party, just us here.” 

“Half of them are at risk for alcohol poisoning every time they get access to it,” Taehyun says, jutting his head at the group that rambunctiously moves about, seemingly laughing at something funny as they fail to settle down for even a second, “It’s a bad idea to be doing all this while not having any way to contact emergencies.”

“Come on dude, loosen up for once,” Beomgyu tuts, rolling his eyes at the younger’s behavior as he turns to you with a sly look on his face, “Don’t know why I even invited him.”

“Shut up,” Taehyun barks, clenching his jaw as he goes to take another sip of his soda; his eyes lock with yours, and you can’t help but gulp as you take in how annoyed they are. 

Beomgyu seems to ignore any signs of irritation from the man before him, turning to you eagerly instead as he sends you a bright smile, long hair falling in his eyes as he doesn’t bother to push it out of the way.

“Hey, wanna go watch a movie or something? I hear Soobin’s got a sick collection of slasher movies,”  Beomgyu offers, completely disregarding Taehyun, who simply watches the way he takes your hand, leading you out to the living room before you can say so much as a goodbye. 

You’re a bit confused at Beomgyu’s behavior, but you decide against pointing it out as he lightheartedly pushes you onto the couch;  you fall with a small grunt unceremoniously, leaning back into the cushions as you turn to watch Beomgyu scan through the shelf of movies; your fingers go to play with the zipper of your jacket, absentmindedly tugging at it before you finally take it off. 

“Have you watched Scream?” Beomgyu calls out to you, glancing back at you briefly as you huff a small laugh at his question.

“Duh, who hasn’t?” You reply, turning away from him as the screen door in the backyard is opened roughly; Soobin is stumbling in, Ryujin and the others following behind as they all complain about how it suddenly began to rain. 

“What’re we watching?” Soobin asks, taking a seat next to you as the rest crowd around; Yeji and Ryujin settle down next to you, Yeonjun sitting beside them as he quietly mutters something along the lines of “this is a big ass couch.” He’s quick to signal Wooyoung to sit next to him, leaning back into the corner of the deep U-shaped couch as he puts his feet up on the coffee table, despite Soobin’s protests. 

“Scream,” Taehyun says, settling on the floor as he rests his head back on the cushions. Everyone’s chatters and comments about the movie are drowned in your ears as you watch him sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut as a yawn rips through him; Beomgyu is trotting over before you can dwell on his condition any further, fumbling with the old DVD player on Soobin’s console station as he diligently tries to follow Soobin’s irritated commands. 

“Holy fuck, lemme do it,” Soobin stands, pushing Beomgyu out of the way as he sets the movie up himself; the younger male looks like a kicked puppy as he saunters back to the couch, taking Soobin’s seat as he rests a head on your shoulder.

“He’s so mean,” he pouts, crossing his arms as you shake your head in amusement. 

“There there, don’t cry,” you mumble half-heartedly, patting his head as Soobin’s giant flat screen tv finally lights up— everyone haphazardly cheers at the sight, and you watch as Yeonjun quickly sneaks off towards the liquor cabinet, grabbing as many bottles as he can before they’re clinking down on the table roughly. 

“I’ve seen this movie too many times and the weed is already wearing off,” Yeonjun says, not bothering to grab any shot cups as he opens a bottle of vodka; there’s a mixed reaction in your group as you watch him waterfall it as though it were water, clearly putting on a show as Wooyoung shoves him playfully; he’s choking and spluttering from the action, slamming the bottle back down hurriedly as everyone laughs as though they were entertained. 

Sitting up, you go to help Yeonjun who seems to be struggling to regain his composure, only to get pulled back by Beomgyu as he sends you a small smile. 

“Don’t. He’ll be fine,” Beomgyu grins, watching as Wooyoung takes a turn to down a good couple of gulps— Yeonjun’s coughs have seized to nothing but an occasional clear of his throat, the back of his hand wiping at his chin as he stares down at his shirt in dismay; he reeks of alcohol, clearly annoyed as he sends Wooyoung a glare. Beomgyu only tugs you back down into the couch, ignoring the way you shift restlessly at the sight of Yeji and Ryujin recording the whole thing. 

“Plus, you wouldn’t wanna ruin their shot, right?” He whispers, laughing softly as Yeonjun pushes Wooyoung in return— the vodka spills directly down his shirt, yelling in surprise as the liquid runs down his skin uncomfortably— you feel yourself tensing at the way they seem to be getting worked up, sitting up as they begin to argue loudly. 

“Jesus, cut it out! Quit acting like fucking children! Go get some towels, they’re in the kitchen,” Soobin is quick to separate the two, pushing Wooyoung off the couch and signaling to the kitchen as he takes his spot, “and turn the light off on your way back.”

Yeji and Ryujin only laugh amongst themselves as Yeji puts her phone away, the sound of Ryujin whispering a soft “send that to me,” Barely reaching your ears before everyone’s settling back down, the tension simmering away as the lights in the kitchen finally turn off; Wooyoung is making his way back with a couple of paper towels for Yeonjun, taking a seat on the floor as the house is shrouded in complete darkness— the only thing giving off light now being the giant television before you. 

You’ve seen this movie hundreds of times before; you know all the tropes, remembering every scene as you quickly find your mind wandering off— before you know it, you find yourself reaching for the bottle of vodka, too. 

Maybe Yeonjun was onto something; you all seem much more relaxed and giggly as you yell at the screen, making comments and cracking jokes even in the face of countless scenes of gore. It’s a lot more fun this way, and before you know it, you find yourself much more interested in the movie than you were before. 

“Holy shit, Soobin, where’s your bathroom,” Yeji groans, and you all tear your eyes away from the screen to find her doubled over, eyes shut as she clearly seems to be getting sick; Ryujin is quick to pull her up, pushing her along the way to the nearest bathroom in the maze of hallways— you’re surprised to find everyone unbothered as the sounds of Yeji’s pain filter over the noise. 

It’s strange— you don’t typically find yourself around this group of people; you weren’t as close to them as one might think, your only strong connection with them all being Taehyun and the man who currently rested his head on your shoulder— he had countlessly reassured you that it would be fun, that staying at Soobin’s place would be a good way to spend a bit of your spring break; at first, you found yourself agreeing, but now you can’t help but seem unnerved at the way these people act around each other.

“Jesus, turn the volume up,” Yeonjun says, the boys around you laughing amongst themselves as a particularly loud sound from Yeji breaches through the movie; you find yourself antsy and clammy, meeting eyes with Taehyun, who seems as equally bothered as you are. 

“I’m gonna go check on them,” you mutter quietly, pulling Beomgyu off you despite his reassurances that they’re completely fine; you can’t help but be unnerved at how calm they are about the situation, watching as your friend sinks back into the couch immediately, sending you a petulant pout that has you frowning. 

Soobin’s house is hard to navigate without any source of light— pressing your lips together, you jump at the loud crack of thunder that manages to boom over the movie; the only thing you’re able to see is a small sliver of light that leaks through the bathroom door, the sinking feeling in your stomach only getting worse as the sound of crying reaches your ears. 

“Yeji— Yeji, come on, sit up,” Ryujin says hurriedly, her voice stern yet shaky as you hear incoherent mumbling— it’s Yeji, you realize.

Hesitantly, you knock on the door; when you get no response, you turn the knob, peeking inside as you find Yeji leaning over the toilet bowl, her shoulders shaking as you find the source of the crying— yet Ryujin doesn’t seem to be doing any better, her breaths shaky as she stands over her friend, unsure of what to do as her head quickly snaps up at the sight of the door opening. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” 

“I don’t— no, obviously not,” Ryujin snaps, stressed out as she runs a hand through her hair. Looking past you, you watch her expression quickly sour, the heightened sounds of screams from the movie reaching her as she scoffs in disbelief.

“Did those assholes turn the fucking volume up?” She’s standing up as Yeji begins to vomit once more, and you’re unable to control the way you wince as Ryujin holds her hair back. She’s trying her best to comfort her friend as she rubs her back soothingly, but the sudden boom from the movie makes her stand up hurriedly, pushing past you as she quickly mumbles for you to look after her— you’re scrambling to get to Yeji’s side, surprised to find her shaky and crying as you pull her hair away from her face, flushing the toilet as you pull her back for a moment. 

“Are you guys seriously gonna act like this when we clearly need help?” Ryujin’s voice easily booms over the movie as she yells at the boys that still lounge on the couch, the incoherent sounds of arguing mixing together with the movie as you let out a shaky sigh. 

“Don’t be such a bitch, she probably just greened out,” Soobin’s voice travels down the hall, and the heavy sounds of footsteps reach your ears as you hesitantly look up.

“You know she can barely handle her stuff, why’d you let her drink?” Soobin scoffs, his hair a mess as he runs his hand through his hair in annoyance— Wooyoung peeks over Soobin’s shoulder, making eye contact with you as he lets out a low whistle at the sight. 

“Now’s not the time to be pointing fingers, she’s clearly sick dickhead!” Ryujin yells, overprotective of her friend as she shoves Soobin back— you flinch at the sight, unsure of what to do as the tensions in the room seem to rise. 

“What’re we supposed to do? It’s storming outside, the roads aren’t safe to drive on,” Soobin’s reasoning falls on deaf ears as Ryujin retorts with an angry I don’t give a fuck, clearly worried over her friend who looks concerningly pale. 

“So what? You wanna go out and crash the fucking car? Kill both of you at this point?” Soobin is flushed as the alcohol seems to be impairing his reasoning, Wooyoung and Yeonjun beginning to intervene as they pull the two away from each other. 

“Guys, we won’t get anywhere if we keep arguing like this,” Yeonjun reasons, a bit tipsy as he places a firm hand on Soobin’s chest, “go look to see if you have any medicine or something, there might be something that can help her out in the meantime.”

“Don’t know why the fuck you’re blaming us when you let her get like that,” Soobin scoffs as he turns around, rolling his eyes at the way Ryujin bristles at his comment, face flushed and angry as she attempts to push past Wooyoung. 

“What the fuck did you say?! Get back here you prick!” Your mouth feels dry as Ryujin seems to have been set off, Wooyoung beginning to push her back into another room in an attempt to calm her down— beside you, Yeji lets out a shaky breath.

“I don’t— we’re not always like this,” Yeonjun says, drawing your attention as he takes in the way you seem to be like a frightened rabbit. He lets out a deep sigh, leaning against the wall as he crosses his arms, still a bit drunk as he looks at Yeji diligently, “I don’t know what the hell is happening right now. I guess things are still tense between us.” 

Shakily, you nod your head, choosing not to question things as the word still lingers in your head. You’re stuck staring at the floor as you attempt to rub Yeji’s back soothingly, mimicking Ryujin’s movements as she coughs softly— in the distance, you’re able to hear her shouts, clearly in a drunken fit as Wooyoung remains in the room, attempting to de-escalate the situation; you flinch at the sound of things smashing and shattering. Eventually, she settles down.

The house has gone silent, save for the movie that still drones on in the background, the volume significantly lowered— it’s a bit eerie as Yeonjun continues to watch over you like a hawk, your thoughts begin to run wildly; biting at your lip, you finally break, clearing your throat as you gather the courage to meet Yeonjun’s eyes.

“You said things are still tense between you,” you start, watching the way he seems unprepared for your question, “what do you mean by that?” 

He says nothing; it leaves you wondering if he’ll actually respond, shuffling uncomfortably in place as he refuses to meet your eyes. An unnerving pause ensues as you begin to wonder why Soobin is taking so long.

“It’s just,” his eyes dart to the floor, dejected as his brows scrunch together in a frown, “we recently lost a friend.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you feel awkward as you find yourself only being able to respond like that, casting your gaze away from him as you notice the way Yeji has been looking wearily at you this whole time— you feel like you’ve done something wrong, suddenly scrutinized under their eyes as you brush back a strand of Yeji’s hair that has fallen over her shoulder.  

“Here, this is all I could find,” Soobin suddenly appears, shaking a bottle of pills as his eyes land on Yeji— she’s shaking now, another wave of nausea taking over as she bows her head in defeat, letting out a soft groan as nothing comes out— Soobin slowly approaches her, kneeling before the two of you as he looks her condition over. 

“Holy shit Yeji, what the fuck did you do?” He clearly doesn’t expect an answer as he slowly helps her up; it doesn’t seem like she’s able to expel anything from her stomach anymore, clearly dehydrated as she slumps against Soobin like a rag doll. 

“Here, I’ll take you to Ryujin, even though she’s probably still pissed at me—“ the thunder that interrupts him mid-sentence booms throughout the house, startling all of you as the sound is a lot closer than you’d like. The lights over you flicker, the three of you staring at the ceiling in confusion before the room becomes pitch black. 

“What the…” Yeonjun seems to have sobered up a bit as he stands up straight, the house going completely silent as everything powers off— you’re all tense, even Yeji beginning to worry as she stirs against Soobin. 

“Taehyun!” 

The sound is enough to have you acting without a second thought; you’re pushing past the two men carelessly at the sound of your friend’s distressed scream, the sound making you sick to the core as you run back to the living room where they were last at. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, hands trembling uncontrollably as you stare at the scene before you, running to Taehyun’s side as your knees knock into the kitchen tiles roughly. 

“Holy shit, who did this? What happened?” Taehyun grunts in pain as he holds his bicep, fingers clenched tightly around the muscle as he grits his teeth together; the screen door is wide open, and both Taehyun and Beomgyu are drenched their clothes drip a puddle around them, your pants beginning to get wet as well as you stay at their side.

But that’s the least of your worries right now— instead, you focus on your friend, who’s leaning against Beomgyu and groaning in pain as blood seeps through the cracks of his fingers. 

“Fuck, I go to sleep for a few fucking minutes and this shit happens—“ Beomgyu’s rambling is incoherent as Taehyun lets out a low groan, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a shaky sigh. Hurriedly, you cup his face, tapping his cheek gently as you urge him to look at you. 

“Taehyun, what happened?” You ask, unsure of what to do as you stand in a foreign home, searching for something to help him with— in the end, you simply opt to call Soobin’s name out desperately, turning back to Taehyun as you look around the house wearily. 

“I don’t know,” he laughs weakly, an exasperated sigh leaving him as he rests his head on Beomgyu’s shoulder, “I thought I saw an animal or something on the porch, so I went to check it out— next thing I know, the door is forced open and I get fucking stabbed.” 

You and Beomgyu freeze. Immediately, you look up at each other, your lips parting in shock as Soobin suddenly appears behind you. 

“What the hell? What the fuck happened—“ 

“Soobin, we need to leave,” you say, standing up as you ignore all of Soobin’s questions, “We need to leave! Do you have something to patch Taehyun up with? We need to take it with us.”

“What? What are you talking about, what the hell is going on—?” Soobin is quick to shut up with another stern look from you, the moonlight the only thing that highlights your features as Soobin gives you a shaky nod, deciding to trust your judgment as he takes a quick look around the kitchen, scanning the cabinets before he lets out a shaky breath. 

“It’s all in my bathroom upstairs,” he says, glancing back at the three of you as he gulps, “I’ll be quick, stay here,” he gives you all a pointed look before he’s going upstairs, the sound of the rain coming down hard onto the roof the only thing that fills the silence.

“Go with him,” Beomgyu says shakily, ignoring the way you look at him in disbelief, “It doesn’t feel right to let him go by himself. Go, he’ll be safe.”

“Beomgyu, I don’t even know where the fuck the front door is,” you admit, your adrenaline high as you wrap an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders before you’re pulling him onto you, “if anything, it’ll be better if you go.” 

Beomgyu hesitates— he stares at you, taking in your determined state before he glances at Taehyun, lightheaded as the blood soaks his thin shirt— and nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before he’s spriting up to where Soobin is. 

“Let’s get you away from the kitchen,” you mumble, helping Taehyun stand up as the wind and rain that sneaks into the kitchen makes you two shiver violently. He nods softly, stumbling to his feet as he follows you to the couch; you’re making a mess of it, but that should be the least of your worries as Taehyun slumps against you wearily.

Closing your eyes, you let out a shaky sigh; you’re scared, the thought of there being an intruder somewhere around the area, dangerous and armed  making chills run through your skin as you hold on tighter to Taehyun, attempting to calm your racing heartbeat; the man only lets out a shaky breath, head tucked into your chest safely as he attempts to steady his breathing. 

This is insane, you think, taking a deep breath through your nose as you take in the situation— to think that the man you’ve longed for is finally leaning on you, tucked into you so safely— if you weren’t scared half to death right now due to the possibility of there being a killer on the loose, you almost would’ve found yourself becoming flustered. 

Behind you, you hear the quiet voice of Yeonjun; he’s still taking care of Yeji who, judging by the fact that she hasn’t emerged from the bathroom at all, must still be feeling sick. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you find yourself saying, surprising the two of you as you feel a tear slip down your cheek— you’re quick to wipe it away, attempting to regain your composure before Taehyun can realize what’s going on. 

“Here, this is all I could find in my bathroom,” Soobin yells, loud footsteps drawing your attention as Beomgyu follows close behind. You’re quick to sit up as Beomgyu runs over to you with alcohol and gauze, an apologetic look in his eyes as he takes in Taehyun’s state. 

“I’ll go turn on the car, get the others and we’ll leave right now,” Soobin yells, running to the coat holder as he fishes into his jacket pockets; he doesn’t bother putting on the item, running out into the rain instead as the door is left wide open, the three of you able to keep an eye on him as he runs down the long driveway. 

“I’ll get the others, stay here,” you’re quick to say, noticing the way Beomgyu was already beginning to tend to your friend. Behind you, you hear loud protests, the sounds of him telling you to wait falling on deaf ears as you’re fumbling for your phone, turning the flashlight on as you peek into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know if you were able to hear everything, but we’re leaving. Get Yeji and go to the car, now,” you say, giving Yeonjun a firm look before you’re making your next stop. You can hear Yeonjun attempting to call after you before he gives up, talking to Yeji softly as he’s hoisting her up on his back; meanwhile, you’re searching through every door you come across in hopes of finding the room Ryujin and Wooyoung are currently in. 

Empty. Empty. Empty. You find yourself becoming frustrated by Soobin’s insane mansion— uselessly, you looked through every room in the hallway before being left at the very last one. 

“Guys, we need to leave, come on—“ the noise you make is strange and strangled as your phone’s flashlight pans across the room, an intense chill racking through your entire body as you find yourself choking back on bile. 

Ryujin and Wooyoung are dead.

The phone in your hands almost slips out from how shaky you are, a broken sob leaving you before you find yourself screaming in horror— you’re not sure what’s happening after that, but you feel a firm pair of hands on your shoulders yanking you out of the door and shutting the door firmly before your face. 

But, oh god, you can’t get the image out of your head; no matter how tightly Beomgyu holds you against him, it won’t erase the way your eyes met Ryujin’s blank ones, her face filled with horror and her throat slit as blood dripped down her shirt like a necklace— beside her, the sight of Wooyoung thrown across the bed with multiple wounds to the chest haunted you, unable to ignore the furniture strung across the floor and the bruises all over their bodies. 

That hadn’t been a drunken fit earlier.

“Shit, oh shit,” Beomgyu mumbles against the crown of your head, having gotten a peek of the sight as he urges you to stand; but your legs are nothing more than jello as you attempt to stumble along, trying your best to get your shit together as you meet the others in the living room. 

“What? What’s wrong? Where’s Ryujin and Wooyoung?” Yeonjun asks, panicked eyes searching behind the two of you in hopes of seeing his friends again; instead, he’s greeted with the sight of you, sputtering apologies as you choke on sobs. 

“They’re— fuck I’m so sorry—“ 

That’s all it takes for Yeonjun’s eyes to widen, leaving Yeji on the couch before he’s running back to the room where they lie; only for Beomgyu to grab him roughly, stumbling back as you’re left to grab onto the couch in an attempt to regain your composure. 

“We need to go, we need to get to safety,” Beomgyu says, attempting to calm Yeonjun down as the man before him begins to break down into rough sobs, Yeji doing no better than him as she puts her head in her hands.

“No, no! We’re not fucking leaving them! I’m not fucking leaving them behind, I can’t,” Yeonjun’s sobs become unintelligible as Beomgyu holds him close, a sudden wind blowing through the door and making a shiver run through your body as you turn to look outside.

You almost collapse at the sight of a man quickly making his way towards you; but it’s just Soobin, hair soaked and flattened as he finally returns— you feel relief flooding your system, ready to collect everyone before your eyes land on an item that makes your stomach sink.

“Your keys.” 

It seems that everyone else heard you, turning to look at Soobin who only stares at you all silently, a dreadful silence falling through all of you as you wait for him to speak.

“They slashed the tires. All of them.” Every last car was now dismantled; even the bicycles were left in pieces as Soobin was left to stare at the vehicles in despair, unsure of how he could return to the house with such horrible news. Yet, as he scans the room, he feels a sinking feeling form in his stomach, his headcount not coming out right as he takes in everyone’s face; his eyes meet yours, taking in the way you seem frail and shaken.

“Where’s…?” He’s unable to finish his sentence as Beomgyu solemnly shakes his head, a soft sniffle drawing your attention as you take in the way Taehyun has bowed his head in the darkness, eyes shut tight as he avoids watching Soobin’s reaction.

“So then we’re stuck here?” You ask, changing the subject as you try to push out the memory of the scene you stumbled upon; it’s horrid, knowing that they still lie there, just a few rooms away from you. 

“We can’t stay here, this house is too big for us to feel safe,” Yeonjun says, sniffing as he roughly wipes away tears that stray from his eyes; he’s trembling, you notice, the strong timbre of his voice betrayed by his body as his facade is melted away.

Soobin sighs, eyes darting around the dark home as he bites his lips nervously, mind rapidly searching for anything that could help. 

“I don’t— I don’t know, maybe my dad might have left some of his hunting gear—”

“Someone’s coming,” Taehyun hisses, standing up as his eyes lock on the large expanse of woods in the backyard. You’re all tense at his comment, your eyes desperately locking with Soobin’s as you urge him to help. 

“The basement, there might be something we can use to defend ourselves down there,” he breathes out, the front door swinging open as it slams into the wall and a harsh gust of wind seeps inside, the rain pouring down hard as a clap of thunder booms throughout the house. You’re all scrambling to follow Soobin at the sound, rushing to help Yeonjun who seems to be struggling to walk with Yeji. It’s dark in the hall as you try to make the least amount of noise possible, much too afraid to look back as you strain your eyes to keep Soobin’s dim figure in your sight, your hand steadily gliding on the wall to stabilize yourself. 

There’s an odd feeling settling in your stomach; even though you’re barely able to make out the shape of your own limbs in this dark maze of rooms and hallways, you can’t help but look around in hopes of being able to make a headcount; though you fail, you’re unable to stop the shaky exhale that escapes you as you look back. 

A loud crash rings far back, where the kitchen must be.  

You can hear sounds of struggle— it feels as though someone has knocked the air out of your lungs, their voices and cries of pain sounding too familiar as you let Yeji’s arm around your shoulder drop. 

Taehyun and Beomgyu. 

When the fuck did they get separated from you? Did the killer sneak up on them? You’re ready to run after them before Yeonjun is pulling you back roughly, your back colliding with his chest as he places a hand firmly on your mouth; his fingers dig into your cheeks, your cries muffled as he urges Soobin to continue. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to keep you safe,” Yeonjun repeats against you, allowing Soobin to carry Yeji as he attempts to calm your struggling form; you wouldn’t even know how to get back to them, but it’s torture as you hear the indistinguishable sounds of struggle— your adrenaline is high and your vision seems blurry as you bite down on Yeonjun’s hand, pushing him away the moment he lets go of you.

You don’t care if it’s stupid, you can’t leave your friends to die while you selfishly continue. 

You don’t know how, but you’re able to find your way back after a dreadfully long time, your frantic sprint slowing down to nothing more than a slow walk as you crouch down, your breaths shaky as you slowly peek out the hallway— you’re trembling horribly as you lean against the wall, attempting to ignore the way it’s all become eerily silent. 

Slowly, your eyes adjust to the minimum moonlight that floods in; the glass door has been shattered, a pool of glass and rain left on the kitchen tiles as your eyes scan the open area slowly; furniture has been knocked over, Soobin’s pristine bookshelf nothing more than a pile of wood and collectibles and your eyes run over the area in terror— then again, again and again in confusion, unable to find the one thing you dreaded seeing. 

Taehyun and Beomgyu are nowhere in sight. 

“Hey!” Yeonjun’s voice has you jumping out of your skin as you spin around, slapping a hand to your mouth as he immediately grabs ahold of your other, tugging you along brutally as you’re forced to stumble to your feet, forced to follow around him as he immediately wraps an arm tightly around your frame. 

“We need to get to safety, now’s not the time to worry about the others,” he hisses, and you’re only able to take one last glance behind you as your eyes land on something that makes your stomach drop and twist with dread. 

A thick, bold path of blood is strung across the floor, leading clean out into the kitchen and out onto the porch. 

Your mind goes back to your friends— and you find yourself biting back a cry, burying your head in Yeonjun’s chest as he swiftly leads you back the way you came— his touch is firm and comforting as he whispers soft apologies, able to empathize with you as his mind runs back to his own friends that he was forced to abandon tonight. 

The stairwell he takes you down is extremely unnerving; you’re fumbling for your phone’s flashlight as you stumble down, the stairwell seemingly never-ending as you try to not let your paranoia and fear allow you to turn back. 

Annoyingly, the basement feels like another home of its own— your flashlight shines on the lounge area, a minibar and a pool table left perfectly untouched as you scan over the couches next— you spot another door, the two of you carefully approaching it after having found the rest of the area empty.

Softly, you knock; the sound is barely audible, but as you press your ear to the door, you hear the distinctive sound of someone crying— your heart speeds as you recognize the voice that mumbles softly. 

“Yeji,” you whisper, turning to Yeonjun with wide eyes. He’s signaling for you to turn the brightness of your flashlight down, your teeth sinking on your lip as you try to gauge what might be happening inside.  

“It’s okay, I’m okay, don’t worry…” Soobin’s soft reassurances that echo through have the two of you perking up; before you can stop him, Yeonjun is swinging the door open, relief flooding his features as he softly tugs at you to follow along; he keeps you close to his back as your hands steady themselves on his body, peeking behind him as he guides you to where they are. 

It’s a laundry room; you’re briefly peeking around before Yeonjun takes you deeper into the room, towards a small area where a makeshift wall has been made out of shelves. On the other side, you find the exact people you were looking for; only, the scenario seems to be less than ideal. 

“Oh fuck,” Yeonjun hisses, crouching at your friends’ side in a haste. You’re shaking, a horrified sound leaving you as your knees knock roughly into the floor— your trembling hands hover over Soobin’s in terror, unsure of what to do as you press deeply into the wound of his stomach in an attempt to relieve the bleeding, your hands pressing his deeper as you feel the blood gushing onto you. 

“Soobin,” you whimper, biting back tears as you examine the rest of him, attempting to ignore how open the wound of his stomach is, “Soobin, what happened?” 

You don’t actually expect a response; you’re talking to yourself at most, your friend so light-headed that you watch his head tilt back, hitting the wall behind him with a soft bang as he lets out a shaky sigh. Your eyes are scanning the space around you frantically— there’s nothing that can really help him, but you try your best as your eyes land on a thin tee that’s been thrown into a laundry basket, your bloodied hands ripping it apart as you attempt to use it as makeshift bandages. 

Slowly, you lift his shirt; you wince at the sight, your eyes forced to take in the deep and opened wound directly on his stomach, your hands dropping the bandages a few times due to how horribly you tremble— soft apologies spill from you, blinking away tears as you try your best to tie the bandages as tightly as you can.

“Yeji, what—?” Your words die on your tongue as you take in her state; she’s no better than Soobin, Yeonjun’s flashlight pointing right at her feet— specifically, her ankles that have been smashed, the skin mangled and bruised as they point at an awkward angle. Your eyes flit back up to her face, only to find that she’s swimming in and out of consciousness, eyes fluttering softly as a steady stream of tears leaves her eyes. 

“Hunting gear,” Soobin pants softly, your head snapping back to him as you softly tell him not to speak. He shakes his head, the movement so minimal you almost missed it, and gulps, his brows knitting together as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Behind… mini bar. A shotgun—“ your eyes are wide as saucers as you watch him cough weakly, blood spewing past his lips as he goes silent; the only thing that lets you know he’s still alive is the subtle rise and fall of his stomach. 

“Yeonjun,” you say softly, his panicked eyes meeting yours, “The shotgun— I’ll go get it, stay here and look after them.”

His eyes widen more, if that’s even possible at this point, head shaking reverently as he takes a step away from Yeji’s side. Before you can leave, he grabs onto your wrist tightly, yanking you back as he frantically tells you that he’ll stay by your side. Attempting to dissuade him, you tell him that Soobin and Yeji need assistance— he only shakes his head once more, dark eyes not straying from yours for a second as he speaks. 

“Think about it,” he mutters softly, leaning in so that the two on the floor can’t hear, “who do you think they’re gonna target next? Everyone else is gone. We’re the only ones left untouched. To go out there on your own is suicide.” 

Briefly, his eyes flick to the floor; he’s contemplating what to say, biting at his cheek before he lets out a soft sigh.

“I care about you too much for you to be next.”

You feel winded as you stare at him— sincere, his hand refusing to let go as he looks at you tentatively— and nod softly, your free hand reaching up to gently pry his grip off you; you both try to ignore the way they’re soaked with Soobin’s blood. 

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go,” you say, knowing now is the worst time for such a confession to be sprung on you; you turn to go back to where the main area of the basement is, Yeonjun following behind you diligently before you’re stopping at the sound of Yeji’s voice. 

“Please don’t leave,” she whines softly, eyes fluttering open slightly before they’re closing again, “please don’t… I don’t wanna die…” 

You’re quick to spring back to her side; she’s fading to and from consciousness, her eyelids twitching as she rolls her head against the cool surface behind her. You know it’s a stretch, but you try your best to give her a reassuring smile as you go to hold her hands— only to stop, the drying blood on them making you wince as you place them back down on your lap instead. 

“We’ll be quick, I promise,” you say softly, watching the way her eyes lock on yours; your stomach sinks, and the fear and panic you feel is reflected in her gaze as she weakly reaches out for you, her hand falling numbly on your lap as she lets out a soft sigh; she nods, closing her eyes as she goes back to unconsciousness, the weak rise and fall of her chest the only thing that’s able to get you to stand back up. 

Yeonjun turns off his flashlight as you turn down the brightness of yours; your phone is pointed straight to the floor as you slowly make your way back out, Yeonjun taking a protective stance close to you as you scan every inch and corner around you, beyond paranoid as you jump at any slight sound. 

Carefully, you look out the door; it’s barely cracked open an inch, your eyes carefully scanning the room as you finally deem it safe— your eyes quickly spot the bar, perfectly untouched as you remain hunched down, signaling Yeonjun to follow after you as you make a break for it. 

You’re crouched down behind the counter when you finally see it; a shotgun, nestled comfortably under hooks that were placed on the wooden counter— wearily, you smile, placing your phone down as you reach for the gun. 

It’s completely dark, and your hands run along the smooth expanse of the weapon as you fumble to get it out; behind you, Yeonjun fidgets nervously, his breaths deep and shaky as he watches you silently. 

Finally, you manage to unhook it; your hands feel foreign along the expanse of the gun, unable to get a comfortable grip on it as you turn around to hand it to Yeonjun— your smile falters, your hands suddenly a lot more slippery as your eyes meet his in the dark. 

In his hands, he holds what looks to be a rag; your eyes narrow, squinting at it before they flicker back up to him with dread. 

“I’m sorry.”

That’s all he says before he’s launching at you, the gun knocked out of your hands and skidding across the floor as the rag is pressed firmly to your nose. 

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

It’s warm. 

The heavy blanket is comforting as you shift for a second, trying to find a comfortable position before you’re frowning, finding yourself unable to move freely at all— suddenly, it all comes back to you. 

Your hands are bound. You’ve been blindfolded.

You’ve been kidnapped. 

Yeonjun. You want to scream, but your throat is way too dry for you to even speak. Something’s odd, though; your hands are bound, pressing tightly against the small of your back, but your legs are free. Tentatively, you sit up, unsure of what to do as you listen for any strange sounds.

You don’t know where you are, or what Yeonjun’s intentions are, but you do know that you need to get out. But god, how is that even possible? Biting at your lip, you feel your blindfold becoming wet with tears as the frustration builds up inside you.

“Hello, angel. Happy to see that you’re up.” 

Your head snaps up at the sound, attempting to find the general location of the voice as your head turns frantically; he chuckles, the sound odd as you find yourself recognizing it as the voice modulator from the Scream movies. Frowning, you feel a surge of rage course through you. 

“Yeonjun, you asshole, let me go!” You attempt to shout, your voice raspy and weak as you thrash around in the bed. Pausing, you listen to his mocking laughs, shaking with rage as you kneel on the mattress, wondering if you should just get up and try to charge at him— if you’re going to die, you might as well make an effort to escape before you do so. 

“Now, don't be so haste,” He says, his voice laced with amusement; stiffening, your ears perk at the sounds of footsteps, slow and calculated before they stop right before you— you’re unable to hide the way you flinch as his hand tilts your chin up, a gloved leather hand holding you so gently despite all he’s done.

“Don’t you wanna have some fun before you die? Come on, I’ll make it painless,” he whispers softly, the voice raspy against your ears as you feel him lean in— instinctively, you lean back, unsure of what to do with this sudden turn of events. 

“If you really make it fun, I’ll spare you,” He says teasingly; it seems as though your face has lit up at the idea, because another of his teasing chuckles reaches you, amused by your antics as you wait for him to continue hesitantly. 

“We could make it a little game. If you win, I spare you; I call the police, let them deal with the aftermath while I run— then another game would begin. If you lose,” your breath hitches as you feel something cool against the underside of your chin— a knife, you realize, the point digging in as a threat as he slowly pulls it back, the blade brushing against your skin as he keeps your head tilted up.

“I get to keep you.” 

You can practically feel your blood become cold; keep you? What kind of sick and twisted fate was that? You think you’d rather just be killed instead. 

“What,” you stutter, thinking back to his options as you remain skeptical about it, “Why would you do that? What could you possibly gain from sparing me and calling the police on yourself? I know who you are.”

“Do you?” 

The words die on your tongue— your face must be easy to read, because his laughter is nothing but a heavy weight on you as you feel your mind racing with dread— what kind of game was he trying to play with you? 

“Obviously I do,” your words may be confident, but your voice trembles, brows knitting together as you scoot forwards slightly; your legs dangle at the end of the bed, your feet hesitantly touching the floor; your shoes are gone, you realize, your sock-clad feet coming in contact with the smooth floor beneath you. 

“How about we play a game then?” He’s backing up, his footsteps receding as you strain your ears in anticipation; you’re jumping at the sound of something scraping along the floor, the sound slow and heavy as you force yourself to stand, unsure of where he might be as you prepare yourself for anything that might come unexpectedly— you freeze, the room going quiet as you hear him sigh; rustling ensues, and a creak of a chair is enough to make you realize that he’s sat down. 

“Three chairs,” he says, an evident smile to his voice as the soft click of a button is heard every time he speaks, “three people sit here. I’ll even let you guess who’s who. If you guess who the killer is, you win.” 

Three people? Who could he possibly be talking about? You gulp, your mind racing back to Yeji and Soobin— your heart flutters, hopeful and uncontrollable, the thought of them surviving making your eyes sting. You want to call out to them— to make sure they’re okay— but before you can, the dreaded click of a button is heard, a static filling the room as he pauses before speaking. 

“Come here, cutie.” You can only back away at his words, your legs hitting the back of the bed as you shake your head softly. He tuts at you like you’re a scolded child, sighing impatiently as he pauses; you hear nothing except the bored click of the modulator’s button, the chair creaking as your eyelids flicker underneath your blindfold. 

Nothing happens— he hasn’t lost his patience yet, all movements ceasing as you’re left with an eerie silence— so with a heavy gulp, you find yourself standing once more, shaky legs taking a step forward hesitantly.

“Good girl. Come on, closer,” his whispers are soft alluring, like a siren as he directs you where to go, “yes, this way. You’re almost to the first chair; I won’t hurt you, I promise.” 

At his comment, you stop immediately; all you get in return is a harsh laugh from him, unable to pinpoint what direction the sound comes from as you almost feel like he’s connected to a speaker of sorts. Again, his fingers fiddle with the button, the sound of clicks haunting you as you let out a shaky breath. 

“I’m kidding. Or am I?” He seems to be having much more fun with this than you, but you’re forced to walk forwards again as his next comment sets you on edge. 

“Come on, I’m losing my patience here,” He sighs, his voice gruff as you stumble forward once more. He chuckles, watching you struggle as he finally tells you to slow down. “You’re here. Come on doll, touch me.”

Your next step is curious; your foot touches the chair leg as you try to see where he might be, jumping softly as your foot knocks against a pair of shoes— he’s laughing again, and you’re frowning as his words register in your mind.

“How am I supposed to…?” Your hands are bound; you can’t see left standing stupidly in front of him as you try to decipher what he could possibly want you to do. 

“Get closer to me, touch me. See if you can recognize me.”

You have no idea what to do; you feel ridiculous as you plant an unsure knee at the side of the chair, almost digging into his thigh as you try to position yourself; they’re unresponsive, oddly relaxed as you lean into them. 

Hesitantly, you do the first thing you can think of; you’re leaning in close, your head resting against their chest as you concentrate. You don’t smell any perfume, and your lips drag along the expanse of their shoulders curiously— they’re broad and sturdy, not flinching even as you make your way back towards their neck— so clearly, it’s not Yeji, her petit form a contrast to the person beneath you.

Everything this man says could be a trick; this could be him, or it could be another of your friends, but the plain tee they wear isn’t reminiscent of what anyone was wearing, your frown deepening as your lips ghost up his neck— then up to his cheek, hesitant with all your movements until you stop your lips, ghosting eerily close to his. 

There’s duct tape on his mouth. 

You don’t need to linger any longer to guess that this isn’t the killer, and your suspicions are only confirmed as the voice begins to laugh mockingly at you again; the person beneath you doesn’t move an inch. 

“I see you noticed something,” he comments, enjoying the way you scoff at his words, “but can you figure out who it is? I’ll give you a point if you do.” 

You can’t help but get angry at this man’s idiocy, biting back your tongue as you hold back the urge to insult him; instead, you sigh, knowing that despite his light tone, there wasn’t room for you to say no. 

Your lips ghost up to his cheekbones; your arms are turning awkwardly as you opt to lean back, attempting to feel his arm before you’re coming in contact with his wrist; they’ve been bound to the armchair, a tight hand around it as you attempt to feel his hand— but you choose not to, biting your lip as you almost lose your balance. 

Hesitantly, you try to nose your way into recognizing his features; it feels intimate and wrong, terror seeping into your veins as you try to decipher who it might be. It isn’t until you feel the way his hair parts that you get a clue, your nose brushed with hair that clings to his nape as you go for one last feature you might recognize; hesitantly, your lips brush down his nose, feeling the way it’s smooth and rounds out perfectly at the bottom. 

“Beomgyu,” you cry softly, your face burying itself in his neck as you allow a soft sob to slip out of you; the action is so familiar, but it’s nowhere near comforting as you wonder if he’ll make it out of here alive with you. 

“How cute. I see you got along with him quite well,” his words are nothing more than an insult as you stand back up, wobbling to your feet as you sniffle weakly; bringing your shoulder up, you wipe at your  uncomfortably wet cheeks, the blindfold tight on your face as it catches all your tears. 

“How ‘bout I make it more interesting,” he muses, and you can already feel that he’s up to no good as he pauses dramatically, “I’ll let you guess these next too, but I won’t move at all. If you get all three right, you get a prize.” 

You say nothing, your heart pounding with rage as you look down at the floor; he merely chuckles, fueling your anger as the dreaded click of the button infiltrates your ears once more. 

“We’re here, to your right. Come to me.” 

Slowly, you do what he says; your feet are hesitant as the wood floor creaks under you, only stopping the moment your foot collides with someone else’s. Hesitantly, you lean in. 

It’s the same as before; broad shoulders, the body limp beneath you as you attempt to figure out who it might be. They’re lax, way too much if you think about it, your own body tense in contrast as you wonder if this might be it— if the killer might be here, under you. 

Just as you did before, your lips brush closer to his, looking for the familiar duct tape you found on Beomgyu— only, nothing is found. Shaking, you’re leaning awkwardly as your hands quickly try to find his wrist— finding it, you grab onto it, your grip tight as you realize something angrily.

He’s not bound.

Carelessly, you lean in; sure enough, your lips ghost around his features, his sharp jaw and pointed nose giving it away as you lean in towards his ear— his piercings are still on, too. 

“Yeonjun, I know it’s you, you bastard,” you seethe, waiting for him to spring into action; yet, he remains still, your chest heaving as you try to figure out if he’s stirred at all. 

A moment passes. Then another, and another, and soon you’re frowning as you wonder what he might be up to. It’s only then that you remember his little game for you, scoffing as you sit up straight. 

For a moment, you think of harming him; biting him, kicking at him, anything that could injure him while you’re still towering over him. But at the same time, you’re not strong enough— you still feel dizzy from the chloroform that was used on you, and the fatigue has only elevated from everything that’s happened today. Even worse, you’re bound and blinded— he’s free and is probably armed, and not to mention, is holding your friends hostage. 

Begrudgingly, you find yourself standing up, hoping to get on his good side as you move to the next person; you have an idea of who it is, but your heart still thunders against your chest with worry as you lean in. 

Everything is so familiar; he still has the bandages on his arm, his body warm and weak as you find yourself emotional again, slowly leaning in until you find your forehead resting on his shoulder. 

“Taehyun,” you cry softly, your heart yearning to save the man you’d hopelessly been in love with for a while now; maybe, if you appeal to Yeonjun enough, he’ll spare your friends as well. 

“Taehyun, I’m so glad you’re okay,” you cry, your body shaking as you feel him stir beneath you; he’s waking up, you realize, your heart pounding with dread as the thought of Yeonjun getting annoyed by him and possibly killing him floods through you. 

Softly, he groans. He’s in pain as he shifts, his breath fanning on your cheek as you look up in his direction. It’s so quiet, and if you weren’t already straining your ears for the dreadful sound of the click of a button, you would’ve missed the way he weakly called out to you.

“You’re…” he sounds so confused, taking in your distressed state as you shake your head softly, urging him to not say a word.

“You’re… so sweet.” 

His hands are on your waist before you can react; you’re planted firmly in his lap as you begin to tremble, the sound of the button clicks ringing so close to your ear making your head shake as you try to deny it all. 

“Honestly, you’re precious,” he says, still mocking you before the sound of something being discarded on the floor sways your attention; you’re then being picked up and moved as you attempt to thrash in his grip, only for it all to fail as you’re tossed on the bed like a ragdoll. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any better, you prove me wrong.” 

Sitting up, you’re quick to scoot back on the bed; your back is pressed firmly to the wall as you attempt to process everything, noticing that he hasn’t tried to chase after you. Instead, you hear his footsteps receding once more, the foreign sound of rustling making your ears perk before he’s walking back to you. 

“But, Yeonjun,” you say, shaking like a leaf as you huddle against the wall, “he… wasn’t bound, and back in the basement—”

“You’d be surprised at the things people would do to save their own life.”  He says, sighing at the way Yeonjun was quick to give everything up; he was never gonna chase after you after you had bitten him, and it was only when Taehyun managed to corner him while you tried to find your way back and threatened his life that he agreed to do his bidding— it only took a knife to get him scared straight. 

“Bring her to me, and I’ll spare you.” He whispered to him, his knife ready to breach skin as it pressed to Yeonjun’s throat, “you have my word.” 

Yeonjun’s only mistake was believing him. 

So now here he stands, at the foot of the bed as he watches the way you begin to cry; his heart drops, crawling onto the bed as he quickly tosses the device aside, grabbing onto your legs and pulling you onto his lap; he disregards the way you jump at his touch.

“Oh no, don’t cry my angel,” he says, lips ghosting along your jaw as you mutter incoherent things, any will to fight drained as you process this betrayal— from Yeonjun, from him, “it’s not like they weren’t deserving of it.”  

Taehyun is eerily observant; he smiles, kisses littering your jaw as his hands rub up and down your waist, a touch that would have you curling up shyly completely disregarded as you try to understand what he could possibly be talking about. 

“You’ve seen it too, right?” He whispers, eager to prove a point as he’s leaning forward, more and more until he towers over you, your back hitting the mattress gently, “They don’t care about anyone but themselves. They don’t feel guilty for their actions, even when they’ve killed someone long before I did.”

Frowning, you find yourself speechless, your mouth opening and closing as you try to decipher what he could possibly be talking about. He’s close, so close, chest against yours as the bed dips next to each side of his head, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. 

“Do you remember Hueningkai? Poor kid, everyone said it was an accident— a careless overdose, they said,” your thoughts go back to Yeonjun, commenting on the high tensions as he told you of the loss of their friend, “but I knew better— they all thought it was just a joke until it was too late. They always fucking threatened me to keep my mouth shut or I’d be next.” 

“What else could I do? They kept close tabs on me, and I only wanted to defend myself,” he whined, your body stiffening as you feel tears fall down your neck— he’s crying, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he presses his hips flush against yours, pressing you down the mattress as he lays his body weight on you. 

“I was so scared,” he cries, shaking his head as his right arm goes down to find purchase on your waist, “they threatened me every day. Kept track of all my movements, made sure I never told anyone else. I was so scared when they started inviting you more.” 

“I didn’t know how to get rid of them, but I wanted to keep you safe, I—” his hips roll against yours, a broken whimper falling from his lips as your mouth parts in surprise, “I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Please? Please will you forgive me? His words are a mantra as you find your heart pounding, a myriad of emotions swimming within you as you feel the way he breaks down against you. He’s a mess, the pleas so close to your ear as you feel the way he hardens against you.

You’re terrified. You’re worried, and you’re unsure of what to do because what the fuck have you gotten yourself into? It’s impossible to push past the way he’s adamant in his movements, his hips slow and calculated as you feel the way he presses right against your slit; desperate, broken, ready to show you how remorseful he is. 

“I promise I never meant for it to go this far. I didn’t know how else to get rid of them, I was so scared that they might’ve had their eyes on you next, I don’t know what I’d do without you—“

“Please, will you forgive me?”

It’s too much. You don’t know where he ends and you begin, your mind swimming with questions and fears as you simply nod your head yes. Your throat feels dry as you do so, swallowing heavily as you shift underneath Taehyun.

“Yes. Yes, I forgive you,” you say, unsure of what else there is to say as Taehyun sniffles softly against you, hovering over you as his weight is lifted off your chest. 

“Really?” He says quietly, his fingers dancing at the hem of your shirt as he waits for you to speak. You hesitate with your answer— there’s something else that he’s asking you, his fingers breaching past your shirt and softly caressing the warm skin of your stomach. He’s waiting, his eyes burning into your face as he only seems to be leaning in closer, closer and closer until his breath is fanning across your face once more. 

“Yes. I forgive you.” 

You don’t mean the words as much as you want to, as much as you wish that you did, even if your body and heart still yearn for him— but the adrenaline and fear within you have yet to disappear. It seems to be enough for him though, a fond laugh escaping him before he’s fiddling with the buttons of your pants, eager to take them off as he’s pushing your shirt up. 

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” he whispers, remorseful and weak as his curious hands wander across the expanse of your hips, gliding around the hem of your panties, hooking a finger at each side before he’s slowly dragging them off. 

“I just wanted to protect you.” 

Slowly, his hand cups your pussy— you can’t help the way your face heats up, your mouth falling open at the sudden stimulation. Slowly, his middle finger strokes up and down your slit, his palm pressing down at your clit as he presses kisses gingerly on your chest. 

You hold back a yelp at the way he bites you suddenly; he’s marking you, sucking and licking your breasts as he doesn’t bother to unhook your bra— opting to push it out of the way instead. He’s teasing you, working you up as you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. A soft sigh leaves you the moment he begins to tease your entrance, your legs shaking as you try to ignore the way you’re dripping wet for him. 

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” he mutters against your skin, lips making a trail up the column of your neck as he finally inserts two fingers inside you. The stretch has a weak whimper leaving you, your lips pressed tightly as you shiver at the way he pumps his fingers, slow and agonizing as he takes in the way your body becomes responsive to him, your walls squeezing and sucking him in. 

“The last thing I’d do is harm you.” 

His pace quickens; you hate how reactive and easy to read you are, because all it gets you in return is the amused comments from Taehyun that sound smug in your ears. 

He’s far too good at this, you find yourself thinking, his pace quickening and turning much rougher than you anticipated. He’s got a single goal in mind, and it’s to make you fall apart before him, until you can’t remember anything but him. His change in attitude is unexpected, your brows furrowing as you bite at your lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips buck and roll against his hand. 

Your body feels so hot, the coil that winds at your stomach only worsening as your legs squeeze around Taehyun’s hips, his lips planting a gentle kiss under your ear before he’s whispering his praises to you, stretching you open as his other hand finds itself at your waist, holding you down and pressing you to the mattress as he takes control over you effortlessly. 

“Come on angel, you’ve been so good for me so far— cum for me, pretty girl,” his lips press a soft kiss to your cheek, his palm pressing itself back on your clit before he’s slowing down his pace, focusing on finding a rhythm that drives you crazy while he hits your sweet spot.

“I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll make you forget. Don’t you want that? Hmm?” You’re not sure if you’re able to register his words at this point, your fingers grasping at the bed sheets beneath you as you squirm and whine at his ministrations. 

“Come on angel, show me how cute you look when you cum.” 

Your body shudders as if it were under his control, drawing out your orgasm like it’s effortless as his fingers curl inside you, his lips stretching into a smile as he nips at your neck, continuing to stimulate you even after you begin to cry from the stimulation. 

It isn’t long before he’s bringing you back up again, the sensation surprising you as he begins to rub at your clit cruelly, enjoying the way you thrash and cry at his actions. Even when you arch your back, your hands desperate to be freed, he refuses to give in, your soft pleas falling on deaf ears as your legs begin to tremble.

Before you know it, your hips are bucking again, distraught cries escaping you as you chant for him to keep going, your brain emptied as you forget where you are, why you’re even there. It’s endearing for him as you sniffle and whine, your hips stilling as you finally reach your high— it’s only when you go quiet that he stops, pressing tender kisses to your shoulders as his hands slide soothingly up and down your hips. 

It takes a while before you’re grounded again; the rush of emotions is too much for you, and before you’re able to process anything, Taehyun is pressing against you, his tip warm and leaking against your entrance as he watches the way you flutter around him hopelessly, 

“My pretty angel,” he sighs, pushing the tip in before he’s pulling back out. This goes on for a while, the feeling of him barely fucking into you frustrating as you attempt to push your hips towards him— he stops you, his grip bruising on your hipbones as he presses you down firmly. 

“So perfect. So good, all for me,” his words are possessive as he finally pushes into you, a broken moan escaping him as he leans in to kiss you; you’re dazed, unable to do anything else but reciprocate as you take in the way he stretches you so well, filling you perfectly as his hips press flush against yours. 

His pace is slow at first; uncertain, unabashed sounds leaving him as he takes in the way you feel so warm around him, the feeling of you squirming beneath him making his eyes roll back, your pretty mouth perfect and pouty as he resists the urge to fuck you stupid. 

He only lets go the minute you begin to become reckless; the moment you try to meet his thrusts, he picks up the pace, a soft yelp escaping you as he takes in the sight before him; you look perfect, your body bouncing with every thrust as he finds himself straightening up, knees digging into the mattress as he drags you towards him— he’s fucking you senseless, and his head is spinning at the way you’re beginning to call out his name pathetically. 

His hand quickly finds your clit; it sends you reeling, the feeling enough to have your mouth open in a silent scream before a broken moan escapes you. 

“That’s it pretty, take it,” he sighs, hips snapping roughly into yours as he brings you back to another orgasm; you’re left defenseless to his insatiable needs, your body going limp as he continues to fuck you despite the way your walls hug him so tightly. 

Your mind has gone blank— you don’t know what else to do but call out to Taehyun, his grip on you like a vice as he doesn’t falter for a second; but you feel so sensitive, as if you’ll fall apart if he continues like this. 

“Taehyun…” you whine, your eyes squeezed shut behind the blindfold as you whine. Please. Please, please, slow, you chant, incoherent and a mess as he disregards you, using you to chase his high that is desperately within reach. 

“My perfect girl,” he says, a grin on his face as you feel yourself clenching around him again, the sensitivity used against you as you feel yourself becoming winded up again, your body pliant in his grasp and eager to meet his commands. 

“So sweet, so stupid,” he mocks, reaching up to rip the blindfold from your face; your eyes sting as you close them immediately, not used to the sudden amount of light as you slowly take your time to adjust. 

“You have no idea how much I love you. Watching you take pity on me like that, fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back as he continues to fuck you at a ruthless pace, “shit, you’d believe anything I’d tell you, huh?”

Slowly, your mind registers what he’s saying. But the pleasure is fogging up your mind as your eyes finally adjust, fluttering open and meeting his own, pleased ones. His eyes are blown open, filled with lust and adrenaline as he slows down his thrusts to nothing but a roll of his hips. His bandage is still there, his wound still not healed as a fresh wave of blood paints the untouched fabric— he must’ve changed it at some point. 

But what scares you the most are his clothes, covered with splatters of blood as his eyes narrow down at you carefully, his smile never leaving as he tilts his head curiously. 

“So, it was all…” your words die on your tongue with a particularly harsh thrust, your body sliding against the mattress as he lets out an amused huff of laughter.

“Not really. The story about Hueningkai is real. They’re wicked people, and I was just doing what was right,” he says, pointy fangs revealing themselves in a wicked smile as he looks down at you, “but they didn’t know that I knew.” 

Tears well in your eyes as you turn your head, wanting to look at your friend to make sure he was okay— but your face is quickly tugged back as Taehyun leans in, a frown on his face as he squeezes your cheeks together roughly. 

“Don’t look at them. Look at me. I’m not done with you.” He’s ruthless as he works to wind you back up, his hips snapping against yours at a brutal pace as his eyes never leave yours, and vice-versa. His hand that was holding your waist down slides across your skin to circle your clit, an involuntary whine leaving you as you clench around his cock hungrily. 

“There we go. Keep your eyes on me,” his voice is nothing but a sultry murmur as his eyes become lidded, leaning in close as his eyes savor the look on your face. “Look at me when you cum.” 

His hand travels down from your cheeks to your throat, keeping your gaze steady as he begins to tighten his grip; you feel yourself becoming lightheaded, the overwhelming amount of stimulation breaking you as you feel tears sting at your eyes.

The sound you let out is broken and pathetic; your orgasm is strong as Taehyun lets go of you, the blood rushing back to you as your eyes never leave his, lidded and filled with lust as he groans at the way you clench around him. 

He lets you ride out your orgasm; it isn’t until moments later that he’s reaching his own, your body too weak to fight the overstimulation as he cums inside you, warm and unending as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the skin within his reach. 

It’s quiet, and you’re left staring at the ceiling as the aftermath of it all begins to settle; your shoulders shake and hot tears stream down your face, the reminder of your situation a shattering realization as you try to pretend that the situation is not what it seems, that Taehyun is a good person.

Hesitantly, you glance back at the three chairs; they’re both still out, probably drugged as Yeonjun is now bound to his seat. They’re still alive, you think, a small relief as you wonder what it would take to escape from this awful home.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to leave alive, or you’ll die trying.

Slowly, Taehyun sits up. His eyes are crazed as he stares at you, caressing your cheek tenderly as he then moves on to rub your thighs soothingly. He still hasn’t pulled out, his cum nestled deeply within you and beginning to leak out as he lets out a thoughtful hum,

“How many times did you cum,” he mutters to himself, tracing shapes on your thigh with his thumb as he becomes lost in thought, “let’s see…” 

“I spare you, I spare you not,” twice when he fingered you.

“I spare you…” once on his cock. Then, another time while he was reaching his high. 

“I spare you not.”

His eyes finally meet yours. He frowns, a pout on his face as he tilts his head. 

“That’s a shame, I was getting quite fond of you,” he says, leaning in as he presses butterfly kisses along your shoulders, up the column of your neck before he places a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Unless you want to even it out?” 

You suppose this is where you begin.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

[thebluestbluewords]

The Isle kids have birthdays:

“We sold them some stuff about only using months, so we can have the greed of celebrating all month long.” Carlos whispers. “I don’t know— I know you guys, like, have real days you can give them. That was probably wrong. Sorry.” 

Oh, come on.

“That’s fine,” Mal breathes.  She doesn’t care what they tell the stupid doctors, so long as they all got through the day in once piece. The boys could have told him that island kids hatch out of eggs, for all she cares. 

Carlos, apparently, isn’t done yet. “You guys know yours, right?” he asks. 

“August the twenty-first.” Mal whispers back. 

Carlos sucks in a shaky breath from somewhere around Mal’s collarbone. It tickles. “All I know is spring,” he says softly. 

Mal runs a firm hand down and up his back. They’re the ones who guessed a birthday for him in the first place, a few years back, when the rest of them were hitting puberty and he was still tiny, and the age difference between them all was more obvious than usual. “You know that we’re just guessing on that, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Mal lets him muffle an uncomfortably loud hitching breath against her shirt. “We’re pretty sure.” she reassures him. “If you had been born in winter, you wouldn’t have made it through to spring. And the same for fall.” 

Carlos blows out a steadying breath against the underside of her chin. “That’s so reassuring.” he mumbles. 

“We didn’t know you existed until you toddled up to school one day. Give us a break.” 

“Jay knows his birthday.” 

Mal resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Jay knows his birthday because he had to hear about how he killed his mother every winter.” 

Carlos sounds sulky as he mumbles his next answer against Mal’s chest. “I know.” 

Ugh. Managing emotions is never Mal’s strong suit.

“We can get you a cake once we get the wand, okay?” she offers, cajoling. “All the cake you could possibly want. A whole spring full of cake. You can pick whichever month you want.” 

He rolls over, away from her. “Great.” 

Mal scoots over to meet him. Gods, these beds are gigantic. “A different cake every da-ayy,” she sing-songs in his ear. “All the cake you can eat.” 

Carlos kicks her in the shins. It’s hard to tell if he means it or not, though, because he kicks in his sleep anyway.

“We could get a cake so big a dancing girl pops out of it.” Mal says. “We’ll put Evie in a cake. Or Jay. You wanna see your boyfriend pop out of a giant cake? They’ve got that here, and it could all be ours once we get the wand.” 

Carlos relents with the kicking, and lets Mal spoon up to him again. “That’d be fun.” he admits. 

Mal pets his face, leaning fully into the ridiculous idea now. “Ice cream cake. Chocolate cake. Cake-pie.” 

Carlos chokes on a laugh, somehow managing to keep himself quiet. “Can we get pie now?” he asks. “Midnight pie?” 

“Yeah.” Mal whispers. “Go wake up the others.” 

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Hey Vaunna, if you ever want to try and write something to make me cry, hit me up. Imma start making a list of things I’ve almost and actually cried over in fics-

Make me suffer, I dare you.

welp here we go! good luck everyone LOL

summary: Team ZIT face a blast from Zedaph's past

...

“I dunno about you but I think having only a set of coordinates sent to our communicators with no explanation is never a good thing,” says Tango, gazing around the clearing.

Impulse nods. “Agreed. Especially considering it’s been five minutes and… nobody’s here.”

As if on cue, someone walks out through the trees. The two jerk in surprise but relax when they register who it is.

“Oh, Zed, it’s you,” breathes Tango. “Why did you send us these coords?”

Zedaph doesn’t reply as he walks over to a tree on the edge of the clearing and pulls a lever.

Immediately, a glass box springs up from the ground and closes around the two.

“Hey!” Tango snaps, hitting the glass with his first. “What the hell are you doing, Zed?!”

“Tango?!” comes Zedaph’s voice from the opposite side of the clearing.

Tango and Impulse turn sharply to find… Zedaph running into the clearing.

After a stunned moment, they turn back. Zedaph is standing by the lever he just pulled, but he doesn’t look EXACTLY like Zedaph anymore. His eyes flash red, his hair more tousled and a slightly darker shade of blond.

“What’s happening here?!” Tango demands. “Why are there two of you? Who’s the real Zed?!”

“I am,” says the newcomer Zedaph immediately. “He’s…”

His face pales as he properly registers who’s standing on the other side of the clearing.

“I’m Helsaph,” the first Zedaph says. “Your dear Zedaph’s hels counterpart.”

“What’s going on?” asks Impulse nervously. “Why have you locked us in a glass box?”

“Oh, cuz I thought you might want to hear about what Zedaph did to me,” Helsaph responds aggressively.

Zedaph slowly moves forward towards Helsaph, but stops several blocks away. “I…”

“What the hell could Zed have possibly done to YOU?” Tango growls.

Helsaph jabs his finger at his counterpart. “You wanna tell them what you did or shall I?”

Zedaph’s mouth opens and closes uselessly for a few seconds, before he squeezes his eyes shut and looks away.

Helsaph turns to the two in the box. “Let me see if this jogs your memory of anything.”

He pulls out a pink item from his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

Tango and Impulse freeze in horror.

“Look familiar?” says Helsaph challengingly. “Huh?”

Impulse stares helplessly at the helsmit. “I don’t… understand.”

Helsaph barks a laugh. “What, you don’t really think it was the real Zedaph under that mask, do you? Surely you don’t really think the mastermind behind the PR stunt that was Wormman would be out there risking his OWN neck?”

“Zed, what is he saying?” Tango demands.

“I recruited Helsaph to be Wormman and then I abandoned him in Season 5 when we moved on to the next world!” Zedaph bursts out suddenly.

Silence falls. Tango and Impulse exchange a look of horror.

“You didn’t know that, huh?” Helsaph taunts. “Guess your precious little best friend never told you that he’s not the moral angel you think he is.”

“Zed…” Impulse gazes at his friend in disappointment. “Why?”

Zedaph doesn’t answer. Instead, he murmurs, “There. I said it. Is that what you wanted, Helsaph?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the collar and yanks him off the ground. “Is that it?! “Is that what you wanted?”?! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A GHOST WORLD FOR THREE YEARS!”

He tosses Zedaph away as if Zedaph weighed nothing. No sooner has Zedaph landed on the ground than he looks up to find Helsaph charging at him. He can’t react in time to stop Helsaph from slamming his boot into his stomach, yanking all the air from his lungs and causing him to dissolve into a fit of coughing.

“ZED!” Tango screeches, hitting the glass wall with all his strength. It starts to crack under his blows.

“You made me play the hero!” Helsaph yells at his counterpart. “You trained me and spent time with me and made me CARE about you and then you just tossed me aside like I was NOTHING to you! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to learn that the person you thought loved you actually didn’t give a DAMN about you?!”

“I…!” Zedaph’s voice fails and he hangs his head. “I’m… I’m sorry...”

“Oh, you’re SORRY?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the throat and slams him against a tree, the pressure on Zedaph’s windpipe abruptly cutting off his breathing.

“You think SORRY is going to make up for what you did?!”

“Get off him!” screams Tango’s voice.

A second later, Tango himself barrels into Helsaph, knocking him to the ground and releasing his grip on Zedaph, who drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

Impulse appears at Zedaph’s side and envelopes him in a hug. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Zed.”

A little way off, Tango is kneeling on Helsaph’s back, keeping him pressed to the ground. As Helsaph struggles against Tango’s grip on his arms, he screams, “All I wanted was to be loved! ALL I WANTED WAS TO BE ACCEPTED!”

“Shut up!” Tango snarls at him.

“Tango, don’t hurt him!” pleads Zedaph hoarsely, his vision blurred. Weakly pushing Impulse away, he stumbles blindly towards the hazy figures of Helsaph and Tango. “Let him go!”

“Let him go?!” Tango echoes in disbelief. “HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!”

“Please, Tango! Let him go!”

Tango stares at Zedaph in disbelief for a moment, before huffing and releasing Helsaph, though he keeps a firm eye on the helsmit. “Fine.”

Helsaph slowly pushes himself to his knees, his eyes fixed on Zedaph. All his anger seems to have vanished, replaced by despair. “Why did you not want me anymore?” he cries. “W-Was I not good enough…? Did I do something wrong…?”

“No…! I never intended to hurt you.” Zedaph’s voice cracks with emotion. “This is all my fault. I should never have abandoned you, I… I was just so scared of what you might become that I never considered I could help you not become it. And instead… my worst fears came true, and it’s all my fault. Helsaph, I’m so sorry.”

Zedaph slowly moves forward and, kneeling down in front of Helsaph, brings him into a hug.

And after a few seconds, the dam breaks.

Tango and Impulse stand together a safe distance away, watching their best friend hug his crying Hels counterpart.

“All he ever wanted was a family,” says Impulse quietly. “People to care about him the way we care about Zed.”

Tango hesitates for a moment, then makes a decision. He joins Zedaph and Helsaph on the ground and wraps his arms around both of them. Impulse does the same on the other side, both he and Tango holding their Zedaphs tightly.

“I wanna be a hero again, Zedaph,” croaks Helsaph. “Have I messed it up?”

“No no, you haven’t messed anything up,” Zedaph says reassuringly. “If anything, I’M the one who messed everything up. Can you forgive me, Hels…?”

Helsaph sits back on his heels, regarding Zedaph with wary eyes. “But… But how do I know you won’t abandon me again if I stop being useful?”

Zedaph anxiously clasps his hands together. “I know you won’t trust me again for a long time, and that’s… that’s completely valid. But I… I refuse to judge your worth based on how “useful” you are again. From now on, you’re my brother and I’ll stick by you, no matter what.”

“B… Brother…?” repeats Helsaph shakily. “You mean…?”

“You’re part of the ZIT family now,” Impulse chuckles, tousling Helsaph’s hair. “Double Zedaph.”

Helsaph stares at Impulse with wide eyes. “I… Why would you want me here after everything I did…?”

“Because Zed made some mistakes and he’s my friend so I want to help him fix them,” Impulse replies kindly. “Right, Tango?”

Tango nods back. “Absolutely. Plus, I mean, you can never have too much Zedaph, know what I mean?”

Sensing that Helsaph is about to cry again, Zedaph quickly steps in and says, “You know, Hels, you actually arrived at a great time. We could do with a hero right now. You remember Evil X?”

Helsaph nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Very well.”

“They’re back on the server causing a bit of mischief, running a scheme that’s definitely a scam. The server could use a hero to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t do anything evil.” Zedaph grins. “What do you think? You up to the challenge?”

“I…” Helsaph hesitates. “I’m out of practise.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” says Tango. “We’ll help ya.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you back up into the best superhero on the server,” Impulse adds happily.

Zedaph hands Helsaph the pink mask the latter dropped earlier. “Welcome back, Wormman,” he says softly.

After a moment, Helsaph takes the mask and puts it on.

And with this action, Helsaph’s road to recovery, surrounded by his brand new family, begins.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

*°:⋆ₓₒCollab Masterlistₓₒ⋆:°*

Pairing: All Might x Gn!Dom!Reader (Theme for this month was sex work au!)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+ this is a dark fic, both dubcon/noncon, straight up, forced submission, bit of mind break, dom/sub dynamics, sub!All Might, dominant All Might later in, dark All Might, violence against reader, bodily harm, face fucking, spanking (for Toshi), thigh riding (for Toshi), blackmail, minor mentions of blood, bondage/rope play, reader is gender neutral, no pronouns used

Summary: You work as a popular dominant for pro heroes who need to give up control once in awhile and Yagi Toshinori is one of your best clients. But when word gets out to the media about your involvement with pros, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Though you quickly discover All Might does not take kindly to anyone who threatens his reputation. 

It was all about the exchanging of power. 

About the relinquishing of control—about letting go and the freedom that came with it.  

And you?

You were just there to facilitate, to take over, to release all those bottled up years of stress that the camera’s weren’t supposed to see. 

But you did. 

You saw all of it. 

It was about trust too. Trust in you to give them what they need and trust in them to do exactly as you instructed. And most of all, trust that everything stayed confidential. That the things said through tears and whimpers and sighs were kept quiet. Trust that they would show you the same respect and privacy you showed them. 

You took these rules very seriously. They were the foundation your business was built on and it had earned you quite a lot of credibility. You prided yourself on it, as you should. Professionalism was key in your line of work. It made the clients feel a bit more comfortable—counteracted the sense of taboo that was usually associated with people like you. 

People in “your line of work,” was the common way of referencing it. But you preferred to be clear and upfront, not skirt around the edges as though your job was something shameful.

Language was important too. 

“Client,” “session,” etc...all added a buffering degree of separation for those you serviced. It was a crucial part of the balance which has allowed you to be so successful. They needed to be able to remove themselves from who they became once you were alone together. You’d learned that some amount of plausible deniability was key to achieving the complete relinquishing of authority. They had to be able to convince themselves after they’d walked away, that the crying, begging mess they’d become wasn’t who they really were—wasn’t actually a part of them, just something you’d done.

And by them, of course, you meant the heroes you served so dutifully. 

And by serve, you meant completely and utterly dominate. 

Contradictory to most common misconceptions, your job wasn’t always about sex—though it could be and was at time—but truly, it was about release. 

And above all, it was about power and who got to hold it. 

When that structure was broken—when the rules were strayed from—that’s when things got murky. But you were good at what you did, so luckily, that hadn’t been much of an issue. 

What more could one expect from someone whose services are sought out by the Symbol of Peace himself?

Hm. 

You really ought to get that put on your business cards. 

***

It was late when he came to you, though that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Occasional hero work coupled with a teaching schedule and numerous media appearances left one very little free time. Fortunately, you conducted most of your business during the small hours of the morning, so Yagi Toshinori showing up at your door as the clock ticked its way past two wasn’t a shock. 

You fell into the usual rhythm of things easily. 

Toshi was one of your newest, but most favorite clients. You came highly recommended from many of his coworkers, and after an initial meeting over drinks to discuss his needs, you struck up a routine that worked for the both of you. 

Of course he paid you handsomely for your time. 

Constantly being in the public eye, acting as an unwavering representation of hope for the future was tiring. You were more than happy to take the weight off his very broad shoulders for once. 

And bend him over your knee instead. 

“Five,” he panted, whimpers of thanks and your name spilling out around his loose tongue as your hand connected sharply with the meat of his ass again. 

You always asked to be called by name, no frilly titles to get in the way and complicate the dynamic. When they walked into your space, they set aside their hero personas and you afforded them the same intimacy. 

Names meant something. Names were power and so they mattered, particularly in this game you played together. Equality had to be achieved before domination. 

“Good boy Toshi, you’re doing so well,” you cooed and brought your palm down twice, watching the skin on the backs of his thighs bloom pink like sakura in the spring. 

“S-six, seven,” there was a wet spot forming under his mouth on the sheets and on your lap where his cock was bare and leaking. “Ah, please—harder!” 

You raised your brow as he turned his head to look at you with those teary, dark eyes and you could never resist a look like that. 

“You want it harder, why’s that?” you wound back and smacked roughly over the raised welts that made him hiss and sob. “Is this what you deserve for being so weak?”

He may have been thin now, skeletal compared to the face he showed the public, but you didn’t mind. He trusted you enough to let his guard down, and his weight was still thick and full across your legs. It was invigorating to see a man like All Might, reduced to this. Whatever pent up guilt he carried inside, you were here to help let it all out in the best way you knew how. 

“Yes!” Toshi cried and buried his face into the plush fabric of your comforter as you delivered the last three harsh blows of the punishment he paid you for. “Fuck yes, I’m weak and I’m a failure and I deserve this—!”

“That’s right, you’re a piss poor excuse for a hero and you haven’t earned your title,” you wrapped two thick locks of his hair around your hand and yanked hard till he craned his neck to face you. “What would the world say if they could see what a sobbing mess you are when no one’s looking?”

He opened his mouth to speak, hips twitching and grinding uselessly against your thigh. The second that plush pink tongue dipped past his lips, you were rearing back to spit straight between his teeth. 

Toshi’s face was always priceless in these moments. You’d almost be willing to do it for free if you only got to see the way his brows shot up and those red rimmed eyes blew so wide as you steeled yourself and looked him dead on. 

“Now, swallow like the little bitch I know you are.” 

And he did, of course he does, because behind your bedroom door Yagi Toshinori was your good boy. So you got to watch his throat bob as your spit slid down and he moaned so pretty at the awful things you said to him. 

Your palm kneaded against the red, raw flesh of his ass and you watched how he squirmed at the sting. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. Your head was spinning from the smell alone and the high of the control you wielded over this man. His hands fisted hard in your bed sheets and you let him helplessly rut against you a few times before running your free hand up the graceful curve of his spine. 

“Oh, you really are so disgusting Toshi,” you mused as your nails dig into the planes of muscles to drag angry red lines over the skin. “Did you really get that hard from me slapping this tight little ass of yours?”

He groaned pathetically and nodded, not bothering to hide how his dick had been oozing obscene amounts of precum every time you etched a new welt on his skin. The blush that crept up his chest and painted his cheeks had spread between his legs too. The unfairly massive cock that Toshi sported was flushed a dark angry red at the tip and you couldn’t help but have mercy on him. 

Well, only a little bit. 

You weren’t here to be nice tonight, even if a part of you might have liked to be. 

“Do you want to cum, Toshi?” you asked, lacing your voice with the false sweetness you knew he loved. “Have you been aching for it all night?”

He keened, crying your name and rutting his hips harder against you. It sent a rush of warmth between your legs despite your better efforts to remain unaffected. This wasn’t about you, this was about ownership and his pleasure. 

“Mhmm,” his voice was little more than a rasp, “wanna cum so bad, please!”   

You laughed, but it was a cruel thing and you knew he could feel the rumble of it in his scarred chest. 

“You did so perfectly taking your punishment,” you raked your nails over the raised handprints again just to hear him cry out. “I suppose I’ll let you cum, but you’ll have to work for it.” 

Toshi’s breathing was ragged as you helped him up to straddle one of your legs. His swollen cock rested on the plushest part of your thigh, the tip nudging your hip and drawing choked gasps from the man towering above you. 

He stared down at you, confused when you didn’t move to stroke him. 

“Go on, then,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your palms so you could lean back and watch the show. “I said you’d have to work for it, didn’t I?”

You punctuated your question with a bounce of your knee that rocked his length against the fabric of your pants. It didn’t take long for him to catch on, eyes squeezing shut against the waves of shame and embarrassment that just made it so much hotter as he slowly began to ride your thigh. 

He might be paying you to be ruthless, but Toshi was kind to a fault from what you’ve learned of him and he ke[t most of his massive weight held on the balls of his feet so you weren’t crushed below him. Under any other circumstances, you might have actually enjoyed that quite a bit, but his face—cherry red with spit-slicked lips held parted with the force of his pants—was enough for now. 

His cock was so heavy you almost couldn’t believe it was real. You nearly didn’t the first time he’d stripped for you, but even just the drag of it through your clothes was delectable. It was so long and thick you needed both hands to wrap fully around it, and he gushed like a fucking gieser when you got him under your metaphorical boot. 

With every rock of his bony hips, his length was forced up against the curve of your stomach and he whined at the glistening strands of slick that connected his tip to you.   

“Come on, Toshi,” you clicked your tongue disappointedly at him, letting a hand fall to the puckered skin at his waist, squeezing harshly. “I know you can do better than that.”

He was beyond words now, you could tell by the way his jaw was loose and his teeth clacked with every thrust, but he did gasp out a long, high pitched moan that made up for it. The speed of his humping increased, becoming erratic as he hunched on the bed, hands beside yours. He loomed over you but anyone could tell just by the composed, serene smile playing at your lips—and the absolutely wrecked noises spilling from Toshi—just which one of you was really in control. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” 

You knew he liked it when you spewed filth to him right before he boiled over and you were more than willing to oblige. 

“You’re gonna cum like a fucking teenager humping his pillow, isn’t that right?” you snarled the words up at him and he really did cry then, big fat tears dripping down onto your shirt. “All Might, the number one hero is gonna cum all over my lap like the slut he is.”

He nods frantically. You know his balls were tensing up as he sobbed and spluttered—completely ruined. Just the way he needed to be. 

“Then cum.” 

You finally wrapped your fist just around his aching tip and he exploded into your palm. Rope after rope of sticky, white release coated your arm and dripped onto the bed. He kept grinding his hips, working himself through the climax, cock still pulsing and leaking in your grip. You didn’t mind the mess. 

He always tipped a bit extra if he left stains anyway. 

Such a gentleman.

When the last wave of his orgasm had petered out, Toshi collapsed to the side with his face buried in your pillow and his long legs still strewn across your lap. He didn’t usually ask for much in the realm of aftercare, preferring that you cleaned him and let him rest for a bit before he suited up and rushed off into the night. 

You gave him a minute before you got up to wet a warm cloth in the sink. He looked so destroyed, you couldn’t help but admire your handiwork. As you palm his ass once more, fingers spreading him so his pink hole was on display, you slipped your phone silently from your pocket, and snapped a few shots of the nasty red hand marks and smears of cum as he groaned deeply at the touch. 

His voice was lower as he grunted and you could tell he’s coming out of the subspace you’d thrust him into hours before. Quickly you slid the device smoothly away before lifting his legs from you and settling them gently on the bed to work on tidying up your mess. 

You didn’t feel particularly good about keeping this kind of collateral, but as much power as you hold in the four walls of your bedroom, you were frustratingly weak once you left them. These men you worked with, while generally professional, were also top heroes. Top heroes who really didn’t want their embarrassing private lives getting out. Top heroes who thrived off reputation and who would willingly throw you under the bus in a second to protect that. 

You liked Yagi Toshinori. 

But you didn’t know him. 

Smacking someone’s ass or stroking their cock every few weeks didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. 

So you kept your personal insurance that would be there should one of your clientele decide to forsake you in favor of their public image. And you would never use it unless you absolutely had too. 

After all, this was about trust and power and the exchange of those two things. Or at least it was supposed to be. Trust was quite a subjective thing. 

The general citizenry trusted All Might to protect them against the growing evil in Japan’s underground. But behind the scenes, you knew his failing health had caused him to seek you out as the intense guilt of his lie came crashing down on him.

Toshi trusted you to relieve his pain and indulge in his degrading fantasies, and you hadn’t failed him yet. 

But your trust was not easily bought, and none of your customers ever paid much mind to whether your perceived belief in them was genuine. 

After so many glimpses into the messes of pro-heroes personal lives, you knew you’d have to be your own protector. Hence, the photos remained in a locked folder hidden away as you sat yourself down next to the dozing hero and wiped away as much evidence of your meeting as you could. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, lathing the warm cloth between his legs and softening length. 

“Good, all things considered,” he responded, voice returned to it’s normal, deep baritone. 

“I sincerely hope you won’t have to do much sitting tomorrow,” you quipped and it earned you a chuckle. 

“I’ll manage.” 

You rolled him gently and finished clearing the rest of his spend from the flat expanse of his stomach. Toshi mumbled his thanks and you gave his thigh a friendly squeeze before retreating from the room to shower and change yourself. 

He’d be gone by the time you got out, notification of payment on your phone and a sizable tip left on your dresser as a parting gift. 

And as long as Yagi Toshinori was just as good a boy on the outside as he was here, then the world would never need to know what their Symbol of Peace got up behind your closed doors. 

***

“All Might! Mister All Might, sir!” 

The grating voice of that shithead reporter echoed through the speakers of your headphones over and over again. Your hand shook as the train stuttered to a halt and a wave of passengers burst out onto the platform. 

“All Might, are the rumors true!?” 

Your stomach sank as the reporter shouted your name above the ruckus of microphones and camera flashes and roaring bodies. Their voice was like chalk on your tongue, dry and cracked and clamoring to know whether the Symbol of Peace was involved with the recently revealed ‘seedy’ and ‘scandalous’ sex ring between yourself and multiple top ranking heroes. 

You’d been out having a relaxing lunch with friends in the city when everyone’s phones blew up. It wasn’t that you hid the general details of your job, but by the looks on their faces were enough to make your face burn. The judgement was clear—what you did was abhorrent, disgusting and by extension, so were you. Reporters had caught you on camera with a certain second ranking pro and very quickly deduced exactly who you were and what services you offered. 

The tabloids took it and ran, dragging your reputation behind them. 

Call after call and text, dms on your social media pages, all from news outlets requesting interviews or quotes or hero fans calling you a ‘shameless whore’ for going after pros—hell death threats had even begun to fill your inboxes. 

Hero fans really were ride or die, you supposed, although the ‘die’ in that scenario seemed to refer more to you than themselves. They would never believe their precious big boy crush had ever associated with the likes of you, had ever willingly kneeled for you—had ever enjoyed it. 

They couldn’t understand the things you did, all they saw was some false emasculation.   

And if it came out that Toshinori had any contact with you, his career would be ruined. 

You had hoped from the little you’d learned about him in your sessions, that he’d simply deny knowing you existed at all. That he’d have mercy on you, treat you like the thousand helpless civilians he pulled from burning buildings or whatever the hell heroes did these days. 

But you’d been right before to say that you didn’t know Toshi. 

And now you certainly didn’t like him either. 

“Are you one of the pros involved?” the reporter hounded again as All Might’s massive form panned into frame. 

“As your Symbol of Peace, I certainly do not partake in such degenerate behavior,” his words rang out, deep and resonating. “I would never associate with someone who’s actions border on criminal.” 

The dark, soulless pits he called eyes stared mockingly from your tiny screen as his signature laugh reverberated through your ears along with the train’s clacking breaks. You ripped the headphones from your ears and closed out of the app, ducking your head and pushing towards the door. Everyone’s eyes were drilling into you, worming deep under your skin and making you squirm like so many of those heroes had done on your silk sheets. 

Rationally, you were aware not many people would have seen the story yet. Tabloid trash took a day or two to disseminate into the general social media outlets and for people to take notice. Your friends only knew because your name stuck out to them, but you were hardly recognizable in your typical citizen attire. Even still. 

Your life, your work, all of it was on display. 

And he’d called you a degenerate. 

The infallible All Might had taken your name and tossed it in the guttered, likened you to a villain and single handedly destroyed everything you’d built in the process. 

Years of effort and crawling your way up the ranks of society all for nothing.  

All so some washed up hero could keep his fantasy of success going for just a little longer. Toshi trusted you with his secrets, his weakness, his body, and you’d defended that at every turn. The only thing he had to do was pay a small fee for your time and discretion. 

But no amount of money could fix your toppled character. Nothing could reverse your place as a disgusting slut in the eyes of literal millions of people. 

Bold of Yagi Toshinori to underestimate you so thoroughly, to think that you’d sit back in the rubble as he rescued cats and little kids and lived his delusion of perfection.

This was about trust and power. 

When those lines were crossed, that’s when things got messy. 

And you’d make sure to leave so big a mess, Toshi would never dream of coming back from it. 

***

Your apartment building was thankfully free of any press when you arrived home. It had been a few days since All Might instigated your public slander, but the mass media hadn’t managed to track you down after you went into a short period of hiding. 

You needed time to let all your other clients involved in the scandal play their cards. 

There would be no use in condemning one just to have them warn the rest of their equally impending doom. That way you could be assured they’d all come crashing down with you. Especially the blonde poster boy of hero society himself. 

His would be the sweetest fall. 

It had been long enough now that you could start compiling. You locked the door behind you, shrugging off your coat and settling on the couch. The plush cushions sank as you fell back, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts. Toshi was there, two red and blue hearts on either side of his name. You pulled up his text thread. 

You’d thought about going public of course. 

Of course you had.

Your entire career had been trashed, you’d been shamed by the number one hero himself and your personal life was blasted over social media. 

But you were human, so you were weak. 

And you had liked Toshi. 

Well, you hated him now—a deeply dark, burning resentment—but before that, he’d been so sweet to you in a way that most were not. Respectful and nice and you were unused to it. So, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to eradicate his credibility in the same outright manner. 

No, you had decided you’d give him a chance.

Because you were better than him. 

A chance to atone, come clean, apologize the way you’re sure he would if his public image wasn’t so goddamn important to him. So you didn’t reach out to any of the media outlets that had been hounding your socials for the past week, and didn't offer them the inside scoop quite yet. Instead, you stared at the handsome contact photo of your hero client and slowly typed him up a message he couldn’t ignore. 

It was short and sweet, polite but firm. You acknowledged he most certainly did not want to speak with you—in fact, you weren’t very inclined to speak with him ever again either—but you happened to be in possession of some fairly compromising photographic evidence of your time together. And if that evidence were ever to, say, end up in the pocket of the exact scandal rag that sent voice clips of All Might all but denouncing you as a whore to the nation, well. Things would certainly not end well for him. 

But, you were nothing if not professional. 

He knew that. 

You never wanted to use these, but he had forced your hand. Of course you were more than willing to work out a deal with him. 

He was your favorite client after all. 

In any case, he knew how to reach you, and he had a generous 48 hours to give you an answer to your proposition. 

Oh and you were kind enough to provide a little snapshot of just exactly the type of evidence you meant. 

Your thumb hovered over the little blue arrow to send. The phone clacked against your nails as it shook in your grip, slick from sweat and frayed nerves. You couldn’t quite tell if you were anxious or angry or some awful combination of the two, but your heart was in your throat as you shut your eyes and pressed send. 

There was no going back, and if this all came tumbling to the ground, you promised yourself that you would shatter gracefully. 

Letting the screen go dim, you stared in silence at the small check mark confirming the message had been delivered and your fate sealed. You pulled yourself to your feet and made your way to the bedroom. 

He’d get back to you soon, or maybe he wouldn’t. You couldn’t know for sure whether or not Toshi would simply ignore your texts and be blindsided when the deadline passed and you destroyed him all over again in a far less enjoyable manner than you used to. But whatever the case, it was out of your hands for now. 

With aching feet and tired eyes, you stripped slowly and stumbled towards the bathroom. Turning the water to just below scalding, you did your best to scrub away any pesky remaining guilt that clung to you in a thin, suffocating film. 

You told yourself that there was no other choice. That you would have found another way if there was one. That this was how business often went. You had seen it before when you first entered in the field of sex work and you’d see it again. So you scrubbed yourself raw and let all your doubts trickle down the drain. 

Tonight, you would sleep restlessly, but it was a fair enough burden to carry for your honor. 

You were foolish to believe the cost of revenge wouldn’t bear a heftier price. 

***

You woke slowly, trapped momentarily in the strange limbo between sleep and consciousness that fooled you into thinking the strange tightness at your wrists was nothing more than a leftover side effect of a dream. 

The reality was so much worse.

It wasn’t until you felt the blunt, radiating sting of knuckles backhanded against your cheek that the haze of sleep fell away, and you could truly appreciate the scene before you. 

Which was to say, you could take the opportunity to scream before Yagi Toshinori’s fingers were shoved down your throat to muffle the noise. He was large, shirt seams full to bursting, and sporting an expression you’d never seen before. His eyes, while always dark, were like holes now and they filled you with an unfamiliar sense of dread. 

He’d called you a villain before, and now he was looking at you like one too. 

“Oh no,” Toshi hissed. His voice was impossibly deep, reverberating against your ribs painfully, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you.” 

One quick bout of struggling made it very apparent he didn’t want you moving either as your wrists had been bound behind your back and your ankles were similarly immobilized. The fingers in your mouth pressed hard on your tongue, his thumb pushing below your chin to make you choke and splutter. 

“You really let all that power get to your head, didn’t you?” Toshi’s voice was buzzing in your ears and mingling with the pain in your jaw. He put one massive knee on the mattress and hooked his fingers behind your teeth, forcing you to sit up from the bed.

You could feel your face burn as he looked down at you, drool slipping passed your lips and coating his fingers. The straining bulge in his pants looked even bigger than you remembered now that he was no longer the slip of a man you’d come to know as Yagi Toshinori. 

No this was All Might, the Symbol of Peace. 

And you got the feeling that whatever was about to happen, it was not going to be peaceful for you.  

He had you tied and trussed like a piece of meat, and he would treat you like one. You’d seen this before, you’d tied these knots—he’d been where you were now, but he’d asked for it. The loss of control was never something you’d delighted in on a good day, and now the rising pressure in your chest and the sensation of walls closing had panic coursing through you.  

“Did you really think that I’d come back here willing to grovel at your feet?” he jeered, the trademark smile on his face more snarl than grin. 

He shook your jaw violently in his grasp, listening to the joints pop as they tried to stretch around his thick fingers. Your name left his mouth in a mock coo, just as you had done to him so many nights before. “Remember, you might get to call me a bitch but it’s only because I let you.”

Your hands trembled violently against the bonds which tore the delicate skin and rubbed it raw. Toshi’s free hand traveled along his thigh to rub himself through his pants, his knuckles brushing your nose as he bucked into his palm. 

“But now you’ve stepped out of line,” he mused and clicked his tongue as though you were a student who’d done poorly on his latest exam. “And I’m going to make sure that whore mouth of yours never utters my fucking name again.” 

Eyes wide with horror, you watched as Toshi’s fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of his slacks until his cock had sprung free, monstrous in length and girth, dripping onto your forehead. 

You’d seen it before, but it seemed bigger now. So big that you’d never been able to take it, and Toshi had been staunchly against you ever trying lest he quite literally split you in two. But any kindness he’d shown you before was clearly off the table. His fingers pumped in and out of your throat as if preparing you somehow to take the stretch. It wouldn’t help. You knew that. He knew that. 

Toshinori smiled as he removed his fingers in favor of digging the spit slicked digits into the joints of your jaw, ensuring you wouldn’t bite down on him as he pressed the spongy tip to your lips. The panic that had set in—making your blood rush and your limbs shake—was constricting your chest and the pressure of Toshi’s dick pushing past your teeth made your breathing even more erratic. 

You whimpered loudly, trying to wrench your head away as the strong salt and musk flavor of his pre cum spread across your tongue, but that only made him thrust forward harder. His length quickly hit resistance back of your throat as you gagged and tears burned at the corners of your eyes. 

The ache in your jaw was already unbearable and your bottom lip was being rubbed raw by warm spit and the friction of Toshi roughly fighting to sink his dick fully into your mouth. 

“Mm, that’s it,” he groaned as you inadvertently licked over his tip, trying to force him away. “You look so much better like this.” 

He ran a falsely sweet hand across your cheek, collecting the stream of tears and using the moisture to slick the rest of his length. Your chest heaved in a mixture of gags and increasingly violent sobbing. You were stretched painfully wide as he rolled his hips again, pushing the thickest bit of his cock into your mouth and forcing your teeth to dig painfully into your upper lip. With the next thrust, he was able to sink another excruciating inch deep into your throat. Blood rushed from where you bit yourself and caused crimson streaks to form as Toshi fucked slowly into your mouth. 

Your mind was slipping. 

You’d had so little time to process the encounter, so instead your brain had secluded most of your consciousness into a precious little box, away from the intense burning in your throat as Toshi finally sank all of his innumerable inches completely into you. Your throat bulged and protested, tightening in an attempt to force him out. 

It only made him moan loudly and dig his fingers into your hair. 

“See?” he huffed, pulling out at an agonizing pace only to ram his length in roughly to the hilt. “I’d never lie to my public, you really are just as much of a slut as they say you are.” 

You shrieked around his cock, though it was muffled so badly by the lack of air and the wet slap of his constant thrusting that no one but you could hear the screaming in your own head. The pain was unbearable, this awful friction burning sensation that had your stomach churning and your chest wracked with stifled cries. Your bound legs kicked and your fingers grasped useless at the sheets as Toshi fucked your mouth reckless abandon. 

Time blurred along with your vision, whether from the lack of oxygen or the tears you weren’t sure. 

And most horrifyingly of all, was the pleasure that grew as your mind drowned the pain in darkness. You felt as though you were floating, disgusted but euphoric and the slide of him against your lips became delicious. Heat rose in you and built between your legs accompanied by a distant and unfamiliar ache to please, to be touched, to taste him, to obey.

You wondered if this was how he felt when you forced his mouth on you. If he slid into this strange space where your mind was a separate entity and the only thing that mattered was the pain and the pleasure and the release. 

Because somehow, in the midst of your struggle and revulsion, he’d made this strange, incorporeal part of you enjoy this. 

All the fight had drained out of you, letting your jaw hang slack and your tongue flick up to catch his tip on every backstroke. Your eyes flitted up to look at him through the haze of tears and sweat, hoping strangely that he’d be pleased with you. And the groan you earned yourself was delectable. 

You gave in, then. Let yourself be swept away by the rushing of blood in your ears and the rhythm of Toshi tearing you apart.  

At some point, you could distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth. 

You couldn’t even taste it when he came, his cock was too obscenely deep in your neck, but the warmth of it burned your bleeding throat and filled your belly with a hot finality. 

You weren’t even afforded the dignity of spitting his seed onto the floor where it belonged, ignoring the searing voice in your head that revealed in being rewarded with his essence. 

When Toshi finally pulled out and tucked himself away, your head fell limply to your chest. A series of violent coughs erupted from you as a thick, viscous mixture of blood and spit and cum dripped from your tongue. 

Those impossibly large hands gripped your chin once again, forcing you to look up into those piercing black eyes. 

“Now, you’re never going to speak about me again,” he wasn’t asking but you glared up at him as his hand fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone. 

The device was comically small in those hands of his as he aimed it at your ruined face and snapped a picture—the flash blinding you while he reached around and roughly undid the knotted rope keeping you in place. 

“Because if you do, I’ll make sure those reporters know everything I said about you was nothing but the truth.” 

The loudest part of you wanted to scream, to punch and bite and tell him it wasn’t. That you were a professional, with self-respect and dignity and you were good and your job, but— 

But when you opened your sore and aching jaw to shout, nothing came out. 

No sound, no yell, no words. 

Just this awful rasp that made your throat feel like pins were sticking into the abused flesh. 

“Well, looks like I might not need this after all,” Toshi dangled the phone in front of your face before pocketing it once again. “Looks like you won’t be saying much of anything for a good long while.”

And then Yagi Toshinori left. 

He turned on his heel and walked out as you toppled off the bed behind him, trying so hard to scream despite the pain and the ripping in your chest—whether they were curses or cries for him to stay, you weren’t sure.  

But there was nothing either way. 

So you sat and screamed in silent agony at his retreating form until the sound of a door slamming rang out through your home. 

It seemed that in all your years of playing this game, you’d finally been toppled off your tightrope. 

Because you were good at your job, so you knew. It was all about the exchange of power, and yours had just been thoroughly stripped away. 

[harper-hook]

Into The Woods | Harry Hook x Reader

Request: Can I request a Harry X reader where the reader is Peter Pan's daughter and they hate each other at first but then things get really heated between them and it turns into full on smut?

Warnings: Oral sex

Author’s Note: This almost killed me to write tbh

The familiar scraping of metal on metal made you groan mentally and slam your locker. “what do ya want now, Hook?” You snapped, unfortunately used to your father’s enemy's son bothering you. “Just came to see me favorite little sprite.” He replied with a wide grin, seeing how it got under your skin.

You stopped yourself before you yelled at him and caused a scene. It was the day right before Spring Break and you didn’t want to damper your spirits by earning after school detention as soon as you got back. “Well you saw me. Now back off.” You ordered.

Harry stepped back, faking a wounded look. “My plans don’t involve backing off.” He smirked. “Quite the opposite in fact, seeing as you’re heading back to Neverland.” You groaned and rolld your eyes. This again. 

“If you let me tag along, I’ll make it worth your wild.” He practically purred, getting up in your personal bubble. You sneered at him. “Listen, Hook and listen good.” You poked him chest with your finger. “You will never! Set foot in Neverland if I have anything to say about it!” You hissed.

Harry’s smirk dropped and he adopted an angry glare. You were a bit nervous but you couldn’t back down now. “Then we’ll just have to hope nothing happens to ya!” He hissed. You growled, getting in his face and bawling your fists.

“Hook! Pan!” You snapped out of your rage as Fairy Godmother came bustling around the corner, catching you both. Uh oh...

One long and infuriating detention later, you were finally packing up. “Stupid Hook and his stupid face...” You ranted to Ben over the phone. Ben sighed as you leaned against the side of your car, trunk still open. “Didn’t you think he was cute when he first came here?” Mal asked, joining Ben on the other line.

The good thing about being over the phone was no one could see you roll your eyes. "That was before he opened his mouth." You huffed. “So you’re gonna talk to Tiger Peony about the trade deal between Neverland and Auradon, right?” Ben changed the subject.

“Yeah I’ll do your job while on my spring break, Ben.” You rolled your eyes. "I appreciate it, you know?" He said. "Uh huh. See if you can lower my detention sessions when I come back." Ben sighed, confirming that he said he would see what he could do.

You said your goodbyes and promised to call once you arrived; Ben always the worrier. Hanging up, you quickly slammed your trunk shut and climbed in the driver's side.

Taking one last look at Auradon Prep in the mirror, you pulled out and started on your long 6 hour drive.

-----

The first couple of hours of the drive you didn't mind. Plenty of sunlight and good music made the time fly. But thanks to Fairy Godmother's detention, you'd left 2 hours late and now the sun was going down quick.

Driving at night didn't bother you but driving through Summerwoods at night bothered you. You turned your music down and took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. Now you really regretted turning Herkie’s invitation for a ride. “(Y/N), you’re a fucking moron.” You hummed to yourself.

Then it sounded like a gun shot went off. You let out a small shriek, thankfully not swerving your car off the road. You slowed considerably, still confused and terrified. Then you heard it, what sounded like a horse’s snort, the spluttering of air. Your heart sank, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Are you fucking serious right now?!”

Slowly limping your car to the side of the road and putting it in park, you practically threw yourself out of the door, mood souring at the telltale signs of a popped tire. You glanced to the right and saw the back tire, flat as paper. 

You groaned, you held your head in your hands. Ok, keep yourself together, you thought. I’m a strong independent woman and I can change a tire, that’s what I keep a spare for, you reminded yourself. 

You ran to the back and popped the trunk open again. “Hiya!” You screamed, stumbling backwards and falling on the ground. You laid there in complete shock, breathing heavily and heart thumping. You could hear Harry wheezing in laughter.

After a few seconds, you sat up, gasping for air. “What the fuck?” You rasped out. Harry climbed out of your trunk, still shaking in mirth. Shakily, you stood to your feet, narrowing your eyes at the boy in front of you.

“What in the actual fuck do you think you’re going?” You screamed, no longer shaking in fear but in anger. “I’m going to Neverland, what does it look like?” He said with a slight eyeroll like you were stupid. This just pissed you off more.

“It looks like you’re some kind of fucking stalker!” Harry stopped laughing, looking at you with a positively poisonous glare. He stomped up to you, clearly trying to intimidate you. You were too angry to care. 

“You might wanna loose the attitude, lass. We’re all alone out here.” He sneered. It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Just get out of my way.” You pushed past him, peering into your trunk. “Where’s my spare tire?” You questioned, looking back at Harry who looked like a pouty kid caught in the cookie jar.

“Was awful cramped in there with that thing.” He muttered. He continued at your deadpan look. “Threw it out at the school.” You took a sharp, deep inhale, fists clenching and unclenching. You turned and slammed your trunk shut, putting your arms and head down on top of it. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. The whole irony and bullshit of the situation was honestly laughable. It would’ve been funnier if it hadn’t been you. “Pan?” You heard Harry call. “What?!” You snapped, raising your head. 

“Ya okay?” Your eyes widened as you spun around. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me that when you literally ruined my entire evening!” You screamed at him. Harry marched up to you, forcing you back against your trunk. “I thought I told you to loose the fucking attitude.” He snapped. He grabbed the hair at the base of your neck and practically bent you over backwards on your trunk.

He leaned in close to you, cocky smirk on his face. You snarled and bared your teeth, leaning closer to his face. “Am I supposed to be scared of you? There’s 1000 things in these woods alone that are scarier than you.” You and Harry’s gazes locked. His eyes were so... blue. You really hadn’t noticed before. 

His glare softened slightly and he released his grip on your hair, stepping back. You straightened up, keeping a close eye on Harry. You’d never admit that he scared you a bit. Never.

It was silent now. You looked away into the forest. It was completely dark now. Crunching sounds from the forest made the hairs on your arms raise. You and Harry shared a look to confirm you both heard it. A nearby wolf’s howl made you gasp and reach out, a firm hold on Harry’s shirt. He held your wrist.

“C’mon. C’mon.” He ushered you to the backseat and practically shoved you in and climbed in after you. You sighed and tucked your knees under your chin. Fuck, this was bad. “Call Princey. See what kinda magic he can work.” Harry murmured, like he was afraid to talk too loud. 

“Hey, finally a smart suggestion from you.” You said with a sarcastic smile and leaned forward to your car’s center panel. You had both knees on the middle storage compartment, waiting on the phone to ring. 

“Hello?” Ben answered after three rings. “Ben!” You were instantly filled with relief. “I need some help. My car blew a tire in the Summerwoods.” You explained. “What about your spare?” He asked. You turned to glance at Harry who gave a sarcastic wave. You flipped him off and turned back around. “It was a bad spare.” You lied. “Can you send help?” 

“Uh, yeah. It’s gonna be a couple of hours though.” Ben said. You groaned at the fact you already knew. “Thanks, Ben. I’ll make it up to you one day, I swear.” You smiled at Ben’s laughter. “Yeah, just hang tight.” With that, he hung up and you tossed your phone back into the center console.

You moved to sit back down in the backseat, instead moving into something solid. While you were preoccupied, Harry had slid into the middle seat right behind you. “What are you-” You squeaked as Harry pulled you down into his lap. 

He wound his hand into your hair again and bent you backwards, leaving your neck exposed. His other hand had a firm grip on your hip. You gasped as he licked a stripe up your neck, blowing on it to make you shudder. “W-what are you doing?”

“I can see it, ya know? I saw it earlier. Ya look at me the way I look at ya.” He murmured, low and close to your ear. “You lie and say you hate me but have still fantasized about this. About me.” He placed a kiss on your neck. Your shaking hands found their place on his knees. 

“Say you want this. Say you want me. Or I’ll let you go and we never have to speak again.” Your heart hurt in an unexplained way. This bickering love-to-hate routine you and Harry had fallen into naturally, for it all to stop one day? It seemed Harry Hook had somehow managed to worm his way into your heart.

“Harry...” You murmured, looking up at him. “I want you. Now.” You said with more confidence that you’d anticipated. He looked surprised but quickly adopted his signature cocky grin. “Atta girl.” He helped you turn around to straddle him.

You bent down to kiss along his jawline before planting one on his lips. It started innocent but quickly turned rougher and more passionate. Harry raised his hand and brought it down hard on your ass. You gasped into the kiss and pulled away, looking at Harry with an indignant look. 

“That’s for the fuckin’ attitude you’ve been giving me for the last 4 months.” He growled, voice deep and husky. “You’ll get a lot more later.” He said, his tone of voice making you realize you were in for a world of hurt later.

He tugged on the bottom of your shirt before pulling it off. He grinned and pulled you back for another kiss, slowly grinding his erection against your leg. You scratched his shoulders as you pulled away. 

“I’m not fucking you on the first date.” You said matter-of-factly. He looked at you, confused and a bit annoyed. “Technically it’s not even a date. More of a car invasion.” You crossed your arms, smirking at Harry. He narrowed his eyes before grinning himself.

“Either way, I’m still gonna rock your world, luv.” He smacked your ass in the same spot, making you hiss in pain. You climbed off his lap and leaned up against the door, Harry right on top of you.

You gripped the seat as Harry kissed down your neck, teeth scraping your skin. Your head was tossed back as he moved lower and lower. "Look at me." You glanced down and could barely make out Harry kneeling between your legs.

He started tugging on your jeans and you lifted up to help him. In one fluid motion, your jeans were tossed into the front seat. You whimpered, feeling exposed. Harry shushed you, breathing close to your lower belly. "Trust me."

Your heart lurches in shock as cold metal dragged its way up your leg and hooked into your underwear, tugging them down. You felt like your face was on fire.

You took a deep breath as Harry threw one leg over his shoulder and the opposite leg was pushed to dangle over the floor boards. You flushed again as Harry kissed gently up your thigh. You shrieked as he nipped your inner thigh.

"Fucker..." You stammered. Harry laughed before he leaned down close to your heat. He slowly dragged his tongue up your slit. You moaned loudly, one hand reaching to Harry's head, pushing him down.

You sighed and moaned into your hand as Harry continued his ministrations. "I- I wanna hear you." Harry murmured into your thigh. "I wanna hear how good I'm making you feel." His voice barely more than a whisper.

"Harry!" You moaned loudly as Harry blew cool air over your slit. "That's my girl." And he went back down on you, more aggressive this time. The air in the car felt thick and foggy, just like your thought process.

Harry moved to your clit, clearly tracing a pattern. He used one hand on hold your bucking hips down as he continued. "Are you-" You trailed into a high pitched whine. "Tracing your fucking name?" You shook violently.

You could feel Harry grin against you. He moved up into your face, noses nearly touching. "Yeah. And what are ya going to do about it?" He sneered, attack your neck again with a rigorous fever. "Mine." That one word sent a fire burning through you.

One of Harry's hands moved you your slit, two fingers slipping in easily. "Harry..." You moaned, tears coming to your eyes. He was still sucking and biting at the base of your neck and collarbone, clearly trying to leave a mark. You dug your nails into the back of his neck, making him let out a few curses.

Harry curled his fingers against your G-spot relentlessly, your legs shaking and your hips bucking wildly. "Harry!" You sobbed as you finally came, back arching and world going still.

It was quiet for a moment and the only sound was both of yours heavy breathing. Harry pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his pant, sitting back on the other side of the backseat. You sat up and pulled your legs back to you.

You winced, pain shooting through your body. "What the fuck did you do to me, Hook?" You muttered. Your legs and back were cramped up and it felt like you'd been punched in the neck. He laughed heartily. "Fucked ya up good, huh?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but agree. Between your dried tears on your cheeks and messy hair from rubbing against the window, not to mention all the bruises.

You glanced over at Harry who was looking at you curiously. "What?" He asked. You smirked at him, leaning over him. You ran you hand down his chest and iver the bulge in his pants, making him buck into your hand. "It's my turn now."

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Guess I Misunderstood

Part 2 of Not the One series. 

Summary: Kurt's trying a find a way to end things with Adam and Blaine Anderson is one of the reasons why. 

Notes:  Open for more prompts in this 'verse but I only intended it to be 2 parts of a two-sided story. I hope you enjoy.

Read Part 1 here

AO3

The first time Kurt saw Blaine Anderson, he was spying on the bulletin boards. He, like every other Apple, was worried about how many freshmen they could pull this semester. With a majority of the current Adam’s Apples being seniors, they needed to fill those spots with freshmen. Better to round them up this year so they’ll already have a year of acapella under their belts.

He's just standing there reading all the flyers. Kurt’s trying to look busy with his phone to not draw attention. But he can’t help but access this man. 

Firstly, Kurt doesn't recognize him so he assumes this is a freshman, exactly the demographic their flyers are trying to bring in. The second thing that makes this man stand out among the others Kurt’s observed thus far is how nicely dressed he is. It is the first day of school so one would think a little effort would be put in but some boys their age won’t even put on a stain-free shirt to come to school. Luckily, most NYADA students care about their appearances, this freshman is no exception. 

He’s wearing tightly fitted, dark green, capri pants and a crisp, white, collared polo. 

Then his hand is reaching up to the green flyer Kurt designed. 

He takes it. 

YES!

Kurt tries to collect himself when he walks over to the boards. Don’t scare him away is his new mantra.

“The Apples?” He asks. 

The freshman was shy at first probably because he didn’t expect to be approached. Before he answers Kurt, he does manage to meet his eyes. 

Well, Kurt thought, if he sings as well as he looks the Apples could make Nationals. 

In the past, Kurt would’ve berated himself for checking out guys while being in a relationship but he’s becoming less sure about Adam lately. His boyfriend is becoming a bit pushy about things like this. But Kurt isn’t about to stop doing it. If Adam really trusted him, he could see all of this was harmless. 

The guy was gorgeous, no one should really blame Kurt for staring. His bowtie added a dash of adorableness, which would only draw Kurt in closer if he was single. Which he is decidedly not. 

“I love to sing.” 

Kurt could certainly relate. That’s how he got involved with glee clubs in the first place. Hell, that’s what got him to New York. 

“Me too,” he said, “I’ll see you at auditions, break a leg.” 

Only while he was walking away did Kurt curse himself for not catching the man’s name. 

Before he knew it, they reached the point in the school year—day two—where Rachel was would start harassing him about “getting his name out there” and listing off all the auditions she had lined up. The only way Kurt could hear another word of this was over coffee so he dragged Rachel there before his class. This meant she had exactly 35 minutes to talk at him about it until he inevitably came home for the night and had to share the loft with her. Halfway through the conversation, he notices a finely dressed young man in line.

 He’s not ashamed to admit the man’s best asset drew his attention. Though it wasn’t a difficult feat considering Power-Hungry Rachel was his other option. 

Thankfully, her time was running out, “Rach, I’ll see you at home, I have Tibideaux.” 

With one last look at the man, Kurt rushes off to class. 

When Adam’s Apples auditions are up and running, Kurt is fuming. His boyfriend thought the perfect time to discuss their future as a couple was directly before they had to sit on their asses for 3 hours listening to a bunch of freshmen sing their hearts out. 

Of course, they fought over it. Kurt was pissed about the timing, Adam thought he was being careless about their future plans because he refused to talk about it. 

“I’m refusing to do it publicly when we have obligations!” Kurt had told him. 

He had stormed into the empty auditorium at that point, casting aside Adam’s idea to move away after graduation for the moment, and sat in the third row. Unable to take a hint, Adam sat beside him. 

Kurt was barely able to pay attention to the singers until Blaine. Once again, the man was pleasantly dressed. This time in bright yellow capris and a lovely yellow and blue bowtie. Kurt wondered if he had an affinity for them. 

Adam coughed next to him, Kurt reverted his eyes. For the rest of the song, he was trying not to stare because Adam didn’t need another reason to blame Kurt for their relationship problems. When Blaine was finished, they clapped, Adam leaned in, “I’m sorry, you’re right.” In reply, Kurt kissed his cheek. 

Knowing a simple kiss could smooth things over for now. They obviously had a lot to discuss. 

As school picked up, Kurt mostly forgot about his little soft spot for Blaine until he was pulling a tipsy Adam off of the Lion’s Den dance floor Saturday night. 

They knew their potential new recruits would be at Callbacks, Kurt wanted none of that. If they were going to celebrate the first week of classes as a couple, he wasn’t about to be interrupted by a drunk NYADA student begging to know how their glee audition went. So he was here and apparently so was Blaine. 

He almost turned right around wanting to ignore the man. This is the exact situation he was trying to avoid. But Adam pulled him forward, slurring “bar’s this way.” 

Kurt tried to catch his eye from across the bar but instead watched as Blaine slung his drink back and paid his tab. By the time Adam was finished ordering, Blaine was gone. 

The fourth time Kurt thought he’d see Blaine never came. 

Kurt had posted the Adam’s Apples list of new recruits himself. Blaine Anderson was at the top. Alphabetically speaking. Yet, he never showed up to their first rehearsal. Everyone else had come. It was difficult to listen to Adam’s introductory speech when he kept waiting for Blaine to walk through the auditorium doors. 

He never did. Did Tuesdays at 7 not work for his schedule? 

They sat in a circle on stage playing ice breakers, learning each other’s names and special interests in regards to their studies at NYADA. 

When rehearsal ends, Adam tapped his shoulder, “you seem distracted, what’s up?” 

Kurt remembers what Drunk Adam told him on Saturday and lies, “nothing, I’m fine. Just something Rachel said.” 

“Well,” Adam helped him up, “don’t worry too much about her. Before you know it, you and I will be taking on the West End.” 

He smiles until Adam turns away. 

When Adam had first said they should move, Kurt thought he meant out of the heart of the city. Which was something he could understand. If Kurt’s dreams of starting a family someday were to be met, he saw the appeal of a move. It never crossed his mind that Adam meant to move across the ocean. 

When they first started talking, Kurt loved the allure of an older man. Being a freshman at the time, Kurt had been desperate to fit in in ways he never could at McKinley. So when Adam took him under his wing, showed him the ropes of NYADA and New York, it was only a matter of time before Kurt had a crush on him. Initially, Adam was too busy for a relationship, he had told Kurt as much so Kurt keep the crush to himself...and Rachel. 

When NYADA’s spring formal rolled around, Kurt was already planning on going with his roommate. Rachel had been trying him to match in a terrible shade of pink. It didn’t go well with either of their complexions. The text came in mid-argument about their outfits.

Adam: wanna go to formal?

Kurt dropped his phone. Luckily, he was sitting on the couch and it fell onto the cushion. Rachel, of course, knew something was wrong because Kurt paused in the middle of yelling at her about the tackiness of matching when they could complement each other instead. 

“What’s up?” she asked, leaning in to glance at his phone, “it’s not your dad, right?” 

“No, no, no,” Kurt assured her, tilting his screen so she could read the message. 

“OH!” she squealed, jumping up. “Tell him yes!” 

“He probably isn’t asking me, just wants to know if I’ll be there.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, “don’t stupid, Kurt.” 

Ignoring her, Kurt texted back and slumped down. 

Kurt: Rachel and I are going to go together, yes

Instantly, another text came in. 

Adam: Would Rachel be upset if I took you instead?

Rachel was biting her lip excitedly. Practically dancing as she sat on the couch next to him. 

Kurt: I think she’d be delighted. As would I.

The two of them did some jumping up and down together before Kurt settled back onto the couch, holding his phone to his chest. 

 “Guess that means I can wear pink if I want to,” Rachel said before disappearing into her bedroom. 

But that was then. It had been a long time since Kurt felt butterflies in his stomach when he thought about Adam. He never thought they’d completely disappear but these last few months he felt stagnant. When he expressed these concerns to his boyfriend, Adam’s solution was, once again, to move across the pond. 

Like that would solve their issues. 

That wasn’t what Kurt had meant by stagnant but Adam kept going on and on about how New York may be the city that never sleeps but he couldn’t wait to get back to the excitement of London. 

Kurt could never see himself moving so far away from his dad or his friends. New York had become his home these last three years. Maybe Adam always dreamed of going back to the UK but he had never told Kurt that explicitly until the start of this semester. Dating for 2 years and it never came up. 

By the time they were having their fifth fight about this, Kurt knew they were going to have to break up. It was just a matter of when. 

The actual fourth time Kurt saw Blaine Anderson was two weeks before Thanksgiving break. 

He was sitting in a corner of the library. Sheets of music spread across his lap. Titling his head so a single black curl dangled in his face. Blaine keeps blowing the curl away to no avail. It took everything in Kurt to not laugh. 

Adorable. 

Kurt wasn’t really here to study. He finished up his assignments for the weekend. There was a major test next week for one of Rachel’s classes. She was in a study group and forgot her yellow notebook so Kurt offered to bring it to her. 

Wasn’t it just his luck that Blaine Anderson was here? Right in his line of sight. The universe must be having fun with him tonight. He was about to go home to an empty apartment and write a breakup speech for Adam. 

Kurt had plans to talk with his day over Thanksgiving break—Burt insisted on planning for his flight. He just needed someone, not Rachel, to tell him it was the right choice. For so long, Adam, being his first boyfriend, made Kurt feel like he owed it to Adam to continue this. Kurt had just reached the end of his rope. 

He did end up talking to his dad about everything other than the impending breakup. In fact, Kurt couldn’t seem to get Blaine’s name out of his mouth. 

“We had this really talented singer come in for auditions, dad,” Kurt said. “Blaine Anderson, he’s a freshman.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

This was the second time Kurt had brought this up. 

“He’s going to do big things someday.” 

By the fourth time, Blaine’s name was mentioned, which was a lot of times for a man Kurt had only spoken to once, Burt had something to say about it. 

“You gonna ask him out, bud, or just keep talking to me?”

Kurt paused, blushed, and stumbled out a “no.” 

“No what? You won’t ask him or he won’t go out with you.” 

“Dad,” Kurt said, “both of those imply, I do ask him out.” 

“Well, you should.” Burt shrugged. “You clearly like him.” 

His dad did always know how to read him. This wasn’t the time to remind Burt of his boyfriend. Of whom, Burt was indifferent. Dating for years and Adam couldn’t seem to break down Burt’s overprotective walls. 

Now that Kurt was alone in their apartment thinking of those conversations. All of them. Every single time he had asked Burt about Adam or called his dad after a ridiculous fight. How many of those conversations contain happy stories? 

Kurt and Adam had loads of good times but none that he ever shared with his dad, no memories that become inside jokes, nothing like that. 

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, Rachel was in class, Adam’s professor had let them out earlier, and Kurt had an empty apartment. 

Kurt: let’s get coffee

Adam: Be there in ten

When Kurt came back, he was a single man in New York once again. 

The fifth time, Kurt saw Blaine Anderson was on purpose. He meant to run into him in the NYADA auditorium. Kurt had asked around and found out Blaine had joined a different glee club. Amy said they rehearsed on Wednesdays and Blaine was always there a half-hour earlier to warm-up alone. 

Sure enough, Blaine was center stage pacing in a circle doing one of Rachel’s favorite scales. Kurt is creeping in from one of the back entrances. Slowly, he makes his way up to the stage unsure if he wants Blaine to notice him or not. 

Eventually, he reaches a moment when he has to say something. About fifteen feet from the stage, Kurt speaks up, “you’re very talented, you know?” 

Blaine looks down at him, a quick smile, and blushes, “thanks.” 

“We were sad to not see you at rehearsals but The Singsations benefit greatly.” 

“Yeah, I felt bad about it…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it just wasn’t going to work.” 

“Well,” Kurt replied, “acapella isn’t for everyone.” 

“Funny enough, it wasn’t the acapella part.” 

At that, Kurt’s not sure what to say. He wants to ask what the problem was then.

“Sorry, did you just come here to ask why I didn’t join the Apples?” Blaine asked. 

“Um no, Amy said you warm up here before rehearsals.” Which was Kurt’s way of stalling. “I…”

This is exactly why Kurt hadn’t had a boyfriend before Adam: he was too nervous to make the first move. 

Blaine is sitting on the edge of the stage now so they’re almost level. Kurt could just push his legs apart, stand between them, and kiss him. That’s all he wants to do. 

“I’ve seen you around campus a lot.” Four times.

“Me too,” Blaine said, which has Kurt smirking slightly. So he did notice him too. Then Blaine continues and knocks that smirk right off his face, “how’s your boyfriend?” 

Well, Kurt should’ve expected that blow. His and Adam’s relationship was pretty well-known. In just two weeks since the breakup, Kurt’s surprised more people aren’t gossiping about it. 

Honesty is the best policy, right? 

“We broke up.”

“Oh,” Blaine replied, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Are you?” Kurt asked, “because I’m not sorry at all. I should’ve done it sooner. We weren’t meant to be together as long as we were.” 

“You broke up with him?” Blaine asked, confused. “But you seemed so in love.” 

“A year ago, I would’ve agreed with you but one too many problems later it was never going to work,” Kurt told him, “but that’s not why I’m here either.” 

“So, why are you here? I was pretty sure you didn’t know I existed.” 

“I definitely do,” Kurt said, “and now it’s my turn to ask if you’re single.” 

Blaine blushed again, “Not sure that’s what I meant earlier.” 

“It’s what I meant.” 

“I’m not seeing anyone right now, I’ve been pining after this upperclassman who was with someone.” 

“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked. 

“Yeah.” 

Kurt took a step closer and placed his palms on Blaine’s knees. 

“Well, I think he likes you too.” 

Then, he pushes his legs open with no resistance from Blaine. It isn’t Kurt who leans in first though. 

[basicallywhiterice]

on top of the world (dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, highschool!au, dancer!sicheng, spring break trip

summary: The fall to the ground doesn’t seem so daunting when you’re living on top of the world.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cussing

a/n: if enough people get mad at me i’ll write a part 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but it is part 1 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

Chinatown, Washington, D.C., 7:01 p.m.

“Honest Abe? More like, honest babe,” Lucas hollers to Kun and no one in particular, drawing a few disgruntled looks from the pedestrians waiting for the walk signal to flash again. He winks at a man in a navy suit, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Yangyang reaches over for a high-five.

“Dude was 6′ 4″, of course he’s a babe,” Sicheng whistles, leaning behind Yangyang and craning his neck to steal glances at Kun’s phone.

To your right, Ningning flits around, snapping pictures of the street displays and assorted neon lights on the storefronts. You watch her alongside Giselle, who pops her bubblegum, periodically glancing at the traffic light at the bustling intersection. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you to your left, Kun rattles off a hodge-podge of facts about Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre, which you just passed by, from his phone screen to a faux-enthused Yangyang, who shakes Sicheng by the shoulders every time Kun reads a new fact. He occasionally gets pushed into Lucas’s side, rolling his eyes while doing little to hide the growing grin on his face.

“... and apparently they planned his assassination in the building the Wok n’ Roll restaurant we passed used to be,” Kun remarks.

“OH MY GOD SICHENG ISN’T THAT SO CRAZY?” Yangyang all but screams. “IT WAS IN THE WOK N’ ROLL!”

As you glance over fondly, your eyes linger on the orange hues and kaleidoscopic shadows the nearby “do not walk” signal spills over Sicheng’s face. After a moment, he looks away from Yangyang’s exaggerated bouncing. His gaze flits upwards, meeting your stolen glance with his own.

The world grinds to a halt beneath your feet when a strong gust of wind blows through your hair, propelling you into free fall into the depths of his eyes until Giselle tugs on your arm, pulling you back into the present.

She gestures toward the “walk” signal on the traffic light, and you fall in line with her quick footsteps as you stride across the crosswalk.

“We should go there later,” she suggests. “Try summoning Lincoln’s ghost or something.”

“The Wok n’ Roll?”

“Yeah. Do you think his ghost would have his top hat?”

“I thought ghosts were just spirits and didn’t take material possessions with them?”

“Yeah, but then every ghost would be naked, which would be hella inappropriate.”

Ningning overhears, skipping up to you and looping her arm through yours. “You have to prove the existence of ghosts and take them out to dinner before you get them naked, you pig.”

“I made yo momma sound like a ghost last night,” Lucas quips. “I skipped the ‘getting dinner’ part, though.”

“Goddamn,” Giselle exclaims as you burst into laughter, throwing jokes and jabs at each other for the rest of the trek to the ramen restaurant where you eat dinner.

Hilton Garden Inn, Washington, D.C., 9:13 p.m.

After helping Giselle and Ningning unpack, you knock on the communicating door between your hotel room and the boys’ in order to bother Kun.

Sicheng answers, moving aside so you can step across. Their room is surprisingly clean, although you chalk it up to the limited amount of time they had to unpack earlier today. Lucas sits at the desk in the corner near the window, hunched over his laptop while Yangyang peeks over his shoulder. You glimpse a few pictures of the Washington Monument on his screen before he scrolls down to other marble structures.

“Are you looking up other places to visit?” you ask him.

He glances up, cracking his neck before responding. “Yeah. I can’t find anything special that we don’t know about, though.”

“It’s boutta be lit,” Yanyang chimes in.

“Ayeee,” Lucas responds. They start aggressively patting each other on the back and arms, and you take that as your cue to leave before they wrestle you into whatever weird ritual they’re performing.

Turning, you see Sicheng flop down onto the bed closest to the windows where Kun lays, sprawled out. “Hey,” Kun greets, lifting his head from his pillows.

“Hey,” you reply, remembering the reason why you came to the room in the first place. “Oh yeah! I found a stop sign a few blocks from here on a decently busy street. It’ll take ten minutes to go there and back, tops.”

He groans. “I would love to go, but I just got a stomachache. Tell you what. Sicheng,” he says, propping himself up at a snail’s pace and clasping Sicheng’s shoulder, “you can accompany her there, right?”

“To a stop sign?” Sicheng asks, looking up from his phone.

“A hand-picked, top tier, magnificent stop sign,” you proclaim. “Whenever me and Kun travel, we always get a random passerby to take our picture in front of a stop sign like it’s a tourist attraction. Are you down for potential social awkwardness?”

The corner of Sicheng’s lips tugs up into a grin. “You know it. I’m not ruining your tradition with Kun, am I?” he asks, glancing sideways at Kun for confirmation.

Kun flops back down on the bed. “Nah. If I went right now, I’d probably ruin the tradition by shitting my pants there or something.”

Sicheng chuckles. “Promise? We could print out those pictures and mail them back to your parents like a postcard.”

“I like the way you think,” you say with a scheming smile, nodding at Sicheng before turning back to Kun. “Anyways, drink some warm water to help with your stomachache, maybe? What do you think caused it?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that trashcan pizza slice in the subway.” Sicheng reaches over and flicks his forehead. “Ow! I’m kidding! Why would you torment a sick man like this? Go away and take your pictures already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask as Sicheng asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll take a Pepto-Bismol in fifteen minutes. Go and have fun.” He waves you off, grabbing a spare pillow and lightly smacking Sicheng with it.

“Fine, mom.” Sicheng stands, pocketing his phone. “You ready? I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Yeah.” As he walks over to the closet, you sneak a peek at your reflection through your phone screen. Fighting back a sudden bundle of nerves, you discreetly smooth your t-shirt down, running a hand through your hair. Kun wiggles his eyebrows when he notices, and you flip him off, silently warning him to stay quiet.

He doesn’t. “Have fun on your date with loverboy,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

“After you leave, should I check out the pool?” he murmurs. “Lucas and Yangyang said they don’t feel like swimming tonight.”

“What, isn’t your stomach—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time? Off you go!” He shoos you away, almost standing up to push you away and laying back down before Sicheng can turn around. You’re almost impressed by how well he set you up.

Still, though. If Kun weren’t your best friend, you’d shove him into the hotel’s fountain.

H Street Northwest, Washington D.C., 9:40 p.m.

Half an hour later, you give up on the facade of collecting anti-tourist pictures after the third stop sign, stopping by the Chinatown Express to grab a bowl of noodles with roast duck to go. You walk for a few blocks before finding a bench to sit and split it at, slurping them up in an appreciative silence.

“Oh my god,” Sicheng intones around a mouthful of noodles. When you look over, his cheeks are puffed, an empty spoon descending to rest inside the soup container.

“You look like one of those baby birds eating scraps,” you giggle.

“I’m certainly skilled with chicks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, then scoot closer to pick up a piece of roast duck. Your knees touch, but neither of you move away. “Do you think there’s a more advanced form of life than humans, like aliens, and they view us how we view animals?” you ask, resuming the conversation you had about the meaning of life before you sat down. “Like we don’t think birds could become self-aware, no matter how intelligent they are, so then we can’t achieve the alien version of self-awareness no matter how philosophical we get.”

“Good question. Uh, alien self-awareness would probably relate to the meaning of life or something, right? Or the secrets of the universe and breaking the laws of physics. And because they’re so big brained, they could control things with their minds and be enlightened with telekinesis. So hypothetically, if I were a wise, sagely alien,” he says, gently picking up your hand and laying it flat against his palm, “I could make my hand pass through yours if I had enough brainpower.”

His hand is warm, and you hope furiously that your palms aren’t sweating. “Was this another excuse to hold my hand?”

“Well, did it work?”

You raise your eyebrows and fail at biting back your smile. “You already know, you just want to hear me say it.”

He grins. “Then say it!”

“Yes, Sicheng, it worked.”

“Awesome.” He moves his right hand to pick up his spoon, briefly tugging your hand with him until he realizes. “Fuck. Sorry, I have to let go of your hand while I eat. Unless you wanna see me struggle with my left hand.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I feel like that’d be an insult to the rest of the noodles.”

When you finally remember to stand up and throw away the long-forgotten remnants of your food, he holds your hand carefully but firmly as you walk past the White House, and you imagine his hold on your heart must feel the same.

Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C., 11:16 p.m.

“Dance with me,” Sicheng pleads, pulling you under a streetlight. You nod, but your feet stay cemented on the brick-paved sidewalk.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s fine.” You place your hand in his outstretched one, and he lifts your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “No one’s around to judge, so just do whatever.”

“Wise words,” you deadpan, but you let his hand on your waist guide your swaying.

He’s right, though. After the initial awkwardness fades, you find that waltzing around isn’t so bad after all—especially when he twirls you around the pocket of light underneath the lamppost so gently it feels like you’re dancing on air.

And when he dips you as you throw your head back, laughing, you think you finally understand why his eyes light up every time he finishes a dance performance.

“Is this what you love about dancing?” you ask once you’ve come back up.

He nods, eyes closing briefly. “Partly. The grand choreographies are the showstoppers, but the simpler moments keep me sane.” His eyes flutter open. “I haven’t let anyone see me dance with such bad technique in a while. I’m usually not this bad, I promise.”

“I know,” you grin. “I saw you at the winter showcase. You were amazing.” Then you take a deep breath, and brace for the worst. “The lyrical piece you closed with was the one you used for your audition, right?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

Abruptly, he releases your hands and steps back. You allow yourself to feel a twinge of guilt for mentioning the elephant in the room before you steel yourself for the impending conversation.

“We should probably talk about that,” he says.

“We should. Do you want to walk around the National Mall? You said you liked it earlier today.”

“Sure.”

The walk is quiet enough for you to overthink. Sicheng got accepted by a dance studio in Korea, after months of submitting auditions and traveling back and forth between countries. He’s leaving soon, even if he says he’s still waiting to hear back from Juilliard and keeping his options open. You see it in the goodbyes he keeps subconsciously saying and the memories he drinks in like it’s his last chance to, and you’re terrified of what your life will look like without him.

You glance over at him periodically, and he seems to be lost in thought too, staring straight ahead down the well-lit path. His eyebrows furrow as you pass under a streetlight, and you wonder if you brought it up the wrong way.

You’re disappointed in the crude way you shoved the future into a perfectly happy moment, then mad that you’re disappointed. It was inevitable that you’d have to talk about what would come after graduation, and it was inevitable that he’d have to remove himself from your side to chase after his dreams. It’s a wonder he hasn’t pulled away already.

Stupid, you chide yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, loving so hard that your chest implodes from all the weight it carries, already drifting through the pangs of hurt and the wisps of melancholy bringing about a premature nostalgia.

“I’m really going to miss you next year,” Sicheng confesses out of the blue.

You glance up. His hands are shoved into his pants pockets, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to remember all the secrets it hides.

You think you might always run back to him. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:33 p.m.

“So.”

“So,” you echo. “Have you looked at decisions yet?” It’s a pointless question. You know he’s not going to Juilliard.

“Yeah, I looked at them this afternoon in the theater.” He clears his throat. “I got waitlisted.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not going to accept a spot on the waitlist.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I had made my decision anyway.” Then he sighs, his nonchalant facade dropping for good. “You can probably guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m accepting the studio’s offer,” he whispers, as if the air is glass and the moment could shatter at any moment. The words float there, above your head, and you imagine grabbing them and hugging them close to your chest before they slip away.

You don’t. “I figured.”

“Yeah. You knew.”

You stare ahead and will the tears not to fall.

“I’m leaving as soon as school ends,” he says, with the sideways glance that marks the start of his rambling distraction process, “and flying there on—”

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurt. He pauses mid-sentence. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy. Can we talk about this, for real? You can tell me all the details later, I just—please,” and your voice cracks, “don’t dismiss this.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

A blink, and the first teardrop traces its way down your face.

You waste away the hours of your stolen youth with a boy who wipes your tears away and comforts you over the future that you’ll no longer be a part of.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:57 p.m.

“Before I leave,” Sicheng says, scuffing the heels of his shoes on the gravel pathway, “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. I mean, I’m going to leave anyways, so why not, you know? I have to say something before I’m gone. Um, so, you know this by now, but I… I—” and you already know what’s coming.

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Give me a minute to think.”

You make the mistake of glancing up at him, his eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Alright. Take all the time you need, please.”

In half a year, Sicheng will be gone and you will be left to pick up the pieces of your life that don’t involve him, piecing them together the best you can and carrying on like there isn’t a hole in your heart.

“I’m in love with you.” One thud of your heartbeat. Then another. “Sicheng.”

In half a year, this chance will be long gone, and if you let it slip through your fingers without grabbing on, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting Sicheng become your biggest what-if.

“I’m in love with you too.” He raises his hand to cradle your face in his palm. “Y/n.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while now.”

“Me too. It’s not just because I’m leaving, you know.” You nod, his palm momentarily pressing against your cheek. “You knew.”

“Yeah.”

You stare up at him, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and holds entire galaxies in his eyes.

“What are we?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about dating?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights. “Dating?”

“Yeah, would you? Like to date me?”

And then Sicheng turns into a what-if again. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t know if I could handle the split.”

“We don’t have to break up when I leave. We could do long distance,” he suggests, but it sounds flimsy even to your ears.

“I don’t know, Sicheng. I don’t want to end up losing you.”

“I know. We don’t have to, especially if you don’t want to.”

You nod once in acknowledgment, and then you’re stepping into his arms again. He holds you securely, stroking your hair and waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper into his shoulder an eternity later. “Could we have been doing this earlier?”

“It would’ve been too fast,” he reasons, and you’re inclined to agree. “We didn’t really… not until this year…”

“Yeah.” You’ve known Sicheng for years and have been close with him for months, but you only fell in love with each other when it was too late. “I wish we started hanging out sooner.”

“Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe.”

You pull back enough to glance up at him, gaze dropping to his lips at the close proximity before immediately bringing it back up. His eyes follow the movement, a smile creeping up his face.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asks, and he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to believe he’d be wrong.

“It wouldn’t,” you agree. His nose bumps with yours and you blink up at him once, twice, and then you’re leaning in until the faraway sounds of the city fade away. He’s purposeful and patient and when all you can think of is the brush of his lips against yours, it’s just you and him against the world.

One kiss might not hurt, but one turns to two and two turns to too many and when you finally pull away and stare into his eyes, dazed, your lips tingle from the ghost of his mouth on yours.

At that moment, the way his mouth slowly stretches into a grin does something to your heart, and you think you’d let it break a million times just to be the cause of his smile.

“Yes, Sicheng. Let’s date.”

He kisses you again, beaming so wide that his teeth knock against your lips and pulling you closer, almost picking you up in the process.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

[collecting-stories]

Home - c. 14 - Georgia

Summary: With your dad home the house feels a little too suffocating. 

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. 

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

You were home. You had driven home from Tara’s on Sunday, early so that you could go to pick up your dad. He was silent the whole way home and said little more when he got in the house, shutting himself in the garage. He didn’t come in again until your mom got home, annoyed from work and from your dad’s presence in the house. It took less time for them to get into it with each other than it did for dinner to be finished and you knew, as you snuck out your window, that your dad would be back on the bottle before the night was over.  

Leaving the jeep in the driveway, you headed down the street and cut through the catwalks, only half considering where you were walking. You hadn’t been home a day and already you felt like you were losing your mind. Maybe it was stress, all the minute components of life piling up on you, making you feel like you were seconds from probably losing your mind and the one thing that had been keeping you sane through all the other crap was suddenly gone, vacant from your life.  

You stopped at the familiar house, almost knocking on the side door but you noticed a light on in the camper and you went to it. The light flickered for a second as footsteps sounded, just a few to get to the door and it was opening, the spring creaking as you stood there off the step, Daryl standing in front of you.  

“Ya don’t give up, do ya?”

“Sorry, it’s just...a shitty night at my house. I just wanted to go somewhere I’d feel better, figured here was the best place.” You replied.  

Daryl stepped back, holding the door wide open for you to step up into the camper. It was small inside but cozier than you expected. You stood there for a moment, a little awkward, feeling like it was the first time you were around him again. And maybe that was because of what you’d said. You couldn’t erase telling him that you liked him, and you certainly couldn’t make him forget either.  

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked, handing you a bottle of water and sitting back down at the table. You sat on the bench across from him.  

“I picked my dad up this morning.” You replied, “he’s been in rehab.”  

“So ya came here?”  

“I didn’t want my mom to see I was gone so I walked.” You said, unscrewing the water bottle and taking a sip, it occurred to you only once the water hit your throat how thirsty you were. “I can’t go to Tara’s, she’s in Woodbury, and I can’t go to Maggie’s cause I’d have to tell her.”  

“Shouldn’t be too hard for her, the Reverend was a heavy hitter back in the day.” Daryl replied, continuing to eat his dinner, seemingly unfazed. He’d never show you if he was though.  

“What?”

“Ya ain’t heard about it?”

You shook your head, Maggie had never said anything to you about her father having a drinking problem.  

“He quit the bottle when Maggie’s mom got sick. I remember, musta been nine years old at the time, my mama dragged me to church and he gave this long sermon about sinning and asking for god’s forgiveness. Load a bullshit if I ever heard it, but he changed himself around.” Daryl replied.  

“How’d you know the sermon was about him?” You asked, your mind swimming with information. You’d known Hershel all your life, at times when you were feeling lost he always felt like a second father to you.  

“Used to drink down at The Wharf with my dad. Told him I was gonna tell somebody about him once when I was real angry and he just said ‘you go tell Reverend Greene or the sheriff, I see ‘em every night’. My dad ain’t big on socialising and he only goes one place.” Daryl said, “it was a poorly kept secret but then he sobered up and everybody swept it under the rug for him.”  

“I had no idea.”  

“Didn’t mean ta ruin the Reverend for ya…just meant, he’ll be understanding, if nothing else.”  

“My mom would lose it if I told anyone that my dad’s an alcoholic. I mean, it’s just you and Tara that know, everyone else just thinks he works a lot or if they don’t think that they just don’t ask.” You admitted. You could practically imagine the hellfire your mom would bring down on you if you told everybody that your dad was a drunk.  

“What about yer mom?” Daryl asked, getting up from the table and going to wash his dishes.  

You watched him for a moment, thinking this was what you had been missing for those few weeks apart. This was the thing you craved the most from him. To just be able to sit and chat with him, listen to him talk, edging away at his reservations until he was talking to you about anything. You wanted to tell him you missed him, you missed this. That you loved him and that probably you always would but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that you had to take what you could get if you wanted anything at all with him.  

“What’d you mean?” You asked.  

“Til she died, my mom always stuck it out. Knew no one else was gonna deal with her. She was angry and she could mean when she wanted and she damn near hated my brother, ruined her life the way she saw it. So she knew nobody was gonna want that…she stuck it out til she died.” Daryl replied, “if your dad’s the problem, why doesn’t yer mom leave him?”

“I think it’s the other way around.” You admitted, “my dad drinks so he doesn’t have to be there with her but he doesn’t have to leave either.” Sometimes you thought he might be trying for a slow death, trying to drink himself out of the life he’d been saddled with.  

“Yer mom that bad?”  

“She can be.” You replied, “what about your dad, I don’t really see him that much, only the one time he thought I was a prostitute.”  

Daryl scoffed, that nearly invisible smile appearing, “we don’t bother each other too much anymore. I pay most a the bills and he leaves me alone.”  

“You should be the one in the house then,” you teased, smiling when he scrunched his nose and shook his head.  

“Nah, I’d have ta redo that whole thing top ta bottom ta wanna spend any time living it in.” Daryl replied, “ain’t the best memories.”  

“Sorry.”  

“Don’t be, ya didn’t know.” He came back over to the table, sitting down opposite from you and leaning back against the vinyl seating. “Ya want me ta drive ya somewhere?”  

“Can’t stay here?”  

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t that I don’t want ya too…” he trailed off, “I don’t want ya doing something yer bound ta regret cause ya think ya feel a certain way.”  

“Why do you think I don’t?” You closed your eyes for a moment to calm yourself down before looking at Daryl, this was not going to be like the last two conversations. “I came here because we’re friends and I needed a friend. If you just want to be friends then, I can respect that. But please, I don’t want to totally lose you because of something I said.”  

Daryl nodded his head like maybe he was considering what you had said after all. “Fine, I ain’t gonna entertain ya though, I got things ta do.”  

“Like what?” You asked, glancing around the camper. It was clean and the space was small, hardly looked like he could do much.  

“I was headed down to the laundromat ‘fore ya came here. I got a bag a clothes ta wash in my truck.”  

“Good, I’ll come with you.” You replied, standing up, all ready to go.

“I didn’t miss ya pestering me ya know, least I got a break from it.” He joked and you smiled, if he was joking about it then it didn’t bother him as much as he said it did. It wasn’t a far reach for you then, to assume that maybe he did really like you and he was only saying different because he was afraid of being with you.  

“Yeah but I bet I’m way prettier than Rick,” you teased, following him out the door of the camper.  

“Don’t know, he’s got his moments.”  

-

“I’ve never been in the laundromat before,” you commented, holding the door for Daryl as he carried a hamper bag of clothing in. The laundromat was small, a little store front nestled in beside a law office and a psychic. You had suggested getting a reading, despite the late hour, and Daryl had scoffed at you. “Like, I always drive by but I’ve never been in.”

There were three vending machines besides the one that dispensed detergent. Coffee, snacks, and soda. You tried the coffee while Daryl threw his clothes in the wash. “It ain’t much.” Daryl replied.  

“That’s what you always say.” You joked, setting your coffee down on the counter and sitting up on it beside the pile of dark clothes that Daryl was sorting through to throw in the wash.  

Being here with Daryl was nice. It felt a lot like before you told him that you had feelings for him though you couldn’t deny the elephant in the room, knowing that Daryl knew you liked him, that you were in love with him, and that you knew he didn’t want to feel the same way.  

“Will you still teach me car stuff?” You asked, handing Daryl your coffee to taste.  

He took a sip, “ya always put that much cream in yer coffee?”

“To be fair, it’s powdered.” You replied. “I filled my own washer fluid the other day.”  

“And yer car didn’t blow up?” He teased.

“No.” You huffed, kicking him with your foot. “So, will you?”

“Yeah.” He replied. He wouldn’t ever admit it but seeing you at his door had felt like a weight lifting off of his chest. Not seeing you or knowing that you were okay had driven him a little crazy. Daryl had considered going to see you at the diner and talking to you but he chickened out every time, convincing himself that you were better off distancing yourself from him. But maybe he had been wrong. Or maybe he just wasn’t better off being away from you.  

-

taglist: @gigilame @enrapturedbythemoon @thanossexual @yespleasejayhalstead @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @mainokutan  @twdeadfanfic @legit-emily @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @mainokutan @sabertooth-potato @solllaris @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano @guccicloudz @sapphire-angel @buzzybhee @alexbealee @elodieyung @its-evita-here 

[spencersawkward]

mgg fluff!!! like maybe a super cute romantic date where you both dress up or something like that 🥺

I’ve been writing so much smut the idea of writing a scenario without sex is actually feeling foreign rn WOW lmao ok this was fun to write. here’s some fancy-date pure fluff for you, babe!

summary: Matthew takes reader out for a fancy dinner, and the two make the most of their evening together. 

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: none! short but sweet. 

I swipe the glossy red shade over my lower lip, touching up my makeup before we head out tonight. despite the fact that we’ve been dating for a few months now, the idea of Matthew taking me out to eat-- really taking me out-- is making me positively giddy.

capping the tube and doing a quick once-over in the mirror, I admire the dress I’m wearing. it’s new, something I may or may not have splurged on after work today. it’s a creamy, inky shade, the color of pitch with an open back that I would normally never deign to wear. but something about it, the way the fabric sits against my shoulder blades, makes me confident.

after fluffing up my hair a little, I move into the living room to join my boyfriend. he’s fixing one of his monogrammed cuff links, and he looks up at the sound of my footsteps.

his eyes run over me, the bloom of my mouth and the dress, and he smiles dreamily, not saying anything. my stomach is overflowing with butterflies as I look at him in his suit, so well-dressed. we stare at each other for a moment.

“so?” I grin, walking over to him and running my hands up his chest. “how do I look?”

“you...” his gaze flickers to my pout, then my form. “you’re an angel.”

I reach up and am about to kiss his cheek when I remember that I’ve got lipstick on. “I’ll kiss you later.”

“that’s fine,” he sighs, then takes my hand and spins me around in front of him. “I’m still in shock from how beautiful you are!” he says the last few words in his stupid monster voice, reaching out and tickling my sides while he pulls me into him.

“Matthew!” I squeal, trying to breathe through the laughter. he knows I’m especially ticklish. once he finally relents, I look up at him with a huge smile on my face. sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming with him.

“we’re gonna be late, baby.” he tugs on my earlobe playfully before taking my hand again and leading me into the entryway so we can put our coats on. winter is just starting, dusting the sidewalks with fluffy snow and blowing wind in our faces as we start walking to the car. he holds the door open, as usual, and before long, we’re off to the restaurant.

even though Matthew is a bit of a reckless driver, I trust him. I’ve never told him this, but I love the way he places his hand on the back of my seat and turns around to assess the road behind him before he pulls out. something about it makes my blood warm up. he catches me looking, smiles and asks if I’m okay.

I’m fucking fabulous.

the restaurant is way fancier than I even imagined: cavernous ceilings that drip with chandeliers and walls covered in expensive-looking art. velvet curtains cover the windows, creating a wine-red ambiance of jazz and gentle conversation.

I must look dumb just staring at everything, but Matthew goes to the maitre d’ and gets our reservation ready. we never go on dates this fancy; most of the time, we stay in and binge watch old movies or play board games or just talk. he said he wanted to treat me, though, so I’m more than happy to go along with it.

part of me feels slightly out-of-place as the host leads us to a secluded table, walking past rich-looking couples or groups of people who appear to be socialites. as much as I wish I could blend in with this crowd, I keep worrying that I’m going to trip or somehow break something. elegant situations tend to make me especially clumsy.

once we’re seated and handed our menus, the host leaves us to talk.

“wow.” my eyebrows raise as I check out the options. Matthew looks up.

“what?”

“this place is fancy.” the corners of my mouth tug upwards. some of the items are in French, which makes the process even harder to untangle.

“too much?” he’s a bit wary as he asks, like he’s afraid I don’t like it.

“no, no.” I laugh. “I’m just impressed.”

“you wanna get a bottle of wine?” he asks softly, grabbing the wine menu. I nod.

“sounds good.” I think for a second. “do you happen to speak French?”

“dónde está el baño?” he jokes. before I can stop myself, I reach over the table and hit his arm, both of us laughing. it must be a bit too loud, because a couple people around us turn their heads. I settle back in my seat.

“that wasn’t funny.” I’m giggling.

“I wish I knew French.” he muses, still perusing the wine selection. I sigh.

“honestly, me, too. very sophisticated.”

“are we supposed to pair our wine with our food?” he whispers over the table.

“you think I know the protocol for this kind of place?” I hiss back.

“you know, what? who cares?” he sets down the menu and gives me a resigned smile. Matthew has always been uninhibited, and him deciding to just go with the flow gives me a warm feeling in my tummy. it’s one of the most attractive things about him, in my opinion.  

when the waiter comes to take our orders, Matthew and I just get a merlot and filet mignon, both of us starving. in the meantime, we talk about his day and my day and he tells a funny story about his friend. somehow, he and I always have the best conversations, even if they’re about nothing at all.

literally you could ask us to discuss paint drying and we’d find a way to laugh about it.

“I was thinking... I’m gonna have a vacation soon,” he trails off, the antique ring on his pinky finger clinking against his wine glass. “maybe we could go somewhere?”

“somewhere like...?” I gesture for him to keep talking. he grins.

“you can decide. as long as it’s fun.”

“what? no, you can’t put that pressure on me, Matthew.” I laugh. there are so many places I want to see, and places that I know he wants to see, that I don’t wanna pick the wrong place.

“why not?”

“well, let’s do this,” I sit up more, resting my elbows on the table. the candle in the middle of the table flickers, casting his features in a pretty glow. “you list some places you’d like to visit, and if there’s some overlap, we’ll do that.”

“okay.” he rubs his hands together, then starts to think about it. I wait patiently, sip my wine and start to imagine how many possibilities there are for us. hiking along mountain trails, zip-lining through rainforests. if I’m being honest, I kind of just want to relax.

he breaks my train of thought as soon as he begins to tack off places.

“we could go to Costa Rica, or Croatia, or Mauritius... the Azores...”

“oooh, you know, I’ve heard the Azores are absolutely gorgeous.” my eyes sparkle as I think about the little islands. “and they’ve got these super nice hot springs, too.”

“private hot springs?” he asks me over the rim of his glass. my spine tingles with the implication.

“you wanna fuck in a hot spring?” I almost laugh. he reaches across the table and twines his fingers with mine, thumb rubbing over the back of my hand softly.

“I wanna do it on every continent.” he winks, then pulls away as our food arrives. I try to suppress the heat rushing to my cheeks and regain my composure even though my entire nervous system feels like it’s short-circuiting at the thought.

I try to put those images out of my mind before we thank the waiter, and then we’re staring down at the plates in front of us with surprise. the portions are ridiculously small-- mignon usually isn’t that big, but it’s such a fancy-restaurant-move.

Matthew and I start to giggle to ourselves, picking up our forks and eating. I’m not upset or anything; it’s sort of funny. instead, we share asparagus and dig into the meal.

“do you think they’ll be mad at us for laughing at the nickel-sized food?” I question. it’s really tasty, to be fair, but I have to take small bites so as not to mess up my lipstick.

“for the amount they’re charging, they’re probably the ones laughing.” he replies. I snort, reach up, and he high-fives me.

“that was good.” I concede.

“thanks,” he smiles, wipes his mouth with a napkin before focusing back on me. “so, back to the topic at hand-- are we going to the Azores?”

“only if you want to.” I smile.

“I’m the one that suggested it.”

“okay, then. I guess it’s settled.” I shrug. we set our forks down, done with our food already after about twenty minutes. we start to talk logistics and things we want to do there, excitement building in my stomach the whole time. I love spending time with Matthew-- having him all to myself for a couple weeks sounds like literal paradise.

he looks so pretty right now, too, with his glasses and fluffy hair and the ever-present smile. everything about him exudes positive energy, and I’ll never get over that sensation. I just can’t believe how lucky I am.

“I have an urgent question.” he tells me suddenly, completely serious. I straighten up and frown at him.

“shoot.”

“do you think we can get ice cream? somewhere else?” he asks. I make a face at the way he set me up for suspense, but the relief is overwhelming and my stomach still isn’t full from the small filet. I nod quickly.

he gets the waiter’s attention, pays, and before I know it, we’re walking back to the car.

“thank you.” I nudge his shoulder with my own, both of us bundled up in our coats. he leans down to kiss the top of my head before wrapping his arm around me.

“of course, darling.”

I like his little pet names, how he says them with the kind of sweetness that nearly rots my teeth. even if Matthew didn’t tell me he loved me every day, I would be able to tell just from the way he speaks. like I’m the only girl in the world.

we end up driving to a small ice cream shop by our home, a place that we always visit during the summer if it gets hot and we want sugar. there’s almost nobody inside and we look sort of absurd in our fancy attire, but when I get to the counter to order, I let loose.

salted caramel with oreo crumbles in a waffle cone, piled high. he gets chocolate fudge and we lick at our confections while he pays. it’s so yummy, hitting the spot in a way that a small slice of steak just couldn’t. even though it’s winter, ice cream is always good.

“is my lipstick all gone?” I grin, looking up from my cone to ask. we go to sit in the back room of the shop, which is completely empty.

“mostly, but there’s a little bit...” he grabs my face across the table and guides me to him, sliding his tongue over my lower lip and pulling away to smirk. “got it.”

“uh huh.” I chuckle.

“you taste sweet.”

“you wanna lick?” I offer my cone and he nods, trying it before offering me his own.

“literally how is ice cream so good?” I ask as we go back to our treats. music from the 50′s is playing over the speakers, delightfully saccharine as we just enjoy each other’s presence.

“no idea. but I love the person who invented it.” he says dreamily. “also, sorry about tonight. I know it was kind of a bust.”

“what?” I stop eating for a second. “Matthew, that wan’t a bust!”

“the portions were so small.” he can’t get over this. I snicker to myself.

“sure, but I had a great time.”

“are you sure? I can plan something else special for us.” he gives me puppy dog eyes, afraid that I’m disappointed. I could never be disappointed by a date with him.

“don’t worry about that. let me do the work next time.” I shrug.

“like?”

“like I’ll make an itinerary for our trip. that way you don’t have to stress about activities.”

“you and your itineraries.” he shakes his head slowly, but he’s laughing.

“have they ever failed?” I ask, then tap my finger to my ear as if daring him to reply. when he just smirks in response, I get smug. “that’s what I thought.”

“I love you.” the words come out of nowhere, a heavy sentiment for a light-hearted conversation. every time he says it, I feel it. that deep, burning adoration in my bones. I admire him for a moment.

“I love you, too.”

[holylulusworld]

Comfort Zone

This is my entry to @negans-lucille-tblr​‘s awesome 5k senses challenge. Congratulations to your milestone, hun.

Prompt: There’s nowhere your hands haven’t been

Sense: TASTE - Your fic must include oral sex

Summary: You always played on the safe side, stayed in your comfort zone, and dated the less wild brother. What happens when the other brother turns up on your doorstep with not so good intentions?

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (brief)

Warnings: angst, language, dirty talk, blow job, cocky demon Dean, cheating, smut, unprotected sex, dub con (it’s demon Dean folks), doggy style, hair pulling, mentions of nudes, kidnapping, threats, anal play (barely), degrading (name calling)

Words: 1772

A/N:Divider by @writeyourmindaway

A harsh knock at your door followed by someone growling your name at 2 am makes your body jolt up in your bed. 

Usually, Sam calls to tell you that he is in town and needs a place to sleep or well, to screw your brain out for a few hours. If you get lucky he stays for a few days and it feels like you have a relationship.

Sam and you never put a label on what you are or rather what you are doing when his elder brother is not around.

Dean knows you are Sam’s friend, the one he turns to if they need you to stitch them up or to hide for a few days. The elder Winchester does not know you and Sam like to chase each other naked through your house to screw on any surface.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” the voice grows more impatient and you stumble down the stairs, still dizzy from waking up the harsh way. “NOW!”

“Jesus, Sam,” you snicker, unlocking the door to rip it open. “Do you have your panties in a twist, Winchester?”

“Hello, sweetheart,” not your lover looks down at you, a dirty grin on his lips, but his elder brother.

His eyes roam your body and you suddenly regret you are only in a loose shirt and panties. Somehow he makes you feel unease and you are close to slamming the door into his face when he presses one palm against the wooden door, making you budge.

“Not nice to not invite a friend in,” he gives you a cocky grin when he hands you a red rose, with roots on it.

“What do you want here, Dean?” he is waltzing into your house, acting as if he belongs when you close the door behind him. “Dean, where is Sam?”

“Sammy couldn’t make it so,” Dean steps closer to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I thought I could come around and say ‘hi’ to an old friend. Have a beer and talk about the weather or crap.”

You would lie if you told anyone Dean’s closeness is not intoxicating or that the way he roams your body is more than a friendly look over. 

“Did you get hurt on a hunt again, Winchester? Jesus, take your clothes off and I’ll have a look,” now his eyes darken, and you regret your words. “I mean, to check on the wound.”

“You know, Y/N,” Dean steps closer, gripping your upper arms tight enough to hurt a little, “there’s nowhere your hands haven’t been but,” he slides his hand down your right arm to grip your wrist, pressing your hand to his crotch, “here…”

“DEAN! WHAT THE FUCK!” you would backhand the hunter, but he holds your hand to his crotch, smirking as you can feel his cock twitch. “I am with Sam.”

“Yeah, I know,” he dips his head now, smirking devilishly before his lips silence your protest. “Makes it even hotter when you go down on your knees and touch me where I need you the most.”

“What is wrong with you, Dean? Sam is your brother and even though we are not officially dating or crap he’s kinda my boyfriend,” wiggling in Dean’s grip you look up at the hunter, feeling your legs give in when his eyes flash black. “No, no!”

“Shhh, calm sweetheart,” his arms are around your body to keep you from running away. “I’ll not hurt you or a little to make you feel good.”

“Get out of Dean’s body, monster,” while you try to recite an exorcism Dean thrusts his hips forward, grinding against your hand.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.

Ergo, draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam. Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

“That tickled a bit, sweetheart,” Dean smirks moving his hands to your ass to grope it roughly, playing with you. He can see the fear in your eyes, and he cannot deny it, his cock strains painfully against his pants when a tiny whimper leaves your lips. “I can smell your arousal, Y/N. This tight little cunt is dripping for me.”

“No,” you lie, not wanting the demon to know there is a tiny kinky part of you that always wondered how Dean would taste. “I want you to let me go and leave Dean’s body, demon bastard.”

“All me, Y/N. No one is inside this body but me,” he coos, nuzzling your cheek with his face. “I want you to be my good girl, go down on your knees and touch the last part you never gave attention.”

“Dean, please…” you feel his hand twist your panties, making you cry out when the fabric gets ripped off your body. “Don’t…”

“Last warning, sweetheart. Down and open my pants, give me some attention,” Dean fists your shirt, a dark grin on his lips before it falls victim to his strength.

For a moment he admires your tits, the way your chest heaves up and down but soon enough he gropes your breasts, smirking as your arch your back, pressing your hardened nipples into the palms of his hands.

“So responsive. Now on your knees,” the dark look on his face does not accept any argument so you slowly go down on your knees, looking up at Dean with doe eyes.

“Sam can never know,” you whisper, moving your hands over Dean’s muscular thighs, rubbing your cheek against his clothed crotch. The hunter groans, moving his hands to your head to pat it gently. “Promise me.”

“Promised,” with skilled fingers your undo his belt, never breaking eye-contact with the demon your lover’s brother became. “Such a good girl,” you hate his praise leaves you dripping for him but you try to ignore the tingling in your body when you deftly unbutton his pants to shove them roughly down to his ankles.

His cock springs free, slapping against your cheek, smearing pre-cum onto your skin. “Look at you, on your knees, ready to serve me.” He smirks down at you, something sinister in his eyes when you spit into your hand before you reach out for his throbbing length.

For the first time since he came to your house, you have the upper hand as the demon throws his head back, praising you when you slide your thumb over the tip, gathering pre-cum to torturously slow start to run your hand up and down his cock.

“Harder. Faster. Use your goddamn tongue, slut,” Dean fists your hair, giving you a warning look whilst you grip him tighter, pumping him in your hand. Eyes angry you lean closer, darting your tongue out to lick all over the tip.

You earn a hiss from the demon and a smirk when you run your tongue up and down his length, moaning as you like the taste of him.

“Needy slut, ready to take any Winchester dick,” Dean chuckles darkly, watching you finally part your lips further to slowly take him in.

“I bet you’d like to give me a nasty comment but you know what?” his hand fists your hair, to shove you down his length, causing you to choke around him.

Dean doesn’t seem to care, rather enjoys your throat contracts around him, whilst he guides your head up and down his length. “Such a good little fucktoy I found. I bet Sammy would like to have a few pictures.”

You whimper, gripping Dean’s thighs to make him stop but he simply shoves you off his dick to grasp for his phone, snapping a few pictures of you kneeling naked in front of him, chin covered with his slick.

“Turn around, I wanna take a picture of your dripping pussy,” he purrs, kicking his pants off, followed by his shirt hitting the floor. “Now, kitten.”

“No! You promised…” a second later you find yourself throw over his broad shoulder while he hums to himself.

“Look at this...a masterpiece,” you would give Dean a snarky comment, but he used your torn panties as a makeshift gag while he restrained your hands behind your back.

Now your face is pressed into your favorite pillow, your legs spread wide and your cunt, well that treacherous bitch has a grand time getting railed by the demon.

Dean growls low in his throat, almost like a feral animal whilst he watches you submit to him. You gave up to tell him it is wrong to fuck your lover’s brother the moment he buried his face between your thighs.

Both of his hands grip your hips as he kneels behind you, using the grip on your hips to pump harshly into you.

“D…” you whine with every deep thrust, praying the demon will not show any of the pictures to Sam. He’s ruling your body, keeps you under his spell but your mind is racing.

“Yeah, moan for me, kitten. That is much better now,” you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he feels your walls grip him tightly. “Do you want to cum, kitten? Cum all over my demonic dick?”

Dean smirks, looking at your ass while he uses your body. “I bet you want to, little slut. All this ‘I love Sammy’ was a lie to get dicked down hard by me,” You moan, fighting against the high you can almost taste. If anything, you want at least try to keep your dignity and not cream all over a demon’s dick.

Your pussy has other plans. While your mind tries to fight the pleasure, the coil winds up too fast. Your toes curl and to your shame, you cum all over his length the moment Dean slaps your ass harshly, calling you his whore.

“Did Sammy ever make you grip him that hard? Jesus, you are milking me like a hungry little cum slut,” you hate yourself, even more, when he pokes your tightest hole with his index finger, just slipping the tip in and you cum again, choking out his name.

“That’s a good hole to keep…”

Hours later Dean has you in the backseat, handcuffed, gagged, and angry but still, he is sure you will be his good girl from now on.

Whilst you fight against the handcuffs and try to spit out the gag he made from his boxers, Dean sends one line to it his brother, attaching all the pictures he took of you.

‘If you do not stop looking for me Sammy, my cock is not the only thing I will shove into her body…’

Tags in reblog

[empoleon]

funny how it works out, innit?

• rated t, one shot, 4310 words

• also available to read here

Leon hates when Raihan’s alarm would sound off in the morning for two reasons. The first is plainly obvious—it means he has to get up and out of the warmth that so pleasantly held him all night long. 

He shuts his eyes a bit tighter while silently hoping the annoying beeps coming from Rotom would somehow turn into some sort of white noise. That idea sounded lovely in his mind. 

There’s a bit of movement to the left of him and an arm is suddenly grabbing at his bare thigh.

“Lee,” Raihan’s voice is thick with sleep, “time to get up. Joggin’ this morning, remember?”

Ah, there it is. That is Leon’s second reason for hating the alarm. Whoever thought of going for morning runs at 5AM was a real bastard.

Rotom stops its incessant beeping and Leon hopes, no, prays, that maybe this will finally be the morning where Raihan changes his mind and they both sleep in instead. 

The covers move slightly and the next thing Leon feels is Raihan’s lips brushing up against his shoulder. 

“Do you need some motivation?” he asks Leon quietly. He moves his lips up near Leon’s neck, and then his jawline, pausing for a moment. “You need to shave.”

“I feel so inspired, thank you,” Leon mutters, but there’s no bite in his tone. 

Raihan pecks him on the cheek and grins. “You’ll feel even better after our run. I’ll be in the shower.”

Leon sighs and nods his head. “Alright, I’m getting up.”

 .

 Leon definitely did need to shave, much to his own surprise. He swears that some nights it’s as though his facial hair goes through some strange growth cycle.

He carefully brings the razor down his jawline and wipes away any excess shaving cream that is left over. 

“Oi, Rotom!” 

Raihan’s voice almost causes Leon to nick himself. “You don’t need to yell! I’m in here too, y’know.”

“Ah, sorry,” his voice sounds muffled momentarily and then he peeks his head out from around the shower curtain. “Hi.”

Leon spares him a glance before turning his attention back to his reflection in the mirror, trying his hardest not to smile.

“So…” Raihan begins, “can you—”

“Can I do you a favor?” Leon cuts him off, angling the razor down his chin.

He shouldn’t look at Raihan. He really, really, shouldn’t, not because of the obvious oh he’s naked reasoning that yes, does make sense, but rather Leon shouldn’t because if he does, he will end up laughing.

“You know me so well, love,” Raihan smiles at him. “Could you grab Rotom for me?”

Leon wipes off the remaining shaving cream off of his face with a cloth and sets it on the sink countertop. He finally dares to look over at Raihan and breaks into a fit of laughter. 

“You’re awful, you know?” he says between laughs. “Absolutely awful.”

Raihan tries to pout at him, but he only succeeds in looking silly—being wet, naked, and wearing a shower cap with Goomy patterns on it isn’t doing him any favors. 

Leon concedes and quickly steps out of the bathroom and back into their bedroom, locating Raihan’s Rotom Phone near his side of the bed. 

The passcode has always been easy to guess, even if Raihan rarely ever updates it. Leon has Rotom pull up the music app before he walks back to the bathroom. He swings the door open and clears his throat loudly.

“I see the crystal raindrops fall, and the beauty of it all is when the sun comes shining through.”

Raihan yells something at him, probably something along the lines of questioning what he’s doing, but Leon pays no mind to it. 

“To make those rainbows in my mind, when I think of you sometime and I wanna spend some time with you.”

“Stop,” Raihan sticks his arm out from the shower and tries to grab at Leon, but he misses. “You’re off-key!”

The chorus of the song begins to play and Leon starts to dance—he only manages to thrust his hips one time before Raihan steals the phone out of his hands. 

“Out,” he demands, a grin on his face. “Get out and go get dressed, you tosser.”

Leon complies and blows him a kiss. “See you in a few!”

 .

 “Do you want to stay home or come with me?” Leon asks Charizard. 

It’s funny when he asks that—Raihan’s apartment in Hammerlocke isn’t exactly their home, but with the amount of time Leon spends here, it may as well be.

He gently scratches at Charizard’s chin, moving his hands up towards his horns. The Pokémon makes a quiet, pleased grunt in reply.

“Yes? You’ll have to stay in your ball though,” Leon reminds him. Charizard nods his head. 

“Alright then,” Leon smiles at him. 

Raihan rounds the corner and steps into the room, tugging a shirt over his head. “I can’t find my gloves—”

“I got ’em,” Leon holds up the thin pair in his hands. “We’re still getting coffee afterwards, right?” 

“Ta, love,” Raihan takes the gloves from him. “Yeah, we are. Big guy coming with us?” he glances at Charizard.

“Yep, just him,” Leon nodded his head and held up a Poké Ball, returning Charizard for now.

They both head towards the apartment door and step outside, Leon first and Raihan after him, making sure to lock the door behind them. 

“Arceus, why do I agree to do this with you?” Leon shivered and jumped up and down, trying to warm himself up. It was closer to six in the morning now, but that definitely didn’t make it any warmer outside.

“Because it’s good for you,” Raihan reminds him as he turns around. “Also, you love me, so,” he shrugs and smiles. 

Leon pauses to look at Raihan, regarding him silently while he fixes his locs. 

I really do love you, he thinks. It brings a smile to his face.

 .

 People always wave and say hello whenever they go on their morning runs. It’s nice. 

“Look, it’s the Chairman!”

“And Raihan, too! How cool!”

Leon is often surprised at how many citizens are actually out doing things at this hour—children, too.

There’s a small cafe next to the Pokémon Center they stopped at. Leon is leaning against the brick outside, catching his breath while Raihan orders them coffee. He cups his hands together and blows on them, trying to warm them up.

A group of young boys nearby are battling Pokémon out in the small courtyard that is adjacent to the cafe. Leon watches them with a small smile.

“Piping hot,” Raihan exits the cafe carrying two medium-sized plastic cups. “’ere you go,” he hands one of them off to Leon, who takes it graciously. 

“Do you know what that’s all about?” Leon takes a sip out of his cup and motions across the way to a small hanging advertisement on one of Hammerlocke’s many skyscrapers.

Raihan leans forward and tries to make out the fine print on the sign. “Uh… something about weddings, I think. It’s this new thing the city’s been promoting since spring is around the corner.”

“Weddings? In Hammerlocke?” Leon raises an eyebrow. “You’d think Wyndon would be more of a hotspot for such a thing.”

“Oi, watch it,” Raihan nudges him with an elbow. “You and I both know it’s quite lovely here all year round.”

“Hey, Mr. Raihan?” 

One of the young boys who was battling runs over towards them before Leon has a chance to come up with a rebuttal. 

“’ello, chap!” Raihan squats down to greet him. “Something the matter?”

The boy glances between the two of them and back at his friend before he speaks up. “We were wonderin’ if you could give us some pointers.”

Leon chuckles. “Popular this morning, aren’t we?”

“Oh, shush,” Raihan elbows him once again before turning his attention to the boy. “I’d be happy to, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather have the former Champion give you some tips?”

“We want him to watch!” the boy exclaimed. “Please don’t go anywhere,” he tells Leon earnestly, to which he laughs again.

“I’ll be right here then,” he nods his head. 

The young boy leads Raihan over towards his friend while Leon watches them with amusement. About a month or so ago, it probably would have made him feel a bit bad about himself if any young Pokémon trainers weren’t interested in… who he was.

Everything is different now though, of course. He’s happy to no longer be the one always in the spotlight. 

A group of Rookidee fly overhead and their chirps blend together with the sound of Raihan’s voice and the two young trainers laughing. 

 .

 “Mr. Chairman, we will need you to go over this and sign it sometime this week,” a league staff member hands Leon a small stack of documents.

“Alright, sure thing,” he flips through the papers briefly. “I don’t have any meetings scheduled for this evening, right?”

“No, sir.”

“Great, thank you—”

Leon’s Rotom Phone flies straight into his face and flashes its screen. “You have a new message, Leon!”

The league staff member excuses themself from the room and Leon sighs.

“Quite the entrance, Rotom, but didn’t we talk about this?” he frowns. “When I’m busy you can’t just fly in here at random, unless—”

“It is a message from Raihan!” Rotom tells him in its high-pitched voice.

That changes Leon’s demeanor immediately. “Oh.”

 .

 He ends up calling Raihan instead because he absolutely loathes texting the man.

“I don’t see anything… are you sure it was an explosion?”

Leon is staring out one of the glass panels in the Battle Tower, scanning the local area. His Rotom Phone is hovering beside him.

“I’m telling you, I heard some kind of loud bang,” Raihan’s voice says over the line. “I’m at the boutique right now, by the way. Can I use your discount?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Leon says absentmindedly. “Oh wait—I think I do see something.”

There’s a puff of smoke out in the horizon that is faintly tinged blue and purple. It’s hard to make it out for certain, but if Leon didn’t know any better, he would say it looks like—

“Leon? Are you there?” Raihan asks him after a moment.

“It’s a wedding ceremony,” Leon sounds breathless. “Wow, it’s beautiful.”

There are countless Butterfree and Pidove flying over the area from what he can see after the smoke begins to fade. 

“—weather, really?”

Leon blinks and shakes his head. “Come again?”

“I said with this weather I’m surprised,” Raihan’s voice expresses his astonishment. “It tried to snow just the other day!” 

“It sure is pretty, though,” Leon presses a hand up against the glass window. His breath fogs up the view for a second and he wipes at it with his sleeve. “I told you Wyndon is perfect for these kinds of events.”

“Yeah, yeah,” even without seeing it, Leon knows Raihan is rolling his eyes. “You’re still meeting me at the station once you’re done with your work, right?”

Leon chuckles and steps away from the window. “If you’ll still have me for dinner, yes.” 

“Wouldn’t change that for the world, love,” Rahain tells him.

 .

 “Why do I have to be here with you again, Lee?” Hop trudges along behind his brother as they walk towards a local jeweler’s store. “It’s so early,” he whines. 

“This place opens at nine,” Leon glances down at his wristwatch to check the time. 8:42 is displayed in a bright green color.

“That doesn’t answer my question, though,” Hop stops Leon from crossing the street and points to his left. “Wouldn’t Sonia be a more suitable friend to ask?”

Leon turns his head to glance down the street and frowns. He could have sworn they needed to cross here, but apparently he was wrong.

“No way could I ask Sonia to come with me,” he says after a moment. “She’d have a laugh at me, for sure.”

“And you think I won’t?” Hop grins at his older brother while they walk down the pavement. 

“The difference is,” Leon pauses in front of the shop’s door once they reach it. “I can handle your jokes, little bro. I’ll never hear the end of this from Sonia once she finds out.”

 .

 “Do you need any help today, sir?” 

Leon is about to speak up, but Hop beats him to it. “We’re good, thank you.”

After the clerk walks away, he turns towards Leon and shoots him a look. “You’re going to blow your cover if you speak to anyone!” 

Leon winces and nods his head. “Alright, alright—I forgot, sorry.” 

They’re the only two customers currently inside the quaint shop due to it being so early. Hop is dressed fairly normal, mostly because he had no idea where Leon was planning to bring him at such an early hour. 

Leon, on the other hand, tried his best to look inconspicuous—he doesn’t need the media finding out about this yet. That apparently means donning his usual attire, fairly casual, including a snapback—yes, the picture perfect example of being discreet.

At least he opted to wear a pair of sunglasses.

“What do you think of this?” Leon points to a certain piece behind some glass. “It should match his eyes, yeah?”

“That is so corny, Lee,” Hop snickers. “You’re absolutely whipped.”

“Don’t start with me,” he tries to sound stern, but it’s extremely difficult for him to hide the smile that’s spreading across his face. It’s true. 

Hop steps to the side of him and peers into the glass display. 

“He’ll love it,” he says after a moment, and it helps to calm Leon’s budding nerves. “It’s perfect.”

 .

Leon waits one whole week before he decides to give Raihan the present he bought for him. It’s been safely tucked away in a spot where no one would dare to look—Leon’s closet.

(which is actually raihan’s spare closet in his apartment, but leon has turned it into an endless hoard of snapbacks and joggers.)

He’s equal parts nervous and excited when he hears the door click open that evening and the familiar sound of Raihan setting his bag on the floor. 

Leon slides into the hallway on his socks, excited. “Welcome home!”

In his head, he pictured Raihan coming home all cheery and bright, like he normally would. Unfortunately, that is not how this particular evening pans out.

Raihan looks… tired. Exhausted is probably a better word for it.

“You alright?” Leon walks over towards him and holds out his arms. Raihan eagerly leans into the welcoming embrace. 

“Yeah, ’m just really knackered,” he sighs and presses his face into Leon’s shoulder. “Sonia had called and—”

“Sonia called?” Leon gently nudges him back and leads him into their living room. “Why?”

“She’s been doing some research and me, being the nice bloke that I am—”

Leon pauses to consider this. “You are pretty nice.”

“I know,” Raihan grins as he sits down on the sofa. “Anyway, I told her I could poke around in the vault, see if there’d be anything of use.”

“And you ended up staying there for hours, right?” Leon knows him too well. Raihan is always the one offering to lend a hand if need be.

“I almost couldn’t get up after I realized how late it was getting,” he groans and flops back into the cushions. “Sitting hunched over for so bloody long was a mistake on my part.”

“Gotta take care of yourself, y’know,” Leon walks into the kitchen for a brief moment before poking his head back around the doorway. “Did you have supper already? If not, I could reheat you some leftovers.”

Raihan slowly rises up from the sofa and stretches. “Nah, I think I’m going to turn in for the night.” 

Well this certainly isn’t part of Leon’s grand plan to give Raihan his present. 

“Are you sure?” For some reason, Leon can’t bring himself to move out of the doorway in the kitchen. He should try to think of something to keep Raihan busy so he could—

“Yeah, I’m good,” he gives Leon a lopsided smile. “I’ll see you in a bit. Night.”

“Night,” Leon softly parrots it back to him. He watches quietly while Raihan leaves the room and ascends the stairs. 

There’s always tomorrow, he tells himself. What’s one more day?

“Yeah,” Leon nods his head and pats his face, feeling more determined. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

It doesn’t take him long to turn off the lights in the kitchen and head upstairs himself, wondering if Raihan already made it into bed or if he decided to take a shower beforehand. 

Leon can’t say he’s surprised when he steps into Raihan’s bedroom and finds the man curled up under the covers instead. 

He stops by the edge of the bed and runs his hand along the outline of Raihan’s calf. 

“Did you wash your face?” Leon murmurs the question. His fingers move up slowly towards the head of the bed and he rests his hand on Raihan’s shoulder.

“No,” is the sleepy reply he gets a second later. It partially sounds like a groan. “Didn’t think of it, actually.” 

“That’s alright,” Leon’s hand moves towards Raihan’s cheek and caresses his skin. “Missing one day won’t hurt.” 

“You coming to bed?” Raihan sticks his hand out from the covers and blindly tries to grab at Leon’s arm to pull him closer. 

“Yep, budge over,” he proceeds to climb on top of Raihan and sprawls out across his body, which causes both men to start laughing. 

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. 

 .

 Leon thinks he made a mistake when he decided to do this in the morning. He forgot about his number one enemy—the bloody alarm. 

He rolls over onto his back and yawns. The alarm ceases its beeping and Leon turns his head to look over at Raihan. 

“Mornin’,” he says with a small smile. 

Raihan’s voice is a bit muffled, but Leon is pretty certain he heard him say it back, and then there are arms wrapping around Leon’s waist.

“Are we going for a run today?” Leon asks him, assuming he already knows the answer. The bed is pleasantly comfortable this morning, but he’s not going to hold his breath on the chance that today might finally be one day they get to sleep in.

“No way,” Raihan buries his face into Leon’s shoulder and sighs. “I want to sleep.”

Leon blinks at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Alright,” he isn’t going to argue or ask why—he wants to enjoy this for as long as possible.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he wakes up again, but he hears water running and music playing. 

Leon rolls over to check the time—10:30. Not too late at least. 

He sits up and stretches, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Raihan?”

“Yes?” his voice carries out from the bathroom, definitely sounding more cheerful than he did last night. 

“Good morning!” Leon calls out. “Are you showering?”

Raihan pokes his head out the bathroom doorway. “Not yet, why? Need the loo?”

“Nah, just wanted to see your lovely face before you clean up,” he grins. “Don’t take too long, alright?”

“Mhm,” Raihan doesn’t sound convinced. He steps out of the bathroom and crosses his arms. “Are you going to sit there and wait until I’m done then?”

Leon nods his head solemnly. “Yep.”

An eyebrow is raised and a look is shared between the two men, but neither one of them says anything else. Raihan shrugs and returns to the bathroom, and Leon…

Leon decides to act. Quickly. Before he loses his nerve again. 

He gets up from the bed and walks over to the closet, finding the gift he hid among his clothes. The store clerk had wrapped it in a small grey box with a ribbon on top. Nothing too flashy. 

“Okay,” Leon whispers to himself. “Okay, I can do this. I’ll practice and—it’ll be fine, yeah.”

He paces back and forth in the bedroom for a few moments before he stops and takes a deep breath. 

Kneeling down is easy, so he doesn’t have to practice that part. But what in the world is he going to say?

“Oi, Lee? D’you mind grabbing me a shirt?” 

Raihan barely has one foot into their bedroom and he turns his head and sees Leon and more importantly, what Leon’s doing. 

“Oh,” Leon’s brows raise up the second he remembers he’s still down on one knee. 

“What are you… doing?” Raihan asks him slowly. 

“Marry me?” 

His voice cracks, and it is absolutely embarrassing the living hell out of Leon, but he did it. He feels proud of himself, in a way. 

Raihan simply stares at him and says nothing at first. The shower head running in the bathroom is the only other noise that can be heard.

“Lee,” he swallows before continuing, “you want to do this right now?” 

Leon nods his head energetically. “Yes.”

“I’m in my knickers,” Raihan gestures to himself and lets out a shaky laugh. “Seriously? You’re not having a laugh at me?”

“No,” Leon scrambles to stand up and reaches out to grab Raihan by his shoulders. “No, never. I promise. I love you.” 

A flicker of emotion crosses Raihan’s features before he ends up wrapping his arms around Leon’s waist and pulls him into an embrace. 

“You’re a complete knobhead, you know that?” Raihan buries his face into Leon’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

“So is that a yes… or?” Leon is hesitant to ask. 

Yes, yes,” Raihan nods his head. He pulls Leon back and smiles at him. “A thousand times yes.”

Leon grins up at him and carefully takes Raihan’s left hand into his own, slipping the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly and now that Leon can see it on Raihan’s hand, he’s glad he picked the one with a thin stripe of cerulean.

He feels like he’s floating on an Altaria’s wings, knowing that he’s finally going to be marrying his best friend.

There’s this look on Raihan’s face though, and it’s gone within a second, but it’s as though he suddenly remembered something. Leon almost doesn’t catch it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Promise me you won’t get upset?” Raihan bites his lip. 

Leon immediately assumes the worst—this is a mistake, he doesn’t want to marry you—but he slowly nods his head and tries to prepare himself.

Raihan steps away for a moment and walks over towards his side of the bed, rummaging through the nightstand. He pulls out a small box that looks identical to the one Leon had. 

“No,” Leon gasps, mouth agape with disbelief. “Bloody hell, you’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was,” Raihan sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out the box for Leon to take. 

This box is dark blue in color and velvet—it feels very soft to Leon’s touch. When he opens it, he can’t help but laugh. 

“This is beautiful,” he says after a moment of examining the silver ring. “How long have you had this hidden?”

Raihan counts with his fingers. “About two weeks, I think. Almost three. I was trying to find the right time to—well, you know—but I guess you beat me to it.”

Leon sits down next to him and hands the box back over. “You can still ask me if you want.” 

He glances at Raihan to see him considering this. 

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Leon says without any hesitation. “Please?”

Raihan gets up and moves himself into position in front of Leon. He looks into those amber eyes, takes a deep breath—and he starts to laugh instead.

“Oh, come off it!” Leon playfully shoves at him. “You need to say it!”

The laughter subsides as Raihan tries to compose himself again. He slowly takes one of Leon’s hands into his own and glances up at him. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Leon nods his head enthusiastically. “Yes,” and to the surprise of no one, his voice cracks a bit again. 

Raihan slides the ring onto Leon’s finger with a steady hand, right before he’s tackled back onto the floor by his new fiancé.

“I love you so much,” Leon peppers Raihan’s face with kisses. “So very, very much.” 

 .

 “So,” Raihan starts to say, “ceremony in Wyndon, after party in Hammerlocke?” 

They’re having lunch at the Battle Café in Motostoke. It’s been approximately two days since they both proposed to each other.

Leon is fiddling with his ring, barely paying attention to a single word Raihan says when he nods his head. 

“And honeymoon in… Postwick,” Raihan settles on saying, waiting for Leon’s actual reaction.

It works quite comically. Leon finally snaps his head up in horror. “No, absolutely not in Postwick. Are you mad?”

“Nope,” Raihan grins. “Just wondering when you’re going to stop staring at your hand. I know it’s pretty, but I am right here, you know.”

“So you’re saying I should be paying attention to you,” Leon bites back a smirk. He doesn’t phrase it as a question and states it as though it’s obvious. 

(of course it is.)

Raihan nods his head. “Well, that would be nice.”

Leon holds out his hands and waits for Raihan to reach across the table and lace their fingers together. 

“I love you,” he says with a warm smile, bringing Raihan’s hands up towards his lips. Kisses are pressed along his knuckles and Leon pauses once he reaches the silver band.

At least he took his eyes off of his own ring for a moment.

Raihan returns the gesture with a gentle squeeze. “I love you more. What about Alola?”

“Alola sounds perfect,” he agrees.

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty | Ooo I Ooo I Ooo I Ooo I (Part 2 of 2 | His POV) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Song Referenced

• • •

did he give you an exact date?

Unfortunately, no.

At first, I had at least until the end of the year, but…

CPS wants this resolved quicker than he thought.

guessin' you need to finish tourin' the underground first then, right?

Yes.

Would it be possible the day after tomorrow?

Or just… sometime this weekend?

I can go by myself, but…

Asgore won't allow that unless I'm with someone else.

Says I shouldn't be walking so far and so long alone if I haven't recovered yet.

you don't need to go alone, either way.

be it my job or not, I still wanna help out.

so the day after tomorrow's fine with me, bud.

we can discuss those details better when we drive over to tori's school tomorrow.

Are you sure?

And…

Does that 'we' imply you'll be picking us up?

100%

but yeah, i'll drive you guys there.

and pick up paps on the way, too.

it's easier for all four of us.

Mhm.

don't believe me?

Oh, I believe you.

I just don't think that's the only reason why you're picking us up, when I already have the address.

so what's the other one?

Don't get cocky, Serif.

I'm not gonna type that out.

It's a godsend Frisk will be with us, too.

'Cause I sure don't trust being alone with you anymore.

inna bad way?

Nah.

niiice.

pick you guys up tomorrow, then?

Yes.

We'll see you tomorrow.

And thank you in advance.

∆ Sticker | Happy Cartoon Bunny™ waving goodbye ∆

"You've changed, Sans."

He ignores that comment to view (Y/N)'s last two messages again.

While he doesn't know why that particular sticker bothers his mind so much, a few scrolls up to revise his chat history with the human reveal this is the first time they've shown any sort of informality or spontaneity in their typing. (Y/N) came off cold in their texts, though -- based on how they acted outside of a chat app -- that wasn't their intention, but more of an automatic way for them to talk with someone they didn't exactly deem trustworthy enough yet. He grins at that thought and feels his face warm up, something he confirms when touching his cheekbone, cold palm contrasting with that heat.

"You're wasting your time with that human," Drunk Bun says, snapping him out of his daydreaming.

They've sat themselves on the bar stool next to him and slam what looks like their tenth can of cheap, off-brand beer against the counter, crunching it down into more than half its size. He doesn't know how long they've stood there or why he's lost this much awareness of his surroundings. The bar's practically empty and calm now compared to before, though there's loud music blaring from the jukebox, playing an already overplayed song on repeat. There's no excuse for his distracted mind other than having lost himself while texting with the human, so he admits that fault with partial sourness, against accepting he's that smitten with them.

"You're changing for the worse," his company adds, narrowing their eyes at him. "Every time we come here to catch up, you mention something stupid about that (L/N) person, or just text the whole evening away with them. I... I've never seen you worry so much about someone so inconsequential." They scoff and cross their arms tight. "I may understand you caring after Frisk as a way to repay them for rescuing us, but (L/N) is completely useless. They've done absolutely nothing remarkable beyond creating a huge scene at that bus you were both on."

"Being harassed by a rando and faintin' after's them causin' a scene?" Sans asks, quirking an eye socket.

"Oh, screw off, bone boy -- You know what I mean. They've brought you nothing but trouble and needless responsibilities!" The bunny grits their teeth and slams their hand over the table, dragging eyes to their side. "I'm betting you can't go a day without texting them or without you doing something for them."

"You need to-"

Beep-beep.

The phone is snatched from his hands just as quick as that noise rings.

"Give that back."

"No." They keep the phone right above him, taking advantage of his shorter height. "Your fault for not putting a lock on it."

Drunk Bun scoots away and holds the phone tight as they fumble with it. Then, they stop to look at what he assumes is another text message from the human. A grimace shows on their face and they grasp the device tight, enough to make the screen complain and warn them over the pressure they're exerting against it. "Now this is beyond pathetic, Sans," they comment, letting out a loud, burst laugh. "Is this seriously the one you're sacrificing your entire personality for?" They give him his phone back, though not before hesitating when it's time to let go. "That human is-"

"Gimme a sec."

His attention falls on the picture displayed on screen, revealing (Y/N) and Frisk posing in it. The adult wears a suit and tie while the child has Toriel's school uniform on. The former's pose appears forced and awkward while the latter seems to be the reason the picture was taken with how excited they seem about their outfit.

Frisk wanted me to show you this.

It's what we'll be wearing for tomorrow!

There's a three-minute interval between that and the next message.

I know classes still haven't started there, but… They wanted to wear it, so I joined them by trying on something special for, well…

That job offer you told me about.

I don't know if I'll accept or not yet, but…

Thank you for the opportunity, and for believing in me.

∆ Sticker | Happy Cartoon Bunny™ giving a thumbs-up ∆

"You're grossing me out, honestly. What kind of look is that?"

It takes him a while to react, focus glued on (Y/N)'s messages.

"What look?"

"That lovesick look on your face." Tears form on their eyes -- almost abruptly, hadn't their voice shaken right before that. "I- I've been flirting with you for years, and yet you've never once looked at me like that before." They stand up straight, stare down at him, and rest their hands on the table, blinking their tears away throughout. "I've known you for so damn long, and yet you fall for the first human you see up here? I-"

"So that's what this's about," he says, chuckling. "You're-"

"Don't you dare brush everything off as me having a crush on you, Sans." They hiss. "You're not the same as before, and that's as clear as day. You worry a lot more now, and… And you actually seem to care more about other stuff beyond your job and sleeping on it. Y- You-"

"Aren't those good things?"

"Maybe, but your entire personality changing isn't. I liked you better when you were less worked up with stuff that's none of your business." They stop to grab his phone again; a grin breaks the sorrow on their face. "But hey, y- you're just doing your job, aren't you? You should set things straight with that human and remind them you're only with them because Asgore told you to in that agreement letter you gave them."

"Won't work if I flirted with 'em first. Pretty sure they'll see right through my lies."

"Y- You flirted with them first?!"

"Yeah."

He dodges a punch aimed right at his face.

"Wait-"

They throw a second punch -- this one turning out to be a spoof -- and laugh at the sight of him falling for it; they then toss the phone high over his head after he's finished dodging that fake attack, and aim yet another punch right after.

He salvages the device, though at the cost of taking the blow right on his left eye socket.

"How can you admit that so easily? You're awful!"

"'Cause you're only a close friend. I don't owe you an explanation about who I'm dating, and even less if you're gonna be actin' this way."

Drunk Bun springs at him, only to be held back by the rest of the regulars sitting near the scene, sufficiently fast enough for them not to wrangle Sans in anything major. They struggle and thrash at everyone around, trying to break free, but failing each time. It takes a fully-armored guard dog and a buff bear for them to be fought back into their rightful place, and yet another strong monster for them to let go of a wine bottle they insist on downing when seated.

Grillby intervenes as well by warning them to calm down, unless they want to be kicked out. Meanwhile, Sans turns on the camera and looks at his reflection through it, revealing a faint soreness already forming around his eye socket -- right where his companion had punched at. Being primarily made out of bones brought advantages, but having magical properties often led to him bruising easily.

Another regular approaches him and offers him a first aid kit, one he brings back to his seat to heal himself there.

While he takes out an antibiotic and some cotton pads with one hand, he uses the other to busy himself with (L/N)'s messages, against leaving them on read for so long.

no probs.

here at your service.

frisk looks great, btw.

and you? hot. 😘🔥

awkwardly hot.

hotwkward.

Frisk is reading the replies, you know?

damn.

i mean…

darn.

don't tell 'em i said that.

∆ Audio | 0:46 ∆

He clicks on it to hear Frisk giggling along with (Y/N) commenting they won't. It later continues with them asking if he's alright, specifying what they mean by highlighting a picture, this one sent by him. Blurriness makes up most of it when he clicks on it and zooms in, yet he can identify what looks like his companion from earlier, who'd apparently snapped and sent the human a photo by accident.

that's a friend o' mine.

they're, uh, kinda tipsy, so they got inna fight with me.

Really?

Are you okay?

yeah, just a lil' sore where they punched at.

What?!

i'm fine, puddin'.

dw about it.

Where's that bar at?

I'm near the mall, so I can drop by if you need anything.

aren't you still shoppin'?

take it easy.

I'm almost done.

Just trying out one more outfit.

can I see?

👀

Sure.

∆ Attachment | 2 images ∆

To his surprise, they're not only posing much more freely now, but they've also made the effort to strike another pose from a different angle. The human's outfit is composed of a dark green, semi-formal (suit/dress), fit for a night out. They've gone as far as to edit a wink emoji and some hearts at the corner of one -- the most flirty of the two.

So...

What do you think?

*jaw drops to floor, irises pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets, soul beats out of rib cage, awooga awooga sound effect, pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out, slams fists on table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware, whistles loudly, fireworks shoot from top of head, pants loudly as tongue hangs out of teeth, wipes comically large bead of sweat from forehead, clears throat, straightens jacket, combs skull* ahem, you look real lovely.

*bwushes* Thank uwu kindwy, handswome. I'm vewy fwattewed.

...frisk ain't there anymore, right?

If they wewe, duwu uwu twhink I'd be twyping wike thiws?

faiw poiwnt.

Anyway…

I noticed the changes you made in that copy-paste, and…

You didn't edit the tongue part out.

So…

What that tongue do, baby?

😳

…lick…

...ice cream.

🔥🔥🔥

Ah, that's hot.

Or should I say cold?

And speaking of cold…

I'm gonna get you an ice pack or something.

You should take care of where it's sore, if you don't want it to bruise more.

whatta way to change the subject away from our moment, puddin'.

but uh, thanks in advance.

Anytime, teddy bear.

uwu

owo

• • •

"Am I really changin', Grillbs?" Sans asks, emptying his beer in three long gulps. "Be honest with me."

The one questioned takes the empty can from his hands and shakes his head in what looks more like disapproval rather than him answering that question. He first warns the skeleton about getting drunk, and reminds him to stay sober if he wants an answer as well as prevent himself from drunk-texting the source of his lovelorn self. When receiving a promise from him in response, he later answers with a 'no' and that he's still the same whenever he came to visit the bar.

"So I'm only different when I'm talkin' about 'em?"

Grillby nods.

"Inna bad way?"

He shakes his head.

"Then…"

Sans is stopped with a hand over his and faced with a stern look, despite the owner of it having no eyes or mouth.

"If they make you happy, then it's alright for you to show it," a regular states, intervening in the conversation. "You're not a lifeless machine. And nobody's one-dimensional either, so you shouldn't force yourself to act the same, strict way all the time. If you want to be all mushy with that human, then so be it. Aren't you the one who always says stuff like 'nothing really matters; in the end, we'll all die'? What's stopping you now of all times? Where's that hardcore nihilist I've known since years ago?

Sans rubs the back of his neck and huffs.

Clearly, neither the regular nor Grillby understood what he truly meant to say with his questions. He didn't mind his relationship with the human, but he also didn't want his old self to be replaced by someone he wasn't, as a result. There were things he didn't want to change about his old self -- things he feared would fade away now that he seemed to be getting into something as complex as a romantic relationship. There were parts of him he needed to keep in case the world were to start over again -- in case something went wrong. He couldn't allow himself to grow soft.

A pat on his shoulder lets him know he's lost himself in those thoughts.

"It's alright to fear change, but don't let that hold you back. If you like that human and they do, too -- Then what's there keeping you from going for it?"

It's not that easy.

Still, he keeps that thought quiet and replies with, "Thanks, but I'll probably have to give that more ti-"

The door of the bar opens to reveal someone new to it, but not so much unknown to Sans, who already finds himself distracted by them. (Y/N) stands in front of the entrance, looking this way and that. Frisk holds on to their hand, while a reusable shopping bag's hung over their parent's arm; a pharmacy's logo and name can be seen stamped on it. The eldest human approaches the area with caution, until their child assures them -- once, twice, and then thrice -- they've been to this place before and that it serves other purposes beyond that of providing alcohol and provoking fights. When they look forward, he meets their eyes and tries to glance away quickly, only to be called out by them soon after. They don't take long to smile wide and bright, wave, and -- finally -- approach his side after he waves back at them.

Rather than giving him whatever's in the bag, they instead let go of Frisk's hand, ask them if they want anything to eat, and give them some money when they sign the word 'fries'. Then, they sit on the stool next to his and settle the bag on their lap. "Come closer, and close your eye sockets," they say, still smiling. "It's your left one, right? It looks really sore already."

He nods and tries to ignore the warmth in his soul when they place a hand over his.

In his favour, they let go of him not long after to disinfect their hands and slip some gloves on when these dry out.

"I-"

"Shh."

(Y/N) holds his chin with their hand and grazes their fingers against his injury, their touch slow and careful as they apply some antibiotic over and around it. They then slide an eye patch on him and assumedly check around for any more bruises, based on the feeling of their hands grazing against his torso, arms, and neck. "The ice pack's in the bag -- Remember to throw it in the freezer when you get home." They touch his chest again, even more gentle this time. "So..." He notices some hesitance when they pull their hand back. "You're not hurt anywhere else?"

He shakes his head, words caught in his throat.

"Alright, but don't look yet."

Doing as told, Sans waits for whatever comes next. He stays still and stiff, until he feels their lips brush close to his eye socket, where they lay a soft, ticklish kiss at. They do the same with his other one and finish it off by kissing his nose cavity.

"Now you can."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

...

......

🌋🔥💥 ANNOYING NOTICE TIME 💥🔥🌋

So, here's a summary of all the events happening this month, which will affect Fairytale Complex's update schedule in various ways:

1. I will be rewriting all my other fics that aren't FaiCom, since I'm pretty darn happy and proud of the new writing style I've developed with this fanfic, and so I want to implement it into my older stories (with the exception of the Tom Nook x Reader one -- I'm rewriting that one despite being recent because it started off as a wild, 3 am energy project after finishing with finals, but then I actually had way more fun than I originally anticipated, so I'll be turning it into a long fic just like this one, lol). This means FaiCom will be taking a short, 1 to 2 week break after Arc 2 (Chapter 25) ends, to dedicate some time to all 4 of these stories.

2. I'm taking extracurricular classes/hobby workshops this summer, so I need to tweak my schedule again. This means FaiCom will be changing its schedule back to the old one, composed of weekly updates on Mondays, Wednesdays, and/or Fridays.

3. As mentioned previously, Pride Month is here, so I'll be making some one-shots and drabbles related to it, meaning updates might be slightly less frequent this month. BUT, a good majority of them are FaiCom related ones (and they will be posted on a different book to avoid conflicting with regular updates, too). More on that later on!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

[lunarliza]

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter Two: Palm Trees

fuckbuddy!JJ x Kook!Reader 

series masterlist | chapter one 

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl? 

note: just wanna thank ya’ll for all the support! so glad you guys like this. there is smut and drug use under the cut btw 

Three Months Ago-

“Shit,” you heard someone curse. 

You met eyes with an unfamiliar curly blonde boy who mimicked a deer in headlights as he perched down under the tall wooden fence. 

It was a fine, breezy morning. You had set up a blanket on a small patch of sand, under a shady palm tree, just behind someone’s large fenced backyard on the edge of the Eight. You figured no one could catch you casually smoking your pot in the secluded area. 

That was, until a pair of skinny legs darted into your hideout. You quickly hid your joint behind your back while his sea blue eyes pierced yours, but not in an intimidating way, more like a raccoon getting caught with food. He wore a dirty white tee, sleeves chopped off, and torn board shorts. He had bracelets trailing up his arm with ‘JJ’ written across multiple beads. You could tell right away he was from The Cut. 

“What the fuck! Who are you-” 

“Shh no no no,” he held a finger up to your lips. “You did not see me here.” 

He attempted to scurry away, but you caught onto his ankle before he could. “Wait!” 

He plummeted over onto the sand and groaned in response. “What the fu-”

You craned your neck at the fallen twinkie. “Are you stealing?” 

Having just moved to the Outer Banks six months ago, you didn’t know much about the culture besides what made up Figure Eight. From what you were told, the island was basically split between two crowds. 

Ted detested The Cut and anyone associated with it. He called them low lives, thieves, rats. One time, Macy went on a play date with a friend from school there. Once Ted found out where she was, he stormed over, pulled her away from her friend, and threatened the family before flooring the car back home. Since then, he forbade your family to go anywhere near the area. Ted wasn’t a man of many words, but the anger in his eyes that day made it clear he was not kidding around. 

“What?” the boy scoffed, “I’m not stealing, just-” 

“Disrupting the neighborhood?” 

His face knotted in confusion. “Something like that... look what will it take for you to keep quiet about this?” 

You shrugged, kind of enjoying his desperation. You weren’t planning on ratting him out at all, but this was the most entertainment you had gotten all week, so you decided to play along. You tapped your chin, “Hmm, perhaps-” 

“Before you continue, princess,” he mocked, gesturing towards the arm you had behind your back, “you might wanna rethink snitching when you have all that dank on you. How would your parents feel if they found out their precious Kook daughter was smoking weed?” 

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off. “Carry on, asshole.” 

------------------------------

Later that night, you were dragged to a party at the famous Boneyard by your friend Jade- a petite social butterfly with a heart of gold and the most toxic dating history you had ever seen. 

She was one of the few friends you made since moving to the OBX. Jade knew of how much you hated life at the Eight, but still tried to include you in as many events as she could. Despite growing up with insanely rich doctors as parents, she herself didn’t quite fit the spoiled Kook mold either. She had her kinks, and you liked it. 

“Jade, I’m not sure about this. If Ted finds out-” 

“Girl, you are fine! Just say you’re with me and my parents will cover. Trust me, they think I’m at some study session right now,” she assured.

“But finals aren’t til next month.” 

“Exactly! See how much they care?” 

Hand in yours, she led you to a spot on the beach where a crowd of people pranced around a bonfire. You could tell it was a mix of Pogues, Kooks, and some tourists in town for Spring Break. 

“Care for a beer ladies?” a tall, tan boy asked as he held out two red cups to you and Jade. You happily accepted, and the guy dared you both to chug your drinks. You shook your head with an ear-stretched grin, attempting to gulp as much of your beer as you could take. 

The confidence juice soared into your throat. It tasted absolutely atrocious, but you were determined to finish it. 

For the first time since moving to the island, you felt alive. The two of you tossed the empty remains into a trashcan and Jade cupped your cheeks with her French-manicured hands. “Isn’t this awesome!” she exclaimed and began shaking her hips to the electronic music- her excitement as contagious as ever. You immediately joined her, the alcohol coursing through your body. 

After a few songs, the same boy who offered you the beers crept up behind Jade’s 5’2 frame. He ran his hands along her hips as she grinded back onto him. 

‘Is he cute?’ she mouthed. You threw your head back laughing, giving her an encouraging nod. She went back to being smitten with her newfound man while you continued to dance by yourself, the outer skirts of your dress gliding up as you moved. 

“Well, it’s funny how the tables turn don’t it?” you heard a haughty voice trail behind you. 

You turned to see a shirtless boy double fisting bottles of cheap beer. His back was towards the fire so you couldn’t make out his face completely. Though, something did click in your half-drunken mind at the sight of the beaded bracelets on his wrists.

“You’re the Pogue from this morning,” you stated, staring intently at his sharp features. He was kinda cute in the dark, murky beach air. 

“Fancy seeing you here on our turf,” he rudely replied taking a swig of beer, “not sure who invited you, but here, we have a strict no spoiled bitches policy.” 

The audacity was so potent, and you were taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck off JJ! Y/n’s my friend, and I invited her,” Jade interjected from a few feet away, “go mack on one of the tourons and leave her alone.” 

“Whatever, Kooks.” The blonde scoffed and jogged away from the crowd, back towards a group of kids sitting on a log. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his brash comments. Even with Ted’s aversion towards them, you didn’t quite understand the Pogue-Kook rivalry. You once asked Jade about it to which she just shrugged and said, “It’s just how it is.” 

She personally didn’t have anything against Pogues- as one was currently shoving his tongue down her throat in that moment. Though you didn’t interact much with their group, they seemed fine to you. Minus grumpy Goldey Locks on the log. 

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly noticed the tourist boy in front of you offer a shot of his Tito’s handle. The last time you had vodka, the awful taste nearly climbed back out your throat. But you were too fed up with your family and the Pogue boy’s irritating remarks to care. You closed your eyes, dipped back, and let the boy, dressed head-to-toe in Outer Banks merch, pour whatever he had in your mouth. It didn’t take long before everyone around you started looking fuzzy. A thumping noise in the back of your brain told you that you were way past your limit of about a sip and half. The music began sounding like loud thuds and you had no idea where Jade was. With all the strength you could muster up, you trudged up the beach back towards some palm trees to catch a breath, away from the clammy crowd. 

With one hand on the rugged trunk you bent over, knowing your stomach was rejecting all the alcohol you consumed that night. With one glance back towards the party, you felt the bitterness shoot its way back up your body and out hurled everything you drank onto the ground, a few coughs following. 

Out of nowhere, you felt a hand slide up your back as you lifted your head to see a hazy mess of blonde hair. “Here,” the snarky boy offered, holding up a water bottle, “you’ll feel better.” 

Begrudgingly, you took a few sips and handed it back to him. “Thanks.” 

You could see the party was starting to fizzle out, the water sobering you up. He downed the rest and tossed the empty bottle. 

“Fucking hell,” the guy, JJ, uttered, “You Kooks are way in over your heads.” 

“What’s your problem with me anyways?” you snapped, straightening up so you could meet his eyes. “I didn’t rat on you today! But now I’m thinking maybe I should have!” 

“See that’s the problem right there! You didn’t even catch me doing anything wrong. You just assumed I’m doing something bad because I don’t shit money out my ass.” 

“Well were you doing something bad?” 

“That is besides the point.” 

Your eyes were aching to roll out of your head. You hated the way he was talking to you and decided to play into this little hate-game of his since he seemed to get such a kick out of it. 

“Well, maybe if you kept your filthy head out of our side and up your own ass instead, we wouldn’t have an issue now would we?” 

He huffed and inched closer, causing you to back up against another tree, away from the vomit on the floor. “You entitled bitches think you know it all, probably from all that rip-off dank blowing up your head.” 

He was so close you could smell the faint alcohol on his breath. You were completely sober at that point, focusing on the eyes that probed into yours as JJ’s hands reached up to the sides of the tree, fencing you in. The music from the party was hardly a whisper compared to the tension between you two in that moment. The night was humid, but you weren’t sure if you were sweating from the heat or your jolting nerves. 

Then, a rush of boldness swept through you. 

“You talk a lot of shit for someone’s who’s dying to get into a Kook’s pants,” you tempted, glancing briefly at his lips. You then chose to taunt him even more- biting your own and sticking out your slightly exposed chest in the bodice of the dress you had on. 

He dauntingly moved closer, your faces only inches apart. “In your fucking dreams sweetheart,” he muttered before capturing your lips.

It was a hungry, needy kiss. You hardly knew anything about him, yet you didn’t protest when his hands reached up your stomach to roughly cup your boobs. They then glided down under the thinness of your dress to eagerly squeeze your butt. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the bareness of your ass underneath. His palm slapped your asscheek so hard, you were sure the entire beach could hear. 

Your hands crept down his bare chest, tracing over to his abs. Still on your ass, his hands kneaded at the swollen cheeks. You felt him pull away slightly after a bit. 

“Ever wonder what it’s like to fuck a Pogue?” 

“Just shut up and take me,” you answered hastily. His coarse hand trailed against your lower folds. He stroked over the material of your soaked thong before pushing the string to the side, his middle finger rubbing you gently. 

You reached in the band of his shorts to feel his hardened cock. You ran your hand up and down the shaft before exposing it out completely. He quickly lifted your leg to drape across his waist as he situated his length to your hole with his sweaty forehead resting on yours. 

Slowly, he pressed himself into you as a loud moan emerged from you both. The boy swiftly held his palm to your mouth while you felt him stretch you out slowly. Your eyes rolled back in bliss. 

“Fuck this pussy is tight,” he slopping mumbled in your ear as he continued, feeling your wetness grip him. 

He held a steady pace for a while before he suddenly halted and pulled out. Before you could protest, he grabbed the sides of your arms and whipped you around so you were facing the tree. When he snatched each side of your hips to pull you towards him, you quickly caught on, spreading your legs apart while arching your back so your ass was perked up and ready. He held his pulsing length in his hands, lining himself with you, before shoving it in full for you to take.

He bent over onto you and seized your chin with one hand to spin your head back for another kiss, tongue and all. “You look so pretty taking this dick,” he rasped as your careless whimpers echoed. 

JJ pounded deeper and deeper in you, yanking down the front of your dress so your breasts plopped free. He massaged them in his hands from behind. In response, your arched your back more, wanting to feel him- all of him inside you. As his thrusts slowed, he pulled out and pumped himself a few times before coming on your right asscheek. He slapped the left when he was done. 

You were breathing heavily, collecting yourself as you straightened up. “Not bad,” you panted as a cocky smirk rose on his face. 

------------------------------

note: WHEW CHILE! 

chapter 3

tags: @starkeybaby @obxlife @poguesforlife @everydayimfangirling @iamaunicorn4704 @tangledinsparkles 

[childishfluff]

Hewwo, would it be okay to request some fluff about Tommy slipping into littlespace during his exile, and caregiver Dream being kinder to him because he has limits to being evil when it comes to little Tommy? I really like the way you write this sort of stuff ~

hello anon, I did not write fluff, sorry about that. I did take this prompt and write it- it’s just not...fluffy. It’s light angst, at best. I’m sorry, I just don’t like the idea of cg!dream/little!tommy due to my dislike of how c!dream acts towards tommy. I didn’t wanna deny this request though, because it was still interesting. Feel free to request something else, I just couldn’t figure out how to write this in a fluffier way, y’know?

The Unfinished Story Starts On The Hill [Little!Tommy/Big!Dream Oneshot]

There was once a time when Dream felt bad for all he had done to Tommy, and he has a short-lived desire to fix things. He only reaches this point when the boy breaks down in tears at the idea that his favorite toys and comfort items could be destroyed. But all hope of fixing things is destroyed as the toddler-minded teenager tells him that he hurt him, and that he didn't want him there. Here's a chapter in an unfinished story that could've ended in friendship, if Tommy had been more forgiving, or Dream had voiced his guilt and gave a real apology. Sadly, there's a reason this story was left unfinished. It all started on the side of the hill.

TW for cursing, emotions, and Dream being a d*ckhead. AO3 Link

Tommy couldn't tell you how he got this far without Dream blowing up his littlegear.

At some point during his exile, he had managed to sneak back to his home, just to grab the things he used to comfort himself and hid them back in Logstedshire. But now, while Dream was making his daily rounds to blow up his stuff, he had managed to find the chest, hidden and buried on the side of a hill.

Tommy had taken to the habit of regressing under the stars, sitting on the hill and playing and just for a while, forgetting his worries. Sometimes, Ghostbur would show up and entertain him for a while. The whole thing, this 'weird' but sweet coping skill, was something he had kept hidden from Dream.

Until now, when Dream had the great idea of searching the entire premises for hidden supplies.

Tommy was panicking. He didn't think Dream would take a walk around the whole place, and him finding his hidden chest wouldn't only mean that all his stuffies and toys were gone forever, but Dream would know his secret.

"Really, Tommy? Chest in the side of a hill? I'd think that after the disk incident you'd know not to pull that again," he tsked. Tommy closed in on himself, his breaths quickening as he tried to think of what he could do. . He could lie, or try to find a way around this. But that'd be nearly impossible.

His best bet was to try and get him to blow up the stuff without looking at it. He wanted to keep his secret, and he'd sacrifice so much to do. Tommy was still panicking, tears springing to his eyes as he tried to focus on the current situation.

Tommy was crying, not realizing how quickly he had slipped until he was already small. "What's up? I know you don't like me being a dick or whatever, but you've never cried before." Dream's voice sounded so menacing and scary to him. So scary and mean.

Dream was seconds away from killing all of his stuffed animals and he really, really didn't want that. But there wasn't much the mentally toddler-aged boy could do at this point.

Tommy backed away from him, just a bit, rocking on his feet in an attempt to calm himself. He knew that Wilbur would give him some blue, he'd tell him to hold the crystal and fiddle with it as he talked out how he felt. And if he couldn't talk, then it'd provide a distraction, something to focus on to pull him away from whatever upset him.

But Wilbur wasn't here, and there wasn't any blue. There was just a scary man in a white mask, and no heart.

"Tommy?" Dream's voice spoke up again suddenly, snapping him out of his anxious thoughts for just a second. "Look at me." he ordered.

Tommy forced his head up, facing the masked-face with teary eyes. He sniffed. Dream's face softened behind the mask, though Tommy didn't know that. Dream suddenly dropped to his knees, moving to open the chest. Tommy immediately protested, trying to push and pull him away. He jumped to move and stop him.

He successfully rendered Dream's ability to get to the chest, almost causing him to tumble down the hill at one point. For some reason, Dream didn't fight back, not wanting to hurt him. Instead, he settled on rendering his ability to stop him.  

"Don't touch me, Tommy," Dream snapped, grabbing his wrists the first chance he got and restricting his movement. Tommy's eyes were full of fear, his weak and now-childlike voice mumbled..

"m' sorry."

"I just wanna see what's in here, Toms," Dream spoke more softly. He had a feeling he knew what was going on, and he was sure of what he'd find in the chest. The boy collapsed to the ground, crying harsher and harsher by the second. He felt helpless.

He couldn't do anything now. He heard Dream click open the chest, and take only a moment to look inside before a soft "Oh." left his mouth.

Tommy didn't want to see what he was doing, looking to his lap and closing his eyes tightly. He assumed that Dream was lighting TNT, and that his coloring books and pacifiers would all be gone in just a second.

He was confused when he didn't hear the sounds of a quick, crackling flame and a 'boom' though. Instead, he heard some footsteps, and some shuffling right in front of him. Then, he felt a few soft items being dumped into his lap. "Open your eyes, Tommy." Dream's voice spoke up.

"Stuffies!" he cheered at first, hugging all of them close to his chest at once, the soft toys completely filling his arms. Then he looked up to Dream, tilting his head like a confused puppy. "W-why-....no gone?" he tried his best to convey his thinking, though that was hard with how small he felt. Exile was stressful, this was all to much.

All the time, everything was emotionally overwhelming. If he had the option, he'd probably stay little all the time. But he didn't have that option, so it always felt like he was holding back the childish part of him that was forced to grow up way to quickly.

Dream chuckled a bit at his lack of correct grammar, but didn't comment on it. "You're just a baby, aren't you? I know I may be the villain of this story, but it'd be truly evil if I became a stuffie murderer."

Tommy giggled at that, snuggling the toys in his arms as if they'd be taken away at any moment. "jus' a baba," he repeated, mumbling to himself.

"Let's just pretend I never found any of this, okay? I won't destroy your toys or anything. And if you're feeling like a kid when I show up, I'll just leave and come back later, yeah?"

Tommy nodded a bit, not replying verbally. For a minute or two, he sat there, cuddling the toys while Dream simply watched him, keeping his softer demeanor and a promise to himself to be kinder to the boy. At least when he was like this.

For those few minutes, Dream thought that maybe things could stay like this. He could be nice to Little Tommy, and play around with him, while continuing the conflicts he had with Big Tommy. Unfortunately, that's not how it worked. There was picking and choosing when you want to not be an asshole, it's manipulative and confusing.

"Bye bye? Wan' be lone now," he requested, setting the toys down and standing up and stumbling over to the chest, digging through it before Dream even replied. Now that he was done crying, he didn't want Dream here.

"Are you sure you wanna be by yourself? Y-you're so little, I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"You hurt me, don' wan' you here," Tommy's voice was still high pitched, but a little clearer, like he was just a bit bigger now. He set some things from the chest in a pile next to it. He was blatantly honest. Dream wasn't good to him, and he wasn't going to treat him like a friend just because he had the basic decency to not blow up his stuff.

You hurt me

For the first time in a long time, Dream felt guilty.

"O-okay," Dream stuttered, finally standing up from his spot. "Um, I'm sorry," he said, running his hand through his hair. That's not the response he expected from him, not at all. "I'll leave." His voice reduced to a mumble as he turned to walk away and back to the nether portal, leaving the little by himself.

Tommy didn't turn around, or say goodbye in any way, closing the chest and moving on with setting up his play area as if Dream didn't exist. He laid out a blanket on the side of the non-steep hill, setting and organizing toys on it. He was being his own caregiver, because the only one he had at the moment was a very unreliable and unpredictable ghost.

He just didn't want someone who hurt him to try and play buddy-buddy. Dream wasn't nice. Ghostbur was nice, Tubbo was nice. But not Dream.

And Dream was gone, just like that. Being rejected hurt a lot, but being reject by a kid? A baby?

That hurt oh so much more.

Because that meant that even someone on the mental level of a child was able to resent you. He was so bad that a child hated him. Of course, this guilt and shock wouldn't last long, and he'd go right back to being an asshole to Tommy the moment he was big.

But as promised, if he was small, he'd just walk away, and point Ghostbur in his direction on his way back to where ever he was going instead. Sometimes, he'd set up camp nearby, just to watch him for a while and make sure he was safe. From a distance though, because the kid strongly disliked him, big or little.

And though they had a silent agreement not to talk about what happened that day, neither of them would ever forget it. Tommy would always wonder why he had mercy when he was 'just a baby' even though he was 'just a kid' all the time.

Dream would always wonder, just in the back of his head and never out loud, if there was a way to fix things with the little. There's really wasn't much hope for him, though. War and power were much more important to him.

Eventually, through the battles and the end of his exile, the day at the hill would be a faded memory that they never spoke of. An issue to never be resolved.

An unfinished story of what could've been a sweet friendship with just an apology and some forgiveness.

An unfinished story that would always remain unfinished and uncertain.

--

A/N: So....what did you think? Is tommy in the right here, do you feel bad for Dream? Do you wish this played out differently? Please reblog/reply/send an ask, and lmk!