#(so part of the happy ending on this one is the movie getting scrapped)

[marypsue]

Because I am literally never not thinking about weird meta, blurring lines between reality and narrative, and the whole concept of actors becoming their characters, I am now entertaining thoughts of a Shadow of the Vampire-style story wherein a late-2010s-style all-female The Lost Boys remake gets derailed when the lead actress suddenly starts not showing up to shooting because she's sleeping all day...

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[stardancerluv]

A Space Journey

Part One of ???

Summary: Introduction to Tyler and his girl.

Notes/Warnings: I saw Alien Romulus and fell very hard for Tyler. 😍 Wanted to give him a story. Might be a bit of an AU in bits giving him a backstory and fuller future..probably write leading up to the movie & such. 😬Hope I do him justice. 😬Also first time writing scifi..and writing in a future of any kind…so 😬 hope I did good.

18 & over. Consensual sex between and man and woman. Angst. (It wrote itself..a bit long!

❤️s, reblogs, comments, & feedback always welcome! Enjoy

The elevator whispered its way up from the depths of the mine to the top level. Some stared blindly ahead or in front of them, you chose some indiscernible place, not really seeing it. Your imagination conjured up happier moments from the past.

Behind you in one of the shadowy corners, the yellow bird in the cage chirped and fluttered its wings. Happy to be out of those large caverns. It was a good day. No leaving work prematurely. You would get your full credits for the day.

Stepping, out of the elevator you saw your boots were caked with the usual soot and mud. A cold, heavy rain dropped from the heavy clouds. It was not long before the rain seeped under the many layers of your clothes.

Tiredness, wore you down as you walked. Your body ached. You knew there were liberal smudges on your face, your hair was matted and oily under the hood you pulled more around your face.

You had not taken a decent shower in a few days since you knew you’d be pulling extra shifts back to back and since your boyfriend was off world till the end of the week. You just rolled in and out of bed and went and returned from work.

With all the soot flying around you squinted and paused when you saw the red neon sign, Bar. You pressed your lips together. You could go for a cold one, but you knew how rough the crowd could be at times. Without Tyler by your side you really didn’t want to venture in.

You decided to keep on going, pulling your hood tighter around you, wishing you could hide completely. A grumble gurgled from your stomach as it twisted in hunger. You would stop at the mess hall and grab some food before turning in at your sleep bunk.

Before, you realized what was happening you were tugged harshly into one of the nearby alleyways. Fear shot through you. You immediately started fighting. It was a regular occurrence people would get beat up, mugged or worse. People lost it out here on the mining planets, at least that was what your parents had always said.

“Shh, shhh. It’s easier when you don’t fight.” The voice whispered, as one hand had already slipped under the top layers of your clothes and now crept across your torso.

Only a thin, very worn scrap of fabric laid between you and the hand. Your hunger turned to nausea as you could feel the warmth from it. It was all you needed to fight even harder. You finally managed to stomp down on one of their feet.

“Oooooouch!” The voice called out and instantly let you go.

You turned around, your heart beating harder since you knew the voice.

“Tyler!” You scream and slapped his arm.

A large smile spread across his handsome face before he howled with laughter. Easily, he pulled you close and this time you wrapped your arms around him. Happily, you pressed yourself even closer against him.

“My strong, feisty girl.” He said breathless against the top of your head.

Easily, you forgot the wind or the rain pelting the two of you.

“You weren’t supposed be back for three days.” You managed to mumble out against his heavy clothes. Your body beginning to relax knowing you were now safe.

“We did good. Found more then expected and came back.”

You blinked up at him. “Really?”

“Yes.” He nodded, he was so soft and warm. “Let me take you home.”

*******

He took your hand as you walked up the steep steps into the hauler he shared with the others. You couldn’t help but notice no one was there.

“Bjorn and Navarro, left in a blink to get their drink and dance on. And Kay barely told me she was going out, when I heard the door shut.”

Leaning against the wall, you were relieved to be out of the soot cloaked air. You pulled and tugged, till you were free of your heavy boots. Once in your heavy socks, you were relieved the boots had kept your socks dry.

“Can’t blame them these last three weeks had felt long despite coming home a week early. I’m sure.”

You said with a fleeting smile. After you pulled off your gloves, you began working on the buttons of your heavy coat. Seeing, two of the buttons had been undone by him you glanced at him.

He winked. “What? I missed the feel of my girl.” You didn’t know how he could look cocky and sheepish at once but he did.

His cheekiness always made your heart flutter. In the few books, you managed to get your hands you figured you shared that with the girls of the past long gone.

“To be fair, I scrubbed up as fast as I could and headed out to find you.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Was going to check at the mine and the sleeping bunks.”

His mouth twisted at the last bit. You went over and gently tugged on his shirt. “I only do it when you’re not around, I’m cautious.”

“That’s what worries me.” He looked down at you and smiled, softly.

You could swim and lose yourself in his dark eyes, as the two of you looked unwavering at each other. No words were needed as the emotions welled up at his return. You swallowed. There was always chance he’d crash during reentry. Heck could during take off too, but Navarro was a pretty good pilot so you didn’t worry too much about take off.

He rubbed your arms. “Why don’t you go and wash up and I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Alright. Just don’t burn it this time.”

“Don’t invite me into the shower cubicle and I won’t.”

“I did that didn’t I?”

He smirked. “You certainly did.”

“Alright. Maybe this time I will behave myself.” You giggled.

******

The water from the shower head fell on you with a good pressure. Since Tyler and the others were known as pretty scavengers the company allowed them some nicer things. Water pressure and rations were among them.

You stood there not worried that the warm water would run out too fast. You just let it melt the cold from the mine and outside that remained in you. The water around your feet obscured with the soot that had clung to you, your hair.

Stretching, you sighed as the crisp scent of his soap comforted you. Turning the knobs, you finally stepped from the shower onto the rough mat which had become a welcome feel under foot as opposed to the cold tile in mass shower rooms.

You smiled, seeing that Tyler had hung up a fresh shirt and the pair of cotton pants, you usually stole when you stayed there. They had shrank in one of the laundry services so they fit you better. Seeing the bundle of yours gone, you knew he must have taken them to put into cleaning cycle.

After slipping on the fresh clothes you reached up and grabbed his towel, it was still faintly wet from his using it earlier. The thought made you smile as you rubbed your hair with it.

*******

You gently slumped against Tyler’s side. Reaching, you placed your fork with a clank on the plate in front of you, only some cornbread crumbs remained.

“You did it. You made a half way decent meal which you didn’t burn.” You said with a half smile on your face.

“Well, I got to do good by my girl.”

******

His sheets were softer, his pillows fuller and they smelled liked him. His bed, softer then the bunks easily gave under the weight of the two of you.

He was partially on you, your arms around him. His hair soft, as your fingers entwined in the inky strands. Your lips had met and not wanted to part. They were much softer now, then a few month intervals after discovering that softening ointment. It beat away the chapping the wind whipping at your faces did and made the kisses all the more enjoyable. They were far sweeter then any candy you could save up for with your credits.

Pausing, as you felt his hand slipping under the hem shirt you wore; you excitedly letting your fingers leave the softness of his hair pulled up on the shirt and more of yourself was revealed to him. You happily tossed it without worry. His room was always clean and fresh, once he had peaked into his cousin’s room and they couldn’t be anymore opposite.

It puzzled you that Navarro could even tolerate it. But then again the two of you were also very different.

You were soft compared to his toned torso. It excited you and made you feel safe. You had seen him handle himself more then one time at the Bar. Whether defending your honor, his sisters or some stupid fight by the tempers flairing.

Opening, yourself you did so with a warmth and love that you would never allow the company steal away from you.

His lips, grazed your cheeks as he drew close to ear to whisper soft words only spoke between the two of you. Never to be shared.

“Are you well, is now a good time?” You could practically feel his heart thudding in his chest.

You nodded.

The first time or at least the aftermath of it had been right on the cusp of your cycle. Your excitement of him reciprocating your feelings and sharing first touches, kisses had stolen your body’s cues to its soon arrival. When the two of you had awoken the next day, worry had clouded your mind, believing it had ruined any chance of continuing things. But he had been kind, warm not just the cheeky guy who had made your heart squeeze with a wink or a smirk.

“I could barely focus these last three weeks, all I could think about was this. I needed to fuck, my sweet girl, remind her who I am after being off world for so long.”

The contrast to his sweet nature and razor sharp lust, made you moan and make your desire sharpen for him.

“I’m all yours.”

A soft moan broke from your lips and his, as he entered you. You arched against him, you had craved him as well. It had been hard to not answer any of the wanton calls from your body in his absence. Together you found your rhythms and moved. Your breathless moans became louder, sharper the closer you drew to cumming hard under him. You always felt so wonderfully wilted liked the dried flowers people once would keep in those books you had read from that had spoken of love and dreams.

Clutching him hard, your fingers gently pulling on his soft strands you arched against him once again. Your body tightening with pleasure he was giving you. Before you could hold it; it all shattered into moon dust. You softened and wilted under him. He was and would only be the only one to ever make you feel like this.

You met his hungry kisses, whimpering at the well placed love bites, he loved leaving. You felt how his body tightened above you. His deep, pleasure filled moan that filled the small room, you knew he had felt what you had. You relished making him feel just as good. His breath hot as he panted, a soft peppering of kisses as he rested his forehead against yours.

*******

“Hey! Where are you going?”

You had thought you could safely grab your discarded shirt from earlier and curl back up to his side before he even noticed. But that wasn’t the case.

One of his strong arms wrapped around you and held you tightly against him. You turned easily in it to face him. “Was just grabbing my shirt. I had taken a small chill.”

“You’ve got me.” And soon he pulled the blanket and himself closer around you. You were enveloped by him, almost completely.

You pretended to think about it. “This is so much better.”

“It had better be.” And he gave you a quick kiss.

The rain streaked down his window. The brightness of the fluorescent lights that lined the roads of the colony were muted from where he was.

“How long do I have you this time?” You whispered after a few beats of your heart.

“Long enough.”

You wanted to reply with the snappy answer that it never was but you learned this, right now was long enough. Every moment the two of you were together was.

A commotion, peels of laughter and a door slamming shut; drifted through his closed door.

“They’re home.”

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Hey, hey you’re here lady. Missed you! We need to catch up and have some girl talk in the morning!”

“If she’s awake.” Tyler called back.

“Hey! I wasn’t talking to you.”

You giggled against his chest. “Sure! Sounds like a plan.” You finally called back.

“Great.” She called, her voice further away and then you could hear the one creak in the floor that you knew meant she was now by her own room.

“Here we go.” Tyler whispered.

As the exaggerated laughter came closer flowed by a thud as either Bjorn or Navarro bumped his door, by tipsy accident or deliberate. When they had a few drinks one could never be sure.

“Tyler, now you better be treating that girl of yours in there right. No funny business.”

“Hey, hey now.”

There was a smack and a similar oww, must run in the family you mused.

“He used to be a brute my cousin. He had to learn to be nice and charming.”

“He was always charming and nice to me.” You spoke up.

“Good.” His cousin replied.

“See she confirms. He’s been good to her.”

“Do I give him a gold star then?”

“Come on, let them have some peace. I want to get out of these high boots.”

“Now, I like hearing that.”

And there was only muted muffled sounds, if at all.

“Now that the circus passed.”

You giggled and shook your head. “You love them.”

“I do. I do.” He stretched, but still kept an arm around you. He gave your hip a squeeze.

“So you used to be a brut huh?”

“Yes, but you changed things.” He winked.

[ghostmoon1]

Ngl fair,,, Roach is probably harder to write because he doesn't have a 'canon' personality,,,

If you're feeling up for it,, can I ask for some Roach x Selective Mute!Reader headcannons,?

Mb smthng with Reader only talking to people they trust,? Dw if you wanna scrap the selective part, I appreciate you trying sm ^-^

Hello again Anon!!

I def agree with you there, but then again it somewhat makes it more fun! Being able to write him as how I see him more.

And thank you so much for the request, this is actually my first ever request and I couldn't tell you how excited I was reading this :D So, here we are! I tried, I hope this is at least somewhat what you were looking for!

Lmk if you were looking for something different, I haven't written Roach nor Selective Mute!Reader before ashbdjnf

Roach x Selective Mute!Reader

To you, Roach was one of the task force members with whom you could feel safer and closer. He was quiet, only speaking when needed, which made you feel more comfortable around him. You weren’t made to speak with him; he was happy to sit silently with you, watching a movie or reading a book separately. The two of you got along like two peas in a pod.

He’d notice when your mood changes, even if it was just from the slight frown you wore after breakfast. There was never a reason you had to tell him, he’d just know. And of course, he did his best to fix it, whether that was waking up to him already cooking breakfast, or coming home with a fresh bunch of flowers sitting on the kitchen counter.

Whenever you felt like talking, he’d listen. It was always his favourite part of the day to sit on the couch with you, listening to you happily ramble on about how some customer at work wouldn't stop complaining about something you had no control over, or how you saw this jacket while walking through the mall and thought it was gorgeous. (He would secretly plan to buy it for you, he always wants his precious girl to be happy). He’d feel comfortable enough with you to talk as well, telling you the stories of how he, Gaz and Soap had pranked Ghost (That never ends well), or how Price had been ruthless to them during training.

He will softly coo at you, “Awh, you don’t like it?” when he notices you struggling to eat the food you both had gone out to try and waited for a while in line for. You didn't want to waste it even if you didn’t like the taste of it. As much as he hoped you’d like this new experience, he wouldn't waste a second to take you to your favourite place instead so you get to eat something you enjoy. As long as you were happy and fed. (Thank you @gomzdrawfr for the idea!!)

He notices the moment you begin to feel uncomfortable around others and will stand up for you without a moment's notice. Whenever you're at some sort of gathering and are being crowded and overwhelmed, he will notice how you slowly take steps back, hugging yourself as you try and comfort yourself in such a situation. Your silence feels like the loudest thing in the room. If you aren’t comfortable with them, he will be quick to jump in, excusing you from the conversation and pulling you to the side so you have a moment to breathe.

He secretly adores how you are comfortable enough to speak to him. He will sit and admire how sweet your voice is, watching as you do the most mundane things around the house. It’s just the fact that you are his, you found him and he feels like the luckiest man on earth to be blessed with the sound of your voice every day.

[slowd1ving]

ACT IV: DECAY ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT NSFW

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･

Scene I: Ink . 　⁺

It all starts again on a very dull morning. Staccato beats of the rain on the rickety windows of Ramshackle provide background music for Vil to drink his smoothie to. Except that’s not the only miserable music. His ears are assaulted by the conversation you’re currently having with Jamil, Rook and Ace. Does Grim count when he’s technically the other pea in your miserable pod?

“All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to make a movie series that long,” you argue. Whose movies are you referring to? Vil wishes he was paying attention earlier. “Like what have you got to say for that many movies?”

“Trickster, some people are just dedicated to the pursuit of their passion,” Rook intercedes, leaning his head on his hands to gaze at you more efficiently.

“The Fast and Furious franchise has no reason to be that long,” you lament, frustration creeping into your tone. Vil’s never heard of that movie series. He doesn’t think he wants to know what it is.

“Rook, there’s like nine sequels, and the last one especially does not make any sense,” Vil takes back his earlier thoughts. This seems to be a conversation between you and Rook, in which Ace and Jamil are unenthusiastic spectators. “There’s nothing less beautiful than plot holes.”

“Anyways,” you continue in the same breath, all hints of sadness gone. Vil’s not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Do you guys feel ready for the SDC tomorrow? Your routine is really impressive.”

“My bones hurt so much,” Ace groans from behind his food. “I’ve never felt so pulverised.”

“We will win,” Jamil promises you, fiddling with his spoon on the table. You give them both a cheerful thumbs up while eating - for once, you’ve got scraps of decorum.

“I will put on my most beautiful performance knowing you’re watching, mon cher,” Rook clasps your hand between his gloved ones. Sure, Rook’s probably just being himself, but Vil can’t help the trickle of unease that he feels.

“I don’t doubt it,” you respond with a grin. “Those RSA twerps won’t know what hit them. Although, I’ve had a really weird set of dream-”

“Spudling,” Vil clears his throat to get your attention. You turn to face him, still wearing your jubilant grin. His heart almost stops. It takes all he can to not fumble while taking the lanyard out of his blazer pocket. “Keep this lanyard safe so you can come backstage as the NRC Tribe Manager.”

“Cool,” you take it one handed, still allowing Rook to clasp your other hand. Why does Vil care so much? He tries desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Thanks!”

“We’ll go over the routine and iron out any wrinkles in around twenty minutes,” Vil continues, meeting the eyes of each cast member. He’ll just have to ignore whatever he’s feeling until after the SDC. “Make sure the rest of the potatoes are up and ready to go.”

The tell-tale signs of nervousness creep into Vil’s being after he exits the room. He has to beat Neige. No longer will he be cast aside to play the villain. The world will see what he’s got to offer.

“Mira mira, tell me who, at this moment, is the fairest of them all?” Vil speaks slowly and quietly to his phone as he makes his way to his room to get some items for practice.

“Neige LeBlanche.”

He should’ve expected it, really, but he cannot help but let his teeth grind slightly in anger. Just you wait, Neige. He’ll beat Neige fair and square. Finally, he’ll be able to step out of the villain’s shoes.

His muscles ache after his gruelling training. Nothing he won’t be able to recover from; he can’t help but push himself to his limits at the prospect of beating Neige. The rest of the crew somehow manages to execute a near-flawless performance, with only a few minor hand-placement errors.

“Wow,” you cheer them on by your designated spot next to the speakers, cradling Grim in your lap. “You guys are absolutely gonna shred the competition.”

“That’s right!” Ace grins at you, catching the water bottle you toss at him and taking a few enthusiastic swigs.

“Pass me one too,” Deuce reaches out as you toss another water bottle. It’s a natural cue for a break, and the crew decides to take a breather. Vil feels an absurd surge of pride at the sight; somehow, these ungainly tubers have managed to grow into shapely potatoes who can no doubt beat Neige.

“We’ll regroup in ten,” Vil instructs. He’s not satisfied completely, but the passion that’s been poured into this routine is undeniable. Before he can question his body, his legs are already taking him to you. You’re scratching behind Grim’s ears and look up in abject surprise at his approach.

“I need your opinion,” Vil murmurs, leaning down to you so your faces are in close proximity. You furrow your brows; he knows how unlikely it is that he’s approached you. Still, your analysis skills are seriously impressive. “Can you give me a detailed observation of our performance? Spare no detail.”

“Right,” you pull out your phone nonchalantly, scrolling through your gallery until you find the recording of the practice. Of course you’ve come prepared.

“Right at the beginning it’s a really strong start, but as soon as those first few seconds are up, Deuce always misplaces his hand-” Vil’s not sure when he joins you on the floor, leaning ever so slightly into you as you zoom into the areas of imperfection.

“You’ve noticed that too?” Vil comments. You murmur your assent, pressing play again.

“It’s only a slight error, but yeah,” you continue, pausing the video again where it’s Kalim’s misstep. “I think it’s just overeagerness and the adrenaline of performing. The rest of the errors are really just minor hiccups with the singing - but I won’t be able to point them out as well.”

“I’ll give them some extra individual instruction,” Vil promises, more to remind himself than reassure you. You turn to scrutinise him; it’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the weight of people’s gazes, but it’s just you.

“I’ve made notes on the small, consistent screw-ups that’ve surfaced recently when it comes to dance steps. Rook and Jamil are both fine, and Epel only has one,” your shoulder brushes against him as you turn extra carefully to not disturb the snoozing Grim on your lap. You hand him your class notebook, which has been filled with quick sketches of the mistakes. Vil’s eyes widen considerably at the level of diligence you’ve afforded your role. Sure, he knows your eye for detail in science, but he never thought-

“You can borrow it for a bit,” you turn the page to show him the notes you’ve made. Then suddenly you flip back to the previous page.

“I forgot you won’t be able to read them,” you sigh in exasperation. “All that work for nothing.”

Vil is oddly touched. You’ve made extensive notes just for him? He can feel the gesture warm his cheeks as he stares down at the outreached notebook, waiting for him to take it.

“The thought is appreciated,” he thanks you, carefully placing your notebook within his lap. He’s lucky the diagrams are circled with different colours marking out areas of weakness, or he’s sure he’d get lost trying to read through the scribbled notes right next to them.

“I can always just read them out if you need me too,” you lean back on one palm, balancing your body weight as you scritch under Grim’s chin. As much as the little furball wants to deny it, he’s very clearly got the mannerisms of a cat as a large purr rumbles from him. You stifle a little giggle into your shoulder.

“That- that would be great,” it’s so unlike Vil to get flustered, but he can’t help the smile that stays on his face well into the remainder of the practice.

He can’t seem to hold onto whatever hatred he had for you.

Scene II: Rot . 　⁺

The next time he sees your face is around ten minutes before the dress rehearsal on the SDC stage. Vil can feel his already straight posture adjust itself so it’s completely perfect, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Rook, given the look the hunter shoots him. He’s ignoring that.

“They almost didn’t let me in,” you complain, striding over to Rook and waving the lanyard that’s around your neck. Vil’s not sure how they could’ve missed it, with it being what can only be described as a neon red.

“It’s good to see you regardless, mon chou,” Rook is once again clasping your hands, and once again you’re not pulling away.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve just called me a cabbage,” you comment, looking around at the stage. The little furball that’s normally with you is nowhere to be found; Vil isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he isn’t wreaking havoc here, or whether to be worried that he’s wreaking havoc elsewhere. “Where do I sit while watching?”

“There’s actually the front seats directly next to the stage,” Vil points to the special row reserved for managers and important personnel. You unhook your hands from Rook’s to turn to where Vil’s pointing, your eyes lighting up as you see the comfortable looking chairs set up.

“Right, thanks,” you flash an extremely brief smile at both of them. It seems that whatever rivalry you had with him has been dissolved on your end. He doesn’t know if he should be insulted or happy about it. “Break both legs for both performances.”

“What?” Vil mutters to himself as you stride away enthusiastically. Maybe it’s just a saying from wherever you’re from. It’s ‘break an arm’ for performances, what are you on about? “What could that possibly mean?”

“Mr. Shoenheit, we’re about to go on air to tape your practice performance,” a cameraman apologetically interrupts Vil’s musings. He snaps to attention, letting his face fall back into the most professional poker face he can manage.

“Of course, I’ll get the NRC Tribe into formation,” Vil responds smoothly, waving the rest of the crew to the front of the stage. It only takes a minute; they’re clearly enthusiastic (if not a bit nervous) to perform in front of people who aren’t you and Grim. Deep breaths. A wave of resounding calm flows through him; it’s a lucid state he’s perfected before each and every performance.

The first notes of the rhythmic song start. His eyes unfocus slightly, allowing his muscle memory to take control for the most part. It’s now just a matter of pouring his emotions into the song and dance to truly capture the hearts of those watching. The flow. The haze. It all becomes a part of him, and he knows the rest of those dancing up on stage with him can feel it. Surely they feel the connection of their passion?

He meets your eyes, your wide, enraptured eyes as you gaze at him. He doesn’t fully realise, but the words he sings are for your ears for now. Let this be dedicated to you, and he can worry later about sharing the passion he feels with the rest of the spectators. Vil’s not emotionally stupid; he can tell his feelings have veered into territory that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge yet. He just has to let them flow into his performance and worry about the rest later.

His mind is deliciously clear, enjoying the endorphins pumping through his blood at the pleasant stretch of movement. It’s already halfway done? The altered passage of time when he’s in the zone is always a surprise. From your excited grin, he can safely assume this performance is one, if not the, best they’ve given. And it’s all for you to watch, before it’s posted for the world to see.

Raucous applause disrupts his flow as the cameras are cut with a signal from the camera crew. You’re standing and clapping your hands with some serious force as you join them up on stage.

“Almost moved me to tears,” you joke, congratulating them on a flawless performance. “Seriously though, you guys are ready.”

You don’t need to say anymore. You stand back to give them space, but Vil watches in dawning horror as you bump into the one and only Neige LeBlanche. It’s only a mild shoulder bump, but it’s happened. The two of you have made contact.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely, taking a big step back. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine, really,” Neige smiles at you, sickeningly sweet. Beside Vil, the NRC dance crew members look at you with incredulity. Why are you so goddamn oblivious? “I shouldn’t have approached this way.”

“If you’re sure,” you trail off, noting the weird looks directed your way by Ace and Deuce. “What the hell are you guys gawking at?

Before Vil can say anything, you’re already being yanked away by Ace’s insistent tugging. Your brows are still furrowed. Goddamn. Have you really never heard of Neige LeBlanche?

It seems Ace is interrogating you with that very question, judging by the furrowed glances he sends both your way and Neige’s. It seems Neige is quick to mask his surprise, walking towards Vil (which was probably the whole reason he approached the group in the first place).

“Your group was amazing,” Neige gushes - his eyes are lit up with awe. Vil feels… nothing, eerily enough. All that’s coursing through him is malicious calm.

“Thank you,” he maintains the professional image easily and smoothly, not missing the way Kalim and Deuce’s eyes swivel between him and Neige.

“It was truly a sight to behold; I had chills just watching,” Neige continues with starry eyes. “I can’t wait to work with you again!”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Vil muses calmly, letting the air of conversation fizzle out. Out of his peripherals, he spots you and Ace rejoin the group. Unfortunately, it seems Neige has also spotted you again; he shoots you a smile and turns to you.

“Hi, I didn’t catch your name earlier,” Neige’s innocent question leads you to a quick pause before introducing yourself. You’re not overly friendly, more like care-free as usual.

“I didn’t catch your name either, sorry,” you continue politely. Did Trappola wander off-topic while lecturing you? It clearly seemed like it from your slightly bewildered expression.

“Neige LeBlanche, at your service,” Neige’s eyes carry that stupefied look for only a second before it’s swiftly replaced by a cheery smile. Nothing. Vil suppresses a snort of laughter at your politely unknowing expression. Of course you’d be like this, meeting the arguably most famous person in the land with no respect for their importance.

“Cool, I’ll leave you guys to it,” you respond amiably, sending a thumbs up his way. You’ve just upped and left? Vil turns to the side slightly to stifle his laughter as you wander back to the seats where you’ve left your notebook. Utterly lacking proper conversation etiquette as usual. He supposes it’s a positive seeing the Neige LeBlanche seemingly at a loss for words.

“Was that NRC’s manager?” Neige asks Vil. With dawning horror, Vil realises that most of his crew is also standing at the first row with you, due to their practice slot being finished.

“Yes,” Vil responds succinctly, watching Neige watch your movements as you talk with Rook. You’re currently being rattled like a rag-doll with the way he’s clasping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, no doubt grilling you over how you didn’t know who Neige was. He can hear your raucous laughter from all the way on stage.

“Your manager this year is awesome,” Neige compliments, leaning forward slightly to see the action further. Vil suppresses the shudder of disgust. No way this is happening right now.

“Ah, I’ve got to go round up my own crew,” Neige comments distractedly, looking around him. Vil gladly takes this opportunity to take his leave to join the rest of his group, leaving nothing behind but a goodbye.

That bastard. Vil watches the concluding moves of the RSA crew’s performance with barely concealed disgust from his seat in the stands.

“We’ve been had,” he utters in shock. No way. That bumbling performance they’ve put on-

“What do you mean?” Kalim asks in dismay at Vil’s change in attitude.

“He’s right,” Jamil agrees with a heavy sigh. “Look at how much they’re appealing to all demographics with their sugary sweet performance.”

Deep resentment begins to fester within Vil. A familiar ringing noise fills his ears as he tunes out the chatter of everyone surrounding him. He almost doesn’t feel the way he slips out of his seat and down the stairs leading to the rooms within the colossal arena. He feels the pressure of a heavy glass bottle within the palm of his hand, not even having to look at it to know it’s one of Epel’s apple juice bottles. He’s only dimly aware of subconsciously infusing the drink with the same curse he used during the poison assessment.

May those who drink this fall into an endless slumber, Fairest One.

The comforting bubbling slosh of the drink lets him know it’s been tampered with. A small, rational part of his brain urges him not to do this; the rest of his body is consumed by an abyss of disgust and hatred. Gunpowder and other acrid chemical smells appear in wisps, only registering faintly as familiar with his nose. He ignores it all.

“Hi, Neige,” Vil smiles brightly at the youth in front of one of the backstage doors. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your wonderful performance.”

One heartbeat.

Neige turns at the sound of Vil’s uncharacteristically cheerful voice. He doesn’t suspect anything amiss, but Vil supposes he’s always been that way.

“It makes me really happy hearing that from someone I admire a lot,” Neige beams back. Perfect.

Two heartbeats.

“How about a drink? I’ve become rather partial to this brand of apple juice,” Vil’s smile is rehearsed; it’s absolutely oozing with venom.

“Sure!” Neige agrees enthusiastically. “I saw the brand on your Magicam a few weeks back - I was even going to order before I realised it had all sold out.”

Three heartbeats is all it takes to deceive him.

It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Vil’s downfall has been secured by Neige over the course of his life, whereas Neige’s downfall will be brought about in only a few seconds. The smooth glass of the apple juice bottle does not reveal the curse roiling within. It’s perfect - scentless, colourless and lethal. He wants to laugh when Neige accepts the cool glass bottle so easily. Has he no sense of danger?

“Roi des Neiges!” Who does that voice belong to? With a start, Vil turns to see Rook’s slightly dishevelled form as he runs up to Neige. “My apologies for interrupting the two of you, but the staff were looking for you, Neige.”

“Roi des Neiges..” Neige’s voice trails away as he stares contemplatively at Rook. “Wait-”

“My, I’m absolutely parched after running around looking for you,” Rook swiftly takes charge of the conversation. Why now? Vil can feel sharp cracking within his very soul. “Might I trouble you to let me have some of that refreshing juice you hold?”

No.

“Of course,” Neige agrees enthusiastically, if not a little perplexed.

“You should hurry back, Neige,” Rook continues, taking the bottle offered kindly. “And do not come back here.”

“Huh? What do you-”

“Go on, off with you! Away!” Neige’s question is sharply cut off by Rook’s insistence. Vil can hear him scurry off, like a little rodent.

“That sweet, tart aroma,” Rook breathes. With a start of horror, Vil notices that the cork of the flask has been removed. “Truly.. Epel’s hometown beverage is magnifique, to say the least.”

“I shall drink it to the very last drop, Roi des Poisons,” his knowing gaze meets Vil’s stricken one as he slowly raises the bottle to his lips.

No.

“Don’t do it, Rook!”

Glass shattering. It’s all Vil can do to keep track of what’s happening. His head feels like it’s underwater.

“He used his signature spell to curse the apple juice!” It’s the same speaker from earlier. Kalim?

“-look on his face was the same as Jamil’s-”

“-lost control-”

“Rook,” Vil’s voice rasps. He’s not sure he made the conscious decision to speak. The hunter turns to him with eyes not holding anger or disappointment, but concern. “Why did you..?”

“I wanted to believe in you,” Rook holds his gaze with no traces of accusation. “If it was cursed, I still wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste the fruit of a poison derived from an obsession with beauty bordering on madness.”

Madness?

Vil tunes them all out. He’s dimly aware of you speaking in concerned, hushed tones to the rest of them. Why are you here as well?

“Vil, do you have any idea how foolish that was?” Kalim’s voice is rimmed with desperate emotions. “After all that work, after saying the other teams would look like spuds compared to us, why stoop to this?”

Why stoop to this? Can’t he see that there is no other way? Rage pummels his veins, ripping through his body, his mind, his soul. Something gathers within him, dark and inky and fatal.

“That’s what I want to know,” Vil’s voice is laced with ice, and pure venom. “I’ve come to a realisation. That I… can never win! I’m going to handle Neige myself.”

“Trickster, Kalim! Do not inhale that mist rising from the floor! It’s the evaporated form of that cursed liquid!” Rook’s urging has hints of desperation within it. He turns to Vil. “I don’t see why one glass would have such a drastic… Oh, Vil, you didn’t-”

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Vil pleads. It’s not just Rook, he can see you as well, looking at him with that gaze that makes him want to bury himself away. “I just wanted to be the fairest, so why? Why? Why am I so ugly?”

“Roi des Poisons, you are far from ugly,” Rook calls out to him, reaching out a hand. Vil longs to take it, but he can’t. He’s too far gone.

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone!” Kalim’s pleas fall on uncaring ears.

“Silence!” Vil’s voice snaps. He can almost see himself from a separate plane, mist rising up around him in acrid, poisonous billows. He can see you, swaying on your feet slightly, looking more shaky than your companions. “What do any of you know? What does it matter if any of you forgive me? I can’t forgive myself!”

Let go.

Dark streaks overcome his vision, ebbing and flowing along the edges. It would be nice, to hand over the reins for a while, wouldn’t it? To let go of his fury, his resentment, his jealousy. What a dream.

“If I just melt everyone into hideous messes,” Vil’s barely aware of speaking. It’s a rather distorted voice, isn’t it? He can’t help but laugh. “Then I’ll be the fairest one of all, won’t I?”

The last thing he sees before it all overcomes him is your stricken face. He’s not sure you’ve ever worn such an expression before. He’s unlikely to forget those eyes, your facial muscles contorting into a painting of intermingling horror and worry. Why does he feel that shame rising again?

Didn’t he let go already?

Scene III: Wake . 　⁺

“I was the villain bullying the hero in the last play, too. Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?”

Villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they can do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. What I want is to stay on stage longer than anyone else.

“Those kids were trying to hold me accountable for a work of fiction. Silly boys, the lot of them.”

I always aim for one role - the hero. But… all I ever get to be is the villain.

“Vil is too special to play the part of a regular teen that viewers can relate to. Without that reliability, I don’t think he’ll ever pull off playing a hero.”

I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it. And yet.. Why? Why is it never me? All I want is to stay on stage until the end of a show.

In the end, it’s not the gentle splattering of rain on his face that wakes him up. It’s some foreign warmth on his face that causes his eyes to slowly open. Framed by his eyelashes and the haze of a deep slumber is your face. It’s as if you know, the way you look at him with such tenderness and concern. It’s as if you’ve pulled him from the deep recesses of his memories yourself, with the way your rough hands prop his head up so gently.

“How am I..” Vil rasps out, looking at you with nothing but queries in his eyes. His eyes search over your tired expression, the way the sclera of your eyes is still tinged a slight purple, and the various small cuts across your face. Did he do this? Waves of shame hit him and he can’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Thank goodness you’re awake, Vil,” you murmur down at him. Is this the first time you’ve said his name? It sounds foreign on your lips, and unbearably sweet. Why aren’t you mad at him? Why do you keep looking at him with those unaccusing eyes?

“Oh, Vil.. fair Vil,” Rook sighs in relief, crouching beside you on the rain soaked ruins. Ruins? Vil takes the opportunity to look round the battle site, the upheaved flagstones, the despoiled decorations. Another wave of shame meets him when he notices the haggard faces of his crew (is that Kalim bawling his eyes out? And is that Jamil scolding him?).

“I’m.. sorry you had to see that undignified display,” Vil apologises, making sure each and every one of his words is sincere. He cannot begin to comprehend how much shame he’s feeling at the moment. “Only third-rate people throw temper tantrums and take their problems out on others. My conduct was most unbecoming of all…”

“Y’right about that,” Epel grumbles, but without a trace of actual malicious intent. “Thought ya said people grow out of temper tantrums by the time they’re three?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Epel,” Vil uses your shoulder to haul himself up so he can sit up. You don’t seem to mind, even grabbing on to his wrist to steady him. With another crash of guilt, he realises how your grasp is shaky, no doubt due to your exposure to the curse when you don’t have any sort of natural magic resistance. “I’m no longer fit to be your leader.”

“You haven’t actually hurt anyone, Vil,” Kalim argues. Vil can see him approaching and standing next to where Rook crouches. “You haven’t stepped over that brink.”

“He’s right,” Jamil says, jabbing his thumb in the general direction of outside the coliseum. “Neige is dancing out there happily with the seven dwarfs. It’s a stretch, but we can say we got worked up and had a team brawl in here.”

“Yeah,” Ace interjects. “No way we’re letting you pull out because of a few bruises, after the wringer we’ve been put through.”

“All of you,” Vil feels a horrendous mushy feeling swell up within him. You’re still supporting him with the way you’re steadying his wrist. “You just want to pretend nothing’s happened?”

“I never said that,” Jamil retorts, but his face blooms into his signature smile. “We can just hold off explanations until after the competition.”

“You truly are wicked, Jamil,” Vil replies with a small laugh. It hurts, and he feels his chest contort with pain. Your grip on his wrist tightens and you steady his shoulder with your other hand, clearly not missing the way his face twists into a grimace.

“Here, I’ll help you stand, alright?” you’re surprisingly strong, with the way you unceremoniously (but carefully) haul him up so he stands leaning into your firm touch. Even with your clearly weakened state, you still grip onto him as if he’s the fragile one that isn’t allowed to fall. Vil can’t even bring himself to protest.

“I wasn’t the one who made the shot so strong, Vil was,” Deuce seemingly replies to a conversation Vil’s unconsciously tuned out. “The spell stores all the damage I take, then hits it back all at once. So it was only potent because of Vil’s potent magic.”

Ah. Deuce seems to be describing the final hit Vil can barely remember taking, the one that likely brought him back to the brink of consciousness.

“Don’t make it sound so violent!” Deuce splutters in indignation, and Vil once again realises he’s tuned out. He doesn’t particularly mind, focusing instead on the way you unconsciously seem to tense your muscles against him when shifting, the way you still have that signature chemical smell to you, the way you’re looking directly at him with that expression-

“Signature… You mean that’s my signature spell?” Deuce seems to be coming to a realisation with sparkling eyes. Good on him. Beside him, Ace seems to be coming to an unpleasant realisation with the way he’s incredulously muttering to himself about how he can’t believe Deuce has mastered his signature spell before him.

“Behold, Vil is awestruck and weak-kneed from the splendour of your blow,” Rook proclaims, gesturing to the not-awestruck Vil.

“I’d wager he’s also weak-kneed from something else,” Jamil comments sardonically, looking pointedly at the way you’ve got him in your grasp. Vil only hopes you’ve become suddenly preoccupied with something else.

“No, I’m just beaten head-to-toe,” Vil swiftly retorts. “That last blow did strike soundly, though. Nicely done, Deuce.”

“Thank you, sir!” Deuce smiles at him eagerly. “Although, I don’t know what to do about the wrecked stage.”

“It’s not feasible to fix it all with magic,” Jamil replies pragmatically, looking around him with a calculating expression. “With what power we have left.. Every scenario running through my mind all ends with the same brick wall.”

“Does that mean.. SDC is…” Epel trails off, looking at Jamil with a dawning sense of horror.

“What do we have here?” The new, booming voice is accompanied by green fireflies that send a small shiver down Vil’s spine. What’s he doing here?

“I thought I’d arrive earlier,” Malleus hums with a touch of surprise, surveying the surroundings briefly. “What do I find but a stage laid to waste?”

“Hornton!” you exclaim, and Vil can feel your sternum vibrate through his shoulder. You’re.. acquainted with Malleus Draconia enough to call him nicknames? He can’t even be surprised anymore. “There’s still two hours until the SDC opens!”

“Hornton?” It’s a collective response from the rest of the crew, voicing Vil’s thoughts.

“Do you have a death wish, calling your upperclassman that?” Ace shudders at your audacity.

“Do you even know who that is?” Epel’s shocked voice causes you to blink in surprise at his tone.

“He told me to call him whatever, so I did,” Vil has to stifle a laugh as you shrug. Of course you did.

“However did you get into the coliseum, Roi des Dragons?” Rook sounds positively astonished.

“I was invited by the Child of Man from Ramshackle,” Malleus replies, gesturing to you.

“Yep,” you affirm. Vil feels as though you’re ignoring the other, more pressing question Rook’s asked.

“The entire venue is still enveloped by the poison mist generated by Vil,” Rook’s explanation trails off as Malleus holds up a clawed hand.

“I am impervious to any curse, no matter how powerful,” Malleus takes another look around the wrecked coliseum. “Whatever could’ve happened here?”

Vil watches as you briefly and efficiently describe the events, listening extra hard for the parts where he would’ve been unconscious. It’s curious, the way you don’t let any trace of exhaustion or pain enter your voice. It only takes around two minutes for you to give the gist of the situation to Malleus.

“Children of men, I shall bestow upon you a gift,” Malleus’ words come with an incredible magic pressure that leaves Vil’s eyes wide. He steals a glance at you, and watches your own expression become slack with awe and curiosity.

“That’s Malleus Draconia for you,” Vil murmurs to you. Your brow furrows as you look down at Vil.

“That’s Malleus? Hornton over there was the one everyone was so excited about at the Spelldrive tournament?” you ask incredulously. After all this, you’re still holding on to that nickname? Your eyes dart back to those green fireflies that are somehow lifting all the ruined flagstones and pillars, and rearranging them into pristine condition. Within the space of a few heartbeats, Malleus has managed to restore the conditions of the arena into an exact replica of how they were before.

“He’s ludicrously out of our league,” Ace mumbles in awe. Vil can’t help but agree.

“Thanks a bunch, Hornton!” you beam at Malleus, who stares at you for a brief second before breaking out into chuckles. It’s the first time Vil’s ever heard the fae laugh, but you’re full of surprises as usual.

“Though you know who I am, you still stick to that pet name?” Malleus sounds terribly amused, looking at you as you fumble with an explanation. He interrupts whatever apology is about to leave your lips with another chuckle. “Truly, I do not mind.”

He turns to look at Vil with a resolute expression in his eyes that’s made all the more disconcerting by his piercing green eyes. “I’ve set the stage for you, Schoenheit. I trust you will keep me entertained.”

“I hardly need your urgings to put on my finest performance,” Vil suppresses the wince of pain as he straightens his posture, ignoring the very tangible reality of you still grasping onto him. “Be prepared for a standing ovation.”

“I’ll expect nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Malleus’ last words fade out with his disappearance. The only traces left behind by him are those green fireflies.

“Lady Luck is truly on our side,” Rook comments after the flashes fade out. “I was hardly expecting Roi des Dragons to appear here.”

Me neither. Though it seems today is a day full of surprises.

Vil leans into your warmth a bit more, and you indulge him. The arm carefully wrapped around him is sure and steady - he wants nothing more than to stay here until the end of time. You don’t ask questions, looking past his shoulder so you can direct the crew to their water. He knows he must let go to perform - it’s highly unusual to see the Vil Schoenheit rely on anyone, even if it’s a little bit. To see him clinging to someone, his rival of all people…

Gingerly, he lets go of you. Your grasp on him is firm to the very end as you let go and make sure he’s not at risk of fainting. The concern you display is almost comedic, but you don’t say anything.

He can feel your eyes burning into his back as he walks away, but he doesn’t look back.

Scene IV: Unopened Missive . 　⁺

Vil supposes it’s comedic as he pours everything he’s got left into the final performance, only to score exactly one point below RSA. It’s always like this; him, exactly one step behind Neige. He can’t fault Neige, anymore, not after he’s come to terms with it. As the thrum of music faded and the flow of performance left him, he was acutely aware of the raucous applause he drew. He did not care. All he was searching for were your eyes.

He’s sure Lady Luck is laughing straight at him as Rook proclaims himself as one of Neige’s biggest fans. What betrayal! Of course this has been added onto the list of surprises. It’s strange; he doesn’t feel the annoyance he’d expect to be simmering through his veins at that moment. It seems he’s let that go.

It’s practically hilarious as he joins Neige on stage to sing an encore. Only scraps of bitterness remain - had Vil not exhausted the whole team earlier, they might have won and took back that one measly vote. He’s accepted that. Still, his frustration is palpable as he leaves his crew to sing with Neige, though not to the audience. His professionalism is the one thing he’s managed to keep up.

“Hey,” your voice breaks him out of the reverie. It’s bizarre, the way you’ve escorted him back to Pomefiore, even though he’s got Rook and Epel to do that. It’s even more bizarre, the way he’s let you gently drag him to his room, where Rook and Epel have already gone back to their own chambers. They already know it’s best to leave him alone when he’s in a bad mood. So why.. why are you still-

The sharp tang of medicinal ointment brings him back to the current situation. You’re poised between his legs as he sits at his vanity, with an assortment of bottles behind you. It’s strangely intimate with the way the soft dusk lighting envelopes you with its mysterious aura. He’s not wearing any makeup, but you don’t seem to care; your gaze caresses his features, laced with only concern.

Please, don’t look at me with those eyes.

“I’m going to begin, alright?” you murmur, searching his eyes for any traces of discomfort. Vil nods wordlessly. The pressure on his chin from one hand of yours is feather light; he finds himself leaning into it slightly. Your other hand lightly brushes over the cuts on his face with the ointment swabbed onto a cotton pad - strangely, it lacks the usual sting which normally elicits a sharp hiss of surprise.

“I made this ointment myself,” you explain after seeing the surprise conveyed in his eyes. Of course you did. In any case, it seems to be working fine, judging by the rapid cooling sensation he’s feeling across his face.

“Why-” Vil begins to ask as you cap the ointment bottle and twist it closed with practised ease. Your hand is still on his face, but he can’t bear to pull away. Not here, in the privacy of his room, where the only eyes upon him are yours. “-why are you still here? Don’t you dislike me?”

You pause in the rummaging you’re doing in your pocket. Vil holds his breath as you turn to him with that contemplative look you wear while figuring out potions.

“I don’t actually dislike you,” you comment matter-of-factly, tilting his face to each side to observe your handiwork. “I’ve got better things to do than spend my energy stewing over you.”

Ouch.

“You still haven’t answered my first question,” Vil’s composure is rapidly slipping down the drain as he remains (quite literally) in the palm of your hand. Your gaze doesn’t falter. “Do you just feel bad for me?”

“No,” you respond idly, still tilting his head this way and that. It’s like watching a cat bat at a toy. “I thought it might be good to have company and rely on someone else for once.”

There’s something else you aren’t saying. It’s unspoken in your eyes and the way your brow makes imperceptible furrows every few minutes. Vil’s breath hitches in his throat slightly.

“Did you-” he’s interrupted by that look, not one of pity, but one of resolute determination.

“Yes, I saw those memories,” you admit. You don’t look at him with an apologetic expression, one that screams pity. It’s a relief. “I didn’t mean to, like at all.”

“It’s fine,” Vil supposes it is fine. You wouldn’t tell anyone, he feels. He watches as your expression shrivels up into one of abject surprise as you feel around in your pocket, drawing out what seems to be a cream-coloured, expensive looking envelope. Vil knows exactly what it is, even as you scan the front quizzically then shrug. Of course. You can’t read the runes.

“It’s the results for the poison assessment,” Vil supplies. Strange. He doesn’t feel any excitement, or fear - it’s bordering on the neutrality of acceptance. It seems you feel the same way, as you just toss the envelope down with disregard onto the vanity and continue your search in your pockets.

“Aha!” your triumphant exclamation leaves him blinking in surprise. Why haven’t you acknowledged the results at all? You brandish another bottle of ointment in front of him excitedly, almost hitting him on the nose due to your very close proximity. “I’ve found the muscle and bone ointment!”

“Aren’t you going to look at the results?” Vil asks incredulously - it slips out before he can even comprehend he’s said it.

“I can’t even read them,” you untwist the ointment with your teeth, leaving tiny dents in the metal cap. “I’ll look at them later.”

The potent tang of nettles permeates the air as you set the open bottle onto the table behind you, letting go of Vil’s face.

“I’m going to need you to undress so I can access your back,” your nonchalant tone makes Vil’s reaction delayed. He can feel the back of his neck heat up at your words. “I heard the nastiest little crunch when Deuce’s spell hit you, so I’m gonna have to check those ribs.”

“Right,” Vil swallows thickly, standing up. Wrong move. You’re much too close now, pressed up against the vanity with him standing right in front of you. His body is brushing up against yours, and he can feel your body heat. Shit. He moves out of the vicinity to the bathroom, with all the composure of a professional actor.

“This ointment’s designed for deeper use than surface level injuries,” you call out behind him. “It’s gonna sting!”

“That’s fine,” Vil responds before shutting his bathroom door. He quickly loosens his shirt, wishing it were your hands doing- His heart pounds in his ribcage as he shuts down the thought. It only takes a minute before his shirt and blazer are both tossed into the laundry basket, all too soon considering the flushed sheen emerging on his face.

One final cursory inspection of his face in the mirror is necessary before he goes out to face you. He’s almost taken aback - not by the lack of makeup which he’s already accustomed to, but the sheer vulnerability within his expression. He looks like such a mess, and you’ve not even commented on it? You’ve just accepted that it doesn’t matter what he looks like; you’re going to treat him the same regardless. It’s a far cry to what he values as his principles.

He pushes open the door hesitantly. His torso is exposed, and he suddenly feels the jarring pangs of shyness. Why now? He’s gone topless for movie scenes before, for Sevens’ sake! Steeling himself, he opens the door completely. You’ve placed the vanity chair by the bed- surely you’re not-

“You can either lie on your stomach here, or sit up on the chair, which might be more uncomfortable,” you explain briefly, rolling up your uniform sleeves as if you’re about to conduct a lab practical. Am I the lab rat? “I’ve picked up a few massage tips here and there, so overall it should be a quite pleasant experience. Of course, if you want to omit the massage-”

“No, it’s fine,” Vil lets out a shaky breath at your nonchalance, gingerly lying on his front on his covers. Jack of all trades, aren’t you? He doesn’t realise just how tense his muscles have been until you press your thumbs into the muscles situated around his scapula. Your hands are coated in some sort of resinous, volatile substance, judging from the brief alcohol fumes flaring up whenever you place your hands down. You were right, there is a sting, but it’s not as sharp as he expected.

Why are you doing this? It’s a question that keeps replaying in his mind’s movie theatre, with the cruel laughing soundtrack interspersed in a tragic loop every few seconds. The two of you aren’t friends, and what you’ve done goes beyond the level of care Vil normally receives from friendship. He can’t complain, not when your warm, rough hands are finally on him, even if it’s to just rub the ointment in.

“Now, I’m no medic,” there’s a faint apology in your tone as you concentrate the ointment into a specific, aching spot. Vil barely registers the sting of pain due to your burning touch. “But I think that your rib’s been bruised at the very least in that spot, and that ointment should’ve healed the worst of it.”

His rapid heart rate distracts him from the loss of body heat from you as you move your hands away from his body. Please don’t stop. He feels a heavy pressure on his right shoulder, and to his surprise it’s the palm of your hand waking him from his reverie.

“I’ll bandage you up just to be sure,” you murmur, shifting your weight from foot to foot and looking around. It’s clear you’re hesitant, maybe due to your lack of experience playing a so-called “doctor”. Still, judging by the way the deep ache within has eased, you’ve done a pretty darn good job, as Epel would no doubt say. “Sit up.”

Vil obeys, gingerly swinging his legs round the bed until he’s sitting, and you’re once again hovering over him as you slip a clean bandage out of its plastic wrapping. He breathes in the comforting warmth of your body heat and repertoire of chemical smells that mask the floral traces on your skin. Don’t you feel the rushed thrum of blood that’s pumping through each vein and each capillary, as you wrap your arms around him to begin winding the bandage?

Is he nothing more than a mere patient to that clinical precision you currently sport?

“What would you have chosen, if you won the poison assessment?” Vil suddenly asks as you clip the bandage into place with a satisfied hum around the middle of his torso.

“Why are you asking as if I lost?” you let out a bemused chuckle, gesturing to the still-very-closed envelope sitting on his vanity. “We don’t know yet.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vil could melt with the way you’re gazing down at him as he sits with you standing in between his legs. Your sharp eyes contain a warning, one he has no intention of heeding as he presses the subject. “Won’t you tell me?”

“Fine,” your voice rasps slightly as you stoop down to his level. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation of your warm breath rustling past his ear. “Are you really that eager to know?”

“Go on,” Vil almost pleads, and he’s sure you hear the quiet hints of desperation in his voice. Your eyes lock back onto his; he’s slightly regretting asking you as he sees the dangerous glints in your eye. His breath hitches as he realises it’s the same, all-consuming look of seriousness you reserve for your experiments and potions. It’s as if he already knows what your answer will be, with the way his blood excitedly thrums to the surface to respond with an echoing yes.

Please.

The rough pads of your fingers meet his chin again in that gentle grasp as you tilt his head upwards. This is really happening, right? It’s as if he’s in a haze; anticipation of your movements is the only thing breaking him out of it.

“Can I..” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. He holds his breath. Yes. Your mere touch calls forth fireworks to explode in a vibrant cacophony.

“Please,” Vil’s quiet gasp is all the encouragement you clearly need, because the next thing he knows you’ve stepped forward and met his open mouth with yours. The heady taste of woodsmoke and cherry syrup lingering on your tongue is positively intoxicating. He’s not sure, but he can also taste the coppery tang of blood as well. Perhaps it’s from the heat of battle earlier? Regardless, his blood rises in response; he’s sure his face is flushed a deep pink.

You don’t hesitate, leaning his head to the side with your fingers to kiss him deeper and deeper. He groans into your mouth, feeling you smile as you taste his desperation. He positively convulses as he feels your hand trace the bare skin of his side; he’s so vulnerable like this, and he knows you feel it as you press into his body.

Vil gasps for air when you pull back. A string of saliva connects your lips to his; with a start, he realises that your lips are shiny and traced with the purple lipgloss he’s wearing. Your eyes are half-lidded with intensity and some other roiling emotion he can’t place. It makes his breathing even more uneven when he realises he’s made you look like that.

“Like what you see?” even now, traces of rivalry still lace Vil’s tone; he cannot help but provoke you to elicit another reaction. Your gaze slowly travels up and down Vil’s dishevelled appearance, making sure to scour every inch of it. He holds his breath when your lip curls in disdain.

“Please,” your voice rolls deep from your throat with sarcasm. It makes Vil’s blood cells burn with want. The sharp, intense look in your eyes only becomes more turbulent; it’s insanely attractive to be at your mercy.

“Don’t make me laugh-” your fingers curl into his chin more, and Vil can feel the suppressed strength within the grip. Blood is rushing straight down, and he can barely keep track of all the thoughts racing through his head. “-not with the way I’ve seen you almost do flips for my attention, with your one-sided rivalry.”

“Ah-” Vil’s gasp sounds suspiciously like a moan as you move closer, pressing a knee in between his legs inadvertently. You’ve clearly heard it, with the way you furrow your brow and pause your motions.

“Did you-” your eyes fully take in his heavy breathing and the way he’s coming undone from just kissing you. Your question is answered immediately.

“Please, keep going,” Vil pleads, removing one hand from where it’s gripping the sheets to your hip. You swallow thickly, eyes darting between his hand and face.

“You sure you want to continue?” you prompt, eyes settling into that same dangerous glint once again. “I don’t want to aggravate your injuries..”

“Please,” Vil all but begs, seeing the way your eyes glaze over with desire. The hazy, smoky smell of your skin almost acts like an aphrodisiac; he cannot help but be ensnared.

“Alright,” your voice is hushed when you tilt his head upwards to access his jugular, biting into the area slightly with sharp canines. He knows you feel it: the way his pulse jumps erratically beneath your touch. You draw out quiet, hushed gasps with every mark you make on his throat, with every movement of your waist against his bare torso, with every nudge of your knee in between his legs.

More.

He doesn’t even realise he’s slowly rolling his hips against your leg to feel any sort of friction until you press down on his hips with the hand that’s been supporting his shoulder.

“Not so fast,” you breathe against his skin - his back can’t help but arch slightly at the feeling of your breath against his neck. “Allow me to take care of you.”

It’s your words that make him pause in shock; they’re an eerie echo of what you said in his dream. Judging by the lack of change in your expression, you don’t know about it; thank Sevens.

You’re pressing into him, forcing him into the bed on his forearms while you lean in, kissing his mouth feverishly to bring out his gasps and moans. He’s unbearably hard, all the more so because of your knee moving out of reach each time he chases that delicious high. This is better than any dream.

Burning kisses trail their way from below his ear down to his collarbone. He’s suddenly glad for the wonders of concealer as he thinks about the marks you’re leaving. On the other hand, he’s strangely into the idea of people seeing he’s taken by you, so much so that you’re marking him up like this.

“Ah- right there,” Vil can’t suppress the noises he’s making as your lips travel down to his chest. He doesn’t care who hears him; he’s seeing goddamn stars with the way your tongue circles his nipple and your thumb mirrors the action with the other one. The pressure you’re applying deftly is making him intoxicated.

“You look so beautiful like this,” your fingers glide over the neatly wrapped bandages on his chest, trailing down to his waist. He doesn’t think it’s possible for his heart to beat any more erratically without thumping straight out of his chest. Is he really sure that you haven’t magically seen his dreams? After all, you’ve seen his memories. He waits with bated breath for your next move, not realising that you’ve already positioned yourself to hover between his thighs with a small grin on your face.

“Mind if I take these off?” you hook your thumbs around the tailored trousers he’s wearing. It takes considerable self-restraint to not tell you to just rip them off.

“Go ahead,” it’s a wonder that his voice doesn’t crack from the sheer pressure of what he’s feeling at the moment. Your grin is all edges as you efficiently unzip the front and slip the pants off. It seems that he’s surprised you when you look down at his smooth legs with your eyebrows slightly raised, taking in the fact that he’s wearing sheer black stockings to his mid thigh underneath his pants.

“All for me?” you run your fingers down his legs appreciatively, feeling the soft material underneath your fingers with an even sharper grin than before. Vil can’t help but shiver at the feather-light touches you give, contrasted sharply with the jagged vertices of your smile.

All for you.

It’s as if you can read his thoughts. You’re once again hovering between his legs, spreading them with nothing more than a gentle push. The touches you leave on his legs feel almost possessive; he cannot help but adore it. Will he be the only one seeing that expression on your face? He wants to be the only one, the only one to see the tumultuous desire warp and thrash within the glints in your eyes. It’s a far cry from your usual composure.

Sticky residue from his lipgloss is left on his soft inner thighs as you press kiss after kiss to the skin. He can feel desire pulse through you with every bruising mark you leave. It entrances him. The unspoken words you leave him are more than enough to assure him that even like this, with all his bruises and scrapes and tears, he’s beautiful.

Your hands slowly ease his underwear off; the cold air on the sensitive skin makes him hiss slightly, but it quickly turns into a gasp as you leave kisses in the crook of the skin connecting his thigh to his pelvis.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you,” you promise quietly. The ravenous look in your eyes doesn’t subside as you gaze at him from between his legs. He can’t help but let out a small groan at your words. What would his fans say if they saw him, lying so pliant for his supposed academic rival?

One of Vil’s hands fly up to his face to muffle the moans escaping his lips when your thumb circles his slit, made all too easy by the flow of pre-cum from his dick. The other hand is left desperately clutching at the sheets of his bed as his hips involuntarily buck upwards into your hand.

“Uncover your pretty mouth,” you slowly twist your hand down, all while gazing at his flushed face. He’s already seeing stars at the friction and can barely register his hand leaving his mouth to grip the sheets. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He can only hope that his door is soundproofed from the obscene noises leaving him as you pick up the pace. It’s not enough. Your hand moves away each time the haze of pleasure builds up, leaving him chasing after your touch. He’s sure he looks an absolute mess right now with the way tears are leaving his eyes and his brow has the sheen of sweat; you clearly don’t care as you lithely move upwards to kiss him. The cool fabric of your clothes presses into his bare skin, making him feel incredibly exposed to you.

You’re still moving with that teasing pace as you swallow down his moans. It’s unbearable, all the more so because you’re still covered in your uniform. He almost sobs in relief when your hand picks up speed and the pleasure starts steadily building in his stomach. His hips desperately grind into your hand and you let him, let him come undone with your touch and quiet praises. He’s close; the dopamine is flooding through his veins and all he can focus on is the way you touch him, the way you’re currently kissing his jaw and leaving more marks on his neck, the way you’re coaxing such obscene sounds from both his throat and from the skin on skin friction.

It builds and builds and builds, until all he can fathom is saying your name over and over, as if he’s some devout worshipper invoking some otherworldly being. He lets go, feeling the way you slow down to allow him to ride out the climax. Only white-hot pleasure courses through his mind, fading out more slowly than usual. He kisses you feverishly, feeling the warm skin on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer and closer. You’re now lying side by side on his bed, with you pressed up against him wearing your despoiled clothes, ones that have been despoiled by him.

“You’re removing your clothes as well, I hope?” his gaze trails down your body, looking at the offending uniform that you’re wearing. It’s a wonder he’s managed to form a coherent statement. Still, it’s only fair that you also remove the fabric with those deft hands like you did to those tailored trousers he was wearing.

“Right,” your gaze softens, moving your hands away from his body. His brows furrow with a question as he watches the hand sticky with cum approach your face- oh my. A scarlet flush blooms on his cheeks as you use your tongue to clean your hand up, before using it to lazily remove your blazer and vest. You don’t give them a second glance as you toss the clothes on the floor. The warmth you’re emitting is all the more palpable as only a thin buttoned shirt separates your skin from his. It’s incredibly attractive, watching your languid movements as you discard the shirt off to the side as well as your trousers.

The feeling of your bare skin on his shouldn’t elicit such a burning reaction from him, but it does; he groans as you lean back to slowly kiss him, feeling the way your body heat envelopes him without any barriers. He’s acutely aware of all the points your skin brushes against him - it’s insanely addicting. You’re kissing him without a care in the world, judging by the way you lazily cradle his face with your hands. He’s so malleable under your touch, so starved of affection that he’s wrapped around your pinky finger. He’s sure you can feel the way his skin flushes with a simmering heat.

The blue hour soaks you both in the gloom as your hands press him closer and closer, until he can barely distinguish where he ends and you begin. Is this what it means to become one, united in flesh?

Does he look beautiful to you like this?

He knows he does. He knows he does when you reverently trail down with your kisses, settling between his thighs again to fill him up with your fingers. He knows he does as you feverishly coax those angelic moans out of him; your eyes are blazing with desire for him. He knows he does as you draw out his climax for as long as you can so wave after wave of pleasure can keep hitting him.

It’s late evening when the two of you fall asleep, tangled together and worn out.

The letter on the vanity lies forgotten; Vil doesn’t particularly care about the results when he already feels your equal.

Scene V: Closing . 　⁺

“Goodness, trickster,” Rook’s exclamation when you emerge in the Pomefiore lounge room in the morning thankfully goes unnoticed by the few students milling about. “Our dorm uniform looks simply ravishing on you.”

“Yeah, mine got quite ruined from yesterday’s events,” your voice sounds raspy as you try to sell your act to Rook, who’s positively cooing over you. What a little prankster. Vil can’t help but glance at you from his favourite armchair. As the culprit responsible for ruining your uniform, he of course had to lend you a uniform. Still, you do look rather good in it.

“Don’t tell me you slept over and didn’t tell me?” Rook plasters a look of mock-hurt on his face, and Vil implores you to shut your mouth for once and put on the best act of your life.

“Something like that,” your expression is innocent, with the exception of your raised eyebrows. You don’t look at Vil at all as you smile at Rook, who’s unfortunately glanced over at Vil, scrutinising him with that disgustingly perceptive look.

“Does that explain the bruises on his neck?” Vil chokes on his smoothie hearing the hunter’s whisper. Of course he forgot something this morning. Of all days.

“Whatever could you mean?” you inquire nonchalantly, straightening the ironed collar of the uniform.

“Oh my,” Rook’s eyes are as wide as saucers as his gaze swivels between you and Vil. It’s rare to see him this gleeful. “You two totally slept-”

“I’m going to need you to shut it, Rook,” you cover the offender’s mouth abruptly before he can say anything more. You’re not denying it though, looking back at Vil with a wicked grin on your face.

Shit.

[nhlmcfilthy]

Everything we haven't said yet

I have no idea where this came from, but I certainly have *Feeeeeelings* There's definitely a part two, I just haven't gotten there. Will take any and all suggestions though.

Summary: A night in with roommate Arber Xhekaj is full of sexual tension and things heat up when your boyfriend Kaiden Guhle gets home

Word count: 4.5K (this got super long...whoops)

CW: basically just pure filth in the second half. Unprotected sex but it’s safe & consensual. Maybe infidelity if you squint

Pairing: Female reader/Kaiden Guhle/Arber Xhekaj

So, you've been with Kaiden Guhle for years, coming up in the WHL. The two of you are a unit - solid in your relationship, but lately things have been feeling stale. Maybe it's that he's in the NHL and you're in school and you're not making as much time for each other, or maybe things have just become monotonous. You've discussed this a bit, treading lightly, and you both agree you want to shake/spice things up, but you're not sure what. Maybe in the off season you'll get a better chance. Enter Arber Xhekaj. You literally run into him one day while you're on your phone heading to meet Kaiden. You mutter something about him being a tree of a man. He looks at you weird and you're kind of taken aback by his face. Unconventionally handsome, he automatically draws you in.

Kaiden appears behind him and smiles "great, you've met." He explains that Arber is going to be living with you for a bit since he's not sure if he's staying up in the NHL or not. You and Arber end up spending time together in the mornings as Kaiden is an early riser and you and Arber are NOT. You make coffee for each other depending on who is up first. Unlike his play on the ice, he's actually really sweet in person. You're both also nighthawks and you like the same tv shows and movies so Kaiden will sometimes head to bed early and the two of you will stay up talking.

Kaiden is happy that the two of you are getting along, and the three of you often hang out together. You go out for dinner as a group or all go grocery shopping. Arber is really respectful of your relationship with Kaiden, giving the two of you space when you want to have a date night, but he is also just a very affectionate guy, touches your back when he opens a door, curls up on the couch and lets you put your legs up on his lap.

It's been nice having him around, kinda taking the stress off of thinking about your relationship. One night Arber comes home and he's all cut up. Got into a nasty fight. Kaiden has family in town and he's out late with them. You had to study tonight so you bailed on dinner with them. You take one look at Arber and go to the freezer, take out an ice pack and get a tea towel to wrap it up in, leaving it on the counter for him. You head to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, make the coffee (putting just cream in because you know that's how he likes it). He's sitting at the kitchen table, hands ready, and you clean and bandage all his cuts. All of this is done wordlessly, just the hum of the fridge running in the background.

You used to do this all the time for Kaiden when he was in the WHL. He got in way more scraps then. You'd always finish with taking his hands and giving them a kiss, and as you bring Arber's hands down from you mouth, you realized what you've just done. The both of you stare at each other for seconds that feel like hours. He swallows hard and sticks out his chin, a challenging look on his face. "You gonna do that to this one too?" he asks, finally letting go of your hands and bringing one up to his cheek. You match his glare and lean over the table and kiss his cheek lightly over a bruised cut at the top of his cheekbone. He breathes in sharply, you don't know if it's from the kiss, or the buise, or both.

You both sit there, silently staring at your coffee. You finally look up at him, searching, looking for the next move. Who's going to speak first. "What?" he says, grinning sheepishly, like he didn't just ask you to kiss him. "Your face" you say, not sure why, not sure about where this is going. Not sure you want it to be going anywhere. "What about it" he asks, sort of bashfully, looking down. "It's nice” you say, at a loss for words. Really just saying exactly what you're thinking. This moment feels awkward, but honest. He blushes, actually blushes, and sips his coffee. His giant hands pretty much wrap around the whole mug. You can't believe this big bully is just sitting there, blushing like a child.

This is nothing new to you though, this dichotomy. Kaiden plays a really smart, understated game. He's so even keel in real life, but in the bedroom, and if he needs to on the ice, he's a dominating presence. He's aggressive and punishing and intense and you love it. When you see him fight, it gets you so hot and he knows it and always comes home ready to go.

He leaves bruises and bitemarks and you've had to come up with some creative ways to cover up over the years. Things are still passionate between the two of you, that's never a problem, but you both agree something has been missing. You've become complacent.

You've never thought about bringing someone else into your relationship, but Arber already feels like a part of it. An exciting part, something you've maybe been looking for.

You and Arber both start to speak at once and do the "no, you first" dance and eventually you both laugh and some of the tension dissipates. There's still a low level current running, but the surface is calm. "TV?" you suggest, and he nods, grabbing his coffee mug and holding his ice pack to his face. "Whatever you want" he says, and you throw on The Office, which you've both seen a hundred times and feels safe. You grab your coffee mug and make a few trips, dragging your books over to the couch, and make a nest of blankets and pillows. He sits down on the other end of the couch and waits for you to put your legs up on his lap, as usual. The moment heightens again but you put your feet up. He lays an arm across them, hand falling over the top of your ankle. God, his hands are so big.

The both of you settle in and the show lulls you into its story, even though you're still copying notes and Arber is on his phone. About halfway into the first episode, you realize that his thumb is drawing circles over the bony lump on the inside of your ankle and you wonder if he's always done that, or if this is new. Are you only noticing it now because of what happened earlier?

The episode ends and the next one starts. You put your notes away and shuffle around to get comfortable lying down. You move your feet on Arber's lap and he inhales sharply through his teeth and grips your ankle tightly and you go to look over at him questioningly until you realize that your foot has rubbed up against his dick. His boner to be precise. You freeze and he adjusts his position, letting go of your ankle, and you whisper "sorry" at him and he responds with "it's okay" and it's so deep and husky and he coughs and clears his throat and neither of you can look each other in the eye. You both intensely focus on the tv until your heart rate levels and he puts his hand back on your foot, this time lightly massaging inside the arch. God, his hands are good. You wonder what else they'd be good at.

You start to feel guilty sitting there, curled up on the couch with your partner's closest friend and teammate (who's sporting a rock hard dick) running his thumb up and down the arch of your foot, and you're definitely turned on.

You realize you've been feeling these vibes from Arber for a while. Every time you spend time together it's a balance of complete comfort and safety, and also a dangerous edge of attraction. You still call him tree-man from your first interaction and he calls you weird girl, but it's affectionate. You speak about books and things you've read online that Kaiden would never be interested in. He's opened up a whole other side of your personality that no one in hockey would be interested in. He's surprisingly cultured.

You need Kaiden to come home soon or you feel like you'll just be riding this tension forever. The next episode starts and neither of you makes a move to stop it.

Finally about halfway through the next episode, Kaiden come in the door and you both visibly relax. Your shoulders lower and Arber rocks his head back and forth, stretching his neck. Kaiden asks you for some help with the leftovers he's brought home from the restaurant and you get up (raising your feet off Arber's lap with little contact and absolutely no eye contact) and walk over peeking in the boxes "any dessert?" you ask. "Of course baby, there's a cheesecake in there for you." "mmm my favourite" you reply and wait for him to throw his backpack down and put your arms around his neck. He comes in for a quick kiss, but you pull him back in and deepen it. You need something, anything to ease this tension. He makes a surprised sound in his throat as you suck on his bottom lip (which you know drives him crazy) and he puts his arms around your lower back and pulls you in tighter.

It's not weird, per se, for you to make out in front of Arber, but this feels charged. After a quick but heated kiss, Kaiden trails down your neck and bites lightly and you open your eyes and see Arber staring at you. You maintain eye contact as Kaiden hits a sweet spot right above your collarbone and you cry out and Arber swallows and his jaw tenses. He coughs lightly and Kaiden looks up. "Oh sorry buddy, didn't see you there" he says, oblivious to what is occurring between the two of you. "All good bud, I'm just heading out to meet Slaf for a bit, catch you later" you notice he's adjusted himself again as he stands up. He walks away and you stare at his back. You are pretty sure he's aware of your gaze, but you can't stop watching as he walks away. He doesn't look back as he grabs his keys and jacket on his way out.

The door closes and you drag your gaze back to Kaiden, who has taken out a spoon for the cheesecake and has helped himself to a bit. "Hey, that's mine!" you say as you try to grab the spoon before he puts it in his mouth, but he is far too tall for this to be anything more than a failed attempt. You do manage to grab his arm so he half misses his mouth and smears his cheek with cheesecake. "Hah" you say "that's what you get for trying to steal my cheesecake" and you smile. "oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" he asks, smiling cheekily and you reach up and pull his face down closer to yours and you drag your tongue up the side of his face, somewhat licking the cheesecake off him, but mostly smearing it further.

He locks eyes with you and your shudder as he says "you better clean that up" in a deep, authoritative voice. You tilt his head to a better angle and gently lick, removing all the cheesecake from his face, take the spoon from his hand and scoop a huge piece from the container into your mouth and moan in approval "mmm delicious" you say wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Kaiden moves in on you and takes the spoon from your hand and lays it on the counter. He crowds you until he pushes you up against the island in the kitchen, arms on either side of you. "You're feisty today. I didn't even get in a fight." You laugh, knowing you'll have to tell him about the tension with Arber but wanting to pick the right moment. Right now, you don't think you could form more words than "want" and "need." Kaiden leans in and his lips graze the shell of your ear. "I don't know what's gotten you all worked up baby, but I can take care of it" he says, biting down your neck again. You just groan and say "please."

"What do you need, baby?" he asks, his hands sliding up your sides and under your sweater. He finds your breasts and this thumbs skim over your nipples over your bra. You let out a whimper and he repeats himself "tell me what you need, baby." You swallow hard and look up into his eyes. "You. I...I need you." He pulls your sweater over your head, leaving you in your bra in the middle of the kitchen. "How do you want me" he asks. You gaze into his eyes, he's so intense during sex, and you love how you completely lose control under him.

You're a pretty competent woman on your own, and your relationship is pretty balanced but in the bedroom you lose all control. He takes over. You tell him what you want and he does it. "Hard and fast" you say, losing yourself in this intense eye contact. He nods and grabs the back of your thighs as you put your arms around his neck and he lifts you onto the counter.

You go to wrap your legs around his waist, but he pulls your legs open and says "patience baby." You let out a sigh on a moan and let go of his neck, bracing your arms behind you and spreading your legs. He leans in and whispers "let's get rid of these now" and a needy moan escapes you. You lift your hips up and he peels off your leggings, still not breaking eye contact. He runs a hand up your leg, and when he gets to your panties, he stops and looks down. "Jesus, baby, you're soaked already" and you just nod and say "need you."

He rubs you through the wet fabric and a throaty moan escapes your lips with his name. "Let’s take care of this for you" he says, kissing down your neck. He moves your hand to your underwear and says "play with yourself while I get undressed. I want to watch you" and your face heats up. You love being watched by him.

His gaze burns into you as he unbuttons his top, pulls it out of his pants, and unbuckles his belt. You slip your hand into your panties and groan at the wetness down there. You've been wet for hours, since you discovered Arber's hard-on, and you can't wait to finally get a release. You take a few deep breaths as Kaiden sheds his pants and walks towards you, boxers starting to tent in the front. You go to wrap your legs around him again, but he still pushes them apart. "No baby, I want to taste you" and he slides his hands down your sides and you lower to your elbows. He peels off your panties and tosses them behind him. He breathes deep as he takes you in, spread before him.

"Kaiden, please" you moan. You feel like you've been turned on for hours and don't know how much longer you can last. He moves his face between your legs and his breath on your centre makes you shiver. He kisses the outside of your thighs and you squirm needing action. A long, high pitched moan comes out of your mouth. He laughs and his breath tickles your pussy and before he can react, he dives in. Tongue in your folds fingers spreading you apart, no hesitation. "Yesss" you exhale, finally getting what you crave. "Mmmm baby you taste so good" he moans into you and you arch into it, feeling a bit of relief. He expertly navigates you, like a car he's read the manual for in detail. This is where the strength of your relationship lies. You know each other so well, there's not need for direction.

Maybe what you're looking for is the surprise. Every time Arber reacted to you today was new and exciting. How different his hands felt than Kaiden's. How his face was a bit scratchier than Kaiden's because of the stubble. The thrill you felt when you accidentally brushed up against him when he was hard on the couch, how tightly he gripped your ankle. All of it new and exciting. Maybe you could have that again.

You groan as Kaiden puts a finger inside you and twists it to the spot you both know is going to get you there fast. His tongue still teases your clit and you're really not going to last long. Your breath is coming in quick and you're mumbling incoherently, mostly just saying "Kaiden" and "baby" and "yes" and he hums in appreciation and curls his fingers in exactly the right place and the combination of the vibrations and him hitting the spot makes you yell out. It's almost guttural, you don't think you've ever moaned like that before. You've just been on such a low grade turn on all evening that this release feels spectacularly good. Kaiden kisses your thighs as you ride his fingers and come down.

He looks at you sort of quizzically. He's never heard you make that particular noise either. You take his face in your hands and just say "so good to me, baby" and you hold each other's gaze for the next few minutes.

He leans down to kiss you gently. It's restrained, you can tell. He wants more, but knows that this is your moment...for now. "Be right back" he says, a deep husk to his voice.

He's so understatedly strong. Lean, muscular. You watch him walk away, still half orgasm drunk, appreciating all the muscles on his back and legs. And of course, his ass. The material on his boxes is being pulled by his erection, and it perfectly highlights his round ass.

He comes back with a warm, wet face cloth to clean you up, kissing your legs while he does. You gather your clothes scattered in the kitchen and walk to the bedroom. You look over your shoulder and see him staring at you, dark promise behind his eyes. "You coming baby?" you ask. "I mean, I hope so, you already have" you giggle and he stalks towards you. You playfully run to the room and throw your clothes aside, only beating him there by seconds.

He grabs you from behind and pulls you into him, one hand over your stomach and the other sliding up to your neck. "Mmmm" he moans into your ear "so naughty tonight, getting eaten out right there in the kitchen." You feel so relaxed now, one orgasm in, and you press yourself back against him. "What are you gonna do about it? you ask, slowly grinding your ass against him. "I think" he says, grabbing your hips and pushing you towards the bed. "I’m going to take you from behind." He slides an arm up your back and shoves you down.

You go, willingly, crawling onto the bed, and you feel him follow behind you. You feel all charged up again, ready for round two.

"God, you're so hot like this" he says, running a hand up your back, the other one grabs your ass and slides a thumb between your two, round cheeks. You arch your back and lean into him, already over this teasing and just wanting to go again. "Mmm so needy for me, aren't you baby." You feel his hand leave your ass and you wait for the slap you know is coming. It connects with a hard CLAP and you moan, pressing further back. "So fucking naughty baby. God you love it, don't you" he says running his hand over the stinging surface, but you know another one is coming.

He connects again, harder this time, and you grip the sheets as the sting wears down. This time he brings his mouth up to soothe you. His hot tongue, tracing the round of your ass. Soft, warm comfort.

"Kaiden, baby, please" you cry. You're already soaking again. You're feeling insatiable tonight, but you know he'll take care of you.

"What do you want, baby? Tell me how you want it."

"Like this" you say "hard, fast, make me cum like this" you say, feeling him move around.

You stopped using condoms a while ago. You're on birth control and you had both been tested. You trust each other. The first night Kaiden came inside you, it was intense. He came so fast and so hard and just stared at your pussy afterwards - watching his release leak out from you.

He surprises you by pushing your legs further apart and you groan as he runs a finger along your folds, pouring himself over your body. "So wet again, did I not satisfy you the first time?" he asks and you can hear his grin. He knows full well how loud you moaned as you came on the kitchen island. "So good, baby, want more." He circles your clit lightly and you feel yourself light up. You tense all over and he runs a hand down your back "Shhh, baby, I'm gonna make you feel so good" he says as he guides himself inside you.

He slides inside you slowly, but you know he won't be taking his time for much longer. He stops when he's fully inside you, pushing you forward so you feel his full length. His dick isn't particularly thick, it's just very long. Fills you up completely. As he pushes your hips forward, you moan, grabbing a pillow to bury your face in it.

"You ready baby? You said hard and fast, you still want it?" You nod into the pillow, but he doesn't move. "Tell me. Tell me you want it" he says, his grip tightening on your hips. You moan loudly. "Use our words" you can feel the restraint in his voice, he's ready to lose it and you can't wait anymore. "Yes, baby, fuck me, please. Hard. I'm" you swallow hard, anticipating what's to come "I'm ready." You barely finish saying it before he's fully pulled out of you and slamming back in.

Hard thrusts inside you bring out a guttural moan from your lips. "That's right, baby. You love it. You love it when I fuck you hard from behind, don't you. You love taking all this dick like a good little girl." Your eyes roll back. He knows how much you love being called a good girl. It used to embarrass you, but with Kaiden, you know he loves talking to you like this.

The room is silent, all you hear is your body, slapping against his. He thrusts inside a few more times, and then stops, buried deep and groans loudly. "Fuck' he drags the sound out. "So fucking tight." He leans over your back and bites your neck. "Is this what you needed baby? Is this what you want?" "Yes" you exhale deeply.

"God, you're so fucking hot like this, taking me so rough" he starts bucking into you again, somehow even harder than before, your whole body moving with the impact. He's still poured over you, but he's so tall, his body is so long, that he can still take you like this. It's like the two of you are connected, moving as one.

He raises himself up again, running a hand up your back and grabbing a handful of your hair. You arch back into it, letting him control, somehow finding a deeper angle. "Kaiden" you moan.

He's found a hard, punishing rhythm now, and you lean into it, backing into him as hard as he's giving it to you. He groans with a few thrusts, appreciating your effort.

He lets go of your hair and your face falls back into the pillow. You can feel him losing his grip of control. He's not going to last much longer.

His angle adjusts again and then you feel his palm connect with your backside again. Not as hard as before, he can't get that great an angle like this, but it still stings. You cry out "yes, Kaiden, yes, just like that."

"You close baby?" he asks, barely disguising how close he's getting. His voice is deep and rough, and you can hear his breathing speeding up. "Yes, please, touch me" you say, breathlessly and his fingers find your clit immediately.

Somehow his touch is soft, even though he's pounding into you. He strokes softly, if not incredibly accurately, but this is like a game of Russian roulette. You never know when he's going to hit the spot that's like fireworks inside you. He's come close a few times and you're clenching so hard around him, you feel his grip on your hip tighten as he hits the spot at the right time and you feel a snap inside.

He groans as you grip him tightly and you can feel him start to release inside you, quick uncontrolled thrusts as he cries out your name, still stroking you through orgasm. The two of you wind together, slowing your pace, taking and giving everything you have. He pours himself over you, breathing heavily in your ear.

"Sorry, I'll move in a second" he says between breaths. "S'ok, I like it" you say, relishing in his weight on top of you. He does eventually move, bringing you another warm cloth to clean up, and takes care of himself too.

The two of you go through the motions of getting ready for bed. He pulls you close under the covers and you fall asleep pressed up against his chest, his heartbeat a calming rhythm.

Your eyes suddenly open and it's pitch dark. You're not sure what's woken you up until you hear the front door close. Arber is home.

You have this strange urge to go out there and see him. Touch his face, run your hands over his chest. Kiss him. And do what then? You meant to talk to Kaiden about it, after, but he really wore you out tonight, and you were pretty exhausted from all the tension.

You lie in bed, listening to Arber move around, open the fridge, he's probably going through your leftovers now. You smile, just knowing he's there. Safe. With you and Kaiden. You fall back asleep and dream about him coming into the room and falling asleep with you and Kaiden. The three of you. Part two coming..?

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 6 (Azure Lion, Peng, Yellowtusk)

(I originally made my own design of Azure and Yellowtusk but wasn't quite happy with how they turned out so I scrapped them, the designs for those two I used in these edits were made by @/erraday_ on twt, with a few minor changes, but Peng's design is my own :) )

- He/Him

- Pansexual

- Snores so loud, it's insane, Yellowtusk once thought there was an earthquake

- Feels bad whenever he's steps on a ladybug, butterfly etc

- Gives everyone and everything giant bear hugs because he thinks if Yellowtusk can take it, so can everyone else (They cannot)

- Mei once gave him catnip as a joke and he went fucking feral, he's not allowed near catnip anymore

- His hair/fur is actually very soft and curly

- Thought he saw an old friend while out in public and hugged them, it was a stranger

- Wakes up Yellowtusk in the middle of the night to ask stupid questions

- The Brotherhood asked to hear his roar but he got really nervous last second and it ended up being really meek, they never let him forget it

- Coughed up a hairball once and Peng refuses to let him live it down

- Has eaten cat food before and would do it again

- Cannot do the splits and is too scared to try

- Gets really confused by modern slang, MK and Mei abuse the hell out of it because it's funny

- Whenever he's rough housing with people he accidentally hits a bit too hard

- Whenever he walks past anyone playing a game that involves a ball (football, basketball, netball, etc) he somehow always ends up getting hit in the head with it

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he wouldn't know what the fuck to do and would be really awkward cause he doesn't know how to interact with children, he'd be able to bond with Redson better when he becomes a teenager though

- No one gossips with him because he always ends up unintentionally outing someone about something

- Ate moldy food once by accident and freaked out, he was absolutely disgusted

- Hates horror movies but loves slashers

- Drinks mouthwash

- Smells like catnip (trust me guys)

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has horrible bed head, his mane gets tangled really easily and he tosses around a lot at night so his mane takes hours to brush out

- Absolutely refuses to wear shoes, they hurt his feet (paws?)

- The type of person to cry over a movie about a dog getting lost and then finding its owner at the end

- Can somehow eat an entire goddamn buffet and not gain a single pound

- His face always scrunches up when he smiles

- Lost his balance on a hill and fell down like a tumbleweed once, Peng still brings it up

- They/He (Canon, Peng uses They/Them in the show but is exclusively referred to w/ He/Him in the sets)

- Nonbinary (Canon)

- Starts squaking when he laughs too much

- If you throw a blanket over their head he'll immediately fall asleep

- "look behind you but don't make it obvious" Looks behind him in the most exaggerated, obvious way known to mankind

- Stole food from Wukong's private stash for several months when the Brotherhood was all still together, Wukong still doesn't know

- Wukong gave them cooked chicken once as a joke but he actually liked it

- Constantly argues with Wukong about Macaque not being able to hold his own, yes it got physical

- Their wings have a bunch of scars from the amount of weapons and shit they block with them. Has to consistently clean their wings in order to keep them from getting too damaged, yes this includes softening and preening his feathers

- If they weren't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid they would tape him to the wall like that one meme and call it a day

- Bit off a person's finger once just to see if they could

- Doesn't shop, just steals

- "I hate you so fucking much" as he's handing the person a gift

-  Tried to draw on Wukong's face once but got wacked with his tail

- Absolutely HATES beetroot, will actually gag if he smells it

- Kicks over kids sand castles at the beach

- Can't stand small buzzing sounds

- "I'm not that competitive" is that competitive

- Claims you can trust them with anything but will snitch the second they know it will benefit them

- Probably threatened to eat someone's baby once

- Goes to playgrounds to trip kids

- Smells like Lavender, it just feels right

- Love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

- Has tried sleeping upside down like a bat multiple times

- Hardcore wine aunt vibes

- Had a bunch of ducklings accidently imprinted to him and they followed Peng for hours

- You'd have to pin this bird down to get them to eat collyflower

- Jokingly pushed Azure off a cliff once then remembered they're the only member of the Camel Ridge Trio that can fly

- They have full on concerts at like 3 am, has woken up Azure on multiple occasions

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Is the calmest one in the Brotherhood

- He uses Peng's head as an armrest sometimes

- He and DBK were actually quite close, he knew and accepted that DBK was in love with a celestial but was very surprised to see they ended up having a child

- Very poor eyesight but doesn't like wearing his glasses because Peng made a joke about them once saying he looked like a grandma

- Uses ":3" and ":D"

- Loves soap opera's

- Hates seafood

- Peng once tricked him into eating fish nuggets once and he still hasn't fully forgiven them

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he would definitely be the most responsible one, and probably Redson's favourite uncle

- Eats a snack then forgets he ate it and will bet frustrated when he can't find it

- The therapist of the Camel Ridge Trio, and probably of the whole Brotherhood in the past as well

- Was the only one who felt bad about imprisoning the Demon Bull Family since he and DBK were very close

- He also reprimanded Peng for when they pinned and scratched Redson with their claws after they left the Demon Bull Palace (he's the protective uncle, trust me guys)

- Hates getting hiccups, he despises the feeling and it gives him heartburn

- Wakes up at ungodly hours just to raid the fridge

- Heard a story about a bug crawling in someone's ear while they slept and has worn earplugs to bed ever since

- Loves apples

- Smells like Lilies

- Love language is gift giving

- Is really big on safety, would be the type of person to make sure everyone is wearing their seat belts before the car is even turned on

- Actually really good at cooking

- Makes the best chocolate chip pancakes ever

- Is the kind of person who assumes everyone tells eachother everything and accidently exposes someone because he thought everyone else knew about it already

- Always hears things wrong but doesn't wanna ask anyone to repeat themselves

- Has the most elegant ass handwriting you will ever see, somehow

- The peacemaker of the Brotherhood,  they all would've disbanded way sooner if it wasn't for him

- Uses his trunk as a snorkle when swimming or sleeping underwater (elephants actually do this irl, I just thought it was cute)

[sequinsmile-x]

My Shattered Edges Glisten

When she finds out she and Aaron are having a little girl, Emily is delighted. But her joy is dulled when people keep telling her that her daughter will be just like her, an edge to their voices letting her know they don't necessarily think that's a good thing.

-x-

Hi besties,

I had my annual full body MRI yesterday, meaning I was in a giant magnet for an hour with nothing but my thoughts so naturally mommy issues came out.

I'm dedicating this one to pagetbrewstersswife who recently pointed out Elizabeth is tagged in more of my fics than JJ is...which is something that both says everything it needs to about me as an author and a fact that has lived rent free in my head ever since.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and as always let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: mommy issues, pregnancy

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

When she was young, Emily’s father would read her Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It started because she’d seen the cartoon and loved it. She’d become obsessed with the story and the larger than life characters. 

Her mother thought she was too young for it, that parts of it would be too much for her, but her father had always said she could handle anything. He’d sit next to her on her bed or she’d curl up in his lap in his office, and he’d read her a chapter at a time. He’d do voices for the characters and act silly in a way he never did when it wasn’t just the two of them. They were some of her favourite memories of him, a reminder that even though he was stern and harsh, his edges sharp if ever she was in trouble, he loved her in the best way he could.

After he died, she tried to remember her love for him by reading other fairytales and watching their movie adaptations, but it wasn’t the same. Love was always at the centre of them, and even when she was young she’d roll her eyes at the cliches and the convenience that came with a happy ending. It had never been her experience of love. Her parents had loved each other, she knew that, but not in the way she wanted to be loved. It had felt like a love of convenience, something that had suited them but would never suit her. She didn’t have to be good at what she did to know that’s why she’d always looked for love in the wrong places, why she’d always sought it out in partners and jobs that were never good for her in the long run.

She’d always looked for love in the wrong places until she found it exactly the right place - with Aaron and Jack. She had stitched herself into the tapestry of their lives, their family pulled together with unbreakable threads of gold that were made of love and trust. It was the family she never thought she’d get to be a part of. The family she and Aaron had built from scratch from the scraps of their lives. Their monsters were both dead and gone, buried after their oh so human deaths, leaving the two of them and the family they were building with nothing but love and happiness. 

A family she was now adding to. 

She runs her finger back and forth over the ultrasound picture in her hand, and she smiles when she feels a fluttering in her belly, a new sensation she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to. 

“Hi, sweet girl,” she says, pressing her lips together in an attempt to try and suppress her smile, sure her cheeks would split open if it got any wider, “You’re kicking around in there, huh?”

A little girl. They’d found out that morning, Aaron’s hand tight around Emily’s as she had the anatomy scan she’d been worried about for weeks. They’d talked about whether they wanted to find out what they were having, and Aaron was happy to follow her lead. She wanted to know, impatience fizzing under her skin at the thought of waiting another 20 weeks to find out if she was having a boy or a girl. 

When the doctor told them that the baby was a girl, Emily cried. She knows she would have cried either way, that she would have been happy either way, but it felt like an answer to a question she’d never quite known how to ask. As tears sprung free and rolled down her cheeks she’d looked over at her husband to see him crying too, his eyes shining like honeyed chocolate, making her hope there and then that their daughter would have his eyes. 

“You’re never going to stop looking at that, are you?” 

She smiles as she looks at her husband and shakes her head, “No,” she replies, patting the couch next to her to encourage him to join her, “I’m not. Not until I can look at her face all the time instead.” 

“I don’t blame you,” he says, smiling as he sits beside her, his arm around her shoulder as he stamps a kiss against her temple. He looks at the ultrasound picture in her hand, “She’s beautiful.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and tilts her head to look up at him, “It’s an ultrasound picture, honey. She looks like any other baby in an ultrasound,” she scrunches her nose as she brings it closer to her face, “Although, she does look like she has my nose.” 

“Exactly,” he says, kissing the tip of her nose and making her smile despite herself, “She’s beautiful,” he kisses her, his lips stamped against hers, “Do you want to tell anyone, or keep it between us?” 

“I want to tell people,” she says, taking his hand and placing it on her bump, linking their fingers over it. She loved that she actually looked pregnant now, not just like she’d had a big meal or was bloated, “It makes it feel more real,” she furrows her throws at herself, “That sounds ridiculous I know.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he replies, kissing her temple and her cheek, “Is she moving?” 

She nods against him, “Yeah, she is. It feels strange. Amazing. But strange,” she turns her head to kiss his jaw, “Soon she’ll be kicking so hard I won’t be able to sleep.” 

“I’ll stay up with you.”

She laughs at his promise, but she knows he means it, that even if he fell asleep, it wouldn’t be from a lack of trying, “You’re sweet.” 

“No one can ever know,” he winks at her, “We’ll tell the team tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” she replies, smiling at the thought of it, “We’ll tell them tomorrow.” 

___

Penelope practically pounces on them the moment they arrive at work. 

“Did you find out?” 

Emily chuckles as she drops her purse down onto her desk, “Morning, Pen, nice to see you too.” 

Derek and JJ chuckle Emily casts a glance at them before looking at Penelope again, who had least has the decency to look a little embarrassed as she looks back and forth between her and Aaron. 

“Sorry,” she replies, clearing her throat before her face breaks out into another smile, “But I’m just so excited. Is it a boy?” She gasps as she gets herself more excited, “Is it a girl? Will I finally have a niece to spoil?” 

“What do you mean by finally?” JJ quips from behind them, her raised eyebrow and teasing smile enough to let Penelope know she’s only joking.

“Girl’s stuff is cuter than boy’s stuff,” Penelope replies as she shrugs, “It’s a known fact,” she turns back to Emily and Aaron, “So, did you find out?” 

“You should tell her,” Dave says, appearing out of seemingly nowhere as he sits on the edge of Emily’s desk, “Before you have to explain to the FBI why their best analyst died of heart failure.” 

Emily smiles and looks up at Aaron, who smiles softly at her, and she looks back at their friends, “We’re having a girl.” 

Penelope squeals so loudly it draws the attention of everyone else in the bullpen, and then she pulls Emily into a tight hug, “Oh I am so excited for you.” 

“Thanks,” Emily replies, hugging her friend back, “But if you hug me any tighter you might squeeze her out of me.” 

Penelope nods and stands back, “Right, sorry,” she says, smiling at Aaron, “I’m just so happy for you both.” 

“Thanks, Garcia,” Aaron says, smiling in a way he rarely did in the office, “We’re happy too.” 

“Congratulations,” Dave says as he pats Aaron on the shoulder and gives his congratulations as the rest of the team all take turns to hug Emily, “Is Jack excited?” 

Aaron nods, “He said from the start he wanted a little sister.” 

“He asked me yesterday how many days until he gets to meet her,” Emily says, her hand on her bump as she sits at her desk. 

“Her,” Penelope exclaims, her smile wide, “She’s going to be gorgeous.” 

“And a handful if she’s anything like princess over here,” Derek adds, his smile teasing as he tilts his head towards Emily. 

It makes her breath catch in her chest for a moment, but she shakes it off, knowing her friend is only trying to get a rise out of her, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Come on, Em, I’m sure your mom could tell some stories from when you were young,” Derek adds, and it draws a laugh out of the team, “Remember those high school pictures baby girl found years ago?” 

She rolls her eyes, “That was a phase.” 

JJ hums, “One of many I’m sure.”

“Let’s hope she has Hotch’s temperament,” Dave adds, his smile wide, “Otherwise she might drive you insane with her wilfulness and her inability to follow orders.” 

“Although Hotch can be stubborn,” Spencer throws in, and they all hum in agreement as JJ speaks again. 

“She really could end up being the most stubborn person to ever walk the planet.” 

Emily’s shoulders stiffen, her frame so tense Aaron can see it from where he’s standing, and he clears his throat, drawing the conversation to a close with nothing more than a raise of his eyebrow. 

“We have work to do.” 

Emily flashes her husband a grateful smile as their eyes meet. She can see the concern weaved through his features and she nods to let him know that she’s okay. She tries to shake it off, repeatedly tells herself that her friends unknowingly picking at her biggest insecurity about being a mother, one she hadn’t even shared with Aaron, was nothing more than a poorly timed joke, but it lingers. Sits under her skin and keeps her awake at night as it shifts back and forth, leaving her restless as she lays in bed with her hand on her bump as she silently promises her little girl that she’ll do better even though she hasn’t even held her yet.

She’s still thinking about it days later as she stands in the kitchen making dinner, the minutes ticking down until her mother arrives for the evening. Emily sighs, pausing chopping vegetables to place her hand on her bump. Elizabeth had just got back to the country after a placement in Europe. She knew Emily was pregnant, she’d replied to an email she’d sent her months ago when they could never quite catch each other on the phone, her response nothing more than a line wishing her congratulations before she moved on to telling her all about her placement, but she hadn’t seen her since then. 

It made Emily nervous. She’d changed her outfit several times before she’d come downstairs. She’d switched from shirts that didn’t make her look pregnant enough to shirts that made her too pregnant, before she’d settled on a sweater that once belonged to Aaron. It was loose everywhere but over her belly, the material only the slightest bit taut over the peak of her bump’s curve.  

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

She looks over her shoulder at her husband and nods, turning back to the kitchen counter, “I’m okay.” 

He wraps his arms around her from behind, letting her lean back against him, “We can cancel on her if you want.” 

She chuckles humourlessly, “She’ll be just a few minutes away,” she says, kissing his cheek, silently letting him know she is thankful for him, “We both know it’s easier if we just let it happen at this point.” 

“And you’re sure you want to tell her the baby is a girl?” 

She’d thought about it. Thought about not telling her mother she was having a little girl, but she wanted to tell her. To pretend, even for a few minutes, that they had the relationship she wished they had.

“I do,” she replies, “I don’t know if she’ll care,” she blows out a slow breath, “But I want to tell her. Plus, I’m sure Jack will tell her the moment he gets a chance,” She chuckles as she turns to look at him, stepping away from the counter for a moment, “I wonder sometimes what it would be like if we had a relationship where she’d be one of the first people I’d want to tell.” 

He wishes he could fix it for her, that he could make her mother see the damage she had done, but he knew he couldn’t. He leans in to kiss her, his hand on her bump, “One day, this little one will know what it’s like to have that relationship with her mom.” 

She smiles at that, “Let’s worry about her being born before we start thinking about her having her own babies,” she says, cupping his cheek and tugging him in for a kiss, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, and the doorbell rings as he speaks. She tenses in his arms immediately, any progress he’d made in calming her down gone in a moment, “Do you want to let her in or finish chopping the vegetables?” 

She loves him for giving her the option, for giving her some semblance of control over a situation she felt like she had little control over, “I’ll finish in here.” 

He nods and kisses her forehead, “I’ll keep her busy until you’re ready,” he walks away out of the kitchen, shouting up the stairs for Jack as he goes, “Jack, your Grandma is here.”

She hates that she feels jealous of her son’s excitement, his yell followed by his thunderous footsteps as he runs from his room, and she tries to think of a time she’d ever been excited to see her mother. She blows out a slow breath and rubs a circle on her bump, hoping more than anything that one day her children would never dread a visit from her like she did from her mother, that they wouldn’t go into flight or fight mode just at the smell of her perfume if they walked past someone else wearing it in public.  

She hears the front door open, followed by the rumble of the voices of her family whilst they greet her mother, the sound of Jack’s voice loud enough that she hears it clearly from the kitchen. 

“Grandma, guess what? I’m getting a baby sister.” 

Emily chuckles to herself and looks down at her bump, “Well, looks like your brother told Grandma for me, sweet girl.” 

She takes her time before she walks out of the kitchen, fixing a smile on her face as she enters the living room. Elizabeth and Jack are sat together, the little boy excitedly talking at his grandmother about school, and Aaron is sat separately, the spot next to him waiting for her. 

“Hi Mom,” Emily says, her hand on Aaron’s knee the moment she sits down, her nails digging in through his pants like the joint was her own personal stress toy, “It’s good to see you.” 

“Lovely to see you too Emily,” she says, looking her up and down, her eyes focused on her bump which was more pronounced now she was sitting, “You look…healthy.” 

Emily feels Aaron tense next to her and she squeezes his knee even tighter, her smile as polite as it was fake, “Well, I am almost 21 weeks pregnant.” 

“Jack told me you’re having a girl,” Elizabeth replies, smiling down at Jack who nods excitedly, “When did you find out?” 

“At my 20-week scan,” Emily says, settling into Aaron’s side as he wraps his arm around her, his love and comfort laying over her like a blanket. She knows what her mom hasn’t said, the question of why she didn’t know already lingering in her eyes as if they had a relationship where they shared these things, “I knew we’d be seeing you today so, thought it would be nice to tell you in person.” 

“Well, I’m excited to have a granddaughter,” she says, and Emily knows enough about her mother to know that isn’t all she’s going to say, that she isn’t done with what Emily is sure is going to be an insult disguised as something else. 

“Thanks, Mom,” she says anyway, forever forced to play her part in the little game they’d played since she was too young to know she’d picked up the pieces. She looks up at Aaron and smiles as he links his fingers through hers on his knee, “We’re excited too.” 

“And I’m looking forward to watching you raise her,” Elizabeth says, carrying on as if Emily hadn’t spoken, “It will be like karma for everything you put me through.” 

Emily clenches her jaw so tightly she’s surprised it doesn’t shatter, that it doesn’t break into enough pieces to stop her from asking the question she already knows the answer to, “What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh come on Emily,” she replies, laughing as if they were all in on the joke, as if it was a joke at all, “We all know she’ll end up being exactly like you.” 

___

She sneaks off upstairs the moment her mother leaves. 

She’s grateful that Jack asks Aaron to do their bedtime routine instead of her because it gives her some time to recalibrate. It was something she’d done for as long as she could remember. She’d find somewhere to hide out after a run with her mother, somewhere quiet where she could find some peace until she found her footing again. Her safe place had once been her father’s home office. They’d escape her mother together in there and he’d pull a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland out of his desk and read to her. Back then he’d been her hero, but as she got older, after he died and she learnt to deal with her mother alone, she realised he should have done more. That he should have stood up for her and told Elizabeth to back down instead of trying to be her partner in crime against her. 

After he died, she would hide out in his office. Her mother never redecorated or repurposed it so she’d sneak in there after a fight with her and curl up in his chair. As she got older, she had somewhere just for her where she could cool off if needed wherever she’d lived. Ever since they’d moved into this house, her and Aaron’s bedroom had been her sanctuary. A room untouched by anything other than love and comfort that allowed her to calm down whenever she needed it. 

This time, she finds herself in her daughter’s partially decorated nursery, sitting on the floor and huffing out a breath as she tries to get comfortable, idly thinking to herself she likely wouldn’t be able to get up without the help she would have once refused. She looks around, smiling at the stencil Aaron had drawn out on the wall, an outline of the rabbit that was ready for him to paint at the weekend. The crib their little girl would sleep in was still in its box, leaning against the wall. Emily can imagine countless nights to come when she’d sit in this room, on the loveseat that hadn’t arrived yet, her daughter against her chest as she refused sleep. 

She sighs sadly as she thinks about her mother’s comments which hadn’t stopped in the living room. They’d carried on over into dinner to, a garnish Emily didn’t want or need, every attempt to compare her to her unborn daughter, to imply all those things were wrong or bad, leaving a crack in her heart. 

There’s a quiet knock on the door and she turns her head to look at it as it opens. If Aaron is surprised to find her sitting on the floor he doesn’t say anything, his usual admonishment left only in a slight raise of his eyebrow. 

“I thought I’d find you in here.” 

She hums and looks back at the box the crib is in, “It’s peaceful.” 

“Want me to leave you alone?” 

She once again finds herself loving him for giving her the choice, for knowing her well enough to do so. There was a time when she would have sought out solitude, but she wanted him with her. She shakes her head, “No.” 

He sits behind her, his hips bracketing hers as he pulls her back towards him and supports her back. He kisses her temple and wraps his arms around her, settling his hands on her bump, “Want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t know,” She laughs humourlessly, the sound catching in her throat, “I was expecting her to say something like that.” 

He holds her tighter, protection and love threaded through his muscles, “It doesn’t make it any easier to hear.” 

“No,” she replies, “It doesn’t,” she swallows thickly, “The team…the team said it too. And I know they were joking, but…,” she chokes on a sound she can’t name, every worst fear she had about her skills as a mother stuck in her through, “Would it really be that bad if she ends up being like me?” 

He frowns, the wrinkle of his forehead something she feels against her own, “Oh god no, of course not. I hope she’ll be like you in every possible way.” 

She looks up at him, and she only realises she’s crying when he wipes his thumb over her cheek, her sadness caught against the callouses that had only ever treated her like she was made of the most precious of stones. 

“Really?” 

He nods, and smiles softly, “Really.”  

She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop her chin from trembling, it doesn’t stop her voice from cracking as she replies, “Why?” 

It breaks his heart, makes love for her pour out of the cracks her question leaves behind. He didn’t know how she couldn’t see it. How she couldn’t see that she was everything, not just to him but to Jack too. She’d brought him to life, had helped him slot all the broken pieces of him back into place with her smile and her kindness. There were times when he couldn’t believe that he was the one she’d chosen to do this all with. It felt like a privilege to love her and he’d make sure he spent the rest of his life making sure he was worthy of it. 

“Because you’re the best person I know, sweetheart,” he says, running his knuckles down her cheek, “You’re smart and kind and brave,” he leans in to kiss her, barely pulling back before he carries on, “You’re everything. And Jack, and this little girl,” he says, placing his hand on her bump, “Are so lucky to have you as their mom.” 

She scoffs, or laughs, she isn’t really sure, but she shakes her head, “I…I don’t know what I’m doing. How does that make them lucky?” 

“No one knows what they are doing, Em,” he says, smiling when she shakes her head at him, “But they are lucky. Our kids are so lucky. I can’t wait to see you in her. I see you in Jack all the time.”

She sniffs and wipes her cheek with the heel of her hand, “Really?” 

“Really. Before you, Jack was always so cautious. I know that was partially my fault after Haley died. I was so worried about something happening to him that it wore off on him. He never wanted to do anything. He never even wanted to ride his bike in case he skinned his knees and upset me.” 

She chuckles as she thinks about just a few days ago when she pressed a Batman bandaid against Jack’s knee after he came off his bike in the park, “So what you’re saying is, I made him more reckless?” 

“No, I’m saying you’ve made him braver,” he corrects and his seriousness makes the teasing smile on her face slip away, “You’ve made both of us braver,” he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “Your mom is wrong. All the things she was talking about? Those are good, amazing things and I hope our daughter takes after you in every way possible.” 

She shakes her head at him and leans forward, pressing her face against his neck to breathe him in, ignoring the pull in her neck at the odd angle. 

“I keep thinking of all the ways I’m like her,” she says as she pulls back from him, “Like my mom,” looks down at her bump, at the place where her little girl was safe and warm, “I hope in 30, 40 years the baby doesn’t sit and worry about all the ways she’s like me.”

“You’re not like your mother, Em.” 

She wishes it was true, wishes that she wasn’t half her and half her father, but it wasn’t. She saw reflections of them both in herself all the time, be it her father’s nose or the way she took her coffee exactly like her mother did. They were imprinted on every part of her and all she could do was do her best to be better in spite of those things, to pile all the good she could think of on top of it all to muffle out the bad. 

“I am. Or at least, part of me is. I look like her. I can control a conversation like her. I’ve got her sense of humour,” she shrugs sadly, “I can’t escape the part of me that came from her. It looks at me in the mirror every morning. It…sparks something in me every time I want to prove I’m right.” 

He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what she meant, that he didn’t see his own father in him sometimes. In the smile they shared that he’d passed on to Jack, in the dimples Emily always told him she loved. 

“All we can do is hope we’ll do better.” 

She nods, somehow taking his place as the comforter in this conversation, pulled out of the slump her mother had forced her into at the familiar look in his eyes, the sadness thinking of his father would always draw out of him. She hated that this was something they shared. Their childhoods were as different as they could be, but the outcome had been the same. Two people determined to do life alone because it felt like the safest option until they found safety in each other. 

“We’re already doing better,” she says, cupping his cheek and stamping her lips against his. They fall into silence for a moment, and she pulls back to look at the rabbit stencil on the wall, smiling softly as she thinks of a story about a young girl who had chased after a rabbit on a warm summer day, “I have an idea for a name.” 

She turns to look at him, a hint of sadness lingering in her eyes that makes him want to call her mother and give her a piece of his mind. He swallows it down, like he had countless times before, because he knows she doesn’t need him to fight her battles for her - she’d always been able to do that herself. 

She needed him to do this. To provide the comfort he’d always give her willingly, his reserves of it as infinite as his love for her. 

“Yeah? What is it?” He asks, running his hand up and down her back. She smiles and nods, her teeth sinking into her lips as if she’s trying to contain her excitement. 

“Alice,” she replies, smiling softly as she thinks of her father, of the part of her that was him, the part she’d pass down onto her little girl, “I think we should call her Alice.” 

[wyngigi]

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 02

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

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“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 3.5k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through

02⌇relationships, fuck buddies, heartbreaks

San has made a lot of bad decisions in his lifetime. For starters, back in the golden days of high school he decided to skip class and go on a bike ride with his friends. It was fun, until they decided to add alcohol into the mix, then it got stupidly fun. He ended up on the ground with his bike reduced to a pile of metal scraps with wheels. The addition of a nasty scar near his hairline wasn’t the most favourable either. His parents weren’t happy with that, nor when he hosted a house party the very next weekend that got more than just a little out of hand.

He’s glad most of the mistakes were correctable in some way. The bike definitely wasn’t salvageable, but he did eventually get a new one. Then, after the party, he had to give up a month’s allowance to mend the window he had broken after an intense game of beer pong. That month he also decided to take up a part-time job.

To put it plainly, San doesn’t make a lot of good decisions. Even after transitioning out of the angsty rebellious teen phase, trouble seems to just follow him. It’s okay with him though, he doesn’t just live with chaos, he thrives in it. Some things really do not change.

The building in front of him, previously only seen through images online stands almost confronting now. His clothes make him feel worse, like extremely out of place. They’re all wrinkled from being worn on the airplane and subway ride, and he feels the stares of people in their expensive evening wear as they walk by. It’s too late to back down now, so he reaches for his phone to inform the reason he’s here of his arrival. As he waits, San pays extra attention to his surroundings. Movies were right about one thing; New York, the city that never sleeps. He likes it, the honking cars in the distance and the occasional construction sounds are comforting in a strange way. Life at home felt too quiet, especially after you left.

He loves to be on the move, the thrill of exploring has always been dangerously enticing. San could have done that in lots of ways after high school, spontaneous road trip, booking a one-way ticket to anywhere he could think of. Temporary choices. He didn’t want that though, San wanted to live big. After more thought, transferring to a college that requires a plane ride to reach his hometown might’ve been living a little bigger than he anticipated.

He looks down at his phone, fumbling with the volume button in attempt to seem busy while he waits for a reply from his soon-to-be roommate. He hasn’t packed much, but his backpack has been weighing him down for twenty minutes after his subway commute. San checks his phone again, no reply.

There wasn’t much special about this college, education wise nothing he couldn’t have gained from any closer schools, but this one had something else. Someone else. San is well aware how moronic it is to chase after an ex (well, ex something) yet here he is, outside an apartment five miles from the campus you attend. His plan was always to move to a school further away. San’s decision to move to this school was only slightly influenced by the “vague” memory of your attendance here.

The rest of his belongings, haphazardly thrown into cardboard boxes are on the way soon, hopefully. The moving process is more complicated than San ought to have believed. He doesn’t have anything of too much value from home, except for his well-loved motorcycle. A more recent purchase, a gift to himself for finally deciding to make the big move.

A figure appears from the apartment building’s entrance and San hopes his prayers have been answered, for once. The man across from him squints his eyes curiously, recognition fills them instead after a few seconds and a grin spreads across his face.

“San, right?”

“I don’t get it; you know you could easily pay for this place yourself.” A second voice scoffs, chiming in, “Yeah, you just got the last roomie out. Why don’t you enjoy solo living for a while?” The two boys across from Mingi aren’t accusatory in tone, yet he feels it from their expression. It’s probably stupid from their view, understandably. It’s also kind of stupid from his, he’s just lonely. He can’t say that to them though. It’s hard to not sound like a wealthy prick whose upset his friends have jobs and other friends while he’s spending his days rotting away in some luxury penthouse in Brooklyn Heights.

“Dunno, save money I guess.” Wooyoung scoffs, “Complete bullshit, your parents pay for this place.” Mingi shrugs, “Saving them money, then.” Mingi watches as Wooyoung taps the boy next to him on the floor, holding his hand out. Yeosang squints up at him, elbow resting on his knee, lit joint in his hand sending smoke around in small swirls. “Puff, puff, pass fuckin’ hog.” Yeosang takes another drag, blowing a stream of smoke into the other’s face.

“Not even your stash, stop acting stingy.” Wooyoung rolls his eyes in response, bringing the stick up to his mouth as he leans back into the upholstered sofa. Mingi scowls, “Get another burn mark in this couch and I’m done with you forever.” Wooyoung hovers the lit end of the joint just above the leathered surface before the former knocks his hand away lightly. Wooyoung grins, passing Mingi the joint in surrender. He shuffles in his spot before bringing the stick to his lips between two fingers. Yeosang lays his back onto the cashmere carpet, stretching out his back.

Mingi likes the two boys. They are his friends, as much as friends who come to your place to smoke all your weed and use your fancy television can be. They keep him company, when they’re not studying or working, or at some shitty frat party. Mingi doesn’t really wish to join in on the trashy ragers they go to, it’s all cheap liquor that’ll leave him with a bad hangover. Sometimes he thinks he really does live up to the pretentious rich kid stereotype.

“So,” Yeosang continues, eyes still closed as he lies down, “Who is the new roomie?” Mingi clears his throat to respond, yet the other voice in the room interrupts. “Seriously though, who cares, I’m still grieving the last one. Missing him.”

“You’ve seen him a total of like, seven times.” Yeosang lifts his head up to give the youngest of the three a judgemental look, “Have you guys even spoken before?”

Mingi snorts, “They did, once. Hongjoong lost his key and Wooyoung let him in. He was too out of it to respond and ran to the bathroom to throw up.”  The black-haired boy scowls, “Don’t care. He was hot. Fuck happened to him?”

Mingi shrugs, he doesn’t really know much about his old roommate either. He moved in because the guy was looking for some extra studio space. Some preppy art school kid. Not a lot to know, apart from the fact he drank a little too much. And barely spoke unless he was wasted out of his mind. He didn’t mind it though, just enjoyed having someone to share his place with. To be honest, the place just feels so hollow with just him in it. Last week he had packed his stuff up, handed his key to Mingi and on his way he went. Mingi didn’t have a lot of friends, dropping out of school early kind of kickstarts that. All of Mingi’s old friends were off in foreign countries, travelling and exploring with their parent’s money, and the two with him now were always closer to each other. Not that they’d exclude him, but they were each other’s best friends.

“Long story, you guys hungry?” The two boys nod. Yeosang props himself up, “New restaurant opened up like last week down the road.” Mingi nods, moving to get up before Wooyoung sucks in a breath. “Your treat though, yeah?” He sings, patting the boy on the chest. Mingi nods letting the two make their way out first as he reaches for his wallet on the coffee table. “What are friends for?” He mutters, shoving the wallet into his pocket.

Ever since Jongho was young, he knew he belonged on the field. Football wasn’t just about the winning, the congratulations or the glory of the trophies and medals, it was more than that. He couldn’t boil it down to one thing that made football so important to him. He loved the chill against his skin as he ran across the grass, ball in his grasp as the screaming and shouting all melted in a dull buzz. He loved when after every point he scored added up onto the scoreboard, celebratory ding ringing in his ears louder than any cheers from his team or the crowd.

The game had always been his calling, the practices just as much entertainment to him. Loved the drills, again and again. First one on the field and last to leave. He was unstoppable, sum it up to physical advantage, extra training, but what he knew was that it all began with his mentality. That this was the thing nobody could take from him. Unfortunately, life will always find a way to do exactly that.

His dad, who had fuelled his love for the game for a much younger Jongho many years ago was sick. Jongho knew he was ill; he also knew that the last thing his dad would want to see was him crying at his bedside. So, he chose to be strong. Or try to, as much as one can when you want to cry and hide until the hurt in one’s heart would cease. He went to practices with his team as much as he could, tackled, defended until his body gave up. Then, he would get up and do the same thing again the very next day.

He pretended as long as he could, that nothing in his life had changed. He’d come home from practice, ask his dad if he wanted to throw the ball around with him and when his dad would shake his head and respond with a simple “Too tired, tomorrow maybe.” Jongho would smile, close the door and return to his room. It was easier, to agree his dad was tired, not sick.

It was hard to ignore other things though, like in his house. The paintings his parents bought during their trip in Greece had been sold, his mom’s engagement ring pawned off, the small tv he kept in his bedroom given away in a garage sale for practically nothing. Jongho would be stupid if he didn’t notice they were having money troubles. So, he did something he really, really didn’t want to do.

Quitting his team was one of the first times Jongho had felt completely and utterly hopeless. But he also knew it was the right thing to do. Too much money spent on his equipment and uniforms, too much time taken away that he didn’t have. So, his afternoons routinely spent sweating, running and catching transformed into mind numbing endless shifts at his local convenience store, as well as studying harder than he ever had before.

During his final semester he joined his team again, played the final games of the season but, the universe is cruel sometimes, so damn cruel. Just under a year of being off the field had set him back too far, no amount of practice could’ve helped him. The other top players of the team had received sport scholarships from some of the top schools, and he was left behind. He’s glad to have at least paid enough attention in school to receive a scholarship, an academic one for science. Without it, college fees would’ve set him back far more.

His first year of college went by with a breeze, then the universe had made its round again. Jongho’s dad had passed away, peacefully, in his sleep on New Years. His nights spent buried in books, reviewing lectures and revising for exams had turned into endless bottles of whatever he could get his hands on until he’d pass out. Then, he would get up and do the same thing again the very next day. He doesn’t talk about his dad much for obvious reasons, but by the start of his second year he had entered lectures painfully wasted or stoned out of his mind instead.

Wooyoung’s spent his whole life thinking about love. Watching it first with his parents, as his mom would look up into his dad’s eyes, fixing his tie while he tucked her hair behind her ear before they’d leave for their weekly date night. They were the classic high school sweethearts. He didn’t know exactly what love would be in store for him yet, but he knew what his parents had was simple, plain, love.

As he got older, he watched it in elementary school. More juvenile versions of it, smiles across the playground and confessions scribbled onto paper. He also remembers his first crush. She was pretty, always waved to him in middle school before running off to her friends. Wooyoung would walk the longer route to his own classes to see her as she passed him, locking eyes before one of them (usually him) would feel his breath hitch and he’d walk a little faster. They even went to their school dance together, by that he means they held hands and stood next to each other at the punch table.

They never dated but she was also his first heartbreak in a sense, thanks to the new guy that showed up and swept her off her feet by their final year of middle school. Wooyoung hadn’t cared too much after like a week, they went off to different high schools and he’d forgotten all about her. He certainly doesn’t remember much of her now, but he does remember the feeling of loving someone for the first time. Whatever illusioned version of love a person can have in their teenage years.

By the time high school ended, he’d enjoyed his fair share of relationships, fuck buddies, heartbreaks and whatever else there was in between. Unfortunately, that meant the rose-coloured lenses of his adolescence had been removed, and love had gradually become more of a whimsical fantasy than something he’d truly ever achieve. Life just got in the way most of the time, made relationships way too complicated. Therefore, in the meantime, while he waited for the special someone to come along he chose to embrace college life to the absolute fullest. Which translates to get wasted every weekend and wake up with a stranger in your bed.

“Any of you planning to get some tonight? Because I know I am,” Wooyoung winks. Mingi scoffs, picking up a slice of pizza, “Didn’t I tell you I’m not going? Those parties you and Yeosang go to are always so,” he pauses, holding his hands up to find an eloquent expression, “fucked up.” Yeosang pleads, “You can’t be lame tonight too, dude.” Placing his cup down he continues, “Wooyoung’s gonna ditch me before he’s even gotten a drink in him. Just come with.” Mingi shakes his head, “Isn’t your roommate going? Just stay with him,” he offers with a shrug.

Yeosang exhales, arms dropping to his sides, “Yes, exactly- I don’t want to be drunk around him. I swear Yunho’s straight as shit and I’m gonna try make out with him or something. You need to be there to stop me, deadass.” Mingi purses his lips, “I don’t know, new roommate’s bringing all his shit tonight and I said I was gonna help him unpack.” Wooyoung swallows his bite quickly, tilting his chin towards Mingi, “Didn’t he transfer to Columbia? He would’ve seen the flyers, I’m sure he’d be going already.”

Mingi sighs in defeat, nodding, “I’m gonna head back now. I’ll ask once I get there, text me the details yeah?” The boys break out into grins, elbowing each other in celebration. “Yeah, I got you. See you man.” Yeosang hits Mingi on the arm shooting him a small smile, while Wooyoung bids him goodbye with a tap to his behind, the two watch him leave the store before continuing to finish their food. Unfortunately for the tallest of the three, Mingi hadn’t told them how cute his new roommate was, and just how nervous he’d been around him since the first time they met.

Mingi takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to pray he doesn’t embarrass himself. He shuts the door behind him before making his way to the living room. Stacks of cardboard boxes greet him, splayed out on the ground. Mingi spots books and stacks of clothing folded messily in some of the opened boxes. He furrows his brows looking around for the boy.

After toeing off his shoes, he places his keys on the counter before calling out, “Hey, San?” Shuffling is heard in the distance before Mingi turns around and finds who he’s looking for. Unfortunately for him, (fortunate for his eyes) the boy is far less clothed than he had anticipated. Holy shit. This new roommate of his is really fucking jacked. And worse, even hotter without a shirt.

“Hey! I’ll get the boxes cleared soon,” San pauses, eyes widening as he notices how Mingi is frozen in place, “Sorry um, moving just got kind of uh, hot.” He presses his lips into a thin line before gesturing towards his very half-naked body. Mingi shakes his head quickly, “No dude it’s fine, is the AC not working or, something?” Mingi realises how much he needs to peel his eyes away, so he does. Extremely unwillingly. His hands tremble as he shrugs his jacket off. Mingi turns away from man opposite him whose still very much not clothed to busy himself with a desperately needed glass of water.

San scratches the back of his neck, looking down, “I don’t really, know how to use it? Embarrassing I know, but I just have some shitty remote. Not the whole touch screen thing, not that it’s bad at all! This whole place is really great, your bedroom is really nice by the way. Not in that way! I just walked in accidentally, this place has a lot of rooms. My bedroom is really great too. Oh my god, I need to shut up. I’m sorry.”

A small chuckle escapes before Mingi can suppress it, “I’ll show you how to use it later. Have you um, unpacked enough of your clothes yet? My friends were asking if you wanted to come with us to that Columbia party tonight.” San grins in return, nodding enthusiastically, “Yeah!” he clears his throat, “Yeah, for sure. No that’s cool with me, I was planning on going already.”

“Okay, yeah. Cool. I’m gonna get changed then we can meet them there.” Mingi empties the last bit of water from his glass, watching as San rubs his now sweaty hands on the sides of his pants. He spins on his heels, returning back to boxes he was previously sorting through. Mingi mutters a quick “see you in a bit” before rushing past the other, off to his bedroom. He pushes his door shut quickly, pulling out his phone as he slides against the wall down to the floor.

mingi: fuck me yeosang: thank u god i knew this day wld come

mingi: wtf dude no

new roomie is hot as fuck yeosang: thought you finally loved me back

kidding spill

so what does he have that i dont Mingi rolls his eyes, poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek before typing frantically back.

mingi: can u shut up

i alr thought he was cute n then he walked in half naked and i Don’t Know What To Do yeosang: is he coming party tn ?

mingi: yes . i want to jump his bones

yeosang: cant wait to see that

mingi: ok voyeur kink is not needed rn

yeosang: sorry i thought this was a Safe Space

mingi: how do i live with him now

i cant be normal around hot ppl

yeosang: idk man u kno i don’t fuck the roomies for a reason

need me to keep u on lock tn ? js keep me from yunho i beg

mingi: i think ill b ok

Can i fuck yunho instead

yeosang: not funny

mingi: sorry x

wooyoung: god when is my hot roomie coming along ..

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[ineffably-wrecked]

Oh, I am sooooo f-ing mad right now. I wish this was a fake article cause I know there was rumors recently that it was going to be downgraded from a whole season to a movie. But given that the article is from Hollywood Reporter, that doesn't seem to be the case...Guys, it's not even 2 to 3 hours long. They're saying 90 minutes. 90 FREAKING MINUTES!!!! There were scripts written for a whole damn season, so it looks that a lot of that has obviously been scrapped then.

But it sounds like they're still using part of Neil Gaiman's writing for the finale. These days, you can barely call 90 minutes a movie. Most animated movies are longer than that even by today's standards. This final season was supposed to be epic in scale. You're seriously gonna tell me they're going to wrap up averting the second coming and the reconciliation between Crowley and Aziraphale and their relationship of 6000 years worth of pining in that small amount of time? Impossible.

I mean, there's full length fics on ao3 of possible s3 storylines that beg to differ. Some of them that haven't even been finished yet and are still pretty fucking amazing. "How do we turn on the light?" anyone?

It just sounds to me that due to the allegations against NG, Amazon wasn't too keen on being attached to the likes of him anymore. But they figured since Good Omens still seems to have such a large and dedicated fanbase, rather than piss them off and possibly lose subscribers by outright canceling it, they'll just try to put out a half-baked, half-assed finale in order to try to appease the fans. Somewhat... It's bittersweet. Neil Gaiman is not attached any more, which is indeed what everyone wanted. And we are still at least getting some kind of conclusion. But now I'm worried it's just something that's going to be hastily thrown together. At the end of the day, despite everything, Good Omens still means a lot to me. Even though I didn't become a fan till last year. I mostly just lurk on tumblr and ao3 reading fanfics. But I appreciate the overwhelming amount of support and talent that has come out of the fandom in this trying time. I never post on tumblr, but wanted to get this and my feelings out there.

Good Omens and its story and the characters of Crowley and Aziraphale that we've come to know and love deserved better. The actors and crew that have worked so hard bringing it to life deserved better. We, as the fans, deserved better. Terry deserved better. I'm sad this may not be the long awaited conclusion he had pictured before he died. Well, as long as they still end it on a happy note. Here's hoping our angel and demon still have their happily ever after in a lovely little cottage together in the South Downs.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day One

So I know this has probably been overdone by lots of people on lots of years but I haven't done it yet and I want to so here goes: I'm going to rewatch get back with the days matched up and catalogue my thoughts as I watch.

We don't get to see George and John saying hi to each other, but I'm struck by how careful they are with Ringo when he comes in. "Hi Ringo, happy new year." From both of them, with full eye contact soft, sweet voices. I wonder if they're really wanting to be so gentle with him after what happened at the end of August. Not like walking on eggshells at all, but just very "we're working on doing better because we care about you."

While Paul's not there, John is giving George full attention, leaning in to him, facing him while they sing, and George seems to really love it

But then Paul shows up and you can tell before we even see him that he's arrived, because suddenly John's gaze is gone from George. His eyebrows shoot up, he chin-tilts, and (this sounds insane I know but it's what I just watched) his singing drastically improves. He's putting effort in, performing.

Paul sits down and the shy little grins and glances and inside jokes (at George's expense and hypocritical of John) ensue immediately.

Ringo's jacket. The black with the maroon velvet collar. It's very cool and it's very unique to him. I don't see the other three pulling it off the way he does. He just has effortless swagger. If the other three wore something like that they'd look like try-hards.

George's sassy little hair flip. "oh, you're recording our conversation?"

Meanwhile John and Paul are back at it like magnets I swear. Turned in to each other, talking gibberish, and strumming

George with the deadpan sass again. "Maybe we should just learn a few songs first." Lol he's so stone cold.

"Oh please believe me." "Yes I will." Come on. Do you ever stop? And then the silent communication when they screwed up. We don't see Paul's face but John makes such a cute "oops sorry" face and they keep going.

Paul's literally so bossy. I find it such a turn on, really, watching it. Just because it's him being a genius who has a vision and sucks at social skills. But if I were in that band and he wasn't letting me hit I'd literally hate him.

John's so delighted with Paul's "everybody's got a hard on... Except for me and my monkey." Because that's one of the ways he often expresses his love for Paul and Paul's giving it back to him here. So John's just "Oh he made a joke about my song. He's teasing me. He does like me."

Paul literally diggs John's part of IGAF so fucking hard though. Like as soon as John's singing, Paul can not be still. Can not. He just thinks John's so so clever (and to be fair he is)

Crazy eye fucking continues

Then Paul's off to talk big boy plans with the daddies for a minute. (would love to know who he waved at then sucked his finger) "Is this your place, Twickenham?" Okay. Feeling out a potential daddy's pockets. I see you.

Obsessed with Yoko's emerald bag and how she got her little boyfriend to wear the exact color of Henley. Ken was literally made to be Barbies accessory and he's doing such a great job matching her purse. She's so pretty and cool.

It cracks me up how extremely nonchalant Ringo is about Magic Christian. (I LOVE that movie. Ringo is so hot in it and it's anti-capitalist so it's a winner). Dennis O'Dell is all "the scripts are marvelous." And Ringo's just "yeah you told me." And then Dennis is like "I'll take up up and show you around these really great sets." Ringo: "yeah okay." It's almost like the other three have no chill so he has to have only chill to balance it out.

They really are so blunt with each other when they don't like something. "I don't dig that." "Scrap that." Which is good. If only they could've been blunt when they did like things too though. And I guess they were sometimes. Like John telling Paul to keep that lyric in Hey Jude. But I don't think they were half as open with their positive feelings about each other's work as they were the other way around and that's so sad to me.

Why does George single Paul out about the sandwiches? It's cute. I love it. But what is it? Is he particularly worried about Paul and food because Paul's picky? Is it just their relationship that they take care of each other in these simple ways because they can't take care of each other emotionally?

Fucking hell why does Paul literally flirt with everyone all the time? "No separation in there." "Rain or snow will do me." "Yeah, you're pretty right, Michael."

Pretty sure John was looking at the lyrics of TOU off that sheet that said "Another Quarrymen Original" at the bottom. I wonder what he thought of that. I wonder if it was there to signal him, and if so what was it signalling? "Hey this is about you."??

"Two of us Henry Cooper." Referencing a boxer in a song about him and John. Why? Because they're fighting?

[thefurbynecromancer]

Ok I have some things to say about the ending of despicable me 4.

Spoilers under the break

Ok so we see all the villains in prison right? first off, Scarlet & Herb are there which is fucking insane. How the fuck do they look almost exactly the same. Assuming Scarlet is like 20 in Minions (I feel like she's probably about 30, but we'll make her younger just to demonstrate) & assuming there's a year in-between despicable me movies, she would be like 66. If the years in-between releases count then she would be like fucking 76. I don't think a single grey streak is all you would have at those ages.

Vector is there also, which is crazy. How did they get him off the fucking moon? Plus, if you're including the lore of the Mooned short, how did they get him off fucking Mars??? Did they get his ass out of space just to arrest him?

Bratt. my poor, poor babygirl.

the fact he still has his white undershirt hurts. He's still desperately clinging to his Evil Bratt identity that they stripped him of. Evil Bratt was all he had, to be completely stripped of it must have been so depressing to him. The only reason he seems happy here is because they're singing an 80s song, he finally has a way of regressing back into his one & only comfort.

Also: where's Clive? My headcannons are either

1, he's scrap metal. they just scrapped him for parts once they found him

2, he's still out there somewhere, & he's sending Bratt letters in prison. Bratt definitely has an Evil Bratt poster folded up underneath his pillow that he looks at & cries.

Their outfit choices are hilarious also, big fan of the fact they just recolored scarlet's dress orange instead of giving her a normal ass prison outfit. Also vector literally just has his warm up suit on they didn't even change it.

Also Vector flossing is so fucking funny

[puppygirlirl]

"i need to figure out why i have such bad insomnia recently it's becoming a real issu-" (the sleep deprivation finally reaches the core of my brain and consumes the last crumbs of my sanity) "...there's clearly only one answer, im becoming a vampire and i hunge-" (imagines a homoerotic scene of me biting a girls neck while we embrace each other tighter than either of us have ever felt before) "ii might need to go to a ddoctor actually i dont feel very go-" (an image of me dying in bed as the love of my love cups my face forces its way into my mind, she leans in for one last kiss and-

before the thought ends i collapse to the ground dead, rats swarm my body and instantly turn my corpse into a perfectly cleaned skeleton. the audience claps, the children scream in terror, and my wife watches on with tears in her eyes, knowing i didn't want it to be this way in the end.

she mourns for a couple of months, cry's when she smells pumpkin spice for the first time since i died. "it was always her favorite" she thinks, looking down at the overpriced latte she got to feel like i might still be there, even if it's just for a second. the feeling is fleeting, and just leaves her hollow again. nothing could replace the woman she loved, especially not some shitty coffee.

after a beat of staring into the cup she was holding a bit too tight, a tear dripped into the foam, then another, then so many she couldn't really see the coffee anymore. a rage washed over her, why her, why her wife. "those fucking rats, she didn't deserve this" she thinks as her hand finally tightens just too much, crushing the foam container in her hand. it burns a little, but she doesn't really notice. it all just hurt too much. it wasn't fair. none of this was fair.

the papers keep hailing the whole situation as "the best performance art ever done", praising the brave girl for sacrificing herself for her art, losing everything just to put across such a striking message. the truth though was that none of it was planned. she knew her wife's death wasn't on purpose, the stress must have gotten to her. those long sleepless nights where that driven, stupid girl would stay up to get her routine just right, being begged to come to bed and get some rest just to ignore her for the sake of her art.

the anger shifted to her late wife. "it was so preventable, if she only took care of herself, you fucking idiot, why'd you have to leave like this." her thoughts kept racing, none of this made sense. they both should have been happy together, they should be cuddling on their couch together watching 60's horror movies and laughing at the bad acting. they should be safe in each others arms. they should be together. but they weren't. they never would be again.

there's a part of her that wonders if it was on purpose. if she died just to put on such a big show. immortalizing herself as a martyr for the people, a grim showing of what the world has come to, and what it takes for people to be entertained even if it kills the artist in the process, literally consumed by the rats begging for whatever scraps of life they can get. it doesn't really matter, the outcome doesn't change. she's alone now, and she had to deal with that.

suddenly, i burst out from behind the counter of the cafe and scream "GOTCHA!!". fireworks go off around me, everyone in the cafe begins losing their minds, i was alive the whole fuckin time.

initially, my wife screams in confusion and fear at the visage of her wife she's presumed was rotting in the ground for months at this point, but slowly, her expression softens. the room goes silent for a moment, and a shaky smile washes over her face. she walks up to me with tears still staining her cheeks, and cups my face, just like in the last vision i had. her hands move down slowly to my throat, and before i can react, she starts squeezing.

she was always stronger then me, but even with the pure adrenaline running through my veins, i couldn't get her hands to budge. the acrylic nails she got the day before were digging into my skin, drawing blood and making the sensation even more terrifying. the smile never left her face, it just got stronger. a giggle escaped from her pained smirk, then a full on chuckle. my vision started to go blurry as my hands weakly push her away, and her laugh grows louder and stronger. i looked her in the eyes one more time as the light left my own, and all i saw was rage. "what did i do so wrong" was the last thought that crossed my mind as the lack of oxygen finally shut me off for good, and i dropped to the ground. the rats come back, and clean my corpse once more.

the restaurant erupts in cheers and laughter, "she did it again!" they holler, already posting videos of the event to social media. my wife drops to the ground, holds my bones close and sobs, praying that the rats take her this time too.

[tooningin]

2012 Lorax Rewrite

The movie would open up with the scrapped Thneedville song. In the visual department, there would be this subtle yet noticeable sense of sadness and resignation from the citizens, indicating that maybe they regret their plastic dystopia, but are too far gone to change.

As for the song itself, Ted would be given a verse at the end, expressing his dissatisfaction with the lifestyle Thneedville has, and wondering if its really too late.

The song ends, and he then walks home and finds his family gushing over the new oxygen masks they’ve invented. Ted tries to tell them that instead of celebrating these oxygen masks, they should see the fact that they’re needed as a massive red flag, but his points are dismissed as jokes. Ted’s dad then hands him some packages with the oxygen masks to deliver

Ted rides his bike around Thneedville, further hammering in just how messed up the society is. Everyone happily accepts their oxygen mask delivery… Except for the girl that was Ted’s GF (Who I’ll just be referring to as Taylor Swift)

Taylor Swift’s reaction surprises Ted, who was used to the enthusiastic reactions from the customers. He asks her why, and she explains that she feels like a prisoner in the town of Thneedville, and yearns for a world where products aren’t being shoved down her throat (It wouldn’t be this on the nose I swear) Ted relates, and the two bond over this. Taylor Swift is called inside her home, and right before she heads in, she tells Ted that she’s happy that she’s not alone in her beliefs.

With this, Ted decides to leave for the Truffula Tree woods in the middle of the night. He’s not the only one who hates what the world has become, and if he can show proof, everyone will agree, and maybe, just maybe, Thneedville could have a better future

But once he arrives he sees the woods with zero Truffula trees and almost devoid of life, save for a tiny handful of struggling animals. At first Ted tries to tell himself that this state is just in this specific part of the woods, but as he wanders through the woods, this is all proven wrong.

At the end of the trail, Ted finds the Onceler’s house, and he bitterly tells Ted to leave, stating that the world is destroyed, and that he should just go back to Thneedville.

But Ted ain’t havin any of that. He wants to know how exactly the world came to be the way it is.

And with this, the Onceler begrudgingly begins his tale.

We flashback to a young Onceler and his family. They run a failing clothes business, one that’s doing so bad, they’re on the brink of poverty

One day the Onceler decided to go on a walk, and that’s when he found the Truffula forest. He’s awestruck by the beauty of the place and all the life in it, but it’s the truffula trees that really catch his attention.

He grabs on to some of the tree’s leaves/material/whatever and decides that maybe he and his family should try making clothes with its material. He gets ready to chop the tree down, but the Lorax jumps out and stops him. Lorax berates the Onceler for attempting to chop down the tree, to which the Onceler says it’s not a big deal, after all it’s just one little tree. How bad could he possibly be?

The Lorax grabs the Onceler’s hand and takes him around the woods, explaining how one little thing could affect the whole forest, and the importance of preserving the environment through song. However he does have some sympathy for the Onceler’s situation and allows him to take a small amount of the Truffula’s leaves.

The Onceler walks back home, but on the way, trips on a rock. He gets up and is about to pick up the Truffula’s leaves, but notices it coiled up. He places it on his head, and fiddles around some more with it, and gets the idea for the Thneeds. He runs home, and tells his family about his idea, who, having been backed into a corner in terms of financial stability, decide to give it a shot.

And the Thneeds end up being an overnight sensation, so much so that the family is soon pulled out of poverty. Talk of the Thneeds spreads, and soon, everyone wants one.

With the demand for Thneeds being so high, The Onceler begins taking more and more of the Truffula trees. Lorax worries about the effects, but tries to be somewhat lenient, after all, the Onceler and his family are no longer poor, much to the animals’ chagrin. But it isn’t long before the rapid success and profitability of the Thneeds gets to the Onceler’s head. He puts the money towards expensive stuff things that only benefit him, chopping down more Truffulas than necessary, and overall forgets the whole reason he began the whole Thneed thing in the first place: His family, who in his obsession with chasing profits and fame, he has pushed out. At this point the Lorax decides to put his foot down, the Onceler isn’t using Truffulas to provide for him and his family anymore.

With a montage of the amount of trees being chopped, the sky progressively getting foggier, and Thneedville’s growth, we transition into the one and only, “Biggering”

As we know, in this song, the Onceler knows damn well what he’s doing, but justifies it to himself. The song would end with the final Truffula tree being cut down, and the Onceler, seeing everything he’s done, the pain he caused, would have an absolute breakdown, one of both happiness and sadness. Happiness cause, as he would tell him himself, he has everything now, his biggered his business to the point where now he has an empire, and sadness because what all that stands for, and cost the world as a whole. Basically think that one scene with Simon from Infinity Train.

We then flashback to the present, with The Onceler looking to the side in shame, and Ted looking to the Onceler in pure horror. He tries to proclaim the Onceler an absolute monster, but is unable to bring the words out due to how much shock he is in, and instead turns around and is about to run back to Thneedville in tears, but before he does so, The Onceler gives him the last Truffula seed.

By the time Ted returns to Thneedville, the Sun is almost up, and upon seeing Taylor Swift sitting on the front steps, he rushes to her and tells her what he has learnt before revealing the Truffula seed the Onceler gave him. Together they plant it, and sit together watching life in the plastic wasteland of Thneedville go on

[variousqueerthings]

something that strikes me about joyland vs many other films centering trans women, is that biba’s story is one that interweaves with various cisgender women -- while it does have scenes showing her community, which is notably a place she is happy and safe and able to let her guard down, her actual story stands in comparison to other cis women, who likewise are comparable to each other. she’s not the “othered” woman to their “normative” woman, she’s a woman, whose perspective is relevant to a story largely about women

the part where her being transgender is important (and it is important!), is that she has taken the necessary steps in life to be freely herself, and this has come at great cost, but it’s also working. she knows the pain that comes with that and we see a lot of it in the movie itself, but she’s definitely also got the joy that comes from a certain kind of freedom (the freedom of creating a new reality after everything is gone)

so in that sense, the main contrast of her as “trans woman” to their “non-trans woman,” is that it’s given her the opportunity for joy precisely because the margins -- once everything has perceivably been lost -- is where that joy is to be created, whereas the other women whose stories we see are clinging to what scraps they have. they aren’t happy, not because they’re women, but because the little bits that they do have in the society in which they function, are things they’re too afraid to lose to stand up for what they want 

nucchi at first appears to be happy as a housewife, desperate to produce a son, but she gets stripped away, bit by bit, merely as someone who can tolerate the role she has. she studied to be an interior designer, I believe it was, and it makes perfect sense, once she shares that piece of information with mumtaz. she comes into focus -- and then she’s the one who suggests that she and mumtaz leave the house together (gasp) to go to the amusement park, for their One Good Day

and mumtaz you simply see deteriorate, until she’s on the verge of doing the one thing that might help -- running away -- and then cannot go through with it. I think at least one of the reasons is that she’s wondering if maybe she can do this after all, if maybe once she tells haider that she’s pregnant something will open up, but instead the future closes in and in and in. she doesn’t manage to grab that one sliver of freedom she had (and it would have come with so much pain), and the ending starts careening at the viewer from that point onwards

the second-to-last scene, where you see haider and mumtaz talk prior to their wedding is just... oof. ouch. mumtaz :( me, sitting in this movie screaming at the screen to just get her the damned air-conditioners she wanted, at least! one thing!

and then lastly the neighbouring woman, who at first presents herself as all about that propriety, and who you then realise is at the end of what this journey is going to be. no longer useful, only a ghost, not even allowed to leave the house, and there’s no way she’ll do anything but accept this, even as she feels, deep down, there’s some way to have joy, and she even briefly offers a small fight for it, before she accepts her fate anew

in the face of all of this, biba’s is the story with the most hope, presenting out and proud transness as a gift rather than a burden that must be borne because nothing else is possible, as it often is. biba is not in a society where she’s safe, or accepted, or respected -- hell, she’s clearly the least privileged person we follow in this film -- but she is free

[tookishcombeferre]

The state of the world is looking pretty scary out there. But, I wanted to give you a message that will hopefully bring some hope.

Back when I was 13, the very first Percy Jackson book was just gaining popularity. And that was the closest thing I'd ever seen to disability representation in a book that was massively popular.

Before that? Nothing. Or at least, nothing that people could actively recommend to someone my age.

The closest thing I had to "queer" representation was the scraps I found in fanfiction, much of which, was rampant with ... um ... problems. Big ones. But, it was all we had back then so we held our noses and read it anyway. Most of it, I couldn't bear to finish. But, back then, that was "the done thing," and I am still learning to let go of all of the scars that has left on me. That those are not the loves I deserve. That that is not the kind of love queer folks give. That we are not, nor do we have to be, synonymous with proshipping. Because, at 12/ 13? That's what I was taught by the adult fan writers in my life.

But, I am unlearning. We are makinging a BETTER world for the youth of today.

You don't have to put up with that crap.

Because, now?

We have characters like Ari and Dante from Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.

We have characters like Kade Bronson, Jack Willcott, Nancy Whitman, and others from the Wayward Children book series.

We have Alex Fierro, Hearthstone, and Blitz from the Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard trilogy.

We have Nico di Angelo from the Percy Jackson saga.

There's a whole host of interesting representation of queer identities in webcomics like The Glass Scientists, Heartstopper, and others.

There are so many more canon characters that are out and being written for the middle grade/ YA crowd in traditional books and graphic novels.

Y'all have cannon representation being created for you right before your eyes. Some of them even have disabilities! Some of them look like you. They think like you. They act like you! And, what a glorious thing that is!

When I was young, the closest thing I had to people who were like me were Disney villains. Many of them were quirky and queer coded. They thought strangely and the moved stiffly or with elongated gaits like my "autistic walk." I never got to see myself "good." (The wicked's lives really are lonely.)

As I grew, I found scraps of myself in Anthony Warlow's musical portrayal of Jekyll in the 1994 recording of Jekyll and Hyde. I found bits and pieces of myself in the way Ramin Karimloo seemed to "stim" as the Phantom of the Opera in the 25th Anniversary version of the Phantom. I fell in love with Diana from Next to Normal, but she didn't really fit either. Our states in life were so different at the time.

I always found parts of myself, but I never found a whole. And, I never really got to be totally "good." I was never the hero of the story. I never had a heart of gold.

So, characters like Undyne, Papyrus, Alphys, and Mettaton would have never existed in a game rated E10+ when I was growing up. The subjects of their narratives were "too taboo" for anyone that young to think about. I was 20 when those characters were created.

Movies like Nimona would have never been made.

So, as much as things suck, as hard as things are, there are good things out there to hold onto. We have come so, SO far. Don't throw all our progress out the window. Don't put your head down and give up.

Fight. We come from a long history of fighters.

They say we don't exist?

Exist harder.

The generation before me marched, screamed, shouted, and yelled so I could exist.

The next phase was getting to tell queer stories that ended with nuance. Queer stories with true queer heroes. Queer stories with happy endings. We're working on that.

*I'm still working on that.*

I type until my hands are sore. I rehearse monologues and songs for hours so that folks might get to see themselves on stage. Because, all of that is important to me. It's important to me for people to see disabled actors, queer actors, trans actors, doing art, performing art, and doing things out in the world.

It's important to me for people to see disabled and trans folks happy and thriving.

We've hit a set back. We're going back to our organizing stage. We're going back to our roots.

Learn your history. Know that we've fought before.

And, don't give up. Please. Don't give up. I'm not giving up. Neither should you.