#sure i really desperately need to edit that rough draft

[moonlightpirate]

Maybe I need to write my fanfiction like I wrote the rough draft of the short story for my class because that bad boy was nearly 5,000 words 😅

[dreamofbecoming]

ough ok this is a rough rough rough draft, but i have a migraine and i can’t sleep so writing - yes, editing - no, lmao. it’s altogether sappier than i intended and the tone is wildly different from part 1 but i started writing and this is what came out, so what can i say? i just work here lol. feedback greatly appreciated, this is a huge departure from my usual repertoire so i’ll welcome any and all suggestions. the banshee/siren hybrid!jaskier saga continues. enjoy!

og post part 1 here ao3

wc 2500

—

It’s vaguely surprising to open his eyes at all, expecting as he was to end his days on the dusty road beside the men he killed, another monster never to terrorize the Continent again, courtesy of the great White Wolf.

But open his eyes he does, blinking blearily in the low firelight of what appears to be a generic room at a generic inn, judging by the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy blankets tucking him in. Geralt is in a chair by the hearth, patching a hole in what looks to be one of Jaskier’s socks, of all things.

Jaskier would prefer to lay here silently for a while, watching the way the light flickers and dances across Geralt’s handsome cheek, but he isn’t fool enough to imagine that his waking has gone unnoticed, or that such attention would be welcome. And, apparently, there’s a conversation to be had, given that the witcher hadn’t slain him where he stood when he revealed himself, and Jaskier would rather have that bit over with, at least.

He tries to sit up, only to grunt embarrassingly and fall back against the pillows when his elbows give out on him. He feels weak and wobbly, like a newborn foal. How long has he been out?

“Easy, don’t hurt yourself. Here,” Geralt rumbles, crossing the room to help lever Jaskier upright, propping pillows behind his back. He looks like he’s physically holding himself back from fussing over the blankets, but that’s absurd. Geralt doesn’t fuss. Geralt would never. Jaskier must still be fuzzy from sleep.

In a desperate attempt to regain some footing, some normalcy, Jaskier decides to be the first to bring up the fiend in the room. “Going soft in your old age, witcher? You don’t normally fluff the monsters’ pillows for them before you slay them, in my experience,” he says, forcing out a chuckle in the hopes of lightening the mood.

It doesn’t work. Geralt’s expression would be flat to the casual observer, but Jaskier, with his years of practice deciphering the minute twitches and shifts of that beloved face, sees the hurt and resignation in the creases around his eyes. Something that feels a lot like shame burns in his belly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re no monster.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Besides, I don’t kill anything with sentience or intelligence, you know that. Intelligent may be a bit of a stretch, sure, but you’re definitely sentient.”

Jaskier takes the teasing for the olive branch it is and makes an appropriately outraged noise, swamped with relief and reveling in the pleased little huff he elicits when he reaches out to thwap the witcher across the arm.

Unfortunately the effort involved in moving brings him right back to where he started, and he falls back against the pillows with a hiss. Geralt is back at his side and—there really is no other word for it—fussing over him in an instant.

“You need to be careful, Jask, you lost a lot of energy. You’ve been out a few days, so your muscles are likely to be weak for a while.”

“A few days? How? What even happened, I don’t…” Jaskier trails off, not knowing how to end that sentence. It isn’t remember, he remembers perfectly well, right up until the moment he collapsed in the dirt. Understand, maybe. He doesn’t understand at all. He doesn’t understand why he’s here, why Geralt is here, how he was able to do those things to those men...there are a lot of things he doesn’t understand. He isn’t sure he wants to.

Geralt sits awkwardly at the foot of the bed, perching on the edge in his effort not to disturb Jaskier’s position. Jaskier rolls his eyes and pokes him in the back with one blanketed toe, pointedly shifting his legs over to make room for Geralt to sit properly. The witcher huffs, looking vaguely sheepish, and settles more comfortably.

“You...you used too much magic at once, Jaskier. It drained you. We’re lucky the innkeeper here let us stay as payment for getting rid of the bandits. They’ve been plaguing that stretch of road for months, apparently. Meant they didn’t ask too many questions about the bodies, at least, just figured they got what they asked for, attacking a witcher.” At this, he looks up from where he’s been staring a hole in the floor between his knees, glaring at Jaskier. “Why did you do it, Jask? I had them under control. You didn’t need to—you never should have killed for me. I never asked you to do that.”

“You didn’t, though.” His voice comes out quieter than he means.

Geralt furrows his brow. “Didn’t what? Ask? I know, Jask, that’s my point.”

“Have them under control. You didn’t.”

Something in Geralt’s expression softens, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “I was fine, Jaskier, I can handle seven men. My injury from last week isn’t even that bad, it would have been fi—”

“Eight.”

“What?”

Jaskier finally makes himself meet Geralt’s eyes, determined to make himself heard if this is the last time they speak. “There were eight men, not seven. There was a man in a tree with a crossbow behind you. You didn’t see him, he was about to—” He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard against the memory of the foul taste of Geralt’s death Song flooding his mouth, of that crystal moment of knowing the person he loved most in all the world was Doomed, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help—

But he had helped. He had stopped it, despite not even knowing his powers were capable of something like that. Against all odds, Geralt was safe, he was here and alive and gazing at Jaskier with unmasked concern.

“Alright, eight, then. You still didn’t need to enchant them, Jaskier. Siren powers shouldn’t even work that strongly this far from the sea, anyway! You burnt yourself out! You could have been seriously hurt, throwing magic around like that. You should have gotten on Roach when I told you to, you should have gotten to safety. I would have been fine.”

“But you wouldn’t have!” It bursts out of Jaskier, far louder than he’d intended, tinged with desperation. “You wouldn’t have been fine. I’m not just a siren, Geralt. My sire, my matka, is a siren, yes. But my mama, the mother who bore me? Was a banshee.”

Geralt’s brow furrows in confusion. Dam broken, Jaskier continues in a rush.

“My powers have never been good for much of anything. I was a disappointment to my matka and her kin, because even though my Voice comes out as a Song, all it’s ever done is foretell death, I’ve never been able to use it to compel anyone, and what use is a siren without a Lure?

“I don’t have a proper Shriek, either, but my mama always said my Shriek was as good as any other, just prettier. That’s what it’s always been, a Shriek disguised as a Song. I look at someone, I can feel that they’re slated to die, and the Song wants to be sung, but I never bothered because what’s the point? What good is a warning when you can’t escape the inevitable? Better to let people live freely until their last, that’s what mama said. She never used her Shriek, either. It’s why her people cast her out, why she married a human man when her siren mate grew tired of her. She hated death, too.” Jaskier swallows against the tears building behind his eyes.

“Hers was the first Song I ever Sang all the way through. The only one I ever Sang, until now. My father began to suspect I wasn’t really his, and flew into a rage. I was only thirteen, I couldn’t save her. I could only hide in the closet and Sing while he killed her. I left for Oxenfurt the day after the funeral and I haven’t Sung since. Useless.”

A warm weight on his foot pulls him out of the memories, Geralt’s thumb swiping gently back and forth over his ankle while Jaskier dashes the angry tears from his eyes and tries to get his breathing back under control.

It’s Geralt who breaks the silence.

“You’re not useless, Jaskier. Never that.” There’s another long stretch of quiet, before Geralt seems to settle some internal argument and looks up to meet his eyes, molten gold shining with unnamed emotions. “Help me understand. Why Sing for those men? Why risk yourself? You’ve held in your...Shriek, all this time. Why let it out now, for them?”

Jaskier chuckles mirthlessly. “You’re not listening, Geralt. It wasn’t supposed to be their Song. I don’t...I don’t know what I did. It’s never happened like that before.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve never...I changed it, Geralt. It was supposed to be you.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the foot of the bed, but Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut against the phantom taste of rot and barrels on. “I felt it. The man in the trees, he wasn’t going to miss. The Song was meant for you, but I— gods, Geralt, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I—I just knew I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I—” Between one breath and another Geralt has moved up the bed to his side and gathered him into his arms. Jaskier buries his head into his chest and clings.

When he stops shaking, he unclenches his fingers from where they’re fisted in Geralt’s shirt and starts again. “I don’t understand what I did, Geralt. I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never had a Lure, no matter how my matka and her kin tried to beat one into me.” A low growl rumbles beneath his cheek, and he pets Geralt’s arm consolingly. That pain is long past, there’s nothing to be done for it now.

“I didn’t even mean to, really, the only thing in my head was that you couldn’t die. I never meant to—Geralt, I never wanted to kill anyone. I don’t regret it, I’d do it again for you, but I—” Geralt’s hand strokes softly through his hair, soothing the frantic pace of his heart.

“I’m scared, Geralt.” His voice is small to his own ears, thin and frightened. “If I can do that when I’m not even trying...what’s inside me, Geralt? How can I be sure I won’t hurt anyone else? Someone innocent this time?”

There’s a long moment where the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Jaskier’s own hitching sniffles, and Geralt’s slow, measured breathing beneath his ear.

“Hm,” comes the eventual response, almost startling a snort out of Jaskier at the sheer predictability of it, until Geralt continues. “We’ll figure it out together, then. There may be someone out there who can help you learn to control your powers, we just have to find them. We can start at Kaer Morhen. Come home with me this year, we’ll talk to Vesemir and figure out where to start.”

Jaskier sits up, gaping in shock. “You’re inviting me home? To the witcher keep? When I’m—”

“If you say you’re a monster again, I’m not buying you a single honeycake the entire trip.” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, still stunned. Geralt’s face softens, and he sighs. “I should have invited you a long time ago, Jaskier. Human or not, you’re my friend, you’ll be welcome.” He furrows his eyebrows, looking suddenly uncertain. “Unless...You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. I know it isn’t...it won’t be what you’re used to. I understand if mmph—” He stares, golden eyes wide over the hand Jaskier has clapped over his mouth.

“Foolish witcher, of course I’m coming! Are you mad? A chance to meet your brothers, your mentor? To see the majesty of Kaer Morhen with my own eyes? Gods, the songs to be sung! The stories that must be waiting to be told! Can we go now? Let’s go! Come on, up! Let’s get packed before you change your mind!”

The wondering look is gone from Geralt’s eyes, which are back to familiar flat annoyance. He pointedly grasps Jaskier’s wrist and removes the hand from his mouth, before standing up and manhandling Jaskier back under the blankets.

“Majestic isn’t the word I’d use, and the stories in those walls are hardly the kind of heroic tales for writing songs. It’s not there for—for—material, bard, you really will piss them off if you try that.”

Seems their equilibrium isn’t quite back, that or Geralt really is really, properly nervous about this invitation, if he thinks Jaskier is serious about picking over his home for inspiration alone.

“Geralt.” He waits until his witcher stops fiddling with the blankets and meets his eyes again. “Darling, I know. I’m only teasing. I wouldn’t exploit you, or your family, that way. Whatever songs I write there, they’ll be just for my own memories. And yours, if you like. I promise.”

Geralt deflates a little, shoulders slumping. “I know. I—I know.” He straightens up, and Jaskier can see the mask of The White Wolf, Stoic Scary Witcher descending back into place. “We’re not leaving today, anyway. You’ll need a few more days to recover, and we’ve a few weeks besides before we need to start heading north. Stay there, don’t move. The innkeep said she’d have some broth waiting for when you woke up. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He glowers threateningly at Jaskier, who sticks out his tongue in response, before leaving, apparently satisfied his bard isn’t going to make a break for it in the next ten minutes.

Jaskier settles back against the pillows with a sigh, reeling internally from so many new developments at once. Today has been nothing like he expected. He’s still somewhat surprised to be alive at all, and a tiny part of him is still waiting for the moment Geralt realizes he’s made a terrible mistake and Jaskier can’t be allowed to live, though he realizes now, with some chagrin, that that was never a realistic outcome.

He’s still terrified of the power lurking inside him, all the more ominous now for having been used with only the barest consent from his own mind. But for now he can breathe deep and set that fear aside, at least for a moment. Geralt has promised to help him. Geralt will keep him safe.

He’s alive. Geralt is alive. Geralt knows the truth and doesn’t hate him. They have the beginnings of a plan. Geralt called him his friend, out loud, on purpose. He’s been invited to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Soon he’ll have dinner, or something resembling dinner, anyway. He has altogether more blessings than he was strictly prepared to count, under the circumstances. So for now, he supposes he’ll allow himself to rest, and hum, and wait for his witcher to return. They’ll sort out the rest together.

[kouvei]

Vampire Polycula Chapter 3

This one took a while and I’m sure during the editing process I’ll change things, but we’re saving that until after the whole rough draft is done. There is a lot of foreshadowing in this one, though. Or, maybe clues would be a better term?

Also, if I messed up on the Dutch in this chapter, please let me know!

The room Dracula took them to had a common area between the four bedchambers, unlit candles placed around the room and on sconces on the walls, a chandelier above them. It was well-furnished, with a seating area by a set of bookshelves and small dining table near the center of the room, with a pitcher full of wine and chalices as a centerpiece. Jonathan had nearly set foot inside before Dracula slammed the door behind him with a loud BANG. It made him jump and caused visions to dance before his eyes, visions of the door being thrown open right before vampiric lips could touch his throat, right before Dracula insisted to the weird sisters that he was… that he was his.

Quincey’s soft gasp for air brought him back to reality as Jack and Arthur laid him on a fainting couch, Van Helsing rushing over to help attend to him. “Damn it, Quincey,” Jack muttered, half-sobbing.

“I’ll be right as rain, don’t you fret,” Quincey whispered, apparently as loud as he was able to muster.

“Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

“Just wanted to check…”

“Check what?! What he would do to us if we cross him?!”

“Check that we could still hurt him.” Jack stopped and stared as Quincey smiled. “He said we weren’t allowed to hurt him, so I reckoned that meant we still could, so long as we weren’t trying to kill him.”

“Unfortunately, that does not include convincing ourselves that something won’t kill him when we know it will,” Mina added. “I tried, tried to tell myself a blade to the heart wouldn’t kill him, but it didn’t do anything.”

“So it really is just injury we can inflict,” Van Helsing muttered.

“Speaking of injury, how are you feeling?” Mina asked.

“A little sore, but no worse than my old bones—” He stopped abruptly. “Well, no worse than my old bones used to feel on cold days. Truth be told, the shock of it all was the worst.”

Jack glanced down at his hand. “The cut’s not even there anymore,” he muttered, tapping the finger he had sliced with his scalpel. Looking down, Jonathan couldn’t even see the faint line of a scar.

“See? Right as rain, I’ll just… need a bit o’ time,” Quincey assured him.

“How?” Jack asked, desperate. “How can this be even remotely alright?!” It was clear he was not entirely talking about Quincey’s injuries. No one could really respond to that, as their solitude and lack of immediate danger brought the crux of the issue front and center in their minds.

Jonathan collapsed onto a couch and doubled over, tears springing to his eyes. Mina stepped beside him and kissed his forehead, before proceeding to search the room for a tinder box to light the place. They certainly didn’t need the light, but the thought of seeing this clearly in a dark room weighed so heavily on his mind that he desperately wanted something so he could pretend to be normal.

“I thought vampires were soulless?” Arthur asked weakly, still sounding numb. “I don’t feel… I feel different, I don’t have a heartbeat, I don’t need to breathe, I’m cold, but I’m not a monster. I don’t think I am, I don’t know!” He buried his face in his hands, voice cracking in emotion. Van Helsing moved to take him into a hug and held him close, like a parent comforting a crying child.

“You’re not. You’re not a monster, dear boy,” Van Helsing assured him, though his expression was troubled and devastated. Jonathan noticed him actually trembling. “I don’t pretend to understand why we have been blessed with our souls, but I thank God for it.”

“What now?” Jack asked, resting by Quincey’s side, his head on the couch and body kneeling on the floor.

Van Helsing glanced downward, brow furrowed, as Mina lit more candles around the room. “As much as it pains me to say it, for now, we should go along with what he wants and not put up too much resistance.”

“Listen to that bloodsucking—”

“Friend Quincey, I agree with you, but he has shown twice today he is not above hurting any of us at the slightest provocation. Indeed, I can’t tell what will and will not set him off.” He shook his head forlornly, looking close to tears. “We cannot undo what has been done, we cannot regain our humanity. However, we may still yet escape his clutches, and if we want to flee this castle, we will need our strength.”

“Strength meaning not having our ribs sound like a crackling bonfire when we breathe?” Quincey muttered.

“That would be one part of it,” he agreed. “And we have just risen from the grave, I greatly doubt any of us are at peak capacity right now.”

Mina lit the final candle, then walked over to Van Helsing, pointing at the rosary in his pocket. “Speaking of which, Professor? Is that causing you any pain?”

Van Helsing glanced down at where she was pointing, then let out a cry of surprise and pulled it out, along with his golden crucifix from an inner coat pocket. “Mein Gott! There is no pain, no revulsion!” He covered his mouth, seeming deep in thought. “Is dit het werk van God of had ik het mis? Wat heb ik nog meer gemist?”

“Professor?”

“Speaking to myself, dear boy,” Van Helsing replied, glancing at Jack. “Here, pass these around, see if you have any reaction to them!”

Jack took the offered holy symbols, then handed them off to Jonathan and Arthur respectively. It took a matter of moments before everyone had touched them, with no ill effects. Van Helsing burst out laughing with glee, taking the crucifix and kissing it with exuberation. “One ray of light in this dark hole, we have at least one advantage over this monster yet! But we can’t let him know, not until we absolutely need to use it.”

“We should hide them in here, any crosses we still have,” Mina agreed. “In the bookshelf, in our bedrooms, anywhere we can stash them that he won’t find.” She took the golden crucifix and reached back into the bookshelf, placing it in the small space between the books and the back of the bookshelf, then pressed the rosary back into Van Helsing’s hands. “Hide it somewhere where you sleep.” He nodded solemnly, placing it back in his breast pocket.

“Can we really be vampires if holy items don’t affect us?” Jack asked, feeling for his pulse fruitlessly.

With a forlorn shake of his head, Van Helsing replied, “Unfortunately, it’s beyond any doubt that is what we are. Dracula himself turned us, ensured we would be brought back instead of remaining in death’s embrace, took his time in draining our blood and making us drink his own—” The professor broke off suddenly, covering his mouth, as wild terror filled his eyes.

“Professor?!” Jack knelt by his side and Arthur looked up with concern.

“It is just… merely the memory, forgive an old man his weakness.”

“Don’t try to sell me the byproducts and call it a bull, Professor.” Quincey’s tone was exasperated in that same way one would speak to a man insisting he was fine even as he bled out. “Weakness? It’ll haunt all our nightmares for the rest of our lives, or un-lives as it were.”

Van Helsing took a deep breath in, then let it out. “Regardless, I am at a loss from here on out. Everything I know about vampires comes from research. If we are unaffected by the crucifix, if we are capable of retaining our souls, then in the best conditions we are merely missing parts of the grander portrait. In the worst, we are fundamentally mistaken about what we suppose to know about vampirism. All we can do to move forward is learn whatever we can, verify how much of what we know is correct, even mine the mind of the monster himself. But at the same time, we can’t reveal that which gives us our advantages, so we must be careful.”

Jonathan nodded in agreement, even as Van Helsing’s professed uncertainty and helplessness sat cold in his stomach. Even he didn’t know the way forward from this. They were stumbling in the dark, just trying to avoid the dark grips of despair while fighting to keep whatever remained of the light inside them.

Mina wandered over to one of the doors to the bedrooms and swung it open, glancing inside, then seemed pleasantly surprised. “If you need good news, he did not give us coffins to sleep in.”

“Is that good news or bad?” Jonathan asked. At the looks he received, he clarified, “Can vampires sleep in anything other than their coffins?”

All but Van Helsing looked at each other, fear bubbling up, while the professor frowned, deep in thought. Was this just another game? A way to force them to his will, to force them to accept their fates? Taunting them with sleep, promising rest in exchange for them begging for a coffin in which to lie? “I am… unsure,” Van Helsing finally admitted. “We know the vampire needs to return to their coffin in order to regain their strength, their power, but I must profess the sources I found were vague as to the exact nature of this. It may be simple sleep, or it may be a place to heal, or perhaps there was no ambiguity and it simply returns their spent strength and power. In any case, they were still important enough that the Count still deemed it necessary to bring fifty boxes of earth with him to England.”

“We weren’t revived in coffins, though,” Mina pointed out. “We were on stone slabs, and speaking of which, what would happen should a vampire never be buried in a coffin, or box or anything like it? Would they still need a coffin or box of earth?”

Van Helsing opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “I do not know, Madam Mina. I suppose we shall know when we attempt to fall asleep tonight.”

“Assuming we’re not kept up by non-supernatural means,” Arthur muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll see when I close my eyes.”

“I’ll wake you if you start havin’ night terrors, Art,” Quincey promised.

“That brings up a good point: where is everyone sleeping?” Jonathan asked. “I assume Mina and I will share a room together, but that leaves three rooms for the four of you.”

“I’ll share a bed with Art,” Quincey volunteered, but Jack shook his head.

“You should share with myself or the professor, you need someone with medical expertise on hand in case—”

“In case what? My heart stops?” Quincey quipped, but slightly faltered under Jack’s withering gaze. “Look, Jack, if the bed’s big enough, how about the three of us share a room?”

“That still leaves Professor Van Helsing,” Arthur pointed out.

“I am fine taking one of the empty rooms for myself.”

Arthur gave him a look. “That monster threw you against a wall.”

“Truth be told, I think that was his way of getting me out of the way and keeping me there,” Van Helsing admitted. “He put a great deal of force behind the attack on friend Quincey, but I didn’t have the same force of impact when he hit me. Besides, friend John needs to keep an eye on Quincey, and however big the beds here are, I greatly doubt they’re big enough for four grown men! No, no, I’ll cry out if I need help but all I’ll likely suffer is soreness and bruises if my lack of circulation will allow them to form.”

Jack looked like he was going to object, then Van Helsing added, “The only other option is with Madam Mina and friend Jonathan, and I certainly wouldn’t want to intrude on their time together, especially not under these circumstances. We are all so close to each other anyway we will be able to be bothered by each other’s snoring, regardless of which room we’re in! Additionally, as friend Quincey did point out, there is very little risk of us dying from such injuries. The greater risk is in the injury worsening itself in the night—” He stopped, then amended, “Worsening itself while we sleep. Ah, but despite everything, it seems my body still agrees that I am still my sixty-four years in my sleep schedule, at least. I hope we are all able to get some semblance of rest.”

With that pronouncement, he opened one of the empty rooms, surveyed its interior and, finding it apparently acceptable, waved them goodnight and closed the door behind him. Jonathan decided he still liked to think of it as goodnight, despite it supposedly being dawn if the Count was to be believed. Arthur and Jack helped Quincey up and led him over to another room, door soon shutting behind them. With a sigh, Jonathan stood up and strode over to Mina and the room she was inspecting.

Inside was a rather lavish room by Jonathan’s standards, although those were perhaps a bit laxer than those of say, Arthur. Fine furniture—dressers, a vanity, trunk, end table, wardrobe—lined the walls, with an ottoman at the foot of a four-poster bed in the center of the room, curtains draped around it. The mattress was inlaid into the bed by about fifteen to twenty centimeters, but the wooden parts facing the interior were covered in plush cushioning so as to prevent discomfort. It was surprisingly large, and he doubted Quincey, Arthur, and John would be too cramped sharing a bed together if theirs was of a comparable size. He briefly wondered why the Count would supply such large beds, and thoughts of those three vampire ladies prowling in his room at night came to mind, making him shudder in fear and revulsion. The one, twisted comfort he had was that they wouldn’t be coming to feast on his nor Mina’s blood, for theirs was no longer the kind that would give them any kind of a meal.

Dawnlight streamed in through the windows, though instead of making him want to start his day, it only added to his exhaustion, as if it were the fading light of dusk instead of the coming of a new day. The pillows and blankets looked inviting beyond belief and, placing his hand in Mina’s, he stumbled over and collapsed upon the bed, his wife falling on top of him and into her husband’s loving, desperate embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder and she pulled the covers over top of them.

“The monster will pay for this,” she vowed, taking his hand and kissing it. “He will not win.”

Jonathan nodded, fighting back tears. “He will not win,” he promised.

Mina twisted around so she faced him as they lay on their sides, taking his head in her hands and pressing her forehead against his as his arms pulled her even closer in response. He didn’t know if their promises meant anything, they couldn’t know. Maybe Dracula had already won for good, and they were just trying to pretend that he hadn’t taken everything just yet. As if they were in that moment of falling where you can almost believe you can fly before you hit the ground with a bone-and-organ-shattering crunch.

Even so, laying here, Mina safe in his arms, made him unable to truly believe that. He had been willing to follow her into hell, and yet somehow they were both apparently undamned. She was still fully his Mina: body, mind, and soul, and he was still fully her Jonathan.

…

Arthur stared at Quincey and Jack, now sleeping soundly. Jack had passed out soon after his head hit the pillow. Understandable, and he was glad his friend was able to enjoy the embrace of unconsciousness after everything that happened today. His scream was what finally shook something loose in him when he had awoken. All he could do until then was stare up at that cold stone ceiling, feeling nothing but numbness. He couldn’t even entertain the idea of denial: he knew what he was. But that scream made something in him whisper that he could save Jack from this fate if he couldn’t save himself. Unfortunately, neither was true.

Quincey fell asleep soon after. After all the adventures they had gone on together, all the time spent together, Arthur knew when he was downplaying his pain. Given how tight his grip was on Arthur’s hand, even now that he was fast asleep, it wasn’t hard to guess how badly he was hurting. He didn’t mind the slight discomfort: it brought Quincey some comfort and besides, it helped keep the numbness at bay.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to break down screaming and crying—he did, he very much did—but something kept him from breaking, as if he was trying to surface but a hand held him underwater, with everything muffled and blurring. Every so often he was able to take a breath of fresh air, to scream, to cry, but he was always plunged back under again. It was a struggle to feel anything, as every time he attempted to break through, utter despair flooded him until all he could do was close the floodgates again.

He didn’t know if this was natural, or if this was a sign of his newly undead state. It was as if this was all happening to another person, like he was watching from a backseat as his friends suffered, or as if this were all some horrid dream. God, for this to all be some horrid dream! For Lucy to wake him up from this nightmare with a kiss, to reassure him that it was just a figment of his imagination, that she recovered and got better. She could tease him about all the awful things he dreamed, then whisk him, Quincey, and Jack off for tea with Mina and Jonathan, while they discussed wedding and post-marital plans. For Jack to offer to invite his old professor to the wedding as Lucy would need someone to give her away and it would appear less improper coming from a kindly older gentleman than it would from two of her suitors. For Van Helsing to decide to spend more time down in England and give Lucy regular checkups while she was expecting, while he, Quincey, and Jack cared for her every wish. For everything to go smoothly and to spend many, many sleepless nights soothing their child to sleep, with golden curls and brown, blue, or gray eyes. For—

He couldn’t continue the fantasy. He couldn’t stop hearing the death screams as he staked whatever had become of Lucy, whatever had taken her place.

And are you her Arthur?

As if he somehow knew what he was thinking, Quincey’s hand squeezed Arthur’s tighter. Despite seeing Lucy as he closed his eyes, Arthur let out a sigh and let himself fall into the abyss of sleep.

…

It took quite a long time before Van Helsing was sure that the others were asleep, or at least not paying much attention to anything outside their own rooms. It was alright, though. He passed the time well enough staring at his rosary, lost in his own thoughts, with occasional prayers slipping past his lips.

He had taken off his coat when he first closed the door and removed everything from his pockets, all laid out on the bed. Vials of holy water, communion wafers, a kukri knife, a switchblade, miscellaneous documents and train tables, and a small stake about a third of a meter in length. He had to resist the urge to snap the wood in half, or seek out a fireplace and burn it to charcoal. They may still have use of it, one day, but by God did he want to destroy that damned thing!

Taking hold of his senses, he opened a dresser drawer and picked up the stake with two fingers, unable to trust himself to hold the thing proper. “Het spijt me,” he muttered, glancing at the door, before placing it in the drawer. After a second’s thought, he placed the two knives in next to it. He didn’t trust himself with them, not anymore. Besides, it was unlikely they’d be very useful against Dracula in the spur of the moment, in any case. Pushing the weapons toward the back and out of sight, he lined up the vials of holy water and wafers, keeping only one vial out. That he’d keep on his person. He placed the documents in a separate drawer, so as to prevent them from being ruined should the holy water break. He’d see if he could find a good-sized book to hide them in later.

Finally, he pushed himself up and slipped out of his room. Careful not to make any noise, he cracked open the door to Arthur, Quincey, and Jack’s room. All three were fast asleep, Jack resting against Quincey and Quincey and Arthur’s hands intertwined. Occasionally one of them would breathe, but it looked more like muscle memory, the body remembering what it was supposed to be doing rather than what it actually needed. He wondered how long it would take before that vanished.

Quincey seemed alright, at least for someone who was brutally attacked by Dracula himself. The fact that he had recovered enough to even talk, or move at all, was one of the greatest indicators he had seen with his own eyes of the vampire’s strength, resilience, and regeneration, aside from his own brush with the Count’s temper. And Quincey was only just turned. It did not give him much confidence for managing to kill off the Count in any circumstance other than catching him unconscious in his coffin. But now that they physically couldn’t kill him… that made the job that much harder. A sinister voice whispered in the back of his head that it was more than hard, it was impossible, but he chose to ignore it.

Closing the door just as quietly, he slipped over to Mina and Jonathan’s room and repeated the same actions as before. Both held each other in a tight embrace, utterly oblivious to the world. Both at peace, for however long until they woke again. He wanted to save Mina, they all did, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they failed or succeeded, and to what extent. Their efforts saved her soul, but she along with the rest of them were now cursed to an undead existence. Still, seeing the happy couple together removed any lingering regrets over the path that had led them here. All he regretted was that they could have moved faster, acted sooner. Then perhaps they would have successfully killed the monster and returned home. But perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, or Dracula would have instead killed them all off and turned Mina without her soul, or they rid the world of the monster but died in the process. Perhaps that peaceful future was nothing more than a myth, a bedtime story, a lie to tell himself.

He closed the door and retreated back to his own room, placing his head in his hands. Thoughts flooded his mind, none of them pleasant, so he picked one train of thought at random to follow.

Would Catarina notice he wasn’t visiting? She never showed any distress whenever there were lengths between his visits, and often didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. If she did, how long would it take for her to realize he wasn’t coming back? Would one of the staff explain he had gone missing, was presumed dead? Or would she assume he had given up on her at last, after all these years? Was she capable of thinking something that abstract? Perhaps twenty years ago, before age had brought dementia to her mind along with everything else. Perhaps she wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care, or would forget soon enough. Perhaps that would be for the best, to spend the rest of her days in complete, blissful obliviousness.

He shook his head and glanced at the door again, heart squeezing with fear. There was nothing more he could do for her, the only people he could take care of were sleeping in the next rooms. Truly, they were all so brave, especially considering the circumstances. He bit his hand, fangs sinking into the knuckle of his index finger as he fought back tears. Dracula was not allowed to take that lingering spark of life. He would not allow it.

[bardicbeetle]

Tag Game: This or That Writer's Edition

Thanks to @pens-swords-stuff for tagging me in this!!!

Stealing Undine's note to say- whoever wants to play: you don't have to write explanations if you don't want to. I just like to do it because I am incapable of being concise and just leaving things be. - because oh boy same hat Undine. Same hat.

1. historical or futuristic

I really love sci-fi, so future is where it's at for me. I love weird tech, I love space travel, I love especially melding the aesthetics of the natural and the highly futuristic. Spaceship made of living plant matter? Sign me the hell up.

2. the opening or closing chapter

First of all, I am horrid at hooks, so I am no good with an opener.

But a wrap up? Closure? Satisfaction? The way something culminates and everything falls into place? I'm all for that, and I think I'm pretty good at it too.

3. light+fluffy or dark+gritty

I like lighthearted endings, I like hope i like knowing that everything will eventually turn out. It can be dark in the interim, but it needs to be tempered, I need the light, it's escapism, I want to be allowed to feel good.

4. animal companion or found family

<*looks at my own wips*> I think this one speaks for itself. I think there's something to be said too for building a family you would want to be part of. Building around the people who would care about you in the ways you are so desperate to experience.

5. horror orromance

I would categorize myself as a thriller person more than horror but it's definitely a bigger thing for me than romance.

6. hard or soft magic system

soft magic system all the way. how do the weird alien magic pools give the tree people their power? I don't know, but they sure do glow! how does your vampire teleportation work? couldn’t tell you but boy does it make them exhausted and ravenous.

7.standalone or series

While I love a one and done gut punch of a book, writing wise I really prefer longer form worlds I can lose myself in. I like complicated. I like diving so deep into something I forget which way is up.

8. one project at a time or always juggling 2+

Hahahhahaha, one project? Buddy friend my response to writers block is just start a new thing. I procrastinate projects by working on other projects, I need something to rotate to when I’m struggling with a scene. Currently I have two original projects + three fanfics going.

9. one award winner or one bestseller

I’d love to just do one bestseller. If I can get Safe in the Dark into the world and have it be beloved, that will be my satisfaction.

10. fantasy or sci-fi

You’re making me choose between my children here. I think sci-fi wins out by a very thin margin.

11. character or setting description

I'm very much a character-driven writer! Characters are the most important think in my writing. And descriptions has always been one of my weaknesses.

12. first or final draft

there is something to be said for the rough and tumble blood on the page that is a first draft. but truly I have to go with the finish line. with seeing the final culmination of all the hard work poured in.

13. love triangle in everything or no romantic arcs

I like romance well enough but it’s never a selling point or a sticking point for me. I can live without and with it.

14.constant sandstorm or rainstorm

<*Insert Sand Monologue from Episode II*> I am definitely going with rainstorm on this one. If it’s raining bullets you’ll find me standing in it just for the emotional release.

I’m leaving this tag open because it’s such a good one I want anyone who wants it to grab it!

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 9)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6) (chapter 7) (chapter 8)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (semi-public fingering, specifically), angst... I think that's it

After your impromptu motorcycle drive you stayed out all night; exploring the empty city, ducking into dive bars if they were still open, dancing in the streets to music only the two of you could hear.

The city was so eerily empty at night, nothing like a metropolitan complex like London. But it was less creepy and more peaceful, especially when you were walking with Sebastian hand-in-hand along the cobblestone path. He started to swing your hand as you walked and it made you laugh.

“Teach me more Romanian words, please,” you requested, looking at him and struggling to fight your smile. “Română?”

“Eu voi,” he nodded, looking around and pointing to the ground. “Stradă.”

“Stradă... we call it the street,” you answered. “Or road. Road?” you prompted.

“Road,” he repeated.

“Good! Your pronunciation isn’t too bad either,” you grinned.

“Copac,” he announced as he pointed to a tree.

“Copac,” you repeated. “In English, it’s tree.”

“Tree,” he smiled. “Engleza este o prostie.”

He suddenly pulled you into him and spun you around in a twirl, making you laugh. “Dans,” he said as he stepped his feet in time with yours. “A dansa.”

“Yeah, dancing,” you smiled. “I haven’t danced in years, you know, except for tonight.”

He surprised you with a sudden kiss that was unexpectedly chaste, just a press of his lips on yours that either lasted longer than it normally would or just slowed time for a moment. “Sărut,” he whispered when he pulled back.

”Sărut,” you repeated.

“Aș putea să te sărut ore în șir. Ai cele mai perfecte buze,” he breathed, running his thumb over your bottom lip which had gone slack just from listening to him talk.

Your fingers trailed down over the portion of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned collar. “I didn’t know I could feel this way about somebody,” you admitted aloud to yourself. “I wish I could stay…”

His hands lifted your face to look up at him. “Nu face asta. Nu te mai ascunde în gândurile tale. Fi cu mine.”

“Sărut?” you requested, making him grin.

“Da, iubirea mea,” he cooed as he leaned in and kissed you again, smiling into it.

You really hadn't even liked kissing all that much before you met him… you just hadn't seen the appeal beyond warming up to more exciting activities, but now? This was all the excitement you needed; you could kiss him for hours and never get bored.

That said, apparently Sebastian had exciting plans of his own, because you found yourself being backed up against a brick wall, his hands exploring your body— subtle at first, just rubbing your arms and gripping your waist, but then it got less ambiguous as you felt his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, just barely grazing over your stomach.

His touch trailed higher, nearly reaching your breast but stopping just before: you didn't mean to whine impatiently, but you heard it muffled against his lips and felt him chuckle lightly, breaking the kiss and leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Atât de nevoiași," he hummed, nibbling on your earlobe as your thighs clenched together much too strongly when he'd barely touched you.

You clutched at his shirt, watching as his hand moved down to the top of your pants, the tips of his fingers just barely breaching past the fabric and starting to slide down.

"Here?" you gasped, finally remembering you were in public though you hadn't seen another person out here since you left the bar.

His hand moved lower down and your stomach fluttered with the forbidden nature of it all, feeling like a rebellious high schooler fooling around behind the movie theater when you both had curfew in ten minutes. But then he found your clit right away and it was nothing like high school.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, shuddering and pushing your hips up to silently beg for more. He rubbed circles over your bud and smiled against your neck, already making it a struggle for you to stay quiet.

“Un alt cuvânt pe care ar trebui să-l știi,” he whispered, the pitch of his voice making it clear he was saying something beautifully filthy, “este dracu. Vreau să te dracu.”

“Seba, please,” you sighed.

"Dar nu cred că o pot face aici," he added with a soft laugh.

Two fingers suddenly pushed into you and didn't seem to struggle with it at all since he already had you soaked, curling into a tender spot inside you right away.

“Yes,” you whined.

“Yes?” he repeated with a smirk.

“Yes,” you said it again, “fuck yes.”

“Fuck,” he laughed, the word that was so familiar to you almost sounding foreign when he said it. “Spui asta mult. Cred că asta înseamnă că vei veni.”

“Your fingers feel so good,” you moaned, barely enough air in your lungs to get the words out. "Please… please don't stop…"

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and desperate as you both breathed heavily, his tongue sliding against yours as if to taste your moans. Hoping to stay upright now that your knees felt a little wobbly, you slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. That, in turn, led to you feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing against your thigh and you nearly melted right there, wishing you could feel him inside you now but figuring it probably wasn't worth the risk of being arrested for indecent exposure.

By now he knew you like the back of his hand, it seemed, because you were already throttling full speed ahead toward the edge, shocks of heat jumping up your spine each time he curled his fingers inside you.

"I— I'm gonna—" you stammered through your warning. He nodded, moving his fingers faster as you bit your lip a little too hard.

Just when you thought you couldn't help but cry out he kissed you one more time, rough and hungry, and muffled the sounds of you reaching your peak literally by his hand.

Everything that had twisted and snapped all at once began to soothe as you sighed and pushed his hand away slowly, feeling your walls spasm one more time when he slipped his fingers out and slid them right over your clit.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and brought his fingers to your lips; you dutifully cleaned them off for him, watching his lips twitch into a brief snarl when you took his fingers down your throat.

"Vom termina asta mai târziu," he promised darkly as he pulled you off of the wall and spun you around, and you wanted to return the favor but he stopped your hand from sliding up his thigh. "Mai târziu," he insisted, instead guiding you around the block and back to where his bike was parked.

Hopping on the back again as he started it up, you relished the change to cling onto his back tightly. He drove you through the empty streets, over sprawling hills and through stone archways, but just as you noticed this wasn’t the way to get back to the farmhouse, he slowed down and turned into a place to park.

“Why are you pulling over?” you asked, furrowing your brow as he parked the bike and motioned for you to get off with him. “Where are we going?”

“Ai incredere in mine,” he smiled as he took your helmet off for you and kissed you again, quickly, taking your hand and guiding you down a secluded path. You followed him down a few strange alleys, under clotheslines and sconces that started to dim with the oncoming morning light. Finally, he navigated you around a turn, through a tight gap, and out of nowhere you were on an overlook; one that gave you the perfect view of the sun beginning to rise over the city. “Wow,” you whispered, watching enraptured as soft yellow light overtook everything, the village and the woods in the distance beginning to come to life.

“Vremuri de genul ăsta mă fac să-mi fie dor de casă,” he sighed, before looking at you again from where he leaned on his elbows over the stone railing. “Îți faci mai ușor. Nu mai sunt singur.”

“This place is so beautiful, I’ve never lived anywhere like this before,” you admitted. “Maybe it’s just that it’s different that makes me like it so much… I guess I could say the same about you.”

Your eyes met his again, and the way he looked at you… it was like he saw right through you. Honestly, it was a bit terrifying. You'd never been so vulnerable to someone. You liked it more than you expected.

But it still scared you.

"Haide, hai să mergem acasă," he smiled as he stood upright again and took your hand.

"Let's get back to the house," you decided, but he was already leading you back to the bike where you rode through the countryside one more time, doing your best to memorize it all while you still had the chance.

You found tears in your eyes, though you didn’t remember crying, as you typed the final page of your manuscript.

It was a first draft, nothing close to a completed novel, but you were on your way to jumpstarting your career again. The only problem? You couldn’t have a career here. You couldn’t be published while living here, you couldn’t even edit this thing properly without a computer and you didn’t even have one here.

You needed to go home.

It killed you to realize that this was not a sustainable system: you living here— Hungary or Mrs. Alberti’s lakehouse— and falling in love with a near-stranger.

Sure, it was good for what it needed to be; he reminded you what it was like to be cherished and cared for, maybe you helped him break some dry spell (although you couldn’t imagine that this guy was anything but drowning in pussy all the time, but whatever). Regardless, it couldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to be anything other than… whatever it was meant to be.

You flipped through the pages of what you’d written already, admiring the journey that you saw on the paper— not just that of the characters, but your own as well. You could feel the weakness in your own voice in that first chapter, as if your hurt was right there painted on the page with the ink-pressed letters. You could remember shakily typing these words, hoping they would distract you from the fears and memories that plagued your mind.

A few chapters in, you could see the hope and optimism that built with the action of the story. You could feel your own love mirrored in the way you wrote your story, it was painfully powerful.

It brought a sense of closure, in a way; it gave you a chance to appreciate everything you’d learned from this, even if you knew you couldn’t take it with you into the next chapter. But this love didn’t feel like a subplot, it didn’t feel like a stepping stone onto the next adventure— it felt like what you’d been looking for your whole life. Maybe that’s just how it feels to be in the ‘honeymoon phase’ or whatever it’s called; maybe it’ll fade soon, with time and distance.

That was what you silently prayed for as you packed everything, folded your clothes, checked the nightstand drawers for those random trinkets they seemed to accrue. Funny how packing to leave this place took you longer than it did to throw your stuff together when you left Michael, and you’d been living there for years.

Then again, you'd known Michael so much longer than you'd known Sebastian, and yet it was Seba that meant so much to you now.

You weren’t sure what would be more difficult: leaving him, or knowing that you could never hope to explain everything in a way he would understand. You considered writing a letter and hoping that he would come upon a Romanian to English dictionary— but with everything you wanted to say, that would take him hours. After all that, would he find your words worth it? Or would he see it all as one last chore from a peculiar fling?

You were pretty sure he didn’t see it as a fling. But maybe he would understand that it was best left as a very unique rebound.

You left your room just to go get some coffee (or maybe something a little stronger, if it was available) and jumped when you saw Sebastian in the hall, causing you to quickly close the door behind you. “I didn’t expect to see you upstairs,” you greeted.

“Obținerea cearșafurilor curate,” he explained as he opened the door to the linen closet and pulled out some bedsheets.

“Oh, yeah, those could probably use a change,” you mumbled as you realized he may not have washed them since the last time you stayed in his bed.

“Vrei și tu câteva?” he asked, pointing towards your door and holding up the sheets.

“Oh, uh, I don’t need any more sheets,” you shook your head, “but thank you…”

His face curled into a mischievous grin. “Poate că trebuie să murdărim acele foi,” he purred as he set the linens down and stepped closer to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Seba,” you mumbled, but he must not have heard the hesitance in your voice as he leaned in and kissed your neck, making you sigh a little. He hummed contentedly and lightly bit your ear, and you were almost ready to just let him do it and procrastinate this conversation a little longer, but you had to sigh and push him back.

“Esti bine?” he asked, voice heavy with concern, as he straightened up and examined your face.

“Sebastian…” you started with a sigh, the words you’d been anxiously mulling over all night suddenly abandoning you. “What happened between us meant so much to me,” you continued slowly, “but the fact of the matter is, my first marriage isn’t even over yet. I mean, it’s over, but… I’m not really in a place where I can… start a new relationship…”

He looked back at you, that same blankness of incomprehension you were so used to painting his expression, and yet it was somber; he seemed to sense the tone, even if he was losing out on the specific ideas.

“It’s not fair to either of us, really,” you sighed. “I’m still mourning my marriage— and you were a really important part of that for me. So, thank you.”

You realized you needed to express your gratitude more thoroughly. Thinking quickly, you reached for his hand and opened it, placing his palm to your chest. He looked at you, a little confused.

“Thank you,” you repeated, looking him right in the eye.

He nodded slightly.

“Someday, somebody is gonna love you the way you need— the way you deserve,” you told him, stopping briefly to bite your lip in hopes it would stop quivering. “God, I wish it could be me. But it can’t.”

He held your face and kissed you, and much to your dismay it didn’t feel like a goodbye kiss. It didn’t feel like he knew this was the end. “Nu plânge,” he whispered. “Te iubesc.”

He kissed you again and you let yourself get lost in it like a complete fucking idiot, melting into his arms as he opened your bedroom door and pulled you inside with him. For a moment, it was like any other time, like any other perfect kiss with him, but then he pulled back and looked around and you had to watch his eyes as he realized. You had to watch his face as his smile fell away and his hope turned to despondence.

The whole room was packed. Heavy trunks on the bed, the sheets already stripped so Mrs. Alberti could wash them. Everything that made it feel like your room was gone, and it was just a guest room again, feeling bigger and emptier than ever.

All that was left was the typewriter on the table, because you still couldn't lift it.

“O să pleci,” he gasped, stepping back and releasing you from his embrace. “Chiar mă părăsești.”

You knew that look he was wearing on his face; beyond heartbreak— betrayal. You were all too familiar with it. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, “I would stay if I could, but I can’t, can I?”

A car horn honked outside, making you wince.

“That’s my ride,” you mumbled. “I have to go…”

You started to reach for your trunks and for a moment you thought that was really it. “Nu te duce,” he interjected suddenly, grabbing at your wrist and turning you to face him.

“I’m sorry— I have to leave—” you rushed, trying to grab your bags again.

“Nu te duce,” he repeated again desperately, pulling you close, cradling your face in his hands.

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded as your eyes began to water.

“Stay,” he begged, and you didn’t know that he knew that word. A tear fell; you wished he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I can’t.”

You stood up on your tiptoes to try to kiss him one last time, but he grimaced and pushed you away.

“Să trăieşti,” he said quickly, bitterly, as he stormed out of the room.

“Sebastian, wait—!”

But he was already running down the stairs; you heard the sound of the back door slamming a moment after he was out of sight, and another honk of the horn outside reminded you that you didn’t have time to chase after him. This wasn’t how you wanted it to end— really, you didn’t want it to end at all, and maybe if it had to (which it did) then this was as good a way as any. But you hated to leave like this when the last thing you wanted was to hurt him.

Defiantly wiping the tears from your face, you lifted the first of your trunks and made your way down the stairs, bringing them to the front door where the driver of the cab was waiting to carry them the rest of the way for you.

“Could you go upstairs and get my typewriter for me?” you asked him. “I can’t carry it well myself.”

He nodded and did as he was told, another small but painful reminder of your first day here. Mrs. Alberti came around the bend wearing a knitted shawl and a bittersweet smile.

“I hope you didn’t plan to go without saying goodbye,” she teased you.

“Of course not,” you smiled, “goodbye Mrs. Alberti.”

“I didn’t mean to me, dear,” she explained, making your heart twist.

“I don’t think he wants to hear it from me,” you admitted awkwardly. “I don’t think he can, literally.”

She just sighed and looked away, just as the driver loaded the last of your things into the trunk.

“So, this is it then,” you shrugged as you turned to face her.

“I doubt that,” she smiled. “It’s not a goodbye, sweetheart, just a ‘see you later.’”

“Sure,” you agreed, knowing she was wrong. You couldn’t come back here; you couldn’t leave him twice.

The driver shut the trunk and got back into the driver’s seat, leaving you to stare up at the house and take one last moment to soak it all in.

“You be sure to call me when your book is a big hit!” Mrs. Alberti instructed with a grin.

You were too choked up to say anything back, so you just waved and nodded as you got in the car and took a deep breath. “To the train station, please,” you mumbled to the driver, covering your eyes with your hand as you felt the car reverse and turn onto the road. You couldn't open them, or you’d look back, and you couldn’t look back.

Since your eyes were closed, you had no way to know that Sebastian chased after the car for nearly a block, giving up at the turn of the road, falling into the gravel and laying there for a while, repeating that one English word he couldn’t get out of his head: stay.

[sparkle-hwa]

at your service

summary: patiently waiting for your boyfriend to come home turns out to be quite the treat.

pairing: dom!hongjoong x sub!female reader

genre: smut

TW: none (but please let me know if I need to add any)

CW: dom/sub, name calling, slight degradation, unprotected sex

Word count:  2,366

A/N: aahhhh!! this is my first fanfiction that i wrote for ateez EVER and my first one I’m ever posting! i hope you all like it! please feel free to send any feedback :) 

________________________________________________________________

You sat on the couch, headphones in, trying to concentrate on writing your term paper. The semester was almost over and you needed at least a B to keep your solid academic standing. Better grades now meant more scholarship opportunities for graduate school in the future and that’s what mattered most. Rewriting the same sentence over and over again didn’t seem so bad compared to endless loan payments. Pulling the blanket up higher on your chest you snuggled in and decided that thirty more minutes of writing would put you in a good place to finish and edit it tomorrow. Your entire week had been consumed by school and you were not about to let your Friday night get taken up by this. Hongjoong, your sweet, caring boyfriend would be home soon and you wanted a clear head for what you believed to be in store for you.

He had been sending you picture after picture on snapchat almost all of today. To the outsider viewer, it probably looked like he was taking simple selfies; after all, he had been at his internship all day.  But the added captions were definitely for your eyes only. He detailed just what he wanted to do with you - to you - tonight and it was enough to make you squirm in your seat during class and turn the brightness all the way down on your phone.  Recalling it now, you could feel the heat rise in your body and you subconsciously swallowed hard. Some say you can’t remember pain, but you definitely remembered how difficult it was to get yourself situated in your 8am lecture last week, the welts still red on your backside. Shaking your head and adjusting your earbuds, you got back to work.

—-

Hongjoong parked his car outside of the apartment complex and slumped in the seat once he cut the engine. It had been a long day. His internship had him working twice as hard, copying and filing, delivering reports, and filling coffee cups. He counted his blessings every morning though. He was chosen from hundreds of applications that flooded in from the university and this on his resume was sure to impress future employers. Sighing, he thought about what would have happened if you hadn’t convinced him to apply. You were so good for him. 

With a smirk, he sat up, grabbed his laptop case, and opened the car door. He walked briskly to the front door and opened it slowly. Hongjoong first saw you sitting on the couch and then noticed the headphones placed securely in your ears. With a devious smile, he quietly set down his bag next to the end table, loosened his tie, and quietly padded across the foyer to the living room. 

— 

You were none the wiser to the fact that your boyfriend had just walked in the apartment. Seventeen was blasting loud in your headphones and in retrospect, you probably should have just played it from your laptop, lest someone who wanted to rob you had walked in instead. Bopping your head along to the beat, you felt really accomplished as you saved your final rough draft. Suddenly, you felt something coming down over your head. Before you had a moment to think, Hongjoong’s tie was tightening around your neck and you gasped at the sudden change of events. Leaning your head back, you saw your boyfriend standing over your with a look in his eyes that frightened you but also made you excited. 

“Good evening babygirl,” he cooed at your lovingly. 

“Good evening sir,” you replied, batting your eyelashes.

“Ooh someone remembered her manners. You must really want something from me.”

“Anything for you…” you trailed off as he stroked your cheek and you shut your eyes. As quickly as he was sweet, he smacked your cheek hard enough to make you gasp. Hongjoong tightened the restraint around your neck more. 

“Get on your knees,” he growled at you, dropping the end of his tie and letting it drop down your back. Obliging, you dropped off the couch and sank down. You gazed down at your knees and heard Hongjoong walk around the end of the couch sit down. 

“Mmm.. so pretty down there, sunk down just for me,” he purred, palming his cock through his work pants. You continued staring at your knees, feeling the heat pool at the bottom of your underwear. His praise was affirming to hear, even if you couldn’t respond. 

“Hands and knees now,” he ordered. You put your palms on the hardwood floor and pushed your body up. The tie slipped down your side and grazed the floor. Hongjoong grabbed it and pulled at it slightly.

“Scoot closer.” You crawled closer as he pulled you by his tie and he pushed on your ass to make you move sideways. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this ass all day. Work was so boring and I needed something to stimulate me,” he said, rubbing your ass over your PJs pants. 

“I’m here for you, sir,” you dared to say. You were sure he wouldn’t care if you spoke without permission if it meant you were validating the fact that you were his and only his. Using the tie, he jerked your head so close your temple thumped against his knee. 

“That’s correct. You are here for me. I’ll make sure you never forget that.” In one swift movement he pulled down your PJ pants and smacked one of your pale asscheeks. He pulled them down farther and you moved just a little so he could remove them completely along with your underwear. Once he rid you of your pants, you dropped back onto your feet and he slipped your sweatshirt off over your head. You obviously didn’t have a bra on since you had been home alone for the past 2 hours and you heard him murmur a curse quietly under his breath. It was cold on the hardwood, yet the more you thought about being completely naked in front of Hongjoong with only his tie around your neck the warmer you got.

“Let’s go slut,” he practically snapped at you and jerked the restraint tightly upward causing your head to jerk forward. Crawling on your hands and knees you followed him back to your bedroom where he told you to remain on all fours. He wasn’t noticing but you silently dared him to look over and make eye contact with you. You bit your lip and did your best to look as sexy as possible. At just the right moment, Hongjoong turned around and looked right at you. His gaze was penetrating, dominating, and you could feel the wetness of your heat spread slightly to your bare thighs. 

“Come here baby,” he purred and you crawled slowly over to your lover, arching your back so that your ass stuck up higher and your tits stuck out just a bit more. When you reached him, you kneeled down at his feet and Hongjoong sat on the end of the bed. 

“So you’re going to sit there like the good girl you are and you’re going to watch me jack off as I think of your tight wet pussy and then I’m going to pound you so hard you’ll have trouble walking in the morning. Sound like a plan?” 

You squirmed on your feet, hoping to find friction somewhere to help relieve the wet aching you felt. “Yes sir, that sounds delightful,” you said, shooting him a glance that was somewhere between sexy and scathing. Hongjoong unzipped his pants and removed them with his undergarments. His cock sprung free. You quietly moaned as you saw his length unclothed. Swiftly he grabbed the end of the tie again and pulled you closer to him. 

“Hmm I like this little leash I have on you,” he said with intense eye contact that made you melt. “Makes it easy for you to do what I want you to.” He winked and stuck his thumb in your mouth, pushing down your tongue. You welcomed the intrusion, happy to have some sort of physical touch to focus on. Wrapping his other hand around his cock, he started to stroke it. Hongjoong let out a gravely moan. 

“Suck,”he ordered. You happily did as you were told, lifting up a bit so he didn’t have to lean down so much and sucked on his finger. He sped his pace up and pushed around in your mouth. You wanted desperately for him to replace it with his length. You moaned around his finger, hoping he would take pity on you. 

“Aw does baby girl want more?” Hongjoong cooed at you. You nodded and he removed his finger. Hopeful, you gazed at him. Instead, he shoved you back down to your feet. 

“I wonder what getting what you want is like?” He growled back. “Guess you’ll never know.” Winking he leaned back and continued to rub his dick, completely ignoring your pout. Closing his eyes, Hongjoong let his lips fall open. He heaved a heavy breath. Hongjoong seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. 

You however were not pleased. You were the slickest you had ever been and were fed up. Teasing you was one thing, but neglecting you for his own pleasure made you scrunch up your face. You watched your infuriatingly handsome boyfriend jack off and felt the displeasure rise. Your pussy ached. You slipped a hand down there to give some much needed pressure to your swollen clit. You decided to let out the loudest, sexiest moan you could muster to get his attention. Snapping up, Hongjoong made direct eye contact with you. His cock was still in his hand but he had stopped stroking and was watching you with a penetrating gaze. You continued to rub yourself and made direct eye contact right back at him. He scowled at you and you winked back at him knowing that that was either the best or the worst decisions you had ever made. 

“Excuse me,” he growled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting what I want,” you countered. You brought your fingers to your mouth to suck your juices off. “Is this what you want?” You eyed him seductively. 

“Damn straight,” he replied. “Get up here?” He said it like a question but you knew it was a thinly veiled order. He was playing it safe. Somehow that turned you on more knowing that you had almost won. 

Hongjoong laid on his back and you situated yourself so that you were on all fours beside him. His weeping cock lay flat against his pubic hair. You took it in your hand. Using the precum as a lube, you sped up quickly knowing that he hadn’t been going fast enough earlier. 

“Uuuuugh” came a soft moan. You leaned up and bit his lower lip, just enough to lengthen his moan and turn it gravely. 

“I love your sweet noises,” you cooed softly. “But I think it’s about damn time I started making those.” Dropping his cock, you rolled to lay on your back. Spreading your legs felt so good as the rush of cold air caressed your wet cunt. Hongjoong rolled onto his side and immediately stuck two fingers into your entrance. No warning. No announcement. Nothing, as he shoved them as deep as he could manage. It was enough to make you yelp out loud and remind you that you were still in trouble for disobeying. 

“Fuuuuck,” you moaned. 

“Mmm still my little babygirl,” murmured Hongjoong. He started to pump in and out faster. You were left breathless and clawing at the fitted sheet on the bed. 

“Is babygirl going to cum?” Inquired Hongjoong as he clearly had no intention of slowing down. 

“Y-yes sir. D-do I have permission?” You answered. Desperately hoping he would let you, you arched your back, hoping his fingers would stretch you out more. 

“I suppose you could,” he said. “It’ll have to be on my count though.”

“Yes sir,” you moaned out breathlessly. 

“One…. two… three…” he began. 

“Uuugh,” you began. “You never told me what number I could cum on, sir” 

“Good,” was the only response he gave to you. “Now where was I?”

He frustratingly began counting at four again. you felt the pressure building up in your lower abdomen. Either way, you were going to cum. It was either going to be when you were supposed to or you would break the rules. Somehow a dick would end up inside of you and you weren’t mad about it. Choosing the number ten, you achingly waited for his voice to reach the final number. 

“Ten…” and everything else faded away as your pussy clenched around his finger. Hongjoong latched onto your nipple and bit down fairly hard. The sensation added to your orgasm and you enjoyed every moment of riding it out. Fucked out, you shivered as he removed his fingers. 

“Nasty slut,” Hongjoong said and he wiped his moistened fingers onto your breasts. “Time for you to get properly fucked.”

He centered himself over you. In true fashion, your boyfriend wasted no time bottoming out in your already fucked pussy. His swift movements caused you both to moan at the same time. Hongjoong locked lips with you and shoved his cock in and out of you. 

“Lift your arms up,” he moaned. You obliged and he clasped your wrists above your head. 

“You look so good under me,” he growled at you. “Stick your tongue out.” Once again you did as you were told and he removed his hand from your wrists just for a moment so you could suck on his fingers again. 

“Fuck baby I’m gonna cum,” he murmered in your ear. With one final stroke he spilled inside of you. Your pussy clenched around him again as he pulled out and you sighed as you felt his wetness inside of you.

“Lemme go get something to clean you off babygirl,” Hongjoong said with a quick kiss. He hurried back with a damp washcloth and proceeded to clean you off. Once he discarded it, Hongjoong slid beside you on the bed and snuggled close.

“So…. how was your day?”

[hawksky]

You wake up on your ex's fire escape; wc 2.5k

A/N: I don't really know how to categorize this ? starts as funny, gets into angst with a happy/hopeful ending. I might write this again for another character and make it 0 angst but using Megumi just let this get away from me. Thank you @sixeyesgojo for reading through my first draft, it helped me edit a lot since 😘. Although I have not looked over the ending since I wrote it, I'm done working on this fic so sorry if it falls flat.

CW: Mentions of excessive alcohol consumption.

Suggested listening: song 1 and song 2 you can pick just one to cater your experience (they are VERY different vibes) or switch over around the shampoo situation.

Objectively, there were good ways to wake up. In the arms of a beautiful person, with cold sheets and a warm body, or with the scent of your favourite breakfast wafting through the air. No disrespect to mornings at all, there were good ways to wake up, you were mature enough to recognize this.

A perplexingly rough, wet, and warm sensation gliding across your cheek, while last night’s jeans dug into your waist, and there was a pounding in your head? It was fairly safe to say this was not a good way to wake up.

It spoke volumes for how out of it you were that it was only just beginning to register in your brain that you weren’t at home, you were not even on a bed, and that the continued licks across your face were the work of animal far too large to be one of your friends cats.

“Fucking hell you’re supposed to be intimidating” you hear a voice grumble without much heat behind it.

As you forced your eyes open you are met with an excited dog tapping its paws in excitement of your presence, and the man behind the half hearted grumble. His gaze was unmistakably familiar, but his expression could not be more foreign to you.

“uhm, Hi” you croaked out while plastering a wide grin in hopes he wouldn’t murder you.

His eyebrow raised on instinct in response. You knew he was waiting for you to explain what you were doing, but the reality was you didn’t have an answer.

“I wish I could explain, but honestly I’m not sure what happened – last thing I remember was being bought another shot… Wait, where am I exactly?” You were desperately hoping you came off as charming instead of pathetic given the circumstances.

“How out of it are you?” he scrunched his face in confusion as he muttered to himself. “You’re on my fire escape, it’s in Ikebukuro? Tokyo… Japan, in case you needed the reminder”

It felt infantilizing to have him scold you like this, which only made this next part all the more difficult. You were not supposed to be Ikebukuro. You were not supposed to be in Tokyo. You were supposed to be in Yokohama. What was even more concerning is that you were definitely not supposed to be on your old fire escape, the one connected to the apartment your ex still lived in.

As you painstakingly pushed yourself upright, a warm weight laid on your upper thigh, a furry face nuzzling into your stomach – you wondered if she was aware of tension between you and her owner. You scratched behind her ears, letting Jade know she was in fact a good girl despite the earlier reprimand from her owner.

As much as you’d love to spend the day sitting on a fire escape petting your ex’s dog, you had to go home, you just need to call –

Your phone. Where was your phone? You felt around frantically for your phone, only to come up with nothing. A light sense of panic bubbles in the pit of your stomach, only to be swiftly interrupted.

“it’s already charging, I plugged it in last night, you dropped in inches away from falling down”

So, he was still watching you despite having returned inside long ago. It was difficult for you to parse this sort of gesture, how caring could it be to plug someone’s phone in when you still left them to sleep outside? Maybe he was just doing everything he could to get rid of you. It was too much to try and analyze for someone who blacked out and woke up in a different city.

“Why did you come here?” you hear him bite out from inside. It sounds harsh, but it feels like his stange way of inviting you inside.

“I don’t know what you’ve picked up from these circumstances, but not knowing is kind of a part of the problem. Believe me, there’s no amount of conscious desperation that would leaf me to sleeping on a fire escape, even yours”

You glanced around the apartment to avoid his void expression; it was spotless. But it was even harder noticing, the turned over picture frames, your favourite quilt still on the back of the couch – remnants of the past living in the present.

This tension only increased as a mug of freshly brewed green tea was placed in front of you. How thoughtful to remember you hated coffee, to realize your throat was probably killing you – you would have tasted a creeping bitterness from all these emotions, if it wasn’t overpowered by what was the distinct taste of your favourite brand that had to be special ordered.

He had always complained, there were plenty of good options for tea at the grocery store, why wasn’t that enough for you? It was so much extra effort to special order from a tea shop across town, the only place that you were able to charm the owner into ordering for you.

“How are you still so fucking awful at taking care of yourself?” he spat the words out like an insult, it was jarring honestly. Despite the time away from each other, it was no less strange to feel his detachment.

He moved towards the door beckoning Jade to follow. “There’s a towel and change of clothes in the bathroom, you should probably take a shower. If I’m not back by the time you leave, just lock up before you go, I haven’t moved the spare key.” Without looking back or waiting for a response he left.

You were starting to recognize your growing frustration – you had known him how long? Dated and lived together for a not-insignificant amount of time? Yet here you were, no idea how to interpret this strange morning, much less his last comment. Did he want you to be here when he returned? Were you supposed to leave and act like you had never been there? Could he genuinely be as indifferent as he wanted you to believe? It pissed you that your feelings were probably plain on your face.

You searched for your phone, finding it on what used to be your side of the couch. It felt ridiculous to think you ever had a side of the couch, but you were both creatures of habit and slowly without even thinking you both made your own little sanctuary mere metres away from each other.

You awoke your phone, expecting a flood of texts and phone calls from your friends, only to find nothing. Not a single check in from anyone. You open the group chat and furiously tap out a message.

<Hey assholes who let me go home on my own last night? Anyways good job I blacked out and I’m on Fushiguro’s fire escape! You are all absolutely useless to me I swear to god.>

Your phone vibrates rapidly as you place it down but you’re not in the mood to field their questions.

You’re tempted to leave now, just to get it over with, go home and crawl into bed and forget any of this ever happened. But, you felt gross, it was late enough in the morning that you could run into someone you knew, and you missed the water pressure here.

As you got ready for your shower you surveyed your options. You refused to smell like him, but the only other bottle in the shower was doggy shampoo. Surely dog’s fur and human hair weren’t so different right? Jade did have a beautiful coat, very soft and shiny… You reprimanded yourself for the ridiculous idea, but the point remained, there had to be something else for you to use.

Your brain, far more alert than it was 30 minutes ago, thought of all the things he hadn’t changed, all the fixtures still in place. You had always kept an extra set of all your supplies under the sink. By the grace of all that is good on this cruel cruel earth, they were there, in all their dusty glory, your prized hygiene products sat unmoved under the sink. It would have been sick and twisted to have to leave your ex-boyfriend’s apartment smelling exactly like him, left to spend the rest of the day agonizing over whether you should take another shower.

As you entered the shower you wondered more. He had to have noticed the softness in your eyes, the faint smile you wore just having an ounce of his attention again, the way ti widened at every caring gesture, and falling with every biting remark.

Yes, it hurt every day missing him. Yes, it would hurt if he hated you. But none of that compared to the feeling of not knowing. What were you supposed to do with all these residual feelings that have yet to go away? Were they worth the suffocation or should you strip them away?

You were proud of yourself, all these reminders of what you once had, in a place you once loved, and you had yet to break down, not even shedding a tear. If you weren’t wrapping yourself in a towel, you would’ve given yourself a pat on the back. This victory was short lived, everyone’s strength has its limits and you had taken yours too far past it already. But then you saw it, something you were completely unprepared for.

Laid neatly on top the closed laundry basket was THE outfit. It was nothing special to anyone else, just a grey sweater and loose joggers, but how many days had you spent alone breathing in his scent for comfort while he was gone? How many hard days at work had you reaching for these exact pieces as if they were the cure to all your problems?

Unable to support your own weight anymore, you fell to the tiled floor, tears spilling out, as your already sore throat grew even more hoarse – you felt like everything was collapsing around you. You weren’t expecting to see him, and you certainly weren’t expecting to need him in so many little ways. It was easy to forget how easily he weaves himself into your life, encroaching on everything you do.

The world disappeared behind each shallow breath, and an endless stream of tears you couldn’t control. Your fingers scratch against your forearms repeatedly, trying to ground yourself in some reality you could no longer grasp. It is so exhausting trying to be over him, going through these cycles of strong emotions, over and over and over again.

Suddenly, for the second time in as few hours, you felt an overwhelming weight encompass your body.

Of course, his stupid fucking perfect dog would still know how to bring you out of a panic attack like he had spent so much time training when you started dating. You clutched to Jade as your breathing slowed, but it did nothing to stop your sobs, if anything it was just another painful reminder of everything you let go.

“Uhhh….” Megumi was frozen at the door, for the first time today he didn’t know what to do. His indifferent façade dropped as he observed the scene on his bathroom floor.

There’s nothing left to lose, not for a moment that he has seen this morning have you possessed more than an ounce of dignity, “So that’s it? You don’t know what to do either? You know it’s been a whole fucking year and I still haven’t figured out how to live without you. A whole year and I’m still a mess. I can’t survive being reminded of us, look at me. And yet every attempt to get over you was a knife twisting because they’ll never be you. Now I’m here and I get to witness the wonderful Megumi Fushiguro, unaffected, and you… you have it all together.” You trail off, giving to him everything left in you.

You weren’t expecting the confused and indignant expression on his face, “You think this is having it together?” His voice lightly raising with each word “This place might as well be a sealed shrine to you and our relationship. I haven’t thrown a single thing out, moved any furniture, bought anything new – the only thing that’s ‘new’ is your stupid tea I keep buying even though I hate it, and for fucks sake y/n I should’ve moved out. Every part of me that looks like I have it together is just my version of a mess.” He brushes a stray strand out of your face, his own face moving far too close for this to be purely platonic anymore “y/n I’m no better off than you are, I’ve just kept everyone from looking”.

“So what are we supposed to do with all this?” Your eyes shining, naïve hope seeping through your defenses at the confirmation that he couldn’t live without you either.

“We could try again” Somehow, it wasn’t quite what you needed to hear. “I, am going to get dressed, and then we’ll talk, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He nodded lightly, pulling himself up and exiting with Jade on his heels.

Dressed in the clothes you thought would burn your skin to even touch let alone wear, you let out a long sigh as you sit on at the breakfast nook. “Look, Megumi, I need to know if you’ve worked through it, any of it? I can’t, I can’t wait another three years for you to tell me you can’t say the words I love you, that you can’t commit to more than a yearly rental, I can’t just have you here I need more security than that”

He pursed his lips, unsure of what he could say to that, how he could make sure you didn’t leave again.

“Megumi, I don’t need you to say it to me today, I don’t need you to commit to anything today, but I have to know you’ve tried that I can’t keep waiting for you”

“I… Just give me a minute, please” his voice weak pleading with you. You waited, knowing better than to rush him, laying a hand on top of his assuring him you weren’t going to run out the door.

“y/n, I’m supposed to be honest and vulnerable, I’m supposed to tell myself that people won’t abandon me just because I give them access to who I really am. I want to tell you I love you, because there’s no other explanation for feeling this way. For feeling like your eyes outshine the stars, that your mind is more brilliant than the sun. I’ve tortured myself for a year with the idea of you meeting someone who could give you everything I couldn’t, and selfishly I prayed they were awful, I wished you were miserable so I pretend the truth wasn’t real that I was not enough for you, that I couldn’t give you what you needed. I’ve never seen a loving relationship, certainly not for long enough to form memories, but I look at you and I can’t imagine anything else”

Your thumb reaches to brush away the stray tear sliding down his face as he spoke to you. Manoeuvring yourself around to be on the same side of the nook as him, you pull him into you, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck. You placed a gentle kiss into his hair before whispered into his ear “You were always enough, I just needed you to know it too.”

not not a tag list: @satosuguslut @sandyscastle

[ficsnroses]

Weekend Away - John Wick x Reader

prompt  : “I think we were a little too loud last night...”

warnings : smut, fluff! x f! reader. 2.8k.

summary : john and you are away for the weekend with friends, and end up getting intimate one evening. however, the next morning, you fear someone may have heard you two getting freaky hehehaheha

notes : this is something I wrote a while ago, but didn’t think it would ever see the light of day. last night I pulled it out of my drafts and did a little editing, and here it is! please leave feedback if you enjoy. I really do miss being around here. hope everyone's doing well today xx 

I really wanted to post something for keke’s birthday<33:) happy birthday to the most excellent man I know, ilysm. I've been itching to post something, but haven't been able to bring myself to write anything new yet. I have a couple more stories like this that I wrote but never posted, I might release those while going through this writing/creative break. Thank you for sticking around, it means so so much :)

“You have no idea how hard it was to not rip your bikini bottoms to the side and fuck you right then and there, in the lake.” An aroused John whispers, deep baritoned voice rasped with thick need. Today, John and you had ventured out on a trip with some friends to a Cabin by your favourite lake; woody outdoors and crystal waters to bliss.

Soft, plump breasts and perfectly dewy skin, glistening under the moonlight. John sighs, remembering that this, you, in all your entirety, were his. All his, for the taking. Groaning into the silk of your pink stained lips, his tongue brushes delicately over yours, his lips leaving peppered kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, eliciting soft moans from you that only warmed him further.

In the woods, the breeze was different; beautifully élite; whisked winds laced with something that hungered John- the gorgeous views of you, his girl, enjoying yourself. Lately, John and you had been majorly occupied, busy schedules and endless work days leaving little to leisure.

This trip was with friends, yet more, for you and your John to be together; at last.

Now, in the midst of the midnight eve, John and you lay low in your shared bedroom for the stay; a beautifully wooden cabin room with expensive faux furred carpets, a breathtaking view of the pearly moon gazed out your window. John’s callous, sturdy palms worship each inch of your silky skin, kneading, massaging your feminine hips, meaty cock throbbed to a bulging poke; tender on your bare thigh.

Attributed to tiresome nights, complied with conflicting schedules; it’d been a while since John and you had sex.

Real, rough, pleasurable, critically needed sex.

And now, finally, he’s far too in love, far too intoxicated by your touch to stop, your own thoughts far too hazed to halt now. Underneath his nude body, you lay, completely wanton & exposed for his taking. Slow, tender, your petite hand strokes his rock hard cock, gently tugging him in preparation for what would come next. Synchronized, John’s breath sputters hot against your skin, full lips kissing delicately down the column of your neck. Mindlessly, he leaves faintly violet marks, marking your body as his own, personal paradise.

A place only he was allowed to pleasure.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper, kissing a delicate bruise to his shoulder. Gentle, sensitive, your soft hand toys with his balls, massaging his cock. “I missed this,” Smirking, you smear tiny dew drops of his pre cum, bringing up a finger to lick clean, tasting the sap of his seed to your lips.

Salty, decadent; sinfully sweet. All yours.

“Yeah, kitten?” John softly, deeply whispers. “I missed your pretty pussy.” Sighing when you pull him closer, your eyes close to the feel of him kissing your neck, so mindlessly in love with all of you in this moment. “My pretty pussy.” He grins, a wet kiss stippling to your lips.

Slow, present, John’s stocky fingers move between your entwined bodies to rub soft circles to your slick entrance; your clit in order to ease himself in, preparing your cunt. With a sharp breath sucked in, and a glutteral moan enticed off his needy lips, John sighs heavily, your own gasp laced with anticipation when you feel him sink inside in one hard thrust. His thickness splits you inch by inch, your delicate walls barely able to accommodate him whole.

Being with John, has always been a treat. The way he loves you, offers your needs first; he fucks so good, makes love so well.

Arms loomed to his neck, you draw his body closer with a bite to your lip, his own bearded jaw tightening to the feel of your warm, deliciously wet haven swallowing him whole. The pace he sets proves imperative, rough, stumbling profanities and whispers of love fleeing both your lips. Your cunt burns deliciously to his thrusts, the feel of his thick, heavy balls slamming relentlessly to your seared core pushing you further over the edge. John’s chest is quick to heave, quick to daub a rosy hue with peppered pink patches from the heat; delectably satisfying relief, at last.

“Feel good, baby?” John moans, voice confident with sure; he was quite literally fucking you into oblivion. Eyes clasped shut to a tight hold, your mouth falls slightly a gape; genuine tears threatening to scorch when you feel the absolute bliss he’s channeling into you. Hard, fast, deep, so fucking deep he hits your end each time, your G spot grinding to his touch. Whimpering, you allow small, tiny gasps to plead out, hands placing to John’s ass to urge him in further, practically melting within his touch as he ventures to the valley of your breasts.

John adores your breasts, so full, so plump, so soft for his taking. Wet and warm, you groan to the feel of his mouth delighting your nipples, hands squeezing, kneading gently to the soft flesh of your modesty. To each jolt of his hips, your breasts bounce rhythmically, soft fingers of your hands pulling a tug to his coffee hued, lengthy strands. Massaging his scalp, you allow his head to take refuge in the soft curve of your neck, and he kisses the skin, sucking, nipping, appreciating the silk as his hips never falter; fingers moving to your cunt to rub, swirl, massaging two digits to your creamy released mixed together.

“It’s…it’s so good-” Yelped out your lips, a particularly loud moan shudders through the surround air, repetitive praises of his name reciting as if a prayer you so desperately needed to live by flows off your tongue; the syllables drenched with need. “So tight, sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight.” John moans, a feverish kiss to your mauve stained lips. “You look the most beautiful when you’re taking me the way you do, baby.” He whispers, wet marks doused into your skin. He pumps hastily, pounding your walls, and the slight curve of his massive length pulses; thick shafted veins and gorgeous bumps, ridges all felt deep, deep inside.

John’s cock is a piece of art. A masterpiece, you’d forever pride in.

Within a few particularly harsh thrusts, you yelp in pleasure as your orgasm washes over you, searing your nerves with blissful tingles as he fucks, pounding into your delicate, gently bruising skin, still chasing his own.

“Gonna cum,” John groans, and you clench your cunt tight for him, tight; just how he liked it. His hips roll selfishly almost, breathy moans appreciating your body immense. “You feel so good, honey, so fucking good.” He drills, and slams, and batters, into your sore pussy, your nails desperately digging bruises into his biceps as you encourage. “Cum for me John, inside, baby, let me feel you.” You soak, back arching, body jerking as you feel him burst inside; habitually pulling your body close as he cums. John’s cock stills deep, deep inside, spurts of his hot, delectably creamy seed slicking inside you as you sigh,

sigh in complete,

and utter, bliss. Bliss with your love close, nestled on top with your skin sticking together; your arms providing a safe haven for his sex gratified body to rest, coming down both your highs.

“I love you,” He barely manages, foreheads connecting as you hold each other close, lips twisting into warm smiles and tender giggles to the thought of being able to do exactly this, all over again, the next day.

Morning comes in warm, yellow waves of nothing, but beautiful warmth all around. You’d waken to the bed next to you empty, John’s vacant spot casting a gentle frown to your lips when you’d come to know of his absence. Sleep thickened eyes had barely fluttered open, tired arms searching, longing to nestle into his broad, beautifully comforting chest. Voices can be perceived downstairs, the bedside clock illuminating the time of 8:30 AM, aromas of floral dark and freshly watered pine exuding all around.

With a small yawn and a stretch of limbs, you’d climbed out a sea of rippling, silky duvet seams, opting to drape John’s long forgotten shirt from the night prior off the floor and onto your exposed breasts. In the heat of the moment, sleep had long pirouetted through your veins, and you’d only managed to slip back on a pair of lacy underwear before the bulk of John’s arms had drawn your body close, burying his bearded face into your neck with his own form tangling with yours, succumbing to a deep slumber, holding each other close.

The cabin was big, yet intimate. All of yours and John’s dearest friends had accompanied; you’d long know you’d be leaving this weekend with a suitcase full of memories and wishful remembrances, spent with people who meant to you.

Through a gentle smile and rub of drooping eyelids, you venture out your shared room, a bigger smile enveloping when the sight of your dream catches your glimpse from above the wooden stairs. John sits below, at the wooden dining table, a coffee in hand as his brown littered eyes gloss the morning paper. He looks beautiful this way, unbelievably handsome. You’d long come to appreciate morning John, ruffled hair a mess from the night’s sleep, with that special, raspy morning velvet voice that still sent butterflies rippling within you. Gently thudding down the steps, he smiles wide catching sight of you towards him, adorned in his white Henley shirt.

“Morning.” Smiling, your hands thread into the wisps of his chocolate hair, sinking into the depths of his lap as his arms come around your frame. His eyes seem warmer than normal, a glittering shine casting over each his features.

“Hi, baby.” John warmly grins, stippling a gentle kiss to your temple with the pads of his fingers grazing over your skin through a pull of your body closer. “Did you sleep okay?” He wonders, thumb smoothing over your cheek as a stray hair tucks behind your ear.

Still smiling a warm symphony, you sigh. “I did. Didn’t like waking up without you there, though.”

John’s lips frown, and a heaviness falls to his tone. “I’m sorry, I got a call earlier. Didn’t wanna wake you too early.” Explaining, his hand falls to cover yours that lays flat on his chest, softly grazing over the supple skin. “You haven’t been able to sleep in lately. I wanted you to have that this weekend.”

Moments like this with John prove to be your favourite; simple, mundane, enveloped in love. Moments where the laughter rolls up from his chest, and his smile shines a glow to each part of you that loves seeing him this way. Moments where you anticipate, dream of a future together, where you’d wake to him this way every day,

Smiling, and smiling, with perhaps your favourite book in hand and his head in your lap; full pots of earl grey brewing,

as you lounge on a Sunday morning. Smiling, and smiling,

        because of him.

Love drunk, you lean in closer, catching his lips in a warm kiss, smiling and smiling, into his lips. He tastes of espresso, light and mellow, and that something unique held on his tongue; something only he’d had, something sweet.

Lost in each other’s touch, you sigh as you pull away, moving to sit behind him on the chair adjacent, helping yourself to a sip of his ceramic mug. His hand plants to your thigh, gently soothing the skin while his eyes scan through the sea of words resumed on his morning paper read. You’d just gotten comfortable, sinking into the chair with John’s coffee coupled in your grip for another sip, as the voice of your best friend channels your ears.

“Morning, love birds.” She grins, walking through the wooden kitchen corridors. With a smirk daubed to her lips and a knowing simper your way, you’d immediately caught onto something shifty in her tone.

“Hey, Amy.” John greets, chuckling. With another sip of his coffee, that you’d devoured a good portion of, he kindly asks. “How was your night? Did you sleep okay?”

Amy’s lips curl with a knowing smirk, something you’d become immensely familier with over the course of your friendship. Knowing each other since the first grade, Amy and you were quite possibly as close as they come. John may have not been able to pick up on her alteration, but you’d been quick.

“I did.” Amy returns, shuffling through the cabinets for a glass mug of her own. “There was a little...commotion around midnight, but it wasn’t too bad.” She adds, eyes drifting to yours, a goofy smile on her lips. With your eyes narrowing and stare scrunching, your alertness raises, and you let go of John’s hand that had mindlessly been holding yours, removing it off your thigh. Peering up at your lips as you raise off the seat, John’s fingers tug your forearm, asking for a small kiss before you’d walk away. Embedding your lips to his briefly, you feel him let go of your skin as your eyes suspiciously cast over Amy, mindlessly shuffling through the kitchen space as she prepares herself a cup of coffee. You stay cautious, ambled up beside her as you check the fridge.

Something is off.

“We have cream, right?” She asks, offering you half her blueberry muffin, taking out a carton of eggs from the fridge.

“Should be in there.” You return, still thoughtful, attempting to study her whole. The longer you stare, the more normalcy returns, and you wonder if maybe your tired brain had merely thought there had been something off with her tenor. Easing yourself, you opt to give it the benefit of the doubt, opening the carton of eggs to aid her in making breakfast for all the others.

Still asleep, her husband James would probably be down soon; him and John got along pretty well, and double date nights were quite frequent between you all.

“How many should we do?” She squints her eyes your way, sighing. “Half the carton?”

“Sure.” You reply, relaxing into a more normal state of mind. “Make me a cup of coffee too please, I accidentally drank half of John’s when I got down.” You giggle, taking the carton from her hands. She chuckles an approval in response, gathering all the utensils and gadgets you’d need for preparation. Finally, as you lean over the cabin sink, washing your hands with the lavender scented soap, you hear Amy just behind your ear as she reaches beside you, pumping some soap into her own hand. 

“By the way, you totally have porn star moans.”

And your eyes widen. Shock and realization courses your veins, a horrified expression washes over your features as you allow her comment to absorb. Amy only giggles, chuckling, with her sarcastically suggestive voice teasing you further. “Sounds like Jonathan is real good in bed.” Just below a whisper, so only you’d hear, she titters, amused by your baffled expression.

“Oh my god, Amy!” You cease, slapping the back of your hand over her arm. “You should have texted me! Or knocked! What if someone else heard?” You whisper angrily, still slightly embarrassed. “Oh my gosh, did James hear?” You swallow thickly, rubbing a hand to your ached temple.

“Oh sweetheart, if he wasn’t snoring away I’m sure he would have heard too.” She laughs to your dismay. “Relax, our room was right beside yours. I’m sure no one else heard.” She assures, trying to provide some sort of comfort, but ultimately reverting to a deep, hearty fit of chuckles when she catches your nervous gaze once again. With a deep sigh, you escape her tease, leaving the kitchen with a few quick steps as you find your way back to John who sits by the window, still flipping through his newspaper. Slipping beside him, you sigh deep, before biting your lip.

“John,” You quietly alert, gazing around to make sure no one else would hear. His expression thickens, and his eyes fall heavier, sensing the unease to your features.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?”

Groaning, you bite your lip again, sighing with a timid realization. “John, I think…” With your eyes focused to the ground, you bask, contemplating, sighing. It wasn’t the end of the world; Amy is your best friend; you both know practically every secret there is to know about each other in the history of ever. Yet, there still was a lingering mortification, a blush that crept to your cheeks when she’d spoke of the night prior.

John’s heavier hand strokes over yours, comforting. “What’s wrong, babe?” And with a final bite to your lip, you whisper, grasping his arm.

“I think we were a little too loud last night.” 

John’s cheeks flush pink, and a goofy smile casts his darker features. He smiles a timid grin, eyes downcast as he lightly chuckles a couple huffs, thinking back to the night prior. “Amy heard.” You whisper, barely groaning.

John’s eyes scan the room, before he takes hold of your arms again, drawing your body in closer. With a sultry voice, and that beautifully deep, crisp gravel of his tone you’d come to adore, he whispers into your ear, smiling. “Well, guess we’ll have to be quieter tonight.” He channels, as you bury your head into his chest, embarrassed, yet smiling to the sheer wit of the situation. “I do love a challenge.” John quietly adds, bringing his muscled arms around your figure, whispering a few chuckles into your hair.

And as you gaze up, catching his silly grin and pink cheeks blushed to a peachy hue, you smile,

and smile,

feeling the warmth of his stocky hand slip into the seams of your shirt, gently soothing over your back, as his lips pepper a gentle kiss to your hair, still smiling. “Darling, it’s nearly impossible for me to be quiet, 

when I’m with you.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[palbabor-writes]

Look Upon the Light

(Chapter 8: Terrify)

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, angst, general melancholy 

Word Count: 7765

“I know who you are.”

Shigaraki lifts your console up, turning it this way and that, ignoring your declaration. “The facing got knocked off,” he states, his four fingered grasp lifting it up for you to see. His eyes catch yours, the crimson ensnaring you. “I don’t think it’s going to fit back on. Lucky you, you don’t really need it to operate the machine.”

His pinky comes down against the plastic, joining the rest of his finger pads. The plating is gone in an instant, dissolving into a fine dust and drifting to the mats beneath Shigaraki’s feet.

Moving to Japan has been an absolutely terrible life choice.

Notes: Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. 

Chapter 1: Encounter || Chapter 2: Observe || Chapter 3: Hello || Chapter 4: Intoxicate || Chapter 5: Taste || Chapter 6: Teeth || Chapter 7: Polaroid ||

Terrify  ter·ri·fy /ˈterəˌfī/ verb cause to feel extreme fear.

In hindsight, you should have known. It was too quiet. 

The moments that stretched between Tomura’s visits narrowed and shrank. You’d come to expect him whenever you walked into your living room, your bedroom, your kitchen. He stuck to your ribs, pulled at you, wordlessly asking you to stay close. You’d wake to his warmth, his touch, the reds and whites blurring together. 

Despite these moments of tranquility, he was tense. Thrumming with an energy that made you shake. 

It was dangerous. 

But, you’d always known that, even if you pretended that the tiger at your door was as gentle as a kitten. Something was closing in. It felt like the calm before a storm, the air pulling back and pushing forward, misting over the pliant ground. 

Neither of you acknowledged it. 

Like the best ghost, it only made its presence known in the chill of pre-dawn. Slipping over your sleeping bodies and seeping into your skin, slowly tarnishing, rusting out. 

You wake one morning to see Tomura leaning over you. He isn’t touching and is barely breathing, his exhales coming out in little puffs of air. His eyes rake over you like coals, smoldering as they set you aflame. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. He doesn’t answer, just continues his silent introspection. There it is again, that creeping sensation that’s been nagging at you. You don’t question him further. Instead, you roll toward him, pressing your cold hands into his warmth. 

Something unspoken has been drifting above the two of you for weeks. You knew that you could give it a voice. But, you were unsure if he could. You wanted to tell him about it, to make it solid by speaking it into existence, but you didn’t know how he would react to your declaration. And provoking an unknown reaction out of Tomura was never a wise move. 

Did you even need it to be said when you’d already accepted it as fact? You loved him. 

And, he loved you. You knew that, you’d never doubted that. His walls had come crumbling down with yours and Tomura was nothing if not passionate and possessive. He couldn’t help himself. He might disguise it as something else, tell himself that it was another thing he was entitled to, but you knew the truth. You clutched at it, keeping it safe, holding it to you so he could never tear it away. Even if he left, even if you never saw him again, you would keep that small piece of him. 

You could feel that love when he came to you like this. He would soften, his voice and touches lingering, tender. He wouldn’t let you go. Insisting that you hold onto him, that you come to him. He was at his most desperate in these moments. 

Running your hands along his bare legs you look back up at his face. He is leaning closer, practically bent in half as his hair trails against you. 

“Come here,” you whisper, arms lifting to pull against his neck. He doesn’t resist and you tug him back to you, trying to leech some of his warmth. He lays his head against your breasts, his low breathing making you shiver. Your hands tangle in his white hair, cascading the tendrils against your palms. 

His eyes finally drift closed as the sun peeks playfully against your curtains. You should get up, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone in the bed. Burrowing against his slackened form, you fall blissfully into sleep, content to let your whirling anxieties still. 

******

It was the little things that tripped the two of you up. 

He’d been careful, and you’d been protective of his presence, keeping your movements to a minimum. But, it had always been a matter of time. He wasn’t infallible and you, well, you couldn’t stop time. 

At first, the extra patrols made you feel at ease, especially when you were returning to your apartment late. There was a new hero in the area and she seemed determined to make a name for herself. Although you had never run into her, the shops and local papers were chock full of her name. She had brought along two sidekicks, kids really, but between the three of them, the crime rates had steadily decreased. 

Then, you remembered what Tomura had told you once, “Guess this prefecture isn’t important enough for any hero to deem it worth their while…I doubt anyone will notice a villain respawning in the vicinity.” Now, the patrols just made you jumpy and you couldn’t help but worry for him each time he stepped out your door.  

Tomura became even more inscrutable as the days wore on. He was practically seething, a deep rage bubbling over him and tipping, spreading. It tainted his voice, his movements. However, he was careful to not take his brittle aggression out on you. 

No, he was never rough with you, at least, unless you wanted him to be. But, that was a different sort of dynamism he would retreat into. And it was one that you welcomed. Often, it could pull him from the brink of his restlessness.  

Even with the distractions, Tomura was still on edge. He’d always worn his emotions in his eyes and body language. You could map every inch of him now and that power never brought reassurance. You didn’t question his anger. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you just knew that it was a part of him. It sat against his heart, beating in tandem with the muscle. But, it wasn’t his budding aggression that set things in motion. 

Instead, something more insidious crept in. 

******

A knock at your door startles you, your pen dragging against the drafting paper, an unseemly line etched across the design. Shit. You look at your phone. Although Tomura didn’t text every time he came by, he usually kept his travels to and from your apartment to odd hours, like pre-dawn, or the dead of night. According to your device, it’s just after noon. No, something isn’t right…

The knocking comes again, louder, insistent. 

You stand, gulping down your shaking nerves. It could be nothing, you tell yourself as you walk to the door, your feet padding against the wood, just calm down, (Y/N). 

Two men stand outside your doorway. They are wearing professional, dark suits and they look like bad fucking news. 

“Miss (L/N)?” the shorter one asks, removing his hat and bowing to you. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your heart beating tightly against your chest. 

“I’m Detective Ito and this is Detective Yamashita,” he gestures briefly to the taller man, who gives you a cursory bow. “Sorry to bother you during the work day, but we have a few questions for you. Do you mind if we come in?” his voice is liquid and you distrust it immediately. 

“Right now? I’m in the middle of a project, is there any way I can get a card and possibly meet with you later?” You try to make yourself stand up straight, projecting a calming lull over your tone. Come on, (Y/N), you’re not bothered by this, if anything you’ve been preparing for this. Handle them and don’t let anything slip, you have nothing to hide. Except for the villain who haunts your bed. No, don’t think that. You’ve got this...  

“I’m sorry Miss (L/N),” the taller gentlemen, Detective Yamashita, presses, stepping toward you. “It can’t. This concerns some delicate information and we need to make sure we can clear you. While you’re not being accused of anything,” he amends, catching sight of your narrowed eyes, “we do need to make sure we’re covering our bases.” 

“And my rights as an American citizen?” you press, holding your ground. You have a feeling it will be a null point, but it’s worth a shot. 

“I’m afraid your visa doesn’t grant you any special privileges. Now, I’ll ask you again, may we come in? Or, do we need to come back with something a little more…stringent?” He lets the final word hang, a warning. Detective Yamashita is clearly playing the role of bad cop in this little interrogation, that’s not an interrogation. Yeah, right.

You pause, biting your lip, thinking. If you push back, then you might find yourself in more hot water, besides, as far as you can tell, you aren’t under arrest. That means they don’t have anything concrete, for the time being.

You bow, “I apologize gentlemen, I don’t mean to be rude, I just don’t understand what two detectives could possibly want to question me about. Please, come in.” 

They seem placated by this response and follow you into your living room. You offer them a seat on your couch and bring your work stool around to sit in front of them, hands folded in your lap. Here’s hoping the demure act will work in your favor…

“It’s no problem Miss (Y/N), I know you haven’t been in Japan long. I’m sure it’s unsettling to see us. Now, before we proceed, would you please show us your U.S. passport, work visa and residence card?” 

You nod, keeping your face neutral as you gather your paperwork, holding them out to Detective Ito, who takes a small flashlight to them, scanning for any forgeries. Satisfied, he hands them back, a small smile on his lips. Still doing that good cop routine, you think irritatedly, tossing the papers on your media stand. 

“We’ve heard that you’ve found a boyfriend while you’ve been here,” detective Yamashita pries, crossing his legs and leaning toward you. “Where is he?” 

“Not sure I’d call him that, he’s more of an acquaintance. He lives in another city,” you lie. Keep things simple and to the point, don’t supply anything you don’t mean to. 

“Which one?” 

“Esuha City,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the detectives. 

“Your landlady said he has very distinctive features,” Detective Yamashita pauses, writing something down. Then, his eyes lift, waiting. He’s not going to let you slip past this query. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, your head tilting questioningly. 

“She said he had white hair.” 

You tap at your chin, pretending to think. “Oh, I believe he did. He dyes it a lot.” 

“What color is it now?” 

“Not sure, I haven’t seen him in a while.” Well, you think snidely, that one is partially true, it had been about a few days since you’d last seen Tomura. 

“A co-worker of yours, Mr. Suzuki, also mentioned something interesting about your, er, friend,” Detective Ito pipes up, and you arch an eyebrow at him, not answering, holding back. 

“He said that he acted strangely when he came by. Apparently, he was very aggressive. Mr. Suzuki said he felt threatened.” 

It’s really shitty luck that interaction has come back to bite you. “Oh,” you feign remembrance, “well, my co-worker, Mr. Suzuki, had decided to walk into my apartment unannounced and without knocking. Naturally, I thought he might have been a burglar. I’m sure my landlady has told you that my unit has been burglarized before?” 

“She did,” Detective Yamashita replies, his eyes finally drifting away from yours. “While this might be a long shot, we would like for you to look at some pictures.” He snaps open his briefcase and pulls a collection of images out, pressing them into your hands. 

You can feel them both eyeing you carefully as you shift through the images. Some of them are Tomura, some are others, and most are blurry. You lift one curiously. It’s the image of a man standing on a train platform in a dark trench coat. Squinting, you try to see the station name. You can just make out the lettering, Musutafu Station. It’s the one that is close to UA. Taking another look over the others you see the same station tiles, your heart feels like it’s floating away. 

Maybe they really are just checking leads, they do seem a bit bumbling, but that could also be an act. Something that makes you drop your guard, something that could put both you and Tomura in danger. 

“No, I’m sorry. Although,” you tug out one of the pictures that is not Tomura, “this one looks a little familiar. I just can’t think where I’ve seen them before…”

“That’s the League of Villain’s leader,” Detective Ito provides, and Detective Yamashita glares at him, his eyes darkening. 

“Oh! God, is that who you’re looking for?” you ask, eyes wide. 

“We’ve been canvassing the area, asking questions of some of the locals. A girl in downtown Tokyo thought she saw him the other day, like I said, just covering our bases.” Detective Yamashita admits, taking the pictures from you. 

“But, that doesn’t explain how I ended up in your investigation.  Is it because my friend had white hair? I mean, not to be rude, but that feels, vague…”

“Since Shigaraki was seen near the train, we traced other CCTV cameras in the station. We noticed that someone similar to his description was seen exiting at this station, as well as several stops in Tokyo a few months ago. Your, uh, friend, as of now, fits a similar description. We’re just checking the area for anyone who has been in contact with persons similar to Shigaraki.”

“So, no recent sightings?” You opt to ignore that last bit of information, it would make more sense for you to be worried about the bigger picture. 

“It’s terrifying to think that a villain might be lurking around. After the burglary, I really considered moving to another complex. I was hoping that that new hero would turn things around.” You duck your head, trying your best to look flustered and scared. They aren’t hard emotions to reach for, given the circumstances.

“He hasn’t been seen in a while, ma’m, please, don’t worry,” Detective Ito says encouragingly, earning him another glare from Detective Yamashita. 

“I just, I don’t understand something, why talk with my co-worker?” you ask, your voice low. 

They're hiding something. Suzuki could have reported his minor encounter with Tomura to the police, or maybe these men approached him. It was frustrating and frightening. It’s something so small, such a tiny slip in time. You’d honestly forgotten about Suzuki’s visit, so much had happened since then. But now, thanks to Suzuki’s report, there are detectives sitting in your living room. There’s no way you can plausibly deny Tomura’s presence in your apartment. Both Suzuki and the apartment manager had seen him. 

“We have reason to believe that he might have-” Detective Ito is cut off by Detective Yamashita’s throat clearing, a rasping sound that reverberates in your small apartment. You gulp, pulling yourself from your musing, your hands fidgeting in your lap. 

“Ito, please. I’m sorry ma’am, we aren’t able to give that information out at this time. At present, we have no further questions for you Miss (L/N), but, before we go, do you mind if we take a quick look around?”   

“Um, of course,” you smile weakly. What else could you do? The more you resisted, the more suspicious you looked. Your stomach drops as they stand and you feel like you are going to be sick. 

These detectives knew about Tomura, there’s no way they didn’t. They might be checking now, but they’ll be back. And the next time they might not…

No, you can’t think about that right now. Just go along with what they want and get them out of here. You can figure out a plan of action when they’re gone. 

The detectives are already pacing around the rest of the living room when you finally stand from your seat. Thankfully, this part of their investigation should be easy. 

The most Tomura ever kept at your place was the two pairs of sweatpants that you’d bought him and those you can easily explain away. You’d also kept your food purchases to a minimum. Lately, he hadn’t been eating much of anything, so you’d saved on the grocery bill. Thank God for that. 

Overall, your apartment looks like it just housed you. 

The two detectives putter around for a few minutes, opening drawers, examining shelves and closets. They even peek in your bedroom, but Detective Ito had practically closed the door on Detective Yamashita’s nose when he poked into the dark room. The smaller detective shook his head, aghast at the very thought of entering something so feminine and private. And odd reluctance, for a man who called himself a detective. 

Concluding their search, they head back to your front door and you trudge after them, feeling numb.

“Well, Miss (L/N), thank you for your time,” Detective Yamashita bows, followed closely by his compatriot. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, please, don’t hesitate to give us a call. We’d also like to hear from your…friend if he drops by again.” 

“Of course,” you demure, bowing back, praying that this is about to end. 

“Have a pleasant day, we’ll be in touch.” Detective Ito grins and the two men make their way to the next apartment floor, their feet heavy against the carpet. Once your door is shut you fall down into the floor of your genkan, your heart pounding and hands shaking. Oh God, you have to…Wait, should you text him? You’re not using his name on your phone, but what if they’re already tracing it? Can they do that? 

You pull yourself to your feet, your legs wobbly, and drag yourself back to your drafting desk, snatching up your phone. Your fingers tremble as you type in your message. You don’t know if you should put it in some kinda vague, coded wording, or if you should just toss the damn phone out the window and resort to smoke signals. Damn it. 

[You: 1:13 pm]

Hey, some men came over. They were asking questions. 

Well, it certainly doesn’t seem like a vague text, you think, looking over the message and hitting send. No, it looks like it’s screaming that you’re harboring Tomura Shigaraki. You move to your floor, back braced against the wall, waiting. It might be hours before he texts back. But, you didn’t want him coming over and then finding himself immediately captured by the police. 

You bury your face in your hands, a low groan wracking out of your lips. Worst case, he won’t answer at all and all you’d have left of him are memories, not even realizing that they were the last interactions that the two of you would share. 

The sudden vibration of your phone snaps you out of your head, and your hands shake so badly they send the device skittering across your mats. You tumble after it, lifting the screen and breathing a sigh of relief. He answered. 

[Tenko: 1:23 pm]

5-2 Kusunokicho 7-chome

It’s an address. You highlight the text, hit copy, and paste it into the mapping app on your phone. It looks like it’s a tea shop. You stand, legs still trembling, and grab your purse and jacket, heading for your door. You poke your head out, into the hallway, and gather your strength. If you are going to do this, you need to look natural. Besides, if they are following you, hopefully Tomura would know what to do. 

You gulp as you lock your door behind you, a morbid thought jumping into your mind. Well, here’s hoping that knowing what to do didn’t mean killing anyone. 

******

The tea shop is busy. It’s raining, so that might have contributed to the bustle inside the shop. You pull the hood of your jacket higher, trying to shield your face from the freezing droplets. Tomura hadn’t texted again and you didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to ping your location on your phone. 

In fact, you think belatedly, you might as well switch it off. As you power the device down, you hear a low whistle from the alleyway across the narrow street. 

You turn your head slowly, the rain pattering against your face. There is a figure loitering toward the back. It isn’t distinguishable as anything other than dark. Well, fingers crossed you aren’t about to be murdered. 

Splashing across the street you duck down the alleyway, thankful you’d thrown on some heavy boots for this excursion. The figure is stationary and you pause a few feet back, waiting. He lowers his hood, red eyes still focused on the street behind you. You almost run to him. You have to tense your legs to resist the temptation, your nails digging into your palms. 

“Were you followed?” he rasps, watchful, his eyes flashing at you, the street, and finally, back to you. You shake your head. 

You’d taken a route similar to the one you’d transversed when you came to the clinic to drop off the diagram for that prosthetic. Each time you’d switched trains or busses you had discretely studied the faces around you, looking for any repeats, anyone who might be tracking you. You’d even drifted into a few other shops before reaching this street, often ducking out a back door and taking the alleys to the next street over. 

You’d been careful, you just hoped it was enough. 

“This way, stay alert,” Tomura murmurs, his hands still firmly in his pockets. He leads you down another street and into a smaller back alley. He’s doing his own weaving now, taking you over some of the pathways twice, his eyes always peering over his shoulder, observant and sharp. Finally, he pauses in front of a dilapidated door and shoves his way inside. 

“Come on,” he calls back to you, holding the door open, allowing some space for you to slink past him. He follows, yanking the metal closed, sealing you both inside. 

You shrink back against the darkness, your eyes struggling to adjust. You can hear Tomura moving toward you, his breathing a low scratch against the silence. He stops at your side, the warmth of his body close. 

Neither of you move for a time. You’re both listening. The only sounds you can make out is the rain and your own heartbeat. You close your eyes, your head thumping against the door. “God,” you whisper, your voice thick with disuse. 

The sound makes Tomura shift closer, his arms pulling you to him, away from the cold metal. He presses a quick kiss against your temple and tugs you further into the room. 

It looks abjectly barren. 

There’s an old mattress in one corner and a smattering of trash, mostly cans and takeout containers, strewn over the greasy floorboards. It looks like it’s operating as his bedroom and the thought makes your heart squeeze. It’s fucking disgusting. No wonder he used you as a place to crash in the beginning. No human should live like this. 

He flops down to sit on the mattress and pulls you after him. The two of you perch on the uneven surface and you let out a long sigh, overwhelmed. Tomura senses this and doesn’t press you. He lets you catch your breath, welcoming your leaning touch. Once you’ve shaken off your jitters, you begin.

“They were detectives. They said they saw you at a Tokyo station, so they checked CCTV and traced you to the stop by my apartment.” Tomura is silent and you gather your breath to continue. 

“They talked with the landlady and they talked with that idiot coworker of mine, you know, the one who tried to come in the apartment that one night. It was vague shit, I tried my best to ask more than I talked. 

One detective kept trying to get the other to stop telling me details. He finally shut down the whole thing, saying they’d be in touch and for me to give them a call if I saw anything. I…I just hope this doesn’t fuck things up for you, for-for us…I don’t...goddamn it…” You bury your face in your arms, a sob stuttering from you. 

Tomura is quiet, but he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around your quaking shoulders.  

******

He isn’t sure what he wants. 

It’s not a sensation he experiences often and he’s finding it hard to grapple with. If he’s thinking selfishly, he would keep you with him. He’d drag you to hell and back if he could. He doesn’t want to give you up and he isn’t even sure if he can. A deep welling of possessiveness had overtaken him. You were his, just as he was yours. 

It was strange to admit that. 

He wanted to break everything to pieces, to decay it into nothingness, but, over the last few months, he’d come to adjust those goals. Not just with you, no, the same leniency applied to this league of his. They should have what they wanted, too. 

So, he let you cry against him. 

He wants to know what giving is like. To tell you that he could give you something of his. After all, he’d stripped you down to nothingness, taking and taking until you had finally lain bare and open in front of him. You’d started the process naturally, giving coming as easily to you as breathing. 

He knew he didn’t want you around the league. 

You were too different, too removed from that sense of desperation and fanatical idealism. And you didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t like seeing you in a place like this, dilapidated and crushed, sobbing against his chest, your warm tears soaking into his skin. 

No, you deserved to be comfortable. You weren’t a fighter. You would try if he asked, he knew you would. But it wasn’t you. Besides, what did you want? 

He would have to let you go. He’d known it from the first moment he’d felt your lips running across his. Still, it had come too soon. Perhaps that could be his gift to you? Letting you settle back into normality. 

******

“What should I do?” You ask him, lifting your head from his chest, eyes puffy and tired. His gaze is clouded, the red murky, unfocused. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice hollow. 

“Tomura,” you admonish, “I...I just don’t want you falling into some trap. Not because of this stupid…I don’t even know what to call it. I thought we were careful...I-I don’t know. I’m just so fucking mad.” 

He smiles at your outburst, his scar lilting up. “What do you want to do?” He presses his forehead against yours, exhaling heavily, waiting for your answer.

“Move,” you reply, tipping your fingers up to trace along his jaw. 

“Then move, it should be easy for you to get back to the U.S.” 

You sigh, pulling your head back. “No, I don’t want to do that. I just mean, move somewhere that’s safe for-” 

“The league is regrouping soon. We’ve caught wind of some…information. It’s going to take us farther out of the city. I was going to tell you tonight. I don’t know how long it will be. Could be months…” He speaks slowly, his voice lulling, soothing you, even as you take in what he’s actually saying. I’m leaving, get out while you can. 

There is a long silence following his announcement, and you lean against him, burying your face against the rough fabric of his trench coat. So, just go home? Go back to the states? There has to be something that you’re not thinking of…

Tomura tilts your face up, craving contact. He runs his rough lips over yours, carefully letting his hands tap over your neck. 

His kiss is light. The fleeting caress makes you press against him, your fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. You moan when he tilts his head, sliding wetly across your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you open, tangling with him. Tomura grunts at your eagerness and his nose bumps yours, his exhaled breath shaky, wanting. 

You sigh. How were you supposed to just say ok? How could you be ok without having him like this? What if you wanted to try and remain at his side...could you ask that of him? What if…wait…wait…that’s it! 

You pull back from him, gasping and he gives you a disgruntled look, a frown creasing his features. “Oh...that’s it! I know what to do!” 

“Keep your voice down,” he reprimands, as you lean back to reach for your purse. You dig in the scattered contents and emerge with a small business card, a beaming smile across your face. 

“Nico! He said to call him if I wanted to take him up on that job offer. He said I could draft for him. He’s at that clinic, and he said they work in a grey area, but they have some serious connections. It’s perfect. It lets me slip away, I’ve just got to be careful how I do it.” 

Tomura snorts at your enthusiasm. “So, you just get a new job and all your troubles go away?” 

“No, I tell my job I’m transferring back to the states and I pack up my apartment. It won’t be the cheapest thing I’ve ever done, but if I can pull it off, then it’s the perfect solution. I can find some place else to live, and slip into a new life, one where you can still come and go.”

He stares, his eyes wide in that childlike manner, the pupils blown. You smile and fling your arms around him, kissing along his neck. He grunts and presses you back, pinning your arms to your sides. 

“Stop squirming,” he growls and you still obediently, not wanting to agitate him. 

“Come on, don’t be like that, Tomura. It could work. At least let me try.” You plead, watching his face, trying to see if you could get a read on him. 

“You actually are insane,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and turning his head to look away from your stare. 

“No, I love you.” 

It just tumbles out, but it’s too late to unring the bell. Besides, you stand by it. 

He freezes underneath you, his head whipping back to yours. His eyes are sharp and his lips are lifted in a deep scowl. It’s an intense look he’s giving you, almost raw, dangerous. It makes your stomach flip, uncertainty pooling in your gut. You find yourself looking away and biting your lip, “I mean it, I-” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else. 

He’s pulling you against him with bruising force, his hands trembling as they press into your skin. He can’t even seem to focus enough to land his lips on yours. He tries again, then stops himself, his face lifting away, but he won’t let you go. 

His arms are wrapped around you, his grip tightening and relaxing. He tries to look at you, but ends up ducking his head once your eyes catch his, burying his face in your neck, panting against your skin. He can’t stay still. No, he’s groaning, so brokenly against you that you’re worried he’s going to shake himself to bits. 

You lift your arms, belatedly, to wrap around his neck. You try to hold him to you, desperate to seep a little reassurance, fuck, a little sanity into his trembling body. Tomura shakes his head at the confinement and shoves you down, against the mattress. 

You squeak as your back hits the musty sheets, but he’s pinning you under him before you can protest. 

“What did you say to me?” he finally snarls, his lips curled over his teeth. “No. I know you didn’t just fucking tell me that. How could you even- How? I’m a monst- I-I...” He can’t string his words together. His head dips to your neck, his lips rough against your skin. He can’t catch his breath and he won’t keep still.

You’re gasping under him, trying to hold him. But, it’s impossible to control him. You just shut your eyes against the emotions that he’s pulling from you and let him seethe above you. 

“Look at me,” he growls, his voice hoarse and ragged. You try to wince your eyes open, but you’re too overwhelmed, you just can’t, you can’t look. 

Why, you think distantly, why can’t you look? 

You tell him you love him and now you can’t look at him? Are you afraid of what you’ll see? Afraid of the rejection that you know is coming? It doesn’t change anything, you tell yourself, even if he tells you to get out, it doesn’t change what’s happened between the two of you. No. If this is what you want, then tell him that. He has to...he has to hear it. 

“Fucking look at me, (Y/N).” 

“T-Tomura,” you try, a tear of frustration, of fear, slipping down your face. “Tomura, I mean it. I lov-” 

“Stop it,” he moans, his breath hot against your cheek, his lips following the path of your tear, pressing the salty wetness away. He’s straddling your hips and his hands are curled, pressing into the bed. 

“Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t mean it. You can’t-” 

“Stop it, Tomura. Just, stop. You think I don’t mean it? How can you say that? After everything we, no, God, how can you fucking say that I don’t love you? When I’m right here, telling you that I do? You don’t get to dictate how I feel. What gives you the right to say that I don’t?” you ask, your voice an angry whisper. You can feel him shaking, his body wracked with his shivers and the realization gives you the courage to open your eyes. Your anger melts away at the sight that greets you. 

He’s hunched over, his hair draped across his face and his eyes are clenched shut. He looks like he’s ready to fall apart. One of his hands lifts to scratch at his neck, dragging red lines down the scarred skin. 

As if they have a mind all their own, your own hands lift, tugging free of his weight to cup around his face. He tries to yank his way out of your grasp but you just tighten your hold. He’s not getting away that easily.  

“Tomura,” you call, keeping his face captive in your hands, forcing him back to you. “Tomura, I love you.” 

He sags. 

His whole body seems to shrink and his eyes finally meet your steely gaze. The red is bright, wild, gleaming in the darkness. You gulp and furrow your brow, a trembling exhale falling from your lips. You have to say it now. There’s no going back. The world is shattering, splintering to pieces above you, but he has to know. Before you lose him, he’s gotta at least know that one thing in this world that he hates so much, cares about him. Fuck, loves him. 

“Sure,” you begin, still gripping your fingertips into the side of his head, slowly slipping up to tug at his hair. “I’m insane. I’ve fallen in love with someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with what I can offer. 

It’s not going to work Tomura, I know it’s not. But, goddamn it, at least let me try. I know I don’t get to keep you, I don’t even know what you’re fucking planning to do. You could want to burn down the world for all I care. I just...I just want to hold on a little longer.” 

He’s slack jawed and his eyes are wide and unfocused. He’s still panting but he’s not fighting against your hold anymore. Finally, he closes his eyes and lowers his head, his forehead coming to rest against yours. 

“Say it again,” he requests, his voice muted, thick with longing. 

“What? The whole thing?” 

He lets out a wheezing laugh and you slowly start to breathe again. 

“You know what I want,” he murmurs. You lift his head from you, tilting until you catch his eyes. 

“I love you, Tomura.” A low shudder echoes up his spine and his eyes drift closed again. 

“Fuck,” he rumbles, tugging his head from your hands. He doesn’t go far. Instead, he flops to his side and drags you over, draping you across him, his arms latching around you, keeping you in place. 

You sigh, relieved, dipping your head against him, feeling for his heartbeat. You’re both quiet and the room stills around you. Your fingers are tracing lazy circles over his crossed arms, careful to avoid his clenched fists. He presses his nose against your hair, inhaling deeply. 

“Stay,” he says above you, his breath stirring across the top of your head.     

You smile against his chest and duck into his warmth. His grip on you tightens, lean muscles coiling, holding you to him. You can feel his lips as they run along the top of your head, tapping soft kisses into your hair.  

Ok, so it’s not the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard, but you wouldn’t have wanted him any other way. 

******

Your new apartment is nothing to sneeze at. Nico hadn’t been joking about that pay raise. He also was so much more than you were expecting. Not in a bad way, just in a, hey, I know some shit just went down, are you ok, kinda way. He didn’t pry, but he’d gone out of his way all the same.

The rest of the team at the clinic has also been absolutely stellar at helping you to get set up. Need something moved? On it! It’s like a big family and you can’t wipe the smile off your face most days.  

As for your old job, they had been disappointed, but they understood why you wanted to get back to America. However, the American side of that job hadn't been so thrilled at your resignation, but you had received a glowing review from your old boss stateside. You liked to pull it up on your new laptop, reading over the words of encouragement and shaking your head at just how seriously you’d taken her advice. 

Your Japanese work buddies were heartbroken, Hanabi most of all. But, you promised to keep in touch. You hadn’t quite figured out how you were going to do that, but that was a problem for another day. 

All in all, things were going to plan. You had asked Nico for a little bit of extra help with the paperwork, explaining some of the details to him, and he had been quick to get you set up with a new passport, visa and residency card. It was like the old you was just a blip. You’d just need to keep your head down for a while, check the news, and see where all the extra precautions took you. It wouldn’t be easy, but what part of life was?

Tomura had stopped by after you finished setting up your new tv and console. Appropriately, he’d said he wanted to try it out and had then proceeded to ignore you while you set up the rest of the room. You didn’t mind. 

The two of you were trying to make the most of the next couple of days. That lead he’d mentioned was somewhere on the outskirts of Tokyo and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. He’d reminded you of that fact, over and over, until you’d finally told him to shut up and let you enjoy the time that you did have with him. 

“Hey,” you call, unboxing the last of your new dishes, “got you something.” He tilts his head toward you, eyes still glued to his game. Rolling your eyes at his inattention, you wander over, leaning over your new couch to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Pause it,” you demand, dropping a kiss against his temple. He grumbles, but you persist, nibbling on the shell of his ear when he tries to prolong his session. 

“What?” He lifts his head up to look at you, his hair falling back against your arms. 

“I want to give you something,” you reply, pressing your lips to his forehead before unwinding your arms and stepping around the couch. He eyes you suspiciously as you perch on your coffee table. You lift a key up, wagging it beside your face. 

“It’s a key,” you taunt. He smirks and snatches it from you, pocketing it and tugging you forward. 

His kiss is soft, so achingly soft that you melt into his arms immediately, flopping against his lean chest. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” he grumbles, shifting you to a more comfortable position across his lap. Your legs straddle his hips and he holds you against him, his fingers warm against your hips. 

“Can’t say I never got you anything,” you tease, leaning back and grinning down at him. 

“Same,” he huffs, reaching into his pocket again and tossing a small phone at you. You fumble to catch it. He snorts at your scrambling and you pout. 

“It’s not like you’re throwing it at a normal angle or anything.” 

It’s small in your hands, almost obsolete in this modern age. You flip it open and already see a contact programmed in: Tenko Shimura. 

“So you don’t bring any more cops around. It also can’t be traced.” His voice is hushed, almost embarrassed. It makes your heart flutter. 

“Awe, a burner phone. I’ll cherish it always,” you jab and tilt his chin up, so you can keep kissing him. 

******

A low vibrating wakes you. Blearily, you check your phone, only to be greeted with a normal screen, no missed messages or emails. Huh? The vibrating continues and you suddenly realize what it is. Flinging your feet out of bed, you rush to your charger, unhooking the old phone Tomura gave you. 

[Tenko: 2:23 am]

Out of the city. Found a new friend. 

There’s a picture underneath the words and you click the buttons until it lets you highlight and bring up the image. 

It looks like he’s in a forest and you’re shocked he has a signal. But…what the hell is that? 

There’s something nestled between all the greenery and it looks ominously like a man. If it’s real, it’s practically a giant, no, actually hulking would be a better word…

It’s practically a living, hulking mountain. Unsure if your sleepy brain is playing tricks on you, you exit the image, deciding that 2 am is not the time to unpack this particular phenomenon. 

[You: 2:35 am]

Looks, uh, interesting? Be safe & Love you. 

- Fin

Author’s Note:

Ugh, this was such a bittersweet chapter for me. I wrote this fic in its entirety back in the last few weeks of August. I had time before my classes started again and I leapt at the opportunity. In many ways, I identified more and more with the reader insert as I tried to pour out my ideas. I wanted to hold onto this tiny story that I’d outlined, to see if I could make something like this work after such a long break from writing on this scale. 

So, out came Look Upon the Light. 

It was like a fever dream. I couldn’t stop now that I’d started. After I reached the 8th, and final, chapter, I spent the next two months pouring over what I’d written, editing endlessly. I wanted to make things feel just right. 

I went from this bombastic climax to something more subdued. Why not let it be an anticlimactic ending? Life often works that way and sometimes things just, well, end. 

Tomura, in particular, has changed so much over the course of this journey. 

There were days when I felt like he sounded terrible, nothing like the complex character that I loved so much. But, with my sister's wonderful edits and suggestions, main ideas & patience and countless read-reads of the manga, I got a handle on him and I am so proud of how he’s come out.

Canonically, I feel like this gap in the main story is the only time something like this romance could happen to him. Tomura is in a fragile place. For the first time in his life there’s no one looking over his shoulder and he’s become a character who is worlds away from where he started. 

His goals are finally solidifying and he acknowledges that the members of his league deserve to have what they want too. Inside, no matter what has been stripped from him, he’s always been Tenko Shimura: that little boy who wanted to play with the outliers, to make sure that he was letting them feel included too. I indulgently like to think that if someone like the reader existed, their relationship might help him to come to terms with this part of himself. 

Finally, this wouldn’t have been possible without you, dear readers. I have cherished each and every kudo, comment, subscription, like, and reblog. I was so scared to put this out. There are so, so many talented writers for this fandom and I was nervous. It had been so long since I’d written anything on this scale, would it sound ok? You all have been so supportive and welcoming and I love you so much. The response I received from posting this let me feel confident enough to explore some of my other favorite characters. 

So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that you all are amazing and I wish each of you so much joy. 

While this won’t be the last time I write for Tomura, there are other facets of his personality that I want to explore, I will wait a bit to do any updates to this story. I want things to catch up and settle within the manga itself before I toss the reader back into Tomura’s life. I do hope that they can come together again, as I have become their biggest fan. 

In the meantime, The Gap in the Door will explore some of their other interactions. Some take place around the time of the chapter Polaroid, but some will look into other parts of the story. If you have a prompt, or want to see another glimpse into anything that happened, let me know. These two are so much fun to write and I enjoy head cannoning how they could fit together. 

In short, thank you again for all you’ve done for me and take care of yourselves.

Tags: @inumorph​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @possum-person​, @akutaguagua​

[todaydreambelieversfic]

Author Spotlight: Gleefuldarrencrissfan Day 2

Author: @gleefuldarrencrissfan

Share one of your strengths.

I've been told that I do a great job writing in each character's voice, especially Blaine, Kurt, Santana, Brittany, and Finn.  It's very important to me that my characters remain true to who they are.  I work very hard to make sure that each one sounds like they would in the show.  

I've also been told that I'm great at cliffhangers.  Honestly, I end on cliffhangers a lot as I try to figure out which route I plan to take for the story.  I map out stories, but sometimes, the story takes me in a different direction.  I also like to take suggestions from my readers.  Many times, I have multiple scenarios on the direction in which the story can go.  I love keeping my readers on their toes. 

Share one of your weaknesses.

Well, because I have so many scenarios running through my head, I sometimes get stuck, and so, I don't update regularly.  I used to try to publish weekly or more, but as a mom of two, a full time assistant in a high-needs classroom, an avid crafter, and a member of a band, my plate stays pretty full.  I hope that my readers will subscribe and drop a comment from time to time to remind me to keep writing. 

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I'm going to bring up two, Dueling Duets and Love, Blaine.  Dueling Duets is a complex fic with many characters and a very intricate plot.  On top of that, Blaine has PTSD, as do I.  It became too painful to finish this, so it is the only fic of mine that is abandoned.  I would like to finish it, but I just don't see that happening any time soon.  

Love, Blaine was so difficult for me because I wrote it all before publishing, and I thrive on feedback.  I kept going back and rewriting scenes over and over because I just couldn't make up my mind about certain things.  I also get anxious with a timeline hanging over my head, and so I went past the deadline.  Unfortunately, my appendix decided to burst the week I was supposed to publish, so I was trying to write through the pain.  I did finish it, and I'm proud of it, but I probably won't put myself through that again. 

Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Private Messages, by far.  Honestly, it was so easy because Kurt was me in a sense, a fanfic author, desperate for feedback on his writing.  I also outlined this fic thoroughly, and so it just seemed to flow when I got to a certain point.  It is by far, my most popular fic, and honestly, it is my favorite of all of the ones that I've written.  Don't get me wrong.  It was very complex, bouncing back and forth from Blaine's and Kurt's perspectives, with plotlines from the show, Kurt's story, and the actual story all coming together and interweaving at times making it difficult to write, but I always knew where it was going, and so it was the easiest to finish. 

Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

It's one of my passions, along with music and crafting.  I'm an artist at heart, and so I'd never be happy or fulfilled in life if I wasn't creating in one shape or form.  I honestly love the way art makes you feel, both as the artist and as the person affected by other people's art.  My favorite thing is one someone tells me how my writing or work made them feel.  

I'm also writing educational children's books, and I hope to inspire kids in the future to love to learn, and so it is a major passion of mine to be a published author and get my books out there for kids to read. 

Is there an episode or character or arc above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Blaine Anderson.  He was by far the character that inspires me the most, probably because I see myself in him, the confident, happy performer who is really quite insecure and maybe even depressed. I wish that the show would have let us see more of his personal life.  At felt like, at times, he was just Kurt's boyfriend, but he was so much more than that.  It would have been nice to actually see his home, his parents, and his brother to get greater insight on why he is the way he is.  Thank god for fanfiction.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just write.  The first draft does not have to be perfect.  That's what editing is for.  Get yourself a beta, dig in, and just get the words on the page.  No one can read your work if the pages are all in your head.  

What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Stick to what you know.  That's what research is for.  Branch out.   Explore.  Interview and talk to others.  Although, if you are researching something embarrassing, for example, Brazilian waxing, use incognito mode.  lol. 

If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Private Messages.  I just love this story, and I think it would best translate into a movie.  Besides, Blaine is an actor in this one, so it works. 

What’s your process? Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines? What are the perfect writing conditions for you?

Ha ha.   I find it funny that I have a process because it depends on the fic I'm writing at the time.  for my more complex stories, I do best when I map them out first.  I don't do a complex map, just a basic synopsis of the first 10 chapters or so, and then a rough outline afterward.  Of course, I keep it a soft outline, and I also plan a few other scenarios in case the story goes in a different direction.  Even Chris Colfer says that his characters surprise him in his stories, and so I'm in good company, I suppose.  

However, on my shorter stories like Rim Job, and idea just comes to me, and I just write what comes to me, and then I even take suggestions from my readers about further chapters.  I guess it just depends on the tone of the fic.  If it's serious, I'm much more structured, but on my less serious pieces, I just have fun and write.   

The perfect conditions are when I'm alone (be it when others are sleeping or out of the house) and I can just allow my muse to work.  I put on some background noise (Glee music or episodes) for inspiration and just sit down in front of my laptop with my notebooks.  Many times, I have scenes written in my notebooks before I type them out (I write when I'm waiting at the dr.'s office or at work during a break, ect) so all I have to do is type and polish the scene.  Unfortunately, I have several scenes in my notebooks that haven't made it into a word document yet just because of lack of time.  Hopefully, I will catch up this summer.

***

Check out Gleefuldarrencrissfan’s Fics

Somewhere Only We Know -  Blaine has three little words on his mind when he says good bye to Kurt in the court yard at McKinley. Can he make himself declare them out loud? An alternate ending to "Born This Way"

Silly Love Songs -  It's Valentine's Day, and Blaine had plans to serenade Jeremiah. But what if Blaine discovered the doodle Kurt made in Silly Love Songs before he serenaded Jeremiah? The scene at the Lima Bean is canon and everything to the point of Kurt sketching the doodle, but the ending, of course will be how I had hoped it would've happened.

Courage -  Do you believe that one moment can change the course of your life? That one event change the way you saw everything, or do you think it's a series of moments that build from one experience to the next. A year ago, I would've said that was crazy. But I'm not the same guy that I was a year ago.

[songbirdstyles]

OMG CAN U DO LIKE A DVD THING ON IM ON FIRE? THATS ONE OF MY FAV WRITINGS FEOM U

OH YEAH

the interesting thing about i'm on fire is that it's still like, one of the fics i forget i've written? HAHA. there's like 3-4 fics that were just like 'slopped together' when i felt bad because i hadn't written anything in a few weeks/months (others are call me, sweet lady, even let it bleed tbfh)

HOWEVER, this doesn't mean i don't like them! i love every fic i've written and in a weird way i'm almost more proud of my quick hasty fics that people still liked. and i love i'm on fire - i genuinely just set out to write a really quick fic with desperate, needy rough harry and i'm still happy with what came of it!

i also love being able to write completely plotless smut. that fic opens, in the first or second sentence, with the reader getting slammed against the door by harry and the momentum never really slows. i like not having to build much beyond that because that can be what really stumps me in a story - realizing that not every smut needed this elaborate backstory or glorious context was genuinely eye-opening to me in such a strange way.

i think the overall premise of this came from a fic i read for a different fandom (possibly marvel, though i can't be sure) with the reader being fucked in a similar position, and i just thought 'that is so insanely hot.' naturally my mind always puts harry in positions like that, and once i had built it up more in my mind, it was like word vomit on my google doc. all of it came out in a night or two, and i barely even refined it at all before posting - what's in my masterlist is essentially a rough draft of it, and i'm glad it's more 'raw' than some of my more edited fics.

my favorite paragraph of it (which sounds conceited considering i literally wrote it but nonetheless) is the sixth where the reader is describing what harry looks like, and it's just an absolute sight. he's so needy, flushed red and rutting against her thigh, grabbing her tits like a horny teenager. because i can totally imagine him doing that when he's just that needy, pushing aside all the refined parts of him, just stripped down to his desperation for his lover.

ALSO ... i'm a whore. that's where the whole breeding thing came in. like, yes, of course in a random fic about needy harry i have to throw in that he's going to knock her up. who the hell would i be without that? for some reason, as a college student with no intentions of having a child in the near future, a breeding kink is one of the most attractive things on planet earth to me. i will include it in as much as i can and i like how there's a sudden flash of sentimentality and vulnerability between them when she interrupts harry to tell him, and then it's like - wait, did that make you harder? i loved writing that entire scene of dialogue.

i hope this made coherent sense? and/or fit the description of what dvd commentary is supposed to be? i don't know but i loved talking about it, and this is a fic that i haven't really thought of in a while but i got to kind of go back to the headspace when i wrote it which is pretty fun so thank u anon! and please ask me to commentate on more i love it

[mego42]

Hi!! Was just wondering if you have any Brio fic updates you’ll be posting soon? Obsessed with your writing!

ahhhhh thank you!!! you are too kind!!!

I guess it depends on your definition of soon? I have a lot of stuff I’m working on and am pretty far along into, it’s just been going a bit slowly for life reasons (we’ve been temporarily short-staffed at my job which has unfortunately coincided with bringing on some big new clients so I’m working crazy hours and then also took on a p big freelance project at the same time bc I make questionable choices but also bc it’s a v awesome project and I’m hoping to be able to brag about it soon)

THAT SAID I’ve got a lot of stuff p far along including:

ch 2 of swear! fully drafted, def in need of another major editing pass though. there’s a tension/tone through-line that’s not quiiiiiiite right and I’ve been trying to sort it out by writing Rio POV outtakes bc why not

ch 3 of swear! I’m trying really hard not to post for this fic until I have a chapter banked both for accountability reasons and also bc I’ve got a lot of threads woven into the fic that I’m trying to keep track of and it’s helpful to be able to bounce back a chapter and tweak things to properly set up stuff in the next chapter. I’m about a quarter/third or so into it but I’ve lowkey dropped it for now to focus ooooooooon...

the last chapter of song!! at last! it’s happening! highkey inspired to jump back in by a truly lovely comment @whiskeyjack left me and @xenalovesoq and her group chat’s unflagging enthusiasm, I am about 15K into the draft and *laugh nervously* a third of the way through my outline so that’s gonna be a monster

I’ve also got a bunch of other projects in various stages of outlining and drafting that are v much on my mind but def not a current priority like the others (Beth POV for listening, buffyverse if I can detangle the plot, the pacific rim AU I add a sentence or two to whenever I’m stuck on something else, the sex pollen I wrote half of and then paused to write swear).

so yeah, lots of stuff happening but nothing close enough that I’m comfortable predicting a timeline I’d inevitably fail at anyway. I’m not sure what’s going to get posted first tbh, I’d say probably song because that’s what I’m focused on rn but editing is going to be a bit of a thing given how long it’s shaping up to be (jfc oh god what am I doing) so idk!!

I wish I had a better answer but here! have a (rough, unedited) snippet from song for your troubles!

"What are you doing here," she hisses.

Her eyes dart from Rio's face to over his shoulder, sweeping the midway to see if anyone's watching them, and then back. The corner of his mouth tugs up like he knows what she's doing and it's funny. She locks onto the motion, the shrieking sounds of the carnival around them falling away. Midday sunshine giving way to deep, dark midnight blue in her mind’s eye.

Between her kids and then Rio having Marcus for a few days, Beth hadn't seen him since that night at the bar a full week ago. After she'd explained her plan to his satisfaction, she'd realized it was getting late, and she had to get home. He’d walked her out to the van and the unexpected gallantry of the gesture caught her off guard, and something bloomed, warm and sparkling in her chest. Then, alone in the parking lot, he'd pinned her up against the side of it, burying his face in her neck and pressing his hips into hers. Her moan when she felt him hard against her mingled with his answering one when she rolled her own hips right back, echoed together through the still, silent night. 

Beth thought about yanking open the door of the van and tugging him inside. She knew he wouldn't object from the nearly frantic urgency of his hands gripping her waist, shoving up under her shirt, hot and rough against her skin. He'd cupped her breasts, his thumbs swiping across her nipples and pressing down. She'd gasped and arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt when he'd bit down on her neck in response. 

A part of her wanted that—him—quick and furtive in the back of the van, too desperate for each other to wait. But another part thought of the reality of Emma's Barbie's digging into her back, the graham cracker crumbs she’s pretty sure the seats spontaneously generate at this point embedding themselves in her skin, the smell of apple juice and kid sweat that never entirely dissipates hanging around them and that isn't—she doesn't—

This thing between them feels different now. New and precious and somehow heavier and more fragile than it ever has before. It's a beginning, and Beth wants more for it—them—than a rushed hookup in a parking lot before they go their separate ways. 

So she’d gently pushed him away and he'd let go of her immediately, even if he'd taken a beat to inhale deep against her skin before stepping all the way back. 

When he'd met her eyes, Beth had known she didn't need to explain, and when he reached out a hand, pinky extended, her own had fluttered closed as he'd gently nudged her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

"Next time."

Impact against her thighs snaps her back to the present, and Beth realizes she's swayed forward into the table between them. She can feel her blush flare, heating her cheeks and chest, but can't bring herself to be too embarrassed when she sees the way Rio's eyes have gone dark and hooded. 

His lips part, and Beth can see the tip of his tongue pressed lightly against his teeth. She imagines leaning in, closing the distance, and sinking her teeth into his full, lush—

“Jesus Christ!” 

[segalia]

Living in Lockdown with You

What’s that saying about writing indulgent fluff if you don’t have the inspiration to write? Yeah...this domestic fluff three-parter has been nagging at me since I was in extreme lockdown a month ago and wondered how Percy and Annabeth would handle a similar situation. Featuring clingy and sleepy Percabeth and working from home. Enjoy. 

*** Annabeth stared at the screen blearily, trying desperately to focus on the videoconference in front of her. As a demigod, focusing was hard for her at the best of times, and this switch to everything online certainly wasn’t helping. She was all too aware of her face in the lower corner of her screen, wishing her boss hadn’t insisted they leave their cameras on for this presentation. Blinking and squaring her shoulders, she was just about to try again to tune into the discussion of a new architectural technique when a mug floated out of the corner of her vision. 

She looked up to see Percy offering her the steaming mug with a sympathetic smile. She took it gratefully, cupping it in between her hands and letting the warmth revitalize her. 

Thank you, she mouthed, then remembered her mic was off. “Thank you,” she repeated out loud, needing something real to ground her to this moment. 

“Of course,” he nodded, and turned to give her space to focus. 

“Wait,” she put the mug on the table and caught his hand, reveling in the familiar feel of his hand in hers. “Can you stay just a few minutes?” 

He smiled again, that troublemaker but supportive smile that had eased its way into her heart so long ago. 

“Of course,” he repeated, making himself comfortable on a nearby chair. 

She expected him to start playing on his phone as she went back to focusing on the presenter, so he caught her off guard a few minutes later when he posed an insightful question about what the presenter was saying. As she answered, pulling together facts from earlier in the presentation and one of her college classes, she realized that this weird combination of stimulation, from the hot liquid warming her up inside and his hand in hers, to the presenter’s voice and Percy’s questions, was helping her focus better than she had all day. She squeezed his hand briefly in his thanks, and he gave her a warm look before asking another question. 

Gods, he was so smart. 

With Percy peppering occasional questions throughout, she was able to not only breeze through the rest of the lecture, but also pose several intelligent questions when it came to the follow-up meeting. Finally, the meeting concluded, everyone said goodbye, and she signed off. 

She sagged back in her chair in relief. “Oh my gods, thank you. You were a lifesaver.” She hadn’t meant to steal him for the whole meeting, and she was sure he had other things he was probably supposed to be working on, but she was so grateful and he was so willing that she decided to feel appreciative rather than guilty. 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It was actually pretty interesting. I’ve listened to you rant about architecture enough over the years that at least most of the words made sense.” 

Too tired to properly express her emotions of gratitude and how smart and amazing he was even if he didn’t always see himself that way, she raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it softly. “You’re amazing, thank you.” 

His smile was soft and a little bashful, but all he said was, “what are you thinking for supper? I’m not sure we have enough leftovers for a full meal.”

Her brain switched gears to food, and they started brainstorming. With stretching and groaning, they rose and headed to the kitchen, ready to tackle this new challenge as a team. 

***

A couple days later, she found herself going to bed at a decent hour for once (quarantine and distance work had been messing with her already messed up sleep schedule). When she crawled under the covers, however, Percy was still seated in bed, staring intently at his laptop (their apartment was really tiny--what can you do against New York apartment prices?-- and didn’t have much in the way of living space). 

“Are you--” she yawned, “almost done?”

“Huh? Oh, I mean, I think so? I can move elsewhere if you want.” 

She shook her head sleepily, aligning her body so she could curl around him. “It’s okay. Just dim your monitor please.” 

He nodded absent-mindedly, focus already returning to his work as he complied. 

She must have drifted off because she woke disoriented to find Percy still tapping away on his laptop. “Hey.” She breathed, adjusting her position to lean against him, stretching out a crick in her arm, “what time is it?” 

“Hm? Oh, I guess it’s 2:30.” He blinked and muttered, “when did that happen?”

“Percy,” she was having trouble keeping her eyes open, “you should head to bed.” 

“I know, I know, I’m just really close to finishing.” 

“You said that several hours ago.” If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall asleep and drool on his shirt.

He kept typing, and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. 

“Perce? Are you actually close to a stopping point? Cause if you save it for tomorrow and get some sleep now, you’ll probably do better work.” 

The computer noises stopped, and she felt him chuckle under her cheek. “Now where have I heard those words before?” 

She grinned sleepily, “Not sure. I think some wise guy said it a couple times.” 

“Wise guy, huh?” 

She could picture the smile on his face, but merely hummed in agreement and snuggled further into his side. 

“Okay, okay.” There was a pause before he said, “for real this time, I found a good stopping point, just give me a few minutes.” 

“Okay,” she was drifting off again. 

True to his word, she felt him shift several minutes later, and suddenly the dim light vanished. A tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding released. She only grumbled slightly as he gently slipped out from under her grasp, and sooner than she expected, he was back under the covers, drawing her into his chest. 

“Love you,” she murmured. “Sleep tight.” 

She felt a laugh rumble through his chest as he bent to kiss her forehead. “You too, Annabeth. Love you.” 

***

Her laptop was lifted from her lap mid-sentence and a weight settled in its place. “What?” She looked down to find Percy sprawled across the bed between her legs, head pillowed in his arms on her lap.

“Sleepy,” he muttered, shifting to get comfortable. 

“I wonder why,” she responded affectionately, holding her laptop in one hand and carding her fingers through his hair with the other. 

“Had to-” he yawned, “finish the project.” 

“And you did, so I’d say you’ve earned your rest.” His recent tiredness put her in mind of the months after he’d taken the Achilles’ Curse when he’d fall asleep anywhere and everywhere, often in this very same position. 

Of course, then, she didn’t usually have a computer and a report to finish. 

“Hey,” she gently tapped the computer on his head. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “That works.” 

“This works?” She repeated, skeptically resting her laptop on his head. 

“Sure.” 

Deciding to play along, she tried to continue typing. “Hm, I’ve determined that your head is not a sufficiently flat surface.” 

She felt him shrug against her legs. “Not for lack of trying.” 

“I don’t think I’m advocating for more monsters to bash you in the head.” She moved her laptop to his back instead. “I’m fond of your skull as it is.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she smiled, running her hand through his hair again, tracing the shape of his head. “Now stop distracting me.” 

“Sure thing, babe.” 

Smiling and rolling her eyes, she turned back to her report in the dyslexia-supportive program one of her siblings had designed. Percy’s back was much more stable than his head, and she couldn’t say she didn’t appreciate the company. 

She finished a rough draft and saved it, deciding to look it over for errors and edits later. As she closed the report, her background came into view. It was her and Percy during their visit to Washington DC the year before. They’d planned a large group trip with Grover and the rest of the seven to support Piper’s recent appointment. A lot of them had road tripped down together, and spent hours at the Smithsonian Museums. It had been the last time all of them had been together, and now, with lockdown, the memories were even more precious. Her heart clenched, and she was immensely grateful for Percy, even if he was becoming hot and heavy. 

“We should have a group call with the others soon.” 

He stirred; she honestly hadn’t been sure he was still conscious. “We have one the day after tomorrow. Hazel put it in the group chat, and you already agreed.”

“Oh yeah.” With the stress of lockdown and working from home, details were a little hazy sometimes. “That’s good then. Are we calling your mom any time soon?”

“Maybe tonight? Paul’s busy with teaching online, and Mom’s been busy with her book and trying to homeschool Estelle. She said she’d let me know.” 

“Cool,” she idly traced patterns on his back. “Gotta say I’m so grateful for modern technology right now.” 

He snorted, “And that we can use it now.” 

“Gods, yeah.” A combined effort on the part of some Hephaestus kids, Athena kids, and a remarkably tech savvy Ares kid had led to a spell/app combo that meant monsters could no longer trace demigods through their technology. Annabeth had to admit that a smartphone had been a lifesaver a number of times, both in college and in monster fighting. 

“So, what do you want to do for this rest of the day? Especially now that you got that project out of the way?” 

“Sleep.” 

She tugged at his hair, “you can sleep later, c’mon.” 

“You can sleep with me,” he suggested, and she caught his mischievous look. 

“I’m not tired,” she stuck out her tongue. “Do you wanna watch something? We’re nearly caught up on, uh, that one show.” 

He named it. “That one?” 

Snapping her fingers, she nodded decisively as if she’d had the name all the time. He just gave her that teasing smile. “Yeah, that one. Wanna watch that?” 

With an overly dramatic sigh, he crawled off her. “Sure.” He kissed her cheek as he settled into her side. “Popcorn?” 

“Why not?” She smiled at him, “but you have to salt it.” 

“I think I can agree with that,” he grinned at her and pulled her laptop to him so he could pull up the show. 

She plodded to the kitchen (well, kitchenette), and returned a few minutes later with only slightly burnt popcorn and a salt shaker for Percy to wield. As she curled up beside him, and the familiar title song played, Annabeth felt the deep-seated contentment that no matter what crazy things were happening in the world right now, no matter how helpless and scared she felt, at least she had her something permanent with Percy. 

[fieryanmitsu]

Cream Pie Antidote | A3! NSFW Week 2020 – Day 3 (Itaru/Izumi) | 18+, NSFW

A late contribution to the A3! NSFW Week! I had the rough draft written out during that week, but work got crazy busy, so I just finished this up now!!

But, anyway, when I originally saw the prompts for Day 3 of the A3! NSFW Week, I laughed really hard because the “fuck or die” trope is so campy and hilarious to me. There’s so many crazy ways it can go and it’s mad entertaining. And the idea for this fic immediately jumped into my brain when I stared at the prompt. LITERALLY NO ONE ASKED FOR THIS, but here you go anyway! For your brain cells’ sake, don’t take this too seriously, haha!

CREAM PIE ANTIDOTE

PROMPTS: Masturbation / Fuck or die

CHARACTERS: Itaru Chigasaki, Izumi Tachibana

PAIRINGS: Itaru/Izumi

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

CONTENT WARNING: Rated 18+ (NSFW, contains smut/explicit sexual descriptions and situations)

“Annnnd, that’s a wrap,” Itaru said to himself as he finally finished editing his next ‘Let’s Play’ video.

Removing his headset, he pushed himself off his chair and stretched his neck, wincing as he heard a crack. He had needed to spend more time than usual editing the video, so he was exhausted. But, being tired was way better than getting his account reported because he didn’t censor things properly. He still couldn’t believe his viewers had somehow voted for him to play a recently released R18 visual novel. He had a suspicion that someone was trolling him, but he couldn’t let his viewers down… so, he had played through the prologue and first chapter of the ‘Cream Pie Antidote: The Cumplete Edition’.

All in all, the storyline was ridiculous (as expected). The story took place in the year 20XX, where Tokyo was suddenly plagued with a deadly virus that had a 69% mortality rate. However, said virus only affected women and the only known antidote was to inject semen into the infected person’s body, because it apparently neutralized the virus. Of course, the protagonist was an ordinary salaryman who was suddenly thrust—pun intended—into the position of having to help several of his infected female acquaintances.

The voice acting was only so-so, and the background music was appropriate, but uninspired. On the other hand, the sound effects and the graphics were top-notch. He had especially enjoyed the CGs of the protagonist’s next-door neighbour. It definitely wasn’t because she had long, straight, brown hair and bright eyes that suspiciously resembled a certain curry-obsessed director.

Stifling a yawn—it was nearly 4:00am—Itaru hauled himself onto his bed. He was glad he had washed up earlier, because he was beat. Even the titillating nature of the game wasn’t enough to keep his exhaustion at bay. Putting his phone and glasses to one side, he plopped himself down onto his pillow and immediately fell fast asleep.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hnnng…” Itaru groaned, pulling his blanket over his face.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Ugh, who the fuck is that?” he swore to himself as the knocking continued. Everyone should know not to disturb him on a weekend when there was no Spring Troupe practice scheduled.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

With an annoyed sigh, Itaru slid down the ladder of his bed, stumbled over to the door and wrenched it open, ready to give the person on the other side a piece of his mind.

However, as soon as he opened the door, someone slammed right into him.

“I-Itaru—thank goodness!” Izumi gasped as she caught herself on his chest.

“Izumi? What are you—Hey, what’s wrong?! You’re sweating buckets!” he exclaimed as he realized the young woman leaning on him was drenched with sweat, her thin t-shirt clinging to every curve of her chest. Her face was flushed and her eyes looked glossy as well.

“I-I’m sorry, Itaru. I was trying to be careful so that I wouldn’t catch the virus, but… I-I think I must have picked it up somehow,” she said, panting slightly. “I-I could just barely reach your room… Y-You’re the only one who can help me.”

“H-Huh?” Itaru could only stare at Izumi with wide eyes. He was suddenly having déjà vu. This was exactly what the next-door neighbour had said to the protagonist in ‘Cream Pie Antidote’. He must be dreaming.

“Please help me, Itaru. Pl-Please fuck me and fill me with your cum,” Izumi gasped out, her hands grasping his shirt.

Definitely a dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe he should pinch himself. However, just as he made to lift his hand, his eyes met Izumi’s and he found that he couldn’t look away. Her wet lips were parted and trembling, and her eyes were teary and… full of lust. After all, one of the side effects of the virus was that the infected person became incredibly aroused. He was seriously going to need to examine his mental state when he woke up—he couldn’t believe that he was dreaming up something so disgustingly self-indulgent and wish-fulfilling.

But, well… if this is a dream anyway…

“Are you sure you want me to be the one to help you?” he asked, steadying Izumi with his hands.

“Y-Yes. If… If it comes down to this, I…I want it to be you, Itaru” she replied sweetly, wrapping her arms around his waist, her breasts pressing into him.

“Then, I’ll do whatever I can to save you,” he responded, throwing all sense of logic to the wind. May as well go big or go home.

Pulling Izumi further into his room, he slammed the door shut behind her before he reached out a hand to cup her face. Her skin was hot beneath his palm and fingers—she felt so real. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned down and kissed her fervently. She leaned into him and returned his kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth. With a groan, he stumbled back and managed to catch himself in his computer chair.

“I-I heard that the most effective method is to make sure you both ingest semen and have it inserted into your vagina as well,” Izumi said as she pushed herself off his shoulders.

Before he could even respond, her hands were on the waistband of his sweatpants. With one smooth yank, she pulled off both his pants and his underwear.

“Wh-Whoa!” he yelped, nearly falling off his chair with the movement, grasping the armrests just in time. Then, Izumi’s hand was wrapped around his cock and stroking it up and down. “A-Ahh!”

“Does it feel good?” Izumi asked coyly, peeking up at him through her lashes as she continued to pump his member with long strokes.

“Y-Yeah,” he choked out. This was better than his imagination. He couldn’t help but close his eyes as he relished the feeling of her smooth hands. Then, he groaned as he suddenly felt a warm, wet sensation engulf him. He opened his eyes and glanced down, letting out a sigh of appreciation as he watched the back of Izumi’s head dip up and down below him.

His grip on his chair tightened as he tried to control his breathing, but Izumi was doing something with her tongue and teeth, and it was driving him crazy. Then, her hand started moving in rhythm with her mouth and he could feel his orgasm building.

“I-Izumi—I’m… I’m going to… come…” he gasped out as he bucked his hips into her mouth, desperate to obtain release. And then, it hit him, and he moaned as he felt his seed shoot out of him.

He heard Izumi’s muffled exclamation, but she didn’t let go of his cock until he stopped ejaculating. As his high died down, Izumi moved back and swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Sorry, I don’t think I gave you enough warning,” he muttered, heart still pounding.

“It’s fine—I’m so glad you gave me such a big load. I’m already starting to feel better than earlier,” Izumi responded. Indeed, she appeared to have stopped sweating at least. “But… I still need you to take care of me… down there.”

Itaru’s eyes widened as Izumi suddenly stood up and stripped off her clothes. He couldn’t help but gape when she slowly removed her panties, because, when she did, he could see her juices drip out of her steadily and splatter to the floor.

“The virus won’t be neutralized fully until you fill me up with your cum… And… I-I’m so, so wet, Itaru… Please, won’t you put your big, juicy cock in me?”

His brain vaguely registered how he had laughed at that dialogue line during his playthrough—but, now, he would be lying if he said it wasn’t affecting him. He was a weak man.

“Get on the couch.”

Izumi immediately laid herself onto his couch and spread her legs, continuing to drip her fluids all over the cushion. He tentatively put one hand on her knee and slowly dragged his palm down her thigh, relishing in the feel of her smooth skin. Izumi moaned at the touch and, as he reached the apex of her thighs, he sighed at how absolutely slick she was under his fingers.

“I-Itaru, please!” she begged, panting hard as he pushed a finger into her. It was ridiculous how easy it was to slip inside her—there was absolutely no resistance. After a few pumps, he slid in a second digit and he could feel more fluids gush onto his hand. His cock was twitching—already erect again despite his recent orgasm.

“I-I need more. Please, Itaru—I want your cock to penetrate me.”

Biting back a groan, Itaru extracted his fingers, giving them a quick swipe with his tongue—delicious, of course. Then, he pushed her legs farther apart and lined himself up with her opening.

“All right, I’m going in now,” he announced. Seeing her nod beneath him, he pushed himself in slowly. He moaned as she enveloped him—she was so warm and tight, and how was it even possible for someone to be this wet?

Izumi moaned and he felt himself growing bigger. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist and she arched her back, trying to push him deeper inside her. A shot of pleasure coursed through him as he sank further in.

After a moment of savouring the feeling of her pussy around him, he slowly began to pump in and out. With each movement, wet sounds lewdly echoed around them, punctuated by Izumi’s short cries every time he pushed into her.

“I-Itaru! M-More! Please, fuck me harder!” Izumi panted between parted lips. Her cheeks were rosy pink and her hair splayed around her in disarray.

Itaru could only nod as he hooked his hands under her knees and pressed her further into his couch, shoving her legs towards her chest so that he could leverage himself over her. He then thrusted into her, trying to reach deeper inside. Her inner walls were squeezing him, and he could feel the pressure building up inside of him again. He’s never felt this good before.

“I-Itaru, I-I’m coming!” Izumi gasped beneath him. And then, a moment later, she screamed and her walls clenched around his dick and he choked back a gasp. The feeling of her squeezing him was too much, and he knew he would come too. Just a few… more… thrusts.

“A-Ahhh!” he half-gasped, half-choked out as an intense orgasm ripped through him. He could feel his cum shoot out of him with his final push. But, even with the large load that he knew had blown out, he could still feel more. With a groan, he slammed himself into her again, shooting out more of his seed inside her. And then again. Finally, he felt that he had completely spent himself and he slowly pulled out.

“Wow, there’s so much cum, it’s leaking out of you,” he remarked as he extricated himself. His white seed was dripping out of her, as if there had been too much to contain inside. It was all over her pussy lips, mixing with her own fluids, and it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He had never really caught on to the appeal of creampies, but he thinks he might be a changed man after this.

“I-I shouldn’t let it go to waste,” Izumi responded shyly, reaching a hand down between her legs. She scooped up the excess fluids with her fingers and slowly pushed them inside herself. “I-I want… every… last… drop… inside… me…”

Each of her words was punctuated by a shove of her fingers diving deep inside her, her hips thrusting up with each movement. And, just as Itaru could feel his cock growing hard again, his eyes snapped open.

“Holy shit,” he groaned as he came face-to-face with his ceiling.

After taking a very cold shower, Itaru made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find some leftovers from lunch. As he pushed the door open, a sweet and tantalizing smell wafted past him.

“Oh! Itaru, you’re awake!” Izumi exclaimed, turning around at the sound of the door opening. “There’s leftovers in the fridge—I’ll heat it up for you. Or—I know it’s not really a proper lunch, but I just finished baking something if you want to eat that fresh!”

Itaru’s heart pounded a little faster as he took in her appearance. She was slightly flushed—probably from working over the oven—and her hair was tossed up in a disheveled ponytail. An image of her spread out on his couch briefly flashed into his head.

“Oh? What did you bake?” he asked, distracting himself with the coffee-maker.

“Omi taught me the recipe the other day, so I made coconut cream pie!”

Itaru’s hand froze. A moment later, he resumed the motions of measuring out the coffee grinds.

“Heh. Sure, I’ll have some cream pie.”

“… You know what, I changed my mind. I don’t like that smirk on your face. You’re not allowed to have any.”

I apologize—my brain is only filled with garbage, hahahaha! This idea was just so funny to me, I couldn’t help but write it out. Hopefully you all enjoyed this ridiculous little story, because I had way too much fun writing it! 

I do have one more prompt that I want to fill from A3! NSFW Week, so will eventually post that as well!! As usual, feel free to leave a comment and reblogs are alwasy appreciated! Thanks again for reading!

-Anmitsu

[livesincerely]

I’m very sorry for all of the asks Madam Sincerely, but I’ve just recently gone on a binge of all of your fics, and I don’t think there’s any more questions on the ask game, so can I ask here: Do you have any ideas on future works that you haven’t started writing yet? If so, can we hear some? I was scrolling back through your tumblr to cheer myself up yesterday (my country’s gone back into lockdown) and saw you mentioned a few ideas, like the one in the SubDavey ask? Sorry, just curious <3

No need to be sorry, the asks are lovely! I’m sorry to hear that things have shut down where you are, I’m sure that’s incredibly difficult. Sending all the positivity your way 💕💜✨⭐️💕💜

The Domestic au is the QUEEN of inspiring random story ideas and dangling plot threads. There’s several floating around in the domestic au/ideas for later tags but if I was going to narrow it down to a handful of ideas that have a good chance of existing in the near-ish future, then I’d say 1) the Jack and Davey preparing for college fic 2) the Davey picking Race & Charlie up from the elementary school because Jack’s sick fic 3) the Race and Charlie needing a cuddle pile fic and 4) the bedsharing fic where Jack is struggling under the pressure of fighting for custody and needs some comfort.

I’m just in the mood for some stuff set in the high school/college era of that au, probably because ‘it’s beginning to look a lot like...’ has got me in the mindset. All of these would be one shots, just showing more landmarks in the boys’ history since ‘it’s so easy (too easy) to love you’ sort of just drops you right into the ocean as far as circumstances lol. And also, there’s a lot of family building that goes on before Jack and Davey get together that I’m very interested in exploring! I think Race describes it as ‘eight years of waiting for Jack and Davey to get their shit together?’ Yeah. So definitely lots of domestic au in the upcoming year.

I’ve talked the tiniest bit about ‘there’s you and me (and everyone else)’ and ‘a few letters off’ but after doing the first bits & bobs for each of them, I got distracted by other projects as I so often do, 😅 so I’ll talk about them here. Actually, I’m not even sure if these had working title ideas last time I mentioned them here, it’s been that long lol.

Anyway, these two fics are very similar, but just different enough to need separate fics. The first is a modern, high school au that features different examples of Jack and Davey being the accidental co-parents of their friend group while obliviously pining for each other. I’m thinking it will be individual scenes tied together by the theme; I’ll put the original idea post here and the bits & bobs here. Besides what I already talked about, I also think I want to include a scene where Albert and Crutchie are going on a first date (a pairing that is absolutely inspired by @agentsnickers, you’ve converted me) and they both separately approach Jack and Davey for advice on what to do/wear/etc. Like, a total ‘our-kids-on-their-first-date-get-the-camera’ type thing, plus Jack being an overprotective older brother and giving Charlie a curfew because he’s ridiculous.

“Be home by nine,” Jack says, a little surly. “Nine?” Davey asks, incredulous “They’re seventeen not seven. Eleven o’clock.” “I’m supposed to trust Albert with my baby brother at eleven o’clock?” Jack asks, scowling. “That’s just asking for trouble.” He says trouble in the sort of ominous tone other people reserve for imminent nuclear meltdown or battlefield heart surgery. “What do you think Albert’s gonna do, stick his hand down Crutchie’s pants the moment they walk out the door?” Davey says with a scoff. “It’s Albert.” “Ten-thirty,” Jack eventually offers. Davey nods, then looks back at Albert and Crutchie, who have been following this exchange like a tennis match and are both now a little pink in the face, and shrugs, trying to convey something like ‘pick your battles’. “Great!” Crutchie squeaks out, sounding absolutely mortified. “Great, ten-thirty it is, oh my god, Albert let’s go before theykeeptalking—“

Oh! And I want Davey to full name someone in the ultimate you-fucked-up-and-mom-is-pissed move. I even went and made full names for everyone just to be prepared 😊

Then, ‘a few letters off’ is the Jack-and-Davey’s-friends’-perspectives-on-the-nonsense-that-is-Javid fic. I’ve basically finished the Buttons scene, but I’m also hoping to include one each from the povs of Katherine, Crutchie, Racetrack, Spot, and Albert at minimum.

I’m thinking:

Katherine - catching Jack painting/drawing Davey while Jack tries to cover and deny

Spot - The aftermath of him and Jack getting into a fight with the DeLancey’s and him watching Davey fluttered worriedly around Jack, scolding him for being a reckless but still dabbing carefully at his injuries.

Racetrack - comes home to find Jack and Davey watching a movie, except that Jack’s fallen asleep halfway through, head in Davey’s lap, and Davey is adamant that Race doesn’t wake him.

Crutchie - watching Javid eating lunch together and noting how totally domestic it is: stealing food from each other’s plates, Jack gives Davey his extra fruit cup then swipes his milk carton and Davey doesn’t even say anything because it’s so routine, and how they’re able to move in and around each other effortlessly while eating and holding two separate conversations.

Albert - watching Jack and Davey flirt/bicker from the backseat on the drive to school.

And then some sort of culminating/getting together scene at the end.

There’s the infamous quarantine fic, which I waxed poetically about for all of two seconds and then never expanded on. (Here and here) The reason I haven’t done anything with it yet is because it will be a multi-chapter and between tie fic, take a shot fic, and now the domestic au holiday fic, I’m really at my limit for multi chapters at the mo’. But I do still want to do something with this once I finish tie fic and DAUHF, as take a shot knows no bounds and cannot be quantified by earthly means.

Then, as for the idea I mentioned in the sub!Davey post.... I think I’m going to be able to repurpose the general scenario/concept I was imagining for the final, E rated chapter of Tie Fic, so I don’t think the original idea will ever make it to a final cut. (I won’t say never because anything’s possible lol) But, I’m happy to put the bit I have here! Things don’t quite get E rated in this excerpt, but they’re definitely a solid M. This would’ve been an addition to the Tease series and I think this has been sitting in my drafts for almost as long as the letterman fic, and it hasn’t been edited in at least two years, so yeah 😅

00000

“I really wanted to work on my thesis proposal, that’s why I was in the library most of the day,” Davey says suddenly, pushing Jack down against the couch and straddling him, his voice light and conversational. “It was nice of you to check on me so often, though I’m sorry I wasn’t very good company. I was trying to stay focused, you know how it is.”

Davey looks at Jack expectantly, making it clear that he’s waiting for a response. Jack stares up at him, his expression equal parts confused, transfixed, and aroused. He swallows heavily, then nods.

“But I did warn you, didn’t I?” Davey continues, bracing himself with a hand on each of Jack’s shoulders, rolling their hips together as he presses closer. “That I had a lot of work to do? That this paper is really important to me and that I wanted to get a head start? That I really needed to focus and didn’t want to be distracted? I distinctly remember warning you about all of that.”

He nuzzles down the curve of Jack’s jaw, then nips at his neck. “But you didn’t listen,” he says against Jack’s pulse point. Davey smooths his hands down Jack’s chest, then back up to his throat, tugging at his collar. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt.

“In fact, one could argue that you did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do,” Davey says, working his way slowly through the buttons on Jack’s shirt. “Trailing your fingers across my arm, rubbing a thumb across the nape of my neck, sneaking a hand up my shirt… I would call all of that distracting, wouldn’t you?” He finishes unbuttoning Jack’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, admiring his muscular chest.

Davey glances up sharply. “Answer me, Jack.”

Jack blinks himself out of his daze. “I-uh, what did you ask me?”

Davey leans forward. They’re so close that he can feel the warmth of Jack’s breath against his face. “I asked you,” he starts, wrapping his arms loosely around Jack’s neck, “whether you thought constantly caressing someone while they were trying to work would distract them.”

It takes Jack a long moment to respond. “Yeah.”

One of Davey’s hands trails up the back of Jack’s neck. “You agree that doing something like that would be impossibly flustering?” Davey asks in that same, unaffected voice—as if clarifying a statement for a news article—threading his fingers through Jack’s hair. “That it would thoroughly divert that person’s focus? That it would leave them feeling unbalanced, frustrated, and downright agitated?

He leans impossibly closer, so close that the barest tilt of his head would press their lips together. “That it would drive them so crazy that all they could think about was how desperately they needed to be fucked,” Davey growls out, and his voice low and rough.

“Christ, Davey,” Jack groans, his pupils blown wide. He leans up to kiss him, but Davey anticipates this and tugs sharply on his hair, holding him in place. “So, we’re in agreement?” Davey continues in his casual voice, letting go of the dark strands and pulling away slightly, ignoring Jack’s groan of disappointment, “that all of those actions would, in fact, be extremely distracting.”

He trails his hands lovingly across Jack’s shoulders and down his chest, his movements unhurried. He licks a hot stripe up Jack’s neck, then sucks hard at a spot just under his jaw.

“Considering both of these facts, I can only conclude that you were distracting me on purpose.” Davey presses a line of kisses along Jack’s collar bone, delighting in the moan that tears its way out of Jack’s throat. He scratches lightly at the tanned skin of Jack’s chest, then sucks a bruise just above his collarbone.

“Were you doing it on purpose, Jack?” he asks, then before Jack can answer, rolls his hips hard and slow against Jack’s, grinding their erections together. Jack’s hands spasm, then tighten, clenching hard against Davey’s sides. Davey continues his ministrations, circling his hips against Jack’s, teasing him with the friction. Then, just as Jack seems to catch on to Davey’s rhythm and starts to move with him, Davey stills. “Were you teasing me on purpose?”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his throat working furiously. “I-yeah.”

David hums in acknowledgment, then continues his slow perusal of his boyfriend’s chest. He nibbles lightly across his sternum, then draws the flat of his tongue across one of one Jack’s nipples. Jack arches into him but Davey pushes him back, using his leverage to hold Jack down against the couch cushions. He sits up, admiring the mess he’s made of Jack’s neck and torso.

Jack stares up at him, chest heaving, waiting for Davey’s next move.

....

Davey runs his hands down Jack’s stomach and between his hips, fingers brushing gently against the front of Jack’s jeans.

Jack lets out a guttural noise. “God, Davey, let me—“ he starts, one hand slipping back to kneed at Davey’s ass, the other inching towards Davey’s fly.

“No,” Davey says firmly, moving Jack’s hands back to his waist. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

00000

That’s all that comes to mind at the moment! Oh, and the Brooklyn Davey AU idea, but I got a different ask about that, so I’ll just link it. (Here)

@saysflora

[thebachelordiaries]

Clare seeks HIMBO: ‘The Bachelorette’ cast first impressions

The Covid-19 pandemic has been rough for the entire world, but Bachelor Nation faced some dark days too. Going eight months without a single new episode from The Bachelor franchise is something I would really like to not relive.

Fortunately, those dark days are over. Clare’s season has me sucked back in. 

The quality of this image is atrocious.

Most of these men—presuming they followed CDC’s social distancing guidelines— haven’t seen a woman in months, are touch deprived, possibly unemployed and contemplating moving back to their hometown while stalking the housing market on Zillow. Everyone’s desperate. That makes for some pretty good TV.

This season features men ranging from ages 26 to 41. We’ve got a boy band manager, a grooming specialist, several men who look like they masturbate in front of full length mirrors and even more who probably want me to join their MLM pyramid scheme. 

I’ve never been more ready to roast a bunch of men who have nightmares about going bald. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since March.

Let’s go:

AJ, 28, Software sales

AJ is the kind of guy who writes “Looking for the Pam to my Jim <3″ on his Bumble profile. His bio is generic and probably not reflective of who he is as a person. If I were Clare I’d swipe left.

Ben, 29, Army ranger veteran

“Ben's favorite indulgence is an ice bath.“ Well then.

Alexa, play “Run” by AWOLNATION.

Bennett, 36, Wealth management consultant

Bennett’s profile is the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen. This man says he is the total package but hasn’t always been "this successful and good looking.” But wait, there’s more: “According to Bennett, his high school girlfriend is the only girl he's ever had to work for.“

Can someone tell me what NYC neighborhood he lives in so I can blacklist it?

Blake M1, 31, Male grooming specialist

Blake’s just another stereotypical “29th round draft pick who sat on the bench of the practice team before getting cut, but claims he left the sport due to an injury on his own accord.” 

Blake M2, 29, Wildlife manager

This Blake is an outdoorsy Canadian who seems pretty genuine and cool. Unfortunately, he has the face of someone who’d get sent home on night one. I hope I’m wrong.

Brandon, 28, Real Estate Agent

Just another boring hot person. Nothing to see here.

Brendan, 30, Commercial roofer

Brandan, not to be confused for Brandon, “loves some good true crime, working out and hanging out with his friends.” I can’t even make fun of this man. We have the exact same interests. 

Chasen, 31, IT account executive

The Winklevoss twins are actually triplets and Chasen is their long lost brother. But more seriously, have you ever seen someone who looks more like their name than this man?

Chris, 27, Landscape design salesman

“Chris hopes to find a woman who is sharp and witty but also easygoing.” Chris, sweetheart, have you met Clare? Easygoing...? There’s still time back out of this before it’s too late.

Dale, 31, Former pro football wide receiver

Dale aggressively screams “Bachelor material.” I’d say he’s auditioning for that role but Matt James already scooped it up. Better luck next year, Daley.

Demar, 26, Spin cycling instructor

Demar is a “very popular spin instructor in Scottsdale and says he can get on that bike and spin to any beat thrown his way.” Imagine how many trophy wives Demar has f*cked? 

Eazy, 29, Sports marketing agent

Eazy is very similar to Dale on paper. Except his name is Eazy so he automatically loses that battle.

Ed, 33, Health care salesman

“Ed is looking to find a woman who has natural beauty without looking overly fake.” Ed deserves to die alone.

Garin, 34, Professor of Journalism

Garin’s bio is giving me hubby material vibes. And maybe a little bit of a “gets eliminated on night one” vibe too.

Ivan, 28, Aeronautical Engineer

Ivan, what are you doing here? We’re in a recession. Please go back to your normal job before it’s too late. 

Jason, 31, Former pro football linemen

“He is a former NFL offensive lineman who, after suffering too many concussions on the field, decided to prioritize his health and change the direction of his life.” A big, brawny HIMBO with CTE? I feel like he’s Clare’s type.

Jay, 29, Fitness director

There are too many things about Jay that I dislike and I’m trying to keep this brief. Jay says “it's time to take a break from worrying about others and focus on himself instead.” I am willing to bet money that this man has never made a woman c*m.

Jeremy, 40, Banker

Jeremy is the oldest contestant ever to come on "The Bachelorette,” which may seem like a monuments accomplishment but he’s literally only one year older than Clare. 

He also “hates Instagram models, both male and female,” so he should have a lot of fun here.

Joe, 36, Anesthesiologist

Before I even saw his profession and location, I thought Joe looked like a doctor I’d find on a NYC dating app...and...uh...I probably did see him on there now that I think about it.

Anyway, this man has apparently been through seven stages of hell while on the front lines fighting Covid-19 in NYC so I definitely think he deserves to find love. Someone marry him please.

Jordan C, 26, Software account executive

I can already tell Jordan is going to get the “I’m young but mature” edit which means he’s probably not going to be good TV.

Too bad someone a tad younger (like Tayshia) wasn’t the Bachelorette. I feel like they’d make a cute couple.

Jordan M., 30, Cyber security engineer

I was going to say something mean but Jordan’s into cyber security and I don’t want my blog to be deactivated, so never mind. Cast photos are historically bad so I’m sure he looks much better in real life.

Kenny, 39, Boy band manager

I could go for the obvious drags regarding this man’s profession (or his sh*tty chest tattoo, or his suspiciously boyish face relative to his age), but I like to think I’m more clever than that. 

I’d like to take this time to talk about men, who are obviously difficult people, who rant and rave about how they want an “easygoing” woman. Look into the mirror, bud. No, not the one you use to jerk off to your reflection; the mirror that looks into your soul. Out of respect for the rest of humankind, have some self-awareness. Or maybe just see a therapist.

Mike, 38, Digital media advisor

Mike is seemingly a decent catch, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single or how he never (accidentally or on purpose) impregnated a woman in his 38 years of life. 

And now that I’m thinking about it, do any of these men have children? I have yet to see any mention of it in their bios. But there are eight men left to review, so there’s still time.

Page, 37, Chef

I spoke too soon. Page is a father! He also hates football! I’m a fan of this man. I was initially going to drag him for his name and say that Page is not a real name. PAIGE is a real name. PAGE is a piece of paper. I’m allowed to say this because we have the same name except mine is spelled the correct way. Based on my (mostly positive) review of his cast bio, I have decided not to hold his name against him.

Riley, 30, Long Island City

Riley, once married with children, would like to go on a family vacation that consists of touring every single MLB stadium in the country. If i were his wife, I would simply never give this man children.

Robby, 30, Insurance broker

No more Robbys on The Bachelorette. Society has evolved past its need for more Robbys.

This Robby described his dream woman as: “Incredibly athletic and able to throw back a few beers with him after a day of hiking. She has a sweet personality and won't mind that he spends his Sundays on the golf course.”

Someone please give this man a sex doll. He just wants a hole.

Tyler C., 27, Lawyer

“Tyler C. is a badass lawyer who says he is a businessman by day and a cowboy by night.” How does that make him a lawyer? Does this mean he’s into cosplay? I’m confused.

Tyler S., 36, Music manager

Tyler makes an honorable living off riding his brother’s dick success as a country singer. “He just LOVES his job!” Uh yeah, I would too if I had a low-show, high-paying job off the merits of nepotism. It’s the American dream.

Yosef, 30, Medical device salesman

Another dad! He’s totally going to pull the “girl dad” narrative. That saying is kind of sexist to me but the masses generally eat it up, so I’m fairly confident Yosef will get the "sweet guy” edit he’s looking for.

Zac C., 36, Addiction specialist

“He loves Philadelphia sports and dreams of sharing a Philly Cheesesteak with his future wife while watching the Eagles win a Super Bowl.” This man is so South Jersey it hurts. 

On a more serious note, I don’t think anyone in recent history has spoken openly about their personal struggle with addiction on this show, so I hope Zac gets a chance to tell his story. 

Zach J., 37, Cleaning service owner

Zach is seemingly obsessed with Clare already and hopes to introduce her to his mom as his fiancée. Since Zach watched Clare on Juan Pablo’s season, you’d think he’d know that Clare would first meet his mom during the final four hometown dates. Assuming he makes it that far. My prediction is that he won’t.

Final thoughts

After eight long months Bachelor Mondays are back!!!

Uhh....wait.

Actually, we now have the less-exciting Bachelor Tuesdays. Yeah, it definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. But I’ll take anything at this point.

Here are my final predictions:

First impression rose: Dale. It just looks like he can turn on the bullsh*t charm

Final rose: Jason. Clare wants a HIMBO I just know it.

Bachelor: nobody (Matt James is The Bachelor)

Most likely to get engaged on Bachelor in Paradise: Blake M2

Most likely to get canceled online: Bennett

Most likely to get sent home night one but deserve better: Chris

Who are your favorite men cast on this season?