#Blaming it on the fact I posted it in the middle of the night last time

[my-chemical-rot]

fine line & all that

♡ White Oleander - Janet Fitch ♡ Love Despite God - Courtney Love ♡ Dead Lovers - Edvard Munch ♡ Ginger Snaps ♡ Diluted - Death Spells ♡ Raw ♡ Hate Unconditional - Death Spells ♡ Love and Pain - Edvard Munch ♡ Doll Parts - Hole ♡ White Oleander - Janet Fitch ♡

[scholarhect]

i will never outgrow responding to people in confusing ways but it will be ok because people are patient :)

[stsgluver]

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟒 — gojo satoru

synopsis. nobara can’t find the dvd anywhere and gojo has a decision to make

wc. 4k

tags. fluff, angst (kinda), reader is described as fem, possibly ooc gojo (my bad), cliffhanger-ish, any spelling mistakes blame on my cats, possible plotholes

a/n. several things to address: firstly my description of dvds and how they work ARE SO FLAWED IK DON'T JUDGE. secondly, look I get how rct works so not everything I say is accurate but like this is also about 2d men so who's to judge. finally I'm not too sure about this chapter so if its shit lmk BUT I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT <333 ily all but I do have upcoming exams so the ending(s), won't be posted till possibly early February as I have to get back to studying :(

previous part / final part / series masterlist

“guys we’ve lost it.” nobara pushed up her mattress, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she peered beneath the wooden slats. all there was was her suitcase and a bag from an expensive shop she’d convinced gojo to buy for her. “it’s gone. poof. here once and now it’s not.” the ‘it’ in question being the dvd they’d treasured for the last few weeks (well, yuuji and nobara anyways).

after gojo had taken the dvd – unbeknownst to the first years – nobara had ended up sleeping for the next fourty eight hours, and then afterwards spending several days catching up on the classwork she’d missed. she hadn’t had the time or energy to force her classmates into another movie night so now here they were, almost a week since it was last touched, finally realising its disappearance.

“do you want me and megumi to come help?” yuuji asked tentatively as he heard her curse as she dropped the mattress back down. nobara sighed, glancing around at the chaos she’d created. her room was a mess – drawers half open and half her clothes and books on the floor in case the dvd had slipped into a pile by accident. 

“it’s not in my room,” she said adamantly, pushing her hair back from her face in frustration as she struggled to piece together the final moments she had with the dvd. she could remember sending megumi away, beginning her little day of research and even some of the videos she watched (the arcade and the christmas reunion), but then she fell asleep and everything was hazy from there.

“when was the last time you had it?” megumi asked and nobara felt her eye twitch like she hadn't retraced her steps a million times already.

“the first day i was off sick. i was watching a few–”

“without us?” the pink haired sorcerer cut in with a gasp.

“what else was there to do?” nobara argued back with no bite but he quietened down nonetheless. 

a moment of silence settled between the three as each tried to figure out where it could have been misplaced or who could’ve accidentally picked it up. if nobara had dropped it somewhere outside of her dorm, could one of the older years taken it?

nobara was brought out of deep thought by yuuji flippantly asking: “did you watch any after sensei came to see you?” she froze at the implication of his words. at no point could she recall their teacher ever coming in to check on her – it had always been either yuuji, megumi or maki. 

“what?” 

several hours later, the three first years found themselves huddled on the benches, nobara in the middle and the boys either side of her. in front of them were the second years and gojo – the latter having said something to annoy maki as yuuta held her back from making a swing at their laughing teacher. the second year teacher was off ill today so the larger class meant that the three had a distraction as they tried to figure out what their next step was – if they even had one at this point.

the assumed facts were as such: the first years were no longer in possession of the dvd, and gojo had it. though there was little doubt that this was true, it didn’t stop them questioning the possibility – after all, megumi had pointed out, there’d been no alter in his behaviour whatsoever since the minute he’d checked on nobara. surely, even the strongest would be noticeably affected by a disk that immortalised a happiness and innocence he’d never be able to return to.

but then again, maybe this was just another thing that separated gojo from the rest of society. being the strongest came before all else, he didn’t have the time to mourn resurfaced memories.

“maybe he just doesn’t have it,” yuuji suggested.

“he has to,” nobara reaffirmed. at this point they’d exhausted all other options about where it could possibly be and surely they would have heard if one of the older years found what they had. “would he tell you if he had it?” she asked megumi.

“no,” megumi said quickly, shaking his head and leaning back on the bench as he looked over at gojo, “we… he wouldn’t talk to me about that. about them.”

“could we steal it back?” yuuji offered and nobara debated duct taping his mouth closed.

megumi scoffed, shaking his head, “he has six eyes. even if we tried, he’d know for sure it was us.”

“he already knows it was us,” nobara countered, not that she agreed with yuuji’s solution by any means. “which is why i don’t get why he hasn’t said anyth–”

“oi, you three!” the first years jumped apart from their circle, hearts pounding as gojo appeared before them with a smirk toying at the corner of his lips and his hands clasped behind his back. “whoever beats maki in hand to hand combat gets the day off tomorrow!”

“yuuji if you win, i’m taking your day off,” nobara called out as she trailed behind the aforementioned boy running to the centre of the field. 

“okay!”

unsurprisingly, all three first years lost against the second year. megumi came closest to winning but when he tried to use his cursed technique, gojo countered it, catching him off guard and giving maki the opportunity to sweep him off his feet with her staff.

gojo found himself still laughing over megumi’s shocked expression as he fell flat on his back as he stepped past the threshold of his office. even after all he’d taught the boy in combat, with no cursed technique it was hard to overcome the zenin girl’s strength and skill she’d mastered to take on her own clan.

he let out a small sigh as the door locked shut and, for the first time that day, he was alone with his own thoughts.

dropping down into his office chair, gojo crossed one leg over the other as he pulled open a drawer. on the top of a pile of unread paperwork for the higher ups was the dvd the first years were so fixated on. 

he wasn’t stupid; he knew eventually they would figure out he had it and, unlike himself, they’d been way less subtle once they’d put two and two together. yuuji’s speech had tripled in speed, nobara was way too keen on being anywhere but where he was and megumi… gojo couldn’t forget the guilt and hurt in the teenage boy’s eyes after telling him you were gone. it was here again, had been for several weeks, and it was only after stumbling upon the disk in nobara’s room that he’d understood why.

gojo gritted his teeth together as he held the disk up between shaky fingers. it was pathetic, he scolded himself, it was just a bit of plastic with memories lasered into divots in a never ending spiral. it wasn’t worth the heartache.

if he looked closely enough, he could see shoko’s name written on the centrepiece in faded black sharpie. after gojo had stumbled upon the old camera several years after graduating from jujutsu high, shoko had taken back the camera to transfer all of the old clips onto dvds and given him, herself, nanami and you your own copies. he couldn’t even remember where his and yours were anymore, in fact he’d pretty much forgotten about their existence until a week ago.

he wasn’t sure where shoko had lost the dvd for the first years to get their hands on it but he hadn’t worked up the courage to speak to her about it. he hadn’t worked up the courage to do anything more than just spin the disk between his fingers, cry about it for a bit, and go back to pretending he didn’t have the last remnants of his youth in his drawer.

gojo glanced between the disk and the laptop on his desk. it was the last step he needed to take to hear your voice again. it had been on repeat for the last week in his mind; you uttering his name and that innocent question, would you last beyond your teenage years?

he missed it, missed you so bad.

raising megumi was a lot harder without you there; you were his favourite after all, bridging the gap between the two when they bumped heads with their contrasting personalities. gojo was all rainbows and giggles and megumi was everything but. you were a happy medium, creating a balance that maintained order in the home you shared. it was a peace that megumi deserved after losing his parents.

gojo clicked his tongue, reaching across to press a button that opened up a space for the disk. slotting it in place, he clicked the device shut and held his breath as he waited. it took several seconds for the files to load and then there he was again, back in those fields under the large weeping willow that was your spot.

the video was paused, exactly where it had been left, except this time gojo could actually see the screen.

your face wasn’t in it, just his. his glasses were off – balanced on your head if he remembered correctly – as he used your lap as a pillow. one of your hands was holding the camera while the other was held over his eyes to block any sort of light. the only thing he could make out was your cursed energy.

you were nearing the end of your first year and whilst gojo was growing more powerful, he was also growing more and more reliant on his glasses to stop himself from becoming so overwhelmed with the constant information he received with his six eyes. he’d overworked himself that day, as he so often did, hence why you’d dragged him away from the school to the seclusion of the tree. 

your questions about the longevity of your relationship weren’t meant to hold deep meaning, you just wanted to take his mind off of the headaches. gojo would choose thinking about you over the searing pain in the back of his head any day. yaga said that once he had a better understanding of his reversed curse technique it wouldn’t be so bad but until then it was just about riding it out.

gojo snorted at the notion. his reversed curse technique only marginally helped. you were what got him through the days when he’d lock himself in his bedroom with blackout blinds pulled down, hiding under his covers till he felt like he could function in society again.

he didn’t unpause the video, however, instead clicking onto the main tab with all of the files stored. 

lifting up his blindfold and dropping it down onto the desk, gojo took a deep breath before he began scrolling. unlike when the first years were simply searching for the ones with their favourite thumbnail, gojo was specifically searching for the ones he knew focused on you.

he needed to hear your voice again, to play it on repeat until it became so ingrained into his skin he could feel your touch.

gojo halted the cursor over the familiar date of your birthday, clicking on it without a second thought as the video filled the screen. it buffered for a moment, giving him a view of the dorm he’d practically spent three years in (despite yaga’s constant complaints and reminders that dorms were segregated on gender).

in the corner of your room was a stack of plushies that he’d won for you at arcades, and your walls were covered in photobooth photos and polaroids of your group of friends. his personal favourite was the polaroid you had pinned just above your desk. it was the two of you on new years eve sharing your first kiss of the year, sparklers in hand and the faint pink of a firework in the background. on the bottom of the polaroid was haibara’s handwriting as he’d scribbled on the date and a small smiley face.

“happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!” seventeen year old gojo sung in the video, swaying the camera side to side above a pile of duvet and pillows. you were somewhere in the middle, half asleep and trying to push yourself deeper into the comfort of your bed and further from whatever the screeching was in your room.

you’d never been a morning person whereas he, on the other hand, had a reserve of energy that never depleted. it was what made getting up at the crack of dawn on your birthday so much more entertaining for him. even as an adult, when the two of you lived together in the comfort of your own apartment, he would either force you to stay up until midnight or gently nudge you awake at 4am to tell you he loved you.

“satoru,” you whispered groggily when you gave up trying to ignore his awful singing, lifting your head up just enough to meet his eyes. he would have done anything to see you physically before him instead of watching you through the lens of a camera. to be looked at with love as you did and not a mix of fear and respect. “if yaga catches you–”

“i’m just singing happy birthday to my girl,” his younger self dismissed, plopping down onto the bed next to you. he preferred your bed over his, a softer mattress he used to argue when shoko would complain about him showing up at your shared dorm several nights in a row. that particular birthday, he was pretty sure she’d been sent on a training mission over in kyoto. gojo’s hand came into frame as he ran a gentle hand through your hair, giving it a little pat when you quietly hummed at the contact. “he can’t hate on me for that.”

“yes he can,” you retorted, rolling your eyes with a tired smile. gojo felt his chest tighten – two years without waking up by that very same smile after almost a decade of having it everyday.

“i’ll blame shoko,” gojo shrugged with a grin, kicking his legs up onto your bed, despite your small protest that he was taking up all of your space. like you weren’t just as clingy as he was.

you huffed out a quiet laugh, your elbow digging into your pillow as you rested your head in your hand to stare incredulously at your boyfriend. “shoko forced the strongest sorcerer of the modern day to enter the girls’ dorms? uh huh.”

“woah woah, i’m the strongest of all time baby, i don’t do second best,” he corrected, leaning down to give you a peck on the forehead. you scrunched your nose up at the contact, but even through the viewpoint of the camera, he can see how your eyes dropped down to his lips.

“i know you don’t,” you smiled and gojo dropped the camera down as he moved to give you your first real kiss of seventeen. present day gojo sucked in a breath, willing for himself to get through at least one several minute video of you until he started crying.

the kiss ended all too quickly as gojo shoved the camera back into your face, the flash causing you to squint and squeeze your eyes closed. “now smile and say cheese, you’re seventeen!”

“woo!” you cheered half heartedly, giving in to his infectious excitement. blowing the camera a tired kiss, you shuffled yourself back deep beneath your duvet. “now can i go back to sleep?”

“as long as i can stay.”

“fine,” you dragged out, though you both knew you wanted him to just as much. yaga be damned. the video ended several seconds later and an odd silence filled his office. 

he’d only ever watched several of these videos once or twice – back when he still had you to curl up into his side and reminisce with him and laugh at nanami’s old haircut. if he was being honest, he didn’t even remember he’d recorded that (though he was glad he did).

gojo was more confident this time when he scrolled, his hands no longer shaking as much as they had been as he smiled at the life he once had. a life with you and geto.

this time he stopped at a thumbnail with the three of you; gojo holding up the camera high as the three of you posed like it was a photo. it was at one of only a handful clan events you had attended together, with both you and geto as gojo’s plus ones. he and geto were in matching suits and you were in a floor length dress that he’d spent way too much money on (but you looked so pretty when you tried it on he couldn’t not get it for you).

“hi this is mtv,” you clapped your hands together, “and welcome to my crib.” his younger self waved his hands around in the background (geto was recording), showing off the spiralling architecture that cost more money than fathomable. 

gojo quietly laughed in his office. the politics of clans and these events were the last reason he’d ever chosen to attend them. seeing you all dressed up and running around buildings with a million rooms were right at the top. his favourite had to be when both the first years, shoko and utahime had also been in attendance, but after haibara’s death, hanging around with the clans that upheld the institution that killed their friend seemed distasteful.

“this is my in house art museum collection.” you led geto along one of the vast corridors, pointing into a room with dozens of framed canvases of art from all across the globe. “this is where i come in for inspiration and to truly just feel art you know?”

“i wasn’t aware you had skills beyond stickmen,” geto interjected and you raised both your middle fingers at him.

“art is subjective, di–”

“woah, i have standards to uphold here,” gojo cupped a hand over your mouth, stopping any expletive leaving you. you hummed in annoyance and the white haired sorcerer grinned, nodding his head over to a partially opened door. “we don’t need to argue when we have a whole cinema room to ourselves.” gojo remembered the stain of red lipstick you’d left on his hand when he let you go (you’d refused to kiss him all evening because of your makeup).

the cinema room was massive: rows and rows of sleek leather seats that looked out of place when compared to the aesthetic of the building. this was someone’s home, though it looked like anything but.

“this is my cinema room,” geto held onto the back of one of the chairs as he loosened his tie. he lowered his voice as he leant closer to the camera gojo was now holding. “we used to have two but daddy converted the smaller one into a sauna so now we only have this one,” he said with an upturned nose, and you could be heard giggling in the background at his faux disgust.

you nor geto were from the same wealthy background as gojo was and loved to poke fun at his high status background.

“oi!” an official that was supposed to be watching for any curses or curse users that tried to sneak into the event pointed a light into the cinema room. “you kids shouldn’t be back here!”

gojo laughed, throwing the camera to geto as he grabbed your hand and led you quickly down the stairs to another exit at the bottom of the stairs. geto turned off the recording once he’d grabbed a hold of the device in favour of focusing on not being caught. it wasn’t like there would be any real consequence – they were with gojo satoru after all.

the white hair sorcerer smiled as he thought back to the rest of the night. obviously, you’d all managed to get away – though he had suffered your wrath at the fact your legs weren’t as long as their’s were and you were running in heels. two strikes, but he’d made it up to you by taking you out for ice cream instead of going back to hear the speeches.

it wasn’t an exaggeration to say gojo would have done anything for you then. 

gojo swallowed a lump in his throat as your last interaction came to mind. you were arguing, as you had been in the weeks up until megumi’s birthday as he inched closer and closer to being old enough to enrol in jujutsu high.

the only wish he’d ever refused to fulfil: keeping megumi away from jujutsu.

“he’s our responsibility.” you were yelling at him, desperate for him to understand your point of view and he was walking away. dodging your anger by going wherever his legs took him – anywhere but where you were. “we need to protect him. we can’t protect him if he becomes a sorcerer too.” 

“i can,” he insisted, halting in his place to turn and look down at you. his cursed technique was activated, though there was no need for it to be, and all it did was frustrate you further.

“i nearly died today!” you countered, pointing to your neck with a faint scar. shoko’s reversed cursed technique was almost perfect, but not even that could fully erase the deep lacerations that had almost taken your life. “where were you? you can’t be everywhere and help everyone at the same time. it’s just not possible.”

“i can try.” his jaw was tight as he responded through gritted teeth.

“and if that’s not enough?” you didn’t need to see his eyes to know his were locked directly onto yours, daring you to continue. he wouldn’t hurt you, would never dream of it, angry or not, but how could you of all people doubt him? “what then gojo satoru?” you uttered his full name like it was an insult, “you may be the strongest but he’s not. i’m not. we’re mortals compared to you.”

“you’re my family,” his voice broke.

“yu and suguru were family once too.”

gojo clenched his fists at the memory, at the reminder he walked out after that. you were trying to get him to see your concerns, and he’d taken that as you blaming him for the outcome of your close friends. that was the last time he ever saw you; tears welling up in the corner of your eyes at his insensitivity, at his inability to admit that maybe, just maybe, he too was just a mortal. 

everything you said was logical and made sense – he had almost lost you that day, having not initially received the message that you had needed backup as he was preoccupied with his own mission. by the time he had arrived, the curse had its claws dug deep into your skin and it had taken everything in him not to use hollow purple and bring the entire infrastructure down in seconds.

despite all he’d done to save you that day, he’d still lost you. he’d only delayed the seemingly inevitable by mere hours.

megumi sat up in bed at the sound of two knocks on the door. he highly doubted it would be yuuji since the pink haired sorcerer had only left several minutes prior, saying something about needing to meet panda. 

to his surprise, gojo stood before him, hands in the pockets of his pants as he half smiled at the younger boy. 

“is itadori here?” megumi hesitated before shaking his head. “good,” gojo held up the missing dvd, “we need to talk.”

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts @maliakealoha @cherrypieyourface @k4romis @monsieurgucchi @bofadeezs @777userz @polarbvnny @chonkercatto @tenshis-cake @haitanibros0007 @ba-ks @liaurokodaki @urfavvirg0 @lofasofabread @r0ckst4rjk @vee-ai @aiikuraa @melileli0001 @rinshoe @vinivave @yell0wdreams @sukunasleftkneecap @malikazz243 @sad-darksoul @giannitaa @maliciousmace @name-insert @splxtscreen @kimvmarvel @ieathairs @janbannan @ja-zz @vangoes @starringz @ciscob1tes @theoriginaluzisimp @thirtykiwis @vivienne2000 @whydohumansss @purpleguk @simeon-lovergirl @missesgojosatoru @loveroftheoldestdream @mkaiiserr

if ive missed anyone im so sorry send me a little reminder &lt;3

[hoseoksluna]

SMOKE, v. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook & taehyung)

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 8.2k

summary: everything that hurt has stopped.  

pinterest board: smoke / playlist: moon kitty's playlist / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: yoongi is perfect, mutual masturbation, lots of lustful thoughts of sex and oral, yoongi's pov—literally the biggest warning, sex toys, desperation, praise kink, neediness, mentions of punishment & an actual punishment, too.

note: this might be the best chapter in the series and unfortunately, it's the last chapter i post before my hiatus. thanks to my bestest friend in the world, @tkslovechild, this series is finally moving forward somewhere and it's not a source of my depression anymore. i hope you all enjoy this chapter, my babies. see you after my hiatus. i will miss you all, terribly. luna loves you forever.

side note: make sure to listen to oc's playlist. it's so good.

The lights must be blaring, in the bizarre simplicity of our current happenstance, and the toys for adults must be tinged with a variety of colors, but my eyes are moored on the prismatic delicacy of her utter engrossment. 

Pupils wide and swallowing each detail of the display of the instruments of pleasure, my cock is so tight in my pants that I struggle for air, my fists clenched by my sides, ever so ready to snatch the product she points at just so I could become the means to make that joy explode further in her. She teased me in the car with her naughty songs, with her coy glances at me to suss out whether I caught onto the meaning—when in reality I tried my fucking hardest not to give in to my imagination and crash my car. Her body was curled so divinely, facing me, and my hands gripped the steering wheel until the leather squeaked. We laughed about it, she blamed me for farting, and I longed to kiss her until she would shut up. 

And I should have—because now she’s teasing me with her utmost fascination with a certain clit sucker. 

Whatever color it is. 

It was her idea to head inside this store. We drove around through the moonlit streets of Seoul for an hour, listening to her playlist reverberating throughout the vehicle. With the windows pulled down, the miscellaneous paraphernalia of her soul—the erotism of persona, the melancholia of her heart and the despondency caused from her pain—rumbling out of them, letting everyone see and hear the echo of her newly bloomed enthusiasm and the sprightliness of her being. She was alive at night, alive with me, liking the principle of me learning about her through this artful form. And I liked her liking that. 

The songs spoke what our mouths couldn’t, communicating for us, because we acted as though my own pain didn’t break us apart. In the vivacity of the car drive, in the lapis lazuli of our own exclusive, atmospheric globe, I didn’t tell her off for being bare for me the previous morning. No, I took off her night dress and drank from the sweet nectar of her bosom, right there on the ivory of her plush couch until she drenched it so well that she blushed. 

In fact, it’s the only thing I voiced out in terms of the conflict. 

Perhaps it was due to the influence of her songs, laced with the heady aroma of her energy—fuck, if I know, but I didn’t regret my words. 

Not this time. 

And her glimmering cheeks flushed like they did in my imagination, tightening my cock in the easy way that she was only capable of doing. I seized the tension between us—and I might as well clasped my hand over her thighs, which were still turned to me, with how her breath hitched in her throat in reaction to my brazenness. 

It was the reason why she wrapped her fingers around my wrist when we walked by that sex shop en route to the restaurant I chose, stopping me dead in my tracks. She held our sexuality close to her chest, not adding to it in the car, but unraveling it there, in the middle of the street, with strangers passing by. Gave me a look only a moon kitty like her could, mischievous yet innocent, and tilted her head in the direction of the store. And I knew, deep in my heart, that it was the little creature inside her that dragged me in—no longer neglected, but attuned to my attention, to my care and the respect I wafted towards her. 

There were no two sides to her, and on no account did we stand on the opposite sides of the chessboard with our agonies, despite the fact all I could see was the monochrome of its pattern once I regarded her enthrallment. 

Somehow, we are unified at this very moment,  and I crave to buy her that clit sucker. 

“Choose a color,” I rasp, and my cock agrees with me, twitching at the idea of her picking a color of her liking, one that can match her nails or perhaps the dark wine of her hair. One that bewitched me so profusely once I observed it under that soft white light of the interior of my car, its sleekness dipping into my heart that began to thunder for her. One that absolutely pales in comparison as I look at it now, the red dull and bleak, my sight unfolding in colors. My craving expands when her eyes widen at my seemingly brainsick idea, digging into mine while her tightened lips quiver in a smile. I smirk, enjoying her coy reaction, and I take this teasing into another dimension, austerely because I want to—and because I can, because we can. “Maybe the red one to match your hair.” 

Her gasp melts into a delicate laughter that tickles my insides and, mindlessly, she runs her elongated fingers through the ends of her hair at her tummy. Taps her long, cross-embellished nail, on another package beside it. “This one has the thingy that vibrates inside you.” 

It’s the same rose toy, but with a silicone attachment with a bulbous end. I’m not sure how those violent vibrations inside her walls can feel pleasurable for her, but the way she gazes at it—with a smirk akin to mine and lowered long lashes that languidly beat against the tops of her cheeks—propels me to seek my answer. 

I take it in my hands, inspecting it further. And I notice that the petals hide a small tongue in their center, simulating an oral sex for her lonesome times. 

Heat clings to my skin as I grow feverish. I am leaving for a tour in a few weeks. Who will be there to eat her sweet little pussy? 

The apples of her cheeks blaze in pinkness, regarding me as she is, and I lick my lips. “This one licks your clit. Do you think it’ll do a better job than me?” 

The rose tint deepens at my teasing words and all I can think about is how she’s gonna press those petals deeper and deeper into her folds, digging her long nails into the silicon surface just like she dug her nails into my scalp. And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. 

I fast forward. 

“Do you want this thing or the bullet?” I ask her, impatient, but for what—I don’t know. What I do know is that I can’t stay in this place any longer with my imagination bursting forth and clouding everything negative I ever felt towards this girl. And while the newness crests joy and contentment in me, I need to be distracted from the lust that has become so natural between us. Or else, I bend her over in this aisle, rip the package open and use it on her while I fuck her dumb. 

I might become unhinged. Just for her, just for the flush blanketing her features. Just so I have her positive feelings in my hands. 

She’s too overwhelmed to respond, redder than her hair and it’s endearing. Kitty cups her face and turns around, letting me see her back, and I do the thing I unknowingly wanted to do the moment I inched closer to her. 

I brush my hand down her noble spine, clothed in the sheer fabric of her tight top that exposes her camisole underneath to me. I hook my fingers on the belt loop of her baggy jeans and bring her back to me. Her gasp is so tender and so unlike her when she collides into me, her fists bunched on the top of my chest, her hair a mess—tangled on her forehead and eyelashes and I’m awestruck. 

By her beauty, by the way there’s no end to her. And I want to keep acknowledging myself with the inexhaustible wholeness of her until I’m gray and stooped in the old age of my affection for her. 

No gold, no golden power staining my hands. She’s silver and I am desperate for that moonlit glory to mist my veins. Privately, for me and her. A thing only we know of. 

No Sun-mi, no Jungkook. 

Pinching the strands of hair away from her face, she seems to be swimming in a thought I’m very curious about. Even more so, when she engages her hands and hangs them over my neck. Calmness relaxes the muscles of my stomach and I take a detailed note of that. 

No anxiousness, no winged demons beneath. 

This is right. This is how it should’ve been from the start. Playfulness, a little bit of lust, and a whole lot of exuberance. Nothing else, at least not this early on. 

And even though I asked her a million naughty questions that I’d love for her to sophistically answer for me, something whispers in my gut that I should share my thoughts with her. And without a hint of fear, I do. 

“This is good, isn’t it?” I murmur, tipping my chin, my body leading me to lean my forehead against hers and I do—I do, I do. Kitty sighs, oddly validating me, and I continue. “I mean I wasn’t planning on buying you a fucking clit sucker tonight, but I’m glad we’re here.” 

She laughs and I lift my head, needing to see her expression of delight. And atypically, my mouth rounds in the same grin and the same laughter spills out of me. 

One that breaks into an indecent groan when she finally graces me with her response. 

“You know, they have rose toys for men as well. So if I’m getting one, you’re buying one, too.” 

It’s like she palmed me over my jeans with her words, but I disagree with a fraction of it. 

“Wrong. I’m getting you one.” 

She appears to be stunned by my willfulness to not let her spend a dime when she’s with me, her mouth parted and her head cocking back just once. And when she closes her pretty, half-glossy mouth, curls the pillows under her teeth and drops her eyes, her palms sliding down my chest, she accepts it. 

And I feel like a man, not a skeleton of who I used to be. 

“You’ll be getting two, then.” 

I chuckle. Draw near to her ear, sinking under the waterfall of her hair, and I hear her breathing harden. “I can get three if you can’t decide,” I flirt, pulling back more to edge her than to stuff my hand with the other toy that includes the bullet, holding it up for her. Her pools sparkle as she looks at them before perching up at mine, melting.

I bite my lip, feral; and I don’t wait for her to answer once I stack them up in one hand, pivoting on my feet. 

“Wait.” 

She steals the box with the bullet and puts it back to its original place. Replaces it with a male version of it, her smile cheerful and full of mischief. I take something else that I cover from her sight, which glides upon the display of all kinds of different cock rings and whatnot. 

Little does she know what I intend to surprise her with as soon as she allows me back into her girlish lust. 

My heart hammers in my chest in tandem with my cock as I pay for it. And I hope that she gets the memo. 

That she’s not just a fling—and certainly not just a friend. 

“Do you think your toy will pass through security?” 

Had I not swallowed my noodles, I would’ve spat them out at her black little outfit. Kitty giggles at my reaction—at the frozen tension in my face as I gaze up at her from my bowl, the soup dripping from my chin. Our movements are simultaneous—hands letting go of our chopstick, but while mine reach for a napkin, hers rummage in the white plastic bag I set down on the empty chair beside me. 

The table is too narrow, and it’s a blessing and a curse. 

Her vanilla perfume hits my nostrils and I’m convinced it’s what the moon must smell like. The box of the male toy is overly big for her hands and her hair shields her from me as she discreetly reads the description and the instructions. I widen my legs under the table, my bloodstream focusing on only one body part of mine, and I wonder if that’s what she was truly thinking of while she ate her own bowl of noodles. 

Fucking myself with a rose fleshlight. Away from her; across the sea. 

Jungkook must’ve told her about our tour. I wasn’t going to mention it tonight because I didn’t want to ruin the night with the sombreness of my work. As much as I looked forward to seeing our Army from that side of the globe, I wasn’t happy with the decision installed upon us—wasn’t happy that our management didn’t ask us about our feelings, whether we’re ready for it or not. It was more of a—you have a job now, do it well, cameras will be rolling—and that was the end of it. Namjoon sensed my dissatisfaction, slouching in his chair in front of me, with his jaw propped between his fingers and his eyes piercing through me but he, too, couldn’t say a thing. 

None of us could. 

It cast me to a deeper sea of my anguish that I didn’t want to stream into my ordinary life with Kitty. I was going to tell her as soon as my fresh emotions would’ve settled and we would’ve settled to the same extent, though having the toy be in the center of it changes everything now. 

It’ll be different. 

I won’t be a puppet, channeling my humanness through my love for our beloved Army. On the contrary, I will be a dancing fool, knowing I have someone waiting for me back in Seoul while being the epitome of my deepest longings and sentiments overseas. My heart, the toy and the means of our communication. 

I wasn’t going to bring the toy with me because if the members were ever to find out, I wouldn’t live it down. But if it makes that sparkle in her irises last a little longer, I shall put extra care into hiding it at the bottom of my suitcase. 

“You want me to take it?” I ask, softly, leaning back in my chair, one hand on the table, the other across my thigh. Her smile curves as she glimpses up at me, and I still can’t believe she pulled out an actual sex toy in a restaurant filled with hungry drunken people. If anyone recognizes me, I’m fucked. Majestically, devastatingly fucked if they take a picture, the said picture gets to our management and I have to write an apology letter on Weverse afterward. 

I’m sorry for having a personal life with a beautiful girl who’s unlike any shallow pretty faces I’ve come across. I will be more mindful of my actions in the future.

Fuck that. 

She can take it out of the packaging and see if it needs to be charged before we can use it if she so much as wishes so. 

We.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and something tells me that I have her to thank for that. 

“Well, I’m sure the Christmas spirit will get to you and you’ll be lonely. Also, let’s not forget it’ll be cuffing season most of all.” 

It’s funny she says that, considering what I secretly bought for her. Hysterical, in fact. Hilarious. 

It’s hidden in the pocket of my jacket, so even though she followed her curiosity into the bag, she still doesn’t know about the surprise that awaits her. I took it out when I let her walk in front of me, discreetly. It brought me more joy than I thought I was ever capable of bearing. 

Still, I wonder how much more of it I can be filled with. And I want to tempt it—brim with it. I reckon she’s the safest person to take that risk with, but the quiet, unknown voice in me adds that it’s not a risk at all. 

Quite the opposite. 

And the idea of cuffing her, both literally and figuratively, draws me closer to that cliff of brisk water of that ultimate joy and I want to get soaked. I want to drink. 

I want to be cleansed by it. 

“Would you like to be cuffed by me, little one?” 

It was automatic, the pet name streaming out of my mouth like that mini waterfall I seem to be dazed by. The question, too. And I’m not afraid, not even a hint of dread crawls upon me, and I find myself hoping that it stays. That everything I do and say from now on is of that automatic matter, unabashed, not blocked, not held back. 

I hope to be a real person with her. Without any ghosts, any demons. Any pain to scar her with. 

The little one doesn’t smile this time, shrinks in her flummox, but still I don’t fear, I don’t wish to grasp my words and put them back in my throat. Taking little steps means grazing your knees and I’m here to place band aids on her bleeding spots. 

I’m here for her. 

And my belief is supported by my actions this whole evening. 

The person I was yesterday is almost unrecognizable to me and I pray, I pray and I will pray once this night is over that it shall remain so. 

“I’m not sure what kind of question you’re asking me right now,” she murmurs, leaning her elbows on the table, drawing close to me like I’m drawing close to her, and it’s good enough. I don’t ask for anything else from her. 

“It’s the one you think it is,” I rasp, making her eyes widen slightly, and I have to chuckle. She’s so damn adorable, standing outside of her comfort zone, and my own eye is watchful over her, over her little steps, band aids ready in my hands. 

At the sound of my soft laughter, she drops her gaze, running her tongue over the inside flesh of her cheek—and there it is. That kind heat rushing through her. I want her to be smoldered by it. 

I want a lot of things when it comes to her, a phenomenon that forces me ponder if there ever will be an end to it. It’s better than feeling dissatisfaction regarding someone, digging a hand deep in them, expecting gold, yet plucking out stones that only cut your skin eventually. The more you dig, the bigger the wound. But I don’t have to do that in her. The little one, the moon kitty herself, gives it over, willingly. All of her silver moon dust, glory, and the ashes from her firelight. 

Maybe that’s how it should be. 

Not expecting, not reaching, but being given, being provided. 

Her eyelids lift and descend over the package in her hands before they root upon mine. And her response to my words keeps me company all the way to America. 

“Show me how well you can use this and I just might be.” 

Dead or alive, I blur between the lines. Jet lagged or just sick with love, it is a conjoined affair in me like the two halves of my heart. 

I miss her, even though I haven’t been able to unattach myself from my phone, the only tangible connection between us—the back and forth exchange of words, emojis and stickers that I had never used in my life but began to spam our conversations with once she coyly hid behind them. I miss her, even though I spent nearly every day with her until I boarded my flight. 

In Jungkook’s hotel room, the members share a meal together while I stay back, settled comfortably on the beige couch by the floor-length windows as the morning sun shimmers its rays across the walls. I’m sporting a hard-on, which I camouflage with a rough-textured pillow across my lap, due to the contents of our text messages. Hobi is slurping his ramen next to me, elbows propped on his elbows, posture slouched, oblivious to the fact that the girl of his platonic dreams is horny and challenging me to join her in her evening self-care. 

Yes, Hobi has developed a crush on the moon kitty and I was the first one to know. 

During the last of our leisure time in November before the tour, Hobi called me up and asked me to join him on his last drinking adventure before our work duties swallowed us. He lured me into his apartment with the two bottles of Hennessy that he had bought for the occasion and we talked work, we talked our management and we talked girls. 

He admitted to me how guilty he felt for triggering such unpleasant memories in Kitty’s mind after I shared with him the reason why I picked her up into my arms and walked away from him. I was purposefully vague in my speech, not wanting to disclose such privacy without her present, without her knowing especially, and Hobi respected that. Told me he thought about her since that day, remembering only the negative, tethered wisps that seemed to curl tightly in his gut. And I, drunk out of my mind, doting and devoted, shared with him that I wanted her. 

Made sure to emphasize in my admission that she was mine. 

It was the bravest thing I ever had done. 

Hobi understood, explained to me that how he regarded her was strictly friendly. Thought that she carried a certain elegance of beauty that was unprecedented in today’s culture, however, with which I enthusiastically agreed. Then he clutched my shoulder, the wounded one, with extra tenderness, looked me carefully in the eye, and gave me a groundbreaking word of advice that shook through my world. 

Don’t treat her like you treated Sun-mi. 

I didn’t grasp the meaning until we opened the second bottle and Hobi, seeing my puzzlement, fleshed out his wisdom. 

Don’t cling, don’t make her the air you breathe. Just live your life by her side and breathe your own air. You worked too hard to get here to backtrack. 

And I tried, within the little time we had together. 

We didn’t fuck, we didn’t devour each other’s bodies. We conversed, I learned her favorite color, the name of her favorite band, the dishes she liked—and the common ins and outs of her life. White wasn’t the only color of her soul, she liked red; that deep, dark tint one would only witness alive in the depth of the night. She liked the color of the stop lights, of the tail lights; she liked the way it bathed my face in gentle, undangerous fire whenever we would get stuck in traffic on our car drives—and apparently she liked my patience. 

Chase Atlantic was her favorite band. 

Tteokbokki her favorite dish. 

And I was her favorite person. A fact I already knew by the way she would kiss me at those favorite stop lights of hers. 

That was all we did. Kiss and converse. And I didn’t cling to her, didn’t make her the air I breathed. On the contrary, following Hobi’s wisdom, I fell for her in the purest of ways, which I somehow made possible in this befouled world. 

And, perhaps, she did, too. A deduction of mine because she began to smoke in front of me at some point. 

She was afraid I wouldn’t like it, a sensitive wound that she let me in on—a formless, unclear one that kept me wide awake at night, scrambling my brain to try and figure out what the fucker before me did to her. That was, until she told me, upon our last car drive during that last week we’d have with each other, that the said wound was caused by my own fault. 

I told her off for being bare for me at the beginning of the trajectory of our closeness and I sowed a poisonous plant of a hang-up in her. A block in her brain that pressured her to hide the “questionable” parts of her from me. 

But there weren’t any questionable parts of her—and I told her, after I pulled out my own pack, lit up one, grabbed her by the back of her neck and kissed her until her lungs were depleted of air. 

It was the bloom of our lust, particularly the vocal, intense apology I strung into her lips, kissing them deeper and deeper until they swelled. It was the beginning of our naughty text messages—right on the cusp of my absence, hooking onto my yearning and expanding it to heavenly dimensions. 

Yes, heavenly. Our closeness represented heaven as we had forgotten about our toys and remembered them during our hypersexual conversations. Face to face, we focused on the stimulation of our connected intellect, our intertwined characters; phone to phone, our bodies sought compensation.

And right now, upon the first morning here in the US, the moon kitty is persuading me into unpacking my suitcase and using the rose toy in my room. 

She’s straining, working so hard, sending me her little stickers of adorable, pleading animals, incognizant to the fact that I don’t need to be that much impelled to do it. She’s staying up for me, needy in bed—I made my decision the second she mentioned it. 

I merely delight in her saying please. 

I get off on it; it makes my cock rock hard and the concept of the members being around and unaware of what she’s doing to me—especially Jungkook, who’s stimming and happy to be eating after a restless night—heightens my pleasure, lengthening towards the heavens. 

If only I could take her there. With my tongue. Like I did the first time, holding her body down so she wouldn’t rise higher without me. 

pleaseeeeee, i’m gonna start without you if you dont get up rn 

I smile at the text message and I imagine her writhing in her bed, her bedsheets crumpled and tousled around her, her fingers tracing the curved petals of her rose toy—itching, impatient, needy; waiting for me. 

My cock grows. And I, too, meet my impatience. 

Just a second. Be good, I respond back to her, locking my phone and immersing myself in reality. 

The boys are uncharacteristically quiet, each one indulging in an activity of their own. Jungkook is huffing, his cheeks full and around, staring down his plate of food as if it was about to grow its own legs and walk away from him. Jimin is watching him with an endeared smile that is split by a secrecy all of us are aware of. Lopsided, its glow is shunned out by the tender, doleful layer of wetness in his eyes. And I know that his tummy will get full by watching him eat and that it will be his only source of fulfilling food for today. 

I clench my fists. 

Hobi beside me has finished his own breakfast and has entered his food coma, staring into nothing at the ceiling as he rests his neck against the backrest of the couch. Taehyung is looking at me in a way that brings my eyes back to him for a double take. With a smirk and a glint in the gentleness of his eyes, he flicks his browns at his own phone and nods his head, telling me something in the silent language that I don’t want him to. 

He noticed something he shouldn’t have. 

The words are flung out of me long before I comprehend what I’m saying, up and ready on my feet, covering my erection with the thick hem of my oversized shirt. 

“I’m gonna head to mine for a bit and take a shower,” I announce, making heads lift in my direction, and considering my situation, I cower in shyness, keeping my back to them as I walk towards the front door. 

“The stylist is coming at one pm and we have a soundcheck at three thirty,” Namjoon informs, and I pivot to look at him, at all six of them while my hand remains on the doorknob. 

Jungkook is rubbing his eyes and I take one last look at his faded mint hair, saying goodbye to it in my heart. I know what hair color I’m changing my silver hair to, thought of it on the plane and was immediately convinced it was my greatest idea. I nod, sweeping my eyes over the last five heads as if I was going to come back to them as a different person. 

Perhaps I was. 

I ignore Taehyung and his knowing smile as I leave, racking my brain, trying to come up with the reason why he’s acting like this. Did Hobi say something or was I not careful enough, divulging my secret out in the open with my face or my body language? Was the pillow over my lap and my eyes, all of my attention glued to my phone making it that obvious that I’m seeing someone? 

How would they react if they knew it was the Kitty girl? 

I leave it be for now, my cock asking for attention. I fish out my hotel key card and close everything behind me. Taehyung’s all seeing eye, Jimin’s diet and I stoop in my homesickness. 

It’s been two days and I feel as though Kitty ripped my heart out of my chest and folded it somewhere inside her purse when we hugged for the last time. I reminisce on her innocent touch on my neck, the only place she ever touched me besides my hair, on her lips that pressed against that place her hands warmed as I video call her. 

She picks up, immediately. 

I can only see her round head, the red of her hair sprawled messily on the silky, light beige cover of her pillow while the rest of her body is shrouded by that material. She smiles at me, no hint of embellishment lining her face—and something tells me that she’s all bare underneath her bed sheets, too. 

I palm my cock, desperate. 

“How long were you gonna keep me waiting?” she asks, and proves me right as she raises a hand and props it behind her head, the duvet drifting down a little and exposing the beginning of her fleshy peak and my mouth waters. I licked and kissed that breast of hers once upon a time and I would do anything to have that opportunity right now. I would do a better job; I would drive her insane. Spoil her with kisses so harsh that she would reach a point in heaven that no one ever has. 

I think about her question and deem I could never keep her waiting long if I were all by myself. “You know who I was with. Was I supposed to pull out my dick in front of them?” 

She giggles at my bizarre response, shifting her head to find a more comfortable spot, and the wholeness of her breasts greets me.

Bless all silky beddings. The superior invention of all. 

“Oh, hello there,” I joke, deepening her giggles and she angles her phone so I don’t see anything, breaking me apart. 

I shall punish her for it. 

I set my phone down against the table by the wall and take my shirt off. My angle allows her to see the state of me that she created with her lust—by telling me that she was up and desperate for me, craving the toy that I bought for her and that she wouldn’t use it unless I did with her at the same time. I didn’t need any details, any obscenities that I know full well she’s capable of giving me. Just her admitting to me that she needed me, trusting me enough with that intimate information made me so hard that I couldn’t contain myself. 

I watch her eyes glide down my body that isn’t good enough to be regarded like she does, stopping at the weakness she’s effectuated in my groin. And I let her, the first person who ever looked at me with such raw, undomesticated hunger. 

And I wish she would eat me up. Get on a plane, get to this hotel, to my room and take her time taking out my bones. I am for her taking—and I have been since the first time our eyes linked. 

“You’re not really helping me right now,” she croaks out, her raspy voice enveloping around my aching cock and I can say the same. Especially when she shifts entirely, rolls over to her tummy and I can see her natural face better, the carmine of her hair that veils and tickles her cleavage, enough that she flicks it behind her shoulder, letting me be the witness to her bare skin. 

Now she’s punishing me. 

“Was I supposed to help you? I thought we’re helping ourselves,” I tease, and my words pull her mouth apart, even more so when I begin to take off my belt, making sure I tug it out of my belt loops swiftly. She bites her lip, ruining me, and I want to use that leather on her. I fold it in half and point it at her. “This is what you’re getting once I see you.” 

She licks the skin she bit onto, her eyes widening, and I quiver—I quiver because she likes the idea. 

“What for?” she asks, raising her voice a little bit, and I chuckle. 

“For being so goddamn beautiful.” 

Kitty blushes and curls her lips under her teeth like I’ve noticed she so often does. I like it so much, so fucking much that I yearn for her to do it when she takes my cock into her throat for the first time. 

I know she will do a good job, swallowing every inch. 

“Where’s your toy, huh?” 

My chuckle is savage this time, vibrating in my sternum and I watch her perk up at the sound like the kitten she is. I descend into madness, willingly, hasty to jump head-first into this thing, despite my following words. 

“You just can’t wait, can you?” 

Her ‘no’ is etched all over her flushed cheeks and I crave to kiss it, run my lips all over it so they can remember it beyond this day, this month—all the way into the new year. 

“Did you pass through security with it or does the entire LAX know what a slut you are?” 

Her words spring in me, exciting me further more, and I can’t help but smile and blush, like her. I drop my gaze, fondle the leather of my belt, and I feel little sparks of muted electricity shooting down my arms. My mind outruns me, picturing the way I physically destroy her for her bratty, delicious mouth, and my smile blossoms, denting into my face. 

“Your ass is gonna be red, little one. So fucking red you won’t be able to sit down.” 

She doesn’t back away at the threat and I visibly see my own reaction reflecting in her. And it’s my mouth that parts this time when she props her phone against something, rises her chest in the air and sits down on her folded legs. And I have to hold onto the table, with the belt still caged in my grasp, when she spreads her thighs and gives me the consent to see all of her. 

Her perked, full breasts, asking for me. Her soft tummy, perfect for my hands to hold. And my own personal ruination down low, between those thighs, glistening and sopping wet. 

“Not even like this?” 

My cock aches. I let go of the belt and the clanging sound accompanies me as I unbutton my pants. “Not even like this.” 

My desire lodges at the bottom of me, pent-up and animalistic. And I take my phone, rummage in my opened suitcase for the toy, lube and head for the shower. My manliness doesn’t even move due to how hard I am. 

Hearing the sizzling noise of the blasting stream of the shower, her brows scrunch up in confusion and I enjoy her obliviousness to her punishment. 

“You’re taking a shower?” 

I’m not too sure about how loud the toy is and I’m not risking having my members eavesdropping on our intimate act with their ears pressed against the thin walls. I’m absolutely not risking shit, locking the door behind me after I leave her in the small rectangular hole in the shower and dispose myself of my underwear. 

And when I step inside and the water dribbles down my sensitive skin, ignited from my lust and hers, I discover that my plan is working out perfectly. 

She can’t see anything. 

She can’t see the lower half of my body—and she won’t be able to watch the petal-ornamented mouth of the toy swirling around my cock. 

And that’s what she gets, talking like that. 

“Get your toy ready, kitty,” I say, letting the water drench me before I get the job done. I push my hair back and I hear her gasp, the sound making me stop my movements. I look over to her, swiping the drops from my eyes, and I find her humping her hand ever so slowly. I rage, beautifully, wishing that was my hand she was gliding her pussy on until I realize that I’m the reason she slid her hand down there. But that still doesn’t mean she’s allowed to do so. “No touching or we stop.”

My heart hammers in my chest when she complies and my weakness for her increases, filling up every part of me until she’s the very owner of me. 

I swell up with pride. 

“Good girl.” 

At my praise she plunges her wet fingers into her mouth and I lose my sanity. I lose my name, my identity, and the knowledge of my whereabouts. I’m not in LA, where I don’t want to be, carrying my responsibilities and the pressure of unfairness on my back, but I’m somewhere else entirely. All by myself in a place, where she’ll soon join me. A wintry island, just for us, where I’m not an idol, where I don’t have a job that forces me away from her, but where I’m free. Free to do whatever I please. 

“Good fucking girl. Let me have a taste.” I lean my palms against the edge of the hole and I die when she reaches her shiny fingers towards me, towards the camera. I hum, the sound interwoven with my gentle laughter, and I stop myself before I lick the screen. “Thank you. So good, Kitty. Now, can you be the best girl ever and lick your toy? Make it nice and wet for your pussy?” 

Her breath trembles as she exhales, reaching over for the red rose beyond the set-up of her phone. And she rests her chest against the mattress, upthrusts her bum in the air and while she’s this close to the camera, she darts out her tongue and drags it over the silicone hole in the center, her alluring eyes fixed on me. 

My arousal oozes out of my tip, scalding hot, and I suck in a breath, fucked out. 

“Fuck, baby,” I husk, my eyelids lowering as my whole body catches on fire, and I can’t respire. I grip the edge until my fingers are bathed in white. My desire asks for more. “Spit on it for Oppa.” 

She moans and I nearly explode, my memories of her noises when I was tongue-deep in her flooding through my mind, and I can’t take any more of it. Especially not the discovery that she’s keen on titles, keen on me being the dominant one. 

My palm itches for my cock, but I won’t give in. Not yet. 

Kitty gathers her saliva and she seizes all of me when she spits on it, circling her tongue around the rim, spreading it there. And then she whines and my manliness twitches, painfully, ridding me of any sense I had left. 

“Can we start now, please?” she begs, and I’m ready to give her everything. 

I moisten my lips. “Wait for just a little while, baby. Let Oppa get his toy ready.” 

And under her gaze, I squirt the lube inside the hollowness and all over myself, sighing and tilting my head back when I scatter the liquid along my shaft. The pressure of my fist is delicate, yet it feels as though I’m levitating. I’m confident it’s owing to the fact I’m being watched by those rounded eyes of hers and that she’s observing what her psyche has done to me. 

“I want to see you,” she whimpers, and I don’t feel like punishing her any longer. 

I unclench my fist. “What pretty word do you use when you ask for something?” 

She doesn’t even think about it and my pride enlarges. “Please.”

“That’s a good fucking kitty.” 

She sits up and nearly fucks her mattress, moaning into her hand—and I know, I already know that I won’t last long under these circumstances. 

I’m so eager to give her what she wants that I don’t perceive that she's never seen this private part of me before until she gasps so fucking loudly that I startle. I’ve set her on the lower shower shelf and her mouth is wide open, the toy prepared in her hand. 

“You’re so…” she trails off, shy all of a sudden, and I might pay for her plane tickets after my shower. I’m fucking her so hard that I’ll mark every single inch of mine inside her pretty pussy. 

“Tiny,” I finish for her, and she laughs in that dopey way, even though we haven’t even started yet. 

“Will that toy even… fit you?” she asks, her pools entwined to my cock, transfixed, and I long to kiss her. Despairingly. 

I look down to my little man, to the toy and eventually to her. “I’ll make it fit.” 

Her breath hitches in her throat, pleasuring me. “If you talk like that while we do our thing, I won’t be able to hold out.” 

I hum, deeply, my endearment. “Why is that a problem?” She’s taken aback, like she always is whenever we talk, and I tilt my head towards the toy in her hand. “I want you to ride it for me.” 

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and places the rose between her legs without taking her eyes off of mine. Ever so dangerous, ever so aphrodisiacal. “I want you to fuck it for me.” 

I groan, wrapping my fist around my shaft. “Turn it on, Kitty. Make yourself feel good.” 

She mewls long before she turns it on—and once she does, her chest arches towards me and her eyes flutter back. Her hips slowly find their rhythm as she begins to hump it, unsure at first before falling into its temptation. And then she’s loud, louder than the raging waterfall behind me, sprinkling me, and louder than me when I get to work and tug on my length. 

My noises bring her to me, but she doesn’t fix her gaze on mine—they pass down to my cock, her moans becoming needier, and she encourages me to join her. 

“Come on, Oppa, it feels so good.” 

I wade in a haze, spurred from her pleasure and now the title, unable to move my limbs. “Is it sucking on your clit?” 

She nods her head, stopping, but it brings forth more delight for her. She crumbles, her chest curving, and she saves herself from tumbling by propping her palm flat on the mattress, struggling—struggling to breathe, struggling to talk. 

“I—I’m not doing it if—if you’re not,” she stutters, her words melting into a whimper and I’m gone. 

It’s her energy, her desperation-fueled energy that pushes me to move my other limb and glide the mouth of the toy down my tip. She orders me to turn it on and I do, bending forward in the paralyzing pleasure it begins to give me. 

And it’s me who’s loud as it sucks on my head so vehemently that I, too, struggle. 

“Fuck, fuck—” I groan, lowering the toy down my length just in time for it to take the other direction, and I don’t moan any of her pet names. No, I moan out her name—and I make her come. 

My name breaks on her tongue and it is as my undoing as it is hers. I have to pull it out of me in order not to stop our playtime there, recuperating by watching her convulse while sitting on the toy as it completely traps her in the celestial realm of her orgasm. My cock twitches in the air, yearning to be inside her, and feel her walls spasm around it. I accept my death for the longevity of the bursting of her pleasure and I fall, I face-plant, drastically, for her. Deeper and deeper. 

No way back. 

“Good girl. So good. Oppa is proud of you.” 

She yelps, overstimulation grappling her, and I bite my lip so hard I break skin. She lifts her bum, quivering, and only when she catches her breath and begs me to come for her do I fuck the toy and chase down my own orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take long. Not when she topples onto the mattress and her face is what I come on while she, again, joins me, working her fingers on her clit out of my view. 

“You know I’m fucking you and not this toy,” I mutter, focusing the suction on my tip as I pound it. And when she moans my name and I hear the squelching of her hole, I throw the toy on the shelf beside my phone and use my hand to stain her face as if she were here with me, on her knees. 

My orgasm erupts and erupts, triggering hers, and we come together like this. Close, yet far away. Looking into each other’s eyes—never failing, never deteriorating, never diving into our past pains. 

Lightness blankets me and I feel as though I could fly and drift through this world without any burdens to bear on my back. Kitty looks well-spent and I suppose I reflect her all over again—and shall reflect her until my last dying day. 

I wipe my screen, my innermost craving still yet not satisfied, and I identify what it truly is. As she raises onto her knees, I lean against the shelf with my elbows and reveal it to her. 

“Let me see your pussy. Show me how wet you were for me.” 

She saw me up close, I didn’t.

It is only fair. 

She swears, enveloping her vulgarities around my name, and she obeys. Lies back down against her silky pillows and takes her phone between her legs, spreading them. She parts her wet folds with the two of her fingers and I salivate. Her clit is swollen and carmine from the intense sucking of the toy, glimmering in the faint light, her lips dripping and her hole squeezing around nothing. I wither in need, tasting blood on my lip, and when she runs all four of her fingers up her clit, I begin to heave. 

Hard, all over again. 

“Such a pretty pussy. Oppa misses it.” 

She purrs nonsense, as sleepy as she is, and the transfer back to reality is brutal. I check the time and it must be almost four AM in Seoul. I grieve the time zone between us, hoping the endeavor we shared was worth her staying up for me. 

“Good night, moon kitty. Sleep well.” 

She mumbles the same without omitting my newly deep-seated title. The three beautiful words for her form on my tongue, but I don’t say them. I save them for a better time, for the end of this tour, once I fly her to me. 

I watch her sleep for a little bit, my cock softening. Her hand is furled under her chin and I think about how she’s protecting my heart right in there. It doesn’t allow me to end the call, so I take a shower, place her on the sink when I dry myself off, on the table when I dress myself and turn my microphone off when I blow dry my hair. 

It is only when Jungkook knocks on my door and sloshes his sudden plan over me that I am forced to let her flow in her dreams without me and keep them undisturbed. 

What he tells me is my duty and I don’t hesitate to pocket my inconspicuous knife that carries too many bad memories. 

I thank him in my head that I get to wash those memories away with a different blood. 

What he tells me is this: “Come with me, hyung, we have a son of a bitch to mutilate.” 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ fourth part

[starcrossedslytherin]

Point to the Sky

Sebastian Sallow x reader

WC: 3.4K

A/N: First fic here! Bit nervous to post this, but I’m doing so anyway! I wanted to write for hogwarts legacy and Harry Potter characters (specifically the marauders), so I started a new blog to do so! I really appreciate feedback!

Summary: After Sebastian calls you ignorant despite all you do to help him, you need some time to yourself to blow off steam. Unfortunately, the presence of Ashwinders and your lack of Wiggenweld potions leads to other plans.

---

How did you get here?

How did you get here, bleeding out in the middle of a bandit camp.

You never think things through, you should have thought this through.

It was Sebastian’s fault, it truly was. No matter the fact it was your decision to head out to the highlands today, to stay away from the Castle, or Hogsmeade, or Feldcroft, or anywhere Sebastian would go. It was his fault you needed to get away.

You would do anything for him. You do everything for him. And he does nothing but blame you, call you ignorant, disregard all you’ve done to help Anne, all the pressure and stress this year, your first year at Hogswarts, has put onto you.

Doesn’t he understand?

Doesn’t anybody understand?

Now, none of that seemed to matter. You had decided after your fight with Sebastian you needed out, that anywhere he might be would be insufferable. Claire Beaumont had asked you to clear out two Goblin encampments, which lead you to clearing out more and more and soon you were exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and rage.

That’s when you were caught off guard by diffindo casted at you, ripping through your chest and down your dominant arm. You had let out a scream at the time, falling to your knees and clutching your fresh wounds, swearing blood all throughout your robes. You barely remember blocking the next curse sent your way, returning a stunning spelling and depluso, sending your enemy into a collision with a building nearby which crumpled on top of them.

You finally let yourself collapse, a sob escapes as you allow the day to take its toll on you. Sweat and blood were smeared across your face and you were terrified of letting go of your arm, too afraid to look down at the damage because you knew it was bad. You could feel by the wet spot continuously growing bigger through the torn fabric.

Wiggenweld potions!

They had healed you a million times with injuries almost as bad, surely they get the job done here. You had dropped your bag when the duel had first began and with a little groaning and a lot of pain, you manage to your feet and grab your bag.

Empty.

You let out a weak scream. You knew it would be. You had made more potions last night in the Room of Requirement but you didn’t think to grab them, saving them for a time you planned to go out, not a spontaneous anger trip because you were fighting with… with Sebastian.

The thought of him almost hurt as much as the physical pain you’ve been in. Just yesterday you thought maybe… maybe there could be more between the two of you and today you were cursing Ashwinders because of him.

And yet, you still wished he was here.

That he would be be next to you, fighting by your side, making sure you were alright with a wiggenweld potion because he knew you wouldn’t have any more because he cares about you.

But he wasn’t here.

No one was.

You were here alone.

Except for the Ashwinders aparating behind you.

“Reducto!”

You barely have time to duck and roll out of the way, shooting confringo at your enemy, only to see two of them side by side. You don’t have enough strength in you for a big duel, you barely have enough in you as you shoot basic spells their way and blocking the ones coming at you, including dodging the lightning strikes the executioner is casting. You don’t know how much longer you could last. You could barely hold up your arm without trembling in pain.

You finally have the upper hand as the lightning curse is cast and you pull both Ashwinders in front of you into it, but not before one duelist manages out a quick reducto sent your way.

The spell hits you the same time both Ashwinders are taken care of and you are sent backwards screaming in pain. Your entire side is throbbing and you can’t think. You can’t move. You can only sit there, watching the stain on your clothes grow bigger and bigger.

You need help.

You read something once in a book for class about shooting red sparks onto the air as a call for help. You mentioned it to Sebastian afterwards, he promised if you did it he would always find you.

You hope it was true.

The last curse knocked your wand out of your hand, sending it just out of your reach. Knowing what has to be done, you roll closer to your wand, scraping your fingers in the dirt in a pitiful attempt to reach before you slowly start gasping for breaths to hide your sobs.

Pain rips up your body, pulling a cry from your lips as you try to keep from curling in pain. Your trembling fingers brush against your wand, pulling another gasp of breath as you inch impossibly closer until you can hold your wand in your non-dominant hand. Your dominant hand is useless, you could barely move it, let alone grip your wand. You finally allow yourself to scream, a sound quickly turning into a sob as you bury your face into your arm and still for a few moments.

The pain is getting to you, you can feel it happening as your body grows far more tired than it has all day. Your vision is starting to blur as you roll onto your back, struggling to point it to the sky.

You quickly shoot 3 bright red sparks into the air and they fly high before disappearing far higher than you’ve ever flown. You know it was dangerous, you know anyone could have seen them, could know exactly where you were. Rookwood, Ranrok, any of their lot, but also Sebastian. Despite how you’ve been feeling towards the boy as of late, you could only hope Sebastian could see your signal and get to you first as your eyes drift close and your arm falls to the ground.

---

Ominis was sure he searched the whole castle for you and yet his wand had proved to him quite a few times that you weren’t anywhere here. He did, however, find Sebastian sitting on a bench in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower.

“Sebastian.” He calls out his friend’s name before heading to take the open seat next to him. “Have you seen Y/N? I can’t locate her in the castle, I assumed she’d be with you somewhere.”

Sebastian can’t even look at Ominis as he twirls his wand around in his hand. “Haven’t seen her.”

Ominis is quiet, his brows pulling together at his friends depressing demeanor. “What happened? What did you do?”

Sebastian is taken back, finally looking at the blond boy. “Me? Why do you assume I was the cause of anything?” The silent but knowing look Ominis wore on his face causes Sebastian to sigh heavily. “I… I was with her this morning and I said…” he trails off thinking back on the conversation he called you ignorant and you curtly replied, implying his uncle was correct about Sebastian not knowing when to stop. “I said something I regret, that I don’t know how to take back.”

Ominis frowns, wondering what Sebastian could have said to you to cause a rift between the two of you. “You could start by apologizing.”

“Alright.” Sebastian nods, preparing himself for the idea. “I’ll apologize to her. The next time I see her.” Ominis was quiet once again but the small smirk on his lips has Sebastian’s shoulders sagging. “We’re going to find her now, aren’t we?”

Ominis can only put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “She would find you if the roles were reversed.”

---

Ominis follows after Sebastian who is leading the way through Hogsmeade. Ominis can tell how upset the conversation with you has made him, but he knows how Sebastian has acted these last weeks with his twin’s sickness.

“She’s not here.” Sebastian groans, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, impatient to find you and be allowed back to his sulking. “She’s probably back at the castle somewhere and we missed her.”

Ominis frowns and shakes his head. “She could also be in danger. You know what our friend likes to do in her free time.”

Sebastian’s foot tapping stops. Ominis has a point, but they also know you well enough to know you wouldn’t fight without a supply of wiggenweld potions in your bag.

Unless you left after an argument without thinking of the possibility of needing wiggenweld. “How are we supposed to find her? She could be anywhere! She could be in the forest, or down by the coast, or-or…” Sebastian’s sentences are stopped as he looks out in the sky, ignoring the sun disappearing on the horizon. “Did you see that?” He asks Ominis, not sure his eyes weren’t just playing tricks on him in the setting sky.

“… no.”

“Oh. Right.” Sebastian shakes his head, looking towards his blind best friend and feeling a little dumb at his question. “In the sky, there were these red sparks coming up from the trees south of Hogwarts.”

“Sparks?” Ominis furrows his brows, trying to understand what Sebastian is saying.

Just point to the sky and I’ll find you.

Promise?

I promise.

“It’s Y/N, it has to be!” Sebastian is sure of it. He remembers joining you in the library one day, trying not to be obvious as he stares at you, but it didn’t matter as it seemed you had a sixth sense for knowing when he was looking at you. “Come on!”

---

Sebastian pushes trees away from his face, doing his absolute best not to send them flying into Ominis’ face who was following behind him, using his wand to help him as he holds the back of Sebastian’s robe. “Will you slow down?” Ominis says before running into his best friend’s back, barely stopping in time.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian is quick to say, making sure his friend is fine before focusing on their mission. “She’s around here, I’m sure of it.”

It was Ominis who found you first, sensing your location with his wand as he leads Sebastian in the correct direction. Sebastian freezes when he sees you laying on the ground, your wand trailing off your fingers into the dirt below you. “Y/N?” Ominis says as he kneals down next to you, putting his arm on your arm and gently moving up to your neck. “She’s barely breathing.” He sighs in relief at finding your pulse, however weak it was.

Sebastian is in shock as he looked at you but he couldn’t look past the blood stains on your robes. “She’s bleeding, on her chest and arm, it looks bad.”

Ominis carefully checks what Sebastian pointed out before pulling away, knowing his hands were now stained with your blood. He speaks quickly. “We need to get her to Hogwarts, to the hospital wing.”

Sebastian nods despite Ominis being unable to see it. He glances around the three of you and his eyes land on an empty vial of what used to be Wiggenweld potion. You did run out. His eyes widen before he searches his robes. “I have- wait, I have…” He trails off for a brief moment, absolutely certain he had some somewhere until he pulls out the green vial, “This!”

Ominis furrows his brows until Sebastian hands it to him. Sebastian had kept himself away from you until this moment. He knew deep down it was his fault that you were in this position and there was no way he could deny it, so he stayed back, not wanting to upset you further should you have woken up. However, he couldn’t help himself after he passed Ominis the vial. His hand ghosted over your head before he brushes your hair out of your face. It stuck to your skin just a bit from your sweat, blood, and tears and Sebastian’s heart ached.

He never wanted to see you like this again.

“You carry a wiggenweld potion on you?” Ominis’ words pull him back to reality as he blinks away any chance of tears falling on his own face. “Since when?”

“Since she started venturing out.” He clears his throat. “Never know when she might need one.”

Ominis doesn’t say anything else. He can only imagine how Sebastian is feeling in this moment and he is worried for you as well. He gently cups your jaw and opens your mouth and does his best to make sure he has lined the potion up with your mouth perfectly before pouring the whole vial.

“There. She should be getting better until he can get her-” Ominis is cut off by the sounds of metal clanking and talking through the tree lines, coming from almost all directions towards them. “Someone’s coming.” He tells Sebastian and jumps to his feet, holding his wand in the air.

“I can hear them. They probably saw Y/N’s sparks.” Sebastian shakes his head, not believing the fact that he forgot that others could have found you as well.

“It sounds like a whole army.”

Sebastian looks down at you, wishing he could have known if the Wiggenweld potion was even doing anything for you. You hadn’t moved at all and your breathing was still short. “We have to get her out of here!”

“How?” Ominis points his wand in another direction, finding more and more goblins, ashwinders, and enemies everywhere. “There’s nowhere to go?”

“There has to be something-” Sebastian’s sentence is stopped short as his eyes land on your bag. You’ve shown him this bag before. You’ve pulled magnificent beasts out of this bag before and right now, that seems to be your only chance at an escape. “Ominis,” Sebastian places a hand on the boys’ shoulder before reaching for the bag, “you might not like this.” Ominis can’t get a question in before Sebastian opens the bag. The next thing the blind blond hears is hooves stomping against the ground, wings beating in the air, and Sebastian’s excited gasp.

Ominis lets out a gasp of his own as he figures out exactly what Sebastian has pulled out of your bag.“Is that-“

“A friend.” Sebastian assures him, placing his hand back on Ominis’ shoulder before confirming Ominis’ thoughts. “A Hippogriff, she once introduced me to after class one day. It was… extraordinary.” There was a smile on Sebastian’s face as he looks at the beast, remembering how excited you were to introduce the two of you. He follows the steps and tells Ominis what to do, just like you showed him that day to gain the Hippogriff’s trust for a ride.

Sebastian helps Ominis up first before heading to you. He hesitates, but knows he must act quickly. Careful of your potentially still wounded arm and torso, he picks you up with an arm under your knees and another around your back. With Ominis’ help, he gets both you and him onto the Hippogriff. He readjusts you, letting you collapse on him as he holds you close to him with an arm around your waist, your head tucks into his neck. He can feel your faint breath on his skin and he can’t help but smile. You are still alive.

He is about to take off before realizing Ominis would surely fall off. “Put your arms around us.”

Ominis is taken back. “Absolutely not.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Do you want to fall off?” Ominis groans before muttering a ‘no’. “That’s what I thought. Now, put your arms around us and help me keep the two of you from falling off.”

Ominis does as he was told, knowing Sebastian was right, and regardless if he was, he would do anything to ensure you would stay as you were currently, almost on Sebastian’s lap. His grip is loose until suddenly with no warning, the hippogriff takes off.

Ominis is hanging on for dear life now.

The three of you and the Hippogriff barely clear the trees before a spell is cast in your direction. It whizzes right by Sebastian and Ominis’ heads, narrowly hitting them as the hippogriff speeds up, leaving the armies to disappear behind.

---

“We are never doing that again.” Ominis complains as he straightens his robes, happy to finally be on solid ground.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and as he opens your bag up to return the Hippogriff, but keeps his hold on you with Ominis’ help. “It wasn’t that bad. We made it back in one piece!”

Ominis wants to make a snappy comment back about how you three almost didn’t make it back in piece and how Sebastian almost lost his hold on you, but before he can get the words out, they remind him of your condition. The two of them rush to get you to the hospital wing, narrowly taking out a few first years along the way, but they managed. The nurse was just fixing a bed as the two boys push open the doors, holding you as steady as they can in their arms.

The nurse gasps at the sudden appearance but acts fast, letting them place you on the nearest bed that was available. Sebastian lays you on the bed, but he doesn’t let go of your hand as he grips it tightly, studying your face. The nurse cleans you up a bit and helps you beyond what a Wiggenweld potion could manage. Sebastian was beyond relieved to be able to gaze upon your face without focusing on the blood and tears.

“It’s good you gave her the potion when you did,” the nurse breaks Sebastian and Ominis’ thoughts, “much longer out there and well, I hate to imagine what could’ve happened.” She shakes her head.

Sebastian blinks back tears. “But she hasn’t woken.”

“And she might not for a while. Physically, she’s fine, her wounds are healing nicely, but she’ll have a nasty scar.” The nurse pauses, adding a few ingredients to a potion for you to take later.

Sebastian and Ominis wait for her to continue, but they grow restless. Sebastian finally tears his eyes away. “So? Why would it be a while?”

The nurse frowns. “Mentally, she’s exhausted. I don’t suppose either of you know how much sleep she’s gotten?”

The two boys hesitate before shaking their heads. “She would always fall asleep in the most random of places. In class, in Hogsmeade, towns, simply on the floor even. I’ve tripped over her numerous times.” Ominis says and Sebastian nods, suddenly feeling guilty for not ensuring you’ve gotten sleep.

“Yes, well,” the nurse hums, “perhaps rest is what she needs best. She can stay here for the night, but you two better hurry off before curfew starts.”

Ominis nods and reaches over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder with a small squeeze before he leaves, knowing Sebastian might want a few minutes alone with you. Sebastian can’t bear the thought of leaving you even if he could just visit in the morning. “Is it alright if I stay? Just for a few hours?”

The nurse eyes him carefully before sighing. “Just for a few hours.” She says and Sebastian nods. He hopes maybe a just a few hours turns into the whole night, and as the nurse places a pillow and blanket next to him, he might just get his wish.

When the nurse leaves the room, Sebastian realizes you two were the only ones here. He can’t help himself as he holds your hand tighter, bringing it to his lips with a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, knowing you’re only here because of him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sebastian?” Your voice is quiet, but he hears it nonetheless.

He straightens up, pushing your hair out of your face and pressing his hand against your skin. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

You shift in the bed, turning to face him but you barely open your eyes. “You’re here.” You repeat his words with the ghost of a smile and Sebastian feels his tears slipping down his face slowly. “Stay?”

He presses his lips against the back of your hand again before smiling. “With you? Of course. I’ll always stay with you.”

•

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if I should write more for hogwarts legacy or harry potter characters?

[the-s1lly-corner]

Do this whenever you want, or just tell me if your burned out for TADC requests and I’ll put it on the back burner. So, there I was, sick as a dog (still am urgh) and had an idea. Could you do the crew with their s/o who got sick via a virus, like a legitimate computer virus that infected them and got them ill. Found it amusing and as a fun way to introduce real world problems to them in the digital world.

Again, this is low priority so you don’t have to worry about it too much. But other then that, I hope you’re having a marvellous day.

TADC cast x reader w/ a computer virus!

Rolling out a request before I work on art stuff tonight, this might be the nights last post !! Still stuck on mobile since my cramps are still. Keeping me from being able to do stuff at my computer <\3

Written these as a group thing since I was struggling to come up with hcs for separate characters <\3

I know you likely meant this to be executed as something akin to a cold, but I cannot shake the idea of a virus being more.. dangerous and intense, given your entire digital body is code.. ponders.. I think I'll go with a middle ground between actual threat and simple sickness

You were in your room, in fact you were hauled up in it for a while, at least a day or two.. some people were starting to get worried; thinking something happened, that you may have abstracted

Ragatha would be the one to find you in bed; body shifting and glitching about

Obviously, given how similar this was to how Kaufmo was discovered, she would think you were in the middle of abstracting.. I think her freaking out with attract the attention of the others

Ragatha is panicking, too weary to get too close out of fear she would get glitched out too and that you'd turn suddenly

Pomni would have a similar reaction, I think, especially since Kaufmo so far has been her only experience with the abstracted , and she doesnt know what the warning signs look like

Jax just. Dips. He is gone the second he sees the commotion

Kinger is stuck in place,seemingly wrecking himself for the courage to try to help you through this

Zooble seems vaguely shocked, taking a similar route as jax; though they dont leave completely

Gangle , who is in the back, scared and worried out of her mind

Caine... zips forward and after (carefully) inspecting you, announces that you're in fact not abstracting! Youre just sick!

Cue a chorus of relief but also, confusion.. actually kinger is the only one who seems to get it.. hes probably seen someone get sick before.. huh.. weird..

Apparently caine manages to stamp out most viruses before they pose any threat, but it appears sometimes things can happen.. but now with you sick, all you guys can do is wait for you to get better

But hey, caine simps! Look at it this way! You now have the teeth man as your personal bedside nurse since hes the most qualified and able to help you through this!

Kinger, Ragatha, and Gangle still visit you when you're recovering! Ragatha checks in on you to see how you're holding up! Gangle gives you little fidgets and other stuff to keep you occupied! Kinger offers reassurance that things are gonna be alright and he offers to tell you stories

Jax doesnt interact with you until long after you've recovered, far too worried about himself getting whatever yucky computer virus you've caught.. zooble is similar.. can you blame them? No one likes getting sick <\3

Pomni is in between, keeping her distance since shes not sure if what you have is contagious, but as a friend she wants to make sure you're okay.. tough calls here..

Overall, the experience itself sucks... the glitching leaves you sore and sometimes you sit still and "buffer" for extended periods of time.. it also feels like a flu, with the body aches and fatigue and all that...

[skirter01]

Top Gun: Fenton - Chpt 1 (Teaser)

Bout time I put this one out here. Will be up on Ao3 in the next 2 weeks!

The thing about plummeting 20,000ft through the air in the middle of the night – if you realise it's a bad idea halfway down, it's already too late. 

“Holy sh*t!” 

Admittedly, not one of Danny’s favourite ways to wake up. 

He could barely right himself as he plummeted through the dark sky in a mess of flailing limbs and flapping NASA pyjama pants. Obviously not his best look, but it wasn’t like he was prepared to wake up falling out of the sky. In fact, it wasn’t something he’d ever had to actually deal with considering he tended to defy gravity majority of the time anyway. 

Convenient, when it works, he thought saltily, still trying and failing to trigger any reciprocation from his core. Since when was he having power malfunctions? It was like he was fourteen all over again, turning his pants intangible in the school hallway. Puberty, ew. 

Danny’s lanky body flipped and folded uncontrollably like a sheet in the wind, while compressed air screamed past his ears and pulled at the skin of his face, drying out his mouth and grabbing at his eyelids painfully. How could anyone do this for fun, ever? 

Honestly, he’d pretty much accepted at this point that whatever was going on, this wasn't his fault. The last thing he remembered was falling into bed next to Sam post online doom sesh with Tucker and completely checking out of the world of consciousness – because yes he could do that now, three cheers for retirement! So, unless he could somehow teleport in his sleep, this was completely out of his control. Which was unsettling, but at least it was some comfort that he could blame someone else for once.  

A chill nipped at his arms as he plunged through more cloud cover, only this time, instead of more dark and gloom, he broke through to come face to face with perhaps the most menacing skyline he’d ever seen. 

Brutal skyscrapers stood like gods, towering over a city swathed in smog and pollution. Plumes of smoke drifted skywards, drifting past keeling cranes and breathing onto low flying aircraft weaving dangerously between high rises. 

Oh he was so not in Washington anymore. 

His eyes followed smatterings of dim light that illuminated bustling roads and jagged bridges, stooping down into a shadowy harbour, dotted with resting ships bobbing in dark water. The very same water which loomed ominously below him. Danny’s eyes widened as the still, murky harbour water rushed at him, and he tried uselessly to grasp any part of his half dead self. Head-on collision in ten, nine, eight….

He managed to swivel feet first, throwing his legs out like a spring to displace the water. Not that it helped. It was like hitting fucking concrete. His legs cracked sickeningly on impact and the icy harbour water engulfed him. 

As he sunk down, a horrible scenario flashed through his mind; his body filled with water, sinking to the bottom of this strange harbour in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, never to be found again. His only memory; a segment on buzzfeed unsolved. 

Naturally, Danny panicked. He floundered on the surface, splashing around with only arms to keep him afloat and the dreaded possibility that he’d just broken both legs. He sucked in salty water through his nose, and choked it down his throat as the dead-weight of his legs dragged him under. 

Sam, the house and the $20 in my wallet are yours. The console goes to Tucker – but I’ll never forgive you if you don’t put him through the blazing trials of hell to earn it. 

Miraculously, it was then that he felt that familiar weightlessness settle over him, and without a second thought, he launched himself skyward blindly – just far enough to miss the rest of the harbour and crash ragdoll style onto the wooden jetty. 

Rolling to a stop on his back, Danny groaned, chest heaving for oxygen he didn't need. His legs were on fire, but at least that was better than numb – c’mon freaky ghost powers do your thing already. All he wanted was to lie there and pass out. But that would just be too convenient. 

The red and blue lights of justice flashed against the white undersides of the expensive moored boats lining the jetting, and the squeal of rubber tires on tarmac had Danny cursing under his breath. Too fucking perfect. 

Car doors slammed, two of them, and the hurried thumping of boots on the flimsy wooden jetty vibrated against his back. Closest he’d get to a massage probably. 

“Hey!” 

Danny sighed and closed his eyes, so it begins.

The first cop was by his side in seconds, sliding to his knees at Danny’s shoulder. “Please, please don't be dead,” The guy mumbled to himself, clearly young by the tone, fiddling with his utility belt for what Danny could only guess was a pair of gloves. “Not another one. Not more paperwork.”

“Your lucky day” Danny wheezed out a laugh, forcing his eyes back open enough to give the poor traumatised dude some clarity. “Still kicking.” 

“Crap!” The cop startled, falling back on his heels, probably having already convinced himself that Danny was dead. He couldn't blame the guy, good intuition. “You scared the socks off me dude!” He put a hand to his chest, “But thank god for that.” 

“Ha.” Danny exhaled exhaustedly. The Officers silver name badge read ‘Det. Grayson’, but his face was young, a year or two older than Danny, he guessed, somewhere around twenty three or four – definitely too young to be a detective. Black hair peaked out from underneath Detective Graysons cap, hanging above blue eyes eerily similar to his own. They roved over Danny’s beaten face and body with the same critical gaze Jazz had been giving him for years. Oh yeah, oldest sibling for sure – out in the wild. 

The assessment halted at his legs, “God, your…” 

The second cop, Graysons partner, sidled up then, measly first aid kit in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He was an older man, stubby, with a crooked moustache, wide face and a badge that read ‘Const. Marshall’. “What’ve we got Grayson? Another body – holy christ!” 

Constable Marshall staggered a few steps, when his flashlight illuminated Danny’s tattered legs. “Oh hell no. That’s bone! I see bone!” 

“Marshall!” Grayson scolded in a harsh whisper, ripping away the first aid kit.

Danny cringed. So much for being calm in front of a patient. His legs must be pretty gruesome then. It wasn’t worrying, not when he could already feel the burning sensation of his ectoplasm trying to cinch them back together. Except, that was just the problem. 

He gritted his teeth. Please stop healing. 

“Sorry about him,” Grayson mumbled, calmly reaching into the first aid kit for some intense looking bandages, “I’m Detective Grayson, and that’s Constable Marshall. We’re with Bluhaven PD, but we’re working with Gotham City at the moment. What’s your name?” 

Danny’s stomach dropped. “We’re in Gotham?” 

“Gotham harbour specifically.” Detective Graysons brow furrowed. “Did you hit your head at all?” 

“No–I, um…” What in the hell was going on? “– sorry, I’m Danny.”

The Detective's eyes were wary, but he hid it well with an awkward smile. “Well it’s nice to meet you Danny. Although, not the best circumstances, I’m sure.” 

Danny chuckled breathily, mind spinning. “Tell me about it.” 

“What in the hell happened?” Constable Marshall asked, white as a sheet and looking all the more like he was about to regurgitate his dinner into the harbour. “I’m calling an ambulance.” 

Danny’s heart jumped to his throat. “Oh no really – you don't have to, I’m fine, I’ll just–”

“No time. We’ll take him with us” Grayson interrupted, tying off bandages around Danny’s legs to stem the bleeding. “Marshall, help me get him up” 

Danny let out a very manly whine as both men gripped him under the arms and carefully lifted his battered body to a standing position. His vision spun, and he wobbled dangerously, because obviously standing on two broken legs wasn’t going to provide much stability. The younger of the two cops was quick to duck under his shoulders and lift the weight off, whilst the Constable on the other side took a second longer to follow his example. So much for seniority. 

“Danny, how are you going buddy? You with us?” Grayson asked, the epitome of calm, but Danny really couldn't give him an answer right now. He continued, “We’re going to get you over to the car okay? And then we’ll go straight to the hospital.”

“No hospitals.” Danny moaned amidst spinning vision and pounding head. 

“Yeah, I’m afraid you don’t really have a choice my dude, sorry.” Grayson smirked. “Nice pants by the way. NASA, very spacey"

Danny died a little more.

---

Whoop! Bit vague, but all the more fun to come!

[hongtiddiez]

last twilight ep 10 thoughts, feelings, etc

back at it again at the krispy kreme friends. i cried this episode for so, so many different reasons. i'll also show you guys my raw reactions at the end of this, the insanity you guys don't see because i want you to respect me a little.

i didn't make one of these last week because i felt like that episode didn't need any words. some things you just need to feel and to talk about them cheapens what it truly is. that's not to say i didn't absolutely love everyone's posts and meta, i just thought anything i had to say could be felt in the episode itself and i didn't need to fumble my way through it.

Day is so at peace with what is going on and it's so beautiful to see, but the fact that he has to comfort his mother, that she's held onto this delusion that magically everything is going to be okay, is pretty irksome. she's had bare minimum a year, i think nearly two at this point, to accept the truth and she just hasn't and now it's biting her in the ass. but once again, this is something so realistic. i literally JUST dealt with this myself with my mother-in-law in October. once again P'Aof captures the truth of people and our natures.

and it's no wonder things have been so strained between Day and Night. she constantly forces Night to be Day's jailer, to escort him to his cell because the warden said so. it's a horrible position for her to put Night in and it's no wonder he feels so alone and abandoned by his family. it's no wonder Day resents him. Night is trying so hard to make them both love him again and he's been trapped in the middle of a war of attrition and paying penance for something that is in no way shape or form his fault. and then to later learn she HAS blamed Night? it's a horrible situation for him to be in, something he never deserved.

this was so sexy of Mhok, as most things are. you should have been there. it should have been you doing that for your SON. you should have taken the time to be there for him, to see that sight with him, to give him what he wants. but you weren't. you never are.

Day's mom stresses about Day's safety but safety is about so much more than a physical state of being. Mhok has done so much to ensure Day's mental safety and well being, he's done so much to improve Day's every day life. but that doesn't matter to her because she always refused to acknowledge things had gotten that bad. in another life Day never met Mhok and i wonder if things took a dark turn. i don't think Day was on a good trajectory.

here we reach bunn cries phase 1. i was so worried here that Mhok meant their entire relationship but i'm glad to see he just meant this chapter. they've started a new book together; no longer one about a caretaker and his charge but a man and his lover. what a gorgeous way to convey that journey. P'Aof i love you, do you know?

Night, i know i wasn't sure about you for a long time but you've really become one of my favorite people this episode. even Night can see his mom taking away Day's agency, can see her taking away everything Day has become this last year. he doesn't want his brother to disappear again, he just got him back.

god Day's bravery here. he's become so confident, so self assured, because Mhok taught him that he could be, that his blindness didn't make him weak. i know i say it every week lately but i'm so PROUD.

FINALLY SOMEONE SAYS IT. the way she took his phone away INFURIATED ME. you're taking away an important tool of freedom and agency from your FULL GROWN ADULT SON. where the fuck do you get off? and talking about doing things her way under her roof. if it was me i would be out of that house so fucking fast, staying with literally anyone else. the tragic thing is Day doesn't have that option. his disability has left him a victim of his mom's bullshit, given her a huge way to control him. it's disgusting, i'm sorry. i've tried to give her the benefit of the doubt for so long but she went way, way too far this episode.

even Night is sick of her shit and knows this is fucked up. Night once again i'm so sorry i doubted you. he knows how good Mhok is for Day and how good they are for each other. Mhok has only ever been kind to Night and i think that has gone a long way in Night's defense of him as well - not that i think he wouldn't have done it without that but i certainly think it has helped.

and what a fucking breakthrough this was. Day once again telling someone 'i see you.' Day is so good at seeing people once he lets go of his preconceived notions an biases. i can't imagine what a relief this was to Night to know it wasn't just his perception of the situation but something other people see and acknowledge. and he brushes it off, says it's because Day's a crying baby, but they both know that's not all of it.

bunn cries phase 2 is here. i BURST into ugly tears at this moment. it wouldn't be bunn meta if i didn't share a personal anecdote so here we go.

ANECDOTE START ->

i mentioned in my last post, prior to episode 9, that my dad was shit. i'm talking had me, an infant, in the middle of a meth den, in the middle of a raid level of bad. one of my earliest memories is a police officer kneeling down and talking to me while i colored in a coloring book and they searched the apartment. (my mom had no idea until a few years ago when a family friend shared this story. he protected me, thank fucking god.) my real dad went on to get clean (as far as i know) but was emotionally abusive among a whole slew of other issues.

when i was two years old my stepdad came into my life. he would've been just 27 at the time. he fell in love with my mom but wasn't sure if he wanted the responsibility of a kid. my mom said okay and broke up with him. they spent months miserable without each other (they've both told me their sides of this story) until my dad said okay, i can do this, and came back. and you know what? he was amazing. he didn't always get it right but he tried. he stayed up and read me The Hobbit and did silly voices for the dwarves and sang the songs and tucked me into bed and he loved me. (we have matching tattoos from that exact copy of The Hobbit, which i still have tucked away safe.)

we butt heads SO MUCH my teenage years. he had a temper and i was depressed and angry and dealing with so much teenage bullshit. but he still took me to breakfast every sunday, just the two of us, and we'd go see movies together. sundays were our day. he always called me his kid and people joked that somehow magically my mom had his kid before even meeting him. we even look alike. we have all the same tastes.

now as an adult we get along really well. (we still butt heads but it's bc we're exactly alike.) he and my mom have been together almost 30 years. he recently came into my office, a little tipsy, and hugged me and spent almost an entire hour telling me how much he loves me, how proud he is of me, how grateful he is that he had me as his kid, how having me is better than any blood child they could've had. (they tried for years but my parents were never able to have any kids.)

<- ANECDOTE END

some of the best family in the world is those that choose to be your family. i was never his responsibility, not really, but he put everything into being my dad. from just this little statement from Night i see so much of my dad in this moment and i couldn't fucking take it.

Night, i love you. i love you so much. he says it so effortlessly, so confidently. what a man.

so i acknowledge here that their mother is finally starting to get it. she's starting to get things right. she even makes Night's favorite food and makes sure he knows he's loved. she takes the time to try and understand Day, to blindfold herself like Mhok did, etc. and i acknowledge it takes people their own time to come to terms with things, to accept things, and maybe her journey of acceptance was a little longer than others.

however.

this scene shows that she always had the option to cancel. she could have always done this for Day. she could have been there. she could have taken him to the mountain and seen the sunset with him. i have to wonder if Mhok's comment really got to her, i have to believe it did. i think she finally realized that she can no longer be the one that's blind. she has to see reality. it's a big step for her and i'm happy but i'm still so annoyed it took this long for it to happen. but hey - parents fuck up. they do. they fuck us up, even if they don't mean to. once again it's something very, very real from P'Aof, even if i don't like it.

my first knee jerk reaction to this moment was wow, she's infantilizing Day again, but then i sat and really thought about it. in the context of this moment, i think this is okay. sometimes it's just nice to be cared for and Day seems completely receptive to it. fuck, i'm 31 and sometimes i just go curl up with my mom and let her pet my hair, sometimes she makes me my favorite food because she knows i had a bad day, sometimes she babies me a little because she knows i'm having a bad day with my disability.

not everything is infantilization. sometimes it's love and care, the only way they know how. sometimes all you want is a parent's familiar love from years ago. so in the context of everything, i think this was a really nice moment to see, Day taking comfort in his mom's love again.

and despite everything Day still managed to see Mhok, to show him he cares, he thought of him, and wouldn't leave him alone. and then he gives him an oven mitt he made himself, he painted himself, because Mhok took him to learn to paint without his sight. they're so fucking beautiful, so kind and gentle and loving to each other. they're so fucking considerate. Day says you're my sun, i believe in you, i'm proud of you, i support you all in one seemingly simple gift.

i'm reserving my thoughts from the preview for next week but i highly doubt things are going to turn out the way they seem to be teasing. i'll wait to see what happens.

as always thank you so much for reading my rambling bullshit. smooches, take care of yourselves, drink water, take your meds, eat something.

tag loves: @nutcasewithaknife @benkaaoi @callipigio @infinitelyprecious

oh yeah here are my raw reactions before i take the time to really think about everything i've watched.

[surrogate-fawn]

End of Term (NYC College AU)

Part 1 of 2

(Link to Part 2 will appear here when posted)

Summary: Fawn is a small-town girl from West Virginia trying to find her future in the Big Apple. She's left everything from her past behind her . . . or so she thinks. During her final exams, Fawn is completely unaware that she's been pregnant since before the semester began -- and her labor has started. As her discomfort grows more intense throughout the day, Fawn gets a little closer to discovering the cause of it. Hopefully, it doesn't take her too long to figure it out.

((This story features Newt, who belongs to @mittysins.))

TW: Cryptic pregnancy, graphic bodily descriptions, implications of past abuse, emotionally traumatic birth experience.

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

I still wasn't used to the subway trains. Sitting on one was like riding an elevator sideways during an earthquake. The g-force of every start and stop made my stomach lurch, and I still almost flew outta my seat every time. I could expect to be a little queasy by the time Newt and I reached our last stop -- and that was when I didn't wake up sick.

"Bleh. I blame YOU for this!" I text messaged Newt, despite the fact he was sitting a few seats over. He was sitting in our usual spot, but that morning I needed to sit in the back corner, where I could curl up and rest against the wall.

I saw Newt check his phone from the corner of my eye, and seconds later I got his reply: "How is indigestion MY fault?"

"I didn't even want takeout until YOU asked for it." I was sure to put a goofy emoji at the end of the message to show I was being sarcastic.

"Sorry. Cravings." Newt replied. A second later he sent a gif of a cartoon cat shrugging.

I leaned over and met his eyes with a deliberately exaggerated frown. There were several strangers sitting between us, and I probably looked crazy -- but what else was new in this city? I hit 'send', and watched Newt check his phone. I delighted in his held back snicker when he saw the giant picture of a middle finger on his screen.

That morning marked the start of our first finals week as freshman at Queens College. Newt and I had stayed up as late as possible, doing some last-minute study cramming at my apartment. Now that Newt was entering his second trimester, he was trading in his morning sickness for late-night cravings of Chinese food -- specifically steamed dumplings with fried rice (but it had to be plain rice, he'd cried when I'd accidentally ordered the pork rice).

"You're a bad influence on me, lol. I need to stop joining in on your craving binges." I hugged my backpack tighter to my stomach as my guts cramped again.

"I'm not the one who ordered two boxes of sesame chicken and three extra egg rolls." Newt retorted. A second later: "Not to mention the lo mein."

"The lo mein was supposed to be for lunch today! >:("

"Ye right. ;)"

Fine, yeah, I'd overdone it last night. I could barely contain myself around food anymore. Ever since I'd arrived in New York City that past summer, I'd been overeating. I guess I was eating my emotions. The stress had been piling up all fuckin' semester!

Moving from the suburbs of West Virginia to such a huge city had my nerves fried by the time I settled into my teeny-tiny apartment that was more expensive than a house back home. Stacked on that was the anxiety of starting school. Stacked on that was the fact my roommate, Makayla, refused to do her share of chores. Stacked on that was homesickness. Stacked on that was studying enough to not lose my scholarship. Then stacked on all of that, my one and only friend in this city was dealing with an unplanned pregnancy.

If my next-door neighbor hadn't been Newt, I'd still be floundering. Without a doubt. We clicked at first sight, as if we'd known each other in a past life. He was my lifeline. Newt had lived in Manhattan all his life, but Queens College was the only local school within his budget and that's how we'd ended up in the same off-campus student housing. He was the one that taught me street-smarts -- which roads to avoid at night, where the best Mom-and-Pop restaurants were, how to hail a cab, and how to read the hieroglyphics that were the subway maps. Although we'd only been friends for barely a month when he knocked on my door with a positive pregnancy test and tears in his eyes, I'd never thought twice about being his shoulder to cry on and his hand to hold.

I didn't care if worrying over him added to the stress of my new life here, it was a worry I gladly carried.

But it seemed all that stress was finally catching up to me.

As the train came to another screaming halt, I was twisting myself into a pretzel. My stomach was cramping again, straining hard to move along the mountain of food I'd eaten twelve hours earlier. The doors slid open, and several passengers I recognized as fellow students stood up. Newt joined them, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder and plucking the air pods out of his ears. I knew I needed to get up, but my legs needed a few extra seconds of convincing.

"You good?" Newt asked as he watched me lift myself off the seat in segments.

"I'm fine," I said, walking with him onto the platform. "I just hope that Pepto kicks in soon."

"How many exams you got today?"

"Three," I groaned, my head falling back on my shoulders. "Chemistry, biology, and that stupid-ass remedial algebra class."

"Ha! I've only got two," Newt gloated, pausing to zip up his oversized red jacket.

"Uh-huh, but don't you have to wait eight hours between them?"

"Gives me plenty of time to study," he said as we continued up the station stairs. The sonofabitch was talking like he hadn't been complaining all week about his morning class and evening class having the same exam day.

"Please," I smirked, rolling my eyes, "I know you're just gonna play The Sims 4 on your laptop."

We both shivered as we walked out of the muggy underground and into the biting cold winds coming off the harbor. I pulled my hood over my head and pulled the drawstrings tighter around my neck.

"You can't prove anything," Newt grinned, his breath coming out as a soft cloud.

I gave him a comedically unamused look. "You're pregnant, so I'm not gonna hit you."

Newt chuckled and placed his hand over the small, four-month bump that was hiding under his jacket. "Thanks for the save, kiddo."

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

The walk to campus was only two blocks, but it felt like I was forcing myself to trudge through mud. I regretted ordering so much food. Clearly, I hadn't learned my lesson, yet.

My overeating the last few months had me in a constant state of bloat. It always felt like a giant water balloon was sitting right on my guts. I was peeing every few minutes, my kidneys working overtime to get rid of the extra fluid I was holding. Gas bubbles were always rolling through me, too. They were mostly just annoying blips of movement but recently they'd gotten painful.

The worst were the large pockets of air that got trapped under my ribs. They would stay there for hours sometimes, making it excruciating to breathe. Nothing in the world could help me when I got like that; I just had to go about my day in agony and wait until the pressure spreading my ribs apart decided to move along.

By now, I was kinda used to functioning while my intestines were trying to kill me; but, God, they were trying extra hard that day.

My stomachache flared up right outside the library, the shortcut I took to get to chemistry class. I sat down on a bench, gripping the edge of the seat and trying not to double over. My sides ached, and a deep stabbing pain plunged deep inside my abdomen. The invisible knife twisted, and I realized I was holding my breath.

"Fawn?"

I looked up at Newt, who had doubled back to check on me. His first class was on the other side of campus, and the library was where our daily routes split for most of the day.

"I'll be fine," I said, waving him away. "I'll buy a soda at lunch. That usually helps."

Newt glanced over his shoulder, down the path he was supposed to take, and then stepped a little closer. "I won't be out of here until five. Don't wait up for me, okay? When you're done with exams, just go home."

"Yeah, I will," I nodded. "That sounds good."

Newt nodded back, looking a lot more at ease. "Is it okay if I come over with some soup later? I found a new recipe online and it looks really good!"

"That's fine," I said, stretching my arms over my head to loosen up my torso. "Just use your key. I'll see 'ya then, bud."

"See you then." He gave me a two-fingered salute and continued on his way.

I checked the time on my phone and sighed. I had to get moving again, or else I'd have half my final exam score deducted for being late. My chemistry professor was a real stickler for being on-time.

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

I'd moved to New York City to finally get my degree in Botany & Plant Science. It'd been my dream for a while to become a researcher and study the pharmaceutical use of plants. Having a pair of old hippies as parents will inspire that interest in 'ya. Queens College was the best scholarship I could get out-of-state, and I had to be out-of-state. I just had to be.

I already had trouble fitting in with my classmates as a "mature" undergrad student. Since when was twenty-nine considered too "mature" for college?! All of my subjects were basic introductory courses, and that meant I was surrounded by fresh-faced teenagers less than a year out of high school. Even Newt wasn't that young. He'd taken a few years off before college, but apparently twenty-four was still young enough to fit in with the crowd.

At least not having any classroom friends meant I was left alone that morning. I sat in my assigned seat and watched the rest of the students file in from the hallway. The desk allowed me to hunch down when my stomach clenched again, the muscles in my abs pinching hard. I crossed my legs and bounced my foot, trying to distract myself from the storm brewing inside me as the professor laid out the rules of the exam period.

I was in pain for that entire hour. It was hard to keep up with the time limit. I had to pause on several multiple-choice questions -- sometimes because they were challenging, other times because the stabbing, twisting pain was flaring up. I began fantasizing about how good I'd feel after I was able to get my hands on a soda, and that daydream carried me through.

Shockingly, I was one of the first students to stand up -- and I'd finished with barely eleven minutes to spare. My professor nodded at me as I placed my exam packet on his desk, and he quietly wished me a good winter break as I shuffled out the door.

Freedom at last! There were about two hours to kill before my biology exam, so I was sure with a light snack and some rest I'd be feeling better by then.

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

I'd worked hard to build up enough of a nest egg to live off in New York. I'd squirreled money away for three years in a secret bank account, and lied to Alexander about how much my hourly pay was. My scholarship covered only part of my housing costs, and I knew living off savings couldn't last all four years of school. However, I was not going to stress over buying a three-dollar root beer when it felt like I was being wrung like a washcloth.

The dining hall at Queens was a glorified cafeteria: fold-out tables, plastic chairs, too much noise and not enough space. I really wasn't hungry, but I knew if I skipped out on lunch I would regret it later. So, I stopped by the Nathan's stand to grab a hotdog and bag of plain potato chips to go with my large cup of carbonated medicine.

I made do with sitting at the empty end of a crowded table, where the huddle of dudes at the other end were playing Magic: the Gathering. That stuff was more Newt's scene than mine, so I put my earbuds in and pulled up the YouTube app on my phone.

The Peanuts Christmas special played on my screen as I nibbled on chips and washed the salt away with long swigs of root beer. I was hoping to summon a little Christmas spirit to help me not feel so dead inside. It was two weeks away, and it was the little candy-red cherry atop my mountain of things to worry about. Between hesitant bites of hotdog, I wondered how I could pry some gift ideas out of Newt last-minute. I'd already gotten him an Amazon gift card, but I wanted to get him something a little more per-.

I sucked a sharp breath through my nostrils, choking on half-chewed bread as my stomach cramped again. It didn't feel the same as the hundreds of other cramps I'd been having. This one was bad. It was really. Fucking. Bad! I curled up in the seat, my hands dipping inside my hoodie pocket to press against my stomach. Even through three layers of clothing, I could feel my muscles clenching.

And it just wouldn't stop. Most of them would fade after a few seconds, but this one just kept going. I doubled over, pressing on my belly and praying the pain would stop.

And then it stopped.

I sat up straight and looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention, but my freckles turned pink anyway as I quickly rose and tossed what was left of my food in the trash. I chugged the rest of the soda.

There were still two exams to go, but I was already checked out for the day. I knew there was a bottle of cupcake vodka leftover from Makayla's birthday party last month. Mixed in a milkshake, that stuff had been sweet enough to give me both a sugar high and a buzz. Maybe if the soda didn't do the trick I'd go home and try soothing my stomach with one of those. I deserved one already, and it wasn't even noon.

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

It hurt to be upright.

My biology exam was half lab work and half a written test. The class was split into two groups: one to do the lab first, and one to do the written exam first. Guess which one I was in.

I was white-knuckling that clipboard as I quietly shuffled from one specimen sample to the next. Identify this bone. Identify that leaf. Is this a rock or a fossil? I was rocking my weight from side-to-side as subtly as I could. The cramping hadn't eased up since lunch. I was feeling this one down to the soles of my feet and keeping 'em moving was the only way I could stay standing.

At the apex of the cramp, I grit my teeth as a new pain bloomed deep inside my hips. I leaned my weight over the table, disguising the motion as trying to get a better look at a specimen. A knife-like stab hit my cervix and the ache radiated between my legs.

Ah, okay. I knew that kind of pain, even if it'd been a while.

No wonder the indigestion was so bad. I always got an upset stomach the day my period was due to start. 'Course, I could never tell when I was due. I tried tracking them, but ever since puberty they'd been on a schedule of their own. My cycles had been mild spotting for most of that year, so I figured there was a mighty buildup of Mother Nature in there that was trying to come out. No wonder I was already cramping so hard.

Oh, boy . . . and from my experience, I could tell I was in for a world of hurt once I actually started bleedin'.

I made it through the written half of the exam free of carnage. The pain was somehow easier to deal with when I knew it was all just hormones. At the water fountain down the hall, I popped a few ibuprofen out of my purse and downed them. There, now I knew I'd be feeling better once those puppies kicked in.

Another two hours, and I'd be free to go home.

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

I was relaxing on a sofa in the library when I suddenly felt a pouring wetness in the crotch of my pants. Ah, fuck. Fuck!

I left my backpack behind in a panic and speed-walked to the nearest restroom. I subtly pulled my hoodie as far over my hips as possible, hoping to hide anything that leaked through my sweatpants as I shuffled past other quietly studying students. I cussed myself out in my head for not thinking to put on a pad as soon as I started cramping.

Once I was hidden away in a stall, I inspected the damage. My underwear was damp with a watery pink discharge as well as several dark red clots. Yes, some of it had seeped through my pants, but not enough to be noticeable. I could still feel it dripping down into the toilet as I tried to clean everything up.

All it took was that first drop of blood for the cramps to reach their full strength. That was always the case when I missed a few periods. I pressed my lips together to stop a groan from escaping as I doubled over and hugged my midsection. My entire torso throbbed and clenched inward. My toes curled inside my sneakers as the pain once again trickled down to the soles of my feet. My jaw locked up as I grit my teeth against the pain, and I felt a charlie horse starting in the back of my neck.

Everything. Fucking. HURT.

The cramp left me feeling slightly weak. It didn't just disappear, it just . . . settled back into my muscles as a soft, constant ache. I held a wad of toilet paper between my legs for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time it was soaked in pastel pink. The floodgates had opened, and it wasn't going to stop. This pink discharge was no doubt going to become a full red tide by the time I got home.

I returned to the couch wearing a cheap cotton pad from the restroom vending machine. Although it wasn't smart, I swallowed two more ibuprofen dry. I sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, killing the last forty minutes before my exam watching videos on my phone.

The cramps just kept coming. I kept feeling blood gushing out of me and into the pad. My labia were constantly throbbing, and not in the good way. Every time I cramped, it felt like I was being turned inside out.

I seriously considered blowing off my algebra exam. I would fail the class, but I could just re-take it next semester, right? Maybe I could re-schedule the final if I brought in a doctor's note? Well, fuck . . . no, I couldn't do that. My health insurance wouldn't fully cover an emergency room visit and I doubted a doctor's note from three days after the final would be able to save my sorry ass.

Besides, I hated remedial algebra so much I felt nauseous at the thought of doing it again. I was just gonna have to suck it up and get through it like everyone else. Then, I wouldn't have to think about anything else until tomorrow.

God, why me?! Why today of all days to start the worst period in the history of mankind?!

I wondered if there was some cosmic deity out there who was taking joy in my suffering. If so, at least this pain was good for something in the grand scheme of things.

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

Despite the biting December air, I felt sweat dripping down my back as I trudged across campus to attend my last exam. It hurt to walk. It hurt to stand. Hell, it just hurt to exist. I made myself keep a steady pace, although my body was demanding I stop with every cramp. When that telltale stabbing would start in my lower back, all I wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry; but I was a grown-up, and I had grown -up stuff to do.

When I sat at my desk, my hips jolted up as if the hard plastic seat had burned me. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and my face burned in embarrassment as everyone turned to look at me. I started a chesty cough to disguise the sound.

I hadn't noticed it when sitting on the plush couch, but my labia were ungodly swollen and sore. This was not something that usually happened during my period. I knew my hormones were way out of whack this time around, so . . . maybe it was some weird hormonal reaction?

Whatever it was, it wasn't making the exam any easier.

My whole weight was sitting square on my pelvis in that uncomfortable classroom desk, and it was torture. I tried sitting as far back as I could to take the pressure off, but that just made my tailbone hurt, too.

My pencil slipped in my wet palm as I desperately tried to fill the bubbles in on my scantron sheet. I wriggled my hips, trying in vain to find a way to sit that didn't hurt like hell. Sweat began to drip from under my sports bra beneath my layers of clothing. It was taking everything in my power not to beg my professor to let me take the exam while lying on the floor. Fuck, I'd even do it standing on my head -- anything to get the pressure off my poor vagina.

Ten minutes in I decided to leave my final grade up to fate. I was in so much pain, I no longer cared if I failed the class. I chose my answers based on educated guesses, skipping the solving process entirely.

I was staggering to my feet within twenty minutes, and my professor gave me a scowl when he saw my worksheet hardly had any equations written on it. He leaned in as I placed my scantron on his desk.

"I hope you know you've wasted your time," he whispered, glowering at me from under his bi-focals. "You may as well have not showed up."

The only answer I could offer was a nod. I hurried into the hallway, tears blurring my vision.

I knew I'd wasted my time. I knew I'd fucked myself over. The further I walked down the hall, the more I regretted not trying harder.

I threw the test after ten fuckin' minutes, just so I could go home and be lazy. I wasn't sick, I was just on my period! What sorry excuse was that for wasting tuition money? There were probably dozens of other students in the same amount of pain I was in, but they weren't throwing away their grades over it. God, I was pathetic. I was so determined to pass this stupid remedial class at the start of the semester, even if it was with a 'C', but in ten minutes I'd given up.

Maybe Alex was right. Maybe I was just too damn stupid to be here.

By the time I stepped outside, I was crying. I pulled up my hood to hide the tears and kept my head down as I began the long walk off campus.

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

The noon train wasn't as packed as the seven o'clock train, but it was still too full for my liking. That was what I hated about the city; you couldn't go anywhere without brushing shoulders with a stranger.

There were available seats, but I couldn't sit down. My lower lips were throbbing with my heartbeat. I had my arm wrapped around a standing bar, clinging for dear life against the g-forces of the train. My stance had to be wider than natural, or else my thighs would pinch and cause a hot, pulsating pain through my stomach. I knew I probably looked like a drunk trying to hold themselves up against gravity, but I reminded myself that New Yorkers see things like that on the trains all the time. No one would say anything as long as I kept to myself. My hood was still up to hide the leaks in my eyes, the flow of tears I couldn't fully control.

I clung tighter to the bar as I cramped again, and a warm gush soaked into the pad between my legs. My eyes dripped as they stared off into nothing, my mind going blank from the pain. A sudden "buzz-buzz" from the phone in my pocket brought me back from the void. I blinked my vision clear and checked the text message. It was from Newt, replying to a text I'd sent earlier:

"Sorry ur feeling so shit :( You going home?"

I rested my temple against the smudged chrome pole and typed my reply:

"On the train now."

Three grey dots appeared below my message.

Buzz-buzz.

"Still want me to come over??"

I replied: "Yeah. Makayla's with her boyfriend for the week and I need distraction."

Grey dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Awww poor bb. A whole apartment all to yourself. Glad I'm not THAT unlucky. /s "

I grinned and dried half my face on my shoulder. Newt had never fit in with his roommate's group of frat boy sports fans. Just like I had never gelled with Makayla's crowd of hardcore party girls. They weren't "bad" people, they were just . . . not "our" people.

"We need new roommates," I typed.

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Ye."

I felt another huge gush, and my thighs pressed together in response. My inner cheek bled as my teeth chopped through it. Fuck. Forgot to not do that.

That cheap pad didn't feel like it was gonna hold up much longer. The last thing I needed was to reenact the elevator scene from The Shining in front of two dozen strangers on the subway. I pulled my hoodie further over my hips, just in case.

"Fair warning," I typed, "my apartment might be a bloodbath by the time you get there."

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

"Omfg."

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

"Ohhh my fucking god."

I angled my lower back into the stream of hot water, pressing my hands into the glass wall of the shower. I hung my head as my body gradually clamped down on itself like a vice, tighter . . . tighter . . . tighter. Now that I was safely inside the privacy of my apartment, I could finally deal with the pain how I wanted: whining like a 'lil bitch.

"Ohhh my fucking god," I repeated, the sentence crawling out of my mouth as a slurred moan.

The water splashed pink at my feet. A few dime-sized globs of red fell onto the shower mat and were washed away. My pad had been soaked through with that thin pink discharge, but hardly any real blood. My body must've been trying to break my uterus open like a piggy bank to get out what it needed, because I felt like I was dying.

"God," I dragged the word out for a solid minute in a deep, angry groan as I sank to my knees. I ran out of breath, but the pain kept going. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pitched forward, eyelids pinched shut and teeth open in a gaping snarl. The muscles in my torso vibrated with tension. It was hard to breathe, my ribs too tight to get a full breath. The air I managed to suck in came back out as another drawn-out groan: "Fuck."

I'd been trying for hours to ease the cramping and indigestion that were teaming up to kill me. I'd taken enough ibuprofen to drop a horse. I'd taken Pepto-Bismol like shots of tequila. Heating pads had helped, but not for long. I'd put an ice pack between my legs to bring down the swelling, but the ice stung. I'd turned the temperature as high as I could tolerate and was now face-down on the shower floor, letting the water hit anywhere it could reach. My skin was scalded red, but the iota of relief I got was worth it.

Knock, knock, knock. Three solid knocks on the bathroom door.

I knelt there with my cheek in a puddle of water, too engulfed in pain to react.

"Soup delivery!" A cheery tenor voice on the other side, somewhat drowned by the water rolling over my ears.

Newt? What was he doing here? He didn't leave school until five. Shit, what time was it? How long had I been home?

I lifted myself onto my elbows, blowing out a long breath as I waited for the pain to fade. As soon as it did, I called loud enough for Newt to hear me over the roar of the shower:

"I'll be out in a sec. Just put everything in the kitchen."

"M'kay."

I didn't hear Newt walk away, but I heard his heavy crockpot being set on the counter -- the kitchen shared a wall with the bathroom. God, that apartment was tiny.

Ugh. I had to get up. I'd been in there too long. The water was turning cold. My hands and feet were pruney. I had to get up. I had to get up.

I climbed up the slick glass wall, leaving smeared handprints in the condensation. The higher I stood on my feet, the worse I felt; but if you'd asked me to describe how, I wouldn't have known what to say. I steadied myself, turned the water off, and opened the shower door.

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

There was a fresh bowl waiting for me on the counter as I stepped into the kitchen, but I didn't have an appetite.

"Don't like it?" Newt asked, serving himself a helping of soup from the crockpot.

My hair was hanging limp around my face and shoulders, dripping water like the branches of a weeping willow; but the droplets rolling down my neck weren't water. A sticky layer of sweat was coating my back and my legs beneath my plush winter pajamas. The bowl of homemade French onion soup sat untouched and steaming in front of me.

"No, it looks good," I said. "I just don't really feel like eat--ugh!" Another cramp started and this time I didn't hold back a moan of pain. "Augh!"

Newt set his bowl on the stove and took a few soft-footed steps towards me. "Does your period usually hurt like this?" he asked, rubbing his hand over my back.

I shook my head and braced my hands against the counter, unable to answer him with words. I tried to speak, but my mouth would only allow a series of small moans and gasps as the pain went on and on and on and -- fuck, this wasn't right! It had been almost a year since my last full bleed, but there was no way in hell this level of pain was normal!

I leaned over the counter, rocking my hips in a fruitless bid to shake away the twisting, stabbing, squeezing pain. As I struggled to fill my lungs with air, my mind scrambled for answers. Was this what endometriosis felt like? A cyst rupturing? A fibroid? Oh my god, what if it was a tumor?!

I felt more fluid dripping in globs onto my pad, and I let out a sob. "It feels so bad!" I whimpered to my friend, tears coming to my eyes. "I just . . . just want it to stop!" My lower back suddenly felt like it was going to break, and I let out another sob as my knees began to give out under me.

Newt saw me falling and he acted quick. His arms hooked under my shoulders, and he arched his back to try and keep me standing.

"Woah, hey!" he cried as he caught me in a low crouch, just before I'd hit the ground. "What's wrong?!"

My first thought was to tell him to put me down. He shouldn't be straining himself like that, and I worried about him even through the blinding pain. I opened my mouth to scold him, but that's when it happened. I will never forget the moment it happened.

A huge weight began to sit on my lower bowels, and I swear to god I thought my guts were going to fall out. A tsunami wave of nausea rolled up from that horrible sinking pressure and hit my stomach like a geyser. I dry heaved and sank lower to the floor as my mind was overtaken by one silent demand:

Push!

"Newt-!" was all I managed to gasp.

And then I was bearing down with all my strength.

I'd never felt anything more intense in my life. It was an unholy demon pressing down on me, and I had no choice but to submit.

A scream -- a full, honest-to-god scream -- ripped itself free of my throat. I rested just long enough to inhale, and then I was pushing again, my chin pressed to my chest. I felt a shift deep inside, pressing against my lower spine. Something was prying me open. Something was slipping its way down.

I screamed again as the realization finally dawned on me: Something was coming out!

"Fawn?!" I heard his frantic voice, but my vision was haloed in black. "Fawn, talk to me!"

I held onto Newt as my lifeline, until I ran out of the strength to push anymore. "Help me!" I panted, hugging him closer. "God, please help me!"

"What is it?!"

"I'm fucking turning inside out!" I cried, growling as I pushed the object lower into my pelvis.

At first, I was convinced my colon or something was about to pop out like a fucked up horror movie; but I felt the object heading to a different area of my body. I could feel my swollen labia pushing out into my pad.

"Augh, I think it's my uterus!" I sobbed as I strained -- unable to stop myself in both regards. "That's what's falling out!"

"What the fuck?!" Newt cried. "That can happen?!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, shit!" Newt jumped up and began circling the kitchen. "Where the hell is my phone?! I'm calling 9-1-1!"

"Please fucking do!" I yelled, dropping to all fours as Newt hurried to look for his phone in the living room.

Forbidding myself to push was like forbidding myself to breathe. It simply had to happen. Tears flowed from my eyes as I was forced to push out one of my own internal organs. Not just any organ, the one that would end my dream of having a family once it was gone.

This was hell. I was in hell.

My hips tried to jerk away from the pain as the object began to force itself though my vagina. I felt the object pressing against my pad as I pushed, and I wondered if it would be enough to hold it in. Maybe if I could somehow keep it inside me, the doctors would be able to pull it back in.

The next push told me I had no other choice but it let it out. What was happening was happening fast. Too fast. Too fast! Oh, fuck! I felt my skin yawn open and pull tight, creating a hellish burn that made me scream myself hoarse.

I hiked my pants down and craned my neck to see between my legs. The first thing I saw was a long strand of pink-red mucous clinging to my bulging lips for a few seconds, before dripping down onto the pad at my knees.

I saw a hint of something beginning to breech out of me. It was fleshy and covered in blood. It was somewhat blue colored and wrinkled, and I was terrified. My inside-out uterus was coming out of me, and I couldn't bear the sight.

I shut my eyes tight and screamed through another huge push. I had a flash of the thought: "Since when was my uterus this big? Isn't it supposed to be small?" But it was gone before I could dwell on it.

Newt's footsteps ran back into the kitchen.

"Okay, I found-."

Both his voice and his footsteps came to a screeching halt as they entered the room. I heard something drop to the ground, and it sounded like the heavy-duty casing Newt kept on his cellphone.

"Holy fucking shit . . . !" Newt's voice was muffled, as if he was pressing his hand to his mouth.

"If it's really bad, don't tell me," I begged through gritted teeth, a small sob jolting my shoulders.

Newt didn't say anything, but I heard him drop to his knees in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw him spreading a hand towel from the sink over his lap.

"It's not that bad," he said, taking my arms and adjusting them so I was holding onto his shoulders. His voice was uncanny -- it was obvious he was pretending to be calm.

Newt draped the towel over his hands and my heart dropped.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered," he said. "Just push."

"Newt?" I asked, turning my face towards his. My heart was starting to pound behind my eyes. "What's happening to me?"

I didn't see him smile, but his tone remained steady. "It'll be okay, Fawn. I promise."

I gripped his arms tighter as another pain started. "Oh god, I'm dying, aren't I?" I groaned. I wasn't even scared at the thought -- at this point, death felt like the only end to this pain. I'd all but accepted it.

"You're not dying, Fawn," Newt said, brushing his cheek against mine. His fledging facial hair tickled. "You're fine, you just need to push."

Sighing, I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and followed my body's demands. The stretch continued, grew worse by the second, until something round and squishy slipped out and dangled between my thighs.

God, it was finally over.

All we had to do was call an ambulance and they could take me to surgery. However this happened, there was still a chance my uterus could be saved. My dream didn't have to be - !

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, I was still pushing!

I screamed into Newt's body as my burning lips spread further over something wide for a few white-hot seconds. There was a disgusting splash that gushed over my inner thighs, followed by the softest little 'plop'.

I was empty. I felt hollow and numb. My body buzzed, but it felt dead. I was left gasping in deep breaths to steady my racing heart, staring off into nothing over Newt's shoulder. My eyes burned from sweat pouring down my brow.

"Fawn," Newt said -- his voice sounded miles away, "look."

"I don't wanna look at it," I sighed, wiping my face on my sleeve.

That's when she cried for the first time.

A warbled little mewl flew up to meet my ears.

I looked down, in the space between Newt and I . . . and I screamed.

A blue cord of flesh was hanging between my legs, coated in blood. It trailed down in a soft arch to the towel sitting on Newt's lap, where I saw the answer to every question I'd had that day.

Laying there between Newt's hands, squirming and screaming and blue, was a wrinkly newborn baby.

She was a girl.

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

End of Part 1 of 2

Author's Note: Thank you for reading Part 1! This is by far the longest fic I've written thus far. It's so long that I had to split it into two chapters! Part 2 will be available very soon. This story will be available on my AO3 page, just like all of my other fics! Feel free to follow me or any of my stories there under the same name.

[soft-girl-musings]

Last Night -- Chapter 3 (Armistice)

chapter 1 chapter 2

cross-posted to ao3

Jake Lockley x fem!Reader

tags: the long-awaited comfort to all that Hurt

wc: 1,755

fic summary: You're usually tight-lipped about your frustrations, especially when it comes to Jake. But a drink too many leaves you spilling your thoughts one by one.

__________

You don't call him that day.

Or the day after.

Maybe it's pride that keeps you from reaching out. Maybe it's fear, or some morbid curiosity to see how long he'll stay away. 

Whatever the reason, it seems naive to simply call or text as if nothing's happened, to assume you can just pick up where you left off. The thought of how much he must hate you right now is enough to cement your radio silence.

The apartment is quieter than usual without Jake, Steven, or Marc underfoot. You each lead your own lives, but there’s been a fairly predictable rhythm you’ve fallen into together; this might be the longest you’ve gone without knowing when you'll see them next. As you go about your day, mixing with the guilt is a nagging feeling at the back of your mind, as if you’ve forgotten something.

If only you could forget, simply move on without addressing the issue at hand. But you don’t know what to say. You doubt a run-of-the-mill apology would be sufficient.

So you lean into the solitude. That first night, you scoot your pillow to the middle of the bed and sprawl out. It’s been a long time since you’ve slept alone; most nights you either wind up tangled with Steven, with Marc resting neatly beside you, or cocooned in Jake’s arms. You stretch and sigh: you may have to get used to this.

The next morning is just as unnerving, the additional hustle and bustle missing from your own routine. You eye the empty bathroom counter as you get dressed: it seems so daunting, so final.

You drink your coffee alone. There’s no one sitting across from you regaling you with trivia, making a dry remark at your brewing method, or sidling up beside you with an attitude fresher than his morning breath. Maybe it’s the caffeine, but you shake at the absence.

The day goes by in solitude again.

That night, you pile your pillows beside you. The bed feels colder than the night before.

__________

Fate (or karma) forces your hand on the third day.

You can be absentminded, but you're in rare form this week. So when you hear the door click behind you when you step out to receive a delivery, it takes a moment to register your mistake.

You're locked out.

And there's no spare key.

That fact doesn't stop you from searching the doorframe, the welcome mat, every inch of the space around your apartment door before you slide to the ground, head in your hands.

They have the spare.

It was a big step for you: giving them a key to your place. Specifically, giving Jake the key. You'd met him last, and wanted him to feel special, like he was an equal part of this relationship. You'd made a big show of it too, wrapping his key in a box and presenting it ceremoniously one night at dinner. It was, in his words, cute as hell.

–Now, however, it adds insult to injury, since Jake was also the one who'd remind you to make a copy for times like this. 

You groan, letting your head thud against the door. You know what you have to do.

Thankfully you'd kept your phone with you. After wallowing for another minute or two, you finally send the text:

I'm locked out of my apartment. Can you come let me in?

Hardly a minute goes by before you get a response:

On my way.

You anxiously bite your lip when you read it. Usually they initial their texts, depending on who's responding. Maybe they won't stay long. Can't say I blame them.

Fifteen minutes go by before you hear footsteps in the stairwell. You shoot up, not sure how close you should stand to the door. You settle for leaning on the wall between the neighbor's door and yours, distracting yourself with the damned parcel that started all this.

The door to the stairwell opens. Your breath catches when you recognize the flat cap of the man you'd hoped to have a bit more time to prepare to see.

Jake approaches wordlessly, barely acknowledging your presence. From where you stand, you can see the slight shadow of stubble that mirrors the color under his eyes. He looks… tired.

He takes his key ring out and fumbles with it for a moment, searching for your apartment key. He still hasn't looked at you. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

"I got worried when you didn't call."

You scoff, the sound slipping out before you even register it. You see his jaw clench, and your hand flies to cover your mouth.

"Sorry," you blurt out. "It's just… that's kinda what led to this whole situation, isn't it? Irony, or whatever," you add with a forced smile. He raises an eyebrow.

"Hm." He grunts as he turns the key, unlocking your apartment door. He holds it open, eyes to the ground again. 

You mutter your thanks and brush past him, entering quickly. He doesn't budge.

You set your package down and turn back to the door.

"Jake…" Your voice comes out more defeated than you'd intended. His eyes finally meet yours. 

Oh, he looks exhausted.

"Do you… want some coffee?" You shift your weight nervously as you ask. "I made a fresh pot. Well, it was fresh before-"

"Sure." He steps inside, letting the door close behind him.

Your forced smile softens into a real one. "Good… okay, good."

You leave Jake standing at the door as you rush to the kitchen, a strange sense of urgency taking over. You select his favorite mug from the dish rack and pour his coffee, adding some sweetened condensed milk (he'd never admitted to liking it, but you've always seen him sneak it in after you pour yours).

Holding his mug and the one you'd made earlier, you head to the kitchen table. Jake follows, setting his coat on the couch. He takes the seat directly across from you.

The silence of your empty apartment  pales in comparison to the deafening quiet that now hangs between you. Jake takes a sip of his coffee; you notice his eyes light up a bit. He still doesn't say anything, but his shoulders visibly relax.

"How did you-" "Jake, I wanted to-"

You both pause, and a nervous laugh slips out before you can stop it. Jake begins again.

"How did you feel... after? In the morning?"

You shrug. "I got the hangover I deserved."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. Karma's a bitch."

You fidget with the handle of your coffee mug. It's now or never.

 "Jake, when I said... what I said, I need you to know I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

A sad smile tugs at his lips. "I think we both know that alcohol can do a lot of things, but it can't make you a liar. Quite the opposite."

Your hand tenses around your mug. "...I guess I did mean it, a little. But I said it in the worst possible way, I cannot emphasize that enough."

 He sips his coffee and looks away. After a moment, he speaks again.

"Do you really feel like I suffocate you?" His eyes are low, as is his voice.

"No, of course not." He gives you a look, one you know all too well. Bullshit.

You shift in your seat. "Fine. In the spirit of honesty: I feel... trapped, sometimes. Like we can't move on until you hear everything that's happening in my head."

Jake leans forward, resting his folded arms on the table. "Really," he asks, his tone measured.

You nod. You hate how your voice shakes as you continue. "It was fine at first, but sometimes… sometimes it can be a bit... much, you know? Like, I don't always want a solution, or to tell you everything right away. Sometimes I need to feel things on my own before I talk about it."

You finally reach for him, your fingertips grazing the tabletop. "But that doesn't excuse what I said. Jake… I'm so sorry."

You wouldn't blame him if he chose to walk away. But you hold his gaze, silently pleading with him to stay. To fight, to say something. Say anything.

Jake's brow furrows as he chooses his words. 

"Querida..." he trails off. You sigh in relief at the endearment.

"You hurt me. I guess I pushed you, and I’m sorry for that, but what you said in the car... that hurt." 

"Totally understand. I was out of line–"

You're cut off by the sudden touch of his hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm. The crease in his brow softens as his gaze returns to you.

"But… I forgive you." He squeezes your hand to emphasize the three words you've been longing to hear.

You lace your fingers with his, tears threatening to form. "You're going easy on me, Lockley."

"Maybe," he smirks, a playful glimmer in his still-tired eyes. "But I think we could use easy right now."

You nod, relief blossoming in your chest with every passing second. "We're still finding our rhythm," you offer, squeezing his hand in return.

"I know, I know, just... don't cut me out, okay?" 

"Never."

You eagerly move to the seat closest to him, budding elation slicing through the  previous tension surrounding you both. It feels good to be this close again.

"I promise to not cut you out, but I do want better boundaries for us, okay? So we know where the line is," you add as you grasp his free hand in your own.

"Sounds like a plan, cariño." Jake leans in, tugging you closer. "I'm all ears."

Your cheeks heat at the proximity. The red tinting his own features is enough to confirm he’d missed you just as much as you'd missed him.

“Let’s sort that out later.” You grin up at him. “Want to hear what Evan did last week?”

Jake kisses the back of your hand, his lips curling into an impish smile against your skin. "Please, I’ve been itching to know what that pendejo did for days.”

So there you sit, hand in hand as you spill the beans on your less-than-ideal week. The remaining stress rolls off you as you speak, Jake hanging on your every word. Both cups of coffee grow cold, but you couldn’t care less. You’ve missed this. And as you talk, you know the feeling’s mutual.

You’ll be just fine.

__________

A/N: ok i'm a bit emotional bc in my 15 years of reading/brainstorming fics, this is the first story i've ever finished. definitely celebrating tonight. thank you to everyone who supported this angsty brainchild; i'm excited to write more Moon Boys this fall!

thank you so much for reading <3

tag list: @lunar-ghoulie @romanarose @casa-boiardi @chrissymodi-frost @shadystarlightgentlemen @ivystoryweaver (y'all rock, lmk if you want to be kept in the loop for future stories!)

[autumnbaguette]

Tokyo, 12.22 am.

"Mam, you haven't sleep in two days now. You seems restless since we arrived in Tokyo."

You look at your assistant, well groomed middle aged man, crisp black suit, the only person trusted by the elder to 'accompany' you while being stationed overseas.

"Is that so? Well, I guess i will take a rest for a bit then. The reports can wait yes?". You stand up and walk out from your office. Your assistant follow right away.

Here you are. In the living room that have this big window looking out the Tokyo city skyline. The shimmering lights of the city under, pretty yet somehow so distant and lonely, reminding you of someone you used to know.

"I'll sleep for a few hours and continue with the reports. You can leave your post and take a rest too."

"Thank you Mam. But please take this." He hand you several pills. "You can't sleep without these. I will report to the elders that you take the medicine regurlary."

A bitter pang hit your chest. Damn those elders. Whose fault is that anyway. You take the pills and swallow it.

"Thank you, you are dismissed."

With that, your assistant leave the penthouse. It is quiet now. Eeriely quiet. So you went to the bedroom, walking towards the closet. Changing your clothes into a white shirt thats too big for you. It looks a bit worn out but it will do. You lay on the bed, not even bother to open the bed cover. Again, those night skyline caught your attention. You can't help but wondering Where is he now?

As you about to close your eyes, you sense a presence. A familiar one and you know exactly who it is.

"Yami yori idete yami yori kuroku, sono kegare o misogiharae." You chant the barrier without even bother to open your eyes.

"I see that you're still wearing my shirt as pajamas. Old habit die hard really."

That voice, that damn voice. Sounds so laid back as if nothing bad ever happens. The last time you see him was after the confrontation in shibuya. He doesn't even say good bye, or sorry at least. The fact that everything went downhill afterwards, your relationship with Gojo getting colder and distant as the time passed by. It is a well known fact that You and Gojo somehow blame each other for the downfall of Geto Suguru.

"What do you want, Suguru?" You asked him, again doesn't even bother to open your eyes. Is it the fact that you are so sleepy because of the pills or the fact that you can't trust yourself about all the things that you gonna do to him if you open your eyes. Kill him? Maybe not. But begging him one last time to go back to you seems much more reasonable now.

The bed dipped and he sat beside you. Suguru study your face. Eyes closed, your lashes is a bit damp. Darker eyebags. And he notice your hair. Its different colour now. As pretty as always he thought. His finger caress your cheek, you fluttered your eyes open and meet with his dull grey eyes.

None of you or Suguru said anything. As if both of you really understand each other. Or maybe you just want to kill the time. Maybe if you stay silent without asking any question, he will stay longer.

"Shall I kill the elders? They overworked you a lot." His hand wander to your hair, stroking it gently. You can't help but smile and chuckle a little bit. "That would be great, but no Suguru."

"Or maybe you can just quit? Buy a land in rural area, raise some chickens and ducks. Plants lots of flowers and fruit trees.  Remember that? Have a simple life."

It is strange that after what happened, after all these years, here you are with Suguru, having a small talk like some kind of married couple do at the end of their day. No hatred, no baggage whatsoever.

Indeed you want it, a simple life with him.

Tracing his face with your finger. Almost no differences since the last time you saw him. A little bit freckles here and there. Those small lines at the end of his eyes. No eyebags though. His hair is still the same, the earings, his smile.  

"Im sorry." You said. "I should've known." This time your finger cares his cheek, "Can you just go back? I will do my best explaining everything to the elders, to Satoru. Im sure he will listen, you are still his bestfriend afte-."

"No." Suguru cut you off. His tone is cold, distant.

"Nothing will ever change my ideology, my plan and my future. I love you, i still do. But it doesnt put you at the top of my list. You should be aware of it by now."

Indeed, this is Suguru. The real one. Everyone sees him as the emphathetic, the calm and the good ones compare to Satoru. Yet, this side of him never really caught their eyes. How determine he is once he set his goal, nothing gonna stop him. Not even you, not even his family, not even his bestfriend Gojo Satoru.

It would be a lie to say his words doesn't hurt you. It hurt a lot, you want to cry. Screaming at him but here you are, looking at him. Still caressing his face gently, afraid that if you do it harder He's gonna fall apart like a fine china. Crumbling into pieces.

So, it's okay.

It's gonna be okay.

"I know, but i still wanna take my chances." you said while smilling, trying hard to stay awake since the pills starting to get you sleepier than before.

He doesn't say anything. Suguru watch your face as the sleep starts to take over. His hands keep stroking your cheeks gently. To be honest, he kinda expect you to get hostile with him. Maybe curse him a little bit when he appear, or maybe you will cast a curse spell to hurt him. But you did none of it, somehow he feels relieve but sad at the same time.

Your breathing becomes steady, thats a cue for Suguru to take his leave. One final look at you, "I'm sorry. I promised to make you the happiest yet somehow I always ended up hurting you the most."

He kiss your forehead, correcting your sleep position and pull the blanket over you. Still adoring your face for one last time, "Good night my love. Until we meet again."

[steampunkforever]

Death of an Acquaintance

A man I corresponded with sporadically about vintage advertisements died last year. He lived alone, they didn’t find his body until the wellness check. He still posts to his blog.

It’s all scheduled, little blurbs written for holidays. I don’t know how many he has queued up, but one day they’ll run out, and arbor day or Christmas eve will be the last time he will speak. A hack poet would call this his true death, equating the echoes in the canyon to the last breaths of the already fallen hiker. But he will not die on labor day or Halloween. He is already dead, his written witticisms simply documents unsealed after the fact.

He was an acquaintance. A rare thing in America, the land of everyone’s your friend. My mother, European and complaining, once said that if you would not help them move or let them stay the night on your couch, they are not your friends. Much like the misuse of “love,” my mother found the American classification of friendship too cavalier, splashed about too freely, spread too thin.

Lost in the mire of therapy speak, the internet brims full of Americans who claim they will not help their friends move. I begin to wonder if this is not just the rote selfishness of the therapy-industrial complex, but rather a sign that young Americans have too many “friends” but lack acquaintances, a cry for help in the same way dead malls announce the decline of the middle class.

His passing was abrupt, no diagnoses until after the fact. Yet it left a little empty spot in my life, filled only on holidays by echoing blog posts, functions of a clock ticking on without its watchmaker.

Now you’re gone, dear acquaintance. I barely knew your last name, barely knew you had a girlfriend of 13 years, barely knew what you did for a living, barely knew you for a year. Yet I saw you every Monday for a year, communing in art and libation at a quirky themed bar right off the streets the fire engines rocketed down at set intervals like brilliant locomotives with places to be.

America does not teach you to mourn an acquaintance. There are no more set mourning periods in which to drape ones house in black. There is no etiquette or dress code that instructs you of when you must doff your black armband. 

The cinemas, showcasing art forged by the lowest of the low, those “show must go on” types, tell us that once our comrade succumbs to cannonblast, dies by slow-acting gunshot, or perishes from the type of stab wound that waits for a narrative lull, we must say few sweet words of farewell before heel turning to the narrative. There is barely a mourning period for family. Your mileage may vary trying to take off work for the funeral of a close friend. How then, shall we mourn the acquaintance?

The impact you had was much more than the simple high five and “glad you came out tonight” that last Monday evening we shuffled out of the bar and onto the street. Even as someone I might never speak to again had you simply moved away, rather than be taken from us, parting words of “goodnight” and “see you next week” the last earthly contact we would have with you, cigarette lazily tucked between your fingers, finishing your drink over a discussion of bad pulp cinema the last vision of your animated presence we would see, you will be missed.

Without you there’s a crater. Not mother sized. Not best-friend sized. They never taught us to mourn it. 

I shed a tear for you, acquaintance. I mourn you. You were so full of life within your community, we never saw it coming. It was not the carelessness of a drunk driver or the silent killers we blame ourselves for not seeing or blame on selfishness, and yet I feel your absence all the same.

And so we break rules, mourn you without knowing more of your life than the glimpses of hardship you referenced in passing when telling us your teen self never expected you to make 40. You deserve it. You deserve more than “you will be missed.”

There is no way to end mourning for the acquaintance. No instructed period after which the windows can open again. Just a heel turn, back to work.

This isn’t about my experience, though I can only frame your memory through impression, like a tracker taking note of the footprints you left behind with your colorful sneakers. I will bid you “goodnight” again, even with no “see you next week.” A last high five as you finish a cigarette that would never get the chance to kill you. I’ll leave with a memory of that 40th birthday you held in spite of your teen self.

You were dancing with your girlfriend to one of your favorite songs, picked to follow your showing of Heavy Metal Parking Lot. There was joy and life in your eyes as you boogied like you were 33 years younger, dressed like an extra on the Goonies with a haircut to match. Between you two I saw that look of undying love and affection of longtime partners, and I squeezed my betrothed’s hand about it, whispering how I didn’t know you had a lover, but could tell you were head over heels. In this moment you are crystallized in contentment, captured in a haze of happiness and comradery, lit equally by the red glows of the bar lights and your own joy de vivre.

I will mourn you, acquaintance. I’m just glad you made it to 40 even though you didn't think you would.

[static-scribe]

A Night To Remember | Ticci Toby Oneshot

HI! I hope you enjoy this fic! This is my first time writing for Toby and my first fic post here! I'm sorry if this feels out of character in anyway, I'm still working on how I want to portray him!

-

In times like this, you have to think to yourself, “What the fuck did I do to get here?” And the answer to that question is relatively simple; it's not what you did to get here, it's what other people did to get you here. Specifically, it's what your creepy-ass roommate did to get you both here. 

Where is here exactly though? Well to answer that lovely question, here is attempting to bury a body in the middle of the woods at 3:57 am. This was honestly not what you were expecting to be doing on your night off from work but you can’t go back now. Not when you had already killed your roommate. Oh did I forget to mention you had killed your roommate?

It wasn’t your fault at all, it really wasn’t. You couldn’t control the fact that you woke up to your roommate standing at the foot of your bed watching you sleep, knife in hand. Blame it on the tiredness but you just couldn’t control yourself when you saw that, and you admittedly let your anger get the best of you. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you had already choked the… well you wouldn’t say poor man out. 

Every sign pointed to the fact that you might be crazy, but you weren’t crazy. At the least, you were way too calm about this situation. You seemed to be learning many new things about yourself tonight. Like the fact you were strong enough to choke someone out, or like the other fact you were way less guilty than you probably should've been. Maybe reevaluating yourself after all of this was over would be the best plan.

The sound of a branch snapping freezes you in place. You're like a deer in the headlights. You dart your eyes around trying to find the source of the sound but come up empty. Not knowing whether to run or not, you just stay there frozen. Someone had seen you and you're probably royally fucked. There was no way they wouldn’t tell the police. Your genius plan of hiding the body and reporting him missing in a couple of days was rapidly falling apart in front of you.

Footsteps could be heard to the right of you. Whipping your head in that direction you make eye contact with a guy who was a bit taller. Upon seeing your frightened face he grabbed his stomach and hunched over laughing. You were angered and slightly embarrassed by this and couldn’t help but yell out, “What’s so funny?” You tried to sound confident and calm but you kind of just sounded way more whiny than you wanted.

The man said nothing in response. Instead, he opted to laugh a bit more before gathering his composure. As his laughs died down you felt your face flush with embarrassment. What was this guy's problem? You wanted to give him a piece of your mind, but as soon as you went to speak you were cut off by him beginning to say something. “So this is your first time, huh?” He asked while walking closer to you. The stranger leaned down to get a closer look at your face. He was expecting an answer from you.

You took a large step back from him to create some distance. You wanted to yell at him, but all that came out was an exasperated, “What?” Who the fuck would phrase it like that? Apparently, this asshole does.  

He said nothing in response to your shouting. You watched him carefully as he made his next moves. He approached the body laying on the ground, lightly tapping at it with his foot. His head turned towards the shovel that lay on the ground a short distance off. “Yeah, you’ve def-definitely never done this before.” He started with a twitch of his neck followed by a clicking sound. “You’re lucky I showed up to help you or you’d be fuckin’ screwed.” He laughed, elongating the last word slightly. This guy was really starting to get on your nerves. 

He grabbed the shovel off the ground and put it between his backpack and his back. After making sure it was secure he turned back to look at you, “I’m Toby, by the way.” He stated before he reached down to grab the legs of your now former roommate. This was quite the turn of events. You hadn’t expected him to be enthusiastically helping you but he was, so you probably shouldn’t complain about it. 

You approached the other side of your roommate’s body and grabbed him under the shoulders. Looking forward at Toby, who was staring back at you as if waiting for you to say something. You realized he was probably waiting for you to give him your name so you guys weren’t just nameless strangers. Without another thought you offer him your name to which he nods in approval. 

With little word from each other, you head off in a direction carrying the body while Toby leads. You have little clue as to where you were going, but Toby seemed to know the forest pretty well. 

It was painfully silent for a while. The only sounds being made were the crickets, your footsteps, and the occasional clicks and small words that came from Toby. You figured he probably had a tic disorder and that it would be rude to question it, so you didn’t. 

Eventually, the silence became too much to bear and you had spent who knows how long racking your brain for something to say. You eventually settled on what was probably the most awkward thing for someone to say in a moment like this but that didn’t really matter. “So…” You started, catching Toby’s attention. “You do stuff like this often?” 

Toby laughed a little but this time it was different. He wasn’t particularly laughing at you. Well, he kind of was, but he was more so laughing at what you said. You still felt a bit embarrassed at your last statement. God, why were you so awkward? “To an-” His speech was quickly interrupted by his head slamming to the left side followed by a click. He let out an angry huff before continuing, “To answer your question, I kinda have a knack for these kinds of things.” He chuckled as though he was deeply proud of himself. 

The way he talked so casually about it freaked you out a bit. It wasn’t really normal to have such knowledge on hiding bodies nor was it normal to help someone you don’t know hide a body with such enthusiasm as he had. Like you were one to judge though when you were literally doing a piss-poor job of hiding a body. You were just going to dig a shallow hole, dump the body, and call it a night before he showed up. If anything, you should be thankful he showed up to help you and that he knew what he was doing. 

“That’s pretty cool.” You told him rather awkwardly before the pair of you fell back into silence. You didn’t really know what to say, and he wasn’t talking to you much either. Toby seemed focused on getting to your destination, so you didn’t want to bother him, lest you accidentally piss him off by saying the wrong thing.

Eventually, the dense woods turned into a small-sized clearing. Toby let go of his half of the body and looked to you expectantly, you got the point and let go yourself. “Okay,” He started with a clap, almost seeming excited for what was to come. “Drag the body over there and start digging a hole,” Toby pointed towards the middle of the clearing, “and I will g-gather what we need to get rid of it!” You could tell from his tone that he was likely smiling at whatever he was thinking, but you couldn’t see due to the mask covering his mouth. 

You didn’t argue with him though and did as you were told. You spent the next hour or more just digging while he zipped around grabbing sticks and branches then dropping them off beside you when he had a sizable bunch. You wished you had energy like his. 

At some point, Toby had sat his backpack down beside you and taken his jacket off before tying it around his waist. Maybe all this moving around was making him hot. It was at this moment you decided to look at him and get a good feel for his appearance. He wore a black turtleneck under his jacket, yellow goggles over his eyes, a mask over his mouth, dark-colored jeans, and boots. You couldn’t tell what the features of his face looked like due to all the coverings and the darkness, but you could tell he was rather pale with dark brown hair that looked quite soft. 

Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed that you had completely stopped shoveling to stare at him but he did and was staring right back at you. The both of you made eye contact and you moved your gaze to the ground with a flush on your face. You had to admit from what you had seen he did have a nice body and probably a nice face to match. To say you weren’t at least slightly attracted to him would be a lie but you also knew that nothing would likely come from hiding a body together. The two of you would probably go your separate ways and you’d never see him again. Besides, you did not know anything about this man other than the fact his name was Toby, and he had a lot of experience disposing of bodies. 

When you looked back he had gone back to gathering stuff to, what you assumed, burn the body with. What other reason would he be gathering sticks for? Fetch? Of course, you guys were burning the body.

Toby jogged back with another pile of sticks and dropped them on the ground. He leaned over the hole you had dug that was around the same length as your roommate and nodded in approval. “Looks good,” He said giving you a thumbs up. 

Toby threw the body into the hole with a bit of your help. “So, you start covering the body with sticks and shit, while I get to do the fun part.” He announced, turning his body towards you, waiting for your next move. You weren’t particularly happy that you had to do most of the work, but then again it was your kill and not his. His helping you out was more than worth some labor. 

Making haste, you piled the sticks on top of your poor, poor roommate’s dead body. You probably didn’t go as fast as Toby had hoped you would because he would soon start helping you out. With the help, you guys were able to get the task done relatively quickly. 

After you were done with the sticks you looked over at Toby, expecting him to give you new instructions or to just say anything. He was squatting on the ground digging through his overly full backpack, pulling random things out, and throwing them to the side. “I know it's fucking in here.” He hisses through his teeth, his anger barely contained. His tics seem to increase in frequency and severity the longer he searches which just makes him more irritated.

Toby seems to be getting more angry the longer he searches. “Um..” You’re looking around frantically when he whips his head around to look at you, obviously frustrated that you interrupted his almost hard-to-watch search in his backpack. “Are you okay?” You ask, your eyes settling on his piercing gaze through his goggles. You both just look at each other for a moment before his head violently jerks towards his shoulder. 

“I-I’m fine.” He snaps, looking away from you and returning his attention to his half-full backpack. He lets out a frustrated groan into his hands. You watch his next moves carefully as he grabs the bag by the bottom and just dumps its contents on the ground. That's one way to solve his problem.

Toby seems to become more content when he finds what he was looking for, which happened to be a can of lighter fuel. It was rather large and hard to miss, but you weren’t going to comment on that wanting to avoid another bad reaction. His rapid breathing slows as he calms down which makes you feel less worried about him. 

You approach him from the side and crouch down to help him put his stuff back into his bag. He nods his head at you but doesn’t say anything while you help him. To his right is a small pile of things that include lighter fuel and a couple boxes of matches. 

As you were picking stuff up you caught sight of a camera. Maybe that could help ease into conversation with Toby who hadn’t said much of anything all night. You wanted to know more about him and what was on his mind but you understood his obvious distrust of you. “You take pictures?” You asked, looking over at him with a small smile on your face, almost encouraging him to talk. 

Toby seemed to perk up some at your question and quickly looked over at you. He brought a hand to the back of his neck as he looked around awkwardly, his previous confidences seemingly buried at the mention of himself. “Yeah, sometimes… I mostly just take pictures of things I find interesting.” His tone was almost as awkward as his body language.

“That’s cool!” You smile at him, extending your hand to offer the camera. “What kind of things do you find interesting to photograph?” You ask. Toby takes the camera before standing, slinging the now full backpack over his shoulder, and offering you a hand up. 

Taking his hand, Toby pulled you up onto your feet. “Anyways, I take pictures of stuff like nature, food…” He pauses while looking around, “And y’know…my victims.” He laughs at his words, clearly amused by the fact.

Toby only seemed to become more amused at your facial expression. You hadn’t even realized you were pulling a face until he started laughing more. “Really?” He asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s with the shocked face? It’s not like you haven’t killed someone before,” He said, gesturing toward the hole. Even you had to admit that he did have a point. 

You didn’t know what to say back to him. You couldn’t argue in your defense because there was nothing to defend there, nor could you think of anything clever. So you fell back into an awkward silence of your creation. Good job on finding a conversation topic. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Toby said in a rather nonchalant manner “Who is this guy? Like why’d you kill him?” He asked, curiosity laced through his voice. 

“He was my roommate, and he was always kind of a creep.” You said looking at Toby who just nodded, waiting for more information. “But I always thought he was harmless until he was standing over my bed with a knife.” You finished, hoping your answer satisfied him enough to move on.

Clearly, it didn’t because he began to ask you more questions, “Yeah, and then what happened?” You really didn’t want to go into this, but since he was helping dispose of him then you guessed you owed him some explanation.

“So I strangled him?” You said but it came out more like a question. As though you weren’t quite sure of your answer. It was still hard to wrap your head around the fact you had taken someone’s life.

Toby’s only response was to pull the mask covering his mouth down and spit onto the pile, “Fuckin’ pervert.” He mumbled, quickly returning his covering into place before you could see the other side of his face. From what you saw he was rather attractive, prompting you to wonder why he covered his face to begin with.

 You couldn’t help but laugh a little at the gesture which caught Toby’s attention. “Yeah, I can be pretty funny sometimes,” He said with a slight laugh in his voice, as though he wasn’t taking what he said fully seriously. This just made you laugh more. 

It was nice to laugh. It was the first time tonight you hadn’t felt completely stressed out about potentially getting caught. Having Toby helping you was quite the stress relief, and you felt as though a heavy weight was taken off your shoulders by his presence alone. You should probably thank him after all this was over. You wished there was some way to make it up to him for his help, but you guessed a thanks was really all you could do. It’s not like they made cards that said ‘Thanks for helping me bury a body!’ 

You were so lost in thought that you admittedly got startled when he placed a hand on your shoulder. In his other hand was the can of lighter fluid that was placed in front of you. “You wanna do the honors? I mean he is your kill, not mine so...” He shook the can a little after he spoke, wanting you to take it. 

You reluctantly took it out of his hands and began to splash the flammable liquid onto the pile, slowly circling it to make sure you had as much of the body covered as possible. You had begun to feel slight excitement for what was about to happen. It wasn’t every day you made a bonfire out of some creep. 

Taking your attention off your task, you look over at Toby who can barely stand still. He was picking at his fingers while bouncing slightly, unable to contain his excitement. Based on his behavior and the contents of his backpack, it would be safe to assume that he had a bit of a passion for fire. It was kind of cute, in a rather fucked up way.

Standing across from him on the other side of the body, you shook the final contents of the can out onto the body. Toby was still picking at his fingers when you cleared your throat. He then looked up at you. “Cans empty.” You said giving it a shake for emphasis. 

“Fuck yeah!” He practically yelled, grabbing a box of matches off the ground and waving you over. 

Taking your place beside him, he grabbed around 4 matches out of the box and prepared to strike them. “You ever smelt a burning body before?” He asked in a joking manner, looking down at you. 

 “Um... I can’t say that I have.” You stated, not really seeing the point of his question. Of course, you hadn’t smelt a burning body before. What normal person has? 

He clicked his tongue at that, “Well, it ain’t pleasant, so just be prepared and try not to breathe through your nose.” He patted you on the head twice after saying that which made you stiffen up. That was a bit weird but okay.

In one quick movement, he struck the matches quickly and out burst a small flame. You watched carefully as Toby extended his arm and dropped the matches onto the pile.

With a loud ‘fwoosh’ a raging flame bloomed into life. You could feel the heat tickle at your cheeks even at the safe distance the pair of you stood from. For a burning body, it was almost beautiful.

You noticed shuffling out of the corner of your eye, looking to see what was going on. You saw Toby pulling his goggles down to hang loosely around his neck. Probably to get a view of the fire that wasn’t tinted as yellow as his lenses were. 

Not being able to help but stare, you took note of his eyes. They were chestnut brown and the way the fire bounced off of them was mesmerizing. It was almost as though the fire provided life to his eyes and so did his excitement. He was rocking slightly back and forth as a way to, what you assumed, get his excess excitement out. 

It wasn’t long before Toby noticed you staring at him and just like earlier began staring back at you. His eyes lit up in amusement and he raised his eyebrows slightly before speaking, a smirk ever-present in his voice. You may have just inflated his ego. “See something you like, sweetheart?” He said in a serious voice but burst out laughing a minute later, completely unable to handle the bullshit that just spewed from his mouth.

“You should have seen the look on your face,” He wheezed out between laughs. You, on the other hand, were profusely blushing from both being flustered and embarrassed. It couldn’t have been that funny, but he seemed to find a lot of things you did amusing enough to laugh at. 

Toby was quick to gather himself and catch his breath before slinging an arm around your shoulder with a sigh. You stiffened at the contact but said nothing. His behavior around you was getting way more casual than you expected seeing as you spent a large chunk of the night in awkward silences filled with mostly nonverbal cues. 

You guess you didn’t mind the contact too much because you did nothing to break it. You were content with this in some odd way. Nothing about this was normal nor would it create a content feeling in any sane person. There was probably something deeply wrong with your psyche yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that much. You’d deal with that another day, but as of right now, you were having what was probably the weirdest, most thrilling experience of your life.

Toby cleared his throat and removed his arm from your shoulder, freeing you from the not-so-unwanted but also not really wanted contact. Your gaze met his and for a moment your heart fluttered. 

“So, you enjoying the show?” He asked sounding almost nervous for your answer. You just nodded in response averting your eyes from his. You missed when he had his goggles on, and you couldn’t see his stupid eyes too well. 

Toby took a knee, whipping his backpack off his shoulder before rifling through his bag and pulling out his camera. He zipped up the backpack and took a seat on the ground sitting criss-cross.

Toby looked up at you and patted the ground beside him as an invitation for you to sit down beside him. Making you wonder what he was up to, but without much question you sat down beside him. His body language read as nervous while he seemed to be mustering the courage to say something important. Quite different from his previously confident demeanor. 

“Co-could I take a picture of us?” He asked, looking at you with almost pleading eyes as false confidence wavered throughout his voice. The thought made you kind of nervous, what if someone got ahold of his camera and turned it over to the police? You both would get in deep trouble which is something you didn’t want at all. 

 “I promise no one will see it!” Toby blurted out rather quickly as though he knew what you were thinking. He was picking at his fingers once more while his head jerked again. He was probably as nervous as you were from asking you such a question. “I just don’t want to forget tonight,” He sounded almost sad as he spoke which made your heart clench a little.

What did you have to lose? Other than your freedom by creating more evidence of your crime but then again there was still a chance you wouldn’t get away. There was a lot that needed to happen before you were truly free of your crimes so again, what did you really have to lose by taking one picture? The answer was nothing. 

So with a soft sigh, you gave him your answer, “Fine, but only the one.” You said trying to be stern but a slight smile pulled at the corners of your lips. He seemed happy at your approval and started fidgeting with his camera, setting up to take the picture.

This whole situation was starting to feel quite funny to you. Here you were sitting on the ground with a serial killer, burning your roommate's dead body as the sun came up, and you were about to take a selfie with said serial killer so he can remember tonight. You let out a small chuckle at the thought which catches Toby’s attention briefly, but he looks away as quickly as he looked.

You’re ripped out of your thoughts by Toby wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer so you’d fit inside the camera screen. He puts his fingers that were resting atop your shoulder into a peace sign and you flash a smile at the camera. With a click and a flash the picture is taken, and Toby is looking down at his camera happily. 

“How’d it turn out?” You asked looking over at his camera but he hides it away from you. You shoot Toby a confused look but he just shrugs before stowing it away in his backpack. 

“Don’t stress, you looked cute” He laughs a little trying to sound confident but you could see the tips of his ears and cheeks were tinged in a soft pink. It took you a moment to register what he had just said to you. Did he just call you cute? You couldn’t help but blush a little at his words.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you next time.” Next time? You sure as hell didn’t plan for there to be a next time of you hiding a body, but seeing him again did sound nice. 

Toby pushes himself up off the ground and adjusts his backpack properly onto his back. Once again he extends a hand towards you and you accept his offer for help. “What do you mean by ‘next time’? Are you expecting to hide another body?” You question him but he shrugs again.

“Y’know, next time we hang out.” He says as if it was a fact extending his hand out to you. In between his fingers was a small slip of paper with a number scrawled on it in messy but readable handwriting. It suited him. 

“You didn’t think I’d just let you go off by yourself right?” His question was less of a question and more of a statement. He was just saying stuff he thought should be obvious to you. “Also, it doesn’t have to be hiding a body. We can do whatever you want.” 

Your eyes darted across his face waiting for him to start laughing again like he was joking once more, but he didn’t laugh or show any sign of not being serious. “We like bonded and shit. You don’t just burn a body with someone and then never meet again.” He chuckled as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

You were stunned silent but he didn’t seem to care as he grabbed you by the wrist and started leading you in a direction, “Where are we going?” You asked, dragging slightly behind him. 

Toby stopped moving and turned around to face you, letting go of your wrist, “I’m taking you home. The woods aren’t safe for people who don’t know their way around here.” He started, observing your face for a moment before continuing. “Plus it gives us more time to hang out.” He admitted.

There it was, the real reason. He was quite the character that you had grown to enjoy being around over the last couple of hours. Maybe hanging out with him again wouldn’t be so bad. Toby took your silence as a response of understanding and began walking in the same direction he was leading you. 

The way home was filled with plenty of laughter and pleasant conversation between you and Toby. You never would have thought burning a body with someone would lead to such a strange yet genuine connection. The rational part of you screamed that becoming close to him would probably bring new, yet thrilling, situations that could put you in danger. You didn’t want to listen to the rational parts right now. You were more concerned with what your heart had to say. It ached for excitement, an excitement that only someone like Toby could bring. 

With a smile on your face, you grabbed his hand, hoping he wouldn’t mind too much. He looked over at you and just shook his head before interlocking your fingers together. 

<3

[delyth88]

X-Men rewatch part 2

Next in my X-Men rewatch were X-Men Origins: Wolverine and... uh... Wolverine. I blame the fact they have practically the same title for the fact it turns out I'd never seen the second one before. 🙄

Anywho, before these two I watched the third in the original trilogy - The Last Stand. WhichI definitely did see, in the theatre when it came out I think, and I remembered odd patches of it (like the post credits scene where Magneto makes a chess piece move slightly, and the scene breaking Mystique out of the truck) but somehow completely failed to remember the huge moment in the middle with Xavier and the Phoenix! 🤦‍♀️

So I totally didn't expect that, and then absolutely thought it would be undone by the end of the film, so was left pretty darn heartbroken at the end. :( Spent a couple of days feeling sad for myself and a bit cheated, and then watched Wolverine 1 last night.

This was much as I remembered, but having just watched the others it all made a lot more sense. Though I'm gonna have to go back and work out the memory loss and recovery logic for Wolverine. Or not. I remember enjoying it the first time and I enjoyed it on rewatch too.

Wolverine 2 was a complete surprise. I'm glad they made something following on from The Last Stand - I was going to be pissed if that was the actual end of the timeline! I still don't think there was enough done to sell his deep attachment to Jean, but I think the letting her go arc worked well. Though I couldn't help but feel they were stretching for something else for Wolverine to do, so they chucked him in exotic Japan and threw him at a love interest for no particular reason. I kinda liked the taking away his powers thing, but who tf was creepy blond lady who wore ever tighter and more plastic villain outfits in every scene?! Lol. Ugh.

So kinda fun, but a bit meh.

But OMG was it worth it to get to the post credits scene! Metal things floating! Yass!!!! There's Magneto! Then silence as everyone freezes still.... ! Xavier!!!! Wooo!

I can finally put to rest the annoyance of over a decade that they never followed through on the promise of the post credits scenes with Magneto and the chess piece and the one after that with Xavier's voice. 😆

Almost tempted not to watch anymore because I hear reception of Logan was kinda meh. Curiosity will get the better of me in the end, but I'm gonna enjoy this moment for a wee while. Even if it never goes further than a post credits AU.

(I know people are all like, let the character die, bringing them back would cheapen their sacrifice. But I say screw that! Bringing back beloved characters you genuinely thought were dead - there's nothing better!)

(Also, having been reminded that I love the X-Men I'm in danger of wanting to try and write something for them jumping off from this point. But I have too many other things I have to do!!! *wails*)

(Is there an X-men fandom on here? Shout out if you are.)

(Oh, also I need to start a tally for the number of times Wolverine howls at the sky over a dead body. 🙄)

[sp4ceboo]

ok but like cover me vibes (basically sad) with medieval!au seungmin - sorry for any completely wrong army terms i didn't do my research

tw: suicidal thoughts, references to war/front lines (medieval tho), death, angst with eventual fluff, loss of loved ones kinda

you had one sweet, surreal week with your seungmin as your husband before he was snatched from your grasp by the call of the battle.

the constant ache of his absence throbs in your chest like a knife's blade. your memories of the short time you had together are blurred at the edges, the happiness they were soaked in seeming uncanny in the midst of the hardships of warfare. they come in flashes to you in the middle of your midnight watch, posted on the castle turrets with your bow: the way he smiled into your kisses, the way his hands cradled your waist, the way he could make your heart stutter and your stomach flip with just a look. the day of your marriage feels as if it was decades ago, when in fact it was only a few months ago.

it shouldn't have been this way. you were both soldiers, but he'd made you promise to stay back and defend the city with the other contingent while his was sent out to fight the invaders. in return, he gave you his word that he would stay safe, but you both knew there was never any way of confirming that. you cried, sobbed, begged, but he was obstinate that you stay away from the front lines and that he go in your stead.

truly, you can't blame him for that; you'd wish the same if in his place.

you know he longs for you the same way you long for him.

correction: you know he longed for you the same way you long for him. because a letter arrived exactly a month ago, reporting him missing in action. you had stared at the official seal on the letter until it began to blur with your tears. you're a soldier, you know that 'missing in action' just means that they couldn't find his body; you know that he's as good as dead - more letters arrived the weeks after that, and they'd heard nothing. surviving after being reported missing in action would be a miracle, and you don't dare let yourself hope.

you know your seungmin. you know he would have fought until his very last breath to get back to you.

a tear slices down your cheek, and the cold wind that swirls around the top of the castle walls turns it ice cold. you wish for nothing more than to have been there on the front lines with him when it happened, so you could have died with your husband, the only one you had worth living for, by your side.

you've considered joining him many times. in the dead of night, while you're on watch on the castle walls, you've thought too often about leaning forward and pitching yourself from the turrets, but you can't. you're too much of a coward.

the sun begins to show itself, appearing on the horizon and limning the lands below you in golden light. you want to scream at it for rising when he's gone, but you can't even draw enough breath into your lungs for that; the knowledge that he's gone is suffocating, killing you slowly, smothering your heart and letting it wither in your hollow chest. your fingernails dig into the aged limestone of the battlements, and you wish that you could crumble away into the dust under your hands.

and then you see it.

you see them.

first, they're just a darker patch on the horizon, fuzzy at the edges due to the rolling mist, but with the rising sun, they inch closer, not walking in formation, their armour dull and their steps weary, but their faces triumphant. desperately, you want to look away - you know he won't be there. you know he's gone, and yet you can't tear your eyes away, searching frantically for his familiar form. tears well up in your eyes - frustrated, you swipe them away, praying to the gods you know, pleading to anything: the warm sun, the limestone beneath your hands, the soil that the approaching men walk upon.

your heart stops.

no.

no.

it can't be him.

can it?

you scramble down from the castle tower, a singular thought in your mind: seungmin. your officer attempts to stop you at the drawbridge; you shoulder past him - you need to get to your husband. you need to see if it's him.

sprinting forward, you fix your eyes on his figure. as you approach, you become more certain; he's covered in blood and limping, and one of his arms is held in a sling, but his head is held high - you could recognise him anywhere.

tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you get closer. you see the moment he spots you, because he opens his arms and his face lights up, brighter than the receding stars, brighter than the rising sun. weeping, you launch yourself the last few feet, and seungmin catches you despite all his injuries, twirling you around like he did at the first dance of your wedding. you don't dare unlock your arms from around his neck when he sets you down for fear that he'll be ripped away from you again, and he cradles you to his chest; sobs wrack your body as you fist his shirt in your hands, pressing your face into his shoulder and breathing in his scent, still there underneath the grime.

'seungmin,' you whisper, cupping his cheeks and bringing your forehead to his. 'my seungmin.'

he smiles, eyes wet. one hand holds the back of your head, fingers entwined in your hair, the other clasping your waist, pulling you infinitely closer, tucking you tightly to him. leaning in, he fits his mouth against yours, speaking against your lips.

'my wife.'

stray kids taglist: @sleepyleeji

[jupiteriancore]

MEET THE CLUBHOUSE: CHARLIE.

the sun disappeared below the horizon, making way for a sky that was now a beautiful mix of yellow, red, and orange. the slight breeze—which was weird for early september in california, but welcomed—picked up, sending a chill down charlie's spine. her hands flew up to rub her arms in effort to warm up, but it did absolutely nothing to fight off the chilliness she was starting to feel. "damn me for not bringing a jacket," she thought, although much to charlie's own defense–it was 95 degrees earlier. charlie's fingers messed with the hem of her shirt as she continued walking along the rugged sidewalk, the steps of her sneakers sounding in a quiet, gentle beat.

another round of her mother's resentment induced rage had sent charlie out the door—narrowly dodging the glass vase that had been hurled at her as she reached for the doorknob. "you're the worst thing to happen to me!" was the last thing she heard before ceramic shards scattered near her, with some landing in her fluffy, honey colored hair. charlie spent a grueling five minutes picking them out after she left, the tiny pieces of glass occasionally pricking her fingers, leaving tiny dots of blood in their wake.

charlie's life had been marked with rejection since the day she was born. her father didn't want her, ending his affair with her mother the moment he found out she was pregnant. her mother doesn't want her—blaming her for her father's absence as if she asked to be here or to be created. but it was no use trying to explain that important fact; her mother would continue to see her as the one who drove the man she loved away, as the unnecessary burden. it would have been a harrowing realization if charlie hadn't numbed herself to the sting of being rejected by the person she unironically still loved unconditionally.

charlie broke out into a sprint the moment she made it onto the familiar street. justice's grandmother's house sat in the middle of the cul-de-sac, the porch light serving as a beacon of hope in her otherwise dim world. her feet didn't slow down until they touched the steps leading up to the front porch, and charlie leaned against the post as she tried to catch her breath. her eyes caught a glimpse of christian through the screen door as he sat on the couch with melli and joshua, their eyes glued to the laptop on the coffee table.

as if he could immediately sense her presence, christian looked up, a look of concern etching across his features. "charlie? what brings you here at this hour, mate?"

"no reason. just missed you guys," she lied, offering christian a small smile that didn't reach her eyes as she opened the screen door and walked inside. "mind if i spend the night? it's been a minute."

christian kept his eyes on her for a moment, an eyebrow raised at her obvious lie. he knew there was something wrong, but he'd witnessed charlie's conversations with the rest of the house enough to understand that trying to pry would simply lead to her changing the subject until the concern was dropped. "you know you don't have to ask, of course."

"thanks, i'll be quiet." charlie avoided christian's gaze as she kicked off her sneakers and left them by the front door. despite being 22 years old, it made her feel like a child. she knew what he was thinking–knew that he knew she was hiding something, but she didn't want to talk about it. the house was her safety zone; all she needed was the peace that she never experienced while under her mother's roof. besides, she might end up letting the carefully built dam break if she told anyone here about it.

and she refused to let that happen.