#you’ve finally found nice people who understand all you’ve been through and what do you do

[lesbianfakir]

See my thing with vengeful spirit/entity revenge horror is I just… don’t get why they can’t be friends?? I always feel really bad for the monsters like wow I’m sorry you had a horrific life and death that really sucks. And I get that they’re angry and want revenge but it’s always on innocent people. Why is it never enough to find someone who empathizes with their pain and tries to help them/lay them to rest? WHY DO WE HAVE TO MURDER THE NICE PEOPLE???

Anyways I would die in a horror movie because I would be like I’m gonna befriend the creepy haunted murder doll and this will horrifically backfire on me

[digital-domain]

Retrieval

Alastor x Reader // word count 4.4k

Pt 3 to Spring Cleaning and Clean Slate

In which you attempt to leave.

Tags/warnings: yandere, intimidation, noncon kissing, choking, Alastor’s shadow doing things a shadow should not be able to do

A/N: Really thought this was gonna be a one-off but here we are. I usually don’t even write one follow-up, much less two, so this is unfamiliar terrain for me. Alas, I could not resist. Enjoy (or don’t. I’m not in charge.)

You remember a time when this was good. Well - no. You’re sure, now, that it was rotten from the beginning. But there was a time when it felt good. When you invited it in. When you wanted more.

Time for bed, my dear. 

He’s said this to you many times. Now, each repetition deepens the never-ending pit in your stomach. But the first time…how long ago was it? You don’t remember. You don’t even remember how long you’ve been here. Here at this hotel, or here, in hell - each one distorts hours and months in its own way. They tug at you until you slip through the fingers of time, and end up on a day you don’t remember arriving at, in a place that is only yours if you forget what has happened there.

It’s far too late for you to be thinking as deeply as you are.

You’d been sitting on the top of the stairs for a long time that night, however-long-ago, fending off the inevitable onset of your dreams. He’d been gone all day, and when he had finally returned (from where, you never found out), he’d seen you from the lobby. Called out to you, in a voice far too quiet and gentle to carry to your ears as well as it did. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you, but it was the first time he’d spoken to you alone. And even if that wasn’t true, there would have been something different about it. 

And, in my opinion, far too fair a night for such misery.

From the beginning, you’d known that nothing about him was entirely unfiltered. The first time you’d met, he’d given a wonderful little performance. Shaken your hand, taken you by the shoulder, quickly escorted you away from the people who would soon warn you not to trust him. And you’d known it was fake. Of course you had. You weren’t, perhaps, the most excellent judge of character, but you knew no one acted like that by instinct. It was calculated. Not to be trusted.

It struck you oddly, then, to hear such an allegedly inhuman character talk about something as mundane as the joy of pleasant weather. It felt entirely real, even at an hour when almost nothing seemed real at all. Hell did have its decent moments, now and then; there were no seasons, so to speak, but very occasionally you’d get a day that felt like summer, and a night to match. It was nice, when it happened. Delightful, even. 

But, if you insist upon staying awake - and I admit, I do understand that impulse better than most - I suggest you do it somewhere with an open window. 

The realization had hit, somewhere in the middle of this, that he was being kind to you. You hadn’t wondered why at the time. You’d take anything you could get, in those early, confused days after your death, and receiving it from an unexpected source somehow made it better. He didn’t do things like this out of obligation. He cared, for some reason you could only guess at.

You’re still guessing, now. But that night, you hadn’t thought so deeply about it. You’d only stared back at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly at his suggestion. 

He’d paused, matching your silence for a long stretch. Considered your expression, in the way those unblinking eyes always seemed uniquely suited for.

Shall I escort you to your room, my dear?

You’d nodded mutely, and he’d ascended the stairs, offered you his hand, helped you to your feet, guided you to your door.

And then, a mistake. Grateful, exhausted, feeling utterly alone in a strange world - you’d invited him in. 

He’d opened your window for you, and lingered beside it for several quiet seconds before you asked him to sit down in your desk chair. He’d smiled strangely at that, softer than you were used to, and left quickly, almost hastily, after only a few minutes. But he’d stood motionless in the hallway for several seconds before you’d heard him walk away. 

After that night, you never invited him in again - you didn’t have to. He came of his own accord. Only occasionally, at first. Then, more often, until hardly a day went by without it. It was almost pleasant, at first, and then a slow, unyielding creep towards what you have now. Something you don’t understand. Something you only started resenting after it was too late to back away. 

You’ve spent a long time wondering why he chose you, of all people. Why he feels so entitled to your space, to your life, why he wants it to begin with. Why he holds onto you so tightly. You’ve even asked him, in roundabout ways, to no avail. But somewhere in your mind, a shoved-down place that only now rises to the surface, you think that it might be your fault. Your fault, for being so desperate for solace, for company, that you’d take it from anyone you could. For feeling proud to have gained his attention, long after the point where it stopped doing you any good.

Now, lying above your bed covers, you toy with the hem of your slip, which you’ve absently pulled up to mid-thigh. Perhaps you don’t need to be wearing it tonight. Alastor has been mysteriously absent from the hotel in the two days that have passed since his last appearance in your room. You doubt whatever’s called him away has left him much time for spying upon you. And still, you feel compelled to act as if he is watching. As if he might return to your bedside at any moment.

Your memory flashes back to two nights ago, and you try to yank it away. You don’t want to think about what he did to you then. You certainly don’t want to think about why. The way his eyes were fixed not on your body, but on your face, as if it was your shame he wanted to see, and nothing more.

It was unsettling. But perhaps not surprising. If it was only your body that he wanted, after all, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to control the rest of you. That, you don’t understand. That - it’s what really keeps you awake.

The light from your lamp, which you have no intention of turning off, stings beneath your closed eyes as you lie rigidly on your back. You barely slept the night before, either, so this day passed in a sort of stupor, the adrenaline of early morning giving way to a numb, heavy feeling as the afternoon dragged on.

But the numbness is good, in a way, you think. It lets you do things you wouldn’t otherwise. With your eyes still closed, you bring your other hand to the hem of the slip. The lace and the silk above it are delicate, and you pull hard with both fists. The light ripping noise that follows is beautiful, for a moment.

Then, the familiar dread snaps back into place, worse for your act of stupidity. 

He will be back, before long. His sudden absence has not been a reprieve, but a looming threat, a two-day stretch in which you have not taken one proper breath, and you have the feeling that he will know what you have done the moment he returns. 

If he does not somehow know already. If you haven’t already summoned him back by the rebellious movements of your hands. There is panic coursing through you, fear not of what is here now but of what has been, and what will be. It’s not the panic you’d feel at an immediate threat, like a wild animal baring down on you in a dark forest - instead, it’s the sort of inescapable head-buzzing sensation you experienced often in life, when you’d been in a room for far too long, and were not yet allowed to leave. An overwhelming feeling that you are trapped, not by physical bonds, but by the consequences that might ensue if you walk away.

If you were to walk away, to run away…what would happen? You do not know, and you don’t want to think about it. You want to leave. No - you need to leave. If you do not do it now, now, you never will. And the idea of never leaving, of this stretching on until he decides that it’s time for it to end - if he ever does -

You sit up, and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. He will be back soon. You’re sure of it. And you cannot bear the thought of being here when he returns. 

What can you do about it? You can do something. You can stand up. You can find the large backpack stuffed into the corner of your closet, and start shoving things inside. You don’t have many things at all, and most of the things you do have are not important enough to keep. You’re certainly not bringing any of these clothes with you. 

All these things, you do quickly, in a sort of daze, driven by a single motive. Get out, get out. It is easy, if you don’t stop moving. If you don’t think more than you have to, if you let this one idea drive you all the way out the door. One set of clothes, you do have to bring - the one that goes on your body. The only one that you feel even remotely comfortable wearing. Black trousers, red sweater. The contents of the small compartments of your dresser have been replaced, so you do not feel comfortable with the things you are wearing underneath these clothes, but they are quickly hidden. You are not in strong enough possession of your body to feel them clinging to your skin.

You’ve discarded the slip onto the floor, and with the way it’s crumpled, you can’t even see the small rip in the hem. It’s not enough. You pick it up and rip it further, until it is torn all the way to the neck, before dropping it like it’s on fire. Perhaps it would be better to take it with you, to get rid of it in a place where he won’t see the remains, but you do not want to have it for a second longer. It flutters back to the floor, and you cover your clean, white, unfamiliar socks with the ragged sneakers you’ve somehow been allowed to keep. 

Where do you go? Where can you go? For reasons that you certainly didn’t come up with yourself (reasons that seemed like cloying but utterly convincing advice, at the time) you barely speak to anyone outside of these walls. You haven’t even got a phone. And even if you did, you can’t imagine pulling anyone into this mess - your mess, a quiet voice in your head reminds you. This is your creation, and you will see it through alone. There is a motel, you remember, a shoddy building a few streets away that you’ve taken notice of every time you’ve passed. You will go there, and you will sleep, and tomorrow -

Tomorrow does not matter yet. Tonight, you only need to leave. 

You’re sure that no one in this building is awake. Or at least, no one is awake enough to check on the noises your feet make as they collide, painfully loud, over and over, with the creaking hallway floor. And yet, you advance as slowly and carefully as you can manage, barely keeping at bay the adrenaline that urges you to run. The night is pleasantly warm, but a shudder runs through you as you crack open the front door of the sleeping hotel. This, too, you keep at bay, instructing your feet to keep moving until you dislodge the disarming chill from your bones, and settle back into your skin. You are walking quickly, but not running, as you wade into the dark streets before you. It is a bad idea, being out here alone, at this hour, and running is loud. 

Then again, you think your breathing might be harsher, at this moment, than any noise the soles of your shoes could create.

You didn’t realize until now that you already had this route mapped out in your head, so clearly that you can follow it without thinking. It’s not far. Quicker if you slide through the little alley to your left. Quicker still if you speed up, just a bit, just enough that your breath catches oddly in your throat, exertion mixing with the faintest glimmer of hope. There is a breeze flowing out from behind you, gentle against the nape of your neck. The streets are mercifully quiet. 

You are not thinking. If you were, you might not be able to tell yourself that all was well. 

As it is, you buy yourself a few more seconds of hope. But your eyes are wide. Too wide and too alert to miss the strange thing that comes your way. Once you see it, you cannot look anywhere else.

Your stomach drops. You slowly ease your bag off of your shoulders, and let it fall to the ground beside you. You will not be taking it any further than here.

You know this, because there is an inexplicable shadow pressed against the side of the alley. It is cast by nothing, darker than the night that surrounds it. A long, abstract shape unfurls bit by bit, extends its tendrils across the worn brick, and drips down until it spills onto the polished boots that have appeared suddenly on the ground in front of you. 

There’s a horribly familiar sigh, but no words. No touch. Not yet.

Soon. Too soon, you’ll hear his voice.

But you find that you do not have the impulse to scream, like anyone else might in this situation. Nor do you want to run. You do not want to take so much as a step backwards. You do not do these things, because you are not scared like you might have expected. No. The thing that quickens your pulse is not fear, but anger. You were so close. You could have made it. And you should have made it.

You should not have had to run to begin with.

You answer a question that you didn’t realize you were asking until this moment. This is not your fault. None of it. Nothing that makes you feel like this could possibly be your doing alone. So, instead of looking up and apologizing, you stare at the ground, and imagine that your eyes shine as intensely as the ones above you. It’s a striking contrast, your worn, comfortable shoes toe-to-toe with polished leather. A victory, in its own small way.

You feel Alastor lean over you, and your hands curl into fists of their own accord. 

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively calm, “what a terrible risk you’ve taken?”

“Some idea.” You’re seething, just as you know he must be underneath the surface - the only difference is that you aren’t bothering to hide it. “You’ll forgive me.”

“Oh…I’m not talking about my own impulses, my dear. Running was a terrible idea for many reasons.” His glove catches you beneath your jaw - you press back against it for a moment before following its guide. Before looking up into the eyes you never wanted to see again, and the grin that bears down upon you. “You might find it hard to wrap your head around, considering its current misguided state, but I assure you that I am far from the only threat that the nights of hell have to offer.”

“But you are a threat.” He’s shown his hand, you think. It’s satisfying to point out - until it’s thrown back in your face. 

“Only when provoked, darling.” His eyes are a brighter red than you’ve ever seen them, glowing with some intense emotion - whether it’s hatred or a deep appreciation, you don’t know, and will never know. He releases your jaw, runs his finger slowly down the line of your neck. “But you’ve no need to worry…it would take quite a lot of provocation for me to hurt you. Even now, I’m not even close to taking such drastic action.” 

Your teeth grind together, clenched as tightly as his pasted-on smile, as the fist wrapped around his staff. “You think you haven’t hurt me already?”

“Oh, my.” He laughs gently, dismissively - but it’s not quite as convincing as usual. He’s standing rigidly, pressing the bottom of his staff tightly against the ground, holding his free hand not behind his back, but at his side. Fingers stiffly curled, practically trembling with the effort of holding still, as if they’re itching to grab onto something.“You are feeling bold tonight. Not as if I couldn’t tell by the little present you left behind in your room…but it is rather strange to experience it in person. You’re usually such a sweetheart.”

You tune out the syrupy condescension of his voice. You’re done with listening to him. Done with beating around the bush, done with getting brushed aside again and again. “What do you want from me?”

“Cliches don’t suit you, my dear,” he intones darkly. “Especially not when paired with that expression.” He slowly raises his hand, and reaches for your face, as if he hopes to rearrange the features he finds so unpleasant. Without a second thought, you jerk backwards, and slap his hand away.

He holds it frozen. Poised in midair. The last time this happened, it was enough to make you tug back everything you’d just done. 

Not this time.

“What,” you hiss, taking another full step back, “do you want from me?”

The corner of his grin twitches so severely that you can almost imagine it dropping from his face. “At the moment, I only wish for you to return home.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You hold your fists at your sides. Spine straight, shoulders pressed back. Toes curled inside your shoes. You can feel the unfamiliar undergarments clinging to your hips, your ribcage - you want them gone. You want him gone. 

“Then pray tell, my dear”-

“All of it.” You hold his gaze as his head tilts slowly to one side. Listen to the cracking of bones, and press on, before you can think better of it. “You won’t let me go. You can’t. And I don’t even get to know why.” There’s a desperation in your voice, rising with the volume of it, quickly spiraling out of your control. “All I know is that you’re - you’re trying to control me, and that I hate it, and that I don’t fucking understand it.”

Images from two nights before descend upon your mind, and your train of thought comes entirely undone. It’s more than images, really. You can certainly picture him standing over you, his red eyes flaring as you stripped yourself bare in front of him, but you can also feel it, the awful heat under your skin battling with the chill of the air, the brush of his finger along your hip, the gentle kiss to your forehead. The hands pulled tightly behind his back. And the way you felt then, the thing you’d be afraid of, if it was anyone else.

“You - you don’t”- You feel strangely distant from your body, as if your mind is a separate entity, floating somewhere slightly outside of your skull. Your mouth takes a sharp breath, and more words cascade out before you can return to stop them. “I was fucking naked in front of you, and you didn’t feel anything. If you don’t want - that”-

Any other stupid words you might say are cut off by a rising buzz of static, which emanates from him as his staff disappears before your eyes, and his newly-free hand takes on the stiff, barely-restrained posture of the other. You wonder, in that detached manner your thoughts take on when you are frightened, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if it’s somehow leaking out in a way that’s beyond his control. 

You feel tears welling in your eyes, and try in vain to shove them back down. You don’t know where they came from. “I don’t understand.” 

For the first time, you see his grin drop - not all the way, but enough that the line of it changes, enough that it becomes a grimace. It’s so unsettling that you wish the usual, terrible smile would return. “That much is obvious, my dear. I wonder if you even realize how tragic what you just said really was.”

You freeze as your wrists are snatched by coils of shadow, smooth and inexplicably solid. Your arms are yanked straight down, and when you try to tear them away, you fail. Your hands are free to form fists, but remain trapped against your sides.

“That you can only fathom being desired in such a shallow way…”

His image flickers before you. You’re already half-turned around when he reappears behind you a moment later, but there’s nothing you can do to stop his hands from curling, one finger at a time, around your shoulders, far too close to your neck for comfort. You stare straight ahead as his face twists into the periphery of your vision. 

And he whispers in your ear, his voice bare of any effect, just the hint of some old, earthly accent slipping through. “I’m afraid that I want much more than that.” 

He slides around you at the same moment the bonds around your wrists release, and effortlessly turns you by your shoulders - he does not push you against the wall that now stands behind you, but you step back out of instinct and flatten yourself against it. He matches your steps with his own, traps you between himself and the rough brick at your back, and latches his gloved hand beneath your jaw, wrenching your face upwards. With his other hand, he reaches down, flips your palm so that it’s no longer facing the wall and interlocks his fingers with your own. His grin springs back into place, and oh - you wish you could run now. You would, if you could.

His eyes slide away from you for a moment as he puts something together in his head. “These little acts of rebellion from you…I think I ought to thank you for them.” He blinks slowly, and returns his gaze to your face. “I don’t think I would have realized just how close I wanted to keep you, if you hadn’t attempted to leave. And now…oh. I understand perfectly, now. I know exactly what I want.” He bows his head, lowers his lips to your ear, so that you can hear the shudder of his breath. “I’ll have your soul one day, my dear. A day when you’re already bound so tightly to me that such a contract will be a mere formality.” 

“And until that day comes…” He draws back from the side of your face, stares not into your eyes, but through them. His teeth part. His tongue flicks out from between them, and slides quickly over their jagged edges. “I feel as if I’m prepared to do anything, if only it will bring you closer.” 

The last vestiges of your anger burst forth, and you attempt to wrench your face out of his grasp. He lets you, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, his long fingers pressing harshly into the sides. You look up, eyes wide with terror, as the palm that has been flattened against your own releases your hand from the wall, and rises to curl tightly around your waist. 

He pulls you close. You do not see the moment that his smile disappears, as it surely must - your eyes are already closed when he kisses you, screwed tightly shut as his hot, rancid breath works its way into your lungs. There’s a hint of whiskey beneath the rot, and something metallic, the same taste that floods your mouth when you bite the inside of your lip a bit too hard. His hand slides around from the back of your neck, and closes at your throat - he keeps it there after he’s pulled away, and watches as you struggle against his grip. 

“You have a decision to make now, darling.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath, the tension leaving his posture even as you fight to breathe beneath his hand. “You can return all by yourself…” His fingers curl tighter around your neck, and tendrils of shadow lash at your wrists and ankles, slowly twisting their way up your limbs. “Or, I can bring you back. I imagine that would cause quite a scene..but the choice is yours.” He tilts his head, stares down at you through narrowed eyes, and - after another moment of watching you struggle - eases his grip just enough for you to answer.

You don’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you had the air to argue, you wouldn’t dare. “I’ll - come back” -

“Lovely.” He releases you, and takes a step back. Pulls one hand slowly behind him, as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. “Since you’re so attached to your freedom, I’ll allow you to walk back unsupervised.” He traces the back of his other hand gently down your cheek, stopping only briefly to press the tips of his fingers against the hardened clench of your jaw. You let it go slack - only then does he pull his hand away. “But as I told you before, darling…there are many threats lurking in the shadows of these streets. So I do suggest that you watch your step.” 

His image fades away before you. In the same moment that you watch him disappear, there is a shift in the surface under your feet. You no longer feel the familiar soles of your shoes, but the ground beneath, rough with the texture of cracks and debris. Cold. Not damp, exactly, but carrying the faint suggestion of something wet having only recently become dry. 

Your toes curl inside your pristine white socks, which will soon be stained by the filth of the ground beneath them. There’s a new shadow against the wall - it slides along with you as you carefully retrace your steps home.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑶 𝑻𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰'𝑴 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫

pairing: tommy miller x fem!reader

genre: smut, soft enemies to lovers, minors dni

word count: 3.4k

summary: when you met him the first time him and his brother was your captor, months later he becomes yours, and quickly after that he become a resident of Jackson. You've already forgiven him for his past, but he's not happy with how eager you are to excuse what he's done.

warnings: tommy having a hero complex, tommy lashing out, piv sex, time skips, oral (giving & receiving)

a/n: the format I've written this in is inspired by @littlemisspascal 's getting lost is being found joel fic, which I highly recommend by the way it was amazing, one of my favorite things ever 💜

i.

The world went to shit, well joke on the world, your life was already shit long before outbreak day. 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Nothing just seemed to work out for you. But then all hell broke loose and suddenly it felt like you were off the hook, that you could be someone else, someone you always wanted to be. Someone that you knew you were. Before all this, you were just hurt, felt broken, but still smiled and went about your day. You tried to be good. Tried to be nice. For the most part, you like to think that you succeeded. 

You became a guide. Somewhat similar to Charon, if you spared yourself the thought but instead of guiding the dead to Hades, you guided the living away from it. Things went smooth for the most part, you helped people where they needed to go, killed infected, shot down those who shot first. It was the oddest type of freedom that you felt. 

But life had other plans, and life loved to point its middle finger right into your face. 

It’s a dad and his two kids this time, you were helping them get to the nearest QZ. You cut the fence, helped them through, you knew hunters were lurking nearby, people who survived on killing and stealing—vultures. 

You feel a tight grip on your neck and you’re being violently pulled back. The kids look back at you with horror lingering in their eyes, the dad eager to pull them away. With a deep breath, you manage to force out a smile. 

“Go!” you shout. “You’re almost there!” 

And they run, they run as fast as they can. 

“Fuck!” you hear one of them say, a deep souther drawl heavy in your ear. “Shit, they got away. They had good weapons on them too.” 

“At least we got the one,” the man that holds you answers. “Let’s go back, see what this one has.” 

“Let me the fuck go!” you struggle, attempting to elbow him in the stomach. “You fucking assholes. They were fucking kids.” 

Finally one comes into view, he’s broad—broad enough to stun you into silence. The fear of death lurks around your heart, sucking you into a black pit of realizing that this might be it. He has a glare that could kill, a hooked nose, and, most importantly, a gun. This man, you notice, this man would kill you in a heartbeat. He gives you one last once-over before tilting his head to the other holding you down. 

“Knock her out, Tommy.” 

ii. 

It’s late. Far too late for anyone to be awake. The embers of the crackling fire had died down, only specks of golden orange shimmering between the ash. You’ve learned the names of your captors; Tommy and Joel. Brothers, you assumed, they didn’t really have to spell it out for it to be obvious. 

You’re not sure why you’re still alive. You remember Joel muttering something about using you as bait, or to learn more about the routes that you seemed to know. Tommy had agreed. 

In another life, another time, you would’ve deemed the men attractive. Especially Tommy. He had a boyish charm to him, longer hair compared to his brother (those poor dark locks had definitely seen better days), and mussed unkempt facial hair indicating that they’d been at this for a long time. You understand, to a degree, why someone might choose this to survive. Some people just didn’t know what else to do. Some people simply enjoyed it; the power, the freedom, the giddiness of not having a system to say no. 

From what you understand, these two just had no idea what else to do. Too far off to reach a QZ, or they simply don’t trust FEDRA, whatever it is they seem to have made a life for themselves neither of them looked happy to be in. 

Your eyes fall to where Joel is sleeping, Tommy’s on watch, which makes you somewhat hopeful, you don’t have the strength to piss off Joel—Tommy you can take a chance with, he seemed softer. Softer like a rose, pricking you if you’re too lax and not careful enough. 

You’ve been captured before, and due to that, it doesn’t take long for you to free yourself from the hard ropes they tied you in. You hold your breath as you move away from the camp, careful not to step on any branches or rubble. You see Tommy ahead, he’s looking at you, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. You expect him to shoot, to chase after you. 

He continues to stare as you disappear into the night. 

ii.

You see a lot of dead bodies by the riverbed. Some infected, some not. You think about turning around, walking back to where you came from but before you can make a decision you’re surrounded. Your hands rise instantly, not wanting to cause trouble. Multiple rifles are pointed directly at you, and you notice a cute black dog but you have an inkling you won’t be feeling the same in a couple of minutes. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you say, the cold seeping through your jacket. “Just lost. I’m not infected.” 

“Naive for you to think we’ll believe you,” one of the horsemen answers. “You mind if we test that out?”

You didn’t mind, but even if you did, you doubt you have any say in the matter. The dog comes forward, ears pressed against his skull, and you instinctively reach out your hand. You can’t really feel the wetness of his nose, but you can imagine it as he presses into your gloved palm. A moment later he starts wagging his tail. 

A horse, along with its rider, steps up and everyone looks nervously at the equestrian. You straighten yourself and notice that even the dog pulls away, the energy she has demands respect, and oozes power. You swallow, looking up at her with both amusement and fear. 

"You can come with us," she says, and without hesitation, one of the men helps you up onto the horse they're riding. Your hands fumble nervously as you grab onto the horse's shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

You’re not dead yet so you must be doing something right. 

iv. 

You trudge through the biting snow, your skin prickles with cold and the relentless flakes melt as soon as they touch your skin. You shudder. The cold is almost unbearable, but everyone has to pull their weight, no exceptions. Narrowing your eyes,, you spot a lone figure struggling in the snow. The way he moves is sluggish and ungainly, like a snail inching its way along a path.

With a sharp whistle, you signal to your companions to follow. They circle around the body with hesitation; it’s a man, a man that is somewhat familiar to you. The stranger groans and turns to his back, chest heaving heavily, you notice the tremble of his lips, the redness of his nose. You even notice the build-up of snow in his hair.

You know him. You have no idea how he ended up all the way here, but you know him. Getting off the horse, you shake your head. You don't know him, not really. You only know his name and what he represents.

Ian approaches, his eyes questioning as he asks, "What should we do? Should we leave him?"

“I know him,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice due to the irony. “Let’s take him in. I’ll talk to Maria.” 

His eyes flutter open, a brief expression of confusion appearing on his features. You can’t help but lean over a bit, hands placed on your hips. 

“You’re not dead yet. Don’t worry.” 

But as soon as the words leave your lips, Tommy loses consciousness.

v. 

He’s alone at the bar. He’s always alone. 

Initially, Maria was reluctant to let Tommy stay, but for some reason, you vouched for him. You deeply believe that everyone deserves a second chance. A slightly foolish, maybe even childish, thought on your part but you can’t help it. In his eyes you only see parts of a broken man, his belief in the world shattered and gone with the wind. 

Tommy struggles with socializing. He says hi and good morning but that’s pretty much all anyone can get out of him. You’re the only one who knows he has a brother, what he’s done. He’s especially annoyed when you’re around, which you think is a little bit unfair but you digress. He does what he’s told and handy with most things—which is lucky for you, you would hear a handful if he couldn’t do anything. 

You want to talk to him, you have ever since you first saw him again. Hoping that this time it’ll be different, you sit near him not next to him. There are two empty seats between you two. 

“Hi,” you greet him, he doesn’t look at you. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge you at all. “How are you?” 

No answer. 

“You’re not having any issues right? You know, heating, water pressure, all that jazz.” 

You’re not surprised at the least when he gets up and leave, not a word uttered. He pushes past the crowd and disappears through the door, into the cold. Unlike other times, this is the first instance where anger simmers hot in your gut. You’ve been nothing but patient. But not tonight. He’s going to talk to you whether he likes it or not. 

With anger in your steps, you storm out. Luckily, he’s not far. You find him staring up at the undecorated Christmas tree. Normally, you would find it a somber sight, but you’re too frustrated to think about how good he looks with snow falling around him. 

“Tommy!” you yell out, and he flinches, head snapping to you with wide eyes. “What the hell is your deal?” 

“My deal?” he answers, voice eerily smooth and calm. “I should be fuckin’ asking you that.” 

You’re standing an inch from him, the cold biting into your skin. “My deal? I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Wouldn’t wanna play that card but may I remind you that you’re fucking alive because of me? You could at least not be an asshole.” 

“Sure you wanna go that route sweetheart? Because I could easily say the same thing for you.” 

That night—the night that you escaped, so he did see you. All this time you convinced yourself that it was your eyes playing tricks in the dark. You shake your head, wanting to dislodge the moment from your mind. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” you hiss. “Why are you avoiding me? I just want to talk.” 

“Just leave me the fuck alone. You shouldn’t want to talk to me— someone like you… It ain’t normal. I should’ve died that night. I didn’t ask you to fuckin’ save me.” 

You’re taken aback by the silent rage but refuse to show him the effect he has. The only indication that his words had any kind of result is when you take a step back, allowing him some semblance of space. 

“You’re right, you didn’t,” you say softly, slowly. His gaze bores into you. “But I did. And you’re here. I didn’t save you that night to just make a point of who’s the better person. As you said, you allowed me to go that night—thank you by the way—but what are you going to do, just not talk to me? Ignore me? I don’t think that’s fair for either of us.”

You stand frozen as Tommy takes a step closer, his breath hot against your skin. 

"What do you want from me?" he growls, his voice low and threatening.

You try to take a step back but he follows, closing the gap between you. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the frigid air around you. His lips curl into a slight sneer, and you can't help but feel a slight twinge of fear.

"You're always so nice, aren't you?" he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But what do you really want? You want me to be your little pet? Fixing me up like some broken toy. Well, newsflash, sweetheart, I'm not broken. I'm just fine the way I am."

"That’s not—" you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn’t my intention at all. The world is shit, I just didn’t want to add to it."

Tommy scoffs, his eyes glinting with anger. "But you did by keeping me alive. I did horrible things, things you can’t even imagine. So don't pretend like you understand me, because you don't."

“I know the shit you did Tommy. I was almost one of your victims, remember?”

His eyes drop to the ground, the fire in his eyes finally fading. He takes a quick step back, shoulder slumped, he shakes his head. 

“I remember. There ain’t a day I don’t remember the shit I’ve done—we’ve done with my brother.” 

Tommy gives you one last look before walking away, “I don’t need your pity.” 

Half an hour later, you’re still standing there under the snow, completely alone. 

vi.

It’s a dance almost. You find different ways for Tommy to communicate with you. You unlock his anger, his disappointment, his need to be good—the hero, if you will. But to be fair, you can’t take all the credit. It was mostly due to him, you got too close, and he got too frustrated. It was a brief moment of lips touching, then it quickly turned into a desperate ask for submission. You were eager to give, he hated that. Hated that you could when he couldn’t. 

You know that there’s a high chance of other things lingering below the surface, things that he probably hadn’t dared to address himself. 

In the privacy of your bedroom, you’re on your knees for him. Sucking on the tip of his cock eagerly as he stands upright, his hands are firsts that are stuck to his sides. This isn’t the first time, it isn’t the last. By the way salty precum coats your tongue, you know he’s enjoying himself. He has to be, if he wasn’t this wouldn’t be happening. 

You figure that he enjoys fighting against it until he breaks. When he surrenders himself to it, to the pleasure, to the primal need to take, he pins you down and fucks you with everything he has. All his frustration seeps into you, each stroke deeper than the next. You enjoy that he’s rough, you enjoy feeling the lingering sting on your skin long after he leaves. 

Looking up, you swallow him further down. He’s not overly thick but long, the dark curls at the base trimmed but still looking untouched. Tommy thrusts forward, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Your nostrils flare as your lungs convulse with the need to cough, he notices but doesn’t pull back. Instead, you feel two hands cradling the back of your neck, pulling you further down his length, making you take him whole. 

Your eyes go wide and squeeze shut right after. You feel him throbbing in your throat and you swallow, again and again, which prompts him to drag his cock out slightly only to bury himself back into your throat. Your jaw aches, spit dripping down the corners of your lips as you flatten your tongue over the underside of his cock. A faint growl echoes from the back of his throat, you swallow again, he fucks your mouth as he would your wet cunt. Tears flood your lashline, you can barely breathe. Your throat tightens around him. 

“Fuck, don’t close your eyes,” he grunts, the dark curls at the base tickling your nose. “Look at me. Look at me like you always do.” 

The Look, is something that you still don’t quite understand. He says it often, telling you to look at him the way that you do, but you emphasize nothing special when you do end up looking at him. It’s just your normal gaze. He only asks for it when he’s inside you. 

You slowly open your eyes, your lashes wet and stuck together. His thumb smooths over the patch of skin right under your eye, his chest stutters, muscles growing taut under your gaze. 

Ironically, he closes his eyes and lifts his head as if staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t utter another word after that, your lips raw from the way he thrust forward. You feel the twitch of his cock, thick ropes sliding down your throat. You never tire of the taste of him. Not sweet, not bitter. You enjoy the brief moment he forgets where he is, that soft noise escaping his lips, the juvenile way his thighs shake—those are the things that make you ache for the taste of him. You’re an addict. 

But so is he. 

vii.

Your palms press into the smooth surface of the bar counter. Tommy lurks behind you, cock pressing inside, fingers making dents into your warm skin. It’s late into the night, you’re not sure of the exact time but you know it’s late. His one hand slips between your legs, he feels how wet you are, how needy you get for him. He presses a finger to your clit, the pads of the digits moving in deft circles. 

A sharp moan parts your lips, back arching as he pounds into you, the sound of skin against skin loud, yet not enough to pierce the sound of the snowstorm outside. A dose of pleasure buzzes through your veins, electricity crackling across your skin as you feel his length press deep inside. His fingers grasp your throat, pulling you up until his lips tickle your ear. He heaves, his warm breath fanning your skin. 

“Tell me I’m a good person,” he chokes out. “Please.” 

“You’re good,” you answer slightly out of breath. You touch his neck, the position slightly straining but worth it when he holds you tighter. “Such a good man—and I mean that.” 

Your eyes widen with shock when he slides his tongue into your mouth. Tommy doesn’t kiss you often, if at all, but it lights a fire under your stomach. It burns you from the inside out, the smoke of it making your mind spin. Your eyes flutter close and you take a deep breath, he grinds his hips, your insides pulsing around him. 

“I don’t care even if you’re lyin’—” 

He releases you and you stumble forward, hands finding purchase on the bar counter once more. But you can’t hold your position for long, not with the way he’s hammering into you, reducing you into a babbling mess. Your hands slide, your upper body completely falling over. Tommy doesn’t pause, he doesn’t even slow down. He presses you further into the surface.

“Because I know that you are.” 

Tommy suddenly pulls out, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, your cunt clenching around nothing. Before you can protest, however, he turns you over and pushes you. He kneels between your legs, lips finding the tender folds of your pussy. 

Your head falls back when he licks into you eagerly, tasting himself and your arousal. His groans vibrate against you, your thighs threaten to close, the meat of them pressing into both sides of his face. 

His lips press against your clit, suckling and teasing it in a way that drives you wild. His tongue moves in circles as he pushes two fingers, curling them and applying pressure. Without a second thought, you fingers thread his hair, tugging him closer. Arousal pools between your legs.

Your breathing becomes labored and your body starts to shake. Your eyes roll back as your entire body shakes. Your hips buck against him as he continues to bring you over the edge, your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the bar. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you collapse against the bar counter, your body still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. You can feel your skin tingling, your heart pounding and your head spinning. Tommy stands, a hint of pride lingering in his dark eyes. You continue to breathe and watch as he fists himself, the tip of his cock a shade darker when he comes thick ropes over your stomach. You hiss at the heat, the feeling of having a part of him staining you. 

Tommy pulls up his pants, and you notice as you get dressed, he’s avoiding your gaze. You’re too satisfied to care. He licks his lips, which you found was a nervous habit he has and offers you his arm. You hadn’t expected it, but indulge in the gesture by taking it. 

“Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.” 

[panxramic]

A Letter To Tallulah

Hope, love, and trust, the most important facets and the encompassing themes of Tallulah’s story. From the beginning to the present we’ve seen Tallulah’s struggle with hope and love and trust in more ways than one. Hope is hard, it’s difficult to maintain. You can get blinded by that hope and drown in it or lose it completely and thus lose yourself, and Tallulah has showcased both sides. She’s struggled with love and being loved. Whether it be herself or by others love encompasses her story in every facet. She’s loved too quickly and too easily, but she’s also pushed others away and refused to love like she once did. There’s hope and laughter in love but there’s also misery and pain. Love is fucking terrifying and it can damage your being so deeply. But it also heals. She’s young and still figuring it out, she’s had her heart broken again and again. It seems like now however, she’s in a place in which she finally has that love, now it’s just not losing it. Not letting others ruin what she’s wanted all along. A family to love, a family that loves her. And with that love, comes trust. Trust is so important to Tallulah. Once broken you can never get it back, almost impossible to build upon again. So, how is she going to trust her father after everything that has happened? Two sides of her, trust and love, fighting one another trying to find their way out. All she can do is hope it’ll work out, that her love, her fathers love, is strong enough to help them push through.

I can write an entire essay on these 3 things when it comes to Tallulah’s story, but that’s not what this letter is for. Today is Tallulah’s birthday, a year since she got out of the attic and got to experience the world for the first time. It’s been a rollercoaster watching her change and grow for an entire year, and whether she comes back or not, I am grateful for the story that we did get. A story of a little girl who through it all found her place, she found her family. A little girl who only wanted to be loved and was met with repeated pain, abandonment, and suffering. She was knocked down again and again, both by others and herself. She's been bitter and cold, she’s been nice and sweet. A little girl who has been trying to figure out her place in the world, a family to call her home, and trying to figure out who she will be.

Who is Tallulah?

Tallulah is strong, she’s brave. She’s angry and resentful. She’s kindness and empathy. Tallulah is headstrong, stubborn, and understanding. She can befriend the angriest and toughest of beasts and heal the most delicate of flowers. In a world of pain and misery she’s found it in herself to keep pushing through. To hope and love no matter what life throws at her (even if she’s struggled with that too). She’s still figuring herself out, she’s still trying to live a life with the people that she loves. But slowly, she’s getting there, you can say she has gotten there.

Happy birthday Tallulah. One year, you’ve made it. Through it all you’re still fighting, you’re still hopeful, and you’re still here.

And to the admin, thank you for the story you shared and hopefully will continue to share. It’s been so much fun writing and analyzing this past year and I hope you enjoy the things that I’ve written.

Happy one year Tallulah :)

[my-moonagedaydream]

Excepts from the first three chapters of my jegulus coffee au fic that make me scream

Chapter 1 - Rise and Shine Love

“Meanwhile, as the clock neared 8:00 am James tried taking someone's order but stared at the person. They were gorgeous. Their eyes shone in the light from the windows, they held themselves with such grace it was captivating. You would think James was watching someone launch a rocket ship into space with the look on his face.” (James you’re very obvious)

“You’re fucking kidding, you’re James Potter?”

“Oh, so you know me?” James asks smiling even higher

“Of course I know you, my brother talks about you like you’re a god.” “

“James’ face tingled and he knew he may burn those who flew too close. But he was far too careless to even fathom Regulus being one of those people.

Although when Regulus sent that text he knew he may be flying too close, but not close enough. He had to try harder this time.”

Chapter 2 - Runners High (the song by MUNA)

“Oh, what would Regulus be wearing? Oh, screw it he would look good in anything what was he thinking?” (James babe…)

“oh but Sirius is going to look so good tonight. He sent me a photo of the outfit he’s wearing tonight and I nearly left work early. Sorry James…” (Remus honey we know you’re in love with him)

“Oh, Regulus looked good. So damn good. How was James going to get him? God James was screwed. He was reaching so far out of his comfort zone but god, he had to try didn’t he?”

“That stupid smile. God, how could he look so good? How is Sirius friends with all the hot people? First Remus and now James? He really needs to get out more and find his own hot people.” (Reg babe you have hot friends too)

“After all he had been heartbroken and what else does a heartbroken teenage boy do than write poetry and song lyrics?”

“I mean I wrote more than half of their songs, half of which are absolute hits. If you think I’m prideful, you’ve seen nothing.”

Chapter 3 - Sunlight (yes like the hozier song)

“That was until Regulus Black walked through those doors ready to wreck James from the inside out. His steps never faltered but boy did James’ heart. “

“His name rolled off James’ tongue as if he was toying with it.”

“Regulus finally looked at James and caught his eyes. They were glowing like sunlight. Like the light hit them perfectly and made them shine just enough so it never outshone the sun.”

“That nice ass smile James loved so much. “

“Did Regulus have a lover? Oh probably. He’s the prettiest person known to man, of course, someone already hit him up.”

“It was heavy in symbolism but James knew something was hiding even further than the between the lines. It was hiding in the depth of the lyrics where nobody except Regulus would understand. “

“James said his name like it was honey that just melted off his tongue.”

“Some people walk with a pep in their step but regulus? He walked with pure assertiveness. Despite the aura surrounding him, his eyes lit up the moment he looked at James. It was almost like he’d found sunlight after years in a dark cave. “

That’s it the fic is called The Secret to the Sun and the Stars (my username on ao3 is PH4N70M) have a great day :)

[cascowriteswords]

hi everyone 👋 i wrote something  [[the one where i found this in my google docs from months and months ago and finally finished it and accidentally created a teeny tiny fwb au]]

“Is this why you invited me over?”

Lexa humphs. She tries to take her phone back from Clarke’s grabby little hands but no luck; Clarke uses her shoulder to block her, shoulders rounding as she leans over the phone possessively like Gollum with a ring. 

“It’s not, but - oh, wow, Lex. These are - these are really bad.” Clarke can barely get her words out around the laughter bubbling up from her chest. Lexa’s ears burn and her cheeks pink as she collapses back against the couch, half wishing the cushion would just swallow her whole. She crosses her arms and tucks her chin against her sternum, the definition of sulking while Clarke ridicules her dating profile. She swipes through profile pictures - the main one with Lexa proudly holding an 8lb bass she’d caught last summer, the next of her locked in an arm-wrestling match with Anya, another posing with Lincoln’s golden retriever puppy in the middle of a baseball diamond. 

Lexa thought the pictures were good, making her look attractive and showcasing some of her personality - outdoorsy, athletic, good with animals. 

Clarke apparently doesn’t share her opinion. 

“The fish pictures. What is it with the fish pictures? I thought it was a straight white boy thing but. Well, you don’t quite fit that bill.“ 

“I’ve gotten a lot of matches and compliments on my pictures, thanks. Especially on the one with the bass. Can I have my phone back now?”

“Yeah, I see that. Hm, here - Kylie Jones. Has a boyfriend but wants to experiment if you can be discreet. She’s excited to have found a lesbian that isn’t so ‘butchy’ - her words, definitely not mine. And then Dana Walters, who has a Let’s Go Brandon t-shirt on in her profile pic. Really reeling in the all-around 10s I can see.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Lexa lurches forward and catches Clarke by surprise enough to wrest her phone out of her hands. She promptly hits the lock button and slips it back into her pocket. “They’re not all like that. I’ve gotten plenty of perfectly nice, fully vaccinated girls replying too.”

“Why are you even on Tinder?” Clarke changes her line of questioning. “I’ve never heard of anything good coming from it. People just use it to hook up.”

Lexa shrugs. “Maybe that’s all I’m looking for. I’m not searching for love.” 

Because she’s already found it. She exchanges a meaningful look with Clarke, who undoubtedly picks up on her unspoken thought. But Clarke had told her she isn’t ready to be with anyone, not yet. 6 months ago. And Lexa’s willing to wait - she knows that Clarke’s ex-boyfriend had cheated on her and understands that she isn’t ready to jump back into dating right away. But she’s also human and has needs and 6 months is a long time. So, Tinder.

Clarke looks thoughtful. She keeps staring at Lexa and Lexa stares back, not quite sure why her heart is beating a little faster in her chest. “So you’re just looking for meaningless sex? No strings attached?” 

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I can do that.” Clarke looks completely serious but Lexa’s certain she must be joking. She’d rejected her when she'd asked her out on a date all those months ago and they’ve been platonic friends ever since, and now this? She’s offering sex? Cannot compute. “You don’t need to go out and meet these random strangers. That doesn’t sound safe, or fun.”

Lexa can think of a dozen reasons that’s a horrible idea, starting with the fact that she’s in love with Clarke and Clarke is not in love with her. It’s a recipe for a disaster. “Uh, it’s nice of you to offer but -” 

“Are you horny right now?” Clarke interrupts, effectively shutting Lexa up. “Because if I’m honest you’ve been driving me nuts in those jeans all day.” Her eyes rake up and down Lexa’s body and Lexa swallows, mouth suddenly dry. Clarke’s hand is on her knee now and she isn’t sure how or when it got there. 

“Clarke, we really shouldn’t,” she says, but she’s unable to keep the hitch out of her breath when Clarke scoots a little closer, slides her hand a little higher. It could be a trick of the light but it looks like her pupils have gotten bigger, infiltrating normally-blue territory. 

“You don’t want to?”

“You know I do,” Lexa laments. “It’s just that -”

“Feelings. I know,” Clarke sighs. She’s rubbing circles over the faded denim covering Lexa’s inner thigh now, absentmindedly. “So you’d really rather fuck some stranger?”

“Not at all,” Lexa admits. “But…” 

“Maybe it would be easier than you think. To separate the physical from feelings?” Clarke suggests. Lexa’s pretty sure sex would just compound her feelings. She bites her lip, torn and uncertain. Her heart and her body want one thing but her head is warning her against it. “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop pushing, I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole. You said no.” Clarke says, smiling in a sweetly apologetic way. She pulls away and returns to her separate space on the couch, sighing, looking adorably flustered. 

Flustered because she wants Lexa. Fuck. And Lexa wants her. So what are they even doing, sitting here feeling tortured? Her resolve breaks quickly. “Okay,” she says. Clarke’s eyes snap up to meet hers, full of question. “I know you said you’re not ready for a relationship right now, but if you feel like you’re ready to sleep together then we can try -”

Clarke is across the couch and in Lexa’s lap so quickly it almost knocks the wind out of her. Lexa had thought she was the only one pining and wanting and lusting after her best friend but despite Clarke’s rejection, she seems equally as desperate and frantic as she crushes her lips to Lexa’s. And fuck, it’s even better than Lexa had imagined it would be. Clarke’s lips taste like her vanilla chapstick and she winds her fingers through Lexa’s hair and Lexa has never felt so consumed by a kiss. So wholly unable to think of anything else, her pulse fluttering wildly as her hands find and settle on Clarke’s hips. Clarke reacts to the touch and grinds down and Lexa is briefly embarrassed by the moan that flies out of her mouth, until Clarke mumbles, “Fuck, that’s so hot,” against her lips. She nips at Lexa’s lower lip then, pulling it between her teeth and biting down just hard enough to sting, eliciting another moan. 

Lexa normally prefers to maintain a little bit more control during sexual encounters, but with Clarke in her lap kissing her furiously and rocking her hips she finds herself more than willing to relinquish some control. Things move fast and slow simultaneously from there, time blurring as they lose themselves in one another, all roaming hands and hungry mouths. After an indeterminate amount of time Clarke reaches down and deftly undoes the button of Lexa’s jeans. Following a quick check-in to which Lexa very quickly consents, Clarke slips her hand under the elastic of Lexa’s underwear and runs her fingers through her, finding her already slick with anticipation. 

“Fuck, Clarke,” Lexa gasps at the sensation, hips jerking involuntarily. 

“I’ve got you,” Clarke murmurs softly, stilling long enough that Lexa opens her eyes, not quite remembering when she’d shut them in the first place. She’s not prepared for what she sees; the softness in Clarke’s eyes as they search hers, the lust and want clear in them but also something…else. Something she can’t quite put her finger on, and she doesn’t have time because Clarke starts moving again and renders her incapable of thinking of anything other than how fucking good that feels. 

“I’ve got you,” Clarke says again, before leaning back in to swallow Lexa’s groans.

Lexa is fucked - literally and figuratively. Because the more Clarke says that, and the more Clarke keeps touching her like that, the more she realizes that ready for her or not, she’s already very much Clarke’s.

[am-i-interrupting]

Hello!I see that your requests are open so!If you feel like it,maybe something on Viktor with a touchstarved s/o who has trouble initiating physical affection?

The Warmth In A Touch

The first time Viktor touched you it was an accident, a misunderstanding of direction which resulted in the touching of shoulders. It was accidental, not at all deliberate, and something that should not have stuck inside your head but it did.

Warmth wasn’t something that you could often get outside of warm drinks and underneath a pile of blankets. When it came from someone else, when it came from Viktor, it stuck in your mind. It didn’t matter that it was an accidental brush of the hand or shoulder.

The first time he deliberately touched you, it was as he showed you something using his microscope. You hunched over so you could peer through the lense. His cane was propped up against the desk as he leaned close. One hand went to adjust the focus of the microscope and the other rested on your back, between your shoulder blades.

His hand wasn’t warm but it was warm in comparison to the slight chill of the lab. That one point of focus drew all your attention and you could only hum and nod along as he began to prattle on about a theory he was in the process of making. Even when his hand disappeared, the imprint was still there, like it’d been stamped on your skin. It lingered.

You quickly found yourself yearning for his touch but unable to ask for it. You were both friends, work partners. You couldn’t ask for his touch. It’d be breaking so many boundaries but even when those boundaries were crossed anyway, you couldn’t find it within yourself to ask him.

He was the one who’d asked you on a date. Of course, you said yes. It was hard not to when it was Viktor of all people who asked.

You had dinner with him. It was nice. You walked each other home, not living too far apart and within eye distance of one another. Things started to develop.

It was slow. He wasn’t afraid to lean into your personal space now. Sometimes you held hands. It wasn’t much but it left you yearning, hungry for more. It was hard to realize how starved you were of touch until you had an appetizer in front of you.

Jace had left for the day nearly half an hour ago, when Viktor walked over.

He placed his hands on your shoulders and he looked at what you had in front of you. You couldn’t help but lean into it just the slightest bit. You always did.

He gently massaged the muscles of your back, working out knots mindlessly. He rested his chin atop your head.

“I have a theory of sorts,” he said and you hummed. “I’ve been taking notes. At first, I thought it made you uncomfortable when I touched you and you never initiated touch yourself. It seemed very obvious but I had to test that hypothesis and I do believe it’s been proven wrong.

“You still seem to tense but you’ve also begun to lean into any touch. I thought maybe you’d bring it up yourself but you haven’t. So may I ask if I’m right?”

“I— I don’t mind when you touch me, Viktor, I just— I don’t—“ words failed you as you attempted to gather your thoughts and place them into something understandable.

“It’s okay,” he said, “you don’t have to explain, just answer this. Is it enjoyable when I touch you?”

A deep breath, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

And that night Viktor pulled you into his bedroom. He pulled back the blankets of his bed and laid beneath them, beckoning you to follow suit. Then he wrapped his arms around you and it was like you could breathe as the kind of warmth you so long craved finally engulfed you.

[merakiui]

As celebration for Scaramouche finally getting some spotlight and become playable, I have more brainrot! Nsfw warning? Just like the thought of him being a streamer or gamerboy with an unhealthy obsession with the neighbor nextdoor to him. Listening to you bring home multiple one night stands, your voice carrying through the vents. Its so irritating how it gets him riled up! Eventually his curiosity is peaked and he tries to send anonymous gifts and waiting for your reaction around the corner. It starts out sweet and innocent till he buys a polaroid camera to take explicit pictures of you for his own selfish desires, getting off to them for awhile till it no longer works. The thought of you bringing home different people gets to him and he starts planning on how he can make you his <3

Aaaa I love gamermouche. <3

(cw: yandere, implied nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, (cyber)stalking, obsession, modern au)

Scaramouche has never felt true love, so the fact that there are nearly a million people who watch his content, join his streams, and leave comments is jarring. This sort of recognition, while very much well-deserved and a wonderful ego boost, feeds a vacant part of him. The part that craves validation. The part that wants to be needed and noticed by others. The part of him that’s cold and lonely. And when a million eyes are on him, he’s able to ignore his fractured past and focus on a successful present.

He’s good at what he does. Streaming games of all genres, occasionally collaborating with other streamers. Hotshots like Tartaglia, who always engages in irritating banter with him (the fans eat it up every time), and the beauty vlogger Signora, who is surprisingly good at FPS games. Scaramouche could do without these troublesome collabs, but it boosts his viewership and those videos always do well. Why snuff a tree that continues to produce fruit? He can endure a few hours of collaboration as long as it brings in a good paycheck and lots of viewers.

With the way his current life has been going, success after success after success, he shouldn’t need to feel so…empty. He lives in a nice, spacious apartment on the sixth floor, he has an expensive set-up with three monitors and the best mic and headset, and his recording studio is organized and neat—a perfect space that’s soundproofed and allows him to hide away for a few hours, where he’s free to do as he pleases.

Lately, he’s been in a slump of sorts. He can continue to put out videos and he can stream as if nothing’s wrong, but there’s been this gnawing sense of incompletion that’s weighed heavy on his mind for a while now. No matter how well a video does, how great a stream went, or how many hours he’s put into his favorite games, everything feels so meaningless and hollow. Perhaps he’s burnt out. Perhaps he’s overworked himself. Perhaps it’s time to try other hobbies.

Or perhaps the problem lies with his neighbor.

You’ve lived next door for as long as he’s lived in the building. It’s been about three years now, Scaramouche thinks, and he remembers the day the two of you met. He’d come home late after a dinner spent with his mother and self-proclaimed aunt (he wishes she’d just piss off), and as usual the meeting went about as well as it possibly could when you can’t stand the sight of the one who cast you out when you needed her most. Understandably, Scaramouche was in a foul mood. He’d been wanting to get home as soon as possible, take a bath and scrub the dinner and every useless conversation from his skin, and he really wasn’t looking for any interruptions in his path to absolute comfort.

But when the lift doors slid open and he stalked down the hall, he found two people in front of his door. You were one of those people, pressed against the door while some stranger captured your mouth in a steamy kiss. Scaramouche heard his resolve snapping. He’d just come back from a shitty night out and this is what greets him? Two lovestruck fools exchanging saliva and breath as if they’re desperately in need of it?! He withdrew his key ring and obnoxiously shook it to disturb the oh-so-sweet scene. Thankfully, you took notice of him and you pushed the other person off of you with a breathless laugh.

He ought to stuff that laugh right down your throat.

“You’re in the way,” he snapped, and you stepped awkwardly aside. With a huff, he slipped his key into the lock and opened his door. Before melting into the darkness, he stared you in the eyes and said, “Make out against your own door.”

And then he slammed it shut, listening to your muffled laughter and the offended scoffs from your lover, date, friend… Honestly, he couldn’t care what they are to you. He does care when he hears the door beside him open and close and, with a low groan, he realized he just met his new neighbor—the one who’d previously caused quite the commotion moving in a few days prior.

Ever since then, he’s been privy to your nightly routines. How this madness could go on for three years is beyond him. How anyone could bring home a new soul every month or so and repeat this for three years is beyond him. By then, shouldn’t you have found ‘the one’? Though Scaramouche knows nothing of real, true love, he’s certain that three years is plenty of time to connect with at least one of your one-night stands. Unfortunately, you’re not the only one who has the pleasure of connecting.

The walls aren’t the thickest, and aside from his recording booth every other room, especially the ones that run parallel to your apartment, is thin. So thin that he can hear the bed creak if he presses his ear against the wall. And you’re always so loud. Wailing and moaning and gasping. He hears every sound, every little cry, and it grinds his patience into dust. If he wanted to listen to an explicit audio, he’d have done so online. The last thing he needs is to hear the lewd sounds of sex while he’s recording or streaming. He has faith in his soundproofing, but he can’t be certain that his mic won’t pick up the sounds. And if anyone hears something like that on his videos or streams, no matter how faint, it’ll just cause more unnecessary trouble for him. The last thing he needs is to toe the lie of cancellation for the nth time.

He’s learned your schedule by now. Weekends are for one-night stands. Any other day is normally quiet. So to get through those nights, he’ll either retreat to his recording studio, put his headset on, and play games for the fun of it, or he’ll sit out on his balcony with earphones turned all the way up, music spilling into his brain, and he’ll count the stars. It’s a habit he’s fallen into ever since he started stargazing. Tiny balls of light from a distance, yet so destructively sad up in the expanses of space. Lonesome, little stars that are destined for implosion once they reach the end of their lives. He counts the stars every night. He’s not sure why he does this. He’s not even that interested in astronomy.

Scaramouche counts a number of stars that’s immediately wiped from his head when he turns in the direction of your balcony and finds you staring right back. You’ve wrapped yourself in a thick blanket to combat the chilly midnight air and he blinks back at you under silver moonlight.

“Hey.” You smile.

His shock quickly morphs into a dark scowl. “Don’t ‘hey’ me! Do you ever hear how obnoxious you sound every single night?”

“Not really,” you answer with a shrug and he sighs loudly. “Most of them like obnoxious.”

“Well, I don’t. So either learn to shut up or don’t bring any more idiots home!”

You lean against the railing and hum in consideration. He glances at the space that separates your apartments, a sliver of gloom that drops down to the pavement below. He folds his arms across his chest, brows furrowed.

“Do you want to come over instead? I can make room in my schedule.” You’re grinning now, teasing him with a snarky expression. What he’d do to wipe that look off your face…

Scaramouche’s face darkens and, rather than retorting icily, he turns swiftly on his heel and vanishes inside. He can hear your victorious laughter as he shuts and locks the balcony door.

“Stupid,” he seethes, gritting his teeth. “Stupid neighbor. Of all the brainless things to say…���

The next time the two of you meet you’re not on the balcony and the sky isn’t cradling dozens of stars. Instead, he meets you in the hall just as he’s returning from grocery shopping and you’re on your way out, dressed pleasantly in formal attire.

“I didn’t realize you could dress nicely,” he says absently as he rifles through the keys and charms on his key ring. “I only ever pictured you in discarded, forgotten garments.”

“Aw. You think of me?” you counter with a wink. “I’m flattered.”

He rolls his eyes. That definitely sounded like a roundabout way of saying he daydreams about you. “You wish that were the case.”

It’s a poor retort, but it’s all he can manage before he walks through his door and you stalk past him, your laughter echoing in the hall. Scaramouche watches you go, leaning against his doorframe and smiling to himself. You have a very confident walk.

And it’s these small interactions that have him growing attached to you. He learns that you work at a club entertaining wealthy clients. He’d know because he followed you there one evening. And you also love sweets. He’d know because he’s left plenty at your door and you’ve always gasped in delight upon seeing them. You also seem to enjoy collecting cute plushies, for he’s bought a few that reminded him of you and left them at your door. You take those as well. He’s found your social media and has taken to scrolling it on a burner account. Can’t risk using his official account otherwise you’ll know it’s him and he’s not sure he wants you to know of his feelings yet.

Scaramouche is very fulfilled when he admires you from afar and bestows heartfelt gifts to you. His chat has commented that he seems…softer lately, and Scaramouche tells them they’re delusional. He’s not soft. He’s never been soft. But you seem to know just how to smooth the rough edges in his exterior.

Now he sits against the wall that connects your apartments, eyes shut tight and hand wrapped firmly around his cock, and listens to the sounds of you getting fucked in the next room, picturing himself above you. He’s gotten better at cumming at the same time as you, and he likes to think that everything you say while in the throes of lust are directed at him and not your one-night stand. He recalls your playful offer from many nights ago and wonders if you’d ever sleep with him. In his imagination, you’re practically at his feet, begging for a fraction of affection, and he can choose to please you in whatever way he wants. Unfortunately, it’s not like that in real life.

He plays games and streams to cope.

When Tartaglia gifts him a camera designed to look aesthetically old-fashioned for his birthday, Scaramouche considers donating it. He doesn’t need this camera, especially one that comes from Tartaglia. But when he considers its other uses, it quickly becomes something of value. He takes plenty of candid photos of you and he hangs them on the wall. He bought a strand of fairy lights, which have been draped over his bed frame and hang low, and he’s attached his favorite photos to the clips. He looks up at these pictures as he falls asleep and, like the stars in the vast, brilliant sky, counts them.

The next time he meets you you’re on the balcony, and this time you’re counting stars. It’s a Saturday evening and, miraculously, things are comfortably quiet.

“No R-rated movies tonight?”

You glance at him and smirk. “Only fluff.”

Scaramouche props one elbow on the railing and rests his cheek in his hand. “Looks more like sad, teenage angst to me.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“Someone’s nosy tonight.”

“Then forget I asked.”

“Nah. I’ll tell you.” You turn to face him, fingers wrapping around the bannister, and he wishes those perfect hands could wrap around other things. “Has anyone ever pressured you to do something you didn’t want to do?”

He finds himself nodding despite not having any examples at the forefront of his mind.

“Then you probably get how annoying it is.”

“All the time,” he admits, but it feels more like a lie. He frowns at nothing in particular.

“Most of my friends are married and everyone in my circle thinks I should do the same.”

“Your circle sucks.”

That squeezes a laugh out of you. The corners of his lips quirk upwards upon hearing the delightful sound.

“What about you?”

“Marriage?” he echoes, perplexed. “Settling down is…a commitment.”

He realizes, in that very moment, that he’s never dwelled on marriage and long-term relationships. And now that you’ve put such a thought in his head, he thinks that married life with you wouldn’t be so bad.

“What if we were married instead?”

You recoil, genuinely shocked, and laugh awkwardly. “Uh, what?”

“You want all of those idiots to stop pestering you, right?”

“I mean, it would be nice. Yeah. But I don’t see how—”

“We could pretend. Make it a fake marriage.” He hopes his shrug looks nonchalant because he is far from nonchalant.

“Why? I thought you hated me.”

“Not enough to pretend to marry you.”

“Huh…” Your fingers drum along the railing. “Huh. This is a first.”

Scaramouche is certain an arrangement like this is good practice. Not only can he learn more about you, he can experience how it feels to know you on a deeper level. That, and it’ll help him avoid scandals. Online sleuths are quite skillful and if anyone knew he was dating it would stir up annoying nonsense. Though he hardly cares about his reputation as much as he cares for you, it’s still something he has to take into consideration when it comes to money.

Maybe he’s counted too many stars tonight. There’s no way he’d ever ask something so foolish under other circumstances. But maybe it’s because he’s been itching to get closer to you. Stalking you isn’t enough. Taking photographs isn’t enough. Daydreaming isn’t enough.

He needs to be inside your apartment, inside your life, inside you, forcing his way into your heart and making a permanent residence there. All he needs to do is charm you. You’ll see how good he is, and once you do there will be no need to watch your every move.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” you mutter. “You’d better be a good husband.”

“I’ll be the best,” he replies with a cocky smirk.

“All right, Scary.” You hold your hand out, leaning over the railing to reach him, and your smile sparks pure joy in his chest. “We’ll pretend to be a married couple for a little while. At least until everyone stops bothering me.”

His hand fits into yours and the two of you shake. Scaramouche can’t believe this is happening. His spontaneous plan is starting to look more solid with each passing second.

“I look forward to meeting your friends and family,” he jests and you laugh.

“Likewise.” Situated against a starry backdrop, you really are the best dream he could ever have.

That night, Scaramouche does a drinking stream to celebrate. And come tomorrow he’ll begin to put his slowly forming plan into action.

[temptaetions]

boys like you 🌷 h.hj (m)

a/n: the photo above is from hyunjin’s marie claire shoot. i do not own the photo. that being said, this fic was originally posted by me on a different, now defunct blog, i own this fic. it was formerly titled “corre, amor.” i have since deleted it from that blog and am reposting a revised version on this blog. again, i wrote this fic and it is 100% my own. i also feel super self conscious about it. be nice plz.

synopsis: hwang hyunjin is like a burning fire - dangerous, passionate, and at times, hard to dissipate. you were frozen from within, your exterior only soft to his touch. when you are his polar opposite, it should be easy to melt at his fingertips, shouldn’t it?

genre: established relationship au | breakup au | x fem!reader | smut | angst | fluff

pairing(s): dancer!hwang hyunjin x poet!fem!reader | lee minho x han jisung

word count: 8.5k. lowercase intended.

rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

warnings: swearing, one-sided pining, minimal romantic fluff, some angst, minimal smut [between h.hj x reader: some degradation, heavy petting, heavy make-out session, handjob/semi-oral, nipple play, cum eating / swapping.] hyunjin has body piercings (nipples and belly button.)

what to listen to: advice - taemin | do it for love - thama, george | play with fire - sam tinnesz, yacht money | know me - dpr live, dean | different - woodz

everyone was convinced that your relationship with hyunjin was one-sided. from the outside looking in, you could understand why. oftentimes, it was him scouring the university in search of you, and yes, he had a photo of you in his phone case and his car dashboard. the boy you’d come to adore was nearly six feet of pure love for you — he even dedicated his showcase stages to you, choosing only the most sensual of love songs to show the student body that he was a burning fire.

and yet, as much as you loved hwang hyunjin, you remained solid. unmelted was your icy form, and as the time went on, people had begun to notice. slipping away from crowds after his showcases and losing hyunjin in them became a regular thing, and the apartment was often empty because neither of you were ever really home. much like your eyes when you looked at him these days, what used to be the world to you now reflected a beautiful blonde man with the prettiest lips this side of the han river. you still loved him, you’d convinced yourself of such. the only question left was, was it in the way he did?

once upon a time, all your poems screamed his name. from long winded monologues to neat, tight haikus, your words were stringed together to recreate the man you woke up next to every day for the past three years. exasperated sighs during your poetry slams showed the way your feelings for this man ate you up inside and god, you just couldn’t believe you’d finally found a good guy. a man that was the healing of the past and the brightening of the future, the man who truly made your days enjoyable. 

“good morning,” hyunjin was stretching in the living room as you allowed your sleep-deprived body to practically float through the apartment. lack of sleep due to the endless thinking and stress over school made you a zombie — one who didn’t have much of a knack for social interaction. nonetheless, you returned the sarcastic greeting, seeing as it was two in the afternoon on a nice sunday. the coffee in the pot was cold as you poured it, and you scowled as you grabbed some ice cubes but you couldn’t complain. had you been up on time, it would’ve been hot, you can hear hyunjin now.

“mm, you look nice,” you murmur as you slide onto the couch, watching your boyfriend’s shirt ride up slightly on his waist, exposing the sliver of skin you ran your fingers down before bed. he simply chuckled at your comment, a faint blush dancing across his cheeks as he continued his hip warm ups. “you’ve got rehearsal tomorrow after class, right?” sipping your coffee quietly, you saw hyunjin nod softly as he laid down on his mat. “yeah, unfortunately. i have to rain check our dinner tomorrow night, m’sorry, doll.” he closes his eyes as he rests his arms on his torso, and you slip off the couch to run your fingers through his soft hair. admiring him, you stroke his cheek gently as he opens his eyes, placing his hand above yours.

“your big showcase is coming up. dinner can wait, i’m always by your side.” you assured him of things you weren’t so sure of yourself, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. his eyes changed as you said that, but he nodded reluctantly as you placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “don’t practice too hard, my love. you know it worries me. i’ll be in the office if you need me.” 

“‘course, honey. don’t type your fingers off,” he’s muttering to himself, and he knows how much it bothers you but even the people who are supposedly perfect have bad days. a nice guy, really. “i heard that, pipsqueak.” you call back, placing your coffee cup on your desk, leaving the door slightly ajar to hear his recital music. as soon as you hear the first notes of the remix changbin made for him, minho and felix, you ease into your desk chair. closing your own eyes, you can see his movements in your mind from hours of watching them practice this routine, specifically two years ago when the dance team uploaded it to youtube. they planned on recreating it to see where it could take them, as a trio — seeing as the fluidity of the boys raked in millions of views, and thousands of dollars in donations to the school and the dance team.

none of which hit the creative writing and poetry department, but hey, the poetry slam videos didn’t do as well. to be fair, the poetry slam club didn’t do much to raise money but turned around to ask mommy and daddy — whereas, you worked for your fifty cents. unfortunately, your major had a huge influx of people who didn’t quite really appreciate the time and effort that it took to make your art — and a lot of them were actually there to please their parents, to say they went to college. as sad as it was, you realized your freshman year that you were surrounded by maybe a third of your class with an actual passion for writing, and even then, you would hear them mouth off about your classes being an easy a.

it sometimes made you wish to have picked a different field, at a different university. maybe even if you had pursued journalism like you had intended...maybe things would be different. you often notice your mind wandering off to these places, and you remind yourself you wouldn’t have met hyunjin. so, maybe things worked out in the end — even if you did watch your old friends travel out of the country on externship to major news companies and even land jobs before graduation. jobs you couldn’t pay to get, and so, you worked part-time at the italian restaurant down the street and hid from any possible peers that may come your way.

“y/n-ah, you promised me i’d score some free breadsticks if i brought you the coffee!” jisung was whining as you bagged up his order, missing the way you shot your coworker a knowing glance, chuckling to yourself. “yah! did your mother not teach you manners? i know what i said, now keep quiet while minho gets them.” you give him a pointed look, and he scowls as you take the warm bread bag and slip it into his knapsack. “love you, bud. take it easy, i know that ankle is killing you.” you pat his shoulder, and he smiles inwardly as he takes the bag shyly, whirling out of the shop with a soft call of goodbye.

“how’s hyunjin?” minho inquires, pouring some olive oil into his calzone dough mix. you watch as he turns the mixer on, leaning your cheek on the heel of your hand. you gave your friend a sad look, and he sighed as he took in the atmosphere. “i take it you’re feeling detached?”

“and i hate it. hyunjin is literally my best friend, he is the absolute love of my life! i don’t know what’s going on anymore.” you bury your face in your hands, letting out a groan of frustration. only minho knew of your inner turmoil, and that was because you knew he’d understand. he too, was in the same situation. the only difference was that he could give you a hyunjin perspective — because it was jisung that felt the way you did. but if you told jisung, there was a small possibility he would spill the beans — not on purpose, but it would happen eventually. minho was like a steel safe enclosed in another one that was bolted into the ground.

“you need to talk to him before he starts prying. why do you think jisung left without a word to me?” he’s kneading the dough angrily, and you wince at every harsh smack that lands. “do you think i enjoy coming home to an empty bed, while jisung is out late with chan-hyung and changbin? do you think i like opening my hulu account to see he’s watched seven episodes of how i met your mother without me? this is fucking ridiculous,” he was now rolling out the dough, the warm container of fresh marinara sauce nearly being spilt with the vigor in which the table was shaking.

“you seriously need to talk to him, babe.” you turn as the doorbell dings, and you’re met by the prettiest soul this side of the han river — hyunjin. feeling a small smile slip onto your face, you return to the register to see him smiling back at you. “why hello, how may i help you?” 

“hello, miss. i’m looking for a certain y/n, i’ve come to whisk her away for supper.” he’s holding a brown bag, and you just know there’s a steamy bowl of soft tofu stew waiting to be devoured. “i adore you, hwang hyunjin.” you skirt around the counter to kiss his lips softly, hands resting on his cheeks as one of his own comes to your waist, the tips of his fingers settling in your back pocket.

“minnie, i’ll be back in thirty!” you call out, and the boy waves you off with a chuckle. despite the obvious problems that you were skirting around, minho knew that you would always adore hyunjin, boyfriend or not.

physical attraction was also not an issue — he was gorgeous, but you hated reducing him to that, and anyone who did was immediately on your hit-list. hyunjin had talent, skill, and one of the kindest hearts you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. hyunjin was what you could call an all-rounder — he was efficient in every area of his life, including his relationship. which made you realize that perhaps, it was your lack of experience in relationships, in being treated nicely.

“i love those jeans on you,” hyunjin says as you walk hand-in-hands towards the back parking lot. “you say that because you bought them for me, even after i said i didn’t need them.” you roll your eyes as hyunjin lets go of your hand, instead using it to open the backseat door for you. this was routine, on days that hyunjin didn’t have late practices or managed to leave early — he would buy something you both loved, drive to your workplace, steal you from minho for a bit to grub, and then wait at home for you until you called to be picked up. sometimes you even drove minho home. however, hyunjin’s hand on your knee as he slid in after you, gave you a warm sensation throughout your chest.

you sighed contentedly, letting hyunjin get everything out of the bag. you began slipping your white jumper off, seeing as if any of the stew got on it, you’d regret blowing fifty dollars on it. you soon realized that the jumper was exactly why hyunjin offered to manage your finances. “spoon, napkin,” he was handing you things and you quietly took them, waiting as he began to lower the cup holder to place the stew between you.

“hyunjin, do you remember our first date?” you looked at the sun, hanging low in the sky as the nighttime approached. you had been sitting in this very backseat, your hands tangled in his hair as he showed you a song he loved at the time — and continued to, to this day it blasted through your speakers at home. it’d sort of become your song — but you shared many things with him that night. “you mean how you kissed me after you had texted me earlier that day that there would be no kissing? not saying i didn’t enjoy it,” he snorts as you whack his arm lightly.

“yah, it was a moment of weakness. the timing was perfect, you were perfect.” you lean against the door, leg propped up on the seat as your fingertips tracing the spoon in your hand. you feel a bit of emotion hit your eyes, but hyunjin softly pats your leg. “hwang hyunjin, how did i manage to find a man like you?”

“you didn’t, there’s nothing all that special about me,” you’ve both seemed to forget about the early supper as hyunjin lifts the cup holder up, and scoots closer to you, resting your legs atop his thighs. drumming his fingers along your shins, he smiled at the fond memory of the date. “if anything, i think it was a moment of rose-colored glasses. all i did was slide you a book from the top shelf.” it was true, you’d met hyunjin at the campus library. granted, it was your first time in there, and hyunjin had been a bit of an overachiever his first year — so he was in the right place at the right time as you groaned about the library stacking ten shelves high.

“i still can’t believe we had sex in that bathroom,” you shudder playfully, letting out a laugh as hyunjin gasped. “you suggested it! i just granted your wish!” laughing harder, you notice hyunjin admiring you softly. “yah, you’re making me shy.” 

“you’re beautiful,” his thumb caresses your cheek, and you glance at his lips before he slowly closes in. the softness of them, something you often envied, had always been enough to make you feel hot. the technique, his hand placement as he kissed you sweetly, always made you feel giddy. hyunjin was like a really good amusement park — you wanted to go on all the rides. without breaking the kiss, you adjusted yourself to sit on his lap, relishing the way his hands snaked to your belt loops to pull you closer. his tongue expertly slides into your mouth, a small gasp escaping your lips as his thumbs rub circles over your covered breasts, the flimsy tank top hiding your sensitive nipples but heightening the sensation.

subconsciously pushing your chest into him, your own hands struggle to find home as you slide them beneath his own shirt, feeling his softly chiseled muscles under your fingertips. the soft whine that emits from his lips as you brush his nipple accidentally, a gentle reminder of the small metal bar that he pierced in on a drunken night. if there was anything you and hyunjin shared, it was sensitivity.

his hands immediately pulled down the straps of your shirt, the material sliding off your breasts as he broke the kiss — lips dragging all over your chest, nipping and biting in all places. “wait, wait. take this off,” you pulled on his own shirt, and he obliged almost furiously, tugging his cardigan and shirt off in one go — pierced nipples and belly button on display. god, he was fucking gorgeous.

“mm, i like these.” your voice was low as you gently stroked them, adoring the soft rutting of hyunjin’s hips against your own. “be nice to me tonight, baby. i’m sore from practice.” he tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear, and you look at his swollen lips. a shy blush coats his cheeks as he looks away, your hand grabbing for his jaw to make him look at you, your eyes boring into his own. “fuck, you’re beautiful. you’ve always been so beautiful.” he whines, his hand at the nape of your neck and pulling you in for another kiss, rougher this time. his free hand circles around your waist, holding you in place as your lips connect again, but briefly because you begin to kiss down his jaw, stopping to nibble at his earlobe. adding to the sensation, you grind your hips down, and you take a small nip near his jugular, a whine of your name leaving his mouth.

“you sound so pretty, so, so pretty baby. do it again.” you suck on the skin softly, and with your hands pressed against his chest, he allows another murmured whine to ring in your ears, his skin hot to the touch. “fuck, y/n.” 

you find yourself tracing his stomach and waist, trailing kisses down his chest — and a welcomed sensation to him when you teasingly flicked your tongue on his hardened nipple. his hips bucked up and you chuckled, his fingers carding through his hair as you swirl your tongue around his nipple, heart beating against his chest insanely fast. “your heart is beating so fast.” whispering, you place a chaste kiss right above it, before trailing down slowly, maneuvering your back and legs to kneel before him, carefully so you’d fit nicely. hyunjin looked at you as you did so, following your every move with glassy eyes.

“take off your pants.” slightly hoarse, but he slipped his hands under the band of his sweats, shoving them down as you’d instructed. you watched like a hawk, the way his thigh muscles flexed deliciously as he shoved them down carefully. springing free, his cock was beautiful — not too thick, maybe two inches above average, leaking precum any time he let you get your hands on him. glancing up at him, you notice the soft love bites blooming across his chest and neck, smiling to yourself as you hover above his cock. running your forefinger along the underside, you relished in the power as hyunjin shivered under your touch. leaning down slightly, you give his tip a kitten lick, gathering a bit of his precum on your tongue — and you rest your hands on his thighs to hoist yourself up towards his lips.

taking your tongue in first, hyunjin kisses you slowly, allowing the taste of himself to marinate in your mouths. you gently drag your nails on his inner thighs, noticing the goosebumps trail along your boyfriend’s skin before you grab his shaft snugly. a surprised gasp disconnects your lips, and you take the opportunity to spit directly on his swollen tip, taking it into your mouth shallowly as you softly spread your saliva with his precum. all is calm as you begin sucking towards the underside of his tip, your tongue running along the thick vein of his length.

practically drooling a river, you push yourself to sink down a bit more, allowing his tip to barely brush the back of your throat — his dull nails are digging into your shoulder as you swallow around him, the pace of your movements excruciatingly slow as you pull off with a pop. a string of spit connected you to him as you pulled away, your lips swollen lightly as you took hold of his thigh, pumping his erection in one hand, kissing his lips chastely as you whispered sweet nothings. “i want you, so bad, baby.” he whines against your lips, and you almost feel bad as you sadistically smirk. “you always do, don’t you?”

you can feel his thigh quivering as he tries to hold back, but the overwhelming feeling of your lips dragging over his upper body and the tight, rhythmic stroking of his cock in your hand was all too much. you can tell because he’s beginning to look away, his eyes fluttering as you continue to murmur filthy words in his ear, his hips swiveling in light circles into your hand. “does the little slut want to cum?” and without warning, hyunjin was orgasming, his cum shooting out in warm spurts all over your chest. his eyes screwed shut as he trembled under your touch, and you simply smiled as he exhaled a breath you were sure he wasn’t aware he was holding in.

“found a new word for you, baby. you did so well for me, my love.” you laugh softly as you begin to wipe your breasts off with your finger, not noticing the way hyunjin’s tired eyes still held a bit of lust in them. taking hold of your hips, hyunjin pulled you up into his lap once more, leveling your chest with his mouth. he slowly dragged his lips over every open part, collecting his cum as he swirled his tongue over your breasts, nipping softly. appalled, you watched him through hooded eyes, an absentminded hand tangled in his hair leading him to your nipples every now and again. “kiss me, baby.”

his hand quickly finds home on your jaw, guiding the slippery kiss full of passion..when you hear a knock on the window. the sudden sound causes you to hit your head on the roof of the car, in turn making you bite down on hyunjin’s lower lip. not that he cared, it was hot.

“what the fuck!” hyunjin throws his shirt over you before tucking himself back into his sweatpants, and you panic-wipe your face and his, realizing just how foggy the windows had gotten. he takes a shaky breath before rolling down the window, only to see minho standing there with his arms crossed. “y/n-ah, you said thirty minutes.” he’s not happy, but hey, it could’ve been worse. you sigh in relief, dropping hyunjin’s shirt, not caring that minho has now seen your boobs as you tug your straps back up. hyunjin’s stomach felt like it fell out of his ass, but minho grimaces as he watches his younger friend wipe his face once more. “in the parking lot? really?”

“listen, sometimes you gotta make do.” you smile, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek apologetically. “i’ll see you at home, baby. promise.” kissing his lips gently one more time, you wave to him as he tries to catch his breath. slipping away with minho, you try to hide the sweat on your face from riling yourself up in a hot ass car just to get your boyfriend off.

“i expected more from you, y/n. you were gone for forty minutes,” minho scoffs as he wipes a tissue across your chest, and you feel your face heat something awful when you realize you still had some of hyunjin’s residue on you. how embarrassing. nonetheless, you scowl at your friend. “that’s barely ten minutes over!” you want to be mad at minho, but your mind can only drift to hyunjin as your empty stomach growls for the last twenty minutes of your shift.

“yah, hyunjin-ah. i’m home!” you call out as you slide your backpack off, noticing his favorite boots abandoned by the door.  minho had walked you home, so you figured there was no use in calling him anyway. rolling your eyes, you pick them up to place on the somewhat empty rack (it was usually full of shoes stacked upon each other), and it is only then you hear the lo-fi beats coming from your bedroom that you realize he may have fallen asleep. smiling to yourself, you tiptoe into the kitchen, finding the soft tofu stew in the microwave and you grant yourself permission to heat it up while you get ready for bed. popping the lid off, you slide it back in and quietly walk towards your bedroom, seeing your boyfriend bundled in the duvet like a burrito. his eyes were shut, lips parted softly and he was beautiful.

leaning against the doorframe, you admire him quietly, his light breathing drowned out by the music coming from your television. you take in the purple-tinted atmosphere, ignoring the backpack and duffle bag hidden in the corner of the room.

“stop staring at me,” you hear him mumble, and you let out a laugh. “i thought hwang hyunjin was sleeping, sorry hwang hyunjin.” you chuckle, moving to turn on the desk lamp to remove your makeup. he grunts in response, before sitting up and leaning back onto the bed frame. “yah, y/n. i need my beauty rest.”

“yeah? do you? you also need to study, you’ve got a fat ass final coming up in that anthropology class.” you tap your shared calendar, and sure enough, he had a test in two weeks. “honey, i deserve a break.” he groans, and you simply shake your head as you wipe off your lipstick, that had somehow managed to stay intact during your...earlier endeavors.

“yeah, baby. you do.” you smile at him through the mirror, noticing the way he seemed a bit...drained. “ah, i don’t like it when you look like that, hyunnie. what’s nagging you?” you say, slipping off your jumper and tank top, rustling in his drawer for a shirt, which felt surprisingly less full. his silence makes you rush, grabbing a random shirt you were sure belonged to changbin at some point but you shoved your head in anyway.

“i just...i’m feeling a bit cold.” he says quietly, and you freeze. “cold...cold meaning sick, cold meaning temperature, cold meaning—”

“you feel far away, y/n. i feel cold.” he reluctantly turns to face you, his hands in his lap. frowning, you tug off your jeans, grabbing a pair of his shorts to slide on. “baby, i—”

“no, y/n. don’t ‘baby’ me, you always do this. anytime i want to be closer to you and i want to show you off the world, you hide from me. every time i want to go do cliché couple things, like matching sweaters or something, you brush me off. am i a joke, y/n? is this funny to you? do you get off on being cruel to someone who loves you more than anything?”

the outburst is unexpected. you feel your chest heat with embarrassment, and you back away from the bedside where you had been standing. you feel your eyes well up with tears but you know there is no excuse for the way you’d been acting, and that he wasn’t wrong — and you couldn’t brush it off this time. looking down, you fiddle with your rings as you let his words sink in.

“i’m sorry, hyunjin. i wasn’t aware you felt this way,” you feel a lump in your throat and you wonder why — maybe after so long of hoping he would mess up in order to break up, you realized you didn’t want that. you look at him through blurred vision, the purple love bites you left now fully bloomed and an eyesore. “i know you weren’t, y/n. you never ask me how i’m feeling any more, much less have you ever. i understand we get caught up in our lives and i know that all this ‘other half’ stuff is bullshit, but you would make time for me, y/n. you were melting, and now you’re just back in the freezer.” he sighed, throwing the comforter off his legs and standing before you. wiping tears off your cheeks, hyunjin pulls you into a tight hug.

“i just want to know what i’m doing wrong.” and you break. “you’re not doing anything wrong, hyunjin. it’s me, it’s always been me. i’m just this broken piece of ice that’s been floating over the ocean for decades, hoping someday the sun will melt me down and i’ll become one with the water. i’m tired of not being able to give you the benefit of the doubt and realize that you won’t hurt me like everyone else has. it’s been three damn years, hyunjin. what am i doing wrong?”

“maybe you’re not ready for a relationship, y/n.” his voice is calm as he strokes your back, and you feel your heart start racing at the thought of losing him. regardless of what you’d thought before, the panic of being alone has now set in and you can’t imagine your life without him — and that in itself is a toxic mentality. you were not incomplete before you met hyunjin, and you would be fine if and when he ever decided to step out of your life.

“no, no. i am, i am ready. that’s why i’m here, i swear i’ll fix it—” your panicked hands stroked hyunjin’s face shakily, and you noticed tears in his eyes as he grabbed your wrists, cupping your hands in his own as he stood. “y/n, you’re not ready. for the past three years, i’ve felt alone in this apartment, no matter how many times you walked through that door. i felt you try to warm up, i felt your effort but slowly, you just kept pushing me back. ice is meant to melt at some point, my love. maybe you are something far more solid.”

and that is when you notice that he is fully dressed. his jewelry is still in, and he’s in a different jumper and sweatpants. his feet are covered with the cactus socks you snagged at target for him, and you suddenly feel your stomach do a backflip. suddenly, the less-crowded shoe rack, the organized drawer, the bags in the corner...they make sense.

“are you...are you leaving me?” your trepidation is clawing at your throat, and you can feel your nails digging into your palms. “no, y/n. you’re leaving me.” hyunjin wipes a tear from his face, holding one of your poetry books in his hand. he must have hid it under the blankets, and he hands it to you, opening it to a bookmarked page. you now see your world crumbling before you. furrowing your brows, you close it, your hand going limp as you stare at his socks.

“you read my work.” you let the book slip onto the floor, landing on the carpet with a soft thud. “it’s the only way i’ve even made it this far, y/n.” you feel betrayal rip through you, and you hate that the only thing you ever asked him not to do had been done. you didn’t care about hiding anything besides this flimsy book of poems that you hid beneath your bed every single time you wrote something new.

“get out.” you mumble, and hyunjin opens his mouth, only to press it in a tight line. he grabs his bags quickly, and you’ve seen now that he even cleared his own cosmetics off your vanity. you would miss dolling him up for his showcases. “i’ll see you at my showcase. i hope you’re still coming.” he said quietly, before padding silently into the living room, and eventually, you heard the jingle of his keys and the slam of the front door. hearing the lock turn, you felt the tears roll down your face uncontrollably.

and slowly, but surely, you’ve fallen asleep with your face buried in hyunjin’s pillow, the soft tofu stew long forgotten.

things had always been so neutral with hyunjin. he didn’t like fighting but he was petty as hell, so that canceled out. he didn’t like cooking but he was great at it, which also canceled out. he didn’t particularly care for shower sex, but when you did indulge, it almost made you angry how well it went down.

sex with hyunjin was quite the opposite of neutral — it was filthy, wet, slippery even. it was hot and heated and you loved every moment of whatever was happening — whether he had been pounding you into your mattress, or his face was buried between your thighs, everything was euphoric. and what made you furious was that whilst you had let yourself wallow in your sudden heartbreak, you didn’t realize that you craved the skinship you shoved away.

you missed waking up to his hand literally dangling in your face, his leg thrown over your hip, or his cold ass feet tucked onto the back of your thighs. you missed holding someone’s hand as you walked around campus, being kissed goodbye as he dropped you off for class while he was headed to practice. you hated seeing hyunjin across campus and not being able to call out his name and hand him the milk tea that you’d mistakenly bought for him ten minutes ago, having completely forgotten that you were broken up.

so you felt like an idiot holding two medium wintermelon milk teas as your ex-boyfriend walked closer with his entourage. you looked at minho, and as if sensing your eyes, he glanced up. meeting your gaze, minho’s jaw dropped as you trashed the drink, tossing it in the nearest garbage can — an action not missed by felix and hyunjin. “hey, y/n.” minho tried, and you glared at him as you walked past, nearly slamming into changbin and jeongin as you did so.

you ignored the ache in your throat, your eyes scanning the campus for chan. you had set to meet with him to study for your statistics final, and had been running late by getting boba. only then you realize you could have given him the extra drink, but you shook it off as you see his built form appear a few feet in front of you, his thick legs cozied in warm sweatpants that read 3RACHA down his thigh. “channie! wait up!”

he halts, looking up from his phone to look around. “ah, y/n!! how are you?” turning, he gives u a soft fist bump as you both begin the walk to the library. your hand took his elbow, and he was puzzled as you rushed him down the path. “are you okay? you seem off. did something happen with hyunjin?”

you were inside the library now, and you feel your stomach churn at the sound of his name, simply swiping your student card to get into the study room. you set down your backpack, toying with the zipper before you begin trying to form the words necessary. you tried to hold it in, but you couldn’t help and let a few tears slip out of your eyes as your lips quivered. “we broke up.”

followed by silence, chan seemed to understand as he stood, enveloping your limp form in a hug as you broke down for the third time that week. trying to hide your emotions from your friends was always easy, but you’d never felt defeat like this. you’d never allowed someone to see your heart and learn its ways, so knowing now that you had seen hyunjin’s and ignored it simply showed that you had taken him for granted.

“haven’t you got any faith in yourself, y/n?” he mumbles as he wipes your cheeks with his sleeve, taking hold of both your hands. “being single is the least of your worries, girl. let’s just cool off a bit and focus on this dumbass final that we’ve got to ace tomorrow.” chan began writing up practice equations that your professor had assigned earlier that week, and though you wiped your tears and whipped out your calculator — you regretted renting the study room across the very library you met hyunjin in.

the boys had wound up dragging you out of the apartment on the night of hyunjin’s showcase, making the coping process much harder and the carpool was just a bit more suffocating as you turned into an unfamiliar neighborhood to pick up the soloist for the night, hwang hyunjin. you looked at the houses on the street as chan cruised forward, only to stop in front of an old townhouse with a nice vegetable garden. you quietly looked out the window to see your ex-boyfriend kissing and older woman’s cheek goodbye.

“hey, scoot.” he opened the door and you reluctantly scooted over, realizing now why the boys asked if you wanted the passenger seat. hyunjin’s freshly dyed black hair would definitely be a show-stopper, and paired with the dance he’d prepared, you knew he’d steal some hearts. “nice hair.” you mutter, and you feel hyunjin sigh softly, pulling out his phone.

a minute later, you feel your phone vibrate in your clutch. a small lump in your throat forms as you see you’ve forgotten to change his contact name.

[4:54PM] baby ♥︎🩰: would you be willing to do my makeup for the showcase..?

glancing up, you grimace as you see hyunjin staring out the window with flaming red cheeks. scowling, you type back a short ‘yes’ and stare at the bouquet in your lap for the rest of the drive.

backstage was crawling with dancers and makeup artists, but hyunjin had managed to convince the stage manager to get him and the boys off in a green room in the concert hall. seeing as the stage manager apparently owed hyunjin for some favor years ago, he’d snuck hyunjin the key as you strolled quietly backstage with the boys. minho and felix just needed to get dressed, they would be waiting in the audience for their turn on stage for the group performances. you feel set up, somehow.

you waited quietly on the sofa, scrolling mindlessly through twitter as you let the boys rustle around getting into their outfits. seeing as hyunjin had a solo and a group dance, his bag was twice as heavy. “okay, i’m heading out. we’ll be up third.” minho was buttoning his shirt as he started walking out, felix trailing behind him as he smoothed on some chapstick. the room felt thick with tension, yet you pushed past it to set up hyunjin’s makeup on the vanity table, your fingers dusted with eye glitter.

“these are for you,” you set the bouquet down on the vanity as you allow him to finish getting dressed. a bouquet of mixed flowers, bold and colorful — daisies, cornflowers, honeysuckles, red tulips and carnations. an eyesore that you adored. you knew you wouldn’t be around after the performance, so you simply slipped your note into the bouquet when he silently clipped in his jewelry.

best of luck, my love. forever yours, y/n <3

“why are you being so quiet?” hyunjin asked as he came up behind you, buttoning his shirt quickly. “yah, i’m not being quiet. i feel awkward, i want to get this done and over with, hyunjin.” you say, moving out of the way so he can sit down, and you sweep his hair off his face, ignoring the temptation to kiss his forehead like you usually would. you know, for someone who had had a hard time melting to form into what hyunjin ‘needed’, you sure had no trouble being what hyunjin craved. he hadn't realized that until his first actual night without you.

he was freezing.

“be gentle with me.” he said as you patted moisturizer under his eyes, listening out for the start of the first performance. “i always am.” you whisper, not allowing the tears building up to escape as you blink them back. hyunjin’s gaze on your face was intensely intimidating as you carefully blended a muted terracotta shade on his eyelid, and you think you imagine the pout on his lips until you go back in with a brown pencil liner. “yah, hwang hyunjin! why are you pouting?”

he looks down at his hands, toying with the loose strands on the holes of his jeans. you frown, dusting on an easy amount of blush before grabbing his lip tint. your hand grasps his jaw, his eyes widening as you do so.

“you’ve gotten so mean,” he mutters as he puckers his lips, and you feel a smile sneak onto your face as you dab the tint on lightly. “you’ve always liked it.” you almost kiss him, out of routine, but the cold air in the room reminds you of what can no longer be. a sad feeling washes over you as you spray his face lightly with a setting spray, and wave your hands around him to dry it.

“you’re going to do great out there, hyunjin. i know it.” holding his arms, you rub them gently one last time before hearing the second song start for the next group, starting your brisk walk out of the room. “wait.” stopping in place, you don’t turn as you hear his feet patter behind you, and you feel his presence on your back as his hand takes hold of your wrist. slowly, he turns you around and your eyes are closed, not wanting to know what the next two minutes may hold. you don’t realize you’re backing up against the door until you’ve hit it, and your eyes open to see his face ghosting over yours. his breathing is shaky, and you can’t help but feel tears fill your eyes as you brush your lips against his.

kissing you back softly, his hand finds home on your waist — and you feel a tear roll down as you wrap your arms around his neck. your lips are burning his skin but he relishes in the warmth he’d been missing for the past two weeks. your skin is hot to the touch and he realizes…

maybe it was him that needed melting.

“good luck, hyunjin. you’re gonna be fine.” you sniff as you push him away, exiting the green room as quickly as you could, hearing the second song coming to an end. you’re sprinting towards the auditorium at this point, nearly crashing into minho as he and felix are rushing towards backstage to set up in the thirty seconds they have. “first row, fourth seat!” felix yells as you open the auditorium door, and you nearly bust a lung trying to catch your breath while sliding into the seat next to jisung.

“hey, sungie.” you take a deep breath and han jisung simply shakes his head — his hand taking hold of yours as the curtain rises with the boys in position. of course, hyunjin is front and center as the spotlight catches him directly, his hands crossed across his face in a gesture you’d memorized from his practices. the music begins, and once more you’re drawn in by the fluid movements of his body, the body control he carried on himself was something many dancers would die for. suddenly, it’s like there’s no one else in the room but you and him. you’re locked on his swiveling hips, the flow of his arms as he melted into the music.

and you fall in love all over again.

“our last soloist for the night has been well anticipated in many ways. the star of the show, the one and only man of the hour — let’s hear it for our very own hwang hyunjin!” the announcer is far too excited in your opinion, and you roll your eyes as the entire auditorium goes up in screams, joining them in their clapping. the crowd dies down as the curtain rises, and you hold your breath as hyunjin steps into view, a piece of white ribbon in between his teeth as he looks into a gold-framed mirror. he ties his hair back carefully as he stares into the mirror, and as the beat drops in, your jaw locks. his hand wraps around his neck lightly, before looking back with a finger in his mouth.

he rips off the veil-like cape and before you know it, he’s on the ground and you understand now why the entire crowd is entranced as his knees alternate, the way his hand covers his joker-like grin and the way he’s sliding around the floor is simply delicious. fan service, you think reluctantly as you hear a group of individuals screaming in a lust-filled pitch.

the silver details make him glimmer as he releases all his emotions on the stage, and you feel your thighs clench as you catch a glimpse of the belly piercing you adored. your nails are digging into your palm as you realize how high the shirt has come undone, and it is only now that you recognize the song playing in your ears as hyunjin’s performance comes to an end with his hand around his neck once more, the lights dimming as the last line rings in your mind.

i’ve always liked to play with fire.

you feel your heart stop in your chest as hyunjin throws the rose he’d held in his mouth in your general direction, and the crowd screams once more as he leaves the stage, pulling the ribbon out of his hair as he exited. you ignore all the screams as you feel the urge to get up and leave the premises like you have every single time hyunjin had a showcase. you want to push your way out the doors and run home to a pillow that doesn’t smell like him anymore but you pretend it does in hopes of some sort of manifestation that he’d show up in your dreams again.

you can’t help but slip your heels off and bolt for the exit as the dancers come back on stage for their final bow. you see hyunjin in your peripheral view and like always, you ignore it. you ignore the beet red blush on his face as people throw flowers at him and scream his name, and you ignore the way he pushes through the crowd to find you in the parking lot. you ignore the cold on your back as you manage to hail a taxi and slip in, giving the driver your address in a hurried sob as you see hyunjin exit the building behind you. you ask her to step on it as you feel the lump in your throat grow, and she gives you a pitiful look as she steps on the gas. you feel bad. you always do when you run away from what is best for you.

“trouble in paradise, honey?” she asks quietly, and you nod as your phone vibrates repeatedly, surely spam calls from the boys. “he loves me far more than i could have imagined. it is sad that i am simply not enough for him in my own eyes.”

“oh my, dear. you will always be enough. look at you, you’re young! you’re full of life even when you look like you’re having a rough time, you look like what i wish i looked like twenty years ago! you’re the it girl, baby. cherish it.” she sighs as she stops in front of your apartment, and you dig through your clutch for some cash. “don’t worry. this one’s on me, but i think you could make it work.” she looks into your eyes and you feel your soul ache as you nod.

“i will, auntie. thank you.” you exit her cab, scurrying up the stairs to your apartment quietly. you feel winded as you unlock your door, and you throw your heels onto the empty rack. you wander mindlessly about your apartment, standing in front of what once held photos upon photos of you, hyunjin and all your friends. memories that were once stuck to the wall were now stacked up on the dining room table, and you sighed as your fingers touched the thumbtack holes.

“in this maze of memories, where did i lose you?” you whisper to yourself, sighing as you trail towards your bedroom, plopping face first onto your bed, ignoring the sudden whiff of hyunjin’s scent coming off your pillow. “how cruel it is to live in a world where you’re not even in my photo albums anymore.”

hyunjin had started to distance himself more, and last you’d heard, he was offered to study a year abroad in france with minho and felix. good for him, i wish him well, you’d told jisung when he shared the good news. minho and jisung managed to work it out, with jisung having been offered a year abroad as well for music production with the dance team, they realized it was time to figure out who they were to each other. you find out the person hyunjin kissed a few months back before the showcase was his grandmother — she’d recently moved into that old townhouse.

you couldn’t really swallow down the pill that hyunjin wasn’t yours anymore, but the universe didn’t give you much of a choice as it kept turning. you’d lost your passion for poetry, and the dream to be a huge name in journalism in the months after. you’d given your poems to be displayed in the creative writing hall at your university, and you realized that nothing you wrote was ever about anything besides hyunjin. everything was connected back to him, and it seemed the world knew that as you dropped your major entirely, and when your advisor questioned what you would be changing it to, you simply shrugged and told her you didn’t know. i want to see the world, you said. university is tying me down.

seeing as you had officially finished the year, you had no loose strands to burn besides packing up and moving out of your student apartment. you’d sent hyunjin his things via seungmin and jeongin, who were kind enough to help you move out and get a moving van back to seoul. you were going to spend the summer with them, seeing as they simply planned to go all around seoul auditioning for companies. 

you were taping the last box when you heard a soft knock at the door.

looking up, you see hyunjin. back to his blonde hair, glowing in all his glory. you give him a tight lipped smile, and stand up to greet him quietly. “hello. i heard you got offered a year in france. congratulations.” you mumble as you stand in front of him, and he nods silently. the tension is thick as he shifts from side to side, before clearing his throat.

“i saw your poems in the hall.” he whispered, and you scoff, scratching your neck shyly. “yeah, i decided to say goodbye. sort of lost touch with that dream.” he doesn’t say anything, but you look to see his eyes screwed shut as he leans against your doorframe. “i didn’t know you wrote so much about me, y/n.”

“everything i’ve ever written has been about you, hyunjin. you were my lucky star, the moon i talked to every night. you held all my creativity, because you were my only inspiration.” you shrug, and hyunjin simply stretches his arms out. “come, let me hold you.”

and for a moment, this is okay. you’re okay, feeling the warmth of his body against your own and hearing his soft heartbeat. you’re okay, realizing that you will never stop loving hwang hyunjin, no matter how far he is. you’re okay, knowing that he also loves you, and you’re okay with the soft kiss he plants on your scalp.

“i turned it down. i got into a company,” he murmurs, and you gasp. “and even though i’d be under a dating ban, i figured i’d let you know that i miss you and that i’d override that for you, if you’ll have me. i miss waking up with you and i miss walking to class together. i miss you, and i love you. i hope that we can be together someday, again. whether it’s tomorrow or in ten years, just know my heart belongs to you.”

you can’t begin to explain why he should run. so you won’t. you won’t crush him with your fears, or your doubts of what’s to come — because in the end, the love you fear you don’t deserve has already begun. you smile into his chest, breathing in the soft scent of his perfume. “i love you.”

temptaetions © 2022. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[your-local-hoemie]

Can i request zhongli thoma and kazuha with reader that gets sick easily and often nose bleed cos of over working?

YES AAAA KAZUHA I get to write my maple prince!! TvT

Ya’ll are being awesome with the requests thank you :P I have three more to do after this and then I’m finally caught up aaaa!

Warnings: Fluff, very caring boys, Gn! Reader, swearing, mentions of blood, not proof-read.

Characters: Zhongli, Thoma, Kazuha.

Zhongli~

For someone so calm and collected 24/7 he’s still unsure of how he managed to fall for someone that’s constantly overworking theirselves into a trembling mess at least once a week.

When you first came home one day with a bloody nose he was prepared to commence with the wrath of the rock istg

When you told him that it just happens sometimes with the most causal attitude you could muster without passing out he just kinda stopped and was like

?????

Deadass just stopped and looked at you with the most deadpan expression ever and was like:

“My dear, I don’t quite believe that’s as ordinary as you try to make it out to be”

After this happens a couple more times he starts to become very good at taking care of you!

As soon as he picks up signs that you’re overworking he’ll immediately make sure to get some tissues and force you to stop whatever you’re doing and pin you to the bed in the most innocent way possible.

If he doesn’t pick up on you destroying your physical and mental state then be prepared for a hour long lecture about how you should take care of yourself!

He just wants you to be safe. He’s already lost so many people he’s loved and wants to make sure you’re ok!

Thoma~

The panic attacks you give to is poor man-

Genuinely thinks you’re about to die every time you show up with blood spurtin’ out your nose.

Has medical supplies at all times

When you told him it happens when you push yourself too much he makes sure to do everything for you when he can!

Makes you food and does chores like the precious housewife he is.

When you’ve been working too long he’ll force you to take a break and give you a nice massage even if you don’t ask for one!

He’ll ask Ayato to put a word in with your boss or teacher to take it a little more easy on you.

It’s not that he thinks you can’t handle the work

Which you can’t you dumbass

He just doesn’t like seeing how much of a toll it takes on your body

He just loves you so much and wants to make sure you’re ok~

Kazuha~

He’s like a concerned parent who also loves you too much to be angry

He understands how important the work you have is but really doesn’t like how you push yourself to literal destruction.

When you first start getting a nose bleed he’d act very calm and do his best to make sure you were ok while sitting you down to rest

But you can bet your ass his poor little heart was terrified something bad had happened ;-;

He has trauma ok! Who fucking doesn’t in this game

Doesn’t have the heart to tell you to stop what you’re doing but does do everything in his power to distract you

Oh look. He found a pretty view and needs you to come and see it with him

It’s life or death

Trust him.

He found these fruits he found and thought you’d like to try them but he needs you to eat them with him so he knows your opinion.

Such a sneaky boy.

If you refuse to peel your eyes away from whatever you’ve been torturing yourself with the last who knows how long-

He’ll finally voice his opinions and tell you to stop.

He never has a harsh or demanding tone

It’s always sounds so soft and caring

Because he is!

You’re like a beautiful flower that even though he knows you can withstand harsh conditions he still wants to protect and care for you!

It’s also impossible to say no to him he gives you his pretty smile and puppy eyes

He’s a beautiful boy with a beautiful heart

And it belongs to you completely~

Thoma’s was kinda short because I’m running out of brain juice for him today ;-;

I’ll be catching up with the other requests in a few days I’m just going through some stuff with my mom not accepting me being no-binary which is really disheartening just randomly inserts a rant wtf but I assure I will get to all the requests sent in :P

[sankttealeaf]

putting rue's letters she wrote to gale and gortash under the cut because idk where else to post them but the world has to read them too

i doubt theres any way to include them in the main fic because a) gale wont read his because rue is alive and b) gortash thinks its another taunt from orin and also won't read his

stupid men.

Gale, my love.

Please know there is nothing you could have done to change my mind.

With each day that passes I feel worse and worse with myself and you deserve something better than I can give right now. I’ve not been honest with you and the guilt is eating me alive, though I know it will be nothing compared to the hatred you will feel for me. I tried, countless times, to speak to you about this in person but my words get tangled in my throat and I end up pretending everything’s okay.

Everything is awful.

Since arriving in the city, since meeting Gortash, since getting a place here at the Elfsong I have lied to you every single day. You may already know, in fact I think you’re smart enough to have found out somehow.

I’ve been meeting with Gortash in secret. It started as a desperate attempt to regain my past but as each night went by and he told me less and less I realised I was going to him for other reasons. We’ve kissed. That’s the furthest we ever went. I need you to know this.

I’m going to finish this. By the time you’ve read this, there’s a high chance I may be dead. I want to end Orin, to destroy the temple of Bhaal and renounce my blood but I know that I will most likely not survive the outcome.

I love you. I really do. I think you were the first person I’ve ever said those words to. Love doesn’t sit well within me but with you it’s as easy as breathing. You were the best part of all of this and I’m glad fate fucked me so we could meet. You were the kindest person to me despite everything wrong in my blood and I have never felt hope as strongly as I have when I’m with you. I wish things were different. I would have loved going to Waterdeep with you, to meet Tara properly, to meet your mother, to have a nice life away from all this. There’s no soft endings for people like me. I understand that now.

And I’m sorry it has to end this way.

All my love,

Rue.

Gortash.

One day, you will die. Not by my hand, but by someone else’s who deserves to get their vengeance on the cruelties you put them through. If I could I would throw you to the masses for them to rip and tear into you but even then I think that death is too kind.

I didn't plan on writing this, nor am I entirely sure what I’m supposed to say. What do you say to someone you can’t ever remember loving? I truly believe she loved you. Rumour, that is. We both know we aren’t the same person anymore and it’s easier to think about her as a separate entity. Maybe that’s how I cope with what I’ve done. What we’ve done.

I think she loved you in such a way that it hurts me to see you go. Which is why I won’t be there. The thought of you dying kills me but I know I’m not supposed to feel like that. We were to die in each other’s arms when the whole world took its last breath. I can’t see you die before then.

I’m confronting Orin. Part of me knows that whatever happens, one of us will die. Maybe it will be me. Maybe this time she’ll finish the job. Or maybe Bhaal despises us both so much he plucks the blood from our bodies and kills us both. I’m fine with either.

I’m fine with death. A world with such kindness in it isn’t made for cruel hands like mine. I think I understand that now. I can only be forgiven if I leave this plane and that’s what I’m doing.

If our gods allow it, I would like to wait for you. Perhaps we can reconnect after death. You said that we will always find each other and I hope that whatever comes next for me, I will find you again. Maybe I’ll be a bird that nests outside your window. Maybe then I’ll finally feel free.

Enver. You were her friend. She did love you. I need you to know that. I’m sorry it’s come down to this. There’s no other way.

Forgive me.

Rue.

[claire-elvisgirl]

A growing Lily - pt. 1

Here we aaaare!!! Part 1 is finally ready...I hope you like it. Daddy is ready to show his love...chapter 1 is cute and soft, but the others 2 will be particularly detailed and full of love, sex and all the stuff we like so much! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count:2012

Summary: You’re divorced. Elvis takes you and you little daughter to live with him.

Warnings: Nothing particular in chapter 1

Your marriage wasn’t meant to be a happy one. You knew it the moment you find out you were pregnant. Your husband didn't take the thing too well and left you. You didn't want to give up on your baby, so you kept on with your pregnancy alone. You were young and inexperienced, but you managed it very well and had a beautiful girl named Lily.

She was your only joy. One sunny afternoon she asked you to take her to the park to play. You didn't feel so good, but she insisted and you decided to take her out. A nice breath of fresh air would have helped you too.

You sat on a bench and she flew off to play. While you were watching her, a young man appeared and approached you. He had incredible blue eyes and dark blond hair. “Hi miss!” he said with a soft voice. You looked up: “Hello!”. “May I sit down?” he asked gently. “Of course!” you answered. He sat next to you and started to talk. You ignored him. “I’m Elvis, by the way. You got a name, li'l gal?”

“Y/n!” you replied without looking at him. “Y/n? Why, that's a real pretty name. Where you from? I ain't seen you aroun' here before.”

You heard him keep on asking things about you. The thing bothered you, but at the same time you found him interesting. “I’m in town since a month!”

He looked at you surprised: “You’ve been here for a month, and I ain't seen you 'til now? Man, I must be blind! I never met a gal as pretty as ya before.”

You coughed. Then Lily ran to you. "Mommy can we play now?".

Elvis was shocked and enchanted at the same time: “Why, what is this? We got ourselves a momma's little girl here?” He kneeled down in front of Lily and started to make funny faces. “Who's this little princess?”

You smiled: “This is Lily, my daughter”. He turned to her. “Well, hellooo Lily! Ya look just like your momma!” He winked at you. Lily giggled. "Who's he mama?"

Elvis pinched her cheek: “I’m a good friend of mommy, Lily. My name is Elvis! Can you say it?”. She smiled and repeated: “Eylvis?!:” He laughed and you smiled as Lily ran away to play. “Boy she’s the cutest thing I've ever seen!” he said. “You and your husband should be very proud!”.

“Well, in fact I am!”. Elvis noticed something bothered you. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’m…I’m not married! I was!”

He tried to understand. “Was, huh? So you ain't married anymore?” He looked at you sadly.

You shook your head and looked up: “Well...he left me while I was pregnant of Lily!”

He turned agry: “He...what??? Now that were just plain awful. Now, a gal like you shouldn't be all alone. Ain't ya got nobody here for ya?”

You hated pity and compassion from others. “Oh don't worry, I can manage everything pretty well!”. He put a hand on your shoulder causing you to shiver inside. “Ya really think ya can raise a child all by yourself? A child needs a man, sugar, someone to protect 'em!”. He was getting more involved as time passed. You looked down. “I can't force him to stay with me if he doesn't want to!”. Elvis grabbed your hand and looked deeply into your eyes. “I wasn’t talking about him!!”

You looked at him for a while. You couldn't believe what he was saying.

“Elvis…!?”. Thousands of thoughts flipped through your mind. He was practically offering you a new home, a new life, with him and Lily. You took back your hand from his.

“Why would you do that? I mean...why would you take a girl with a daughter? You're not worried about what people could say!?

He laughed loudly. “Y/n, I don't care 'bout what them other fools might say. All I care now is 'bout you, and 'bout that precious little girl. If ya say yes, you're gonna be my wife and she’s gonna be my little girl. We're gonna be a family! A real family!”

He smiled at you and you slowly looked up at him and smiled back. “Are you serious?”

He turned serious: “Dead as a rock, y/n. I’ll be your man for the rest o' ya life!” As he slowly leaned towards you, Lily laughed loudly pointing her little finger to you. He smiled and gently picked Lily up on his lap. “Why, look at that. Seems like your little princess here wants us to be together!” Lily smiled, she seemed to know what's good for you. He kissed you again, this time more passionately. Lily pulls out her arms to him. "Daddy!?" He blushed and held her in his arm.

"Come here, my little angel. Come to daddy". Lily smiled and hugged him tightly. You looked at them, a little worried. You were certainly pleased about the situation, but you were afraid of rushing things, especially for your little girl. You didn't want to hurt her in any way.

You tried to get Lily back and explained to her that he’s no daddy.

Elvis held her tightly. “Ah come on, y/n, don't be angry with her. Lil' Lily is happy, aren't ya honeybee?” He sat Lily back on his lap and put his nose on hers. "Awww, look at ya little angel! Daddy loves ya, Lily." Lily touched his face and looked at him with her bright blue eyes. You were melting inside at that sight and you were feeling that maybe that young man could really change your life.

“Elvis you don’t have to do it…” you told him seriously.

He pinched your cheek: “Don’t worry, don't ya just see that we're bonding too well? Me, you, and lil' Lily, we can be a real family! You just have to say yes!” Lily smiled and kissed Elvis' nose.

You were tempted to tell him yes right there, but suddenly a strange fear pierced your heart. You saw all your past life in a second: the marriage, the separation, the divorce…you were not ready to face all these things again. “I...I can’t, I’m sorry!” You got up from the bench and took Lily in your arms: "C’mon Lily, time to go home".

Elvis stood speechless as he watched you going away. Lily looked at him and started to cry: "No, mama! I wanna stay with Eylvis!". You tried to calm down Lily and took her way home. Elvis stood up and ran after you: “Y/n, ya can’t take away my little angel!”. You looked at him firmly: “Elvis please, she's not yours and you know it!” He stood up and went after you. Lily was still crying "Daddy…Eylvis!".

He grabbed you from behind.  “Y/n you can't do it…”.

You tried to explain your reasons very calmly: “Elvis please, if you want to do it, I'm ok, but I can't do it in a snap! It’s a thing that has to be settled with time and patience...”

He nodded: “Why, of course! Of course I’ll be a gentleman 'bout it. I’ll give ya all the time ya need. But remember, this is just between you and me...and your little angel over here. Now, ain't this a real pretty picture of a family?”  He held you both tight against him. You looked at him a little scared, but at the same time you felt relieved and happy.

You gave him your hand. “Listen, I'll think about that, ok?”. He kissed your hand: “You take all the time ya need, darlin'” then he looked at Lily. "Awwww, what a cute little angel. Do you know who's your daddy, Lily? Yeah, Eylvis is your daddy now!” Lily looked at you, smiling. You felt strange inside. For the first time you thought maybe you really needed someone, and most of all you’re enthusiastic about how much Lily loves Elvis.

He tickled Lily. “It's like this little honeybee knows just what's best for us. And now I got a little mission for ya, y/n!”

“A mission?” you asked.

“Yeah. I want you to go home and gather all the things that you and Lily need for you to be living with me from now on. I want it all ready in 'bout two days. What ya say 'bout that?

You stopped and stared at him. “Two days?? Oh Elvis, how can I…? I mean, it's happening so fast, I have to be sure I can trust you. I can't let this thing hurt me or Lily!”

He grabbed your hand again and his eyes were pointing right at yours. “Ya can trust all I say. Look how I love your little angel. Look how she loves me!” He kissed Lily on the forehead.

You were starting to trust him and you decided to give him a try. “You know what, you're right! I'm in!

He was filled with joy and he held you tight. “Oh y/n you’re making me so happy! We’ll be the best family ever!” Lily smiled again. "Ya, daddy!" and she hugged you both. Elvis smiled, kissed you and Lily and left. You looked after him, your face was a mixture of joy and excitement, but you were still a little worried.

In the following day you kept thinking about him and his proposal. He was offering you a stable home and a new life. You were really concerned, but you thought you had nothing to lose. You trusted him. He told you that was not the first time he saw you. He had spotted you and Lily many times before, but he never had had the courage to talk to you. And now he was practically asking you to marry him. Legally or not. All these thoughts were bouncing in your head, as you started to gather things you and Lily may need to go with him. Before you left, you took Lily in your arms and asks her what she thought about Elvis; you wanted to be sure that she would be really happy. You were still in doubt, but Lily gave you the courage to go ahead. She loved Elvis very much; she kept on calling him daddy and the way they bonded at the park was really amazing.

Two days after, he came to pick you up with his car. He got off and ran to hug you and Lily: “My precious girls…”. Then he turned to you. “Ready?”. You nodded and seated in the car. He drove away…away from your past, from your husband and from all the bad things that happened to you.

He took you to his home, a beautiful country home with a big garden.

He was enthusiastic. “Hey, look! The whole gang is waiting for us!!”. You were concerned: “Elvis who are these people? I thought we would be alone…”

He smiled at you grabbing your cheek. “Oh don't ya worry. My friends are the best fellas you could ask for. They'll keep us safe and happy, honey. Now, come with me, I’ll show ya around!” He parked and Lily gets out of the car and hugs him. Then all the others came, one after the other welcoming the new family member. Elvis opened the door and helped you to get out of the car.

You stopped and watch all the wonderful things around you: “This place is amazing!”

“I told ya!” You smiled and followed Elvis. Lily looked at the guys. They were dressed in a way she had never seen before. She pulled you close laughing: "Mommy, are they cowboys?"

You laughed back: “Of course they are my love, aren't they Elvis?" You winked at him. He played your game.

“You betcha, Lily! These guys are the best! Now, let’s go meet 'em all!”  You looked at Elvis. You kiss passionately. You felt really in love with him. Then you hug each other. You heard noises behind you, but you don't worry about it. You don't care what others think, because you are finally happy.

*

[cofay]

다 표현하지 않아도

♡ CUPIDS ARROW ⤑

Part 1…Part 2…Part 3…

As you walked the dark streets you sighed softly looking down..Well until you had an idea.

What if you had no responsibilities at all? What if you were a mortal? What if you weren’t in this position at all? You could have a normal life.

You could even have a shot with Izuku I mean what could go wrong?

It was late spring things were just getting warm and summer was right around the corner. You did all that you could walking down the road later that night.

You could smell the sweet flowers..feel the soft breeze, hear the thick sound of thunder and felt the soft touches of rain it was almost perfect the moonlight softly shining over you and down onto the flower field.

You looked up into the sky lifting your hands up to your shirt and unbuttoning it slowly. Then goes your pants…it may have seem crazy or strange but this was you stripping yourself of your responsibilities of making people fall in love.

Of building marriages, of making and creating families,friendships and more, you were finally

Free

Free of the aches free from the stress, the pressure the pain you’re finally free..you lift your head back letting the rain droplets hit your face and run through your hair you closed your eyes smiling as you shed your old self. As you shed your position of control and love.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

A week later you ended up finding some nice more suitable clothes for your new found interest. You also gained the courage to show up to Izuku’s penthouse. You walked up the stairs slowly every bone inside of you basically felt like it was sat on fire.

You were scared, giddy, sad, and excited all at the same time you couldn’t help but smile as you inch closer and closer to his front door.

*Knock*

*Knock*

*Knock*

You waited a second before the door slowly opened revealing the green haired boy. He tilted his head to the side confused clearly by you showing up, but you on the other hand couldn’t help but smile as you basically jumped up and down at the sight of him.

He can finally see you finally..it’s been so long

“Who are you?”

“Y/n!…I-im sorry you probably are confused right now because I’m here unexpectedly…but uh..I-i got something!”

You pulled out a small bag from behind your bag handing jt towards him. Slowly and maybe cautiously he opened it revealing a small bracelet with non-other than a cupids bow and arrow along with a four leaf clover. “It’s for you…”

You looked at his face watching his expressions just hoping..hoping that he would accept it and maybe let you get some more words out..and then maybe you could be friends or more..maybe.. as you scanned his face you watched as his confusion slowly turned into something else. A sweet bright smile from him.

You felt like you were in a dream that you didn’t ever want to wake up from.

“Thanks—oh shit..I’m sorry do you want to come inside?”

“Uh-sure!”

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

And basically after that you guys hit it off started off by meeting up at parks to going to small carnivals to huge amusement parks then to him asking you out and then it turned into small dinner dates and now to this. You sleeping in bed with him resting his head on your chest.

It was all you ever wanted to love and be loved at the same time. You just wanted to live this little life that you had acquired. Even if it could all go to hell at any moment..you just wanted at least a minute with Izuku to yourself and you would be fine.

Well if only those Erotes would stop showing up to just watch you. Even though you’ve basically became a mortal you could still see them you didn’t understand it. You’re a full mortal right? Something’s wrong.. really wrong.

You watched them from the comfort of Izuku’s bed staring at them from outside the window until they left abruptly..a shiver was sent down your spine and you shifted a bit causing Izuku to move also and mutter something.

“Y/n?”

“It’s okay..I’m still here just needed to sit up..it’s fine go back to sleep..”

You say running your fingers through his hair and rubbing circles around his back with your other hand. Even then while you were sleeping you istg couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something was wrong..you needed to do something about it quick.

But not to quick you don’t want to alarm anybody or make a wrong move you can’t risk ruining everything now..no no..not now not when things are perfect.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

[twinkinspector]

uhhhh yeah here's this

first, here's what i was imagining music-wise

denki x f!reader, public sex, sex with a stranger, drugs, fingering, grinding, a singular ass slap, one singular chomp, voyeurism, public nudity ig?, a dash of spit, a teensy bit of name-calling/degradation at the end ("nasty little slut"), kami whines a little because of course he whines when he cums, OH creampie also

kami makes me ill you do not understand...... i have a fever thinking ab this

it’s cool out, and thank gods for that. you wouldn’t be able to feel a breeze even if you wanted to. you’re pressed up against countless other sweaty bodies, all swaying and bouncing and grinding to the beat echoing through the clearing you’re in.

it got dark not too long ago, but you’ve been in this spot since the sun was still up. this was the show you were most excited to see. you got there early – but somehow you still weren't the first person waiting.

even though you weren't the first, the crowd was still pretty sparse – people who were still rolling from what they'd been taking all day. you found an empty spot right up against the rail and quickly claimed it, leaning on the cool metal to show others that this was your spot.

other concertgoers started to trickle in as you waited patiently. you sipped on the cool bottle of ice water you were keeping in your purse, sizing up the people nearest to you. you were about to be blocked in with them for a few hours, so you might as well be prepared.

no one really caught your attention at first. everyone looked the same – flushed and tired from sunburn and substances. as you started to get blocked in by the crowd, a group of five sauntered up – pushing through the crowd.

the group was made up of four guys and just one girl – the lean, angry-looking blonde man in the front was the one doing most of the pushing. "bakugou, be nice! we're almost at the front anyway," whined the girl, her bright pink hair up in a bun on top of her head.

bakugou rolled his eyes, huffing. "fine. i wanted front row, but that girl is short enough that i guess it doesn't matter," he growled back, gesturing to you. "dude, you're so cranky," laughed the other blonde.

he had darker, more golden blonde hair – he seemed warmer and way more laid-back than the ash blonde next to him. the golden blonde had matching golden eyes that periodically locked with yours. he had a jagged dark streak through his bangs and angular features, his foxlike appearance contrasting with his seemingly sweet disposition.

a brunette with a huge smile popped his face up between the two blondes, holding a lit joint to the cranky one. "chill out. take a few hits, please," he offered. bakugou snatched the joint and took a few hits as instructed, puffs of smoke rising through the air and dissipating above him.

"that's right, bro," cooed the biggest one, rubbing bakugou's shoulders. this guy was huge. the others were lean, but he was built. he had spiked red hair and pointy teeth, but again, his demeanor was so much softer than his appearance.

they carried on like this for another hour, joking around and trying to smooth over bakugou's frustration (frustration that – as far as you could tell – wasn't about anything in particular). and that brings us to now.

the performers walk out onstage, and the crowd roars. you hear exclamations of "fuck yeah!" and "finally!" from the group behind you as the music starts. the bassline echoes through the tight-knit mass of bodies, everyone beginning to lose themselves in the experience.

your hips sway back and forth as you dance to the syncopated rhythms, the deep groove you can feel in the congregation around you. you close your eyes and take a big breath to calm yourself as the adrenaline starts to course through you.

you look back at the group behind you. the girl with the pink hair is sitting on the biggest guy's shoulders, her fingers holding on to his red hair as she grins and sways, singing along. the other guys seem completely lost in the moment, too, just like everyone else.

the golden blonde meets your eyes after a moment, and you feel an even deeper flush warm your face. you giggle and look down before turning back around to keep dancing, swaying your hips a little more dramatically now that you have his attention.

after what seems like no time at all, you feel a large, warm hand on your hip. the hand guides you back a little to rub your ass against something – someone – gently pushing and pulling you to the beat.

you turn your head a bit to see which one in the rowdy group is being so bold. you see a curtain of golden blonde hair much closer to your face than you expected as the stranger leans in to talk into your ear.

"saw you looking at me earlier," growls a rich, tenor voice. you flush again. you didn't realize your stolen glances were that easily readable. you were looking at everyone – all four of his friends – but he wasn't wrong.

there was something else in your eyes when you glanced his way. but there was something else in his, too. you met his gaze, batting your lashes and giving him a smirk. "don't make this about me," you call. "you were looking, too."

you turn away, leaning your forearms on the rail in front of you and arching your back into him. you press the swell of your ass into his crotch – this time, with purpose – and grind.

your skirt rides up so your bare cheeks are rubbing on the fabric of his dark jeans, a delicious sensation you weren't exactly expecting. the blonde stranger's hands start to wander across the expanse of your exposed skin – one coming down to squeeze your thigh and the other still guiding you with a firm grip.

you feel him chuckle in response more than you hear it, those vibrations almost indistinguishable from the vibrations of the music coursing through the both of you – but you feel it nonetheless.

he leans back over you, his warmth enveloping your back, as he purrs directly into your ear again, "you're bold. seems like you're just asking for me to fuck you right here."

he stands upright again, his hardening cock still pressed up against you through his pants, and flips your skirt all the way up, your panties now on full display to everyone who cares to look. he gives your bare ass a harsh smack, watching it redden and jiggle for him.

his hand gently caresses the stinging patch of skin as he starts to explore more, pausing to rub your throbbing slit through the wet fabric of your panties.

he hooks a finger around the skimpy fabric and tugs it to the side, running a fingertip through your outer lips to collect all your slick. he plunges a finger in, pulling a groan from your lips, but he can't hear it over the pulsing bass.

your pussy clenches around his digit, practically begging him not to pull it back out. but he does, and as you turn to protest, you see him pop the finger into his mouth, sucking all your juices off it, flashing you a predatory grin.

he sticks a second finger in his mouth, coating his digits with an obscene amount of spit, the liquid dripping onto the ground as he brings them back to your entrance. he plunges them into your waiting hole, thrusting firmly in time with the music.

you keen at the stretch of the additional finger, closing your eyes and letting the whole experience wash over you as the friction makes you start to feel hazy.

the stranger – you still don't know his name and you're letting him knuckle deep in your pussy – starts to scissor his fingers, stretching you out for his aching cock.

and that's when you feel it – something velvety smooth and hard brushing up against your bare ass. he's really going to fuck me right here. you turn and catch a glance of his shit-eating grin as he rubs his impossibly hard length across your weeping pussy, pumping it lazily a few times.

he traces his fingers through your lips again, collecting all the slick he can and using it to lube up his cock, twitching and ready. he looks you in the eyes as he releases a glob of spit onto his angry red tip.

his saliva mixes with your sticky juices, coating him just enough that he can force himself inside you. you feel his length pulse as he sheaths it all the way in, tip kissing your deepest parts.

he leans over you again, coming in close to your ear to growl, "this is what you wanted, isn't it?" as he slowly – agonizingly – pulls himself out just to slam back inside. chills roll down your spine as he breathes into your ear, rutting his cock inside you as deep as he can.

one of his arms wraps around your front as his other hand wanders under the bottom hem of the bralette you're wearing. he cups your breast gently, the palm of his hand tickling your rapidly pebbling nipple.

you look around. there's no way no one hasn't noticed you. you're literally fucking in the front row. but to your surprise, no one has. boldened by the realization, you decide to take it a step further.

you slide your fingers under the hem of your shirt next to his and pull it up, letting your perky tits drop out for all to see... if they want. you glance back at him with a smug smile, dipping your fingers down the front of your panties to play with your neglected clit.

you feel his cock twitch even as he thrusts to the rhythm of the music that's still filling your senses, his lean, sinewy hands finding the pert bud of your exposed nipple. he flicks it between his fingers as you rub your clit vigorously, chasing your high.

electricity starts to crackle in your belly as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release. you can tell he's getting closer too, his breathing more ragged and the muscles in his lean abdomen twitching against your bare skin.

"can't believe you're letting me do this with all my friends watching," he breathes, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "fuck, what a nasty little slut i found."

and that's all it takes for those crackles of electricity to turn into a full-fledged lightning strike, your orgasm washing over you as you cry out – no one really even able to hear the sweet sounds of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around a complete stranger's cock.

your orgasm has the man following close behind, the squeezing of your pussy milking the cum right out of him. panting and whining in your ear, he bites down on your shoulder as you feel him twitch and sputter inside you, warmth blooming in your tummy as you feel his release shoot deep into you.

as his cock softens, he slowly pulls it out of you, watching his cum dribble bit by bit out of your abused little hole. he pulls your panties back to cover your slit, now leaking cum, and spins you around to finally look at him face to face.

"i'm denki," he purrs into your ear before he drops his lips to your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin. you moan at the sensation, your brain not quite working yet.

"figured you should at least know who fucked you so good," he grins, standing back up to his full height. "bro, bakugou's done. we're out," comes a different voice, yelling over the still-throbbing bass.

denki looks over at the brunette who just grabbed his arm. "alright, yeah," he agrees, allowing his friends to pull him away. a little quieter, you swear you hear the same brunette laugh and say "damn, dude, couldn't even wait to get your dick wet?" as they disappear into the crowd, leaving you to deal with your oozing pussy for the rest of the show.

anyway here's my masterlist

[dream-meister-translations]

PERSONA 5 : THE PHANTOM X

PERSONA 5 : THE PHANTOM X BETA - PART 7

━

After school, Wonder takes the train to Shibuya where he meets up with Ruferu.

RUFERU : You finally got here. I’ve been waiting forever….

RUFERU : You bag’s always empty, that makes it nice and cozy to hide inside.

RUFERU : You gotta pretend like nothing is about to happen. If the target catches on that you're here, you’ll only put ‘em on high alert.

WONDER : What are you talking about…?

RUFERU : I’ll explain as soon as we’re alone. For now, eyes up.

Wonder obeys without a word, watching on as an older Japanese businessman barges past a young girl before shoving another one out of the way. The second cowers from the man until he raises a fist, prompting her to flee. 

RUFERU : That guy’s our target. His name is Takeyuki Kiuchi.

RUFERU : As far as public perception goes, he’s just your everyday businessmen working in Tokyo.

WONDER : What is he doing?

RUFERU : He’s what I like to call a “hit and runner”.

RUFERU : He intentionally uses his body to bully around women who are unlikely to resist, all to satisfy some sick fantasy of control.

RUFERU : So you see, he’s actually quite an immoral human being.

WONDER : A cunning fellow…

RUFERU : I agree.

RUFERU : Though his actions are manifesting in reality, the underlying cause lies in the other world.

RUFERU : You understand what I’m saying, right?

WONDER : The answer can be found in Kiuchi’s shadow, huh?

RUFERU : That’s right. However, I’ve been unable to track down his shadow, so it’s all just speculation at this point.

RUFERU : On the surface, his actions appear innocent enough.

RUFERU : So long as his behaviour can be passed off as an accident, the police will continue to look the other way. 

RUFERU : Meanwhile, his victims quickly give up on pressing charges because as far as they’re concerned, nothing can be done. But it’s slowly draining on their hopes and dreams… Their positive desires…

RUFERU : Though, a more accurate way to say it, could be that Kiuchi is stealing the positive desires of others through his maliciously selfish actions.

WONDER : Then let’s go put an end to this right now.

RUFERU : There’s nothing we can do when his Shadow is out of control in the Metaverse.

RUFERU : He won’t even hear you out.

RUFERU : It’s ironic, but as long he perceives these hit and run assaults as justified in his own mind then he won’t stop.

RUFERU : That’s why we need him to overwrite his own perception.

As Ruferu explains the situation to Wonder, another teen girl arrives from the train terminal. 

RUFERU : And that’s not the worst part…

Takeyuki Kiuchi, who has been scanning the station carefully, soon catches sight of the girl.

WONDER : He’s targeting someone else!

Sure enough, the man crashes his body into the young girl who stumbles forward, losing balance, only to be caught by Wonder.

Seeing this, the man immediately takes flight, leaving the confused girl to right herself and look around for her attacker.

WOMAN LOOKING AT HER PHONE : What the-- Can’t he just…

She stops what she’s saying and brushes herself down before leaving the train station. As Wonder watches her leave, Ruferu speaks proudly.

RUFERU : To stop other people from acting on their selfish desires with righteous indignation. That. Is what it means to be “Awakened”...

RUFERU : Ah, dammit, looks like we caught Kiuchi’s attention, we should get out of here.

As Ruferu says this, Wonder seems to get a vision of the future. In the vision, Kiuchi spots a woman pushing along a stroller, and immediately slams himself into her.

The woman screams in panic and pain before losing her balance and falling down a flight of stairs, stroller in tow...

━

WOMAN : Ah!

MAN : Are you okay!?

PANICKED WOMAN : Her baby! Where’s her baby?!

OTHER MAN : I’m afraid it’s too late…

━

The vision ends without providing any clear answers. 

WONDER : I-I think I just saw something…

RUFERU : What do you mean?

RUFERU : You look like you’ve seen a ghost… Maybe you haven’t fully recovered from your Awakening just yet…?

RUFERU : In any case, we need to leave. Kiuchi’s still watching us.

RUFERU : We should head to the plaza out front. You know where we first came out of the Metaverse together?

Exiting out the terminal, Motoha spots Wonder.

MOTOHA ARAI : Wonder…? What’s he doing in Shibuya…?

MOTOHA ARAI : Did he say something to that guy…?

MOTOHA ARAI : W-Wait… That’s…

Motoha’s train of thought is cut off when Tomoko arrives.

TOMOKO NOGE : Sorry! I got delayed on my way out of the station… My monthly pass doesn’t seem to wanna work…

TOMOKO NOGE : What’s wrong?

MOTOHA ARAI : Nothing. We still on to go to the underground mall here at the station?

━

Meanwhile, outside the station…

RUFERU : We should be clear now.

RUFERU : I know you’ve got a lot of questions for me, but you at least understand what I’m saying, right? It’s nigh-on impossible to stop Kiuchi in this reality.

RUFERU : It’s like I said earlier, even the police find it difficult to take action against him.

RUFERU :  Because even members of the police force are having their desires stolen…

RUFERU : In this world, it is basic human nature for people to come together in unison to find solutions to such problems.

RUFERU : However, even this instinctually collective desire of humanity has been exhausted…

WONDER : So what are we supposed to do about it…?

RUFERU : There’s only one thing to do…

RUFERU : We have to go to the Metaverse and steal something from Takeyuki Kiuchi. 

RUFERU : That is to say… Become a Phantom Thief.

[incandescent-creativity]

Week or two after finishing TMA and I have questions that will never be answered but nonetheless I will write them down.

This got very long but if you’ve listened to the podcast all the way through I think you’ll get it so

Mostly I’m thinking about like? How much do people remember? How much was the world twisted in tangible ways that stayed behind after the fears got vacuumed away?

One can imagine the worm-people stuck in the ground were finally able to crawl back up, and the suburbanites were finally able to exit the endless cul-de-sac, but? What about the people stuck in the wellness center? The prison? The kids trapped running in the dark? Hellen’s halls? The places that twisted physics in a way that they couldn’t remain as new landmarks on earth.

Could they? Has the environment changed so drastically that the human garden is still there? The perpetually burning houses no longer burning, but charcoal walls still there? Does London feature a new tower?

How does that change how people move through the world? Did they tear them down? Avoid them? Where do people go after if they’re real places now? Can you reclaim something like that? Would you want to? Would you have another choice?

What happened to the people in the cult that Georgie and Melanie started? What happened to that guy Jon saved from the ants, who became an avatar unwillingly?

For that matter, what happened to all the people who had given statements about things they’d seen before (the ones that didn’t die after giving it)? Did they figure out how their experiences fit into the wider scheme of things, or did such things pale in comparison to such a bad time in the apocalypse that they don’t even register anymore? If the former, did that make it easier to cope, or harder? Is this something they’d tell other survivors about, or not? It would probably depend on the individual, but still. What a choice to have to make.

An tiny bit about all this can be inferred by Melanie’s line at the end of MAG 200:

about “Oh you remember what happened when people found Simon Fairchild” (they like? Tore him apart ig?). She characterizes him as a “some powerless left-behind avatar.”

The confirmation that people did lose any inhuman abilities when the fears left is nice, but that makes logical sense. Suck the fears thru a portal, their connection to this dimension is severed, no more powers.

I get stuck on… People know who the avatars were. They know who was torturing them, which means they must remember what happened to them.

Do people know why? Do they know how? I mean nobody really knows how, but. How much do they understand what an avatar was? They had to have understood it at least a little bit, since they wreaked vengeance upon Fairchild. They had to have a reason for targeting him specifically.

How did the word spread? Not just practically (did they have phone lines post-fears?), but on a global perception level? Who told the public, our main cast? Was there any resistance to the idea, any fight about it, or was it just like “that was so undeniably fucked up that that’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

What did the scientific community think of this new model for the world? How did the study of physics and history change after this? How did philosophy and religion change? How does one person, let alone an entire society, recover from something like this? How do governments even proceed after this? Did they need to enact programs to help tear down the hellscapes left behind?

This interaction:

Implies that there is at least some mundane supplies left, such as from the marketplace hellscape that they used during scavenging runs. Or that people have been able to go back to work and start producing things like batteries and tinned tuna again.

(Speaking of tuna: what happened to the animals when the fears entered the world? We know their fear fueled at least some of the entities, and if I remember correctly the Admiral was acting as an avatar too. How did this work in the ocean. Did the tuna fish get tortured? Were people trapped in perpetual drowning hellscapes?)

(Double side note: grasping at straws but I love the casual inclusion of nightlights and using that word specifically. Not flashlights/torches, not lamps, but nightlights. The things kids use to fight their fears. Potentially, something everybody in the entire world uses now, and everybody understands why)

How does anybody have an interpersonal relationship anymore, when you have found out, without question, both your worst fears and how you act when confronted with them?

The entire show is predicated on “What happens after the world is ended? How do the characters move through this post-apocalypse world?” but good god I can’t stop thinking about the post- post-apocalypse.