#And then idk maybe a fourth to shove in people's faces and be weird about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

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be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

#Hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #hawks #takami keigo #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #smut #BNHA college AU #tw dubcon

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logsfm · 4 years ago

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hey my loves ! i’m mia , 21 from the east coast ! i have not roleplayed in sheeeesh ... like five or six months ? but i am so excited to be here for opening with all of y’all . i spent like all morning trying to weed out this gal logan right here ... she’s a trip , that’s the best overall description i have for ya . anywho , lets get to the actual thing you’re here for her lil intro . also if you wanna mssg on discord here ya go 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐬 𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖊#7040 .

logan samara-de jaager was spotted in the fashion district adorning air force 1’s university blue , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to benz i know by kelvyn colt . you may know them as @delogan or as that bella hadid lookalike . their twenty fourth birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be querulous but on the other hand passionate . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cisfemale / she/her + mia / twenty one / she/her ) + ( “ logan de jaager seen shoving ex in hotel footage during heated argument , not so sweet huh? ” / “ miss de jaager was spotted sneaking into ex beau’s apartment , what could she be up to? ” / “ sweet socialite or greedy trust fund baby ? milan de jaager publicly accuses daughter logan of stealing $1M … ” )

born into the true lap of luxury . the daughter of real estate magnate & high - profile attorney milan de jaager and his wife , british born socialite lana samara . the two of them held high favor within the 1% but were also able to find a perfect balance . they did a great job of separating personal life from the tabloids . it was rare to really know the happenings of their day to day . they had this particular kind of mystery to them , if you will .

it wasn’t long before lana began to instill the very same rhetoric she received as a child into her own . quality over quantity , was the motto . just not in the way you’d assume . the quality at which a de jaager presented themselves to you was much more important than than quantity of time you spent with them . looks ? they’re everything , in the de jaager household . time was simply a societal construct implemented to catch you on a bad day , for that very line of thinking they embodied being late . rushing out of the house to finish your make up in the car ? a literal sin in the eyes of her mother .

she was encouraged to take part in ballet and beauty pageants growing up . anything that could showcase how beautiful their daughter was lana and milan were on board for . personally logan hated ballet but she couldn’t deny she loved the applause the night of a showcase . she also couldn’t stand pageants but loved having all eyes on her as she went on stage .

it became quite clear as the years went on that her parents were much more like close friends to their daughter than like rule - instilling guardians . she would text them to dismiss her from school , get them to buy her & her friends alcohol for sleepovers / parties , was very much so that kid who got high with her parents . really anything you could do with your friends ? was fair game with logan & her folks .

at sixteen a friend of her moms who was going to be a designer for spring fashion week that year asked if logan would want to walk for him . she was quick to accept the offer and before she knew it she had multiple offers to walk in that years fall fashion weeks , because of how easy it came to her - though , she’s the first to admit she never really took modeling all that seriously .

it was just a year later that her way of life changed drastically , logan and her twin brother had been caught by paparazzi on a friends boat in the hamptons snorting a white substance , anyone with eyes knew exactly what the group of teenagers were doing . upon returning home the two received the crackdown of the century . their once friendly parents turned to strict jail like guardians . often reminded that they put the families reputation at stake . the pressure to be perfect was something logan had never had to deal with until now & she almost cracked under the pressure at every turn .

it wasn’t until she left for college that she was finally given some room to breathe , attending the university of florida was the best choice for what logan truly wanted to do with her life - become a sports analyst . growing up she was infatuated with sports & and would have been involved in much more than just cheerleading had her mom allowed for her to get so much as a speck of dirt on her . during her time in florida the paparazzi seemed to find her more often than not , something her parents often denounced both over the phone & in public . the longer she spent away from the upper east side the more she became america’s sweetheart & simultaneously a thorn in her parents side . she graduated from university in 2018 , only returning back to new york for the sake of work . she’d been offered a reporting job with espn , on top of taking up modeling gigs here & there when ever she felt necessary .

personality …

one thing is very true about the de jaager’s & is very much so the same for logan ; she is not to be trusted . she can be extremely charming when she wants to be . she could sell a bag of rocks to a beach & get a princess to sell her sole to sex work . she knows exactly what people want to hear & when they want to hear it and has no qualms about lying straight to someone’s face if it means she gets something out of it . in fact sometimes , she might lie to your face just for the sheer fun of being able to call you gullible .

she’s very much so a spoiled brat although she hates when anyone call her one , she feels like she has more layers to her than that broad term . hand in hand with that is her drama queen like tendencies , any situation were there is a simple solution she will find a way to blow vastly out of portion .

due to her mother’s heavy influence growing up , she can be rather vein & materialistic . catch her like “ i can’t date a garbage person ” to someone simply because they’re not as rich or known enough for her liking .

it’s rare that you’ll ever see her jump out of character . she’s very calculated & aware of who she is ( or who she needs to seem like ) so if you ever see her emotions getting the better of her , you’ve really broken her .

she’s the type to dabble in a little bit of anything ? she’s a rich nyc party girl who’s been partying well before anyone should have allowed her to so she’s done it all . you’d be kidding yourself to think you could surprise / scare logan on a wild night out .

she’s quick & creative with her sense of humor . she has both a crude / dry sense of humor , as well , and really just doesn’t find goofy things to be funny but more or less embarrassing ( so if she ever tells you you’re goofy , remember it’s not a compliment ) .

her upbringing & parents sentiment on tabloids once reflected massively on logan , but now she couldn’t quite care less about it all . after all she spends hours in front of cameras on a regular basis for work . although she does tend to shy away from people who she deems are hungry for fame or attention . she’s been used in the past for fame & will never let it happen again , plus she’s the type to lap up attention so she likes to have as little fame whores around her as possible , more shine for her .

when she isn’t being a total nightmare though she’s actually really fun to be around ? she’s playful & loves to keep the party alive . often can be found claiming “ i’m high on life ” although everyone saw the pictures , logan , we know what you’re really high on , girl .

very chatty girl , too . victim of foot - in - mouth syndrome , big time . she doesn’t try to be disloyal & spill people’s secrets ( or does she ? ) but she can’t help herself . if she has piping hot tea she’s gonna spill it because she doesn’t wanna burn herself .

very observant girl , who loves to people watch but her observations can sometimes get muddled when she starts judging people a little too hardcore .

she’s also a undercover couch potato & by that i mean if you give her an option to go out & do something she’ll never outwardly choose to stay home to watch netflix and snuggle up under the blankets but secretly she’s hoping & praying she gets a chance to do so .

plots ...

END THIS ( L.O.V.E ) / her first love . these two brought the absolute worst out of one another . they messed her up so much that she has a weird perspective on what love between two s/o’s should even feel like now . maybe they had another s/o at the same time as her & kinda just strung her on & when it came out were able to lie so much to her that she believed them . idk , in truth we could really plot something completely different as to what they did & inevitably what the breaking point was . maybe they broke up with her & had they not ended it maybe she would’ve still been okay with being in the relationship . idk i just feel like this one could be fun as hell . also they’d be the one whom she was caught arguing with in one of her headlines . ( 0 / 1 )

AFTER PARTY / this is a more reckless take of party buddies . im envisioning a group of people who when the parties over they all pull up to close by gulf course , indulge even more in their choices of substance , there is a naked gulf tournament going on , there are drunks driving golf carts , swerving and pouring bacardi all over the course . running from security when they pop up . it’s tradition at this point & if someone doesn’t come it’s almost disrespectful at this point . idk i just love the thought of this kinda vibe . ( 2 / ? )

SECRETS / okay so this one is messy . basically logan was very private for most of her life ( thanks mom & dad ) and during the early stages of highschool she lied to everyone saying she was a virgin . she told each one of these individuals that they were her first whether it be to make them fall for her “ innocence ” , want to chase after her , or whatever else we might be able to plot out . inevitably they compare notes at some point and find out that she’d been lying to them all . we can plot out how they confronted her i feel like we could make this real dramatic though . this would also be a backstory plot so , we can also plot out how things have transpired since for them . ( 0 / 3 or 4 )

BEST FRIEND / these two girls take best friends to the next level . they relate to one another on every level and are there for one another at all times . there is never a moment where they are competing with one another because they know that their #1 in there respective category . they are one another’s ultimate hype beasts . they truly embody chaotic goddess vibes . it’s like they were placed on this earth simply to be friends because they compliment one another that well . ( 0 / 1 )

LETS FALL IN LOVE FOR THE NIGHT / they are the one that’s there whenever she’s down . they have the ability to make her feel like they have some sort of old love whenever she’s around them . those feelings only last for the night though . they enjoy when she rambles on about sports or the novel she just recently read or really just anything she enjoys can put a smile on their face . they know better than to ever confuse what is going on between them though , they know that she’ll never be theirs . whether they’re okay with this or not we can definitely plot out . ( 0 / 1 )

MOANA / they are not a fan of logan . they see her for what she is : an attention seeking , spoiled brat and the fact that they don’t want anything to do with her makes her want them all the more . when they finally slept with her it was only to prove a point to her s/o at the time , to prove that she’s not the sweet girlfriend she claimed to be . basically they’re the person who outed her for being a ho ho ho but despite knowing that they outed her for that she still tries to hook up with them because they were the best she ever had . they often turn her down but after a while not even they can deny that they’re attracted to her . they still don’t fuck with her though . also i think it’d be cool if their were two of them & maybe they worked together to out her to her s/o that didn’t believe she was a cheater ( 0 / 2 ) also bring the s/o that they outed her to ( 0 / 1 )

ELEVEN / the type of relationship that is stuck in the grey area . they’re more than friends but they don’t necessarily admit to having feelings for one another . honestly they probably don’t even think they have feelings for one another . it’s a weird dynamic . they spend the most of their time together late at night . there meeting time ? 11pm . they go on wild joy rides to the beach . heads out of the sun roof as they let out a loud woo . the only thing accompanying them is a big bag of weed . sometimes they have deep talks , honestly they probably know more about one another than anyone else ? because of these adventurous of theirs . when they aren’t having deep talks they’re running across the beach aimlessly & rolling around in the sand with one another . it’s really just a very pure plot that i need in my life . ( 0 / 1 )

TRUST NOBODY / this is someone who used logan for fame / attention . they either became close friends or even started dating & they used everything they learned about her or what went on between them to relay back to a tabloid / would call paparazzi to come and take pictures of them together whenever they’d go out . ( 0 / 1 )

some other plot ideas i’d love to see : x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x .

#wealthyhq:intro #hellurrrr *

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callsignbaphomet · 3 years ago

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My aunt drove me to the appointment and I was hesitant at first because she is...a stress factor in my life. I know for sure she doesn't mean to be and I'm sure she doesn't even realize she's doing it but it ain't easy talking to her. I feel like my entire family is prone to playing the victim.

Example. A few years ago my aunt planned out a vacation for all of us to go on. The majority of us didn't want to go. It started disastrously bad when my idiot brother wanted to take the long way which here in PR it means going through the middle of the island which meant taking roads that were curves over curves over curves. I get car/motion sickness. I said this aloud. My aunt and my mom have witnessed this first hand. Solution? I gotta drive to avoid throwing up. I didn't want to drive because I didn't know the directions, even then we got super lost, and I was on some medication that forced my p****d out and I didn't wanna go on this vacation but was forced to go (this is me as an adult btw 😐).

So what happened? We had to pull over so I could throw up on the side of the road. I was beyond pissed. The rest of the week went from bad to worse. My sister and her husband insisted that all they wanted to do was go to the beach. I don't like going to the beach, I don't like swimming, I don't like pools, I don't like getting wet. First time at the beach I was on the shore overheating and heavily bleeding and I looked miserable but yeah I'm soooo glad that bitch and her bitch husband had soooo much fun.

Following day they (sister and her husband) wanted to go to another beach. My mom spoke up and said I wouldn't be able to go into the water and didn't think it was fun to just sit at the shore all day. Someone finally remembered me 🙄

So C, who had had enough of the trip since the start had been super quiet and I got a little angry at him for not speaking up either. Turns out he was on the phone searching for interesting things to do in the area aside from going to the fucking beach. So he asked my aunt if he and I could borrow her car. She said okay and during the entire stay all they did was follow my idiot sister from one beach to another, that's ALL they did. Beach hopping.

Meanwhile C and I went to see some weird salt flats, we saw a fuck old lighthouse and befriended some cats, we went to a really old church with an amazingly beautiful garden full of flowers. On the third day we went out to a park and had ice cream. Loooots of ice cream. So all in all C managed to make that disaster better. When he and I got back to the apartment my sister was putting on a show about how C and I didn't wanna spend time with the family.

Dude, I went from 0 to 1 trillion in 1 second and I swear I was gonna lunge at her but C grabbed me basically by the scruff of the neck and held me back and quietly said, "If that's what you think that's a you problem." and we went to take a shower. Which btw only had two temperatures: third degree burn and lava coming out of Satan's butthole. You can imagine how great that felt in the middle of summer in the south side of PR.

Fourth day was an all out disaster cuz my idiot brother, who btw, first day there kicked me and C out cuz he wanted our room cuz it was the only one with ac and he needed it because his crack whore ass was detoxing from some meds. Was yelling and screaming about going to kill himself (read: he wanted something and no one was indulging him so he used the excuse to kill himself to manipulate my mom and aunt to get him what he wanted).

That day was a mess of people pointing fingers and mostly my sister shoving blame everywhere and basically calling out my aunt for making us all go on this vacation when no one else wanted to go.

Drive back was awkward as fuck all with my aunt crying and feeling bad and me and C on damage control. She was super mad that all they did was go to the beach and asked me and C about all we did so we did and tried to make her feel better because my sister told her she has a lot of flaws she needs to work on and now she all boo hoo. Sure, my sister coulda worded it better but I'm glad it happened.

My aunt is one of those "my way or the highway" type of people. She gets set on one thing and noooooothing will change her mind. She constantly hounds me about doing something "productive" with my art. I often just shrug and ignore her but this is constant. I don't sketch in front of her anymore because it's every single time. She also doesn't take social clues, she outright ignores them on purpose. If a subject makes someone uncomfortable she'll keep prying because in her eyes you're probably not working hard enough or doing your best.

On the way to the doctor she brought up art again. I outright told her I wasn't going to do it. I wanted to say not everything has to be about making money but I held on to that one. I told her it was hard to establish a network, that I would be competing with thousands and thousands of people and that it was hard.

All she got outta that was that everything is hard and I'd have to work hard to get out there and establish myself.

Bruh...I was stunned.

So I outright told her no. I don't want to. My art is for peace of mind and she dropped it but I just know she'll bring it up again.

Look. As a hobbyist my art is okay but me charging people for that??? Who the fuck would??? Pay for that???? Jfc.

So we moved on to yet another uncomfortable subject and she said I may have ptsd. Dude...no offense but ya ain't a doctor (thank fuck). So she told me I should check to see a psychologist because then I'd have the tools to handle things better. Fair. I have been thinking about that to see if maybe I can finally get an answer to several things or if maybe I'm making all this dumb shit up in my head. But that was about all the logical shit she said.

She even thinks people are actually not working because they wanna live off unemployment and don't wanna work.

My face went blank. I tried explaining to her that people are protesting unsafe work environments, slave labor/wages, shitty bosses and she heard all of that (granted maybe I could explained it better) and all she said was, "You gotta start somewhere and from there go up".

Then it struck me that of course she'd never understand. This woman NEVER had to work during her entire years of college or even her master's. She has NEVER worked a minimum wage job ever in her entire life. I wanna find articles on what is going on with that and send them to her. She's all of what I said and more but she can sooooometimes see reason. To be honest I'm angry and disappointed in her. She always seemed to adhere to more open minded concepts in terms of society, how differences in generations was good for all of us in general, who's taken to learning what she can about mental illnesses and trauma and so on. She still has much to learn about those last two, she still can't comprehand how me making phone calls scares the fuck outta me, but it's a start? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Idk I just needed to let all of that out. I love her, she's done a lot for me but she's also been a source of stress for me and I can't openly talk to her about anything because she's not easy to talk to. Sorry for the length.

#werewolf howls at dusk

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catsvrsdogscatswin · 4 years ago

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Higurashi Gou Liveblog: Episode 6

Episode six, hopefully more developments on the murder front! Heck even some developments on the overarching plot front, now that there’s two arcs we can kinda mix and match and see what answers are consistently the same. Are Takano and Tomitake going to vanish again this go round? Will Oishi again be the one to exposit the yearly curse? WILL RENA AND KEIICHI CONTINUE TO REMEMBER SHIT?! Find out this time on Higurashi Gou!

Anyways this is a really weird place to just pop right in, I said that last time. Why did they split the scene? Is it gonna end different?

IT IS. HI OISHI.

Also the image of all three punks just being shoved into the cop car like errant toys back into a toybox brings me joy. GET IN THERE. YOUR PART IN THE STORY’S OVER. NO ONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH YOU ANYMORE.

Oishi’s face is leaner than Keiichi’s and I do NOT like that.

Another thing I don’t like in the opening is when the young Takano(?) like not-quite-suggestively slides open her tie. Like considering where she grew up…SUPER don’t like that.

AND AGAIN, THAT BETTER NOT BE FEATHERINE!

“How ‘bout the next time I’m in trouble you come save me ;)” “Yeah sure!” Boy oh boy I wonder how soon that’s gonna take to bite him in the ASS.

Aw…Shion being wholesome with her sister’s crush is actually so nice. Like its sweet that she’s trying to cheer him up.

God fuck its been so long since I revisited Cotton Drifting that its hard to remember what parts they’re expanding on for the dam project and what they aren’t. Its definitely a longer scene than it was in the first anime, but they aren’t covering any new stuff as far as I know.

Okay never mind the police brutality is new but not unexpected. And of course Shion was taking shots.

I’m actually liking how they’re expanding the backstory on the Dam War. Like we hear about it all the time, of course, but except for a snippet in Time Wasting and a few panels in the manga we never actually see any of it go down. Just “there were riots and then the kid got kidnapped and then the government backed down like a bunch of BITCHES. Also we were all united and solidarity and Sonozakis and Hojos and whatnot.”

Actually they didn’t mention the kidnapped grandkid and that’s making me suspicious, especially considering it was due to Tokyo’s interference and the clinic is under “renovation.” What’s happening in evil conspiracy land, 07th people?!

Oh and a call from Mion too, this is new and interesting.

OH THEY’RE DOING THIS. Ah man, if this is going where I think it is then we’re going to be forced to watch perverted shenanigans.

AGAIN THIS CLOCK IS HAUNTING ME IN THE BEST OF WAYS.

God fucking damn it there are pervy shenanigans. WHYYYYYY did they put this in the anime. It was in the manga and the only good parts of it was the club ganging up to absolutely waste the perverted customer assholes. Keiichi hurry up and summon the geek squad to lay waste to these bastards.

OH AND WE DON’T EVEN GET TO SEE THAT. FUCK THIS PART OF THE ADAPTION. NO RIGHTS! NO RIGHTS FOR THIS EPISODE!

Okay but the backgrounds for Keiichi and Shion’s not-date are absolutely gorgeous. The glass is really pretty.

Keiichi.exe has stopped working. Shion stop teasing him this boy doesn’t have any braincells when it comes to girls.

OHO. What soft parts of Mion don’t sit well with you, Shion? Huh? Huh?

Wait half a tic is Shion going to go like full Hinamizawa Syndrome and disassociate that Keiichi is Satoshi and that’s how we get the murder for this arc?

In retrospect, I haven’t been appreciating Shion’s deviousness up until now. Coming face to face with your crush at work has got to deal at least 200 points of psychic damage, to say nothing of him thinking he was on a not-date with you and it was actually your twin sister. Shion you absolute manipulative villainess.

SHION CALLING MION OUT FOR USING HER IDENTITY TO FLIRT.

Was that a fucking Jojo reference.

Also I’m re-realizing just how much of an idiot Keiichi is. How could you hear a conversation like this and not think that Mion is interested in you.

Where are you clock. The background is blue so it can’t be Keiichi’s room, it looks like its on a wooden table, and the clock itself looks like its wood. I don’t know enough about rural Japanese culture to tag what kind of household or workplace it’d be in, though. Maybe the back room at Angle Mort?

A very-appreciated extra tidbit, Keiichi helping out with preparations.

THAT LITTLE GRIN THE BOY’S IN LOVE.

Is she going to make Mion drink both shots like in the manga- SHE IS.

YOU.

“Let me know when you come in for your next visit, I’ll get my biggest needles.” OKAY TAKANO WAS DEFINITELY THE ONE TO GANK HIM IN THE LAST ARC.

Takano actually looks really pretty in this shot.

Takano and Tomitake reclaiming their roles as the perennial curse-info-bearers, I see.

Okay I know Mion doesn’t want Keiichi to know because then he might get scared, and she doesn’t want to listen because this is stuff people used to badmouth her family, but at the same time, that was a REALLY sketchy scene. What’s with the pause after Keiichi’s response, Mion? You gonna go yandere? Gonna finally pick up the torch and kill someone? You’re the only one of the club who hasn’t –Rika lowkey murdered her own mom in an extra arc. LOOK I WANT A YANDERE MION IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK.

First year of the curse is going well. Second year is legit. Third year is same as its always been. Fourth year –OH WE AREN’T MENTIONING SATOSHI THAT’S FUN.

“It has to be humans. It only makes sense if someone is orchestrating everything.” says the lady that is orchestrating everything. Enjoying your double-talk there, Takano?!

Oh they actually describe how the extra person was sacrificed this go around, that’s interesting.

Lovely shot of Shion. OH ALL THESE ARE GORGEOUS WITH THE WIND BLOWING AND WHATNOT.

Oh what if Keiichi and Shion don’t break into the shrine with them and that’s how the murder-crazy starts. Like we get all paranoid over what’s actually in the shrine and that leads to murder somehow IDK. Its Higurashi. It always leads to murder.

Shion accuses Takano and Tomitake of going off to have sex and Takano immediately is just like “Nah, we’re doing nothing you’d enjoy watching.” Like you think Shion is a voyeur, Takano? I know Shion’s a teenager but like damn have some chill woman.

I like how Keiichi is trying to be conscious of like civic duty and be all “Uh, guys, curse aside that’s a private building and we don’t have permission to go in there.”

Aw man we’re ending right here.

And we’re skipping the visual parts of the ending. Hmm. Strange and ominous. Don’t like that.

#Higurashi Gou #Higurashi no Naku Koro ni #Higurashi When They Cry #liveblog #spoilers

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rainbowserenity · 5 years ago

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uhhh so this is @comeonlight and @lightning4ever‘s faults 8))) I didn’t expect to write anything else this year due to massive amounts of stress, but....this happened. it’s silly but also kind of nsfw?? idk but HAPPY HOLIDAYS, here is some OTP ridiculousness and here’s to hopefully more in 2020! I love you guys, thank you all for the support you’ve given me and keep giving me <3333333333

The thing about having game night at Fang and Vanille’s place was that the size of the place was immediately obvious when they all gathered. It was fine for two of them, but nine people? It was a wonder the floor didn’t cave in.

They all usually got around this by having Snow sit on the floor, while everyone else crammed onto the loveseat and couch. Sure, there were extra chairs, but they were at an awkward height for the coffee table - not to mention that Fang and Vanille had an ever-changing roster of foster animals that like to use the chairs as beds.

So whenever game night happened at Fang and Vanille’s place, Lightning swallowed her pride and would do something she never thought she would ever do:

She sat on Hope’s lap.

It worked out, for the most part. After all, they were a couple, and stuff like this wasn’t out of the ordinary. It just....well, had a massive PDA vibe to it, and Lightning wasn’t one for that kind of stuff.

But these were their friends and it was better than sitting on the floor. The others teased them for a bit, but after the first few times, Lightning started looking more and more forward to those nights they’d drink and play cards at Fang and Vanille’s, because she’d have a dumb excuse to stay close to Hope without it being weird and obvious.

Sappy? Yeah. But Hope seemed to love those nights as well. She got used to having his arm slide around her waist, or his chin on her shoulder. It was comforting.

"Comfy?”

Lightning nodded. “Are you?”

He grinned. “Always.”

They were two hours into a card game and they were all relaxed and happy (and in Sazh and Fang’s cases, pleasantly buzzed). Lightning had even found herself huffing with laughter at one of Snow’s stupid jokes, which was quite a feat.

However, at one point, she was aware that there was something growing a bit uncomfortable. She kept moving around on Hope’s lap, struggling to find the best way to sit without making his legs go numb.

It wasn’t until she heard Hope suck in a quiet breath that she realized what was happening.

Oh.

Lightning turned to face him a bit. Hope was gripping the back of the couch like a lifeline. She could tell that he was calling on every possible ounce of concentration to keep a neutral expression on his face, but there was no hiding the fire in his eyes when their gazes met.

She glanced away and swallowed heavily, struggling to keep her own expression level. It didn’t help when Fang took once look at them and started snickering, though luckily everybody ignored her.

There were, of course, a bunch of ways this could turn out:

One, they would ignore this like adults and keep hanging out with their friends. A plausible option, Lightning thought, although she had a feeling Hope would vehemently disagree.

Two, they could duck out early and leave, knowing Fang would probably laugh and spill the beans, but who cared? Maybe Hope had a teenage fantasy of having a quickie in the car. Lightning never had, but then again, she never thought she’d be in any sort of romantic relationship, so anything was possible.

Three - and this was by far the worst option - they could be totally obvious and sneak off into the bathroom. Or maybe Hope could sneak off in there alone, although his slack were very loose and comfortable and left pretty much nothing to the imagination.

Lightning was trying to think of a fourth option where she just sat here all night until Hope, uh, calmed down, when Fang suddenly got up from her spot on the couch.

“Yo, Sunshine! C’mon, you and me and Serah should go for a beer run, yeah? We’ve gotta restock, anyway.”

“Uh.” Lightning stared at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. However, the not-so-little predicament under Lightning’s lap was having an extremely curious effect of turning her mind to mush. If they hadn’t been surrounded by their friends, there was no doubt in her mind that she’d been moving her hips juuuust right...

“Store’s just around the corner. We’ll be back in plenty of time.” Fang smirked.

Everyone else was staring at them now. Clearly Noel and Serah had figured out what was going on, because Noel looked extremely awkward and Serah seemed about to burst with giggles. It was only a matter of time before the others caught on.

Would Lightning let herself be embarrassed this way? Hell no!

“Sounds good. I could use the walk,” she replied.

Then, in a move only befitting of a former solider, she swiftly stood - ignoring the quiet noise of protest Hope made - and slammed a pillow in his lap in the span of about half a second. Obvious, yeah, but if no one saw anything....

Fang’s shoulders shook. Now even Sazh was trying not to laugh. Maybe the pillow really had been too obvious.

Hope cleared his throat, sitting up a bit and hugging the pillow to himself. “We’ll just hold down the fort here. No big deal.”

Now Fang barked out a laugh. “You should come too, Hope.”

Bad, bad, baaaad choice of words, Lightning thought. She was about to retort when Hope suddenly stood, still holding the pillow casually at waist-level, if one could even do such a thing causally. “I, um - I need to use the restroom.”

“You need the pillow for that?”

For some reason, that was what made Hope finally blush. “I need it for....back support.”

The Goddess had no mercy on them, because Snow joined in the conversation. “Is that what they’re calling it?” He snickered. “I thought Light was you ‘back support’.” He made air quotes, like anyone could possibly not understand.

“Yeah.” Fang laughed again. “You gonna leave her hanging?”

There was a pause where things were nearly quiet - or would have been, without everybody snickering or trying not to laugh.

Then, to Lightning’s absolute shock, Hope suddenly grabbed her hand and yanked her across the room, shoving them both into the tiny bathroom and slamming the door behind them.

The catcalls and whoops were just barely muffled by the closed door. Lightning knew she probably should have been embarrassed and annoyed and whatnot, but Hope was staring at her with that fire in his eyes and that was all she cared to focus on.

“Hope - ”

“I can handle you sitting on my lap, Light. I’m not some kid who can’t control himself.” He leaned in close and caged her between his arms, her back against the wall. Her traitorous hands went to his waist, skimming the waistband of his pants, to which he leaned in and let out a low groan next to her ear. The noise shot heat between her legs so quickly that she lost her breath for a second. “But for some reason, tonight...I just couldn’t focus on anything but you. And then you kept moving and all I wanted to do was bring you home and keep us in bed for the next week.”

Even before they’d started their relationship, Lightning had been very aware that Hope was an adult. She did occasionally have fleeting thoughts of when he was a shy but determined teenager who knew nothing about the world, and those thoughts were always met fondly.

It was times like now, however, that she was very aware that he was very much an adult....and she was very much attracted to him.

“You still could,” she replied in a low, breathless voice. Her hands were trembling to unbutton his pants. “They’ll already know what we’re doing in here.”

Hope flicked his tongue against her ear and she moaned, trying to keep it down. The sound apparently made something in Hope snap and he grabbed her legs, lifting them up so she could hook them around his waist. She let out a sharp gasp, their heads instinctively turning to seek each other’s mouths in a desperate kiss.

“I can’t wait another second,” he growled against her lips, and there was something about him manhandling her that just left her gone. They shoved aside just enough of their clothes and it was all she could do just to hold on, not caring about the muffled sound of their friends right outside the door. All it did was remind her to try and stay quiet.

“Later,” Hope murmured against her ear, gripping her thighs tightly like that was the only thing keeping him upright. “Later, when we get home, I’m gonna drag you to bed and do things with you so that you can’t help but scream.” He moaned, not doing as well to hide the noise as she was....not that she was being all that quiet. “Do you want that, Light?”

“Yes,” she gasped, one of her hands gripping his hair. Her fingers twisted in the strands and her head fell back, knocking against the wall, but it felt like nothing compared to what he was doing to her. “Yes, please - !”

They needed to keep kissing in order to stay quiet, but it was impossible when her breath was continuously taken away. It was ridiculous - they were in a tiny bathroom, their friends were right on the other side of the door, and they were both in for the most embarrassing moment of their lives when they came out.

But god was it worth it.

When they’d finally come down from the high and she was able to stand without her legs feeling like jelly, they rearranged their clothes and Hope fixed his hair somewhat. The bathroom door creeeeeeeaked open.

Seven pairs of eyes instantly swiveled towards them.

Hope cleared his throat. “I, uh - ” Cough. “I have an extremely complicated series of buckles on this pair of pants. It requires three hands and a lot of effort.” Lightning thought of how easily she’d undone the zipper and wisely said nothing.

“Sure.” It was Fang who replied after an incredulous pause. “And I’m bettin’ those buckles were very entertaining.”

Serah was the first one to start cracking up. It wasn’t long before everyone - even Hope and Light - followed. Sure, she was embarrassed and they would never hear the end of it. Maybe she’d regret letting hormones, of all the crazy things, get the best of her.

But that repeat performance she’d been promised?

Worth it.

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

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quiet on widow’s peak (3)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 9.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Interviews used to be Phil's least favourite part of this job. The research was always captivating, the filming was always fun, the editing was always challenging, but talking? To people? About things? Absolutely not.

He still doesn't love doing it, but he's long past the point of begging Martyn or Ian to pretend to be him on the phone.

The curtains in Phil's room are open for once, letting natural light in so he doesn't look as dark on the Skype screen. His eyes keep drifting to himself, distracting him as he tries to fix his hair or laments not getting out of his pyjamas. This is his fourth interview of the day, and he's starting to hate the process with a renewed fervour.

"Okay, thank you," he says, clicking out of the screen record window. "Can I message you here if I have any further questions, or would you prefer this to be your final statement?"

"Oh, um," the girl says, her eyes round with some kind of emotion that Phil can't be bothered to parse. "No, no, that's... that's all I saw. I don't have anything else. But you can still... message me, if you like."

Ah. Phil makes a face that he hopes reads as apologetic and not panicked. "No, I - sorry. Gay. Just interested in your ghost."

"Oh!" she says again, looking more puzzled than Phil thinks she has any right to after a forty minute conversation where he mostly just asked her clarifying questions that she kept dodging. She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear and shakes her head. "Sorry, that's just - you haven't said that online."

Phil isn't very good at knowing when people are lying to him, but now he's definitely suspicious of the half-assed testimony he'd gotten from this girl. He sighs. "Okay, you know who I am, then?"

"I mean, I looked you up when you messaged me about a video and all," she says. "Wanted to know if you were a creep or, like, legit."

Okay, that's fair enough. Phil supposes that if he were a girl in uni and a stranger asked to video chat, he'd also do a little digging first. He still doesn't quite believe her story, though - most of it matches what she'd written on Facebook, word for word, and she didn't go into detail on anything she claimed happened.

"Right, of course," says Phil, feeling awkward and exposed.

Her eyes are wide and blue and she can see into his room, into his life, and she's giving him this look like she thinks she knows something about him. He hates this feeling.

"That a secret, then?" she asks.

"No," Phil says. "It's just not relevant to my job. I don't have a lot of ghouls asking me out."

She doesn't laugh. Phil is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and he's wondering if it's worth it to hang up on a potential lead - no matter how dubious her claims - when she says, "Well, alright. I won't tell anyone anyway."

"Thanks," Phil says automatically. He doesn't particularly care if she does or not, but he does want this call to end as soon as possible. "And thanks for your time. Message me if you think of anything else you forgot to mention about the Wilkins place or if you know of someone who's seen something."

Before she can even respond, Phil hits end on the call and groans, resting his forehead on his thumbs for a moment.

Unsurprisingly, this is giving him a migraine. It doesn't take much to make the twinge of a headache turn to insistent throbbing, because Phil's body hates him and overreacts to everything.

Phil takes a couple of deep breaths before he comes out of hiding. He attaches the final screen recording to the email he's already got open and ready to send to Martyn. After a moment's thought, he CCs PJ and Sophie in and adds, Nobody sounds credible except the second person to me, so... it's not looking good lol, before hitting send.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a moment. Interviews are still draining for him, especially when they don't go as planned, and Phil's starting to get the impression that there's nothing to even find at the Wilkins place.

But. Phil pauses, considers his options. He hasn't interviewed everyone, has he.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Phil shoves his glasses unceremoniously back onto his face and opens Tumblr. Winnie hasn't said anything to him so far today, so Phil feels only a little like he's bothering them when he shoots off a quick, Hey! I just finished interviewing the sources you gave me and most of them aren't very promising. Would you consider letting me ask you some questions to round out the video?

me?????, Winnie replies almost immediately. i didnt even see anything?? like im happy to answer questions but idk how much use ill b in an INTERVIEW

I know! And you don't have to lmao so don't feel pressured or anything but you know so much more about the place than they do. Everyone claimed that they didn't know other people were having paranormal experiences.

oh bullshit, Winnie says. Phil is surprised into a huff of laughter.

There's a part of Phil, fuelled by anxiety and uncertainty, that worries Winnie is just pulling an elaborate joke on him. That part of him feels a little more at ease every time he actually talks to Winnie. They just seem... genuine. And maybe Martyn would disagree, would blame Phil's desperation to see the best in people, but there's a reason Phil doesn't tell Martyn everything.

Before Phil can agree with Winnie's colourful derision, his laptop beeps again. i look like an ogre rn but i can voice chat if you rly think itll help

It would!!, Phil assures them. The tender spot behind his eyes twinges again, serving as a reminder. Can I call in like an hour? I've got a headache from the screen lol

sure i really have nothing else going on today

So it's later in the day, late afternoon light still streaking through Phil's window, when Phil sits back down at his computer and adds the Skype username Winnie gave him. His head still hurts a bit, but it isn't all-consuming now that he's had another coffee and some painkillers. The padded headphones feel good to put over his ears, blocking out most of the typical noises from such a full house and a busy street, and Phil just sits in the blissful quiet for a moment before he sends a voice call request.

It gets picked up almost immediately, and Phil presses a smile into his palm before he says, "Hi! Can you hear me alright?"

There's a beat. Phil waits, in case Skype is lagging as usual, but he's opening his mouth to repeat himself by the time he gets a response.

"Yeah," says Winnie. "I can hear you."

Phil isn't really proud of himself for being surprised by Winnie's voice. It's just. He knows his viewer demographics, okay, and he has a rough grasp on Tumblr demographics, and the name - alright. It isn't his proudest moment, is his point, because he's expecting a much higher pitch for absolutely no good reason.

In addition to that, his brain automatically tries to classify Winnie's voice as very obviously masculine, and Phil has to push back against that.

"I can hear you, too," Phil says cheerfully, not allowing his anxieties to spill over into the conversation.

"That's good, probably," Winnie says. There's another beat of silence, and then a huff that might be laughter or a sigh comes through Phil's headphones. "Sorry, I - I'm not trying to be fucking weird, this is just surreal."

"Is it?" Phil hums. "But I haven't even asked you about ghosts yet."

A snort - definitely laughter, this time - follows, and Phil is so glad that he's able to put Winnie at ease even if his brain is betraying him. "That's true. I guess it's gotta get weirder from here."

"That's kind of, like, the subtitle of my whole channel," says Phil. After a moment, he frowns. "Subtitle? No. What's the thing, on the poster -"

"Tagline," says Winnie. They sound so amused and warm and, okay, they've got a nice voice. That's not gendered. Phil can think that. "You're thinking of a tagline, you buffoon."

"Tagline," Phil echoes gratefully.

"Don't you," Winnie starts, then stops abruptly. They don't finish the sentence, but Phil can kind of guess what they were going to say. There's the sound of some rustling, like Winnie is getting comfortable, before they change tacks. "Again, I didn't see any of this alleged ghostly activity with my own eyes, but I know the hot goss."

Phil opens the recording program out of habit, nodding even though Winnie can't see him. "That's still really useful at this point," he says encouragingly. He clicks a couple of buttons. "And, yes, I do have an English degree. Thank you for not asking."

Winnie laughs, the sound of it filling Phil's headphones and making it feel like they're in the room with him. It's warm, like everything else about their voice, and absolutely contagious.

"I didn't want you to think I was, like, a big stalker," Winnie says, and Phil can hear the grin in their voice.

"Eh, I know you watch my videos," says Phil. "So I figure you know some stuff about me. You probably know that I'm going to ask this, too, but - is it okay if I record our conversation? I don't need to include it in the video if you don't want me to, but it's still useful for me if I don't so I can, like, actually remember the things you told me."

"Yeah, sure," Winnie agrees easily. They hesitate, for a moment, and Phil waits for whatever the caveat will be. "Uh, can I still swear?"

The question surprises Phil into laughing. "Yeah, you're fine. I can bleep them out."

"Then I am all for it. Ask me the ghost questions, ghost man."

Phil presses record and glances down at his notebook, where he's scrawled some disjointed questions alongside his usual doodling. "Uh, okay. Yes. I am totally a professional."

"If you say so, mate," says Winnie.

"Hush. Okay." Phil finally gets his brain back on track and taps his pen against a question near the end of his list. "So, Winnie, you did all this research into the Wilkins place on your own downtime, but you mentioned that you've been hearing murmurs about it for a while, right?"

"Not that long, actually, I've only been hearing about it since term started," Winnie says, and Phil is struck by how comfortable they suddenly are now that there's a guideline. Or, maybe, now that there's a non-Phil audience. "Which I thought was pretty weird, since I'd been there a couple times since I moved here, and it's a spooky fucking place but nothing to write home about."

That's more or less exactly how Phil feels about the situation, except that he doesn't remember the Wilkins place to be scary at all. Maybe it's gotten worse in the years since, or maybe he's just got a higher threshold for empty, decrepit homes than Winnie does. Either way, he's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious that their thoughts on it mirror his own so well. He starts a spiral in the corner of his page as he considers the answer.

"So, you never got the impression that it was haunted before?"

"I - can I be perfectly honest?" Winnie asks, and then doesn't wait for a response. "I don't get the impression that it's haunted now. I dunno if people are just making shit up or if they're doing too many drugs, but we all know that ghosts don't actually exist."

Phil snorts. He does have a fairly large number of skeptics who watch his videos to argue in the comments about logical explanations for his findings or to just enjoy watching him fail so much, but he hadn't really expected that from someone who sent him a sourced essay on the topic of ghosts.

He's recording right now, so he's not about to give away the fact that, yeah, he kind of does agree with Winnie on this one. Instead, he keeps his tone neutral and says, "You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't believe in most things that can't be explained by science," Winnie says, so matter-of-fact that Phil has to smile.

"I don't really believe in science," Phil says, mild.

A beat. "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe in science," Phil repeats, doubling down on the joke so he can hear that incredulous pitch of Winnie's nice voice again. "I mean, isn't it all just as made-up as anything else? People just tell us stuff exists and we have to believe them?"

"We believe them," Winnie says slowly, "because it's a fact."

"How do I know that?" Phil asks. He knows how off track he's already gotten, and he decides to cut this part out before he sends the file to Martyn or his friends.

"Because you can. See it. With your eyes." The genuine bewilderment in Winnie's voice is very funny. "Like. What the fuck, Phil. If someone drops an apple and it hits the ground and they're like, 'oh that's gravity', how are you supposed to say, 'uh, no it ain't'?"

Phil leans back in his chair a bit, his spiral turning into an apple. "Because, what if that's just what the apple wanted to do? It's not like we know any of this for sure, Winnie."

"You're fucking with me," Winnie says, but they don't sound very certain.

"I am," Phil admits happily. "Do you remember the first incident that kicked off the Wilkins place rumours?"

"You," Winnie says, and then cackles. They lean away from their mic as they do, but the sound of it still makes Phil feel some secondhand giddiness. He wonders if their laugh has a volume limit, or if it's just going to keep getting louder the funnier Phil is. He is so tempted to put that to the test. "Fuck. You little fucker."

Phil hides his own giggle in the palm of his hand and clears his throat, trying to get back into the professional mindset he'd forced himself to be in for the four earlier interviews.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Phil asks. He can't resist teasing, just a bit.

"No, fuck off," Winnie chuckles. They take a deep breath and let it out on a hum, low and thoughtful. "So, there was this shindig during fresher's, which I obviously didn't go to because I'm not a fresher and I'm too old to go to shindigs, but people were talking about how the house was making weird noises. A girl I know - I linked you to her Reddit post - said she saw someone just standing outside the window watching them, but, like, is that really a supernatural occurrence in Rusholme?"

"It's not. And she hit on me as well, so I'm not sure her judgement is trustworthy."

"Sounds like her. Sorry. Anyway, nobody really thought 'ghosts' as much as they thought 'rats in the walls and a pervert on the street', but then - this one didn't get spoken about online. I don't even know how valid it is."

"Word of mouth is how most ghost stories get passed," says Phil. "I'm not going to hold you to citations on rumours."

Winnie huffs a laugh. It's soft, quiet, and Phil almost wishes he could say something ridiculous to make them cackle again. Unfortunately, he has a job to do.

"Fair enough. Well, some idiots spent the night there to see if anything weird would happen," Winnie says, and Phil feels a bit attacked, "and three separate dudes had sleep paralysis."

Phil hums and jots some messy notes down. "In the same night?"

"At the same time," Winnie corrects him. "The other idiots were trying to wake them up for a long time, apparently. They're convinced that the guys who fell asleep were just pulling a prank on them, and maybe they were, but that's when the ball really got rolling."

Out of everything Phil has heard today, this is the most compelling story so far. Maybe that's a good indicator of the Manchester students being full of it - maybe there truly is nothing to find in the Wilkins place - but it piques Phil's interest anyway.

"For someone who only believes in cold, hard science, you're good at telling ghost stories," Phil says.

"Thanks," Winnie says, sounding pleased with themselves. "Learned from the best."

Phil is suddenly very, very glad that this isn't a video call, because he can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. "Oh, is that what they're calling me?"

Another cackle. Phil doesn't remember the last time he made someone laugh so much without tripping over his own clown feet.

"I never said I was talking about you."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, shut up," says Winnie, and Phil can still hear the laughter in their voice. "Don't you have a bunch of questions to ask or something?"

Phil does. He has a whole list of questions that he should be following. He chews on his pen and looks at the doodle-covered list of things he's meant to ask Winnie. His head still hurts - maybe the extra caffeine didn't help after all - and all he really wants to do is take a nap.

"Yeah," Phil says, reluctant. "I've just got, like, a migraine. Can I call you back another time? This was a really great start."

"Oh, yeah, sure," says Winnie. They've dropped their voice down to something soft, like they're worried that they'll make Phil's headache worse.

"I'm actually going up to check the place out this weekend." Phil isn't sure what makes him say that. He meets up with sources in person, sometimes, but usually only if they've seen something with their own eyes. He just feels comfortable talking to Winnie, far more than he'd felt talking to the other students he'd interviewed today.

Phil doesn't actually extend the invitation, and Winnie either doesn't pick up the hint or doesn't care to.

"That'll be good," they say, still soft. "Get some rest, Phil, you can call me back when your brain stops trying to drill a hole through your temple."

After Phil says goodbye and hangs up, he sits at his desk for a long moment. It feels too quiet, all of a sudden, his padded headphones blocking out all the ambient noise around him. It's good for his head, but Phil is still weirdly disappointed.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #words words words #quiet on widow's peak

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drabblemesilly · 6 years ago

Text

Dylan Larkin #6.1

Requested by Anon: Could you write one (Carter hart, Connor McDavid, Mitch, auston, eichs, Larkin or Nate Bastian) along the lines of: you're really shy and good friends with (player of choice) and they're super close and protective/supportive of you (like they know well so they'll like order stuff for you so you don't have to and they can read you really well) and they've kinda helped you become way less shy. But then one of their teammates makes a joke about like when will you guys date And while mentally panicking you do the whole "what no! We're best friends." And then afterward he's like really weird because he kinda just realised that he doesn't like being just your best friend and then he's really grumpy and like idk almost gets in a fight and is really reckless and then afterwards while you're waiting (because he's taking agessss) you get chatting to some guy and he's furious (idk if this is going to be wayyy to long omg) but he doesn't say anything and just doesn't Just doesn't speak to you for ages and you're so furious so you don't speak to him and idk you can finish it (IM SORRY ITS SO LONG but I'm fuelled by angst).

*YOU GUYS! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH! This is a loooong request and so a very looong fic. You know I love me some angsty, Larks multi-parters. This is the first of 3, maybe 4, chapters. I feel so good about this and I hope you do too. Enjoy!*

Word count: 1,316

Pro tip: never kick a door open when you weigh next to nothing, no matter how angry or agitated you are. Really, you’ve tried kicking down Dylan Larkin’s front door twice now and the only thing it’s gotten you is a sore foot and a wounded pride. Damn it, Dylan. Why can’t anything just go the way they’re supposed to?

Why can’t he just answer your calls or respond to your messages? Fuck, he can’t even be bothered to show up to your Sunday brunch place – the one you’ve always gone to on Sundays if he’s in town and has the time. He can’t even make up excuses because they only had home games this week.

Toning down your annoyance, you gave the door another wild knock, “I know you’re in there,” you leaned into the banister, “Dylan! I can hear Mario Kart, bitch.”

You looked around the porch to look for a comfortable place to sit in, determined to stay here until Dylan opens the door and talks to you. At this rate, you’ll have to sneak into their dressing room at the arena to see him. Whatever in the world did you do?

Okay, so the last time you saw him was at Anthony Mantha’s apartment. That was Friday night and you were there to celebrate because he was finally going to be reinstated. You had fun, some booze… maybe a little too much booze, if you are being honest, and then Dylan brought you home. Like usual.

He hasn’t talked to you since. Which is very much not like the usual.

Taking out your phone, you opened your messages and stopped until you landed on his last message, ‘I’m outside,’ was what he texted you that Friday night, telling you that he was ready to go home and that you should be too.

It’s been almost two weeks since then and this radio silence thing has got to stop, especially after his fourth fight in as many games last night. Dylan Larkin fighting: out of the ordinary but always welcomed. Dylan Larkin fighting for four games in a row: uh-oh.

Why is he so freaking angry?

Your ears perked when you heard some sort of shuffling inside. FINA-FUCKING-LY.

Except your heart deflated when the door opened and Luke Glendening appeared.

“You look like you need another layer on you,” he said as a way of saying hello, a smile playing on his face.

“If that’s your way of telling me I should leave, better luck next time brother,” you replied, sliding your phone back into your pocket and crossing your arms on your chest, “I’m not leaving until whatever’s up Dylan’s ass crawls out of it.”

For someone so big and bulky, Luke didn’t make any sort of sound as he gingerly closed the door and leaned against it, “he’s really not feeling you right now, bud,” he shook his head, “I don’t know why.”

“You and me both,” you sighed, “he hasn’t talked to me in two weeks,” you rubbed your face, “I just want him to tell me what I did.”

Straightening, Luke dangled his house keys in front of you, “I’m gonna go grab something to eat,” he said, walking down the front porch and into the driveway.

You watched him stop and turn back to face you, “tell him you found these in the porch,” he winked before tossing his keys towards you, almost hitting you on the head, “blow him or something, kid,” he laughed, “he needs to let all those steam out.”

For the record, Dylan Larkin is your best friend and nothing more. It doesn’t look it now because he’s being a jerk but he was the one who helped you overcome your stutter back in 4th grade. When he was confused whether he should go the collegiate way or give up his NCAA eligibility and go to the major juniors, you stayed up all night with him listing the pros and cons. He was there, front and center, when you graduated and you cheered the loudest when he got drafted.

There’s no Dylan Larkin without you and no you without him. It’s just the way it is.

Except apparently, there is a Dylan Larkin without you and this particular Dylan… he’s not all that amazing. He’s angry and picks fights with men like Zdeno Chara and Tom Wilson.

You let yourself in the house and followed the sound of something cooking, finding Dylan chopping some nuts in the kitchen. He’s sporting a pretty good shiner, courtesy of his last conquest: Brayden Point.

Leaning against the archway leading to the kitchen, you nodded at his blackeye, “nice shiner you got there, bud,” you casually commented, trying so hard to not yell at him.

Aaaaand nothing. He didn’t say anything, like you weren’t even there.

Hopping on the bar stool just a few feet away from him, you picked a grape and started eating, “okay,” you shrugged, “you can ignore me but that’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

Still nothing. Woah, he’s good at this silent treatment thing.

“Really?” you shook your head, picking another grape, “you’re just gonna ignore me like you’ve been doing the last few weeks?”

Taking out a book from your bag, you wiggled in your seat, “then I’m just gonna stay here and make myself comfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, turning around to toss the nuts into the pan.

You almost fell off the stool from sheer happiness. Holy Lord, he talks.

“’Kay,” you nonchalantly turned the page of your book, not really reading. Instead, you’re watching him move around the kitchen, shoulders so tight that he looked like he needed some deep tissue massage. His cheeks were tomato-red and the bruise around his eye looked as angry as he did.

Dylan Larkin, for all intents and purposes, looks like he is not in the mood to talk to you.

“Seriously, Dyl,” you sighed, closing the book before turning to him, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he said, avoiding eye contact, “you should go.”

“Oh,” you huffed, chuckling a little, “no one’s leaving until you untwist your panties, boo.”

That was the worst thing you could have said. Heh.

Rolling his eyes, Dylan shoved on hand into his curls and let out a frustrated sigh, eyes suddenly piercing you in place, “what do you want?” he spat.

“I just want to know why you’re ignoring me,” for all your fake bravado and macho stuff, you really can’t get mad at Dylan. He’s too important in your life that you just can’t risk it.

“We’re best friends,” he sounded so angry that you just sat there dumbfounded. His words were a conflict to his tone so you really don’t know how to respond to that.

“Okay?” you urged.

“You said,” he let out angrily, “we’re best friends.”

“We are best friends,” you argued, “we’ve been best friends for more than half our lives, Deedee,” when in doubt, use the childhood nickname he was never really fond of.

“You told the rookie that we were best friends,” he repeated, probably referring to Michael Rasmussen, who you were talking to at the party.

Now he just sounds like a petulant child, “we ARE best friends, what is wrong with you?” you finally stepped off the stool so you can poke his chest, “why are you so angry at me for telling people that you’re my best friend, that’s the truth. You’re my best friend, right?”

“I am,” he answered back, “and I’m not angry at you,” he said, eyes softening a little, “I’m angry at myself.”

“Okay now you just don’t make any sense.”

“You said we were best friends,” he said again, taking the plate he prepared, “just best friends,” he added so silently that you almost missed it.

Dylan gave you a lopsided smile, “think about that,” he shrugged, “you know where to find me.”

#dylan larkin #dylan larkin imagines #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #imagines #drabble #drabbles #fanfic #my writing #detroit red wings

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oldloveatz · 6 years ago

Text

crush | jongho

— TYPE: fluff, harry potter!au, slytherin!jongho, huffelpuff!reader, requested

— WORD COUNT: 876

— SYNOPSIS: it’s a very weird occurrence for a slytherin to have a crush on a hufflepuff.

— MESSAGE: Hi! I don't know if you're taking requests but can I request a slytherin!jongho au where he crushes on a girl from another house like hufflepuff or gryffindor idk it might be weird but I just think it would be cute

— AUTHOR’S MESSAGE: ahhhh!!! thank you so much for requesting this because i love harry potter so so much! and i hope you don’t mind that i chose hufflepuff because i kinda think slytherin x gryffindor is almost quite cliché? but thank you for requesting this!!

slytherins. no one is in favor of much except those who were actually sorted in the house. mostly because it was known to everyone in the wizarding world that salazar slytherin favored pure-blooded witches and wizards. slytherins were known to be cunning, ambitious, self-reserved. but they were also shrewd, and achievement-oriented. to think about it deeply, they’re not exactly as evil as everyone thought. but, there are practically many schools of thought when it comes to the slytherins.

choi jongho was sorted into slytherin house in his first year, and was quite baffled as to why he was sorted there in the first place. but he couldn’t possibly doubt the sorting hat (even after sorting the great harry potter into gryffindor after mumbling not slytherin, apparently). jongho was hesitant when it comes to taking in pride in being a slytherin, he just doesn’t know if he should be.

he lived a normal life, and he was thankful to not have such a complex life like harry potter. he was happy enough to even breathe and live normally. though he still sympathizes with harry, even if the slytherins’ aren’t really south-north with each other. they always say opposites attract, but it doesn’t apply in this case.

to continue the life of living like a normal boy, jongho of course develop crushes. well, he only developed one, and he still has a crush on one girl until his fourth year. he thought that maybe before he comes back as a fourth year student, he’d get over his tremendous crush on this girl. spoiler alert, he did not. he was devastated knowing he shared one class a slytherin should like but he doesn’t, potions (jongho kind of preferred care of magical creatures and transfiguration, along with charms). but it only got better when he found out slytherins and hufflepuffs shared the same astronomy class.

did i mention hufflepuffs? why, yes!

jongho’s crush lived in the hufflepuff dormitories as, well, she was a hufflepuff. he had been crushing on her the day he started his first charms lessons in year one… and her talent in charms definitely charmed him, he still has a crush on her now that they were in year four.

jongho never had the courage to talk to his hufflepuff crush, as he thought it would be a freak show for a slytherin to have a crush on a hufflepuff. but, people have done worst. on the other hand, percy weasley dated penelope clearwater, and percy was a gryffindor while penelope was a ravenclaw. surely a slytherin merely having a crush on a hufflepuff student can’t be that much of a big deal. for sure, right?

“hey jongho!” a voice from above him called, which distracted jongho from his homework. he had gone to the library with his friend, kang yeosang, and he was in ravenclaw. he left to get a botanical book from some shelf jongho doesn’t know where. “you were sitting with yeosang, right?”

the girl who asked him had another girl with her, and it was none other than his crush, y/n. his eyes blinked, his thought process now beginning to clog and he began to stutter, something he always hated whenever he talks to girls who he finds pretty, but no one’s beauty ever compares to y/n. “uh, yeah. why?”

a lot of girls crush on yeosang and boys are envious of his looks, and jongho would be lying to himself if he doesn’t think yeosang was quite handsome himself. the girl asking seemed to be looking for him, “yeah, my friend y/n has a big crush on him-”

she immediately smacked the girl on the arm, both blushing profusely and clearly upset at what her friend said. does she have a big crush on yeosang? “no, i don’t. my friend is just.. fooling around. we’re really sorry, jongho.”

he shook his head, a smile creeping on his face as he stood up, neglecting his homework. yeosang soon came back, a book probably heavier than their bags in his arms. he looked at the two girls, a stoic expression on his face. the girl in front of y/n smiled before leaving, forgetting y/n.

“may we help you?” yeosang asked, placing the book down next to his parchment papers. y/n shook her head, taking her eyes from yeosang and to jongho with a smile. upon seeing her smile that was intended to him made his heart race, his ears were beginning to heat up. she extended her arm to him, fist balled up like she was holding something in it.

“what’s th-”

“just take it,” she said, shoving the object inside her fist in his hand before turning on her heel and waving goodbye, exiting the library and disappearing into the hallway. it was paper, what she had just handed to him. it was crumpled up so tightly, and quite tiny. he began to unravel it, bits of ink beginning to show up and form words. it was a letter, from his crush. to him.

dear choi jongho,

i really fancy you. i’d really like it if we start talking more. transfiguration courtyard after lunch tomorrow, perhaps? see you there!

lots of love sincerely,

y/n l/n ♡

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onlyjihoons · 6 years ago

Note

For the prompt thing "Where have we met?" + Jihoon?? Lol idk just bless me with ur writing

It was your friend’s birthday, and she wanted to get a tattoo to commemorate that. A dumb idea, you thought, since the decisions you made when you were younger were always the ones you regretted in the end. But who were you to stop her? She was so pumped about it, amicably chatting about the ideas she had come up with over the weekend. “You sure about that?” You raised your eyebrows as the both of you finally reached the tattoo parlour after about 20 minutes of venturing into the shady streets, “It’s gonna be with you for life.”“I’m sure about it.” She nods, opening the door and letting you in first, “It’s something really cute, I like it.”“You do you,” You shrugged, settling on the seat beside her, “I don’t like myself getting inked.”Your friend huffs, folding her arms, “Wait till I finish my tattoo job, you’ll be green with envy.”“Y/F/N, right?” You hear a voice behind you, as you turned around, facing a boy, looking about the same age as you are, looking way better than most of the boys in your college.The boy was clad in a black hoodie, black hair dishevelled in a style you wanted to rake your hands through, white milky skin radiating a fresh glow. Not to mention his eyes that seemed to emit a glowing aura, sparkling with excitement.“You don’t mind that I brought a friend over, do you?” Your friend pushed you slightly, “I just needed some moral support, even if she isn’t getting a tattoo herself.”The boy smiles, as he puts on the purple surgical gloves, “No problem, it’s always best to bring your friends for their opinions on your tattoo.”You were shocked, to say the least, the tattoo artist wasn’t covered in black, inky tattoos like most artists are, and didn’t seem as intimidating as them too. You can’t believe how cliche you sound now, you’re falling for a tattoo artist at first sight.“Jihoon, right?” Your friend pipes up, as he disinfected her skin with an alcohol wipe, “I’ve heard good things about your work despite being a part-time artist.”“I still have lots to improve on,” The boy, Jihoon, blushes, “My works aren’t that great as compared to my seniors.”“They are!” Your friend comforted, “I like how minimalistic your works are, like what they say, the work reflects on the artist.”“Thank you.” Jihoon sends her a warm smile, then directing his attention back to your friend’s finger, “A heart on the fourth finger, is that correct?”Your friend nodded, “Like the one in the picture.”Jihoon first begins to do a stencil for the heart, then outlining it thinly. You could see his lips pursed in concentration, as he carefully manoeuvres the tattoo pen on your friend’s skin. He also constantly checks for the pain level, ensuring your friend was comfortable through the whole process. “You’re doing well for first-timers,” Jihoon comments, as he finishes up, “Most of them hiss in pain or cringe.”“I have a high tolerance for pain,” Your friend boasts, as you nudge her shaking your head, “I know Y/N does, too.”“Really?” Jihoon laughs, putting a plaster over your friend’s new tattoo, “Do you want to get a tattoo too, Y/N? We have a discount for 2 people getting tattooed.”“I think I’ll pass,” You safely dodge his (very tempting) offer, “My parents don’t want me inked.”“That’s pretty much why I became a tattoo artist myself,” Jihoon confessed, cleaning up, “I have no tattoos on myself actually, since my parents didn’t want me to get tattooed too. So I figured that maybe I could do it for others.”You nod in understanding, then frowning, “Wait, do you really have no tattoos?”Jihoon rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, showing you both of his bare arm, clean of any ink, “Here you go. Weird, right? A tattoo artist with no tattoos on himself.”“I don’t think you’ll want to see my torso,” Jihoon jokes, “I haven’t worked out in a while.”“No, it’s fine,” You waved your hands frantically, as you followed your friend to the cashier to pay for her tattoo job. To be honest, you caught a glimpse of her tattoo, it was small, minimalistic and pretty. You were jealous, and nearly wanted to get yourself tattooed as well, but you didn’t want to give your friend that satisfaction, and also because of your parents too.“I hope to see you around soon,” Jihoon smile again while handing your friend her debit card, “Do let me know if you have any other discomfort.”“Sure!” You friend returns the smile, “I’ll see you soon!”“Get home safe!” Jihoon greets as the both of you walk into the distance, to the subway station.“He’s cute, right?” Your friend gushes, “my boyfriend would be jealous if I told him I got tattooed by Jihoon today.”“I mean, yeah he’s cute…” You mumbled, shoving your hands into your coat pocket for warmth, “we won’t see him again, at least anytime soon.”“Oh honey,” You friend smirks suspiciously, “You never know.”________You plugged in your earphones, blowing out all silent noise in the library. It was flex week, meaning, the school gave a week of break for students to catch up with their studies. You were thankful, the never ending assignments piled up during the school weeks were too much for you to handle anyway. The incessant typing of your laptop was lulling you to sleep, report after report. The assignments never stopped piling up and you were determined to finish them today.You felt a presence sit on the sopposite side of the table, as you shifted your belongings more to your side of the table to ensure that the stranger had some space to do their work. You here them mumble a “thank you” as you nodded, eyes never once leaving the laptop screen.You had spent a good 20 minutes concentrating until the stranger spoke up, “Where have we met?”You finally looked up, as you saw the doe-eyed tattoo artist staring at you. You let out a gasp, covering your mouth as you struggled to remember the name of the too-handsome man seated in front of you.“Jihoon?” You finally remembered his name, sighing in relief when he nodded and sent you a shy smile that made you turn into a puddle of goo, “Why are you here?”“To study, duh.” Jihoon scoffs playfully, setting up his laptop, “I can’t be spending my time in the now hooligan-filled tattoo shop, can I?”“Wait… so you’re a student here too…” You muumbled, as Jihoon put on his glasses.“Yeah, engineering, to be exact.” Jihoon hums as he begins to type away, “Your friend tipped me off that you were here today as well, I can also have a study buddy while I’m at it.”“That girl…” You seethed under your breath, “She ditched me today.”Jihoon barely held his laughter, “What? She ditched you—oh.” He turned bright beetroot red as soon as he saw through your friend’s plan, momentarily stopping in his work.“Well, maybe we can just give her the show she wants,” Jihoon leans back, chair slightly creaking at his weight, “We can go on a date.”“A date?” You raised your eyebrows, “Then how can we prove to her?”“I saw her with her boyfriend right down that fried chicken store,” Jihoon points towards the exit if the library, “Maybe we can just, you know, act cosy and reveal it as a prank until much later.”You didn’t know how on earth Jihoon came up with this “fake” situation to ask you out, but you weren’t missing any chances on a date with the guy you eyed on since two weeks ago, “Sure, how do we start?”

#wanna one scenarios #park jihoon scenarios #wanna one #park jihoon #drabble game #neweraboygroups

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marksleepy · 7 years ago

Text

wish upon a scintilla of hope

word count: 4849 worth of fluff and idk like 5% of chensung because they’re such cute best friends a/n: i spent so long on this only @simplyaroha knows. jael i’m so sorry for keeping you waiting LOL. and i want to gift @chenleplanet with this because ryne your love for chenle is unreal and ily <3 i also want to gift @jenoist with this as vivi you’re the nicest and you make me cry jscudnvifjsdb ily2. lastly, gifting you, a reader, with this because i’m thankful that you’re reading this (or going to?). if this is my first fic you’re reading then hello i hope you stay and read my future tales ahaha. if this isn’t the first then hey!! thanks so much for staying. i really appreciate it! merry early christmas everybody. p.s. italicised words are for dream talks and texts in case you get confused

chenle clapping cuz i finally finished this thousand weeks long thing. gif belongs to @nakamotens :) there’s already a watermark on the gif but i’m just doing what’s right

The 11th night of each month—the only night when you don’t dream. Tons of people labour under the misapprehension that they don’t dream every night, but that’s simply because they don’t remember what they were dreaming of.

Tonight, an endless tenebrosity stretches before you.

You think of ‘Hey’, and immediately the word appears in the darkness, faint and in the colour of snow.

There’s no reply. Which sucks as this means you’ll have to spend the next seven hours or so in total nothingness, unless the person at the other end of the country (or world, you don’t know for sure) answers you. It should’ve been somewhere near an hour when a foggy yet enthusiastic ‘Hi!’ comes into view.

Sorry, I was catching up on some homework, it continues.

What time is it? you think instantly.

My phone tells me it was 1:04 am the last time I saw it.

You should start going to bed earlier, loser, you respond.

Communicating with soulmates would’ve been a lot easier if names aren’t eschewed. You’ve tried thinking about the most uncommon names, but they refuse to come to light. This explains why you and your soulmate decided to call each other ‘loser’ on the fourth encounter a few months ago. It’s not the cutest, but it’ll have to do.

Don’t tell me what to do, loser.

Fine. What do YOU want to do?

I don’t know.

You sigh, if that’s even possible at this moment. Do people sigh while dreaming? You assume they do. Tell me more about yourself then. The only thing I know about you is that you’re an annoying boy.

His reply comes a little late. You got the gender right but the adjective wrong. Now let me go to sleep.

You’re already sleeping, dork.

You can almost hear him chuckle. You feel a wistful longing for his voice.

I’m just kidding. What do you want to know about me? His words emerge, a colon and right bracket following close. They join the string of words disappearing above.

The hall is snug after walking in the icy wind outside. The assembly that all students attend religiously will begin in a few minutes. Your eyes dart from one student to another, in search of a boy with lilac hair. But he finds you first.

“I’m right here, Y/N!” Chenle yells, clamping his hands on your shoulders with the largest grin on his face.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” you say, turning around to face him.

His smile seems to get wider if that’s feasible. “Yeah, I believe you.”

You know you’ve lost when a smile threatens to surface.

Every school year starts off with students sitting according to their classes. However, by mid-February (sometimes earlier), the rule is long broken with students scattered everywhere in the hall with their companions from other classes or grades. One clear example is a senior hanging out with a junior, and in this case, Mark and Donghyuck, who are laughing over the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.

“Let’s go look for Jisung,” Chenle says. He clasps your wrist and pushes through the crowd. You feel a strong beat of your heart, something you experience whenever he does that. His touch feels like wearing gloves on a snowy winter day, tucking yourself under a blanket on a cold winter night. You shake your head. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. You can’t be feeling like this. Chenle isn’t your soulmate.

But… It’s okay to prefer someone to your soulmate, right?

You decide that it’s wrong as soon as the question slips. This feeling for Chenle, you convince yourself, is patently temporary. Besides, Chenle doesn’t like you in that way. It’s indubitable.

It also feels extremely strange to enjoy being around someone so much, especially if that someone isn’t who you talk to every 11th night of the month.

Maybe you don’t even like Chenle. So what if you feel accomplished when he laughs heartily at your jokes? So what if your eyes light up every time you see someone with lilac hair on the street (not very often), only to be disappointed when said person wasn’t who you thought it was? So what if you associate love songs with him? So what if your stomach flutters whenever he grabs your hand? So what—

“Y/N? Y/N!” Chenle waves his hand before your face. You blink at him.

“You okay? You seem to be deep in thought,” he continues. He has no idea.

He waves to Jisung. The latter has two empty seats beside him, and he beckons both of you over.

The hall is calmer than before, with most already seated down. Chenle sits between you and Jisung. They start talking about everything imaginable, frequently laughing mid-sentence. Your heart melts at this exuberant duo, and you often catch yourself staring at the older of the pair.

Someone catches you doing so too.

“Somebody’s real busy.”

You snap out of your reverie to see Jisung looking at you knowingly.

Chenle has a look of confusion and embarrassment on his face. “Are we boring you?”

You shake your head just as the principal taps on the microphone twice.

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t really your thing,” Chenle resumes. At this point, you don’t even know what he’s talking about in the first place.

“It’s okay, Chenle,” you reassure him. “You— Both of you never bore me.”

You spend the next hour listening to the principal drone on about God knows what and stealing glances at a boy with lilac hair and inappropriate laughter.

“What’s your soulmate like?” Chenle asks you from his desk. His highlighter is poised over a page of his science textbook as he waits for a reply.

You look up from your calculus worksheet and eye him sceptically from where you’re sitting on the wooden floor of his bedroom. “That’s new.”

“I’m just curious.”

You turn your attention back to the paper resting on your lap as his question replays in your head. You’re at his house studying for a test, mainly to seek for warmth. It isn’t snowing, but it’s freezing. You’d left your house keys on your desk and aren’t keen to be outdoors making beats with your teeth. Also, no one will be home until dusk.

“He’s nice,” you murmur. “Funny.”

Chenle goes back to highlighting some texts, occasionally writing on Post-it notes. “Do you, uh, like him?”

If you were brave, you would say, “No. I like you.”

But you aren’t, so you say, “I guess.”

Chenle’s tense shoulders sag. He leans his back on the chair, tapping his pen on the edge of his desk.

“What about you? Do you like your soulmate?” you question. You look at the naked trees outside with gnawing uneasiness in your stomach.

“Yeah"—his cheeks redden slightly—"but I…

“Nothing. We’re supposed to be studying.” He pulls his chair closer to the desk and uncaps another highlighter. You want to argue that he’d started talking first but decided against it.

The next time he talks to you is to ask you what you want to have for dinner.

You spend your days taking tests, hanging out with friends, and being muddled by Chenle’s behaviour.

“Did I say something wrong?” You and Jisung are standing outside the soccer field, the question accompanied by your foggy breath tumbling out your mouth before you can stop it. Jisung stops observing the senior practising his kicks and turns his head to look at you.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Chenle’s just being strange.”

Jisung clears his throat. “He is?”

You spot Chenle running wildly on the field, engaged in a friendly match with some sophomores.

“Not now. But when we’re alone he becomes awkward.”

“Maybe he, I don’t know, likes you?” Jisung pushes his bangs out of his face. “How’s alone time with him?”

You look down at the ground, fingers gripping the fence, face pink from the cold and something else. “Don’t phrase it that way.”

“Here comes lover boy.”

You grimace at his words. Chenle skips towards you and Jisung, his hair sticking to his forehead and shirt soaked in sweat despite the numbing temperature. Jisung wraps a towel around the older and helps him put on his coat. “That was fun. Thanks for waiting for me.”

Chenle reaches for your hand and freezes at once.

Jisung doesn’t seem to notice anything. He takes off first, shoving his hands in his winter coat. “Remind me to hit you when I can feel my hands again.”

Chenle chuckles, and you can’t say you relate to Jisung. It feels like you’re touching hot coal.

Chenle once told you receiving coals for Christmas wasn’t bad at all. “Just burn them and roast marshmallows.”

You had watched the fire flicker through his eyes.

Chenle’s hair is dyed a hazelnut brown colour when you see him in school. It’s as if your lungs are caught in a mesh and entangled. The air feels thick and suffocating.

“What do you think?” is the first thing he says when your eyes meet.

You force yourself to breathe. “What happened to lilac hair? That was such a look, man.”

“I got tired of people giving me weird looks.”

And why would people do that? You can’t understand why a change of his hair colour has this big of an effect on you.

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “It looks good on you.”

You nearly miss the way his face reddens as he looks down at his dirty Converse.

“Y/N…

Y/N.

Y/N!”

“What do you want, Chenle?”

“Look at me.”

He raises his right hand up to your left cheek and draws comforting, tingly circles with his thumb. Then he’s leaning in, closer. He looks at you through half-closed lids before coming closer. Closer.

“Y/N. I…”

You feel your heart throbbing loudly in your ears, like drums beating on the street during festivals.

You don’t feel anything on your lips. But your eyes stay closed.

“Y/N.”

You love hearing your name roll so effortlessly off his tongue. You love it. You love him.

“Y/N. I—”

“You what?”

“I swear if you don’t get up right now I’ll really kill you!”

You shoot up from your laying position, your hair a mess and your eyes swollen with sleep. Jisung stands at the foot of your bed, his hands on his hips as he lours at you.

“What are you doing in my room?” you ask, groggy.

“Are you serious?”

You free your legs from your woollen blanket and shudder when your feet touch the gelid floor.

“We were supposed to study at Chenle’s, remember?” Jisung sighs. “Clearly not.”

You give him a bashful smile, eyeing the bedroom doorway.

Jisung taps his foot impatiently. “He isn’t here. He’s helping his mum with groceries.”

“I wasn't—”

“Just get ready and meet us at his place, Y/N.” He gives you one last look before disappearing down the hallway. “Your face is red. Do you want me to open the windows?”

“I thought you were joking!” You uncap the half-filled bottle then cap it after a second. “Who associates Jisung with textbooks and homework?”

Jisung throws a tiny ball of paper at you. “Judgemental. I do study.”

“Stop it, you two,” Chenle chuckles. “Let’s actually get stuff done. We can also ask Y/N since she’s the smartest one here.”

“She is?” Jisung snorts. He earns a punch on the arm from you while your face glows with embarrassment.

So the three of you study. Chenle and Jisung have tests on different subjects this week but you don’t. You work on your assignment, which is a research on a historical building. Apart from occasional questions from the duo, the room is otherwise quiet. It’s slowly getting dark, the sun dipping below the horizon.

You look at Chenle discreetly. His eyelids are pink from him rubbing them. He looks cute when he’s serious and focused. There’s a knock on the door before Chenle’s mum pops her head into the room and smiles. “Dinner’s ready if any of you are hungry. Don’t overwork yourselves, alright?”

There are hums and nods, then the room is quiet again. It can’t have been more than five minutes when Jisung says, “Guys! It’s snowing!”

Turns out there are only little specks of snow, much to everyone’s (Jisung’s) disappointment. With the assignment and scrawled notes forgotten in Chenle’s bedroom, you and the pair stand outside just in case white flakes fall again, wriggling about to stay warm.

“This is annoying,” Jisung groans.

Chenle nudges him playfully. “There are a lot more days to come, Jisung.”

Jisung merely shrugs and says he’s hungry. Everyone trudges back into the house, relieved to soak in its warmth.

It’s late when Jisung leaves Chenle’s house, which is starting to slowly lose its heat. The sky is an inky black but there are no visible stars due to the light-polluted city that Chenle lives in. You sit on his cabin bed, head tilted towards the night sky, watching a scintilla in the midst of the darkness.

Your eyes drift to Chenle. He yawns and rubs his eyes for the nth time.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Take a break.”

He stifles another yawn, pushes his arms in the air and stretches. “My mum will murder me if I fail this class again.”

“She did tell us not to overwork ourselves.”

His smile appears. He pushes his chair back and ambles towards the bed to sit beside you. “What are you doing?” He bumps his shoulder against yours.

You point to the tiny spark in the sky.

“Ooh,” he gushes. “Let’s make a wish.”

“That’s not a shooting star, Chenle.”

“That’s fine. I made a wish at camp last year when I thought I saw one. Until I realised it was Renjun throwing a piece of trash across the campsite.”

One end of Chenle’s lips is lifted, and soon both of you are collapsing into gales of laughter.

“What did you wish for?” Chenle asks.

You shake your head, grinning. “Secret.”

It’s the 11th night of the month again. You go to bed quite early, feeling completely knackered from interminable assignments. You wait and wait, looking at lyrics of your favourite song arise as you think of it.

This soulmate of yours sure sleeps late.

All of a sudden, a Hey pops up.

Hi, you reply in your head.

Sorry, I forgot that it’s the 11th.

I have a question.

What is it?

You pause, letting the words disappear as they go higher. You think of your question. Do you like anybody?

Yeah.

He awaits what you have for him next.

Then, have you confessed to that person?

No. I’m too scared to do that.

How do you cope?

Uh, I have a blog where I write what I want to say to her. Yeah, it’s cheesy so go ahead and laugh at me.

You feel yourself smiling. No it’s not. It’s cute.

I can show you it if you want. No one knows about it except for my best friend, only because I foolishly left the page open while I went to the bathroom. That’s how embarrassed I feel about it. But now you know.

I’m honoured.

The website and username he uses show up in a minute. You know the website well, however, he has an odd username—practically like everyone on this planet. It reminds you of Chenle with his strange usernames for all eight of his accounts.

“Why 'dirtykitchenfloor’?” you had choked out. “'terrifyingpickle’. I’m leaving.”

Chenle had grabbed your hand, all but laughing. “Don’t. I have six more.”

You there? These two words knock you back to the blackness.

Yeah. I was thinking about some stuff.

Like the person you like?

What? No. Thanks for reminding me though, I’ll go think about him now.

HAHAHA—pause—well have fun. I’ll be here, roaming.

You imagine the lilac-now-hazelnut hair boy standing beside you outside in the snowy city. The street lamp winks as snow starts to pile up atop and around it. His hair is sprinkled with stardust and snowflakes. His eyes twinkle and his hand feels like a cup of hot chocolate. The fallen snow feels soft beneath your shoes.

Everything feels right.

“I think I’m in love,” Jisung says dreamily.

It’s a frosty afternoon, and you find yourself again with Jisung and Chenle, everyone either sprawled on Jisung’s bed or floor. Drinks and bags of snacks litter the ground. No one pays attention to them.

A weird noise escapes Chenle’s mouth. “With who?”

“My soulmate.”

You snigger and say, “They’re called soulmates for a reason.” You then remember that Chenle isn’t yours. You also don’t know if it’s bad that your soulmate likes someone else. You figure it isn’t, knowing you’re not breaking any hearts around here and you like someone else too.

Jisung prattles on about his soulmate. You nod blankly, and catch Chenle gazing at you. He points to Jisung covertly before shaking his head and rolling his eyes. There’s a beam on your face.

“You aren’t even listening to me,” Jisung groans. “Stop flirting with each other.”

“At least I have someone to flirt with,” Chenle sneers.

A thick shade of red mantles your cheeks. “S-stop talking nonsense.”

Chenle looks at you the way a child would look when he’s caught going through presents on the night before Christmas. A reddish hue branches out across his fair complexion.

Jisung’s frown steadily turns into a soft knowing smile. “Since I’m done talking about my amazing love life, it’s your turn. The smarter person starts first.”

The branch tapping on the windows is the only thing disturbing Jisung’s hushed bedroom. You wonder why he hasn’t gotten rid of it. You’d find it difficult to fall asleep on a blustery night.

“So none of you are smart? Not a surprise to me, I guess,” Jisung teases.

“My soulmate has a blog where he writes what he wants to say to the person he likes down,” you begin, ignoring Jisung’s raillery.

Jisung lets out an impressed-sounding “huh” the same time Chenle says, “That’s stupid.”

A grim line forms on your mouth as you stare at him. “I don’t think it is.”

"Really?” Chenle coughs deliberately. “That seems so cowardly.” Jisung cocks his head a little to the right twice out of habit, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches the exchange between you and Chenle. “I think it’s stupid too,” the younger of the pair blurts out.

Chenle glares at Jisung. “No, it’s not.”

“You said it was! I’m just agreeing with you.”

“I’m just… just agreeing with Y/N.”

You snicker as they start to banter. They stop and stare at you, and soon the room is filled with three friends who are attacked by uncontrollable laughter.

Jisung wipes at his eyes and after he’s calmed down, he says, “I wanna love like Y/N’s soulmate.”

“Me too,” Chenle says, albeit having a faraway look in his eyes.

“Don’t you already?”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Sh-shut up!” Jisung mimics. Chenle simply gets up and flicks Jisung’s forehead. He whines in pain and flicks the former back. You sit up on the spot on Jisung’s bed and smile.

Happy. Happy is what you feel.

You don’t know how you or Chenle do it, but it’s three in the morning when you finally shut your laptop and let out a wavering cry. “I’m done. Spent.”

“Let’s get some sleep.” Chenle yawns, lumbering to his bed and pulling the sheets over his entire body.

“Throw me a pillow and blanket.”

“What?” Chenle peers at you. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. It’s not carpeted and it’s freezing.”

“I’ll be fine, worrywart.”

“Who even says that?” He gives you a blue pillow dotted with white clouds and a soft blanket. “You wanna swap spots instead?”

“Go to sleep, Chenle.” You tuck yourself under the blanket, which comes with his scent and a hint of flowery laundry detergent. With heavy and teary eyes from yawning too much, you lie facing the ceiling, the floor a tad cold for comfort. Your mind threatens to drag you to sleep, until a weak voice breaks the silence of the night.

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes,” you mumble, your eyes shut, hardly able to contemplate what you’re saying.

He laughs lightly. “I can’t sleep. Talk to me.”

“Nice.”

“Y/N.”

“Chenle,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up till it covers your chin.

“Cat.”

“Dolphin.”

Right now you’re starting to wake up. You lie on your side and prop the side of your head in your palm, facing him. He mirrors your position.

“I actually hate you,” you quip.

“No you don’t.”

“Right for once.”

He closes his eyes, his head drooping. You study his soft features, feeling your eyes beginning to close again. Your head hits the pillow and you pull the blanket over your shoulder. Your teeth chatter slightly, but that’s okay—you’re too tired to care anyway.

You wake up when the sky is still black and starless. Chenle’s scent seems to have gotten stronger. You sit up, using your elbows as support, only to see the bed empty and rumpled. Something breathes against your arm, and you almost smack yourself from pulling back too fast.

There you see Chenle curled up beside you on the ground like a foetus. His blanket is thrown over you, but it’s riding off his body, his tummy exposed to the cold. You remove his blanket from yourself and cover him up to the neck. He stirs but stays asleep, sighing with satisfaction.

“You’re an odd one,” you whisper in the unlit room. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

You mirror his position this time, dreams taking you on different adventures—all of them with this boy who makes you feel warmer this winter.

“You chose to sleep on the floor when you have a bed,” you say between munches of your cereal the next morning.

“I didn’t choose.” Chenle dips his bread in your bowl of milk. “I fell off the bed.”

“Ha ha. Remind me to laugh again later.”

Tap tap.

Jisung stands at the door. Chenle opens it to reveal him clad in a sweater, coat and fuzzy pants with matching shoes.

“Pfft, what are you wearing?” you joke. You spoon some cereal into your mouth.

“Yes good morning and thanks for inviting me to the sleepover,” Jisung says, throwing his bag on the floor and plopping himself down on the high stool opposite you.

Chenle returns to the stool to your left. He pulls his bread apart and waves a piece at Jisung. “You turned us down!”

“Oh right. Because you two are boring.”

“And somehow you like hanging out with us?” you say with amusement.

“Whatever,” Jisung says. “So… are the two of you a thing now?”

Chenle splutters on his juice, orange liquid flying out his mouth. You feel the heat on your face even though the cold air that followed Jisung in is still lingering in the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Jisung laughs, slapping him on the back.

You rub your temples. “It’s too early for this.”

“I thought you talked things through last night.”

“Just shut up, Jisung. Eat your cereal,” Chenle rebukes. He hops off the stool to go wash his mouth at the sink. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment.

can you come out now? reads Chenle’s text at 12 in the morning.

You compose a new message. I don’t plan on getting murdered by either one of my parents tonight

please

omg fine. why are you here so late

i just wanted to see you

Your heart leaps in your chest. ok chenle.

You drape your woollen blanket around you and lift your window up, feeling like those furtive teenagers in movies. An icy gust of wind slaps your cheeks, but the coldness dissipates when you see Chenle stomping on the crunchy ice on the gravel path outside, his hands shoved deep into his coat pocket.

“You okay?” you say after jumping from your window sill (cautiously).

“Can I ask you a question?” he says with foggy breath.

“Yeah. I mean we’re already here.”

He closes his eyes and gulps. “Can I kiss you?”

“Chenle…”

He blocks your view by putting his hand before your eyes. “Don’t look at me. I’m embarrassed.”

You grab his arm with your shaky one and pull him towards you. He’s so close your cloudy breaths mingle. It’s a test to see who makes the first move.

He does.

And your lips feel like it’s on fire.

He really is an odd one, but you don’t mind it one bit.

You fall asleep with pink cheeks that night and the feeling of Chenle’s hand at the back of your neck, spreading warmth throughout your body.

Hey loser. I kissed him. You’re starting off bold tonight. You couldn’t care less.

In a split second, your reply comes. Really?

Yes, really.

How was it?

It was… I don’t know.

Like you were going to melt? Like you were floating with the clouds?

Yes. Very much.

I felt like that too.

You think of the winter spice jelly sitting in the fridge, knowing completely how it feels. Because you’re just as stiff as it is.

You refuse to analyse the words. Ohh, you kissed her too?

I did. I went to her house 30 minutes before it turned 12. Stood outside considering if I should just go home and keep my feelings bottled up forever, or put our friendship at risk by doing it.

You feel like tearing up. I think you did the right thing.

Me too.

You search for the hazelnut hair boy in the crowded hall. It’s been tougher as almost everyone has that same hair colour. Mark and Donghyuck are chaffing each other; a group of juniors—Renjun, Jeno and Jaemin—enters the hall, chatting incessantly. Pretty much a common sight to see.

A hand rests on your shoulder from behind.

“I know I know,” Chenle grins. “You weren’t looking for me.”

“You knew?” you ask. Both of you move to a less packed area.

He nods. “But it was after I told you about the blog.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought you were smart enough to figure it out.”

You scoff, but a smile forces its way onto your face.

“I guess I’m smarter than you in some way,” he adds, punching you lightly on the biceps.

“Guys!” Jisung bounces towards you and Chenle. He eyes you suspiciously, before moving his attention to Chenle. “So… Are you two a thing now?”

You exchange glances with Chenle.

“Shut up, Jisung.”

Jisung doesn’t get an actual answer, but you’re sure he knows when he laughs with you and Chenle.

“I can’t believe you have a blog filled with your feelings about me,” you tease. “How cheesy.”

“Can we not talk about that now?” Chenle groans, covering his face with his hands. “You said it was cute.”

“It is.”

“I’ll just delete it later and stop liking you.”

You reach for his hands, fisting and trapping them in your palms. “No. I need to read it when you start losing feelings for me.”

“Then I guess you won’t be reading it at all.”

You and Chenle walk under the jet black sky side by side, enjoying the wind’s whispers. His tickles your palm with his pinky and says, “I have more stuff I want to say to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’ll have to wait for the 11th.”

You realise your wish came true even before you made it.

a/n: hey!! you made it to the end! for this i want to say thank you once again and i hope you enjoyed this. low-key found the part where renjun threw trash across the campsite funny LOL

#nct #nct dream #nct scenarios #chenle scenarios #nct chenle #zhong chenle #nct fluff #chenle fluff #soulmate #soulmate!au #it's 6 am rip #jet lagged ok #falalalala lalalala

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quadcorenewkids · 7 years ago

Text

Touching the Void - Chapter 1

I’m posting this because, although I like a lot of parts about this, it feels too dragged out for a first chapter... too slow. Idk, I just have some mixed feelings, and since it’s the first chapter, I don’t mind posting it because... it’s not technically spoilers? 8D

Man, I hate how different things look from the word program to the actual post, no matter where it is. It never looks quite right :/

An evening in the McCormick household where one didn't need to fight to have dibs on the TV was a rare fucking evening indeed. In fact, Kenny's parents weren't even home... or so he assumed. If there wasn't yelling and bitching coming from somewhere within earshot, they must've been out and about. Didn't surprise him in the slightest. Kevin - pretty quiet as per usual - probably locked himself in his room so he could drink all night, and Karen - sweet, naive Karen - was already in bed at this hour, having had her dinner and going straight to bed. Hard to believe she was in Fourth Grade already. Felt like yesterday when he was back at the wonderful age of 10. He remembered playing their games, the boys and him... being afraid of the Sixth Graders, and everything. Yet now they were he Sixth Graders... that still hadn't settled with him, even if it didn't really feel like they'd grown up at all. And having Middle School looming around the corner come next year? Yuck. He had a similar reaction when flipping the channel to the next fuzzy one. Fucking figures, the one night he didn't have to wrestle his drunk-ass brother or parents for the remote, and there was nothing good on. No sports aside from re-runs. Not even much late-night adult content to be found either. Just the fucking shopping channel - god, he hated that with an immense passion - and some boring documentaries and talk shows. He flipped over to one idly and stared blankly at the screen while the voice continued to narrate. The content on the screen wasn't memorable to him in the slightest. "-and it begs to offer this yet unsolved question that we ask ourselves constantly: 'What were we put on this Earth to do? What is our purpose?' A-and there's just no rightful way of answering that, try as we may. It's a solution that we, as individuals must come to understand and learn for ourselves. All we can do to aid the process along, is by pushing ourselves in the general direction of self-discovery." He had his finger on the button to switch the channel, before - at the last second - the guy on the TV added, "Which brings me to ask you... why do some people long to die?" That caught Kenny's attention for an extra moment, "W-When you have the potential of a great, grand purpose in our lives as a result of what we were put on this Earth to do, why would you want to knowingly take your own life away? Why do most of us fear Death so greatly... but others don't? What in the world makes us so unique from one another in such a queer manner? What drives these people to do these things?"

The other man on the TV laughed at him, "Sounds more like we've got a 'Q&Q' show than a 'Q&A' now, Abe."

"These are trying topics. You try to come up with an answer. A real answer. It ain't so easy, is it?" "Well, if you had to ask me, I'd say some people are obviously just more miserable than others. The quality of life and the gap and all that mumbo-jumbo. If you're down in the dumps long enough, it might seem like that's what you were put on the Earth to be - a metaphorical punching bag." "Is that what you view yourself to be? You know, some experts say that our words and actions reflect how we feel about ourselves more than they affect others." "Pfffff. You think I'm a punching bag? I'm living the dream, Abe. Or what feels like the dream... that's good enough for me." The 'Abe' guy opened his mouth to talk again, but Kenny flipped the TV off before he could utter another word. God this night fucking sucked so far. He got up to get a drink - not a drink drink. Seeing what that shit does to other people sure has its way of souring you on even touching the stuff. Shoving the dozens of beer bottles and cans aside in the dirty old fridge, he pulled out a soda he'd stashed in the very back. It'd been opened before, so it was completely flat by now... but he honestly didn't give much of a shit. Flat or fizzy, it was still a nice treat to have, now and again. While he sat and chugged back what was left of his week-old cola, his mind wandered back to that dumb-ass talk show again. 'What were we put on this Earth to do? What is our purpose?'

Did it really matter what the purpose was? You make something of yourself, or you don't. Either way, everyone has access to titties on the internet, and that was enough of a reason alone for some people to work and pay the bills. Can't even get a good magazine nowadays without having to pay like twenty dollars plus shipping... they don't even ship it in discreet packaging anymore! What a fucking time to be alive, when your neighbour can walk by and see the latest issue of Playboy sitting on your front step in broad daylight because some asshole couldn't be bothered to stuff it in the mailbox.

Not that he really cared... wasn't his name plastered all over it. He'd used his brother's name when ordering the subscriptions, and he didn't think anything of it when he'd answered the door the first time to pick them up. He'd probably just assumed his drunk-ass couldn't remember ordering it. He'd never complain about free titty magazines though, that would be fucking blasphemy. Kenny just had to make sure he got up early enough on mail days to be able to snag them first when he saw them... he wasn't the biggest fan of second-hand merchandise. Who could blame him? He crunched the can up with one hand and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. It hadn't been emptied in weeks, so it just kind of harmlessly bounced off the heaping pile of other cans and rolled on the floor. He'd have to do something about that at some point soon.

He once caught Karen trying to clean up the disaster that was the kitchen. Poor girl almost cut herself on a bottle that'd been broken at some point. After that, Kenny told her that she shouldn't clean up broken bottles and cans - at the very least, not without using a towel or something to protect her hands with. He'd insisted that he'd try to tidy up a bit in her place... but he'd gotten lazy. It gets to a point where if you're the only one in the whole fuckin' house making an effort to clean up, you just don't feel like it's even worth trying. But he'd do it eventually. For Karen's sake, at the very least. With a sigh, he sauntered over to his room and shut the door quietly behind him. He always made a note to try and do that. No reason to slam doors around and, on the off-chance, wake up his sister. His parents did that enough, that quiet days like this were just... unheard of. This whole evening had been a fucking weird one. He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment. "Some people are obviously just more miserable than others. The quality of life and the gap and all that mumbo-jumbo. If you're down in the dumps long enough, it might seem like that's what you were put on the Earth to be - a metaphorical punching bag." He snatched his pillow and buried his face into it, heaving another sigh. Maybe he shouldn't of even bothered trying to watch TV, if all he can think about is a stupid fucking talk show... but when he thought about it, Kenny kind of felt like a punching bag. Some days, more literally than others. No matter what people threw at him though, he would bounce back from anything. Always coming back, to no one ever remembering. No one remembers the punching bag. He rolled over and glared at the wall. It was going to be one of these nights again, huh? He hadn't gone on such a downward spiral since... since Fourth Grade. Everything had fuckin flown by the past couple years. The usual weird shit would happen every once in a while, but he felt like he was getting involved in it less and less. Stan, Kyle, and Cartman would go off and do shit on their own after school somedays, and it was like they never thought to ask him to join. On one hand, Kenny wasn't complaining – fuck no. That meant he'd been through less shit that could end up with him dead again. On the other hand... he sort of missed it. He hadn't even worn the Mysterion outfit in what felt like fucking forever... when had he last gone out in it? He got up and went over to the dresser to take a look. It was exactly where he'd left it last time - placed in the bottom drawer. Forgotten. He picked it up and held it out to get a good look at it. It was so small, to him. Had it really been that long? He slowly took his parka off and put the cape on overtop of his shirt. It didn't drag on the floor like it used to, that was for sure. The first few times he'd worn it, he remembered being a dumbass and tripping over it on a few occasions. He'd twisted his ankle once or twice, and one instance actually involved him falling off a roof. That had been agony. Yet he hadn't cut it any shorter or anything. He'd instead persevered and got used to knowing where it was and how to not trip on it. He casually grabbed an edge of the cape and brought it close to his face in what was meant to be a dramatic pose. At least it was long enough to do that, anyway. The hood was a bit small though... and he didn't even dare try on that light purple one-piece. He took a look in the drawer again to find the half-mask sitting at the bottom. He slipped it on over his head, but it was so tight on his eyes. With a scoff, he'd pulled the ensemble off and shoved it back in the drawer. Maybe there was a fucking reason he'd stopped wearing that thing. All it did now was bring back memories of that fucking cult. But it had good memories associated with it too. He'd protected his little sister against bullies in Greely as Mysterion... he'd even become a 'Guardian Angel' to her. That, was what made it worth it. That was why he'd kept wearing it up until last year. He wanted to protect people that couldn't do it alone. He wanted to be this stupid little mountain town's 'guardian angel'... to keep it safe from fucking monsters. He scowled at the open drawer now, at the outfit thrown into a ball and wrinkled to hell. Cartman had been one of those monsters... he'd been fucking insane to drag an Elder God into his schemes. He certainly didn't miss hanging out with him. "Friend" or not. Kenny didn't bother to close the drawer before stumbling back to his bed and throwing himself upon it again - this time sans parka. Maybe he'd bring back the persona... maybe he wouldn't. He honestly didn't want to think about it anymore... he just wanted the night to be over so he could just go back to school tomorrow - words he never thought would pass his mind. But all that kept coming back to mind was that... Fucking... Talk show. "'What were we put on this Earth to do? What is our purpose?'... It's a solution that we, as individuals must come to understand and learn for ourselves. All we can do to aid the process along, is... push... ourselves in the general direction of self-discovery." He'd tried that once. It didn't end up all that great.

People don't really realize when they drift off to sleep. It's just a quiet cloak of darkness that overtakes the mind... it's nigh undetectable. He wasn't any different, at first. He didn't know he was dreaming. It felt... too real. This place felt familiar... but for the life of him, he couldn't fucking remember where he was, exactly. It was like it kept changing... shifting... the lighting bounced around the ground like water at the bottom of a pool. The sand was red... no, not sand. Dirt. Or... stone? Kenny couldn't focus on it at all, like he'd pulled an all-nighter and hit the point where he just couldn't *mentally* stay awake anymore. The area around him was hazy, and alien. Strange plants - if you could even call them 'plants' - and formations were all around him... nothing familiar besides that feeling deep down that he'd been here once before. The only thing that knocked him out of his stupor was a voice from behind him, but it sounded like he'd missed part of the conversation before it... "...maybe we should just find a place to hide and wait for help!" That sounded like... someone he knew... Another voice reverberated, this time right next to him, "What help, dude? Nobody in the real world even knows we're here." Kenny finally looked towards the source of the voices. They were like mirages... blurry... but he recognized them. He recognized the words. Clyde and Kyle. Mentioning the real world? But that meant... This was R'Lyeh. It came to him like a slap in the face, waking him from the hazy phase he'd just been in. The weird lighting, the even weirder tentacle plants and shit... the other boys in costumes... and then he saw himself walk from where he stood, like he'd waltzed right out of his own body, donned as Mysterion. He felt a distant pain in his gut, as he watched himself take charge and insist he'd find help. He knew what was coming all too well. Quite frankly, he didn't want to fucking relive it a second time. He closed his eyes to block it out as he heard Clyde call his name. He'd forgotten to block the sound out... and it was a horrid sound. And the pain! The pain hit him like a fucking truck, like he'd actually gone and done it again! Seething agony for what felt like an eternity... and then darkness overcame him again.

He woke up in a cold sweat, grasping at his chest for the spikes he'd known were there when he'd purposefully plunged himself upon them. He laid there, catching his breath and trying to cement himself back in reality for a good long moment, before glancing over at the clock. Four in the morning. It didn't feel that long had passed, but who the fuck knew, when you were asleep, right? Time flew by like nobody's damn business... he'd wished for it earlier in the night. Now, he regretted it. That's not what he fucking meant by it at all.

He glanced at his hands, then passed them through his hair, cringing when he realized it had slicked back somewhat from the sweat on his brow. Fuck this night sucked.

#aw hamburgers!#(is the spoiler tag)#fic dev #first chapter #draft #this was typed in pretty much one go with barely any editing going into it #so i'm just calling it a first draft #if some of the paragraphs are spaced weird... don't pay them any mind #legit I imported it from Quoll Writer to OpenOffice - which fucks aLL the formatting #and I like things to look a certain way #I find last time I did a fic I didn't like how on Fanfiction everything was hella crammed #the dialogue was so tight together 'cause I'd only do a single line break rather than full paragraphs #and like it LOOKS okay in the program (especially Quoll Writer where everything's neatly arranged)#but posting it... takes a toll on my overall health and well-being 8D #I don't wanna ramble too much in the tags 'cause they all show up on this blog's theme so it... gets crowded fast #I think I went on too long with the talk-show bit - I could probably cut it shorter now that I look it over again

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