#this one for the hags xx

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Pretend It's Someone That Came for You (18+)

pairing: coworker!wonwoo x fem!touch-starved!reader

genre: coworker au, office au, strangers to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), fluffy fluffy fluff fluff

description: you're lonely. you're so lonely you think it might actually kill you. but when wonwoo transfers to your office, he might just change that fact.

warnings: unprotected sex (do NOT pls my babes), soft dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, v loving sex, praise (f. receiving), confession of love, riding, fingering (f. receiving), pussy rubbing tihi, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, baby, darling, etc), VERY angsty beginning, yn is truly v sad so DO NOT READ THIS if u fear it will make u sad!!, they say i love u unrealistically fast but i had to do it, yn uses sex to feel less lonely/ends up feeling more lonely, relatable yn frs, slightly dramatized symptoms of touch-starvation (?), kinda boring plot but idc bc its CUTE AF

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "finally!!" (she was fed tf up), "stanley is the most stanley man ever. i hate him but i love him.", (more r coming she actually didnt have time 2 read this and i didnt want to wait with posting.)

wordcount: 10.0k

a/n: this story was supposed 2 have more angst, like it was supposed to have this whole misunderstanding, but it just didnt feel right, it made me sad, so instead this is a short n sweet love story xx

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you. 

You weren’t always like this. You remember being a sociable, joyful child; half-broken bikes and teddy bears and booster seats. You remember pigtails and popsicle sticks and Power Rangers, and what came after that? Being a moody teenager, became being a moody adult. High school became college, and college became an office job that served to keep you alive, even if it didn’t feel like being alive. College wasn’t that bad, you remember, so at what point had you mistaken isolation for privilege? And at what point had you gone too far into that tunnel-hole to turn back? 

 You must’ve been cursed, you think, putting on your outfit for work in the deadly still apartment. Dust dares not move, dares not give you hope that you are not alone. 

You must’ve been cursed, you think, coming into work to a string of half-hearted, mumbled greetings. Your office is off-white and black and gray and everyone inhabiting it is also off-white and black and gray, and their skin is faintly oily and sickly and their faces are dragging down as if the very earth was reclaiming them and you think that you fit in here better than anywhere else. 

You must’ve been cursed, you think, when you spend your day writing emails and organizing documents of information into different formats to send to huge corporations. Sometimes you fantasize about the other end of the transaction. Maybe their office is warm and brown with an accent of blue, and maybe people put hands on each other's shoulders, when they tell one another they’ve done a good job. 

Yes, there’s no other explanation, you think, and can’t even muster the energy to feel bad when you blame some old hag from your hometown. You think she must’ve conjured up the worst ingredients, something cartoonishly evil, and a spell befell you, sunk into the crevices of your skin and dug into your pores.

You lie on your couch with a glass of wine and the television going, but you’re not really listening. You don’t think anyone has touched you in six months. You’re not even sure you’re real anymore. You swear, you could live with no one hearing you out, because you’re not sure you’d have anything worthwhile to say, but you just needed someone to touch you. To reach out a hand and confirm, you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips, and I’m squeezing your shoulder, and I see you, and I feel you right here.

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

Lying physically very still, you still feel like you’re scrambling, fighting the clutch of the curse, and tugging on metal chains. Maybe that’s where all your energy goes. 

What do normal people do when they feel this bad?

Sometimes you leave open the window, and when the wind tugs at your door, you pretend it’s someone that came for you. 

Tug, tug, tug. The door rattles against its hinges when the fatally empty sky brings to you, in outstretched palms, the wind interlaced with glimmers of hope. 

There’s never anyone at the door.  _____________________________

This particular day starts like any other. You wake to your alarm and you put on clothes and you get ready and brush your teeth. Then you trample down to the bus stop. The sky is smothered by a duvet of heavy rain clouds. The rain hasn't come yet, but you know it will. Your fingers become stiff and hard, where they adhere to the polyester strap of your bag, massaging it. The bag is cold and dead.

The bus ride is by far the greatest part of your day. It’s quiet - early enough that you’re only accompanied by a few other souls. You rest your head on the window, vibrating gently against the curve of your forehead, and watch the people in the street. 

 The bus hums a gentle tune and snakes down the streets. Then you’re there, and whatever solace that it offers you under artificial light and mediocre, felted seats is gone. 

Your office building is maybe the most depressing place on earth. It’s no glamorous feat of architecture. It is but a large, orange-y, puke-y, brick square, and the building is shared between yours and the Forester company. You don’t talk to the Foresters, but you know they eat cream cheese bagels on their breaks and throw birthday parties and once you saw the branch manager squeezing a salesman’s shoulder and telling him he had done a good job. His fingers squeezed down and the movement of the fabric revealed a shoulder pad built into the suit. You remember thinking it was a shame that it blocked the real touch. 

Today, you walk up the stairs with heavy steps and you idle into the office building, eyes cast down to the dirty, gray carpet. You begin the long trek into the back of the building where your desk is located.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard. 

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back. 

“Morning.”

“M-”

Wait a minute. 

Your greeting falls short. You don’t recognize that voice. Stopping in your tracks, your shoes scratch on the rough carpet, and lift your head to see him. 

The first thing you notice is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He looks like he jumped out of an underwear commercial; he’s all strong jawline, sharp eyes, round glasses on his pretty nose, neatly trimmed, short dark hair stretching down the planes of his face. He’s wearing a button up (usually you wouldn’t even register the clothing your coworkers adorned, but something about how he wore it was noteworthy), a tie draping over the dress shirt, and formal slacks hugging his thighs. 

He smiles at you sheepishly, hands nervously smoothing down his thighs. 

“I’m Wonwoo” he says curtly, nodding to you. “Just transferred from the Wallingset branch.” 

You nod. “Right. Wallingset,” you nod more. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Y/n.” 

Something about your name on his lips makes your heart flutter. It’s pathetic, you know, but his peregrine being in his office chair, spilling your name from his pink lips makes you feel a little more real. You look at him and then you nod again-again, kicking your legs into gear again and walking the last stretch to your desk. 

You can see the back of his head from your orange-wood desk. Papers and sticky notes are scattered among the desktop. The monitor watches you accusingly, all big and square and black, waiting for you to open it up and begin working. Your eyes linger on him for a moment. Then you work. 

A few hours pass on emails and translating information from a company into a comprehensive sheet. However, today you’re having a hard time focusing on work. 

This is not new. 

Sometimes you briefly talk to a man at the grocery store, and your mind will wander to him for next week, wondering if he’s thinking about you too, imagining yourself cuddling with him, watching movies, imagining him telling you it’ll all be okay. Sometimes you briefly talk to a man on the street, sometimes it’s even a date, but whatever the case you obsess and you dream and you always end up alone. 

Today the victim of your depraved mind is Wonwoo. The guilt is easy to push away. You feel sorry for yourself. You think you deserve this. You think you can’t survive without this. And so you imagine him hugging you, stroking your hair, and you imagine him falling in love with you, and you imagine not being alone. Your fingers rest on your keyboard. It’s old and mechanical. You think it’s from a yard sale, probably an old woman whose children moved away. It’s plastic, and it curves inwards underneath the pads of your fingertips. The keys are cold and dead. 

You fully zone out, eyes blearing into the back of his head, but you don’t really see it, your mind has traveled elsewhere. You guiltily imagine his hand between your legs, on your chest, straddling him, kissing him. And it’s not rough, it’s loving, because in this world he loves you, and he’d do anything for you, and you don’t have to be alone again.

You don’t love Wonwoo. It’s not some magical love at first sight, it’s not a romance book, it’s real life. You’re lonely. You need this to survive. 

“Hey, Y/n?” 

You snap your head up. Maybe you were still daydreaming. But you recognized the voice well and true, and it was Wonwoo, leaned over your desk, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, uhm, hey-” your voice is shaky and you quickly rush to compose yourself, hands moving frantically and uselessly to glide papers over one another and, then, realizing that there was no point to your movements, stilling and looking up at him, cheeks flushed. “Hey.” 

Wonwoo smiles gently. “Uh, you know, I was wondering,” he looks around the office, as if surveying the area. “If you knew where to get a good lunch? I don’t know this area at all, so..” 

He trails off, looking at you expectantly for an answer. Now that he’s standing before you, it’s much harder to ignore the guilt you feel. You wanna gnaw at your nails until they’re nubs, you want to crawl under your desk and cover your eyes. Does he see how red your cheeks are? 

“Uhm- well- I don’t- I eat a packed lunch, so I’m-” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, no expert,” you giggle awkwardly and watch his gentle smile drop into pursed lips. “But! Uh- I hear the- the hot dog stand, uh, just a little down the street is good!” 

“Really? Maybe I should try it,” he contemplates, smile returning to his lips. “Would you mind showing me this mysterious hot dog stand?” 

“Uh-” 

Just seconds before you were thinking of his fingers in your pussy, and his hands caressing you, and him making you feel loved. He’s standing before you and he’s a totally normal guy, and you feel like shit. You feel like shit for using this fake image of him to comfort yourself. You can’t be around him, can’t convince yourself that maybe this’ll turn into something more - not when you always end up alone. Your brows furrow in determination.

“Actually, I have to, uh, get this done, so-” you gesture vaguely to your monitor. 

“Right! Yeah,” Wonwoo seems embarrassed, biting his lips and nodding. “It’s, uh, just down the street?” 

“Yeah, to the right when you walk out the building.” 

“For sure. Thanks,” he doesn’t even look at you then, just waves you off half-heartedly and starts trailing down the office. His shoulders are incredibly broad and his belt wraps tightly around his small waist.

You feel like shit.  _____________________________

Why is no one else cursed? 

You look out of the window, lying on your bed after work. Everything is very still and unmoving - your whole apartment feels like it’s knotted in strings, tightened until everything is snapped into place, and if you move the wrong muscles, the invisible hands will let go and everything will fly and hurdle through your home, and you can almost hear the sound, like the hard, empty sound of throwing a bowling ball and getting a strike. 

No one else is cursed. People crowd the streets with friends, family, partners, and they’re talking and laughing. You rest your head in the windowsill, a lone spectator in the window. The glass cuts you off from the streets. 

The afternoon after daydreaming the way you did about Wonwoo is always hard. Your apartment seems intent on suffocating you. Your daydreams serve as a reminder that you’re alone, that you truly have no one, and the act itself is so humiliating, you sulk into a glass of red wine and sometimes you cry. What do normal people do when they feel this bad, you wonder again, sobbing in your bed and spilling wine on your nightie. 

Nighttime falls early while you’re crying. You weep on and off, hug your knees, eat a microwave dinner and watch TV, light casting onto your pathetic form on the couch.

And in your most vulnerable state is when you most easily slip into your old habits. 

You press an old contact in your phone, one you’d tried to steer away from recently. You wipe mascara from your reddened cheeks, you wear pretty lingerie, and you lie, completely empty, void of any warmth, on your bed, awaiting.

It’s the first time he touches you in months. When his hand finds your shoulder, you shudder terribly. Sorry, he says, and he seems taken aback. Just ignore it, you plead, just ignore it. He does so, unsurely, and every time his hand grazes over your body you shudder and sob and every time he hesitates, asking if you’re okay, you cry at him to continue.

It feels good while it’s happening. Skin beneath your fingertips, hands on you, a face close to yours. You and him are the only thing moving in the apartment, synergizing on your bed, conjoining and writhing, and for just a moment, you don’t feel so alone. 

When you’re done the anonymous man stands back up, sliding on his pants in the late hour. He says it was great and you hum. But then he looks around, hesitating on every old piece of furniture, on every photo on the walls, and lastly on you.

“What?” you ask, lying naked in your bed. He grimaces at you, as if signaling that he can’t quite figure it out himself. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, hands on his newly-clothed hips and surveying the corners of the room, where shadows pool. “It feels haunted in here.” 

He leaves. 

When the warmth is gone, the bile rises in your throat. Old habits die hard, you think, and you feel totally empty. You couldn’t go on like this. It was nights like these you began to feel like a martyr - sacrificing yourself for a brief escape. Because when the door is closed with a click and you’re alone again, you feel yourself trembling and your heart is glowing red in the empty astral plane. Brief, easy forms of pleasure are often the most harmful.

It feels haunted in here. You remember his words, and before you finally fall asleep, you wonder one thing. You wonder if you’re already dead.  _____________________________

The next day is a pain to overcome. You’re slightly hungover, slightly sore, and very uncomfortable. But you comply with your routine, and you enjoy the bus ride, and when you get to the office everyone greets you. 

 “Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard. 

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back. 

“Morning, Y/n,” Wonwoo says. You look up from the carpet carefully, flashing him an apologetic smile. You hope he can read its intention: Sorry about being weird yesterday. You think he got it.

“Morning, Wonwoo.” 

And then you’re landing yourself at your own desk and beginning work once more. It’s boring, but today you ward off the daydreams and you focus, and you’re getting an exceptional amount done. 

The clock on the wall (off-white, but yellowing near the top) reads 12:28 when your boss, Stan, approaches your table. He’s half bald, and his suit is much too loose, and he has a ladder of wrinkles climbing his larger-than-life forehead. 

“Hey, N/n!” he calls, so loud that a couple of heads turn at the commotion. You’ve asked him several times not to call you that. 

“Stanley,” you breathe, tapping a stack of papers on your desk to neaten the pile. You wonder if you were in trouble, but if his smile is anything to go by, you’d guess not. 

“My favorite woman in accounting!” 

“Hehe,” you laugh half-heartedly. You catch the eye of Wonwoo, glancing over his shoulder with a small, teasing smile. You smile back. 

“I have a big- oh wait, wait, new guy, uhh, Jeon? Come over here real quick!” Suddenly his solid fingers waft the now scared Wonwoo over. The spectacled man’s shoulders hunch up as he moves off the chair, nodding respectfully. Wonwoo stands beside Stanley at your desk, and you focus your attention on Stanley, hoping to not get too lost in the idea of Wonwoo again - you were doing so good today. 

“I have a big job for you, and I thought you could work with Wonwoo on it,” Stan moves his hand up to cup the side of his mouth, as if telling you a big secret, “seeing as he was a bit of a star over in Wallingset.”

Shit. The guy you were daydreaming about was working with you? Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed, but you hardly have time to catch it. You can’t do this. Yesterday you were thinking about him fingering you while looking at you lovingly!

“We have a massive, new client! Just dropped a big competitor of ours, and they want us to do their six month report!” Stanley seems genuinely excited about this, so you can’t help feeling a little guilty that you’ll be a gobbering, slobbering mess, sitting beside Wonwoo on this. 

“That’s great-”

“I know! So, my two star members in accountancy, I’ll hand this off to you. The data should be coming into your emails soon,” without letting either of you react, Stanley hunches over, like a coach does before a little-league baseball game, wrapping his arms around both of you and Wonwoo. “You got this, troopers!” 

Stanley claps his hands on both of your backs, so hard you jerk forward at the movement, and then he bounces off to the elevator at the far end of the room. You sigh heavily from the interaction. It’s quiet for a moment, while you fiddle with the papers in front of you.

“What a guy,” Wonwoo muses finally, thin fingers resting on the edge of your desk. You giggle, unable to look him in the eye for fear that you might remember how you’d thought about starting a family with him. “Yeah.”

You and Wonwoo settle into an unoccupied meeting room, and it’s all very professional. Markers and post-its, trying to find the best way to structure the report, excel sheets to categorize and overlook data, double check numbers. 

However bad you think it’s going to be, you’re wrong. Wonwoo is easy to talk to - he’s quiet, but he’s intelligent, and he understands how to bring on conversation, even when you fold in on yourself like a used napkin. 

“Yeah, we used to steal signs from our neighborhood,” Wonwoo admits halfway into a conversation about your hometowns. “I don’t think that’s gonna fly anymore.” 

“Why stop now? You’re letting societal rules hold you back,” you joke, and the two of you laugh, and it’s so pathetic, you’re certain you haven’t laughed this much in years, and the conversation has lasted maybe 20 minutes. 

“Well, I could show you the craft, you know, it’s a delicate process-” 

While Wonwoo talks your phone buzzes and you absent-mindedly pick it up, reviewing the notification.

Your grin drops. Faintly, you hear Wonwoo stop talking. He tilts his head to study the way you frown at the screen. “What’s up?” he asks. 

It’s the guy from last night and he’s asking if you’ll be available again tonight. 

Maybe it’s how you could almost forget it - how you let yourself into positions that would hurt you, just to feel seen and heard and touched. Maybe it’s the dichotomy of that encounter and now, talking to Wonwoo, and having the laughter steal away the loneliness. But you’re reminded so terribly of your position. You’re reminded that this, too, will end, and that the loneliness will return. You’re reminded that once the shift ends, you’re alone again. 

Suddenly you’re a thousand daggers all pointing out. You shield yourself. 

“Uh,” you trail off, putting the phone down again. “Just some guy.” 

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise. “Boyfriend?” 

“No!” you say quickly. “No, he’s, uh. Just some guy.” 

A pause. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. You don’t even remember where you left off the conversation. You bite your lip because everything is all agony. The table is cold and dead beneath your hand. 

“I’m thinking we group these together,” you say, eyes now tuned to your screen and fully submerged back into your work. Work. That was all that could cover your beaten down, cursed self. 

The rest of the shift you feel Wonwoo looking at you carefully, as if he’s trying to read you. You don’t talk about yourselves anymore, no more banter, no more witty comments. You structure the report, and try to ignore how his eyes laser you open. You don’t like it. You feel like he can tell you’re a pathetic, lonely woman and that you have nothing and no one. You feel like he can sense the curse upon you. 

This would be torture.  _____________________________

It is not torture. 

The next day, to your surprise, Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen. You wait 5, 10, then 15 minutes in the meeting room you’d camped in, before you begin working on your own. It’s slower without him, but you manage. 

You can’t help but slightly worry about him. It feels stupid. You know you’re putting too much emotion into a person you’d known for two days, but you can’t help it. You wonder if he’s gotten hurt or injured, or if maybe he hates you and has transferred back. You think even Excel finds you pathetic. 

You sit there for three hours, among the ruins of paperwork and your open laptop, running your hand through your hair and typing in sentences that mean nothing, and the wallpaper is off-white and yellowing at the top, and the blinds are closed to the meeting room. 

Around 1 PM the door to the meeting room is opened, wood smacking against the glass that surrounds it, and Wonwoo stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath. You snap your head up to him, like the jerk of a lifeless doll, suddenly interrupted from a very disorganized Excel sheet.

“Hi, shit, sorry,” he gasps, slinging his bag off of his shoulder to sit down next to you. 

“Are you okay?” you ask immediately, and Wonwoo nods blindly, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Yeah,” he says, cheeks slightly flushed and licking his lips. “My cat- my cat needed surgery, she got sick last night, it was an emergency.” 

You nod in understanding, “it’s okay-” 

You can hardly get the words out before Wonwoo rolls his chair back, wheels resounding hollowly on the floor, so he can look at you clearly. “I’m really sorry about this, it was not nice of me to leave you alone with this.” He gestures vaguely to the scattered papers, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, Wonwoo, I get it,” you say reassuringly, peering up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re here now.” 

Wonwoo seems less intent on personal conversations today - it’s probably because he was so late, and now is trying to make up the time. But it’s okay, in fact you’re somewhat relieved, because it dampens the false hope that blooms in your chest, whenever he asks you about your life. 

Even if you and Wonwoo work hard and quietly, you slip into the late hours of the night in an attempt to keep on track for your schedule. Outside the windows that separate you from real life, the sky turns orange, and then dark, muted blue, and stars begin dotting its impressive stretches. People begin to leave around five, and by the time you and Wonwoo finish all your work, you’re the last ones left on your floor of the office. 

Wonwoo lets out a loud sigh when he finally finishes the second segment of your report, and the both of you slump back in your seats. 

“It’s so fucking late,” Wonwoo limply throws his hand in the direction of the window. You smile a little, looking out. Smaller buildings spawn geometrically from the ground, and every once in a while someone walks by with their dog, spotlighted by the stretch of street lamps that stand outside the parking lot. “I really am sorry about this, you know. Really ruined your night,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I had nothing to come home to anyway.” 

There’s a pause.

Wonwoo looks at you intensely. Oh shit, you realize, was that too obvious? Was that too pathetic? Has it just clicked that you’re a loser that no one wants? You nervously look back at him, but there’s no malice in his eyes. A totally unreadable expression adorns his features, where he’s leaned back in his leather chair, legs spread invitingly. You look away, feeling dumb. 

“At least we followed our schedule!” you say. Wonwoo snorts.

“Yeah, thanks to you. If you hadn’t completed so much before I got here, it would’ve been hopeless.” 

Now it’s your turn to scoff, blushing lightly and looking at the linoleum flooring. “I don’t know about tha-” 

“Seriously, Y/n, just take the compliment,” Wonwoo reaches a hand over, and you watch its movement.

It’s like time slows down, not like the movies, no, like you can stop time with the heavy weight of your gaze, pinning his muscles in place. But you can’t, and it lands on your shoulder with a soft thud. Fuck. His hand is warm and alive on you. 

“You did so well today, I-” Wonwoo cuts himself off, because suddenly you’re trembling. 

He feels your body shuddering and jerking under his hand, like the wind rattles your door when you leave it open, and he can’t see your face behind a curtain of hair, but he hears you gasp, and, fuck, you look like you’re sobbing. 

The man from last night had become so hesitant when you reacted this way. When your body trembled and shook and when you cried, but Wonwoo seems to understand. He peers at you from above the rims of his glasses, and his hand stays put right there on your shoulder. 

“Y/n,” he whispers, so sincere it causes a pathetic squeak to escape you. What must he think of you? The thoughts spiral and you can’t control a single one of them, they dance like freed souls in your head, and you can’t stop the spasming of your muscles, and you know you look so pathetic beside him right. “Y/n, look at me.” 

You don’t. You can’t. You can’t because there are tears spilling from the rims of your eyes, and rolling down your cheeks, wet and glossy. Besides, you’re an ugly crier. 

“Look at me,” he says seriously, finger tightening on your shoulder. You try to steady your breath and calm your tears, before you obey and begin to turn your chair. The simple motion requires so much effort - it’s like the air has become so thick, that the friction against your leather seat slows you down. 

Finally you turn to him, eyes first resting on his knees, then, carefully, traveling up to his face. He’s frowning. 

Your face is reddened and your eyes are puffy, your cheeks are shiny and you chew your bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. 

Wonwoo looks genuinely devastated. The hand on your shoulder softens its grasp, then begins petting your arm, rubbing up and down. The action has you choking out gasps, trembling even more in his hold, and Wonwoo feels the need to roll his chair closer to you, so his other hand can grab yours. His thumb rubs over the back of it, and he lowers his head to look at you. 

“Shh, relax, relax, Y/n,” he whispers, and you try to nod, but it’s so overwhelming; being touched, being seen, being heard, all at once. For months, maybe years, no one has touched you like this - as if they care. Now the feeling is foreign, so scorching hot on your arm and your hand, your body can’t take it anymore. You’re stuck between wanting to lean into his hands, wanting to feel how real you are, and how physically true your existence is, and wanting to shy away. What must he think of you? 

“Y/n,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the sigh of your sobbing. “When was the last time someone touched you?” 

You hiccup painfully. “Uhm- I- I don’t, ” your eyes are bleary and your lashes are wet. Your lip trembles and your whole body shakes when you try to breathe. 

Apparently this was enough of an answer for Wonwoo, because he suddenly stands, somewhat harshly tugging you into a standing position too, and pulls you directly into the harbor of his arms. 

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his torso. His chest is pressed flat against yours, so, so warm, when he nudges your head into the crook of his neck, and presses his face against its side, sighing softly into you, and breathing warm air onto your hair. His palms push you into him, soothing your trembling body, and holding you like an anker. One hand travels up to your hair. 

“W-Wonwoo, you don’t have to-”

“Shh,” he quiets you immediately, voice the softest wind of a peach tree. “Just let me take care of you.” 

You do. Wonwoo holds you until you stop crying, and though it must’ve been twenty minutes or so, it feels like no time at all. Standing in his space, breathing in his dark cologne, and letting his heat thaw your dead heart is a totally timeless act. Joy and serenity flows from the places where your bodies touch. When you stop crying, Wonwoo holds you for longer. 

Eventually, he lets you go. 

You step back sheepishly, now much calmer and the red in your face faded. You wipe your tired eyes shyly with your sleeve. 

“Thank you, Wonwoo,” you mumble, voice thick and garbled. When you look up at him, he smiles softly, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly, arm extending one last time to squeeze your forearm. Then it falls limp again. 

“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

When you return home, you’re buzzing. Your entire apartment buzzes along with you, things seem to clatter and beam along with the bright, glowing of your heart. You snuggle into bed and nothing is still and even when you’re drifting into sleep, your nerve endings spin in joyful circles, and your feet are a static hum. Suddenly you are very, very real. _____________________________

You’d think the next day would be tense and awkward, and maybe it is at first, but soon enough you’re talking again, more intimately than before even. 

This is Wonwoo’s doing - you know this. You know he’s smart and you know he doesn’t want you to feel bad, so he makes conversation and builds trust between the two of you. You know he hopes you don’t feel insecure. Every word he says and every flick of his eyes is riddled with it. 

The conversation decidedly slows down your progress, so Wonwoo once more suggests staying overtime. You look at him for a moment before agreeing. 

You can’t tell what his end goal is. A chamber of your heart has been revived and rebirthed, and you’re more chipper, more bouncy, but the rest of your heart insists: you’re still cursed - eventually it’ll go back to how it should be. You listen. You try not to get your hopes up that Wonwoo really cares about you. Why should he, really?

Although when you’re done for the day, about an hour after your usual 5 PM, you stand up and begin to pack your things, laptop sliding into your bag and clustering pens in your hand. It’s gray outside, but the sun comes in a single strand through a gap in the smog and the clouds. The wind hoots by the windows, and it smells like the indian you ordered for lunch together. 

You stop your packing, feeling a set of eyes in your back. You twist your head to see him.

Wonwoo is sitting completely still in his chair, slack-covered legs spread open, and he makes no move to collect his own things. He just stares. 

“What’s up?” you quip. You’re slightly nervous. Just before it was all silly childhood stories, college and weed and life before the dead-end job. Now Wonwoo has that unreadable expression on his face again. 

He slowly lifts his hands from the armrest, eyes locked with yours, and claps his palms on the tops of his thighs. 

Your eyebrows furrow. 

“Wha-” 

“Come here,” he says simply. When you stand completely still, like a deer in the headlights, Wonwoo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What? You think you’re cured because someone hugged you once?” 

“Cured?”

“You’re touch-starved, Y/n,” Wonwoo states matter-of-factly, “you need to be touched.” 

“Touch-starved?” you echo, a bewildered expression on your face.

“We can also just hug, like yesterday,” he suggests calmly. You envy his collectedness. “I just don’t want you to feel bad. So please. Come sit.”

To emphasize, Wonwoo pats his thighs again, patiently. You step away from your bag with hesitating steps, pursing your lips. Your cheeks blaze when you look at his thighs again - they’re so long, and the folds in his slacks stretch down and centralize on his crotch and- You’re being a pervert. 

“Okay,” you squeak and Wonwoo tuts. Why is that hot, you think, why the hell is that hot?

“We can just hug if you-” 

You feel bold.

Without letting him finish, you swing your leg over his, and plop down, straddling halfway down his thighs. You thank God you put pants on this morning instead of a skirt, when you look down at where you rest on top of him. 

Wonwoo is a little taken aback, but when you’ve settled on him, his hands find your waist and he looks up at you with a hum. Your breathing is a little shaky. Once again his hands provide a pumping of golden joy into your body, and more of you comes alive and becomes real, and you smile. 

What had Wonwoo been talking about? Touch-starved?

“What’s, um-” your question is cut off with a gasp, when Wonwoo uses his hands on your middle to tug you closer. You rest on the highest point of thighs that you can without sitting on his dick. Cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut, you hear how Wonwoo hums, pleased. “What were you talking about? Touch-starved?” you whisper, keeping your eyes shut. 

Wonwoo sighs, and once more, like the movement is entirely replayed, his hand finds your hair and pushes your face into the crook of his neck. You sigh against it, enjoying how his arms protect you and hide you from the evil of the world. 

“If you don’t touch anyone,” Wonwoo begins, his voice low bass in your ear, “you become touch-starved. That’s why you reacted the way you did yesterday.” 

His hands run up and down your sides. 

“But- but I’m not crying today,” you say quietly into his neck. Wonwoo hums.

“No, that’s good,” he says. “We can stop if you really want, I just wa-”

“No!” your voice squeaks immediately, and, as if he were running from you, you fist his shirt to keep him close. 

“Okay,” there’s a smile in Wonwoo’s voice. You can’t see it but you can imagine it. 

Comfortable silence. Wonwoo traces patterns on your back and you breathe deeply against the skin of his neck. The two of you function as one living thing, the only living thing left in the office. Chairs are turned halfway, a couple lights are left on. The desks betray the past presence of humans. 

“Wonwoo,” you pip. 

“Mhm?” 

“You don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t want you to do it if you- if it’s just.. Pity.” 

Wonwoo sighs, and you feel the way his torso deflates underneath you. He trails his hand up from your back to tap your cheek. You move back and look at him. 

Your faces are very close, you can feel how your exhales collide and then scatter, hell, you think you could count each of his eyelashes from here. 

“I already told you. I’m doing this because I don’t want you to feel bad. I-” he hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips. “I’ve been there. So I know what it’s like.” 

The thought of Wonwoo feeling like this, like you, is sickening. Genuinely sickening, you feel your insides turn to rot and mold and you frown so deeply, you think your lips might forever lock in that position. 

“I’m okay now,” he reassures, reading you immediately. His hand finds your cheek and he almost cries out at the way you lean into it blindly. 

“How did you-.. I- I always thought it was, like, a lifelong curse,” you say.

“A curse?” Wonwoo grins, thumb stroking over the skin of your cheek. It makes you happy, it makes you feel like your heart will burst. 

“Yeah. I guess I just blamed some old woman from my hometown,” you giggle, blushing a little because, yes, it did sound stupid when you weren’t just echoing the theory to yourself, like playing a team sport alone. 

“You’re not cursed,” Wonwoo promises, tucking your head into his chest. “I’ll help you, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you from now on.” 

He does take care of you. 

Every day you work overtime, and every day when you’re done with work, Wonwoo slides you into his lap and holds you, while you curl up in his chest. Then you talk and you laugh, and you listen to each other's music. His hands run warm up your back and in your hair and on your hips, gentle caresses, deeply intimate. For two weeks you and Wonwoo indulge in this nighttime ritual. 

You have not felt lonely since that night. And Wonwoo can tell. Your skin is warmer and brighter, you smile wider, your eyes twinkle, and there’s energy in every movement. Your body thaws under his warm hands every night, and sometimes when you smile, he gets so happy he could kiss you. 

You realize you like Wonwoo one particular night when you’re falling asleep in your bed and you can still feel the ghost of his arms around you and it lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when you wake up you smell a little bit like his cologne. That’s how you realize. You like how considerate and how gentle he is, you like how sweet he is to you, you like how he looks when he smiles and when he laughs and you like how much he loves his cat. You like how his arms feel wrapped around you. 

And you like him, and suddenly your apartment is a song that you dance in, and every photo on your walls is smiling and your bed is always warm and so is your heart. 

There’s nothing dead in here, you think, when you cook a delicious meal on the stovetop, sauce bubbling in a stainless steel pan. Nothing haunted about your home or your heart. _____________________________

“We’re almost done.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I can’t believe we’re almost done!” 

Wonwoo looks up, bemused, lips made small and pointed. You’re staring at the almost-done document, scrolling up and down through long and arduous paragraphs. It’s nighttime again - not that you had to stay late today, it was a choice - and the city glimmers brilliantly in the coolness. You and Wonwoo wear sweaters to keep warm. 

“Feels like a lifetime,” Wonwoo murmurs, same smile upon his beautiful face. His cheekbones point out from beneath his skin. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, leaning back. You won’t put your fingers back on the keyboard. Not when it could be done so soon. You look at him, all snuggled up in a brown sweater. “What if..” 

A pause. He tilts his head.

“Well, are we still gonna talk?” you chew your lip dejectedly, feeling a little sad and desperate, but Wonwoo only laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, it’s one you associate with joy. 

“Of course,” he says, as his laughter quiets down. “If you want to.” 

A shy smile forms on your lips. You turn to look back at the computer, but you hear the now-familiar sound of Wonwoo patting his thighs. You flit your eyes back to him, teasingly scolding.

“We’re not done.” 

“We don’t have to be done now,” he shrugs, an equally teasing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, but, unsurprisingly, you shift over to him, sitting down in his lap. He immediately tugs you closer, fingers searching for stimulation on the seams of your jeans. There’s something different about Wonwoo today, you realize, his touch is more feverish, his fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips and he looks up at you like you’re a diamond-encrusted chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, all glittering jewels. 

“What’s up?” you giggle nervously. It’s becoming hard to breathe with the way he paws at your hips. 

There’s something in the air between you, but maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, concocting the magnetic pull that lingers between you, the thicker, heavier air, that urges you closer. 

He sighs heavily, as if he was dreading this. All of a sudden composed, cool, icy Wonwoo is chewing his lip and avoiding your eyes, looking instead down where your fat gives way for his needy fingers. 

“I, uh, I really like you, Y/n,” his voice shakes. “Would you. Maybe. Want to go out some time?” 

At the last syllable his gaze locks on to yours, and you watch him visibly relax, because you’re fucking grinning. 

Not maliciously, not crudely, not a dime or a dab of evil, only genuine joy. 

“I-I would like that,” you control your smile, pointing your lips in the same way that Wonwoo does and blushing all over. Wonwoo grins too and it’s unbearably boyish. 

“Okay,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “Okay. Great.” 

The window slams shut, the spell is undone by his hand, the dead defy their only law to bow to his necromancy. Wonwoo is alive and warm underneath you, and you are alive and warm on top of him, thighs pushed up against his and tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Your balloon of heart pops in your chest, and the bone-cage of your chest is filled with helium, that has you floating. Rosy and shiny, your heart beats at twice its normal speed.

There’s a lull in the conversation. It would’ve been a more comfortable silence, if you couldn’t see by how Wonwoo looks down and purses his lips, that he’s itching to say more. 

Sparked by his confession, you confidently snake your hand up to tap his cheek lazily. He turns to you with a loafy smile. “What is it?” 

He breathes out unsteadily.

“You’re-” he closes his eyes. “There’s so much I like about you. It- It makes me feel really bad that you weren’t feeling well, so I-” 

He cringes at himself, one hand pushing away his glasses to rub the eyes underneath them. 

“Can I make you feel better?” he asks vaguely. 

You huff out a laugh. “Are you trying to ask if I want to have sex?” 

He laughs too, behind his big hand. “No. It’s not the same, I want it to be about you!” 

You laugh more, and Wonwoo’s face reappears as he lowers his hand. He looks up at you adoringly, dotingly. He’s smiling.

“I’m being serious,” he says quietly, when you finish. He seems less embarrassed now, more so smug. “I want to make you feel good.” 

He’s paying an awful lot of attention to your hips, which he has not let up massaging and squeezing roughly. 

“Can I..?” he begins, eyes fixed on your hips in his lap. “Can I make you cum?” 

Then, slowly, Wonwoo lifts his hands and gently places them around on your face. His touch is always as soft as a hope-laced wind. He’s warm and he’s alive and he’s holding onto you, and you see it in his eyes: you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips. 

“Please.”

That’s all he needs, before he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is everything you want it to be; because it’s loving. It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s gentle, there’s no tongue, just the soft, warm, real, alive flows of his lips against your own. His hands on both of your cheeks caress your cheekbones gently, and warm air is spilled in the small space between you. He pulls away, panting. 

“I don’t understand it,” he mumbles, before he’s pressing his lips back to yours hungrily. You let out a confused hum, and you have to gently push at his shoulder to back him off again. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“Why you were so alone,” he breathes, transfixed on your lips. “I want to be with you all the time.” 

Before you can respond, Wonwoo grips the underside of your thighs, lifting you and himself from the chair and placing you on the desk. You gasp at the impact when the glass table meets your bottom, and Wonwoo is standing over you, suddenly so tall and so broad, and slimming at the waist. His narrow eyes become hooded behind the reflection of his glasses. His head is tilted down to meet yours.

“Can I take off your clothes, pretty?” 

You don’t answer, only grip the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head, so your bra-clad chest is exposed to him. He groans at the sight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, nimble fingers dancing across your back to unclip the bra, sucking in a harsh breath the fabric becomes loose, sliding down your arms. “Such a pretty girl.” 

“Stop,” you whisper, face warm and red. Your heart has never beat this way. It’s utterly unbearable and addicting at the same time, it’s without rhythm or class, it’s wild. And it’s because he’s looking at you and it’s not just lust. It’s adoration. There are deeper strings to the make-up of his eyes, there are lines connected to his heart, and he’s all flushed.

“What?” he asks. “I’m just telling you the truth.” 

Wonwoo throws your bra on the floor next to him, hands finding the hem of your pants. “Can I take your pants off?” 

You nod, still so shy and abashed, because Wonwoo’s eyes feel like a pink spotlight, and you are bathed in its warmth. He unbuttons your pants and you gently slide off the table to work them off your legs. 

“Your panties are cute,” Wonwoo remarks (it should feel lewd, but he has a hand on your hip, that brushes the bone and he smiles at it). “Thank you,” you breathe, before you’re taking them off too.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to, but he still insists on gently lifting you back onto the table, and he kisses your nose when you’re sitting before him. He’s standing in between your legs, and then he’s looking down at where wetness drips onto the glass table. 

His hand slides down your stomach, resting on the fat of it. He’s smiling, he’s so gorgeous, because he’s smiling the most gentle smile at how wet you are and how it leaks onto the table and his hand is so warm on your stomach, doing nothing, yet turning you on even more than you’d ever been before.

He sighs like he’s carrying the greatest burden on his broad back. “You’re so pretty,” he says, almost exasperated by it. He pinches some of the fat of your stomach between his fingers lovingly. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.” 

Then the hand on your stomach slides down further. His large, veiny hand cups your pussy, the tips of his fingers just barely teasing your hole. You whimper against him, hands finding his biceps for support. Wonwoo studies you, craning his neck down to peer at your face, while his fingers begin swaddling your folds. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” he mumbles, trying to catch your eye where you bury into his chest. One finger dips into your hole, penetrating slowly and settling knuckle-deep. 

“Wonnie!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Mmm, clenching down on Wonnie’s finger so hard. My beautiful girl.” 

He begins pushing his finger in and out of you, pace slow and torturous. His other hand slides up and down your body, squeezing your waist then your thigh, then coming right back up to fondle your chest. He pushes your back flat against the glass, so you’re all splayed out for him and you watch him from there, eyes hooded and legs spread to accommodate him. He breathes in shakily at the sight of you. 

“Shit, Y/n. What were you doing hiding all this from me?” His finger picks up the pace, as another finger slips in alongside it. You’re moaning and panting, lips red and hair mussed, unable to focus on his words, when his fingers curl against that spongy spot inside you. Apparently Wonwoo expects an answer though, because he speaks again, voice lower and rougher. “Hm? You didn’t want to go have lunch? What, was it that guy?”

“W-What?” 

“Just some guy,” Wonwoo echoes your past words, emphasizing with a harsh thrust of his fingers. 

“N-No, I- Hng!” you cry out, when Wonwoo’s thumb presses onto your clit. He rubs it torturously. “I-I was embarrassed because I- I was thinking about you!” 

“Oh?” this catches Wonwoo’s attention, as he diligently works his hand within you, staring down at your naked form, fully clothed and tall. “Tell me what you were thinking about, baby.” 

“This!” you cry out, too high off the pleasure to really feel embarrassed about it.

“Pretty, sweet, dumb baby. You were thinking about you whimpering and writhing while I fuck you with my hand, hm?”

“N-No,” you mumble, cheeks aflame. “W-Was thinking about you l-liking me.” 

At this Wonwoo hastily leans over you, pressing his lips onto yours again, and this time his tongue pries open your mouth, wet and warm in the cavern of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, hips canting into his hand. There’s something so desperate about him then, something so eager in the way he crooks his fingers, and how he kisses you, panting and covering your face in warm air. You feel a tight knot in your stomach.

“Cum on my fingers, please, pretty, sweet, baby, darling,” he mumbles into your mouth, rushing out the words before he’s sealing your lips again. 

“God, I think I might fall in love with you.” 

That makes you cum. You cum so fucking hard, clenching around his fingers like an air-tight seal, and your cum spills onto his fingers and his name spills into his mouth. The curse comes out with it, escaping like the air that spills out from an ancient, rediscovered chamber, and dissipating into the night. Your heart is beating and you’re breathing into his mouth, nose brushing his. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, finally releasing your lips and letting his lips fall heavy and wet on your cheek. 

He pulls out his fingers, unbearably wet and slick, and you think for a second that he’ll let you calm down and then maybe he’ll put his dick in you, but as soon as the fingers are out of you, they’re settling back on to your clit, rubbing heavy-handed circles.

You whine, arching your back off the table and wiggling your hips at the overstimulation. His other hand catches your hip and he shushes your cries softly. 

“You can cum again, can’t you, baby? You can take it,” he says, so nonchalantly, while his slick fingers rub you. You cry out. Your legs are shaking. “Think you can cum again from just this?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh and when you look down, his entire hand covers your pussy, as he pets your clit in circles. He smiles at your words, pinching your clit teasingly. It causes a squeak to escape you, hips struggling against his hold, where he pins you to the table.

“Good girl,” he praises, purring. “Letting me use your pretty pussy like this, letting me make you feel good.” 

His body in front of you prevents your legs from closing, but, God, do they try, knees pinching his thin waist, and hair bunching up on the glass when your face scrunches up in pleasure. 

“A-a-ah!” you cry out. Your hips involuntarily begin to inch away from him, but Wonwoo pulls you back with one strong hand, tutting. 

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, pouting. “You need to be touched, remember?” 

The whole thing is so heart-achingly intimate. The way he stands, still fully clothed and with a huge fucking tent in his pants, simply rubbing your pussy and looking at you with heart-eyes. Seriously, eyes swimming with adoration for you, teasing words slipping from his mouth unable to mask the genuine wonder he feels, at how you gasp and you arch and you clean and you jerk from the simplest of his movements. And your pussy is so warm and wet under his hand, and his body between your legs is so warm, and you cum again from just that; from how much love he looks at you with, and from the fingers crooking to pinch your clit again, wet and swollen underneath his glistening fingertips. 

“W-Wonwoo!” you cry out, cumming again, and your body convulses around his, when it oozes out of your hole. Wonwoo’s fingers gently work you through it. His gaze on you is so intent, so careful and insistent, you can’t bear it, the way he sees you totally lost in the pleasure he brings you. 

“There you go,” he whispers gently, fingers letting up and disappearing from your pulsating pussy. 

“Wonwoo,” you mewl tiredly, pushing yourself onto your elbows to look up at him. He looks at you, so sweetly, so attentively, hands immediately finding your back to stabilize you. “Can I please have your cock now?” 

“We don’t have to-” 

“I want to!” you interrupt him, brows furrowed and lips in a pout. Wonwoo grins at that and though he may deny it, you don’t miss the red that twinges his cheeks. 

“It’s just if you were too tired..-” 

“I’m not,” you say decidedly, and Wonwoo nods. 

“Okay. C’mere then.” 

You’re confused when Wonwoo sits back down in the office chair, fingers working his slacks open. He doesn’t answer to your grimace though, only manages his pants unzipped and in one lift of his hips, peel both them and his boxers down. 

His cock springs free, and your confused grimace is replaced with one of awe. It’s pale and veiny, the head is red and thin, white liquid oozes from it, like melted candle wax. And it’s huge.

You’re too slow to mask your amazement, it seems, because when your eyes return to his face, he’s already looking at you, smiling smugly. 

“Come ride me, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide off the table eagerly, lumbering over to where he’s relaxed against the back of the chair. He looks up at you, all naked and pretty, with a grin. 

The top buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, but he must’ve given up halfway. Either way, the milky plates of his chest are exposed, shining gloriously in the warm office light, and he discards his glasses, face fully exposed to you. He’s beautiful, and you think to tell him.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, planting each leg around his, so you’re straddling him. Like your ritual, Wonwoo grips your middle and pulls you closer, but this time it’s even closer than normal. Your stomach meets his dick, all heavy and hot on your skin, and your breath hitches at the sensation. 

“You’re beautiful,” he teases, looking up at you. You smile. 

“Can I put it in?” you ask. 

“As if the answer was ever gonna be no?” 

You snort out a laugh, raising yourself by your thighs and gripping the base of his dick to steer him inside. He hisses at the feeling of your hand grappling with his impressive size, and he hisses once more when the head of his cock buries into your heat. 

His hands on your waist anchor himself while you slowly sink down, until he’s so fully sheathed in you, you think the tip of his cock must be brushing your heart, because it feels like it’s swinging in your chest. 

“You’re so big,” you whimper, clutching his broad shoulders, and scrunching the fabric on top of them. 

“Don’t say shit like that, I’m gonna cum, babe,” he grits out, fingers bruising your waist. You mewl, clutching his shirt. Then you begin to bounce. 

Your thighs flex on either side of him as you heave up and down his cock, the both of you gasping into each other, and clutching each other for stability. 

“Shit,” he pants out, genuinely out of breath. “Fuck, you’re the loveliest girl in the world.”

You cry out, pressure already welling in your stomach and burying yourself in his neck like you’ve always done, and it’s so intimate and he’s warm, and, fuck, he wants you. You can feel it in his grip, in his cock, in his words; he wants you more than anything. The thought makes you wanna cum. 

Wonwoo is not quiet at all. He grunts and whines and his words are strangled and garbled, but frequent, showering you in affection and praise, while you bounce eagerly on his huge cock. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” 

“Your tits are so perfect, shit.”

“Pretty girl.” 

“Loveliest, prettiest, sweetest girl, bouncing on my cock, fuck.”

Praises spill from his lips in purrs, one after another, and when you cum you can’t help but return it tenfold. 

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonnie, fuck! Gonna- fucking cum, I think I’m- f-falling in love with you”

You and Wonwoo come alive. Cum spurts from his cock and into your pussy, and you both cry out, entangled and completing one another in the space where you meet. 

And it’s true, falling in love with him is so easy. And falling in love with you is easy too, you realize, because the second he’s spilled his cum in you, he pulls you from his neck to kiss you so deeply, so thoroughly, you think your lips might never unpuff from his hasty, bitten kisses. 

His cock, now soft, still inside you, his warm chest against yours, his nose nudging yours, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin, the kiss is totally perfect, and you’re warm, and the windows are all closed and fogged up and there’s no curse other than the most fatal and most perfectly tantalizing of them all: love. 

You are not alone. You’re sitting in his lap and you think if you give it a day or two more, you might want to spend the rest of your life with him. 

You catch your breaths. 

“You’re really good at that,” you say finally. He grins again, perfectly undone, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. “Yeah?” he asks. You hum. 

After some minutes of keeping him inside you, kissing lazily, running your hands over his pretty chest and arms, you pull back, beginning to flex your legs to pull him out of you. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, hands wafting to still your movements. You furrow your brows, confused. 

“Am getting your dick out of me?” 

His hands sink down on your hips heavily, fully encompassing his dick again. You sigh at the feeling. 

“Don’t do that, silly. You’re touch-starved, remember?” 

He tilts his head teasingly. 

“So why don’t you just sit snug on my cock, so you can get all the closeness you need?”

[nightingaletrash]

Tallis loves Auntie Ethel. Aside from Astarion, she was the only person not to have some averse reaction to the weird shit that falls out of her mouth and instead treats her with kindness, which immediately gets Ethel on her good side. She then believed Ethel over Mayrina's brothers, who she happily murdered the shit out of, and popped down to the teahouse to see about getting her tadpole removed.

She struck a deal, and while she was surprised to discover that Ethel really is a hag, she didn't think it her place to judge, considering all of her fucked up thoughts, urges and impulses. And when Ethel failed to remove the parasite? Well, she tried. Its not Auntie's fault that she didn't know about the Netherese magic. Tallis couldn't ask for more than that.

And then nothing happened to challenge Tallis' love for Ethel. She never showed up in Baldur's Gate to reveal her monstrous intentions for Mayrina's child or to be the bad guy in anyone else's tale so Tallis just... continues to love her Auntie Ethel. She legit writes to her sometimes, hoping that she's doing well while telling her about the things they're grappling with. And then one day its just, 'hey Auntie, turns out this whole tadpole thing and Absolute Cult is literally my own fault and I'm a Bhaalspawn lmao crazy right? btw dad murdered me for refusing him, but I'm okay because Withers resurrected me and now I strongly suspect that he may be Jergal himself. Anyway, hope you're well and that you're getting lots of bargains that are going better than mine did xx'

Ethel must be flabbergasted. She had a Bhaalspawn in her house and didn't clock it. That same Bhaalspawn has so much genuine affection for her despite the deal utterly failing to work out for her, and now she won't stop writing letters. She gets an invitation to a wedding. Jergal is there.

[killa-trav]

okay so here’s the post match analysis from ln:

a 3-0 win after a draw against palace n a loss against arsenal should be something we should be like yay this is amazing it’s exactly what we need. well ur wrong bc yes we won 3-0 but that was a horrific performance all around, we got very lucky that forest are too shit last night.

wout weghorst’s goal was the exact reason why we signed him rather than a proper more versatile striker, he’s a box striker who can capitalise quickly when given the chance hence his goal. the attack as a whole played very good but antony? again the less said about antony the better. i’m just hoping that he gets his shit together n with pellistri playing they way he is, i’m hoping it will be like shaw this season who upped his game bc he didn’t want to lose out to malacia in the starting 11

i think pellistri should he go on loan will be a massive mistake bc yes ik he’s young but that will be his second loan spell and i genuinely think ten hag should use him more especially in games like last night and against reading on saturday. he played extremely well last night and he’s very exciting when he’s on the ball n he got close to goal quite a few times last night which was really good to see.

moving onto the midfield, can’t really blame them too much. casemiro again showing why he’s world class and eriksen again was great but my only issue with the midfield is that it just needs that extra depth that eriksen doesn’t offer. but i would take those two over mcfred any day of the week

now onto the defence. lisandro martinez baby ur fucking amazing, you really lived up to the butcher nickname once again n i truly love u for that but just one tiny little request? STOP USING UR HEAD WHEN U ALREADY HAVE STITCHES U SILLY FOOL. nah i’m just kidding keep using it bby xx

malacia as per was amazing but lindelöf and wan bissaka?? bro ur days are both numbered. both such liabilities n wallahi if i were ten hag i would’ve slapped them two dense fucks so hard by now. idk which fraud they are using bc those two are not professional footballers at all n we need to stop pretending that they are

david de gea that was much better than sunday, u actually caught the ball n didn’t actually make many mistakes last night, i’m glad but again bro pls just be more consistent, ur making too many mistakes n u literally have zero excuses anymore bc ur so fucking experienced too

overall a solid 7.9/10 from the reds, onto reading on saturday for the fa cup!

[outsideratheart]

musical theatre uni anon: as someone who has had a successful dance and musical theatre career… KEEP GOING, screw the age thing ( does it make it any less hard no, you are going to have doubts and moments about feeling secluded BUT keep going, you are actually at a better age being older going into that program because you are wiser more mature, you will be able to make decisions in your acting/dance/singing craft that will be actually better and not just hopping on the band wagon of your teachers and students cause you actually know yourself better and those will showcase you better ( you wont even realize you have done this). So have fun and when you think your uni is the end all be all there entertainment world is full of so many things and opportunities so hang on you will find your path!!! Stay you and still enjoy things outside of theatre xx you got this from one old hag with her foot out the retirement door 😉. ( sorry this is long but i see so many get discouraged and quit)

Anon, are you seeing this?

This why I love this site!

[mewyue]

nostalgia; 130 tracks, 7h26m. spotify & apple music & youtube ↳ note that some tracks may be missing or a different version from the original (e.g club ver, chinese ver) because of an exipiry of the songs liscence.

♡ girlgroup throwbacks up to 2017, enjoy! ♡ i like that - sistar / hush - miss a / sexy love - t-ara / vibrato - stellar / miniskirt - aoa / mr. mr. - snsd / thirsty - girl's day / dr. feel good - rania / eat you up - boa / wiggle wiggle - hellovenus / mamma mia - kara / short hair - aoa / eclipse - kim lip / lip 2 lip - 9muses / pandora - kara / expectation - girl's day / marionette - stellar / sugar free - t-ara / i'm ill - hellovenus / ticket - 9muses / you're pitiful - fiestar / b.b.b - dalshabet / confused - aoa / insomnia - stellar / step - kara / one more - fiestar / excuse me - aoa / sticky sticky - hellovenus / someone like u - dalshabet / hurt locker - 9muses / number nine - t-ara / up & down - exid / like a cat - aoa / madonna - secret / first love - afterschool / come to see me - jun hyoseong / something - girl's day / 24 hours - sunmi / wild - 9muses / fantasy - fei / cha cha - rainbow blaxx / ddd - exid / high heel - brave girls / dolls - 9muses / cupid - kara / whatcha doin' today - 4minute / excuse me - bestie / lonely - spica / i'm in love - secret / dressing room - afterschool / give it to me - sistar / touch - miss a / volume up - 4minute / we are a bit different - evol / black swan - rainbow / roll deep - hyuna / hobgoblin - clc / ah yeah - exid / a - rainbow / joker - dalshabet / i (knew it) - sonamoo / sting - stellar / every night - exid / automatic - red velvet / full moon - sunmi / kiss my lips - boa / turn it on - laboum / just go - rania / i'll be yours - girl's day / you don't love me - spica / a bad thing - purfles / only you - miss a / love options - bestie / friday night - sonamoo / find me - jun hyoseong / don't believe - berry good / yasisi - ns yoon-g / black tinkerbell - chocolat / i'm missin' you - d-unit / hot pink - exid / kill bill - brown eyed girls / remember - 9muses / mirror - fiestar / going crazy - kan miyeon / i'm a woman too - minah / talk that - secret / mysterious - hellovenus / so crazy - t-ara / i just wanna dance - tiffany / paradise lost - gain / kiss on the lips - melody day / sleepless night - 9muses / hot & cold - jewelry / bbiribbabba - narsha / this and that - f-ve dolls / miss u - tiny g / watch me move - uhm junghwa / lupin - kara / fingertip - gfriend / drama - 9muses / run devil run - snsd / hurricane venus - boa / sixth sense - brown eyed grils / i feel you - wonder girls / touch my body - sistar / give your love? - spica.s / into you - jun hyoseong / 10 seconds - aoa / nice body - hyomin / blood type b girl - blady / genie - snsd / what about you? - laboum / figaro - 9muses / domino game - kiss&cry / i got love - taeyeon / 1.2.3 - purfles / gun - 9muses / ring my bell - girl's day / i got a feeling - lodia / alone - sistar / secret - wjsn / melting - miss a / eyeline - afterschool / go easy - 4ten / glue - 9muses / closer - oh my girl / deepened - brave girls / pepe - clc / paradise - s.e.s. / free somebody - luna

[musemilitia]

@lking-rp-hub​ || reply to this (xx)

People definitely have very different opinions on how seriously they want to take what was pretty obviously a comedy moment. I think a lot of those views can make for interesting jumping-off points for stories, for sure.

For example my own writing of Katsuki includes interpreting his relationship with Mitsuki as 'strained but loving'. They don't always get each other and they playful arguing can turn to actual arguing pretty quickly, and Katsuki tends to go to Masaru for help over Mitsuki if he has to because he 'doesn't want the hag overreacting'. (I tend to put a lot of his perfectionism down to how he was raised, too, which is a big issue for him.) So I guess I write a middle ground o

I think the real problem is when people try to make their interpretation cannon, and try to say anyone that doesn't agree is incorrect or (worse) morally wrong and condoning some pretty horrible irl stuff.

... gah all of my replies are showing up in reverse order right now so read from bottom to top unless this is at the bottom.

Same here tbh ... like their relationship is obviously strained partially due to Mitsuki most likely not giving him the same sort of praise that other people gave him after his Quirk manifested. But also I feel like she knows she could’ve tried harder to wrangle him in and prevent a lot of his behavior. And due to their personalities being so similar + him getting a Quirk that was a perfect blend of her’s and husband’s + their society constantly praising him for his “flashy Quirk” along with everything else he did. 

And I feel she only really started trying to be more strict with him when he was in late elementary / middle school -- and by than ... it’s not really “too late” for him to change. But it will definitely be harder to get him to see things in a different way of light. Especially when he’s got his school teachers, classmates, and society constantly praising him -- while at home, he’s only got one (maybe two) people trying to correct his behavior.

And like in this scene ... I do feel like Katsuki himself realized / remembered in this moment that there are people in the world that grew up in a “harsher environment” than he did.

Like Mitsuki herself straight up says to Aizawa and All Might -- when they were discussing Katsuki living the dorms: “Our Katsuki... he’s rash in everything he does, and most everything comes easy to him. His whole life people’ve made a fuss about him... praising him for every little thing he does... so I was glad to hear what you had to say at that press conference. I was thinking that U.A. really understands our boy.”

None of that sounds like a mother who is abusive to her son ... it sounds like a mother; who was trying to raise him right but she was having difficulties for a LARGE NUMBER OF THINGS.

[oikawaplssteponme]

PROLOGUE | masterlist

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem! reader

rating/warnings: swearing...a lot, some violence

synopsis: When UA’s hot heads, Katsuki Bakugou and you, are forced to put your hatred for each other aside and plan the third year Prom, things end up getting a little heated...

a/n: hi hi!! here’s the prologue:)) this is just setting up the story and gives insight into your quirk ;) im super excited to share this new story with you all [a little nervous too but that’s okay] ! the taglist is open so just lmk if you’d like to be added❤️ enjoy xx

———

prologue: party planers

“YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME DUMBASS!”

“YOU HEARD ME, OR IS THAT QURIK OF YOURS CAUSING YOU TO LOSE YOUR HEARING ALREADY!?”

“WE HAVE PRACTICALLY THE SAME QUIRK YOU MORON!”

“HA YOU WISH YOU HAD MY QUIRK KATSUKI!”

“YOU LITTLE-!”

Kirishima was using all of his strength to hold Bakugou back from ripping your head off. On the other hand, Deku was dragging you away from Bakugou as you continued to yell.

“Y/N cut it out!” begged Izuku. You continued to struggle to break free from Izuku’s grip on you. He wasn’t using all his strength as to not hurt you.

“Just let me wipe that stupid smile off of his dumb face!” You yelled.

You kicked your leg back, colliding with Deku’s stomach, forcing him on the floor. Bakugou flipped Kirishima over his shoulder to shake him off as well. The two of you stood far apart, facing each other.

“One blow and you’ll be dust Katsuki,” you smirked. Bakugou licked his lips.

“Not if I get your first!”

“You wish!”

You adjusted your stance. You brought your hands up, one expelling out your body’s heat and the other starting to expel out atoms of hydrogen. Bakugou’s palms began to spark with his explosive sweat.

“Guys stop it please!” pouted Uraraka.

“Not until Katsuki here is d-”

Before you could finish, you were tied up and so was Bakugou. Mr. Aizawa pulled the both of you towards him, still tied up in his scarf.

“Office. Now.”

~

Now, not many people would ever be bold enough to stand up against Katsuki Bakugou, but not you. Ever since your first year at UA, you and Bakugou never got along. You had an attitude and an ego, and so did he. You both thought you were the best. And with such similar quirks, you had more reason to compete with each other.

Your quirk involved taking heat from your body and outside sources (such as the sun) to create an explosive result from fusing atoms together. Depending on how much power you wanted to use, you could choose between any explosive element on the Periodic Table to create this chain reaction. Your quirk was known as ‘atomic’. It did have its own setbacks though. Since you had to use your own body heat and cells, you tended to get sick pretty easily after a fight. Still, you worked hard to get your quirk where you wanted it. In a quirk test, no one stood a chance against you...well maybe except that Bakugou guy.

You were a lethal weapon to say the least. Bakugou’s own quirk used his sweat to create explosions. While yes your quirks worked differently, you both felt threatened by each other.

Having you and Katsuki in the same classes never went well. As you were both in the Hero Course, you tended to interact much more than you wanted. On days where there was open training, like today, it usually ended in a fight. And more often than not, you started it.

Unlike Bakugou, you were let in on recommendations, another thing you held over him. In your middle school, you were an exemplary student to any teacher who saw you. But the second you got in the battle field, all hell broke loose. You were a master in combat, even without your quirk. At your middle school, you were the top dog, so it was easy for you to show your dominance over your classmates. It wasn’t until meeting Katsuki Bakugou that you had your ruthless side always on display. So that sweet girl that you used to be known for, well, she took a hike.

~

Mr. Aizawa dragged you and Bakugou to Principal Nezu’s office, for the 4th time this week. You couldn’t break free from his forceful scarf, no matter how hard you tried. You could physically see the smoke coming from Bakugou’s ears.

“What seems to be the problem this time?” asked Principal Nezu. Mr. Aizawa gave you a nudge.

“Tell him.” You glanced over at Bakugou and then back at Principal Nezu.

“Well you see Principle Nezu...Bakugou is a little bitch.”

“YOU HAG!”

“QUIET!” ordered Aizawa. You both shut your mouths.

“Look Y/N, Bakugou, this has to stop. If you two keep disrupting class and training, I’ll have no choice but to expel you,” said Principal Nezu.

He says this every year.

“But because I believe in your potential as Pro Hero’s I won’t.” You and Bakugou let out a sigh of relief.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t go without some sort of punishment,” he added. You weren’t surprised. You had already cleaned the dorms a million times before as a form of punishment.

“This time, Mr. Aizawa will be in charge of you two,” said Principal Nezu. Yours and Bakugou’s eyes widened. Mr. Aizawa moved to stand in front of you two.

“As you know, third years get the opportunity to attend the UA Prom. Usually students in general studies help plan it but since you two clearly need some organization and discipline, you’ll plan it this year for your classmates,” Aizawa explained. Your jaw dropped.

“You want us to plan a dance? By ourselves?” You protested.

“No way I’m doing that!” huffed Bakugou.

“Would you rather be expelled?” asked Aizawa. You both went silent.

“That’s what I thought. You’ll have a few months for planning and preparation. I would work hard on this, I’d hate for you to disappoint your classmates. If this dance goes poorly, it will be you two who will pay for it.”

You couldn’t believe it. You were no party planner, and certainly not with someone like Bakugou.

“Also, no more fighting unless during supervised pair training. If I even hear about either of you using your quirks against each other, you’ll be out of here before you can say ‘Plus Ultra’. Got it?” said Aizawa.

You both nodded, though you were beyond pissed off. Aizawa unwrapped you and Bakugo from his scarf.

“Either learn to work with each other or you can kiss your third year goodbye. Now get to your dorms.”

You and Bakugou got up and quickly left Nezu’s office. Once the door shut, you pinned Bakugou against the wall, your hand on his neck.

“What the hell-“

“Listen, if you ruin my chances at becoming a Pro Hero, I won't hesitate to blow your brains out. So we are gonna plan this stupid dance, but don’t think that means we will become all buddy-buddy. I’m still gonna be a better hero than you and show you that I have the better explosion quirk. Got it?”

Bakugou pushed you off of him, and pinned you in the same position.

“If you even think you’ll be a better Hero than me, you’re wrong. Get over yourself princess. And then go fuck yourself,” he growled. Bakugou let go of you and walked away.

In the past, you would’ve talked back, but not today. You knew Aizawa and Nezu were being serious this time. And you weren’t gonna mess up your chances of graduating. So if planning a stupid dance with your worst nightmare was what you had to do, then so be it.

•

[taglist OPEN: @vangoghpoets @vangoghmusings @bokutory @complimentaryhugsgirl ]

[ticklishfiend]

Angry Little Guy

My Hero Acadameia - Kirishima/Bakugou

A/N: heyyy haven’t written in a hot minute (again lmao)!! my mental health has been taking a tolls recently so writing has been hard, but i still hope y’all enjoy what i wrote today!! i love these boys sm and i hope to write some more for them in the future :) hope u enjoy!! xx

Summary: After Ms. Joke visits the school and forces Bakugou to laugh after he was being a grumpy-butt in class, Kirishima can’t help that he just wants to hear that cute little laugh again. But when Bakugou refuises to laugh any other way, Kirishima decides to use some...persuasive methods :))

Word Count - 2,550

—

Today was a physical training day for Class 1A, all the students gathering in the training gym in their matching blue and red outfits ready for whatever task Aizawa had prepared for them that day. Aizawa’s demeanor today, however, was just a little…off. Sure, he was being hs regular boring, monotonous self, but something about the way his eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets, and the way his back seemed somehow more slouched than usual, showed that the class’s teacher was a little more annoyed today than he already was regularly.

“Does Aizawa-Sensei seem more…upset than usual?” Kirishima scratched his neck worriedly, heck cocked as he watched Aizawa pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know, man, the guy’s never exactly been the bubbly type. Maybe he just got less sleep than normal,” Denki shrugged, his eyes also meeting the groggy teacher stood in front of their whole class. “What do you think, Bakugou? Think Aizawa woke up on the wrong side of the bed or what?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sparkplug, he’s about to start class,” Bakugou grumbled, not even glancing down at his bright blonde counterpart for a second.

“Okay everyone, it’s time to shut up,” Aizawa spoke loudly, his eyes tense as he stared the teens in front of him down. The mumbles in the room went silent as Aizawa began his lesson. “Today’s gonna be a little…different. Despite my pleas against this, you’ll be taught your training by a different pro-hero today from Ketsubutu High.”

Muffled whispers slowly rose up from the crowd of teens before Aizawa, mumbling predictions of who the hell could be teaching them today and why it wasn’t someone already from their school. Of course, as always, Iida’s hand was the first to shoot up and question this strange decision.

“Aizawl-Sensei, why are we being taught by a teacher from another school? Why not use any of the many teachers we have available at UA?”

“Unfortunately, Nezu believes it would be best for you all to not only be trained by the same heroes, as you need to widen your options for training techniques, especially considering many of you need to learn better techniques of distraction. Which is exactly why they’ve brought in-“

“Helloooo~!” The gym doors behind the students’ burst open, a female figure standing in the doorway with her hands on his hips and a bright, wide smile imprinted on her face.

“Oh no way!” Sero pointed excitedly towards the woman. “It’s Ms. Joke!”

“That’s right, future pro-heroes!” Ms. Joke began making her way over toward Aizawa, his glare on her intensifying with every step she got closer.

“Ohhh, now I get why he’s been so moody all morning,” Kiri whispered to Denki, the two sharing a knowing glance as they both grinned.

“Joke, why are you so late? You were supposed to be here an hour ago so we could discuss-“

“Oh cmon, Eraser, don’t be so serious! Just got caught up in a little morning traffic is all, plus spreading a few smiles along the way!” Joke grinned widely at the stoic man beside her. “Y’know, I’m always happy to spread a few more smiles as long as they’re coming from your cute little face-“

“That’s enough, Joke. Please get on with the lesson,” Aizawa rolled his eyes, refusing to look over at his extremely smiley counterpart.

“Whatever you say, future husband!”

“Not your future husband-“

“Okay guys! So who here knows about my quirk and can explain it properly to the rest of the class?” Joke asked, followed by multiple hands shooting up into the air, Deku’s even waving about excitedly (as this IS his favorite thing in the world to discuss).

“Hmm…how about…you! Mr. Grumpy in the front!” Joke exclaimed, pointing towards Bakugou. His arms were crossed in contempt, eyes glaring into Joke’s happy persona like his gaze alone could burn right through it.

“I didn’t even raise my hand,” Bakugou scowled at his higher-up, his stance never wavering. “How do you know I have any idea who you are?”

Ms. Joke smirked at Katsuki. “Y’know, teachers talk, Bakugou,” the mention of his name made his eyes grow a little wide in surprise, not expecting her to know him by name. “Sure, I know you from the sports festival, but I also know you from a little more than that. I know that you’re an angry little guy who doesn’t like not being at the top, and you find satisfaction in knowing more than your peers. I also know you’re very smart, and you’re well educated on the status of most- if not all- pro-heroes today.  So, I’ll ask again; can you please explain to the class what my quirk is and how it functions?”

A silent but stressed pause fell over the group of teens. None of them had expected Joke to get so analytical on Bakugou like that, and it made them all feel a little fearful of what the “angry little guy” had to say next to her next. Bakugou’s glare on the woman deepened, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You can make people laugh uncontrollably, basically making it easier for you to fight them with one-on-one combat. And if you want me to be honest,” Bakugou’s face contorted into an ugly smirk, his arms crossing tighter as his body leaned in ever so slightly towards the hero. “-it’s one of the lamest quirks I’ve ever seen from a pro-hero.”

The air in the room was suddenly 10x thicker than before, almost making it harder for the students to catch a healthy breath. Ms. Joke only smiled fondly at the teen before her, walking closer to him until they were face-to-face.

“Y’know Bakugou…ever since I saw you perform at the sports festival, seeing you so red-faced and angry the whole time, I couldn’t help but wonder…” Joke’s hands went to her hips as Bakugou’s smirk slowly began to fade. “…does that guy ever really laugh?”

Suddenly and without warning, Bakugou began belting out one of the screechiest laughs anyone in that gym had ever heard in their lives. His arms came down to his stomach, harshly crushing his abdomen as if this would cease the laughs at any capacity. After a second, one of his hands shot towards his mouth, after he must’ve finally realized how embarrassingly girly his laugh must’ve sounded.

“Oh my god, no way! Bakugou can laugh!” Denki shouted, pointing at the hysterical boy in front of him. The rest of the class erupted into giggles, unable to contain it after hearing that contagious laugh leave that angry little man.

“SHUHUHUT UHUP! THIS ISN’T FAHAHAHAIR!” Bakugou’s screams were muffled behind his hand, but it did nothing to mask the laughs coming out of the boy.

“So, is anyone who didn’t know about my quirk starting to get how it works?” Joke giggled, Bakugou now crumbling to the floor on his knees without even meaning to. After another moment, his laughs began to die down to soft titters, before standing back up on shaky legs. To his dismay, his face was flushed an adorable shade of pink, and though everyone noticed it, no one dared to make a comment. His eyes made their way to Joke’s, an angry flash of light glaring from them.

“YOU MADE YOUR POINT YET, HAG?!” Bakugou shouted, his hands in a combat position by his sides, making small explosions not big enough to hurt a fly from his palms.

“Yes, actually. I think we’re ready to move on to the lesson at hand!”

-

“Man, I still feel sore after training today. Who knew Ms. Joke could be so ruthless at hand to hand combat!” Kirishima exclaimed, massaging his shoulder before turning back to his homework in his lap. He was sat crisscross on Bakugou’s bed, with said explosive teen leaning against the wall behind him also working on his homework.

“Whatever, Shitty-hair, it wasn’t that bad,” Bakugou rolled his eyes, earning him a shove on the knee from the red haired teen beside him.

“You’re just mad she had you laughing like a little girl in front of the class and you KNOW it!” Kiri chuckled.

“Hell yeah I’m mad, I’m fucking pissed! That hag had no right to do that, it made me look like a fucking idiot!” Bakugou grumbled throwing his head back and hitting the wall with a thud.

“Oh cmon, it wasn’t that bad, it was adorable! You should totally laugh like that more often, Bakubro. I know I’d sure love to hear it,” Kiri giggled, looking up at Bakugou, noting the small tinge of crimson painting his cheeks. He decided to be nice and not say anything, just like he had been at training.

“I’m not adorable, fuckface, and after that whole stunt I don’t think I’ll ever laugh again.”

“Bakubro, you know I can’t have that! I’ve gotta get my dose of Kats giggles every once and awhile, even if I have to pull em outta ya!” Kiri snickered, playfully shoving Bakugou in the shoulder. “In fact, I wanna hear you laugh right now! Cmon, gimme them giggles!”

Bakugou just looked up at Kirishima with the most blank expression he could possibly pull. Kirishima pouted, grabbing his and the other boy’s homework and moving it to the other side of the bed.

“Shitty-hair, I was working on that-!”

“Ah ah ah, Bakubro, you can get right back to your work as soon as I hear that laugh of yours that I heard earlier today!” Kirishima moved to sit cross-legged in front of Bakugou, giving him the dopiest smile he could pull in hopes to get the boy to giggle even a little.

Nothing.

“Kiri, I can’t just laugh on command. You’ve gotta do something funny, and you’re not a funny fucking person,” Bakugou’s expression remained partially blank, but Kirishima could spot that hint of mischievousness behind his eyes that got him all worked up and playful.

“Hmm…well, while I might disagree with you on that, it’s really hard to make you laugh. And trust me, I know that from experience,” Kirishima brought his hand up to scratch at his chin, looking Bakugou in the eyes experimentally. Then, a lightbulb went off over Kiri’s head.

“Hey, Bakugou?”

“Um…yes?”

“Are you ticklish?” Bakugou remained unwavered, but Kirishima could tell that question made the blood boy uneasy.

“No. Can I get back to my work now, Shitty-hair?”

“I already told you, we aren’t working until I hear you laugh. And, I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should, because I’m not.”

“Then can I?” Bakugou furrowed his brows confusedly at the question.

“Can you what?” Bakugou asked, his head leaning back in confusion.

“Can I tickle you? Y’know, since you aren’t ticklish.”

“No, that’s a stupid question, why would you tickle someone who isn’t-“ suddenly, Bakugou’s words halted as Kirishima grabbed the boy by his shoulders and turned him to push his back onto the bed. He sat down on the boys waist, pinning his hands beneath his knees, effectively trapping them. “WHAT THE HELL, SHITTY-HAIR?!”

“What? You said you aren’t ticklish, so this-“ Kirishima pulled Bakugou’s shirt up just above his lower ribs, before lightly and slowly tracing shapes into the boys sides. “-shouldn’t bother you at all.”

Bakugou’s entire body was as stiff as a board, his eyes shut tight and his mouth shut even tighter. His teeth grinder against one another and titter after titter left his lips against his mind’s wishes.

“Kiri- I- Stop- hehe-wait, just hold on a minutehehe-“ Bakugou giggled lightly, his hands struggling beneath Kiri’s knees. Then, Kirishima began digging his fingers into his ribs, and that’s when all hell broke loose for the explosive boy beneath him.

“WAHRHEIT! STOHOHOHOP! NOT FAIR! NOT FAHAHAHAIR!” Bakugou twisted and turned his body, but to absolutely no avail. Kirishima was massaging circles into Bakugou’s lower ribs, and the hysterical boy under him just couldn’t take it. “See? Now THIS is what I wanted to hear, Bakubro!” Kirishima moved his right hand down to skitter his nails on the boy's lower belly, resulting in high pitched squealy giggles to leave the Bakugou's lips. "Aw, you're so ticklish! I never expected this from you, it's so cute!" Kirishima cooed, only making Bakugou's laughs to grow more frantic and panicked.

"NOHOHO! NOHOHOT CUHUHUTE! NOT CUHUHUHU- AHAHAHA!" The boy's words trailed off into even more giggles as Kirishima brought his left hand down to sueeze at his hips. "NOHOHOT THEHERE! PLEASE! I CAHAHAHANT!"

"Aww, is this a bad spot, Bakugou?~ Is it really ticklish right there?~" Kirishima teased, now moving both hands down to sueeze and spider over his hips, which proved to be one of his worst spots so far.

"YEHEHES! TIHIHICKLES!" Bakugou screamed, his legs kicking out frantically behind Kiri as the red-head experimentally moved his fingers upwards and dipped into his bellybutton.

Bakugou let out the most high pitched scream Kirishima had ever heard.

"Oh my god, dude! Is it that bad here?" Kirishima used one nail to scratch at the inside walls of the navel, while another finger skittered around the entire button.

"BAHAHAHAD! SO BAHAHAD! PLEHEHEASE!" Bakugou whined, small prickles of tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Alright, alright, i'll quit. But-" Kirishima halted momentarily, his nails resting on Bakugou's lower tummy without moving. Even with the lack of movement, Bakugou couldn't help the small giggles that left his lips, his childish giggle box already turned on it's head, making those unmoving nails feel like their skittering all over his tummy. "-first you have to admit that your laugh is adorable."

Bakugou's eyes widened. "What?! Are you crazy?! I'm not gonna say something like th-hehehe!" Kirishima slowly began skittering over his lower tummy again, his fingers slowly but surely getting closer and closer towards his navel.

"Bakugou, you are way too ticklish to just not comply with me right now. Just say what I want and I'll let you go," Kirishima smiled, bringing one hand up to skitter at his lower ribs, resulting in a surprise shriek and louder giggles from the boy. "Unless...you don't want me to stop?"

Bakugou's entire face turned beet red, and this time Kirishima just couldn't help himself. "Aw, Bakugou~! Y'know, you're way more of a blusher than you'd like to admit, but that's just another thing that makes you intesnely adorable. So say it! Say you're adorbale!"

"Nohoho! I cahaha- Kiri plehehease! Don't make mehehe!" Bakugou whined, twisting his body as if trying to escape the unstoppable fingers on his torso.

"Cmon Kats~ Just say those two magic little words~"

"Alrihihight!" Bakugou shut his eyes tight, turning his face as much as he could to try and smush his words into the mattress. "I'm...I'm adorablehehe..."

Kirishima finally halted his fingers and moved them off the boy's body, but still not getting up off of his waist. "See? Was it that hard?"

"Yes!" Bakugou whined, finally pulling his hands out from under Kirishima's legs after the red-head gave him some leverage to, shoving them into his face to mask the ever-growing blush and smile emerging.

"You're too cute for me, Kats. I don't think I can handle it," Kirishima smiled fondly at the boy underneath him, his heart swelling in his chest unbeknownst to that angry little giggly guy.

-

A/N: i hope u enjoyed!! i just love lee!bakugou so i rlly couldn’t help myself LMAOO he’s so cute wtf :(( anyways, if u enjoyed this pls consider liking and reblogging!! reblogging is much more appreciated as it helps spread my fic to more ppl :)) love u!! xx

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 36

84,000 words later....

I can’t thank everyone enough who sent in asks, commented, liked, and reblogged Mystics as it was being created. It meant the world to me and gave me so much inspiration to continue! Special thanks to Myst, of course. Continue to send in asks for the OCs as much as you want. A part 2 is in the works.

Enjoy Mystics’ final chapter. I hope its been as much fun to read as it was for me to write! <3

Xx -Alpaca

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror & @livingforthewhump

CW: captivity, blood mention, drug mention, cheesy dancing at the end.

------------------------------

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THREE LITTLE BIRDS

Remember: Matter. How tiny your share of it. Time. How brief and fleeting your allotment of it. Fate. How small a role you play in it.

                              - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations.

         Shining white, pristine walls lined the hall. It didn’t take long for Hekate to catch up. Paimon didn’t know why he expected anything less. Now his arms were held behind his back by a cosmic force, unknown even to him, and the inorganic urge to continue walking by her side pushed him forward. He spoke little, and listened even less to what the old hag was saying.

         “I cannot promise you will be happy here, but at least you will not be alone in your imprisonment,” Hekate said.

         They turned around a corner through the maze of halls and landed upon a wide set of sliding doors. The whole realm was practically space-age. Hekate was clever to disguise the entryway to her realm as his own Labyrinth.

         He should never have jumped through. That was a rookie mistake. The moment Apollo was released, he should have known something was amiss. Lyrem certainly didn’t have the talents to perform such a feat.

         “This is best for you, Pan,” Hekate continued. “I know that with a little more helpful guidance, you can return to your true nature, and your true glory.”

         “Paimon.”

         Hekate paused. “No, no, no, my dear. You are Pan. You always have been Pan. You will always be Pan.”

         The sliding doors opened. Inside this room there was yet another hallway, but instead of previous areas, this one was lined with clear walls. Perfect for seeing through into the cells that would hold a chosen prisoner.

         Many of them were empty. Hekate continued toward the end, until Paimon reached the last of the cells. There was a simple bed and some books on a nightstand that had been left untouched. The room was covered in a white rubber. The bed, made of wood.

         “I am not going in there,” Paimon said, his brows furrowed.

         Hekate agreed with a nod of her head.

         “You are correct. You are going into this one.”

         The cell door across from the one that had taken Paimon’s attention opened with a whirring noise. Unable to stop himself, Paimon stepped through the threshold. The door whirred shut behind him and he was released, finally, from whatever command Hekate had over him.

         “This is an abuse of power!”

         “An abuse of power is what you had for many, many years on Earth my darling dear. And quite frankly, I have had enough of your games,” Hekate observed calmly. “You will have much in common with your cellmate. Let me put it simply, Pan. The sooner you behave, the sooner you will be released.”

         Pan- no! Paimon looked around his new home as new objects formed around him out of nothingness. A simple bed, nightstand, all as white as snow on Christmas day and one thing in the corner that stood out among everything else because of its red mahogany sheen- a Pan flute.

         “If you wish to have anything more, then you will need to earn it,” Hekate stated.

         Darkly, Paimon turned around, meeting his great aunt’s eyes.

         “I will destroy you for this. I will ruin you. I will make sure no one ever knows of you. I will turn you into a forgotten relic! Just as you deserve to be!”

         Hekate raised a brow to show how meaningless Paimon’s threats truly were to her.

         “I would think it something to be admired, if you could do any one of those things, darling dear. Certainly, if even your own father could not do those things, then it would be worth true congratulation.”

         Paimon charged the clear wall and then stole a glance to the cell across from him, where someone had returned from using a restroom. The mysterious person sat on the edge of his bed. Someone vaguely familiar, with light eyes and a trimmed white beard, looking drastically different than he remembered. Paimon blinked.

         “Dad?”

 ---------------------------------

         “Have you ever heard the tale of Sisyphus?”

         “It may shock you to learn I haven’t ever quite finished the Iliad, but yes, I have.” Lyrem replied to Hades’ question. “So, you’ll have repeat a meaningless, trivial task for all eternity in my afterlife as a punishment for imprisoning you as per Pan’s command. How very original. Did you think of that all on your own, or did you need your brother’s help?”

         “My brother Zeus has not been heard from for a millennia. While he had given me some inspiration, I thought it better to put my own ironic flair into your suffering.”

         Persephone interrupted with a short squeak.

         “No, uncle, please don’t be so ruthless. He’s lost so much already!”

         Artemis had switched back into her cat-like form, comforting her brother Apollo in his lap and purring. She had let out a protest of her own in Lyrem’s favour as well.

         Apollo translated. “Arty agrees. We should be kind to him. Truly uncle, I have to imagine that Pan had quite the psychological hold on this man. Perhaps it would be wise to show him a tad bit of mercy?”

         Hades looked to the naïve children and back to the human-mortal-man with growing disinterest. Then a light crossed his face, as though an idea dawned on him. He allowed himself to smile, ever so gently.

         “Well, I can see that you have created quite the positive rapport with my nieces and nephew already. I don’t know why I am so surprised.”

         Lyrem shot a quick wink to Persephone as a thank you.

         “Which is why, I shall grant you eternal life.” Hades continued.

         Lyrem looked back to him, and stammered.

         “What- what did… Did you just say what I think you said?"

         Hades nodded. Everyone looked joyful. Excited even. Lyrem could last forever- very nearly be one of them. Yes, everyone thought this to be a grand idea, except for obviously, Lyrem.

         “When you die, I will refuse to take your soul. Every time without fail. You will forever grow old, then older… then older. And you will never die.”

         “No.”

         “Welcome to a lifetime of arthritis and aching legs and never-ending cataract surgery,” Hades said. “Oh, yes, that is right, Thomas. I know how old you are, and how much older you will get before your cells no longer hold you together. Consider this a gift.”

         “No, please, God Hades. I need to find Ros-”

         “Goodbye ‘Lyrem’. Have yourself a wonderful life.”

         He was gone. All the mortals had left the Underworld, finally. Now, Hades could return to restoring his realm to its proper state.

         Persephone perked up, realizing she was free to create and grow everything back to the way it was in the Underworld.

         “My pond!” She cried, running out the dining room doors towards the Depths of Despair. “I swear, if Pan killed my koi, I am going to be furious!”

-----------------------------

         “Why the hell are there empty bins in the hall?! Where are all my photos?! What on earth happened to my stereo?!”

         Arch groaned, sitting up from the floor of the living room. Their mother was already back to her old self, standing and shouting and asking questions that no one would care to answer for her.

         “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Arthur answered. He stood to his feet and limped slowly down the hall. “I’m pouring myself a bath.”

         Charlotte rushed past her brother and her child, throwing herself through the house in a frenzy. Arch stood with their back against the wall, arms crossed. It wasn’t anything defiant. They just wanted to be held.

         “Where are all my clothes?!”

         DING DONG

         “Arch, I swear to God, you will tell me what happened while I was away, and where all my f-” ding dong “stuff is!”

         Arch removed their bloody apron from their body, moved a short few steps to the kitchen sink and rinsed their hands that were still stained red.

         DING DING DING DING DING DONG!

         Arch rubbed their temple with their hands and out of instinct, walked to the front door.

         It was Benji. Through the screen door, Arch saw him standing on the sidewalk in front of their house. He had just pressed play on his Bluetooth speaker sitting in the grass. It started playing a bizarre melody.

         “Hey! You answered! I was hoping you would! You have no idea how many texts I’ve sent!”

         Arch stepped out onto the top of the stairs, still puzzled to know what was happening. The summer heat still lingered in the air.

         “Look, I don’t know what I did to deserve the cold-shoulder, but I thought you deserved a visit at least on your birthday, okay? So, sue me.”

         “My birthday?” Arch said. “It’s… It’s August? Thirteenth?”

‘Me, my, oh, what a life So lean on my people, gon' be stepping in time’

         “Yeah, dude! Did you seriously forget?!” Benji exclaimed, bobbing his head from side to side.

‘So, thank you!

For coming to my birthday party!

I am one minute old today

And everything is going great-’

Arch sputtered a reflexive, well-needed laugh. Benji had started dancing like an absolute fool on their front lawn. He pulled out a birthday candle from the recesses of his pocket and held it forward.

“Look, I’ve been wanting you to show me that magic trick again, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Arch placed their hands in their pockets, trying to work past their tears of both exhaustion and entertainment. They shook their head. They really didn’t want to know if they could still perform that trick.

“I… forgot how.”

Benji stared back up, crestfallen. He checked his phone and lowered the volume on his music player.

“Fine, okay. Whatever. You don’t want me around. That’s cool. I get it. I’m a big shot. Not really your type to hang with-”

“What?”

Benji swallowed back his pain, and shrugged.

“It’s cool Arch. School’s over and we gotta go our separate ways. I understand.”

He started backing away. Arch leapt forward, and caught him by the elbow before he turned away completely.

“I want you to stay!” Arch admitted. “It’s totally cool if you want to hang out. Please stay... I… Honestly, I have been so lonely...”

How did the air get so thick?

“And I have missed you… so much.”

Benji’s sad, soulful eyes skeptically narrowed, and then widened with a realization.

“Dude… Have you been struggling? This whole time…? All summer? You gotta come to me with your shit! Don’t bottle it up, bud.” Benji wrapped them in a tight hug and rocked them to and fro. “Oh, I had no idea... You’re my main enby, Arch… I’ll be your Rick Astley forever… The Bernie to your Elton… Okay? Always. No doubt. No doubt.”

Arch took a moment to sob grossly into his shoulder. They pulled away before it got too squishy for their liking. If allowed, they knew Benji would let them cry on him until the end of time.

Arch took a deep breath of relief.

“Sorry, I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Yeah, hey. No kidding.” Benji said. “Look, here’s the plan, Shazia said that if I could reach you today that she’d meet us at the park with some of that fancy hash we like so that we can smoke up cakes.”

Arch scrunched their face.

“Cupcakes. Shazia would meet us in the park with cupcakes. Hey, Charlotte,” Benji cleared his throat, seeing the dark haired woman, who seemed to be hanging by a very fine thread from behind the screen door. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Benji. Arch, just go.”

“Wait. Really?” Arch turned around, wondering how she could be serious.

“You’re eighteen now, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked. 

Arch nodded.

“Then get out.”

There wasn’t anything warm about the way Charlotte said those words. Instead of lingering too long on the nuance, Arch only nodded, watching the door to the house shut its inhabitants in.

Benji bent over to pick up his speaker. He didn’t miss a beat cutting the music.

“What was that all about?” He asked. Like Arch, he looked up at the closed door.

Arch wiped the wetness away from their face with a couple fingers.

“I… I think I was just kicked out.”

Arch cleared their throat. They turned back to Benji as the summer sun beat down on them both. 

Oh Benji. He was the most welcome sight in this world. The only good thing left that Arch had yet to ruin. Shazia would soon await them both in the park. Their life with Paimon, Lyrem, and hell, was now in the past. A future containing Arthur and Charlotte filled with shame and regret awaited them.

That didn’t matter yet. All that mattered was what was right in front of them.

And Arch really, really, really wanted to get high.

“Anyways, you said something about smoking up?”

[zeleniafic]

6-13 salty asks for HP.

6 - Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

Not that I can think of tbfh! I am a stubborn bitch lmfao

7 - Is there anything you used to like but can't stand now?

Dumbledore. DUMBLEDORE. I could write an entire essay on his manipulating ass oh my god. Also kinda Seamus Finnigan's whole pyrotechnic shtick, that always made me laugh a lot as a kid who was also prone to such ridiculous accidents, but someone pointed out how shit it was for The Hag That Must Not Be Named to make literally the only prominent Irish character known almost exclusively for causing explosions, within the context of British-Irish political tension at the time HP was written and I'm not in the know enough to convey all of it properly but anyway it just makes me sad now :)))))

8 - Have you received anon hate? What about?

Oh countless things but my FAVORITE was posting Regulus/f!oc content and then stumbling across several responses calling it and similar works homophobic bc apparently it's popular on ao3 that he's gay?? or at least it is within a specific circle??? Idk. Being a teenager on the internet is wild and I have chosen to simply forget that I ever saw that bc I know for a fact that I was also that dumb and self-righteous along the hellish journey of growing up

9 - Most disliked character(s)? Why?

Snape. Being abused does not excuse never dealing with your trauma and perpetuating the cycle with the children in YOUR care, not to mention overtly threatening their pets, and that's not even getting into the way he was okay with letting the woman he was infatuated with's husband and literal baby die as long as she was spared for him to swoop in on :))))) similar to Dumbledore I think he's interesting as a CHARACTER but if I met him in real life I would swing on sight

10 - Most disliked arc? Why?

I... honestly can't think of one??? I truly enjoyed every arc, as far as I can remember. Although if I had to nail one down I'd prob say the whole time period where Ron leaves in DH, but it's not so much that I dislike the way it was written, it's just that I personally hold grudges like my life depends on it and child me was not ready to forgive him when Harry was LMFAO I was mad salty as a kid

11 - Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

Once upon a time I would have said Regulus but there's been a renaissance of love for him so I kinda feel like "unpopular" doesn't apply anymore. Although that's in the writing/editing sphere, so maybe still in the greater fandom as a whole?? Idk I don't interact with HP in the wild anymore so I can't say tbfh. Fleur and Ginny both, once upon a time, bc I remember when fandom fuckin hated both of them but thankfully that seems to have gone away!

12 - Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

The only thing that comes to mind is the way 7th year went, I guess? I think I remember being really disappointed at first as a kid, but then I got swept on that journey and idk. I like the way DH makes the war feel REAL by literally putting everything about Harry's life on hold, right down to not getting to finish school properly.

13 - Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

Oh I've got two fun ones. A) Hermione actually is fucking obnoxious sometimes, and that's okay. Acknowledging it doesn't reduce her character or something. B) Fred and George are actually fucking MEAN sometimes, similar to how the Marauders took things too far at times. I love all of them (**except Wormtail, he can eat shit and die xx) but sometimes people kind of... woobify?? their shitty behavior and I don't like that. You can love them all without excusing or ignoring that they made dumb shitty decisions as teenagers. We literally all do, the difference is that they grew up and matured, unlike certain Potions professo—

[drarryspecificrecs]

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Chronicles Strange Russian gameplay №24

Хроники странного русского геймплея №24

В Чехословакии, Прибалтике и Польше, даже в XX веке, очень долго сохранялась традиция у старых людей покупать себе гробы и хранить их где-нибудь. С урбанизацией и массовым переездом в квартиры традиция никуда не делась, а гробы стали хранить на чердаке многоквартирного дома, что часто становилось причиной пожара. Старуха Шпигельман упертая традиционалистка, поэтому даже с переездом в многоквартирный дом её гроб переехал вместе с ней, но к сожалению в один день на чердаке поселился незваный гость.

In Czechoslovakia, the Baltic States, and Poland, even in the twentieth century, the tradition of old people buying their coffins and storing them somewhere has long persisted. With urbanization and mass relocation to apartments, the tradition did not go away, and coffins were stored in the attic of an apartment building, which often caused a fire. Hag Spiegelman is a stubborn traditionalist, so even after moving to an apartment building, her coffin moved with her, but unfortunately one day an uninvited guest moved into the attic.

[littlesliceofmarvel]

Emotional Journey

Request/Synopsis: Peter helps you deal with a traumatic event.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, violence, death

Pairings: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: im trying to get these out as soon as I can, my vacation is taking over my time. It’s tough, I’m sorry! Anywho, enjoy! xx

-

Nights like this were your favorite. When you’d take a day off from working and you could just enjoy exploring the city throughout the day and then enjoying the comfort of your apartment at night - to watch Netflix, of course. You’d run to the grocery store, pick up some snacks you knew you could pig out on, and then cocoon yourself up on the couch and probably watch some stupid rom-com and adding your own commentary track.

You rushed down the snack aisle, picking up some gummy bears and Doritos, throwing them into the grocery cart and making your way towards the cash, hoping to get home before it was dark. You pushed the cart at a dangerous pace, ignoring the glares that people were giving you.

You approached the counter and greeted the short elderly lady with a kind smile, “Good evening!”

She grinned up at you, curly white hair bopping slightly as she did so, “Hello, dear.” She started scanning your items one by one as you took your wallet out, ready to scurry on home and get in bed. You could practically hear it calling to you.

“Movie night?” She asked, eyeing your items as you took out your credit card.

You nodded, “You know me so well, Dolores.” She had been working here for as long as you could remember, and you were quick to discover she was the biggest sweetheart in the world. She told you that you reminded her of her granddaughter who was studying abroad in Europe, so you formed a connection with her immediately.

“I hope you enjoy, dear, I’ll see you soon.” She placed your items in your bag and gave you a smile. You took the bag and smiled back at her, about to reply when the sound of a loud voice cut you off.

“Give me your money, bitch!”

You turned your attention to the direction of the sound, your entire body freezing in place. A man with a black mask stood behind you, a small hand gun pointed in your direction. Fear washed over you as you looked into his dark eyes, his hand slightly trembling as he held the weapon.

“Oh-oh my god,” you stuttered, fingers shaking rapidly as you pulled out your purse to give him what he wanted. You had never been robbed or mugged before, so throwing all bravery out the window, you were going to give him your money.

Everyone in the store started rushing out, screaming and threatening to call the cops, but you couldn’t hear any of it. The sound of your blood rushing and heart pumping took over all of your senses as you pulled out your wallet with shaky fingers.

“Hurry the fuck up, I don’t have all day!” He shouted, bringing the gun closer to your face, the bile rising in your throat nearly making you gag. The thumping of your heart could be felt throughout your entire body and you wished more than anything that this wasn’t real

“H-Here,” you handed it to him and he lowered the gun slightly, taking it out of your hands. He opened it up and threw it on the ground.

“You only have $20?! Fuck that,” he stomped over and turned the gun away from you, making you relax. Until you noticed that the gun was now aimed at sweet Dolores behind the counter.

“Open the register, you old hag,” the man threatened. Your couldn’t think straight, and before you knew it, you threw yourself in between Dolores and the gun.

“Don’t hurt her!” Your voice cracked as you looked the man in the eyes. You regretted jumping in front of the gun, but seeing the look on Dolores’ face when he aimed it at her made you throw logic out the window.

He chuckled darkly, “Then move out of the way so this bitch can open the cash and give me my money.”

You reluctantly moved out of the way, eyes watering as you looked at Dolores who didn’t budge. The man kept his gun pointed at her, and although you could see the fear in her eyes, she held her ground and refused to open the cash register.

“Open it up or I’ll shoot you!” He exclaimed, waving his hand to emphasize his point.

Dolores gave him a sweet smile, “Sorry, dear. Can’t do that.” Alarms went off in your head and everything inside you screamed to run over to her and protect her, but your feet stayed cemented to the floor, not understanding why she wasn’t complying.

The man’s body stiffened and he squinted his eyes, placing his finger over the trigger. The next thing you knew, the deafening sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the store. You clasped your hands over your ears, keeping your eyes shut.

A loud thud sounded on the floor and you opened an eye, looking around to see what it was. Where Dolores was standing, her body was now collapsed on the ground, crimson blood pouring out of the wound on her chest.

“Oh my god,” your voice trembled as you looked to the lifeless body on the floor tiles, “Dolores!”

The man who shot her pulled back in a panic, muttering something about a mistake before he made his way towards the exit. You didn’t look back at him, your blurry vision set on the dead woman on the floor. You heard sudden shouting coming from the entrance but you couldn’t take your attention away from what you were looking at.

“Dolores, p-please wake up,” you shook her body, tears making their way down your cheeks. You felt helpless, defeated, as if you didn’t do enough to save her.

Her death was on you.

You broke down in tears, leaning against the counter to hold your body up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why did this happen? She didn’t deserve this. Why her?

“Ma’am, um, is this the man who shot the lady?” You turned around and came face to face with a blurry red and blue figure. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your sleeves and managed to focus on who was in front of you.

You recognized him immediately, who wouldn’t? Spider-Man was the talk of the town. He was all over every news stand and local television channel. He held the man who shot Dolores in a firm grasp, small grunts escaping the killer’s mouth. Anger fled through your body but there was nothing you could do.

“Yes, s-sir,” you stuttered, looking back down to Dolores, her blood pooling almost to your feet by now. You sniffed, trying to hold back tears before turning back to face the hero. He nodded and forcefully dragged the man out of the room.

You knelt down, letting the guilt crumple your body. Everything in you felt like it was shaking, the pounding in your head being the only thing nailing you to reality right now.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, letting yourself try to absorb the situation at hand. You felt completely broken, violated, and shaken to your core. The fault seemed to fall on you. You didn’t carry your cash on you tonight, and because of that, the robber aimed his anger towards her.

“Um, hey,” an unsure voice came up behind you, “I don’t want to force you to leave, but there are medics here to take the body away.”

You turned your teary vision to Spider-Man standing behind you, clear discomfort in his stance.

You nodded, “Yeah, I should probably g-go home.”

Lifting your body off the ground felt like you were lifting a thousand bricks, the counter being your complete support system. Your heart felt heavier than ever, as if it were struggling to keep itself going.

“I’m really sorry,” the masked hero said, lowering his head.

“So am I.”

You followed him out of the store, not being able to look back at the paramedics covering Dolores’ body. As you stepped out into the cool autumn night air, the hero approached you once more.

“They don’t need questioning,” he muttered softly, “Let me walk you home.”

Too tired and distraught to argue, you nodded slowly. The flashing lights of police cars nearly blinded your vision and the dozens of reports already on the scene were giving you a headache - thankfully you turned a corner and went out of sight to head back to your apartment.

The usually busy streets seemed empty, and your steps were slower than usual, the hero next to you making sure to match your pace.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” he said quietly. He sounded young, not at all like the 30 year old man you thought Spider-Man was.

You gave him a sad smile, “I left without a scratch. It should have been me.” It was true. You believed that hou should have been the one to take the bullet instead. She has grandkids, family, a husband - you had no one.

The man stopped in his tracks, his head turned towards you, “Don’t say that.”

“What?” You scoffed, the tears stinging your eyes once more, “She didn’t deserve it.”

“She didn’t, you’re right. But it shouldn’t have been you either.” You let his words sink in, processing what he meant. The one thing you were sure of was that Dolores didn’t deserve what she got. At all. But you didn’t think you did either.

“You’re right,” you said softly, “Thanks for, uh, helping out back there.” He nodded, and even though you couldn’t see under the mask, you could tell he was smiling.

The rest of the walk to your apartment was relatively calm. The two of you talked about Dolores’ life. You didn’t feel like it was time to reminisce about her just yet, her death being too fresh, but talking about her seemed to take the blow out of your mind slightly. He asked about how you met her, her grandchildren, and a little bit about your own life as well.

He dropped you off at your place and bid you a goodnight, and despite the trauma that you experienced a little under an hour ago, his company had really helped you stay calm.

You walked into your apartment, flicking the lights on and standing in the middle of your bedroom letting the tears and sobs flow free once again. You crumpled down on your bed, curling into the cold bedsheets and hiding your face from the world. You wished more than anything that this was some twisted, messed up, psychotic dream - but it wasn’t.

You cried yourself to sleep, the usually peaceful dreams being taken over by the gruesome images you witnessed that night.

-

It had been two weeks since the event, and Spider-Man came by every day to check on you, usually in the evenings. You weren’t sure why he did, being an Avenger and having bigger responsibilities after all, but you weren’t complaining. He’d sometimes come by with goods he picked up from a bakery, knowing you were sheltering yourself away from the world and not taking care of yourself. You got to know who he was, his hobbies, his little quirks and personality traits that made him the respectable hero he was. You didn’t know who he was under the mask, but it wasn’t your business to know.

You had rejected his kindness at first, feeling as if you didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t give up. Every time he’d knock on your apartment window with a Starbucks cup in hand, you’d shut your drapes and leave the room, but you could only ignore his consistent knocking for so long, eventually letting him in and taking what he had to offer. You liked his company and the calmness that he brought you, and you were thankful he decided to stick around.

The nights were the worst. Your dreams were constantly filled with violent images, the person on the other side of the gun changing every night. Some nights, you were the one pulling the trigger. You’d wake up in a cold sweat, trembling, and unable to fall back asleep. No amount of medication or alcohol could lure the dark images out of your head to give you a couple hours of rest.

During the days, you sat on the couch, sometimes staring aimlessly out the window of your small Manhattan apartment. You didn’t eat as much, and you had quit your job to prevent going out completely. The only thing that actually kept you going and stable was the mysterious hero bringing you smoothies or muffins at some point throughout the day.

You didn’t understand why he cared so much about your well-being, surely he dealt with countless traumatized civilians, but he was one of the only things keeping you grounded - and for that, you’d gladly accept his care.

The day was slow, the rain pouring over the grey streets of the city as traffic piled up. You watched from your bedroom window, curled up in your bed as the sound of the rain reminded you of a lullaby, drowning out the voices of Friends on your TV. Your eyes stung, the lack of sleep playing into effect on another lazy Saturday morning.

Your peace was disrupted by the obnoxious sound of the doorbell. Rolling your eyes, you threw the blanket off of you as you made your way across the cold floor to your door.

Upon opening it, you came face to face with a boy about your age. Messy brown hair fell into his face, a small smile on his lips. Your eyes moved down to his hands - a coffee in one and a small brown paper bag in the other. You had never seen this guy before, so the unexpected presence caught you off guard.

Hiding behind your door to avoid showing this stranger the fact that you weren’t wearing pants, he seemed unaware of your state completely and he held that smile on his face.

“I - uh, I think you have the wrong place,” you cocked an eyebrow at him, ready to close the door when he came to the same realization.

He let out a small chuckle, “Y/N, it’s me.”

That voice sounded all too familiar and it clicked instantly in your head. Your eyes widened as you faced the young man in front of you.

“You’re spider man?!” he clasped a hand over your mouth after you shouted it out, pushing you back into the apartment and closing the door behind him with his foot.

“Shh! No one knows who I am!” He whispered, even once the door was closed.

“But you’re spider man! Woah, I didn’t think you’d be like, twelve,” you looked over him once again, realizing how young he actually looked.

“Twelve?” He asked in amusement, “I’m the same age as you. I’m Peter Parker.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bag from him, rushing back off to your room before he could stop you.

“Hey, not so fast,” he rushed after you, barging in once you were safely tucked under the blankets, analyzing the doughnut he had brought you. Sure, finding out your mystery hero’s identity was a big deal, but you didn’t know who he was in reality, so you couldn’t base him off of anything.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he mumbled quietly, taking a seat on the edge of your bed and placing the coffee he got you on the table next to your bed. You shook your head, thankful that his attention had now quickly turned to the heavy rain on the window.

“I like rain,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Me too,” you admitted, taking a bite of the sugary treat, not caring about the grains of sugar falling on your mattress.

“You need to get out of your apartment, it’s been two weeks,” he turned back to you, eyeing you as if you were broken glass being held together by a tiny piece of tape.

You shook your head, “No.”

Peter looked down at the ground, “This isn’t a healthy way to deal with grief.”

You shrugged, not wanting to look into his eyes, “I don’t care.”

You knew that letting yourself fall down this dark hole wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help it. Everything reminded you of what happened and any loud noise that happened down below brought you back to the sound of the gunshot.

“Y/N, please, let’s do something. Like a museum or whatever. Something outside of this apartment,” Peter’s face lit up at his own suggestion.

“No.”

“Come on, please?”

“No.”

“Stop being so stubborn,” Peter pouted, making you roll your eyes and throw your head back on the pillow.

“Fine!”

-

The museum was a breath of fresh air. The two of you walked around, viewing the centuries of art that lined the walls and the sculptures that illuminated rooms. You were a lover of the arts, so it was hard to stay focused on anything when your eyes constantly darted around the room.

Peter found you hilarious, your small complaints about the people with their flashes on to photograph the art, and the noisy kids running up and down the marble corridors. He found your comments entertaining, chuckling after each one.

For once, you found yourself not thinking about what had happened, and you enjoyed your time out of the apartment. You were thankful for Peter having been there for you the past two weeks as a masked identity, but this felt much more real now that you knew who he was.

“Thanks for getting me out of the apartment.” You smiled kindly at him as you took another bite of your pretzel, the sunshine finally breaking through the clouds as the two of you walked through the muddy Central Park.

“Hey, don’t thank me. I’m just glad I could help,” he shrugged, giving you a goofy grin.

“You’ve really helped. Thank you,” you said sincerely, making his cheeks flush a light pink. You giggled, turning back to your pretzel and taking another bite.

You felt a soft hand link with yours and give it a small squeeze before it was gone. You internally screamed, the overwhelming feeling of butterflies in your stomach making you almost vomit.

“Hey, how about we go check out a show tonight?” He asked, eyes lighting up as he viewed a sign for ‘The Lion King on Broadway.’

You nodded like an idiot, “I’d love to.”

There were a few things you were sure of. One, that the sky was blue. Two, that dealing with Dolores’ murder was going to be one of the hardest things you’d ever have to go through. And three, that you weren’t going to deal with it alone.

Peter stuck by you through the following weeks, attending Dolores’ funeral with you and helping you get a new job working with Mr Stark to prevent these things from happening to other people. Your job nearly took over your life from now on, but slowly and surely you put the pieces back together and with the help of Peter, it seemed everything was going to be okay.

[christinesficrecs]

Hi! Welcome back! I was wondering if you or anyone else could recall a fic where Derek does his full shift and goes to school with Stiles as like a PTSD service dog? I remember a few scenes where Jackson was being a dick about it. I keep mixing it up with the one where Stiles is being tortured by a hag/mare. Thank you! Xx

Thank you!!! ❤️

Sorry, I’m wracking my brain for a full wolf derek with Jackson. 

Does anyone else remember this fic?

Thanks to everyone that chimed in on this one. You guys are amazing!!

Coming Undone by KouriArashi | 57.6K

Stiles deals with the aftermath of being abducted by Peter Hale and left for dead. It's harder than he would have thought to accept his place in the pack when he's convinced that he's the 'weak one' and can't protect himself. Fortunately, Scott and Sheriff Stilinski are there to help, and to nag Derek until he helps, too.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 81a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

It had been over a week since Paul’s arrival and the Fairhead household was still getting used to their youngest member. Charlie and Duffy’s relationship had barely improved since their issues last week but, still, they soldiered on for the children’s sake. Charlie kept creating a distance between him and Duffy.

Duffy focused all her attention on the children hoping that Charlie would eventually stop being so distant. Despite his promises she still couldn't help being full of doubts and insecurities when he was unexpectedly called back into work for a shift despite him theoretically being on leave.

He wasn’t meaning to be so distant but he wasn’t being as touchy feely as usual. He kissed her tenderly, “I won’t be long, ring me if you need me?” He asked as he kissed Oli and Paul’s foreheads.

"We'll be fine." She attempted to reassure him.

He kissed her again before picking up his keys and heading to work.

When he arrived it quickly became apparent why they'd needed him - it was pandemonium! So Charlie did what he did best and threw himself into work.

Things were not helped when, just after midnight, a rogue lightening strike hit the hospital and knocked out the main power.

He groaned, this isn’t what he wanted! He just wanted an easy shift and then sneak back home to Duffy and the kids. He was still on parental leave after all.

Unfortunately for him when the power went out he was in one of the lifts and he wasn’t alone...

"Is this a bad time to tell you that I'm afraid of the dark?" Maggie muttered from the other side of the lift.

“Hmm, just a tad.”

"Could be worse I guess. At least I'm not on my own."

“Duffy isn’t a fan of the dark either.”

"Oh. I didn't know that."

“She doesn’t tell many people.” He paused and sat down on the lift floor. “May as well get comfy.”

"Yeh, good idea." Maggie replied, moving across the lift to sit next to him.

There was a comfortable silence between both adults as they sat in the dark.

"Is there anything you're afraid of?" Maggie asked.

“Lots of things.”

"Really? I would have thought nothing could scare the great Charlie Fairhead!" She giggled.

He laughed, “No, I get scared of things. Mostly about Duffy and the kids.”

"Oh I'm sure she's perfectly capable of looking after herself."

He sighed but didn’t speak.

"She can be quite bossy and haughty from what I've heard." Maggie remarked without thinking.

“Occasionally yes but she means well. Always has.”

"Oh she certainly means well when it comes to the male staff!" Maggie snorted.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He snapped.

"She doesn't seem to like female doctors. Maybe she feels they're a threat to her authority or something."

Charlie’s temper was brewing. He moved further away, “You know nothing about Duffy.”

"Maybe not but I can tell a sour faced hag when I see one! You deserve so much better than that Charlie!"

He laughed, “Someone like you, you mean?”

"If that's what you want. I can be very discreet."

“No thank you. I don’t really fancy meaningless shags.”

"Are you sure? You seem very tense..." She purred, running her hand up his leg.

He watched her hand, “Maggie! I’m married...”

"So? I won't tell her if you don't."

He reluctantly pushed her hand away. “Stop it!”

"When was the last time you had sex? I bet its been ages and you're gagging for it!" She pouted, moving her hand back to its previous position.

He didn’t answer.

"Its just you and me in here. No-one need ever know."

He still didn’t answer.

She shuffled closer til there was no space between them.

“Maggie...”

"I'll let you do whatever you want to me." She promised seductively.

“I’m not about to fuck you.”

"You don't have to if you don't want to but I can help you get some relief in other ways."

“Gonna wank me off are you?” He asked.

"I can do. I've also been told I give very good blow jobs."

“You don’t turn me on, Maggie.”

"That's not what I've heard."

He laughed, “And what have you heard?”

"That I'm just the sort you like to have fun with."

“Because you’re a doctor and you’re brunette?”

"So it's true then?"

“Used to be.”

"She turn you to the dark side or something?" Maggie mocked bitterly.

“I love my wife! I won’t cheat on her or destroy this marriage like I destroyed my last one ok?!”

"I'm not asking you to destroy your marriage. Jeez, I'm not looking for romance and roses. I thought you might enjoy a bit of fun."

“I have all the fun I need with my wife, thank you very much!”

"If you say so. Well, you know where I am if you change your mind."

“I won’t!!”

An awkward silence fell over the lift.

Charlie rubbed his wrist.

The sound of Charlie's phone beeping echoed off the walls.

He took his phone out of his pocket.

It was a short message from Duffy, she was up feeding Paul and was missing him.

He smiled as he replied back, ‘I miss you too gorgeous xx’

"Her ladyship checking up on you is she?"

He glared at Maggie, “She was telling me about Paul actually.”

"That's nice." She sneered.

He put his phone back in his pocket, “You’re jealous of her, aren’t you?”

"Why the hell would I be jealous of her?"

“Because she’s a thousand times the woman you’ll ever be!”

"Seriously what the fuck is so special about her?"

“Something nobody would ever possibly understand or get except me!”

"You're pathetic. She's got you on such a short leash!"

He laughed, “I’m not the one who’s trying to seduce married men because no-one else will fuck me.”

"Oh don't flatter yourself. I could get any man I wanted!"

“Really?” He paused for a minute, “You’ve got quite a feisty side haven’t you?"

"I don't take shit if that's what you mean."

“Like Duffy.”

"Mentioning your wife every other sentence is not a good look Charlie."

He met Maggie’s gaze, “It’s not a good look being jealous either.”

"I'm not jealous, I just can't see what the hell you see in her, that's all."

“She’s beautiful and funny. She understands me.” He replied and sighed, “We have a good marriage. Yes we have problems but, what marriage doesn’t?”

"Is that why she had another baby? Trying to paper over the cracks?"

He shook his head, “Paul wasn’t planned.”

"At her age I did wonder!"

“We’d be lost without Paul.” He said gently.

"I get it Charlie, she's the woman of your dreams, rainbows shine out of her arse and everything she touches is magical..!" Maggie snorted sarcastically.

“She is the woman of my dreams but that doesn’t mean...” He trailed off.

"Ooh, she has flaws afterall?"

“We both do.” He sighed.

Before Maggie could reply the lift made a juddering noise as the power returned.

“Thank God for that. Once we’re back on the ground floor, I am going home to my wife and children.”

Maggie made a rude noise that sounded like a whip cracking.

“Grow up, Maggie!”

"Oh go fuck yourself Charlie!"

“Why don’t you? You’re the one who’s gagging for a shag!!” The lift eventually got back to the ground floor, thankfully before another argument could erupt between them.

"Maybe I'll just drop that darling wife of yours a little call..." Maggie threatened as she walked back off into the department.

“And say what? How you tried to seduce me in the lift but I refused?” He stormed back to his office and slammed the door with full force behind him.

That wasn't quite what Maggie had in mind at all...

He picked up his keys, his jacket and left to go home. He couldn’t be arsed dealing with this shit, he wasn’t in the mood.

By the time he arrived home Duffy was once again up with Paul. Charlie could hear the baby's cries from the hallway.

He closed the door and quietly moved along the hall into the kitchen.

He could hear his wife moving around upstairs as Oli decided to join in the cacophony of screams.

It was enough to snap Charlie out of his thoughts to take a tablet. He went upstairs and into Oli’s bedroom, picking up Oli. “Ssh, Ssh. Daddy’s here.” He rocked him.

"Charlie?" Duffy questioned sleepily as she appeared in the doorway, a screaming Paul over her shoulder.

“I’m home baby.” He smiled sadly as he caught her eye, rocking Oli to sleep.

"I thought you had to work til morning?" She replied, relief flowing through her as she was almost at her wits end and it was only 2.30am.

“I was but I had an argument with someone, decided I really didn’t need the shit and came home to be with my wife and beautiful children. What’s wrong with Paul?”

"Oh sweetheart!" She frowned. "I'm not sure, he won't feed, just keeps screaming. He's woken Oli up twice now." She sighed.

“Want me to try getting him back off to sleep?” He asked.

"OK." She sighed, handing Paul over to Charlie.

He put a sleeping Oli back in his cot and placed Paul against his chest, gently rubbing Paul’s stomach. “Ssh, you’re waking everyone up.” He whispered.

Paul pulled his legs up to his tummy, shrieking, his face bright red.

“Ssh, Ssh.” He took him downstairs and began to walk around with him. Rubbing his stomach, taking his clothes off in case he was too hot.

Once she was sure that Oli was fully settled Duffy followed downstairs arriving in the lounge just as Paul started to be violently sick.

“Oh no, is that’s what wrong?” He sighed sadly as the baby began to throw up everywhere.

"Oh Paul!" Duffy gasped.

Charlie took Paul for a bath to try and clean him up once he was certain he’d stopped throwing up.

Duffy attempted to clean up downstairs but didn't get far before she too succumbed to vomiting.

Charlie wondered how long it would take for the bug to hit the rest of the household.

By the time he'd got Paul clean and settled Duffy had fallen asleep curled up on their bathroom floor.

[rcinberry]

hello pals . here thoust be with an about ? haha kisses love and respekt these hoes !

tw: familial death, murder 

STATS: full name: sebastian eli jung nickname(s): bas, bash, CALL HIM BA AND YOU DIE age: 23. date of birth: april 4th 1997 hometown: chicago, illinois  gender: cis male. religion: athiest. sexuality: bisexual. hair colour: blonde. here’s visuals of what he looks like currently, he’s always decked in accessories ! head to toe , he loves looking handsome n expensive, it’s like a personality trait to be that sexy yk?  .. xx (x) eye colour: brown. height: 5'10, i bumped up jimins height myob tattoos: (x) (left hand, the rose & cross only) , (x) (back of his neck), (x) on his inner left forearm,  piercings: two ear piercings in each, right cartilage piercing, (1) nipple piercing, had his tongue pierced when he was like 13 but that hole closed up now.

(i copied this family background from ellie bc she summed it up OFKMGDHG)

immediate family: richard & elizabeth jung (parents), silvia jung (twin brother, younger), and bambi & thumper (pure golden bred golden retrievers, bambi’s owner)

extended family: jeremy jung (uncle, father’s twin, deceased), jeremy’s husband (uncle)

started out as world renowned physicians, but would later own the best hospitals around the world

became a household name because of their big role/impact in the medical world and later the business world

twins run in the family and theres been a set of jung twins in every generation so far (aka richard & jeremy, silvia & sebastian)

mom was the hardass, dad was the softy

richard and elizabeth got divorced when the twins were 19 years old, the fortune/businesses was split between the two

the dad basically disappeared after the divorce happened, the mom is a witch

the twins were always closer to their dad and uncle

in addition to their family life 

sebastian does not get along w his mother at all, she sees him as scum and he sees her as disgrace and a money hungry person, he saw to that when she murdered his uncle before him. they hate each other but he’d never express tht hate in front of silvia, although when silvia isn’t around his mom hurls horrible insults at him and he fights back

will protect silvia till the end of the world he would jump fences for his sister, the only girl that he truly loves even if she hates him currently

loves his dog a lot, bambi is his baby.. his emotional support animal

misses his dad terribly and wishes he’d reach out, he’s tried a few times, hired the best PI and couldn’t find it. his dad doesn’t want to be found or does he? 

which leads to how sebastian is so afraid to be himself and love because mom, a bitch, dad? god knows why he bailed when he needed him the most. 

whomst is sebastian , condensed  !

sebastian is a boy who has seen his uncle die in front of him, so tht fucked him up a lot. like he can be difficult but that’s because he watched someone die and the loving boy he was once was no more... and then to lose his dad right after was a pretty fucked up burden for him to carry into his teen years, he tried not to let it show for silvia’s sake but that kind went down the drain in their 20′s

he rlly only ever looked out for silvia when he was growing up, he didn’t really care about anyone else and that was a product of his mothers neglect, he didn’t want the same for silvia to see her thrive made him happy, he loves his twin a lot 

after his uncle died, and they all got the riches of the family business, he rly saw his mom do a 360 and saw how much money changed the bitch, he rly hates that hag he rlly does, she lets her own son rot and makes sure silvia never feels the way he does around her so he sucks up his pride sometimes

anyways growing up !! he's always been home schooled, unlike silvia he never did anything? he doesnt need to? now that he’s dripping wealth he’s like i can buy excellence i dont need to be work my ass off like yall, bye <3

he’s very cautious of people, you know how the old trope goes.. once betrayed never trust again - that’s him, hardly lets anyone into his circle, it’s so small it’s just himself tbh

anyways , he spent most of his teen years traveling and wandering the world bc it's sexier than being home and u could be whoever u wanna be across seas , not tht he ever faked his identity, his name has meaning n he uses tht for his advantage. even home schooled, he’d be doing school in italy, france, greece, maldives you name it, his experience was the outside world and he’s seen a lot

sebastian doesn't hide himself , like what u see is . esstentially what u see x he has never faked it for the cameras, always authentically and annoyingly himself

he knows he's not a pleasant person and if u can't u can't hang. he's not gna make himself a pleasant person to hang out with , if u wnna curse him out ? curse him out he rly doesn't phase at all like he's rly heard it ALL from his mother that nothing else rly hurts , it takes a lot to hurt him

unless ur silvia, anything that girl says breaks his heart but he doesnt let it show his .00007 centimeter of whats left in his chest

moving on, he's rly the type to show up anyone out of spite . say he can't do it ? watch him do it perfectly the next day , he doesn't like being shown to be stupid bc as much as he does as dumb , he rly isn't the boy has a lot of knowledge up in his brain , he likes playing stupid for the aesthetic. like the jungs come from a line of brains and such, silvia has the brains and the drive - sebastian just... hides it, never shows up to class, pays it off by buying a new wing for the school.. 

but when he does do smthn to show up ppl, does it w grace and a smile on his face or if he wants to prove someone wrong, does it with ease

he interrupts people's tasks bc he doesn't want one of those tasks to be involving silvia at all 

he is a Whore , he just fucks anything honestly u yell at him n he's just . HE's jsut full of himself makes me wnna punch him uhh i thin kthats it!! hes just , a damaged self absorbed son of a binch u kno , gets his shit rocked sometimes and he just laughs it off wipes tears , god  bless