#I THOUGHT I COULD POST YESTERDAY AND WASH MY HANDS WITH IT

[meiyokbf]

under your spell | megan x g!p!reader | part five

author's note: took me long enough but i’m backkk! got down with a flu + writers block but now i’m better than ever, lmk what you think & i hope you guys enjoy this one. :’)

warnings: mdni. stripper!megan x g!p!reader, slightly manon x lara. no smut, just megan being scared and reader trying their best. kind of a filler chapter but in the best intention possible. also, meet sophia!

word count: 4,2k

🏷️: katseye, megan x reader, megan skiendiel x reader, katseye x reader, katseye smut, megan smut, manon x lara, marz, sophia laforteza.

megan’s spotify playlist!

masterlist. | prev. I next.

you tell yourself you’re not going to text her.

and you say it out loud this time, a quiet promise to your ceiling fan, to the wrinkles in your sheets, to the ghost of her hand that still lingers somewhere near your ribs. you won’t do it. not again.

but, oh well. you open your phone anyway.

it’s muscle memory at this point: swipe, tap, check. still no new message. nothing since the one she sent at 2:17am.

megan: can’t sleep.

megan: thinking about the way you said my name.

you had read it twice. then again. then again until the words felt like they weren’t in english anymore. you didn’t know how to respond. or if she even wanted you to.

you think about replying now. type something. delete it. type again. delete.

(y/n): i didn’t sleep either

and leave it there.

it was wednesday now; three days since the last time you’ve seen her. but honestly, at this point, it kinda felt like three years. you couldn’t even focus on your uni work without thinking about her voice or her eyes, and the way she purposefully seemed to take hours to text you back was driving you insane. you needed to take a breather before going to class, in which you already knew you would doze off the entire lecture because you would much rather be around her instead.

so, you dress slowly. batman & robin tee, jacket, sneakers that squeak when you walk too fast. you grab your bag and ignore the pile of laundry in the corner, the coffee mug on your nightstand still full of yesterday’s tea. before leaving, you decided to grab something to eat on the way, already listening manon’s voice in your head about how you always forget to eat while studying and how your blood pressure is shit. so you decide to steal one of her granola bars. which, of course, had a heart-shaped post-it on it.

“these are technically for me, but i know your sad little raccoon hands will find them.

fine. take one.

ONE.

(ily though. please hydrate.)

- manz”

you laughed slightly and took one bar. this was your guys’ thing; you both knew that you could always talk to each other over text messages, but ever since you moved in together, post-its were the main mean of communication between you two. there were some things that could only be said on a paper, you thought. and you cherished that a lot.

you’ve got class in less than an hour, but your brain isn’t ready for structure. it feels like soup. or static.

you take the long way. the sun hasn’t fully committed to the sky yet and everything is washed in that early kind of light; soft and blue, like it doesn’t want to wake you up too quickly. birds chirp like they don’t know what day it is.

you pass three dogs, one crying baby, a couple making out against a bike rack. the world is still moving. it always is.

and then you think about her again.

the way she laughed back at her place last weekend. her hand pressed to your chest like she was checking for signs of life. the way she looked at you; half-there, half-running.

you stop by the café before class. it’s not your usual morning haunt, but you can’t sit still. you need something warm to hold.

you open the door. the smell of cinnamon and burnt espresso. the low hum of other people’s lives. this place always feels like a sigh.

you look up to the counter. you’ve seen her before —the barista with the glossy lips and flower name tag. sophia.

you’ve seen her smile at other people. never you. not because she’s mean. just because you’ve never given her a reason to.

you stand in line, staring at the drinks menu like it might give you a sign.

when it’s your turn, you step forward too fast, nearly bump into the display case. she glances up and smiles like she doesn’t notice your awkwardness. like she’s known you all along.

— hey. you’re usually here on fridays, right?

you blink. startled that she noticed. your mouth is slower than your brain.

— yeah, uh… i guess i just needed caffeine sooner this week.

she smiles, warm and easy.

— well, don’t we all? — she laughs. not mockingly. not like she’s uncomfortable. just warm. you look up at the menu like it might offer guidance. she tilts her head. — want me to surprise you?

— what would you recommend?

— hmm… maybe a dirty chai with oat milk and a side of emotional clarity.

you almost laugh. it comes out soft.

— can you do that?

— only the chai. emotional clarity’s a seasonal special. — she smiles to you like she just came out of a disney movie, then grabs a cup, scribbles something on the side.

you think you’ll leave it there; just a weird, slightly too-honest exchange with a stranger. but your chest is buzzing, and your mouth is tired of keeping secrets.

— can i tell you something insane?

she looks at you, curious. elbows on the counter, chin in her hand. she doesn’t look bored.

— always.

— i’m… losing my mind a little over this girl.

the words tumble out before you can pull them back.

— she… she did these things. and they’re not even big stuff. just… things that made me feel seen. and then she disappeared. not like, forever. for like a day or two. just enough to make me feel crazy. and then she’s back like nothing happened. it’s hot and then cold, you know?

you exhale. glance down. your fingers tap against the wood of the counter.

— and i believe i’ll keep letting her do it. because when she’s here, it’s… really good. and i think she’s trying. i want to believe she’s trying. but sometimes it feels like she’s just…

you don’t finish. sophia watches you for a second, then gently replies.

— you think she’s afraid?

you nod. a little too fast.

— yeah. i think she’s afraid of being loved.

— and you’re not?

— maybe. — you pause. — i think i’m more afraid of not trying.

she starts the espresso machine. the hiss and churn of it fills the silence between you.

— you know… — she says eventually. — when i was sixteen, i fell in love with someone who only called me when it rained.

you glance at her. — what?

— seriously. it would pour, and they’d text. every time. for almost a year. — she smiles, but there’s something sad behind it.

— i used to think it meant something. like maybe i reminded them of safety. or lightning. or the sound of thunder in someone else’s bed. — she shrugs. — turns out, they just didn’t like being alone when it stormed.

you don’t know what to say. so you say nothing. she hands you the drink. your name’s not on it; instead, she’s drawn a small sun and the words “this is a hug in a cup. :)”

— look, i don’t think your girl’s trying to hurt you. — she smiles at you sympathetically. — but sometimes people like that… they don’t know they’re pulling you under until you’ve already drowned.

your throat feels tight.

— yeah… i’m just terrified, you know?

— i know, truly. — she adds. — fear isn’t a stop sign. it’s just a sign you care.

you swallow hard. grip the cup. feel the warmth press against your palms like a second heartbeat. give her the money and don’t even bother about asking for the change. she definitely deserves it.

— thank you.

she nods, her smile making you believe for a second that she might be right. — i hope she figures it out.

you almost ask her name. then remember you already know it. so you leave the café with a little more silence in your body.

not emptiness, just space.

and of course, megan hasn’t texted back.

but you check anyway.

the studio walls on the velvet room’s backstage are mirror-lined and unforgiving. overhead, the lights buzz faintly, the kind of sound that feels like it’s echoing inside your teeth. the floor is a little sticky from last week’s sweat and glitter. it always is.

megan leans back against the barre, gum in her mouth, legs crossed at the ankle. she’s supposed to be warming up, stretching, something. instead, she watches lara in the mirror; ponytail sharp, eyeliner sharper, heels already on. lara looks like someone who bites when she loves you.

they’re rehearsing a shared number. or at least, they were supposed to be. it’s for friday’s late set: something femme fatale-coded, high energy, choreography that flirts with the edge of violence. lara had chosen the song. megan had said fine. she really didn’t care.

but her head’s not in it. not today.

she’s been messing up small things all afternoon; missing beats, forgetting transitions, zoning out mid-chorus. it’s pissing lara off. megan can feel it in the way she keeps clicking her nails against her thigh, like she’s trying not to scream.

— megan. — the indian scoffed, annoyed. — you’re two beats behind. again.

— i know.

— jesus christ, then fix it.

megan doesn’t move. she just shifts her jaw slightly, biting down harder on her gum, staring at her own reflection like it might offer her a better version of herself. it doesn’t.

lara exhales, sharp, just like her makeup.

— what the hell is going on with you today?

megan shrugs. doesn’t answer.

they’ve danced together a hundred times. shared sets, shared shots, shared nights curled into each other on lara’s couch when the world got too loud. this shouldn’t feel like a battle, but it does. today it does.

lara crosses the floor, heels clicking.

— i’m not going to babysit you through this, meg. if you can’t do the number-

— i can. — megan says it too fast. defensive. like she’s been caught bleeding.

— then act like it, god damn it. — lara counters.

— you’re off, you’re distracted, you’re… — she continues, then trails off, dragging her hands down her face. — is this about them?

silence. megan looks away. fixes her gaze on the smudge on the mirror near her hip. says nothing. lara sighs.

— okay, yeah. that’s what i thought.

megan still doesn’t speak. her throat is tight in a way she doesn’t like. lara softens, just slightly.

— you’ve been weird all week.

— no, i haven’t.

— megan.

that tone again; not angry, not pitying. worse. the one lara uses when she’s worried. and god knows how megan hates it.

she shrugs again. sits down on the floor, stretching her legs out, arms behind her for balance. her body feels too heavy. her chest even more so.

— i don’t know what i’m fucking doing. — she says, eventually.

— with them?

— with anything.

lara doesn’t laugh. doesn’t scoff. just sits next to her, their shoulders not quite touching.

— then do what you know.

megan chews her gum slower. the peppermint tastes like regret.

— it’s not that simple.

— yeah, it is.

they sit there in the silence for a beat. outside the studio, someone’s blasting music from the dressing rooms. something with too much bass, too much bravado. probably other girls who were rehearsing too. and the world keeps spinning. megan picks at her fishnets, nails chipping.

— it was supposed to be a hookup. — she says quietly. — that’s what i wanted. easy. clean. fun.

— and? — megan doesn’t answer. lara studies her, then sighs again. louder this time. more tired than angry. — ok, fine. do you wanna know what scares me?

— isn’t it, like, everything?

— cute. — lara smiled sarcastically. — but no. what scares me is watching you do what i did.

megan blinks, looking up. lara rarely goes here. not out loud. so, she paid attention.

— i felt something too, after that night with manon. — lara reluctantly said, almost swallowing her own words. — just for a second. one fucking second. like maybe i wasn’t alone in the world; maybe someone actually wanted me, not the performance. not dallas. then i ran. because that was easier. safer. and now? i keep thinking about the way she fucking caressed my hair when she thought i was asleep.

that’s the most she’s said about it since that night.

— you… really liked her? — megan stares.

— that’s not the point.

— it feels like the point.

— shut the fuck up, my point is… — she raised her voice for a second, then lowered it back again. — don’t do what i did. don’t pretend you don’t care just because you’re afraid they’ll stop.

— but what if they do?

— then at least you were honest. and you’ll survive it. like we always do.

— yeah, but that’s the point, lara. i don’t wanna survive it. — megan sighed. — i don’t know how to do it right. okay? i don’t know what they want from me. i don’t know if i can give it. i’m trying and i still fuck it up. i say something nice and then i hate myself for saying it. i feel soft and then i feel stupid. and they keep being… them. they’re so fucking kind it hurts. i hate it.

she buries her face in her hands.

— i fucking hate it.

lara watches her. eyes narrowed. something like protectiveness crests beneath her ribs, sharp and sudden.

— you don’t hate it. — she says.

megan doesn’t look up.

— you hate that it makes you want to be good.

megan scoffs. — fuck you.

— yeah, yeah.

they sit in it for a moment. the ruin of what megan isn’t saying. lara reaches into her bag, pulls out her phone.

— i’m putting something on. you’re going to breathe for five seconds and stop being a nightmare.

megan groans into her hands.

— don’t send me another thirst trap compilation.

— shut up, you love those.

— i don’t.

lara scrolls through her feed, thumb flicking fast. trying to find something dumb and distracting: a dog in pajamas, a couple falling off a paddleboard, something with sparkles. something easy.

but instead; there she is.

manon. on her screen. lips glossy, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head; the lighting is shit. but her voice is bright. and her smile’s too real. “thrift haul! let’s see how many gay crimes i can commit in one outfit!”

the screen shakes slightly as she flips the camera around. mirror shot. oversized leather trench coat. chain belt. cropped tee with a vintage graphic of the moon.

lara’s breath catches in her throat.

it’s stupid. it’s not even a hot video. she’s not dancing. not even trying.

but she looks so damn good. effortless. sharp and funny and alive. the way she talks to the camera like it’s an old friend. then lara’s hand freezes on the screen, her eyes trying their best not to roll.

— fuck.

megan glances over.

— what?

lara doesn’t answer. the video keeps playing. manon holds up a faux-fur coat with rhinestones on the collar and says “this is either a blessing or a curse and honestly i’m fine with both.”

megan snorts softly.

— you’re watching her tiktoks now?

lara swipes out of the app. shoves her phone face-down.

— it came up.

— sure.

— whatever.

megan leans back, grin small but alive now.

— do you miss her?

lara’s jaw flexes. — i miss not thinking about her.

— same.

a beat.

— so when you’re gonna tell her you left your favorite earring there?

— jesus christ, i don’t know.

— just saying. — megan shrugs, looking at the indian girl. — you’ve been debating this for three days.

— shut up. — megan just raises her brows. — i can’t just show up. it’ll look like i care.

— you do care.

— i don’t want to.

— doesn’t make it less true.

lara picks at her nail polish. chips it off in angry flakes.

— what would you do then, smart-ass?

— me?

— yeah. if it were you. if you left something in (y/n)’s bed and didn’t know how to go back for it without handing them your heart on a plate.

megan thinks for a moment. then shrugs.

— i’d probably pretend i came for the earring, then make some excuse about how i didn’t even like it that much. but really i’d just want to see them again.

lara goes still.

— well, that’s fucking stupid.

— it is.

— but also maybe i’ll do it. not like you, though. that shit’s way too emotional for me.

megan leans back on her palms. the sweat cooling on her collarbones.

— tomorrow?

— yeah. maybe.

— want me to come?

— no. — then, quieter. — i think i have to do it alone.

— well… — megan stands. brushes dust off her thighs. — you’ll be fine.

— you say that like you believe it.

— i don’t. but i say it anyway.

lara watches her stretch, watches the way her muscles flex and settle. she wonders if (y/n) notices that too. she bets they do.

this room doesn’t look like much from the outside, just a cracked glass door above a laundromat. the buzzer always broken, the hallway always smelling faintly of bleach and cheap incense. the kind of place you’d walk past unless you knew what it was.

but to megan, it’s one of the only places in the city that doesn’t ask her to be anything.

the studio is warm when she steps in. humid from bodies, from movement, from the echo of whatever song was just playing. the floor is a little warped near the mirrors. the ceiling fan clicks. someone’s sweatshirt is slung over the barre like it lives there.

there are ten, maybe twelve students tonight. all kinds: a bartender with a buzzcut, two nursing students who come on their off weeks, someone who teaches yoga and always wears too many bracelets. none of them look like the girls at the velvet room. no glitter. no lashes. no faking.

here, sweat is just sweat. not spectacle.

the instructor plays a low-tempo r&b track and starts calling out warmups, but it’s loose. no one’s here to impress anyone. just to move. to let their bodies be something besides currency.

megan sheds her hoodie and finds a spot near the corner. she ties her hair up in a quick knot and lets her shoulders roll back, the ache of the day bleeding slowly down her spine. there’s no choreography yet, just a long stretch of breath and flow. hips shifting, ankles loosening, torsos bending with the music. she lets herself get lost in it. or she tries to.

but her head’s still full of you.

still looping back to the texts, the silences between them. still thinking about the way you looked that first night in your apartment; nervous, knees bouncing, wearing that one jacket and trying to act like your heart wasn’t pounding. the way you listened. the way you didn’t run.

she hates that she keeps thinking about you like this. like she’s seventeen again and still thinks crushes are a kind of religion.

but she does. and it’s starting to show.

— hey, stranger. you’re late.

sophia’s voice breaks the loop. megan turns, and there she is: perched near the windows, stretching her legs in her usual half-graceful way, hair braided tight down her back, tank top tucked into carefully chosen leggings. she always looks like she walked out of a painting and into a dance class. megan hates how comforting that is.

— wouldn’t be me if i wasn’t.

— fair enough.

they fall into their usual rhythm, stretching near each other, no real pressure to talk, just syncing up. sophia’s already glancing at her in that quiet, knowing way, like she’s waiting for the admission she knows is coming.

megan stalls for a while. bends. breathes. watches her reflection in the mirror and tries not to think about whether you’d still look at her the same if you saw her here.

the instructor cues up a guided improv drill. everyone’s scattered around the room now, moving to the rhythm without mirrors, facing inward. it’s not about precision. it’s about emotion. presence. release.

megan dances like she’s trying to remember what her body is for. not performance. not seduction. not survival.

just hers.

soft shoulders. open arms. eyes half-closed. but she still feels off, even after her conversation with lara. like something’s humming wrong in her ribcage.

when the exercise ends, everyone collapses to the floor or leans on the barre. the lights are dimmed now. the window’s cracked, letting in the smell of street food and summer sweat.

she and sophia drift to the corner together. they sit, legs sprawled, water bottles pressed to their necks. and after a long pause, megan decided to, for once, take the first step.

— i met someone.

sophia doesn’t flinch. just raises a brow. megan fidgets with the label on her bottle, eyes on her fingers.

— i didn’t mean to. it was supposed to be… nothing. or fun. or whatever. but they’re… — she shakes her head. — they’re soft. and sharp. like, smart but quiet about it. and they made me feel like i mattered. not just… existed.

sophia watches her. not judging, never. just absorbing.

— well, that sounds terrifying. — she says, soft smile tugging at her lips.

— it is.

— and?

— and i don’t know what to do with it.

megan leans back on her elbows, the floor still warm beneath her. the ceiling above her spins gently. her voice drops.

— they’re a college student, sophia. good kid, the kind of person who plays those weird medieval games with dices on their mom’s basement. and i’m… me. a girl who strips three nights a week because her life didn’t turned out the way she planned.

megan stopped for a second; sophia just listened.

— and i keep thinking they’re gonna wake up and realize what this is. what i am. and they’ll go tell their friends “oh yeah, remember when i hooked up with that stripper?” — she scoffed. — like i’m gonna be their edgy college rebellion they survived.

after a couple of seconds, sophia said softly, the only way she knew how.

— you know, i met someone at work today. — she says, voice warm, then megan looks over.

— just a customer. we barely talked. i made them some chai, poor thing looked like they were carrying the weight of the world in a canvas tote bag. didn’t even realize how much they were spilling until they were halfway through their order. said something about someone being distant, magnetic and scary in a beautiful way.

megan goes still. then sophia smiles, small.

— i gave them this exact advice. so i’m giving it to you too. — sophia held megan’s hand and squeezed it slightly. — fear isn’t a stop sign. it’s just a sign you care. and if they care, they’ll stay. not because you made it easy. but because you were real.

megan exhales through her nose. the kind of breath that’s half-sob, half-surrender. — but what if i ruin it?

— then you learn. and try again. and live. — sophia said, as if the solution to this problem was simple and easy. — but maybe; just maybe, you don’t ruin it. maybe you get it right this time around.

megan doesn’t answer. she picks at her knee. there’s a scar there from rollerblading in sixth grade. her skin’s always trying to remind her of who she was. sophia speaks again, quieter now.

— i know you think being seen is dangerous. but maybe this time it’s just being loved.

megan feels something lodge in her throat. her heart hiccups. she bites the inside of her cheek.

— i keep waiting for them to change their mind.

— have they given you any reason to think they will?

— no.

— then stop making yourself suffer in advance. go a little easier on yourself, huh?

megan’s quiet for a long time. just the sound of music switching again in the background, bodies stretching, someone cracking their back.

— should i text them?

sophia gives her a look.

— you already know the answer, honey.

megan pulls out her phone. the screen glows too bright. your last text is still there, soft and patient.

(y/n): i didn’t sleep either

she stares at it like it might respond if she waits long enough.

— i want to see them. — she says, mostly to herself. sophia smiles, almost proudly.

— so ask them out.

megan types. deletes. types again. tries a hundred different combinations of words.

megan: wanna get food tomorrow?

megan: not a date. don’t be weird about it.

she shows sophia.

— pathetic?

— very. — sophia grins. — they’re gonna love it.

megan stares a moment longer. then hits send.

the message floats away like a dare.

she locks her phone. presses it to her chest. breathes deep.

— fuck, i’m gonna hate myself if this goes bad.

— no, you won’t.

— why?

— because this time you’re not disappearing first.

megan doesn’t answer. just stares at the ceiling, where the fan keeps spinning, and lets the soft ache of hope settle into her sternum like something earned.

[byexbyez]

hair wash day

⟡— an injured arm leaves you unable to wash your hair. luckily, your boyfriend is more than happy to help, sylus x mc/reader, domestic fluff, lots of kisses, pet names, self-indulgent, wc: 2.2K

⟡— a/n: this is a little something inspired by this post where i thought sylus would think that he could brush your curly hair dry. so this is for my peeps with curly hair routines! i know some of you have routines that take up 3 hours because of different curl patterns, porosity levels and whatnot but let’s just pretend that this is a condensed version. and if you have straight hair, be grateful that you don’t have to deal with this and keep on reading /j.

p.s. if i got the steps wrong just know that i only apply mousse and call it a day, so don’t come for me.

⟡— read on ao3.

“Come here so I can brush your hair. It’s messy.” 

You’d whack him on the head if you could. Anything and everything sets you off lately, especially with how itchy your scalp feels. You can literally feel every single hair follicle on your head—painfully. 

Before your arm had to rest in a cast, you used to wash your hair once every week, dedicating half a day to maintain your curls. It’s been well over a week and more, and your boyfriend who has set foot in your place for the first time today, now scrolling on his phone on the couch, thinks he can brush your curls dry. Completely clueless about how much time it actually takes to make your hair look remotely presentable. 

“You absolutely cannot brush my hair, Sylus.” 

Turning off his phone and chucking it between you two, he leans in, his competitive side bearing its head. “Why, you think I can’t do it?” 

“Not that. If my hair was straight, I’d let you brush it any day. You can’t brush curly hair. I mean you can, but it would look terrible and the brush would literally get stuck in there. I need to wash it first.” 

“And how are you going to do that with that arm, sweetie?” 

“I’ve been putting it off,” you admit with a  sigh, letting your head fall back against the couch.. “I don’t know, I’ll manage. I need to do it like yesterday. My head hurts and I feel disgusting. Maybe I’ll go to a hair salon tomorrow.” 

“Let me do it.” 

Your head snaps up. “You can? I mean, it takes a lot of time. You’ll be here for a while. And you’ll get tired.” 

“That just means more time with you.” His thumb gently smooths the crease between your brows, releasing the tension there. “I doubt I’ll get tired from washing your hair.” 

Oh, how wrong he was.

Sylus somehow manages to fit a chair in your cramped shower stall for you to sit. He has you tilt your head back to make washing easier, then positions himself outside the shower doors. Crouching slightly, he reaches in to turn on the water.

“You need to make sure all of my hair is wet,” you note. “it may look like it’s wet enough from the outside but the very middle part declared its independence and doesn’t want to soak up the water.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

And he does. His large hand forms a shield around your hairline, making sure water doesn’t get in your ears or eyes. You try to keep your eyes open as much as possible to see your boyfriend’s focused face, though the whole thing feels like you’re getting your hair washed in a salon, so you keep closing your eyes once in a while. Especially when Sylus lifts the shower head higher and unintentionally gets water on your forehead, despite his best efforts. 

Once he’s sure that your whole hair is thoroughly soaked, he shuts off the water. “How’s your neck?” 

“Fine.” It isn’t, the weight had started to pull on your neck towards the end, but you don’t mention it. You’re used to it. 

Sensing the white lie, he cradles the back of your neck, lifting it just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. His fingers gently squeeze the muscles beginning to tense.

He’s so considerate. 

“Now which one’s the shampoo?” 

His big hands are a gift sent from heaven, you think. Firm yet gentle, working through the stubborn itches on your scalp, even scratching behind your ears with his knuckles. If he keeps this up, you’re going to fall asleep right here.

“Sweetie, you with me?” 

“Mhm.” You melt into the chair but manage to open your heavy eyelids. “How are you so good at this? Did you do this before?” 

He meets your eyes then, an indulgent smile playing on his lips. “No, you’re the first. I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

The sound of soapy friction fills the bathroom again. You can’t take your eyes off Sylus, your gentle giant of a lover. Reaching out to cup his cheek with your free hand, you stop his fingers in your hair, distracting him from his task.

“What is it? Want to take a break?” 

“No, please continue. I just wanted to touch you,” you murmur, stroking your thumb across his cheek. “let you know I appreciate you.” 

When your thumb presses down on the corner of his mouth, he bends down, and your lips are already puckered, eager to welcome the tender kiss. 

“Is this how you usually treat your hairstylist?” he chuckles against your lips. “Does seduction get you a discount?” 

Playing along, you smirk and hook your index finger to the collar of his shirt. “I only seduce the ones who are stupidly good-looking. You’re the first.” 

He grabs your hand from his collar, raises it to kiss it, forgetting the shampoo coating his fingers. “Using my lines against me, huh?”

The second round of shampoo is even more touchy. You nearly poke his nostril. Nearly. He keeps your finger away by pretending to bite it. “Behave.” 

“But I love your nose,” you whine. 

After the shampoo is rinsed off, you can feel the hanging weight of a big clump. Of course, your hair was a tangled mess, with how long you’ve put off washing it. You tell Sylus to reach for the detangling brush and he spends a good minute trying to choose the correct brush from the rack. 

His first mistake is starting from the roots of your hair. He was too quick for you to catch on. 

“Ow! No, that’s not—start from the ends, please. And work your way up until you can smoothly brush it down.” 

A kiss to your forehead again. “Sorry, sweetie. That was stupid of me.” 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” 

This part takes forever because Sylus diligently plucks the dead hair from the brush after each stroke, making sure nothing is preventing him from smoothing your hair down, asking every now and then if he’s hurting you. 

“Look at how much hair you shed. You’d think I brushed a cat.” He straightens his back. Even if he feels a strain, he doesn’t let it show on his face. “The next step is conditioner, right?” 

“Yup,” you hum. “right next to the shampoo.” 

Cupping the back of your neck with both hands, he lifts it carefully, alleviating your own strain. “Let’s take a break first.” 

“Tired this soon?” you tease. 

“I don’t need a break, sweetie. But you do.” You think he’s about to kiss you again when he leans in, warm breath brushing your lips, his eyes low and intent. “You haven’t had water for a while.” 

And he leaves you there waiting with a pout while he gets a glass of water. 

After that, Sylus thinks you’re finally ready to sit upright. The conditioner only needs to be applied to the ends, after all. But trying to explain that you still need to bend your neck? That’s a sport in itself. 

Bottle in hand, he tilts his head. “I don’t understand. What’s the catch?”

“I usually do this step with my head upside down. Since I can’t do that now, I still need to throw my hair back, so you can do it for me.” 

“Upside down?” His confusion is adorable. However, thinking about the bajillion steps that still remain after the shower, you take a deep breath. 

“Yes, with my hair in front of my face. For volume. Otherwise my roots stay flat. Now lightly squeeze the water out. Not all of it. We still need moisture—no, not like a towel!” 

You teach him the praying hands method, he’s appalled by the amount of conditioner in his palms. “Sweetie, are you sure you need this much product? This is almost half of the bottle.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now you know where all my money goes.” 

He looks at the brand name on the bottle, making a mental note to stock it up for you. 

“Okay, thank you.” You bat your eyelashes at him, luring him in for a smooch. He obliges immediately, a big wet smack sound echoes in the bathroom. 

The following step is scrunching the hair up to the roots with the excess product left on his hands. Yet again, he’s confused about why you need to do this. For the curls to form, of course. 

“And when you scrunch all the way up, keep squeezing but not too hard.” 

“Not too hard…” He murmurs to himself. 

You skip the hair mask, because you’ve already been in the shower long enough, and tell Sylus to find a soft cotton T-shirt instead of a towel for drying, after he rinses about seventy percent of the conditioner out. Gotta keep the moisture, after all.

You’re sitting on the floor, pillows propping you up against the couch. Laid out in front of you on the coffee table are a spray bottle, leave-in curl cream, mousse, gel, oil, a curl brush, claw clips, and a dryer with the diffuser attachment. A handheld mirror rests in your hand. 

Once he’s finished taking pictures of each product—including the different brushes and the diffuser attachment, “since you’ll need them back at the base”—Sylus settles behind you on the couch, legs bracketing you as he gets comfortable.   

You guide him through the next steps: clip your hair into sections, begin with the bottom strands, mist them with water, and smooth in the curl cream. Later, he’d be applying mousse. The gel cast step is skipped. You’re not in the mood for that kind of commitment today.

He picks up the brush with the odd indents, combs through the section, then shakes the strands gently between his thumb and index finger.

Voilà. The curl forms on its own.

“If you tried this on straight hair, it wouldn’t hold,” you explain while he’s still figuring out how to flip the brush properly. “But this way, the curls last about a week.” You tilt the mirror higher, amused as his elegant long fingers wrestle with the brush. 

His lips brush your temple as he asks, “You really do this every week?”

“If I have to be perceived by people—which is always—then yes.”

Sure, it takes him twice as long as it would take you, but the quiet “Poor thing,” he mutters, followed by another kiss to your temple while you watch through the mirror, makes it more than worth it.

Eventually, the styling phase is over. Time to diffuse. Your least favorite. Yay. 

“This thing looks like a space weapon,” he says, inspecting the diffuser attachment like he would a gun. 

“It sure does drain my life,” you groan, using his knee as leverage to stand.

Here you are again, head thrown back in the chair, while Sylus butchers the tune with a grin:

“Rapunzel, let down your haaaair.”

You squint your eyes at him. “I’ll see you with your sore arm when you’re done, mister.” 

With the dryer on the lowest setting (two words from you: “heat damage”), your hair nearly takes one hour to fully dry. Sylus does not complain one bit, keeps humming a tune. Relaxed but focused. 

The final step is softening the curls with a bit of oil by scrunching again. 

“We are done?” 

You laugh. “Why do you sound disappointed?” 

“With the way you were exaggerating, I thought it would take longer.” 

“Well, we skipped a couple of steps.” 

His hand comes to rest over his heart as he gasps mockingly. “When I asked you to teach me everything? You wound me.” 

“Next time,” you promise. “You know I’m stuck in this cast for a while.” 

“Plenty of time to perfect the routine.” He nods. Coming to stand in front of you, he examines his work, seemingly satisfied with the result. 

“Do you prefer cash or credit, sir?” 

Gripping the back of your chair, his mouth is on yours again. A content sigh escapes his lips when he pulls back. “My preferred form of payment is cuddles, miss. No discount.” 

Your fingers dive into the hair at his nape, scratching affectionately as they drift toward his ears. You roll and pinch his earlobe. Just because. 

(It’s so soft.) 

With the perfect amount of pressure, he begins to massage your neck. 

“I’m so down,” you whisper against his lips. “How about we cuddle, order food, watch a movie, cuddle some more… and then you stay the night?” 

“I was waiting for you to ask.” 

Later, curled up on his chest and halfway across his lap, you drift off to the sounds coming from the movie. His nose rests in the crown of your head as he murmurs, “You smell divine, sweetie.”

“Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t hesitate to ask me for help,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His voice, quiet and warm, draws you back from the edge of sleep. You giggle. “Okay, I’ll call you next week for a hair wash. You asked for it, don’t regret it later.” 

“I never would.” 

“Big words,” you sneer. 

He nuzzles deeper into your freshly washed hair and presses a kiss into it, almost without thinking. “You know what I learned today?”

“Hm?” 

“That I need to think twice before ruffling your hair again.” 

“It’s okay. You get a free pass.” You turn your head toward him and meet his ruby eyes. A beat, maybe two, passes in silence before your smile takes over. “Thank you Sylus, I needed this.”

[imposterogers]

me:

me literally for months on end:

me rn: sending steve rogers back in time not only was character assassination but also purposefully ruined one of the most well known comic book friendships to date and actually —

[sunflowerwinds]

bite it | v.a

summary: you and vi have decided that maybe each others company wasn’t the worst thing in the world. but you lay down some ground rules that you can’t help but break when you get pent up.

prev. part -> try it | next part -> lick it, spit it

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x soccer player!vi

contains: modern!au, mature content (MEN & MINORS DNI 18+) — fingering (r! & vi!recieving), oral (vi! & r! recieving), tit-sucking (r!recieving), possesive!vi (if you squint & reader if you squint harder), shower sex, kind of exhibitionism (they’re in the showers in a locker room so it’s open).

word count: 3.9K

a/n: SUPRISE!!!! let’s all pretend that i was supposed to post this over two weeks ago. okay? okay. THANK YOU TO MY VAL, MY GOLDEN GIRL @valeisaslut for editing this for me. ily 4ever <3 ENJOY HORNY FREAKS!!!

You and Vi came to an agreement.

If you were going to be fucking while you were partners for this project, there has to be ground rules. Mostly so that Caitlyn wouldn’t find out about it.

One: Only fuck during your ‘work’ time a.k.a your breaks to avoid being seen around campus together.

Two: Do not tell anyone about this as word spreads insanely fast. You two didn’t need your teammates finding out.

Two easy and simple rules that shouldn’t be hard to not break. Well, at least, that’s what you thought.

For the past two days, you had been feeling an abnormal amount of horniness; an aching feeling that can only be described as animalistic. You zoned out during practice and almost got kicked in the nose.

When Caitlyn asked you what’s wrong with you recently, you gave her a short response.

“I’m just stressed about classes,” you responded as you chug your bottle of water as during your break.

Being the absolute angel she was, she offered a quick solution. “Oh, we could study together down in the library on our free days. I’ve got Monday afternoons open.”

The guilt hit at that moment: reminding you of what she didn’t know and how terrible of a friend you’re being to her.

You couldn’t go five seconds without thinking of Vi’s tongue tracing over your clit or her abs pressed up against your back when she finger-fucks you from behind or the way her hands would tighten on your skin with such a natural dominance.

Then the daunting realization washes over you when you check your period calendar.

It’s ovulation week. And you aren’t going to see Vi for another three fucking days.

You tried to get off on your own but your hands and vibrator aren't good enough. Nothing feels as good as her as much as you hate to admit it.

You suck in a deep breath as you attempt to focus on one of your other courses but your mind desperately lingers to the last photo you remember Vi sending you just yesterday.

Being the absolute pain in your ass that she is, she sent you a photo of her ‘injury’ on her stomach on the toned skin that had been scraped from tripping over the ball when it had been passed to her without her realizing. Her hand had held up her jersey to reveal the miniscule spot of redness, the band of her black sports bra peeking from the top of the photo and the waistband of her briefs from the bottom.

Fucking tease, you had thought as you had texted her back immediately to put her shirt down as you couldn’t bare for her to know how you touched yourself to the sight of it ten minutes later.

You shake your head with harsh blinks as you click your pen on your notebook page rapidly to attempt to shush your arousing thoughts, taking in long stabilizing breaths.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You’ve been sleeping with this girl for two weeks now and she’s making you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Should you–

No. No, you agreed. Only your Wednesdays with her.

But maybe she won’t mind one time. Just once, you try to convince yourself that you aren’t acting feral.

You grab your phone from next to your laptop on your desk, opening your messages with Vi to type something and send it before you can take it back.

You | come over, please?

You watch as the bubbles pop up for a moment, anxiously tapping your fingers on the desk. Your phone buzzes in your hand to show her response.

Violet | wow a please? did someone steal your phone?

You | you’re an ass

Violet | that’s not what you were saying last week when you sat on my face

Your face heats up at the memory of her sloppy noises underneath you as your hands gripped tightly to your headboard and her strong forearms holding you down by your trembling thighs on her face.

Fuck, that isn’t helping.

You | well, is that a no?

Violet | as much as i’d love to, i got practice rn.

Violet | but it ends in 30. i’ll hit the showers then head on over, gorgeous.

Part of you wants to just leave it there; ignore her and stand on your ground to yourself on having the patience you claimed to have. But, the more feverish part of you wants to run down to the field and take her right there in front of everyone.

Wait. Why couldn’t you just go down there?

You type on your phone's keyboard screen, setting it aside out of nerves.

You | i’ll come to you. wait in the showers for me

You resume your studying as if you hadn’t just sent that message, your leg bouncing out of anticipation. Hearing the soft buzz of her response coming through five minutes later, you snatch your phone and hold the screen up to your face.

Violet liked your message

Violet | will do, baby ;)

Desperation gains a whole new definition as you wait around the corner, watching as the last of Vi’s soccer team leaves the locker room, but not seeing her come out. So she can listen every once in a while and not be a stubborn pain.

You place a hand on the cold door, pushing it open with a grunt at the weight of it. The moment it was open, you could faintly hear the sound of a shower running towards the back.

Without further thought, you make your way past the tall blue lockers to enter the showers.

“Vi?” You call out, the echo of your voice filling the area.

The sudden squeak of a handle makes you wince before you hear the sound of a shower curtain being tossed open.

“Down here!” She calls back before resuming the water.

You suck in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to see Vi, following the sound of her voice, finding yourself standing in front of the only shut curtain amongst the others that were empty. You curse mentally at the sight of her silhouette, shaking your head.

“Are you just gonna stand there or come on in, gorgeous? I don’t bite.” Vi teases through the curtain, a soft chuckle leaving her. “Much.”

You roll your eyes before stripping yourself of the minimal clothing you had on, ignoring how your underwear had stuck to your sopping cunt. You simply set them down on the bench before gripping onto the flimsy plastic of the shower curtain, tugging it back with a harsh screech.

And god, you couldn’t suppress the moan that left your throat the second your eyes landed on Vi.

The steamy water from the shower head trickles down her delectably toned body, highlighting every ridge of her ribs and abs. Her back tattoo glistens in a way that nearly had you dropping to your knees to lick every line of ink. You truly couldn’t tell how much time passed of you gawking at her until you heard her clear her throat.

“Did you ask to come down here just to stare at me, princess? I mean I don’t mind but…” She trails off as her cocky expression somehow grows wider.

You blink as you lock eyes with her, stepping more into the shower so that the scorching water runs down your own bare body.

“Shut up,” you groan, placing your hands on her chest and pushing her up against the cold yellow tile.

Vi’s eyes, for a moment, widen at your eagerness before she smirks down at you. You don’t give her not even one second to say a smart-ass comment as you press your lips to hers with assertion, cupping either side of her neck to keep her steady. You moan into her mouth as her hands find their way to your ass, gripping the flesh with just as much desperation. Your tongue swipes over her bottom lip, humming as she sucks on your tongue with a soft moan.

You press your hips flush against her lower half, almost grinding into her for any sort of relief. Your clit pulses with need as Vi’s left pointer and middle finger tease at your slit from behind as her right hand holds one cheek open for easier access.

“You want my fingers, baby?” Vi mutters as she nibbles at your bottom lip then trailing down to the nape of your neck.

You whine as you nod against her, wrapping your arms around her neck to keep her somehow even closer to you.

“But,” you gasp as she captures one of your nipples into her mouth, distracting your train of thought. “I-I want to taste you first.”

Vi halts her movements for a moment, taken aback by your words. She pants softly against your skin as her hands grip your waist for a moment. You knew you weren’t as experienced with women but, somehow, the mere thought of getting a taste of her sparked that impulse in you.

“...If you’ll let me.” You add for reassurance, a hand cradling the back of her head as she’s still latched to your boob.

The red haired girl slowly releases your hard nipple from her lips, not before making sure to lick over it once more and standing upright. A ghost of a smile lingers on her lips, the water falling past her face in a cinematic light.

“Get on your knees, gorgeous.” She mutters as her hands follow up your body, as if trying to memorize every inch of you, before stopping to settle on your shoulders.

Her grips tightens slightly, doing as you're told, knees digging into the round drain over and jagged title. Your eyes are immediately hit by the streams of water as you attempt to look up at Vi, cursing at the feeling.

“Shit, sorry,” Vi reaches a hand up to maneuver the mounted neck so that it wouldn’t bother you too much.

You can’t help but feel your heart tighten at the simple yet gentle gesture, but still try to push it as quickly as the feeling comes. You wave her off with a chuckle, brushing your hair out of your face as you realize that your face is right in front of Vi’s crotch. Her bush has you salivating as you lean forward.

You press a kiss just below her belly button, her stomach visibly tightening at the feeling of your lips against her skin. Your hands settle on the thick meat of her muscular thighs as you trail the kisses down her v-line to her aching clit. It’s a hot red, calling for you to cool it down.

Finally, your arm hooks underneath her thigh to lift her leg. She gets the hint and rests her thigh over your shoulder, cursing when you lick that first long stripe over her puffy cunt. She gasps softly, her hips bucking into your face, chasing your tongue with a desperate libido.

“O-oh,” a broken soft moan leaves her lips.

Soaking in the encouragement, you continue your eager motions at her slit. You, shamelessly, moan into her cunt from the sole taste of her.

You can't help but think of what you had been missing out on. Was this why Vi would ravish you and ‘could never get enough of you’?

The addicting musky scent that lingers on your tongue along with the sound of her attempting to shield her noises sparks a flame in you even stronger. Your eyes lock on hers as you suck her clit, humming when she jerks her hips against your face. Your ego shoots through the roof as she lifts one of her toned arms to cover her eyes, her mouth falling open to prettily pant into the steamy shower space.

Her abs tighten as her grinding hips follow your tongue eagerly.

What you would give to have this image imprinted in your mind forever.

Sure, Vi would moan and groan softly into your mouth when she fucked you until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. But these sounds? The quiet begging and endearing whimpers? Oh, they are driving you insane.

You’re relentless with your tongue along her slit as her breathing picks up, signaling you that she’s getting close. Your arm keeps her thigh up on your shoulder as the thick muscle tightens and threatens to fall back to the ground.

“Fuck, fuck, oh, just like that, baby,” she praises through stuttered whines.

You moan against her clit as you raise your free hand to her cunt, teasing the tip of your pointer and middle through the folds. Vi nods rapidly the second she feels your fingers, pushing her hips against your face.

You gently and gradually slide your fingers into her, making sure to not be too rough with her. She grinds down to follow the new feeling, eager to chase her orgasm that you’re pulling out of her. You curl your fingers as you continue to lick and suck on the sensitive bud.

Vi’s moans are growing higher in pitch, her jaw going slack. Keeping your pace with your tongue and eager fingers, you watch as her flushed face contorts, gripping onto your head to shove your face into her cunt harshly.

You weren’t complaining, that's for damn sure.

You feel her thigh shaking on your shoulder as she finally cums, coating your fingers, the warmth dribbling down your hand. You pull away from her clit but slow down your movements, eager to taste her arousal. Her knees buckle as she chases the orgasm, harsh pants leaving her lips as she attempts to recover.

“Well, fuck, princess,” she says with a shaky chuckle.

You peer up at her from your kneeled position, placing a few soft kisses on her clit teasingly. You hold back a cheeky smirk as she bucks her hips before standing on wobbly knees. Vi takes notice of this as her hands land on your waist to keep you upright, tugging you against her as she captures your lips into a hungry kiss.

Teeth clanking and loud panting fill your ears as you pull away slightly to raise the hand that was inside of her, holding up your two fingers to her red bitten lips. She stares at you with blown out pupils, greedily letting you wipe her own cum in her mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” You mutter with a hum.

Vi groans as she licks her lips to show you she agrees.

“Up against the wall and spread your legs for me,” she instructs as she places harsh kisses to your neck all the way down to your tits.

Usually, you would scold her about marking you up, but that lust blinded part of you wants to shamelessly show them off. So you simply do as you're told, licking over your own lips to remind yourself what you just did. Your back hits the cold tile as the shower water is running lukewarm at this point, no longer steaming up the confined space.

Vi’s teeth bare as she bites at your collarbone, digging her canines into your hot skin. You moan softly as her hand travels down to in between your spread legs to feel your slit with her middle and ring finger.

“Fuck, eating my pussy got you all wet for me, baby?” Vi questions.

You nod as you look at her with nothing but desire.

“I—fuck—needed you,” you admit with a soft whimper.

Vi’s baby blues lock on yours as her smile grows eagerly. You press your lips to hers to attempt to conceal that giddy grin (and the fact that her eye contact alone made your heart skip in an alarming way).

She chuckles, sliding her middle finger into you, messily making out with you as you wanted. Her tongue glides over your own as she easily slides in her ring finger next.

You shiver at the stretch as your arms wrap around her shoulders to keep her close. Her tits press against your own as she continues her sloppy kisses, beginning to pump her fingers into your needy cunt. She detaches her lips from your own to watch your furrowed brows and heavy eyes threatening to shut from the titillating feeling.

“So fuckin’ greedy, baby. What happened to only Wednesday’s, huh?” She teases.

You would snip back but you only moan when she asks the taunting question.

The two of you freeze at the sound of the heavy locker room door opening and shutting with an echoing rumble. Rushed footsteps follow along with low curses of annoyance.

The silence that comes over the two of you is deafening.

“Damn, Vi, you still here?” This person, who you assume is one of her teammates, calls out to the girl who has her fingers inside of you.

Vi stares at you with an eyebrow raise, holding her free hand up to press her pointer finger on her lips. You roll your eyes at her cocky smirk but hold your breath as you listen to the footsteps echoing around the locker room.

“Yeah. I’ll be out soon.” Vi calls back as she continues to pump her fingers in and out of you.

“Well, I think I left my phone here. Did you see it?”

Still, you'd be lying if you said the thought of almost getting caught doesn’t thrill you, just a little.

Your body is the one to give that away for you, clenching around her lengthy fingers, and meeting her eyes. Vi mouths a shush that only makes you want to release the moans itching at your throat even more.

The sound of lockers opening and closing and shuffling of clothes are reminders that you can’t make a sound.

“Did you check the field or the bleachers?” Vi calls out to her teammate as she continues her feverish pumps.

“Shit, you’re probably right.” The teammate mutters to herself as she slams her locker shut.

Vi curls her fingers to meet your g-spot, a sudden moan slipping from your lips at the overwhelming pressure, but she quickly uses her free hand to cover your mouth, your hips stuttering to chase her fingers.

You whine at the way her natural dominance took over in that moment.

“Stay quiet for me, gorgeous. She’s almost gone,” Vi whispers in your ear with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You huff as you feel your stomach tighten, your orgasm begging to release.

“Vi, did you say something?”

The red haired girl grins at you before calling back: “No. Good luck with finding your phone.”

A beat of excruciatingly long silence passes.

“Alright. Uh, yeah, thanks. Don’t take too long or else Coach will have you running 100 laps again.”

Your brows furrow at Vi at her teammates' insinuation.

Again?

Has she fucked a girl in the showers before?

“Yeah, okay.” Vi snorts as she presses her lips to yours.

The two of you listen for the receding footsteps before the sound of the large door slams once again. You grab onto Vi’s wrist to push her hand away from your shielded mouth as you bury your face into her neck, freely letting your timid moans out now.

“You’re a d-dick,” you stutter out into her damp skin, nibbling a possessive hickey on her skin.

Vi throws her head back to allow better access for your markings, a grunt leaving her lips.

“Oh, you love it, baby,” she mutters smugly.

And the upsetting thing is you really fucking do.

Her arrogant words draw you closer to cumming all over her fingers. Your clit throbs as you remove one of your hands to reach in between your bodies, rubbing your own aching bud.

“Vi, please. ‘M so close.” You whimper.

Vi takes notice of how you’re touching yourself, shaking her head with disappointment.

“Take your hand off.”

Your brow quips at her tone. She sighs as she leans in more to kiss you deeply, making you hum as she pulls away to ghost her lips over your own.

“Please?” She adds with a cheeky grin.

You hesitantly remove your hand, watching as she drops down on her knees with her fingers still pumping inside of you. You watch her latch her lips around your clit and moan lowly at the relieving feeling of her tongue. Your hands weave into her hair instantly, rolling your hips against her face shamelessly, your orgasm clawing at the base of your spine.

Vi’s eyes are hooded with concentration, and she doesn’t dare let up her persistent thrusts. You fold over, attempting to clench your legs to ease the pressure. The familiar overwhelming feeling rips through your chest and stomach.

“I– oh my god,” you whimper throughout your orgasm.

Your inner thighs shake with sensitivity as you can feel yourself leaking down her toned forearm. You let out soft pants as you come down from the orgasm, pushing Vi’s face back as carefully as you could manage. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you lean your head back against the tile, shutting your eyes to calm yourself down.

A few seconds pass of Vi placing kisses up your body before you feel the stream of the lukewarm water hitting your boneless naked body.

“So, now, should I be expecting you to ambush me while I’m in the shower from here on out or what’s our schedule looking like?” She tilts her head at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I didn’t ambush you. I let you know I was coming,” you shake your head with an amused grin.

Vi’s smile grows at your accidental innuendo, placing a hand over her own lips to attempt to hide it. Before she can say anything, you roll your eyes as you push her chest slightly.

“Ha, ha. Yes, I definitely let you know I was coming. You are so–”

Vi holds her hands up in defense with a shake of her head. “Hey, you said it. I didn’t.”

You two shared heavy kisses until the water runs cold. Showering together felt eerily domestic; not fitting the dynamic you’ve established.

As much as you insisted on just leaving in the clothes you came in, Vi had the brilliant idea to swap clothes. You left the locker room in her baggy joggers and her black wife pleaser, while she sported your ribbed lace grey cami and Hello Kitty pajama shorts that had her ass nearly hanging out of them.

You giggle at the sight as she reaches behind her to tug the back down, walking down the hall to the exit door.

“Well, this is the sexiest you’ve ever looked, Vi,” you motion to her (your) clothing.

Vi scoffs before ranking her eyes up and down your body. “It’s definitely worth it seeing you in my clothes. You look…”

You finish for her as you fold your arms in front of your chest with a knowing smile. “Douchey?”

“Beautiful.” She says simply, her eyes shining as she tilts her head at you.

The soft comment throws you off guard.

It means nothing, you repeat mentally before you take one step forward to capture her lips into a gentle kiss; too gentle for what you two are. Her hands find your waist, thumbing at your hips.

You pull away, hooking your finger onto the strap of the cami to snap it against her skin. “Have fun walking home in that.”

“Same goes to you, princess.” She kisses you once more, lingering as if she wants to stay here with you. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Sadly.” You sigh dramatically.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your lips again once she detaches herself from you completely, pressing her back against the heavy exit door. You watch her leave into the bright midday sun, making her way to her own dorm room.

But you couldn’t help but wonder as you walked home:

Why the fuck did you miss her so much?

TAGLIST: @sawaagyapong @unear7hly @leeidk87 @childishname @ferxanda @whisperingcherub @rad-radical2 @strawb4kdior @natscloset @aliendustpee @satorix @rosieeteaa @moodient @mars4hellokitty @klallx @skzvilleshi @drunkenrosesluv @fairexy78 @angelynn-nicole @sevikas-baby @milanyas @jajsnjz @oatmatchalatte

[suskz]

Hold me tight, keep me close

pairing: Lee Felix x fem!Reader

t/w: fluff ; hurt/comfort ; smut ; period sex ; wet and messy ; piv sex ; fingering (f!rec) ; menstrual blood ; so much blood ; reader is on her period ; Felix is so sweet and caring ; unprotected sex (don’t do that, kids) ; coming inside.

w/c: 4.5k

a/n: sorry for the late post, guys! It took me longer than I expected 😭. But it’s finally here! I really love this one, because Felix is soo caring and just what I need rn (I’m on my period y’all 🥹). It’s 2am here, I’m gonna go sleep now. Enjoy!!

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a hand gently shaking your shoulder, then a voice calling your name.

“Y/n, love.” It’s your boyfriend’s voice— deep, but soft. You shift in place, intending to stretch, and that’s when you notice a strange sensation between your legs. It’s wet.

Your eyes snap open, and you don’t even have time to think about what it could be before you sit up in bed, forcing Felix to pull his hand back, and look at the… the crime scene.

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration—most of the blood is in your pants and only a little made it onto the sheets, but still—you stained them.

Hesitantly, you turn your head toward your boyfriend. He lifts his eyes from the blood-stained sheets to meet yours, offering a small, reassuring smile that seems to hide a hint of uncertainty.

You feel mortified. You feel the urge to cry, but nothing comes out—not a tear, not a sob.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and his eyes immediately fill with concern.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, then seems to second-guess himself. “Is it okay?”

You lower your gaze and let him move closer, placing a hand on your thigh where the blood hasn’t reached, gently stroking it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would come today.” you apologize, shame washing over you.

“You couldn’t have known,” he says kindly. “It’s okay.”

“Felix, it’s disgusting, and these are your clothes— fuck,” your voice comes out cracked. “Look at the mess I made.” You lower your eyes to the red stain on the white sheet, “Doesn’t it gross you out?”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he frowns. “It doesn’t bother me, not even a little.” He cups your face in his hands and turns it so you’ll look at him. “It happens. It’s okay, it’s just laundry—nothing to worry about.”

You look into his eyes for a few seconds, searching for any sign of doubt, and nod at his words when you find none. He smiles softly.

“You go take a shower now,” he runs a gentle hand through your hair. “I’ll go buy you some pads, okay?”

You nod again. “Thank you,” you smile, grateful to have such a caring and understanding boyfriend. “Do you want me to show you a picture?”

“I’ve seen them so many times, I know exactly which ones they are by now.” He chuckles and you do too.

“Let’s clean this mess first—” you stop suddenly when a sharp pain hits your lower stomach and you feel warm liquid soaking through your underwear —and probably reaching the bed— eliciting a muffled groan. “No, never mind, let’s do it later.”

He watches you shift around, trying to ease the pain, feeling bad seeing you in discomfort. “No, I’ll do it. Don’t worry. I can also get the painkillers you use.”

“No, it’s okay. I can handle it until I get home.”

You don’t know why you say it, because honestly, it feels like you can’t even stand another half hour.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry.”

He nods.

But when you step out of the shower, you still find the pills on the sink —right next to some pads and clean clothes— and his thoughtfulness melts your heart.

When you leave the bathroom, he’s just finishing making the bed. He looks up at you and gives you a tender smile, a touch of pride in his eyes at the sight of you wearing his clothes.

You huff a quiet chuckle. “You know I could’ve just put on what I wore yesterday, right?”

His cheeks tint with a soft, almost imperceptible blush. “Yeah, I know. But I wanted to see you in mine. You look cute.” He smiles sweetly.

Then he comes over, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug and pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, in comforting silence.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time, but he shakes his head.

“No more of that. I already told you—it’s all okay. The bed’s clean, and I can always get new clothes. See? No big deal.”

You hum and snuggle a little closer to him.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, his ears turning a little red at the words he’s still not quite used to saying.

You look up at him, a little surprised but happy to hear it. “I love you too,” you reply, your face flushed. He gives you a soft peck on the lips, and the two of you just look at each other for a while.

But that quiet moment is cut short by a sudden noise.

Your face burns with embarrassment, your ears flaming as you hide in his chest.

Felix’s laughter only makes it worse.

“Hungry?”

“What do you think? I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt, trying to hide your embarrassment behind a normal tone.

“Pancakes?” he suggests.

Your eyes light up at the suggestion, and you look up at him with the expression of a delighted child.

“Yes, please!”

He laughs at your eagerness and how adorable you are.

—

“Do you feel like going out with the guys? We can go another time if you’d rather.”

You and Felix are cuddled up on the couch watching TV. Your back rests against his chest, one of his hands gently stroking your stomach, while the other holds you close.

How could you say no to him? You made these plans a week ago, and you don’t want to cancel last minute just because your period started and you’re not at your best. You still look presentable, and both of you had really been looking forward to this hangout with the guys.

“No, I’m fine. I still want to go.”

Felix nods at your response. “I’ll be at your place by 3.”

And he is. You’d gone back home after lunch to get ready, and Felix came to pick you up—though not before having to wait an extra 10 minutes for you, as usual.

Now you’re at a bar with Felix, the rest of the members, and Chan’s girlfriend, whom you’ve recently grown close to.

“You should’ve seen Minho’s face when that little girl called him ‘dad.’ It was hilarious,” Seungmin grins, amused by the memory, and everyone bursts out laughing—everyone except Minho.

“I can totally picture it,” Hyunjin laughs.

“Do you really want to end up in the air fryer, Hyunjin?” Minho threatens, and Hyunjin instantly stops laughing, glancing around nervously.

“Is it because you feel old now that a kid mistook you for her dad?” you tease with a smirk. You’re one of the few people who can get away with it—just like Minho has a soft spot for Felix, he has one for you too.

Felix’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his fingers gently stroking your side as he laughs at your comment—and at the tongue Minho sticks out at you in return.

A little while later, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’ve had the pad on for a few hours now, and you definitely need to change it.

The restroom has three sinks and two stalls—one for men and one for women.

You stop in front of the mirror first, checking your appearance and simply taking a moment to look at yourself. Then, suddenly, a sharp cramp hits you, making you double over with your hands on your lower belly.

You should’ve brought your painkillers with you.

You huff in frustration and rest your hands on the sink, leaning on one leg. That’s when it happens. Warm liquid begins to run down your leg—your position caused your pad to shift.

Caught off guard, you straighten up, trying to keep your baggy pants from touching your thigh.

Damn these white pants. You knew you should’ve worn black jeans.

But as you head into the women’s stall, it’s impossible to keep them from getting stained. That clean white fabric turns into a dreadful shade of red.

When you pull them down and sit on the toilet, you see the full mess you’ve made on your thigh and pants, and tears begin to blur your vision. There hasn’t been a single thing today that your period hasn’t ruined.

You should’ve stayed home.

A sob catches in your throat.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but apparently, you’ve been gone a little too long, because Felix walks into the restroom, looking for you.

You try to stop crying and settle enough to answer him, but when a heavy sob escapes your throat, the tears start flowing down your cheeks again.

“Y/nie?” your boyfriend calls out, approaching the stall you’re in. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You don’t answer.

“Can you open the door for me?”

Still no response—but your sobs slowly quiet down until they stop, and finally, the door clicks open.

Since it’s just the two of you in the restroom, he opens it just enough to see you but doesn’t step in, wanting to give you space. Still, it’s so hard for him to stand there, seeing your tear-streaked face and the way your bottom lip is quivering.

“Sunshine, what’s going on?” His voice is deep but soft—reassuring.

The words die in your throat, so you lower your eyes to your pants—and he understands. You’ve already tried to clean your thigh the best you could, but there’s still some red left.

“Is that the reason? Baby, it’s okay. It happens. Nothing we can’t fix.” He offers you a gentle smile—but is surprised when fresh tears start falling down your cheeks again.

That’s when he quickly steps inside, shuts the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. His hands cup your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears—and in that moment, you’re so thankful he’s your boyfriend. He presses a soothing kiss to your forehead.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you say, your voice cracking. “It’s just…” you sniffle, and he waits patiently, nodding. “It’s the second time today, and it’s ruining everything. And now I’ve got stained pants and all this pain, and I didn’t even bring my pills with me. I ruined the hangout, and I’m afraid I’m bothering you too.”

“You’re not annoying me—you never could. Don’t even think that, okay?” he reassures you. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard day, love. I get how you feel, and I hate that it’s going like this. I wish I could take some of the pain away so you wouldn’t have to feel this bad.”

He places a hand on your stomach, gently stroking it, a small pout on his lips. “Is it hurting a lot?”

You nod, sniffling. There’s a dull, radiating ache that reaches down into your thighs, making it feel like they’ve been split in half. You just want to go home.

“But I can still help make your day better,” he says with a soft smile. “Let’s go back to my place and cuddle in bed. How does that sound?” he asks sweetly, and you nod, closing your eyes for a moment and leaning into his gentle touch.

“Good. No more tears now, okay? It’s going to be okay. I’m here with you.” He gives your thigh a comforting squeeze to reassure you.

Afterward, he leaves you some privacy to finish cleaning up, waiting just outside your stall. When you come out, he offers you his hoodie to tie around your waist and cover the large red stain on your pants. Then the two of you return to the others, just to say goodbye before leaving together.

At his place, you find yourself in the shower for the second time today, while he prepares a cozy spot for the two of you to spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling.

He also quietly slips into the bathroom to leave you some fresh clothes. When you get out of the shower and see them, you almost start crying again because of how thoughtful and loving he is. Out of all his clothes, he picked your favorites: a pair of soft gray sweatpants you always wear when you’re at his place, and a worn-out white shirt you often wear when you snuggle, especially after sex. There’s also a black hoodie that’s way too big on you —which is exactly why you love it— and a pair of fluffy blue socks.

When you leave the bathroom, he’s already waiting for you on the bed, and you immediately throw yourself into his arms. You stay like that for so long you lose track of the minutes—or the hours. You could stay like this for days without ever getting tired of it.

One of his hands gently rubs circles on your back while you absentmindedly scratch his arm with your nails.

“Feeling better now?”

You hum. “Yeah, much better.”

There’s a cartoon playing softly on the TV in his room, and outside, the occasional sound of cars passes by. Everything is so calm and peaceful, you don’t want to get out of bed for at least a few more days, or months—or maybe ever.

But of course, things can’t stay perfect. You let out a whine when a sharp cramp tears through your lower belly, making you squirm, your face contorting in pain. Felix coos and places a hand over the spot that hurts, tracing soothing little circles.

Damn your body.

Felix leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, then your lips—once, then again, and again. You’re not even sure how you ended up with your back on the bed and him hovering over you, but it doesn’t really matter.

He starts leaving sensual kisses down the side of your neck, trailing lower until he reaches the hem of the hoodie you’re wearing.

Then his lips brush against your ear.

“You know, I heard orgasms help with period cramps.”

He bites your earlobe gently.

“Wanna give it a try?”

Then he licks and sucks it. He doesn’t give you time to answer before his lips crash onto yours again. Both of his hands slip under your hoodie and T-shirt, finding your hot skin.

“Please, baby? I really need you,” he says softly, needily.

But he quickly notices your hesitation and pulls his hands out from under your clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you admit, avoiding eye contact. “It’s just… we’ve never done it while I was on my period, and I’m scared the blood might gross you out.”

But he gently takes your chin and lifts your face to look at him.

“Baby, I’m not a kid. A little blood doesn’t scare me,” he says confidently. “And it definitely doesn’t gross me out—especially when it’s from you.”

You smile, then nod. “Okay, then I want to.”

He gives you a kiss on the lips before getting up to grab a towel, which he lays under you to avoid a mess neither of you will want to clean up later.

You undress each other quickly, down to just your underwear. He kisses your stomach, just below your belly button, while his fingers toy with the waistband of the boxers —his boxers— you’re wearing. “Can I?” he asks, checking that you haven’t changed your mind, and you answer with a quiet, “Yes.”

He pulls your underwear off quickly and tosses them to the floor like he always does—only this time, they hit the floor with a weird thud because of the pad, making you cringe.

His fingers move skillfully between your folds, teasing you before slipping two inside, making you gasp—and he lets out a low groan. His fingers might be short, but they hit that sweet spot just right, and he knows exactly how to work it, making your hips buck against his hand in pleasure.

He adds a third finger. “Feels good, baby? You like my fingers inside you?”

You nod quickly. “Yes,” you moan.

You try not to focus on the squelching sound, aware that it’s louder because of the blood. You don’t even dare to look down, afraid of seeing his fingers stained red or the mess probably already soaking into the towel.

“Felix, can you— please touch my clit too?” you ask, voice soft and shaky.

He smiles, clearly happy you’re telling him explicitly what you want. And he’d be lying if he said seeing your innocent face and hearing that shy little request didn’t make his cock twitch.

He lets a string of spit fall from his mouth onto your pussy, collecting it with the thumb of his free hand and bringing it right to your clit. He rubs in slow circles —side to side, up and down— knowing exactly how you like it.

“Good girl… just keep telling me what you want, yeah?”

“Can- can you…” You gesture toward your tits, and he gets it, chuckling.

“Wanna feel my mouth on these pretty nipples?” You nod, and he doesn’t waste a second—licking and sucking just the way that has you writhing under him.

Your eyes roll back and you let out breathy, broken moans, completely overwhelmed by how good it all feels—by all the attention he’s giving your body.

He pulls back for a moment. “Gonna make you cum on my fingers first—then I’m gonna fuck you nice and deep.”

And just like that, he picks up right where he left off.

Felix is so hard in his underwear he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if his cock doesn’t get touched soon. He tries to grind against the bed, but it’s difficult from his current position. So instead, he finds your leg and starts grinding against it, moaning around your nipple.

When you realize what your boyfriend is doing, you feel even closer to the edge. He’s really getting off on hearing and watching you fall apart.

“Lix, I’m close. I’m so close—”

His fingers move faster, both inside you and over your puffy clit, and within seconds you’re coming on his hands, rolling your hips against his fingers as he keeps moving to help you ride out your orgasm.

When the intense wave fades, your hips collapse onto the bed. His touch leaves you for a moment as he wipes his fingers clean, then he’s back—kissing your lips, your nose, your forehead like he can’t stop touching you.

His hips have also stopped rutting against your leg.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his deep voice soothing.

“Really good. Felt good,” you murmur in response. He intertwines his fingers with yours as you start sharing soft, chaste kisses. You both smile into them, and at one point, you even huff a quiet laugh through your nose.

“It turned me on, seeing you grind against my leg,” you say after a little while, placing your free hand on his cheek, then slowly sliding it down toward his chest.

“Yeah?” he says with a smirk, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him. “Watching you feel that good made me so hard I couldn’t wait anymore. But it still hurts…” He takes your hand and, locking eyes with you, guides it slowly down to where he’s hard beneath the fabric. His breath hitches the second your palm presses against him.

You start stroking him slowly. Eventually, your hand slips inside his boxers to feel him bare, and you pull him out, stroking him gently from base to tip, giving a slight squeeze at the head that draws a strangled moan from him.

“You’re so hard, Felix,” you whisper against his lips. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“Yes, please,” he breathes, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Then why are you holding back? Fuck me like you mean it.” You squeeze his cock a little harder before letting go. Every trace of shyness is gone now, replaced by something bolder, now that it’s not just sweet and loving and all about you.

Felix whimpers involuntarily. He’d used every ounce of self-control not to bury himself inside you the moment you came. He didn’t want to overstimulate you and wanted to give you time to recover, but apparently, that’s not what you want anymore.

“Gonna enter you now, okay?” he warns, lining his cock up with your entrance. One nod from you is all it takes, and he’s sliding in with a single thrust, letting out a guttural moan. “So wet ‘n tight f’ me…”

When he starts moving, he seems more sensitive than usual, judging by the breathy moans and gasps he lets out. His hips don’t settle into a steady rhythm—his thrusts are fast and shallow, showing just how needy he’s been this whole time.

His hands, planted on either side of your head, are clutching the sheets tight in his fists. One of your hands grabs his arm, sliding down until your fingers find his, and when he notices, he intertwines them with yours. He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.

His thrusts grow longer and deeper—pushing all the way in, pulling out just barely, then slamming back inside with force.

When you bring a hand to his hair, he starts kissing and licking your neck, sometimes sucking on your skin hard enough to leave marks that’ll be hard to hide—though deep down, he hopes you’ll keep them.

Your soft, high-pitched moans are something he could listen to for days. Your whimpers make his cock twitch and leak inside you. Your teary eyes are so damn beautiful, he could stare at them forever.

When he pulls back to look at you, his breathing is uneven, and his moans sharper than before. He’s close.

But he’s holding back for you, because he wants to make you come on his cock first.

God, your boyfriend is so sweet.

You clench around him, and he shuts his eyes to focus.

“Don’t do that, or I’m gonna cum,” he begs, desperate.

“You can come, Lix, it’s okay,” you reassure him, but you know that won’t be enough to make him give in. “I want you to fill me up nice and deep. I’m ready to take everything you’ve got, want to be so full of you,” you continue, hitting a weak spot of his.

His orgasm hits him suddenly, his cock spurting ropes of hot cum deep inside you. He gives a few more thrusts to ride it out, then collapses on top of you.

“Not fair,” he pouts when he finally lifts himself up and looks at you.

“You said that on purpose ‘cause you knew it’d make me cum. I wanted to make you cum on my cock.”

How can someone sound and look so innocent while saying such filthy things?

You laugh. “Next time.”

He pulls out of you slowly, carefully.

“My girl’s gonna cum, whether it’s on my cock or on my fingers.”

This time, he spits on your pussy, even though it’s not needed—you’re already soaked from everything you’ve done. Two of his fingers find your clit again, red and puffy, moving in small circles that knock the air right out of your lungs.

Those same fingers suddenly dip down to your entrance, collecting some of the cum that’s leaking out, only to slap it onto your most sensitive spot. You gasp and clutch the sheets in your fists.

He starts rubbing again, only to slap your clit twice more. His other hand grabs your thigh firmly and presses it down against the bed, as if to force your legs open—even though there’s no need, since you’re already holding them wide for him.

“You’ve been a bad girl, making me come like that. That should’ve been my job,” he says, landing a harder slap. “Let this be a lesson so you’ll think twice next time.”

The sudden change in his behavior has your head spinning. His two fingers pinch your clit a couple of times before resuming fast, precise strokes.

“Felix—” you choke out. You want to warn him that you’re about to come, but your climax hits you too suddenly, tearing a very loud moan from your throat.

You black out for a moment, completely lost in sensation—and you’re grateful to come back to Felix kissing your neck sweetly and whispering soft praises.

You appreciate the affection he’s giving you, but you gently press your hands to his shoulders to push him back a little. “Lix, ‘m hot.”

He pulls back and lifts his head. “But I wanna cuddle,” he protests, nuzzling into the top of your chest and trying to kiss your skin there.

You sigh. “We will, but after a shower. I feel too sticky and gross right now.”

Felix nods and finally moves away. “I’ll go get the water ready,” he says, then gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom—but not before bringing you a glass of water and some chocolate, which you accept with a kiss on the lips.

In the meantime, you finally glance down at the mess beneath you and scrunch your nose, wishing you hadn’t. You clean yourself up as best you can with the cleanest part of the towel, then grab it and make your way to the bathroom, tossing the towel into the laundry basket before joining your boyfriend.

You step into the shower together, and even though you told him you’d cuddle afterward, he spends the entire time touching and kissing you—if not on the lips, then everywhere else. His lips are soft, and his hands are gentle.

He shampoos your hair and massages your scalp delicately, and you do the same for him. His fingers slip inside you again, but this time it’s just to clean you up from his cum, as he murmurs apologies for the mess he made—not that he’s truly sorry, and you both know it.

When you get out of the shower, he lands a loud smack on your ass, making you gasp softly and slap his in return when he bends over to grab a pair of socks from the wardrobe drawer.

Once you’re both dressed and sitting on his bed, his arms wrap tightly around you, locking you in and pulling you close with no way out—not that you’d want to leave anyway.

You turn on the TV and find a comfortable position under the warm blankets.

Your back is pressed against his chest, which rises and falls slowly with his breath. One of his hands rests gently on your lower belly, stroking it softly.

“Feeling better now?”

“Yeah.” You snuggle even closer. “Much better.” You smile, resting your head on his shoulder with your face tucked into his neck. You press a small kiss to his skin before closing your eyes, soothed by his familiar, calming touch and the quiet sound of the TV still playing in the background.

You feel so loved and safe in his arms that there’s nothing to worry about when he’s with you—because you know he’ll always be there, ready to help you without judgment, staying by your side no matter what.

[myjjongie]

☾ BETWEEN SCARS AND KISSES ── p. jongseong

IN WHICH: the vampire you found one night always crashes at your place when he feels like it. only this time he's severely hurt.

PAIRING: vampire!jay x human!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, slight angst (not sure if its slightly or a lot LOL), minor fluff, skinship, mentions of blood/wounds, scars WORD COUNT: 2.2k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: i intended for this to be cuter but then remembered its vampire jay and i needed to make you all miserable :3 i love being evil. also sorry for making this late, really wanted to post this one right away. PART II

the soft clicking of your keyboard echoed within your quiet bedroom. you paused for a moment as you began to think about something or perhaps someone.

it had been months since you last saw jay. your brows furrowed as worry settled in. you couldn’t help but count as the number of days turned into weeks then months. negative thoughts began to plague your mind as you continued to think about him. the worst part? you had no way of reaching him. he always turned up on his own terms and you could do nothing but wait.

waiting for jay to show up on his own was always frustrating. but what made it more difficult, what made jay different. was the fact he was a vampire.

your thoughts drifted to the first night you met jay. the memory so vivid as if it all happened yesterday. you were exhausted, tired legs dragging you home. the only thing on your mind being the comfort of your bed. but when taking that shortcut to your apartment did you see him.

at the time jay looked like a regular human who got beat up. left there all alone in the alleyway you couldn’t help but worry. feeling bad for him your meek body dragged his heavier set body back to your apartment. once there you treated all his wounds, which at the time were only surface level.

once satisfied with your not so perfect patchwork. you sat on the floor beside your bed. exhaustion soon taking over you. unbeknownst to you the mysterious man would wake up a couple hours later.

your body awoke at the ominous feeling of someone hovering over you. once your eyelashes fluttered open did you meet unfamiliar burgundy red eyes. your body was now shocked awake. before you could say anything was when you realized the band-aids that scatter his face were gone. it was as if he never had any wounds to begin with. there was no way that was possible, you remembered the red bruising so vividly.

before any words could be exchanged between yourself and him he left. you sat there for months trying to figure out if what happened was real or a dream. that was until one night he came knocking on your balcony window. you finally found out then what his name was and who he was.

blinking back to reality you stared at the bright screen. pushing away from your desk you lightly stretched before getting up from your chair. after doing so a loud sound was heard from outside your balcony window. the sound made your body jump causing your heart to race in your chest. slowly making your way over to the window your shaking hands peeled back the curtain.

relief washed over you as your eyes recognized the figure outside. sliding the glass door open you let out a shaky laugh.

“you know the whole disappearing act then showing up whenever you please, isn’t good for my heart. you scared me half to death.” you waited for his signature smirk, a teasing remark, anything. but jay stood there silent.

“jay?” you weakly called out to him. there was still no reply from him. that’s when you saw it. the blood. his body swayed slightly, almost as if he was barely holding himself together.

before jay could collapse your smaller frame caught him into your arms. you stumbled back a bit, your back pressed against the glass. panic surged through you, adrenaline dulling the strain of your struggle as you carried jay’s limp body to the bathroom.

you caught your breath after leaning him against the bathtub. once you were done did you notice his eyes flutter open. jay took note of your worried face. his own face twisted in pain as he tried to stand up, in the end jay was still seated on the floor.

“yn. i’m fine. it’s not that big of a deal.” his voice was hoarse and weak as he urged you to stop.

“what do you mean not that big of a deal! you’re at my window bleeding how can you say that!” tears started to burn into your eyes. you would be lying if you denied feeling at least something for jay. to see him this hurt and wounded in front of you made you feel anxious.

“yn..” his hand found its way to yours that was desperately clutched to his leather jacket. he could feel the way your body trembled.

jay knew it wasn’t out of fear but with concern. huffing out a weakened sigh he sat himself up a bit to undress himself from the jacket and shirt. letting him take his time you got up to find your first aid kit. once coming back to him, you finally saw his bare body for the first time. you weren’t prepared to see how many scars adorned his chest.

your eyes immediately noticed the gash on his abdomen. due to jay’s healing factor the deep cut was closing. even though it was healing it was at a slow rate. the piercing red blood that drenched his body slowly faded into a deep red.

settling down in-between his legs on the floor, you immediately got to work. you wrapped bandages across his body to stop the flow of the blood oozing out from the wound.

the tears in your eyes trickled as you continued on with your work. so worried about helping jay you didn’t notice his hand come up to tuck away the hair that was in your face. the moment you realized his gentle comfort was the moment he wiped away a stray tear.

you looked up at him your watery eyes studying his face. his eyebrows were knitted into a frown as he continued to stare at you.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you sniffled out still busy with the task at hand.

“i don’t like it when you cry.” jay softly said as his finger gently caressed your cheek.

“who’s fault is that hmm?”

jay hummed back in response as his hand still lingered on your face. you couldn’t help but notice the way jay softly rubbed his thumb on your lower cheek. not saying anything about it you finished up bandaging him. before saying something, jay cut you off.

“i didn’t realize you had a beauty mark here.” his words were soft as he continuously stared.

at the mention of the beauty mark on your face your eyes couldn’t help but look at the birth mark on his neck. it was quite fascinating how the mark was faintly shaped like a heart. next to his birth mark displayed fang marks, you always knew those marks were from a vampire but never dwelled much on it to ask him. you could tell he never truly wanted to speak on it. shaking your head from your thoughts your focus went back to the kit.

“you’d be surprised i have a lot all over honestly.” you let out a gentle laugh as you began to pack everything away.

once the first aid kit was closed was when you finally took the moment to examine jay’s chest. you never noticed how many scars truly littered his body. there were faint ones that were barely recognizable to the eye. accompanied with those were a couple big ones that looked as if it took many months to heal. without realizing it your fingers were gently running across the scar that occupied the middle of his chest. jay let out a ragged breath at your gentle touch.

it looked as if he took a slash from a sword or something even sharper and bigger than that. you took note of how the skin stretched together to fix itself. as your fingers traced along the healed wound you felt the way it was slightly raised yet rough.

“did this one hurt?” you asked softly, fingers tracing the distinctive mark. the silence in the bathroom made your voice sound small.

“in the moment it did. but once my body let it heal it wasn’t so bad after.”

“i see.” your voice trailed off as you noticed a scar that looked as if he got pierced by something.

the jagged edges resembled that of a spiderweb. the placement of this scar was on the upper left of his chest. all you could think about was how close the wound was to his heart. this one would have, no it could have killed him. your eyes began to water again at the thought of jay facing death on multiple occasions. the tears that brimmed at the edge of your eyes fell onto his chest. jay looked down at you studying the way your body trembled as you cried.

“why are you crying again?” his voice was a soothing coo as he began to wipe your tears away for a second time.

“thinking about how much you suffered makes me sad. i’m sorry.” your voice cracked as more tears left your eyes.

“don’t be sorry. i’m okay now yn isn’t that all that should matter?”

“yes but.” a sigh left your lips at the loss of words you had. it was true jay was here now so why were you crying about things that happened in his past. you couldn’t deny that the wounds you saw before you made you feel sorrow.

once your tears dried up a second time jay spoke.

“you were right yn. i am surprised at how many beauty marks you have.”

“where did that come from?” you let out a soft laugh. your body softly trembled at the cold touch of jay’s fingers trail along your neck.

his fingers gently tapped across any mark he noticed. the feeling sending a shiver down your back.

“you know. i heard a saying. every beauty mark or mole someone has was where their lover kissed them in their past life.” jay’s voice came out in a low tone as he eyed the dots that were scattered along your chest and face.

“then i guess my lover loved me deeply in my past life.” you smiled at the concept of what beauty marks and moles could represent. your smile immediately faltered as you felt the warmth of something press against your skin.

looking down you saw jay’s face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. he laid butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck. the feeling was ticklish yet it felt right. a light whimper left your lips as you felt his sharp teeth nibble into your skin.

“jay…” your voice was a gentle hush. your fingers tangled into his hair for support.

despite knowing jay for a year, not once did he ever try to take your blood. if he was gonna do it now you were prepared for the impending pain. your eyes closed shut as you waited for his fangs to pierce into you. yet his fangs never broke into your skin. you hesitantly blinked open your eyes to see that familiar color of burgundy. as well as the faint mole under his left eye you’ve adored the moment you noticed it.

jay’s eyes held a hunger you recognized all too well. a desire he never truly allowed himself to indulge on. a desire to sink his fangs into you and taste your blood. you could always see it whenever he lingered close to you.

yet feeling this way he never gave in to it. he knew deep down if he did he might hurt you or worse lose you. his firm hands gripped your shoulder as he pushed your body away from his. he quickly stood up from the ground as he gathered up his shirt and jacket. he walked past you leaving the bathroom.

matching his pace you hurried yourself up from the floor following behind him.

“where are you going you’re still hurt?!” you couldn’t help but scream out to him watching as he made his way to the balcony.

his movements stopped, back faced to you unwilling to turn around. your eyes took in the scars that cascaded along his back. it dawned on you that everywhere on his body were full of wounds. wounds that he would never truly open up about. not now, not any time soon.

“i’ll see you later yn. okay?” as jay stood there he quickly put on the shirt covered in his blood. one hand opening the window ready to leave as the other tightly held his leather jacket.

“jay please…” your voice wavered reaching out to him. but he wouldn’t turn around to meet you. watching him walk away from you, you could feel your heart break apart. you should be mad at him. but all you could think about was whether jay would be okay. his body still battered with wounds.

your fingers twitched at your side. aching to reach for his hand hoping to stop him. but before you could even think of moving jay’s voice stopped you.

“i’m sorry yn. i’ll be back…” jay faintly turned his body to take one more quick glance at you. satisfied at seeing your face one last time, he vanished into the night.

you rushed to the balcony in hopes of getting one last glimpse of him, but he was already gone. only the faint glow of the street lamps illuminating the dark street remained.

perm taglist ( open! refer to this post ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

©myjjongie 2025

[yoonjoongles]

The Sweater - One

-> Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Y/n

-> Summary: In the midst of a storm, Y/n and Seungcheol find warmth and comfort in each other's arms. As they cuddle, Y/n comes to the realisation that with Seungcheol by her side, no storm—literal or metaphorical—can shake the foundation of their relationship.

-> Word count: 732

-> Author's note: Hey guys, this is the first time I'm posting something for others to read so I'm sorry if it's not that good, I still have a lot to learn when it comes to writing. English is also not my first language so excuse me if there are any grammar errors or mistakes. I hope anyone who reads it likes it and I would appreciate some feedback and/or constructive criticism. Thank you :)

read on ao3

A storm raged outside, the wind howling and the rain harshly lashing against the floor to ceiling windows of Seungcheol's cozy apartment. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, starkly contrasting the chaos happening beyond the apartment's walls. Seungcheol and Y/n sat on the dark blue couch placed in the centre of the living room, wrapped in a big, knitted blanket, watching a movie. Or at least, trying to — Y/n was finding it hard to focus on what was happening in the tv in front of her, her thoughts drifting to the comforting presence of the person beside her.

Lightning flashed once more, briefly illuminating the room and Y/n shivered, not from the cold but from the intensity of the storm that had already been going on for a few hours. She turned her head towards Seungcheol, who was too engrossed in the film to even pay attention to whatever may be happening outside, his arm lightly but comfortingly resting around her shoulders. Seeing how focused he was, she hesitated for a moment, feeling somewhat shy despite their recent transition from friends to something more romantic.

"Cheollie," she said softly, after taking a deep breath, her voice being almost drowned out by a particularly loud clap of thunder.

He immediately turned to her, concern flashing in his eyes and worry etched on his face. "Yeah? What happened?"

She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks flushing under his gaze. "Can I borrow one of your sweaters? Maybe the one you wore yesterday?"

Her request made Seungcheol blink, slightly puzzled but not unwilling. "Of course you can, love. But why do you want that one? Not that it got dirty yesterday, but would you not rather wear a washed one?"

Y/n shyly ducked her head, feeling a bit silly for a moment before gathering enough courage to explain. "It smells like you. It's...comforting."

Seungcheol's expression finally softened into a tender and loving smile, dimples on full display. "I'd be happy to go get it for you." He said before he stood and walked in the direction of his bedroom, returning just a few moments later with the pink sweater she had asked for. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, sending a tingle up her arm.

"Here you go," he uttered, before sitting back down on the couch beside her. "You know, you're welcome to anything of mine, anytime. You don't have to be nervous about asking me for something."

Y/n pulled the sweatshirt over her head, being immediately enveloped in the scent of Seungcheol's cologne mixed with something so uniquely him that it made her feel warm inside and she could swear she felt her heart swell with love and admiration for the man beside her. She sighed contentedly before snuggling back into his side. "Thank you, Cheol. You don't know how much better this makes me feel."

He pulled her close once more, this time wrapping both arms around her to cuddle more comfortably. "I'm glad, love. I kind of like seeing you wearing my clothes you know? They suit you." He told her, admiring the way his sweater fell on her, the hem reaching her thighs that were covered with a pair of thick sweatpants.

His admission made her laugh softly, the sound being once again almost lost in a loud rumble of thunder but still able to reach his ears and making his expression soften even more, a fond look making its way to his eyes. "Do you really?" She asked him quietly.

"Yeah...I really, really do," he affirmed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "You can keep it, if you want it."

At this Y/n looked up at him, letting him see how her eyes sparkled even in the dim lighting of the room. "I think I might just do that."

They settled back into a comfortable silence, the movie playing on tv now being mostly ignored, as the two basked in each other's embrace. Wrapped in her lover's sweater, Y/n felt a sense of security and happiness she hadn't felt in a long time and in that moment, she was sure that no matter what, no storm would ever be able to destroy the life they were just starting to build together. And with Seungcheol by her side, she knew that they would be able to overcome whatever challenges may head their way, as long as they have each other.

All Rights Reserved © yoonjoongles // do not copy or modify my work in any way.

[myheartsaysyes]

Someone Like You

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Names and Silences

Word Count: 3.1k+

Notes: It’s about to get real y’all! I hope you enjoy this chapter. 🥰 Thank you @partylikemajima for always being so gracious as I relentlessly bother you with this story. ☺️🤣

The morning was warm but not yet heavy, sunlight sifting through the porch rails. Annie stopped by Mary’s house on her way to do a quick grocery run, her mind still on yesterday’s walk home with Smoke.

The screen door creaked open and slapped shut. Barefoot steps padded across the porch.

“Don’t start in on me,” Mary said, voice half-playful, half-regretful. “I know I disappeared on you yesterday.”

Annie looked her over. Mary stepped out onto the porch in a faded blue day dress, the kind worn thin by time and washing boards. The cotton clung to her from the lingering summer heat, its short sleeves rolled and uneven, like she’d tugged them up in a hurry. Her hair unpinned and wild, eyes still soft with sleep but guilt edging her smile.

“I wasn’t,” Annie said lightly. “You don’t owe me nothin.”

Mary plopped down with a groan on the porch steps, brushing her hair out of her face. “Still. I shouldn’t’ve left you like that. Slipped off with Stack like I ain’t got a lick of sense.”

Annie gave her a small smile and lied. “Didn’t bother me, none.”

Mary fidgeted with the hem of her skirt while her voice dropped lower, more honest. “Truth is… I don’t know what happens to me ‘round that boy. Like I go dumb in the head. I love him so much, Annie.” She paused, eyes distant. “Even when he makes me want to set him on fire.”

Annie laughed, her voice teasing. “If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Mary gave a crooked smile, shaking her head. “Love like that? It don’t come smooth. Never has.”

The porch fell quiet, Annie was just about to say goodbye to Mary so she could get her shopping done, when Mary sat up straighter and looked at Annie with a sly look.

“So,” she said. “You and the quiet one.”

Annie froze, blinked. “What, whatchu talkin’ bout?”

“Smoke,” Mary said. “You think I ain’t see the way you looked at him? And how he ain’t say a word to nobody that entire time—but he made sure you got home?” She grinned.

Annie’s cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t like that.”

Mary arched a brow. “You like him?”

Annie didn’t answer right away, just shifted her grocery basket on her hip. “I don’t know what I feel,” she said quietly. “But when I’m with him… I don’t feel scared. I feel… still. Like everythin’ else gets quiet too.”

Mary’s face shifted—gentle, thoughtful. She nodded. “Good,” she said. “Just don’t confuse quiet with safe.”

Annie turned to her. “What you mean?”

Mary looked down at her bare feet for a long moment. “Some folks carry silence like peace,” she said finally. “Others carry it like a weapon. Smoke—he the kind that only talks when he means it. He don’t waste words. But that don’t mean he ain’t dangerous.”

A crease formed between Annie’s brows. “You think he’d hurt me?”

Mary’s eyes found hers again—firm, but soft. “No, girl. I think he’d hurt for you. But love don’t always grow easy in soil like that.”

Annie looked down, thumb pressing into the weaving of her basket where it was frayed. “After the things I’ve heard bout him, some stuff you told me, he wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t mean or nothin.”

“He’s not,” Mary said. “But Smoke’s been through things most boys wouldn’t survive. He don’t let people close for a reason.”

Annie swallowed. The question had been sitting on her tongue for minutes now. “What happened to them? Him and Stack?”

Mary sat back against the porch post, staring out at the trees like they held the answer. “That’s a story,” she murmured. “One you got a right to hear.”

She closed her eyes for a second, gathering it all like stones in her hands.

“The twins mama died birthin ‘em,” she said quietly. “My mama, she helped bring ‘em into this world. But the boys—they came too early. Stack got stuck in her. Smoke came first, but it was Stack who killed her. Least, that’s how they daddy saw it.”

Annie just stared, sat down on the porch next to Mary, placing her grocery basket down at her feet.

“Man was always mean,” Mary went on. “But after she died, he turned cruel. Took it out on those boys—mostly Stack. But Smoke… he took them beatings whenever he could. Protected his brother like he was born to do it.”

Annie’s chest tightened.

Mary leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “And then, one day… their daddy disappeared.”

Annie swallowed. “Disappeared?”

“Just gone,” Mary said. “No body. No funeral. Just—poof….gone. And them boys stopped looking scared after that.”

“You think Smoke…?”

Mary gave her a long look. “Some folks think so. That maybe he’d had enough. That he did what Stack never could.”

Annie’s voice was a whisper now. “What do you believe?”

Mary stared at her a long while, then spoke low. “I believe he did what needed doin’. And I believe he ain’t proud of it, but he sure ain’t sorry.”

Annie’s mouth parted. “You sound like you know more than you sayin’.”

Mary just looked at Annie, without saying a word.

———

The sun beat down heavy on the tin roof of Chow’s grocery store, warming the dusty planks of the porch where Smoke leaned, one boot crossed over the other. He flicked his cigarette into the dirt and rolled the heat of the day off his shoulders with a slow exhale. The street was busy—wagons creaking by, folks fussing over Sunday dinner fixings—but his eyes stayed trained on the store entrance.

The screen door creaked behind him.

“You gon’ stand out here all day like a guard dog?” Bo’s voice was light, teasing. He stepped onto the porch, wiping his hands on his apron. Flour dust clung to the sweat on his forearms.

Smoke didn’t look at him. “Ain’t guardin’ nobody.”

Bo chuckled. “Mmhmm. You just like leanin’ in the sun, then?”

Smoke said nothing, just let the silence stretch until it folded comfortably between them.

Bo leaned against the post beside him. “Heard y’all been back a few weeks now. Folks talkin’. Stack still stirrin’ up trouble?”

Smoke gave the faintest shake of his head. “Stack’s Stack.”

“Fair enough.” Bo looked out at the road, squinting. “Ain’t seen you in town much.”

“Didn’t come back for town.”

Bo nodded like he understood. “You eat yet?”

Smoke’s mouth curved just barely. “You offerin’?”

“You buyin’?”

Smoke finally glanced his way, and Bo laughed. “Thought so.”

The screen door groaned as Bo pushed it open, and Smoke followed him inside. The cool, dim air hit them like a hush—welcome after the thick heat outside. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with tins and jars. Burlap sacks of flour and sugar sat in lopsided rows, and the wooden floor creaked beneath their boots.

The scent hit next—tobacco, molasses, salt meat, and something sharp like vinegar. It wrapped around Smoke like a memory.

Bo was just about to speak when the screen door swung again. Bo turned his head, but Smoke was already looking.

There she was. Walking into the store.

Annie.

She wore a faded yellow dress that clung in places and loosened in others—soft cotton brushing her calves, the fabric swaying with each step. Her curves moved with quiet confidence, full and natural, like she didn’t know the kind of attention she pulled. Her waist dipped smooth into her hips, and Smoke’s eyes tracked the shape of her without meaning to.

The swell of her breasts rose gently beneath the cotton, the kind of soft and full that made it hard not to notice. Her backside curved round and high, the dress hugging just enough to suggest without showing. Smoke’s jaw flexed. He forced his eyes away, but his thoughts lingered on.

He needed to stop. Needed to get his damn mind right. This girl wasn’t for thinking like that—especially not her.

Her hair was pinned up, but some of her tight curls had already slipped free in the heat, sticking to her neck. She held a folded list in one hand, her basket in the other, and her brow furrowed like she was on a mission.

There was nothing flashy about her. Nothing loud.

And still—he felt it. Low in his chest.

Bo followed his line of sight, and when he saw who Smoke was staring at, his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“You know her?” he asked under his breath, elbow brushing Smoke’s like he couldn’t help himself. “She come in here ’bout once a month. Always alone. Always polite. Ain’t from town, though.”

Smoke didn’t answer. Didn’t look away, either.

Bo chuckled. “Didn’t figure you had a type,” he said, nudging again. “But I get it now.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed, just a little. Not enough to start something—just enough to make Bo back off.

Bo raised both hands like alright, alright and stepped away, still grinning to himself.

But Smoke?

He was still watching Annie.

And he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped breathing.

Smoke didn’t move. Just watched. The way she scanned the shelves. The way she stood on her toes to reach for a jar of molasses. The way she turned slightly away when a boy sidled up next to her, talking too fast and standing too close.

Smoke’s jaw twitched.

The boy…. Leon—young, maybe seventeen, with a sharp smile and slicked-down hair—said something that made Annie laugh, but the kind of laugh you knew meant, I’m just being polite. She stepped back, but he stepped forward.

That was enough.

Smoke pushed off the wall and moved towards her.

⸻

The store was cooler than the street outside, but still crowded—bodies weaving between barrels of flour, shelves of preserves, and bins of dried beans. The scent of cured meat, cornmeal, and sun-warmed wood filled the air.

Annie stepped inside, list in hand, eyes scanning. She’d come for just a few things, but her mind was a little foggy—half on the list, half somewhere else.

Or someone.

She shook her head and moved toward the shelf with molasses, biting the inside of her cheek. Focus, Annie.

Still, she felt it—that low buzz under her skin. That strange awareness that made the back of her neck warm. Like she was being watched. Not in a way that unsettled her. Like something familiar was nearby, something quiet and steady.

She reached up for a jar on the high shelf, fingers stretching.

“Let me help you with that.”

The voice didn’t match the feeling in her chest.

She turned and found herself face to face with a boy—Luther, she thought. Or maybe Leon. He grinned too wide and looked her up and down like he’d earned the right.

“No thank you,” she said politely, already stepping back.

But he moved forward.

“You sure? Girl like you shouldn’t have to lift a finger.” He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice like he thought it made him sound smooth. “’Specially not with all that you carryin’.” His eyes scanned down to Annie’s breasts.

Annie’s stomach twisted. She tried to step to the side, but he matched her.

“I’m fine,” she said, firmer this time.

He didn’t listen.

He grinned. “Ain’t you the new girl in town, Miss Anita… yeah from what’s that……Alabama?”

She offered a polite nod and wasn’t trying to correct him either. “Yep, Anita from Alabama.”

He leaned on the edge of the shelf like they were already friends. “Yeah, yeah, heard you live out there in them woods. You must get tired of all them trees and quiet. Bet it get lonely up there, huh?”

Annie gave a thin smile. “I like quiet.”

“Well maybe you need somebody to bring a little noise your way.”

He stepped a bit closer. Close enough that she caught the scent of too-sweet cologne and something sour beneath it. She shifted back, but the shelves were behind her.

“Uh, Luther, Leon, I—”

“She said no.”

The voice cut through the air like a blade.

Luther—or whatever his name was—turned sharply. Smoke stood behind him, still as a shadow but twice as heavy.

The boy laughed, trying to play it off. “Ain’t nobody talkin’ to you, Smoke.”

Smoke didn’t flinch. “I’m talkin’ to you.”

There was something in his eyes that made the boy take a half-step back. People nearby grew quiet. The boy scoffed, but his bravado was gone. “Was just jokin’.”

“Wasn’t funny.”

A beat. Then the boy muttered something under his breath and ducked around Smoke, slipping out the door fast.

Annie stared after him, heart racing. When she turned back, Smoke was watching her—not angry, not proud. Just steady.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded, smoothing her dress though it didn’t need smoothing. “Didn’t need savin’.”

“I know,” he said, low. “Did it anyway.”

She looked down at the basket in her hands. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, then reached for the bag of cornmeal in her basket like it weighed more than it did. “You finished here?”

“Um, almost, still have a few things to get.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

Again, just like last time….. it wasn’t a question.

Annie should’ve said no. But the truth was—she didn’t want to.

———

The sun was starting to dip when they left Bo Chow’s store. Long shadows stretched across the dusty road as Smoke walked beside Annie, one hand curled around the basket she no longer carried.

They didn’t speak at first.

The hush between them wasn’t awkward, though. It felt good. Comfortable. Like the quiet had been made just for them.

Annie peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He looked ahead, jaw set, eyes unreadable, the weight of the world tucked behind those lashes as if it had been there too long to leave.

“You always hang around grocery stores like that?” she asked finally, lips twitching.

Smoke didn’t smile, but something in his face softened. “Not usually.”

“You always scare boys off?”

He glanced at her sideways. “Only the ones who don’t listen.”

A beat passed. Annie looked down at the basket swinging easily in his hand.

“Is that too heavy?” she asked. “I can carry it.”

Smoke’s brow lifted just slightly, and he stopped walking. “You think I can’t handle a basket?”

Annie blinked. “No—I just meant—”

He tilted his head, watching her fluster. Then the edge of his mouth twitched—almost a smirk. “It’s fine.”

She let out a breath, half-laughing. “Alright then. Just trying to be polite.”

They kept walking, a little closer now.

“What’s in it, anyway?” he asked after a minute.

Annie glanced down at the basket. “Stuff for my grandmama mostly. She’s been working on a new batch of oils and powders.”

“Rootwork?” Smoke asked, the word falling quiet off his tongue.

She nodded. “Mm-hmm. Protection, cleansing, grief work… that kind of thing.”

Smoke looked ahead again, but slower this time. Like he was thinking on that.

“You believe in all that?” he asked.

“I believe in what I feel,” she said.

Then, after a pause, she looked at him—soft but sure.

“Right now, I feel calm.”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. Just let the word calm hang between them.

Annie shifted next to him, watching his profile as they walked. “What about you?” she asked. “What do you believe in?”

Smoke kept his gaze forward, jaw working slightly like he was chewing on more than the question. When he spoke, his voice was low.

“I believe in what I see.”

There was no arrogance in it—just truth. Simple. Quiet. Heavy.

Annie didn’t argue. Didn’t need to. She nodded slowly, her steps matching his.

“I get that,” she said. “Ain’t everybody raised to trust feelins. Some folks… feelins got ’em hurt.”

Smoke glanced at her then. Not sharply—just real. Like she’d peeled something back without even trying.

Their eyes held for a beat, the road stretching out before them, the sun sinking low behind the trees.

Annie looked down at the dirt path, then back at him, the question rising before she could stop it.

“What’s your real name?”

Smoke’s steps slowed. He looked down, then back at her.

“You already know it,” he said.

“I do,” she admitted. “But I wanna hear you say it.”

He stopped walking. Turned to face her fully. The basket stayed in one hand, but the other curled at his side like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

His eyes—dark, steady—held hers in a way that made her breath catch.

“Elijah,” he said quietly.

Annie’s lips parted. She’d heard Mary say it before, had even whispered it once or twice under her breath after he walked her home that first time. But hearing him speak it—offered in that low, careful voice—felt like a door had just opened between them.

She smiled—shy but playful—and tilted her head. “Well, since we were never properly introduced at Mary’s…”

She extended her hand, fingers trembling just slightly.

“My name is Annalise Marceaux,” she said, her voice formal at first. Then, shyly, “But… Annie for short.”

Smoke looked down at her hand like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or something more. But then he put down the basket, reached out and took it.

His hand was rough, calloused, but warm—a little bit larger than hers, but gentle. Their fingers curled into each other, palms pressed soft between them.

“It’s nice to meet you, Elijah Moore,” she added, voice quiet as a prayer.

“Nice to meet you too, Annalise Marceaux… Annie.”

The sound of her name—full and unhurried in his voice—sent a ripple through her chest.

She’d heard her name spoken a thousand times, but never like this.

Not like it was something.

Not like SHE meant something.

Her breath caught, just for a second. A flicker of heat bloomed low in her belly, unexpected, but not unwelcome.

She glanced up at him, heart tapping wild behind her ribs, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel invisible.

He saw her.

All of her.

Elijah said her name like it was worth remembering.

And then… neither of them let go.

They stayed like that, hand in hand on the side of the dirt road, the sky bleeding gold above them. Their eyes met—and held. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel invisible.

Standing in the heat and dust of Clarksdale, Mississippi, it felt like he saw her. Not just the rumors that surrounded her.

All of her.

Annie’s heart skittered in her chest. She let out a nervous little laugh and slowly pulled her hand back, eyes dipping.

But Elijah didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even blink.

He just kept looking at her, his gaze steady and unreadable—but far from empty.

And in that look, Annie felt something stir. Something deep and real that didn’t yet have a name—but it was there.

Alive.

Before she could think better of it, the words slipped out soft and hopeful: “Would you… want to stay for supper?”

[softxsuki]

Hiii

I wanted to requst confort Bakugou in which his girlfriend relapsed in selfharms.

Okay so this is kind of a emergency request because i have been kind of low and i relapsed in selfharm yesterday after five months with out doing it.

Thanks so much 🩷🩶

Bakugou Comforts Girlfriend Who Relapses From S.H

| Pairing: ProHero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader | Genre: Comfort, Angst | Post-Type: Headcanons | Word Count: 980 |

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, blades, blood, scars, cuts, mentions of death (no actual death), self-blame, please don't read if these topics will bring you more harm than good.

Note: Hey, hope this is able to bring you some comfort. Even if you've relapsed again, don't blame yourself. Keep trying until those five months turn into a year and so on, even if you fall again. I'm here if you ever need me <3 (also thanks for requesting this, kinda forced me to write something after 2 months of no writing and Bakugou always gets my inspiration flowing. Sorry if it's bad though, I'm a bit rusty FHJKEBAF)

Bakugou walks in on you cutting after barging into the bathroom without any warning

You were a couple, there wasn’t much privacy between you both any more after years of being together, so this was pretty normal

However seeing the blood on you with a razor in your hands, he freaks out

He runs over to you and snatches the blade from your hands quickly, cutting his hand in the process as you begin to struggle

“What the hell are you doing?” He repeats over and over again, as if trying to understand what it is he’s witnessing 

His heart is hammering in his chest and his palms get even sweatier than usual, he’s scared

He’s a bit explosive, running his hands through his hair as he looks down at you, getting blood in his blond hair from accidentally cutting himself, but he’s less worried about his mess and more worried about you

He washes you off and treats your wounds while mumbling to himself

Truthfully he’s putting a lot of the blame on himself

He had known about your past with self-harm, yet became a little lax after you’ve been clean for so long

As someone obsessed with keeping his loved ones safe, he feels like he’s failed from keeping you safe from yourself when you’re always beside him, wasn’t that his job as a hero? If he couldn’t keep you safe, how could he keep the country safe?

He might be a little harsh with his words, because he is upset, but he isn’t upset with you, he’s upset with himself for not noticing your struggle sooner

Surely you had been trying to avoid doing this but he’s been so preoccupied with hero work, returning home exhausted that he never noticed

Brings you into his arms in a tight embrace once he’s calmed down a little bit after seeing your tears and hearing your persistent apologies, coming back to reality and giving you the comfort he had failed to provide you with before

You feel him trembling slightly as he holds you, knowing how easily he could have lost you today, not from a villain, but from your own hands, the thought alone terrifies him to death

He helps you up (might even carry you because why not?) and brings you to bed, pressing kissing to the top of your head as he continues to hold you, not caring for the blood that was still dried up on his hands and hair from the wound he still hadn’t taken care of on his own hands, or the sweat still lingering on his body from a full day of patrolling and catching random villains on the street

You have to push him to leave you to go clean himself up so he can finally relax, not that he would relax after seeing all that

He refuses to have you tend to his own wounds, reassuring you that he was fine and would clean it up himself, he’s very self-reliant like that, not wanting to burden you with that or blame yourself for him also getting hurt

He feels a little anxious though, deciding to shower with the bathroom door open and talking to you about his day, making sure he hears a response from you every now and then

You’re his everything and he’d never see you hurt like that again

Moving forwards he’s very attentive, calling you throughout the day when he has a spare moment, and is uncharacteristically enthusiastic when you mention stopping by the agency to bring him lunch through the week, not that he’d ever tell anyone that, but you see him visibly relax when you enter his office and that gentle smile of his that only you have the honor of seeing is stamped across his face

You felt a little guilty for worrying him so much, yet you were grateful for his support after that terrible night and the fact that overall, he hadn’t treated you any differently and still cared for you deeply

At home he notices you hiding your scars from him, but he rolls your sleeves up and presses kisses to the tattered skin, showing you the countless scars he had on his arms, chest and face from years of hero work

“You gotta accept them to move forward, hiding them away just continues that internal battle inside you. If any idiot has the balls to comment on them, I’ll handle it. So don’t go covering them up”

He’s always been protective of you in his own special way, but that heightens after your relapse, though he does it in a way where he won’t be suffocating because he knows that would annoy him as well if someone did that to him

But he’s a little extra clingy when he’s home and his voice is a bit softer when he speaks to you

Because the worst thought suddenly crosses his mind after a few sleepless nights; what if he had been the one behind your actions? What if he had caused you to relapse by accidentally neglecting you due to his busy schedule or maybe he snapped at you accidentally after a long day–the thought made his heart clench 

Even if he wasn’t the number one hero, he wanted to be the number one in your life, to be there for you and protect you, but what if he was the villain?

Noticing his distress, you immediately shut those thoughts down, you had your own problems you were working through in your head and with the things you went through each day, he was your only safe place

Though things got hard at times, you knew with his help that one day you’d never feel tempted by a blade anymore, and with Katsuki by your side, you knew that day would be a lot closer than you thought

Posted: 04/08/2024

[nkogneatho]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 4 𝐔 ✦

— a/n: i wrote this yesterday but i felt embarrassed to post but today i am gathering a bit of courage and posting this hehe. there might be typos.

oliver is used to flashy birthday parties. most of the time, he'd hit the club with his friends, flirt with some chic. fuck in the bathroom or the alley at the back of the club and come home at 5 in the morning, drained. he didn't hate it. since he liked being around people, and well, the attention was good too i guess. it's just...when he's lying there on his bed, staring at the ceiling, just counting the seconds passing by, the sudden rush of odd feeling washes over him. though, he cannot put a pin on it. he's spent every birthday trying to figure iy out but never understood what exactly is that feeling.

that is until you came into his life.

oliver swore to himself he'd never get serious in relationships. he thought what you and him had was "just casual." yeah, oliver aiku never catches feelings. oh how untrue that was when he found himself constantly checking his phone during interviews to see your reply. how at every game, even in the heat of the adrenaline, his gaze never fails to swiftly land on you and get a glimpse of your smile before shooting the ball so hard through the goal.

hmm it was totally casual when he came over at 3 am in the night with your favorite chocolates and snacks when you had a terrible day and top of it you got your periods in the middle of the night. very normal and casual when he asked you to move in with him.

so now when he was out on his birthday with his friends, he didn't even feel like looking at some other girl let alone dance with him. there was this one girl yapping his ears off even when he told her he has a girl, and all he could do was wish you were there instead of her. you said you had work that day and maybe you could celebrate on the weekend. he knows you're a hardworker so of course he understood.

the sound of the engine whirring and stopping alerted you. oliver walked through the door, expecting you to be asleep. gosh all he wanted to for now was to climb the bed beside you, soak in your fragrance that lulls him to sleep.

so imagine his surprise when he walked in to a dimly lit room, only to switch the lights on and find you jump out with a cake from behind the counch.

"grattis på födelsedagen, min älskling."

he scanned you for 27 seconds, soaking in every single detail as to prove himself that this wasn't real. but it was. the messily piped whipped cream on the cake was real. the minimal but sweet decorations around were real. and so were you, standing there in his jersey, with a proud smile.

that is when oliver realized what that feeling was tht he felt every birthday. loneliness.

the man took two small steps to meet you around the couch. and when he finall had a closer look, he brought on of his hand to your face and rested his palm, oh so lovingly, on your cheeks.

"thank you, my love." love. not baby, love.

"heh. oh. blow the candles, oli, they're melting." you nudged the cake towards him, lifting it higher to make it easy for him. "and you have to make a wish." he smiled at you before blowing out the little flames. his thumb swiped the cream and cherry off the cake and get a test.

"delicious...but," he lifted the cake off your hands and gently set it down on the table beside him, "nothing compares to you," he purred before taking in your lips. you could taste the sweetness when his tongue entered your lips. oliver pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

"what'd you wish for? winning the next game haha," you teased him.

"hmm noo." his hands perfectly settled on your waist. "something way more important." he whispered before kissing you again.

i wish she exists in every single birthday for the rest of my life

[bvidzsoo]

Every time I see you...chapter 4 ↰

...my throbbing heart rate spikes up

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

☆ Warning: cursing, alcohol consumption ☆ Word count: 6.6k ☆ Rating: nc-17 ☆ Genre: slice of life, established relationship, post university setting, angst ☆ Summary: Nothing feels better than waking up in a warm bed with your sweetheart cooking breakfast, the scent of pancakes wafting through the open door. The only problem is that Mingi isn't your sweetheart, not exactly, and the night ends in an unexpected turn with your heart heavy and cheeks tear streaked.

☆ Visuals ☆

M.list ~ Previous Chapter

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! The new chapter is here and, well...we'll speak once you've read it haha. Nothing good lasts forever...or it does? If communication is good, I'd say it does but, oh, well...thank you for reading this story so far, I really appreciate your comments and feedback. I cannot say when the next update will be as I am focusing on finishing the drabbles for mine and Mina's March Event (which you should take a look at!^^) because we have fixed deadlines (that I've fallen behind on lol, nothing to worry about, I work best under pressure lmao.) I hope you enjoy this chapter and sorry for making you wait for the next one, I'll try to make it worth! Lmk what you thought of this chapter! ^^ divider

Taglist: @spicxbnny @hongjoongspoetry

🎧𝛦𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝘴𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝜎𝓊, 𝓂𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝜎𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 / 𝑆𝑝𝑖𝑘𝑒𝘴 𝓊𝑝 ℓ𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝘴𝑡𝑖ℓℓ 𝑡𝜎 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝘴 𝒹𝑎𝑦 / 𝛵ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝜎𝑡𝑡𝜎𝓂 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑓𝜎𝓊𝑛𝒹 𝜎𝓊𝑡 𝘸𝑎𝘴 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝘴𝑡 𝑏𝑎𝘴𝑒 (𝑏𝓊𝑡 𝑦𝜎𝓊’ℓℓ 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑘𝑛𝜎𝘸) /… 𝐼 𝒹𝜎𝑛’𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝑎 𝓂𝑎𝑛, 𝒿𝓊𝘴𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝘴𝘴𝜎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝘴🎧

            I groaned as something bright and warm fell on my face, making me scrunch it up in annoyance as it bothered my peace. Had I not closed the curtains before going to bed last night? I groaned again, a little louder, and turned onto my stomach to bury my head into my pillow. It was always a bit tricky waking up after my day off; the pull of the warm bed was really tricky and easily made me oversleep, and then I’d have to rush to the store. But if the sun was directly blazing on my face, it meant I still had some time before I’d be late to work. Pulling my head off the pillow, I turned it back towards the window, reaching my right hand out, only to feel up an empty space. My eyebrows furrowed as I opened one eye, instantly getting blinded by the sun. I sighed and stared at the empty spot next to me. The blanket was crumbled, and the sheets were pulled together in a way I knew only Mingi could make them be. He had a talent for getting tangled up in the sheets in his sleep, sometimes, it was hilarious waking up to him with his pillow over his head or the blanket wrapped around his body in an awkward position. That’s mostly why we slept with separate blankets; he’d hog it way too often, but since I had washed the spare one yesterday, we had to share my big blanket last night. It wasn’t as bad as I had expected it to be, even though Mingi tried to tease me by pressing his cold feet against mine until I gave his shin a rather firm kick.

I wondered where he had disappeared to now, pondering whether he had gone home already. There were mornings when he’d quickly rush home before I could wake up, but as my brain cleared more and registered everything around itself, I realised a sweet smell was in the air. I flipped onto my back and rubbed my eyes to get the sleep out of them, a smile pulling at my lips as I heard the tinkering of pans and pots out in the kitchen. The bedroom door was left slightly ajar so that Mingi's tinkering in the kitchen wouldn’t wake me but so that the delicious smell could trick me out of bed. I chuckled and grabbed the edge of the blanket to pull it over my head, stretching my body out as I groaned in satisfaction when my vertebras popped. The croaking of the floorboards outside my door caught my attention, and I pulled the blanket off my head just as Mingi stepped inside the room with an amused smile on his lips.

“Good morning, Aurora.” I scoffed at his teasing, pouting up at him as he approached the bed.

“It’s not even late,” I grumbled, my voice a bit scratchy from having not used it for a while, “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

“Breakfast, can’t you tell?” Mingi raised an eyebrow as I hummed, glancing past him through the fully opened door now. Based on the delicious scents, I could guess that he was most likely making pancakes. Mingi loved pancakes, and he didn’t miss a chance to serve them whenever the opportunity was given to him.

“Are you done with it?” I asked, giving him a mischievous smile that made Mingi’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Does it matter?” He asked, leaning down, his hand resting next to my pillow as I chuckled.

“It sure does,” I mused, reaching a hand out to trace his bottom lip gently, “Because I’m not getting out of bed yet.”

“Well, my princess, I can serve breakfast in bed for—” Mingi cut himself off with a high-pitched scream as I grabbed his arm and forcefully yanked him down into the bed, thankfully he had half the mind to fall next to me and not completely on me, he was heavy since he was tall. Mingi’s large eyes stared at me as he raised his head, adjusting his position into a more comfortable one as I giggled, leaning forward to press a kiss against his lips, morning breath be damned. It was rather obvious that he didn’t know how to react, and it only made me laugh as I manhandled him onto his back before turning him onto his side, forcing him to face the sun.

“You should’ve closed the curtains, you monster.” I imitated his low voice, rather badly, as I cuddled up to his broad back, throwing my arm and leg around him. Mingi yelped as I fisted his blouse and pulled him back into my chest, my leg around his thighs tightening, “Now I’ll make you pay for waking the princess so early on.”

“Really?” Mingi’s tone dripped with amusement as I felt his fingers sneak around my wrist, “How?”

I smirked, leaning my head up to kiss his nape, knowing that it would tease him and give him the wrong idea. Mingi hummed low, intertwining our fingers over his heart as he pried my tight grip on his blouse off. I bit my bottom lip to try and stop my huge grin from spreading all over my lips.

“You are being sentenced to an indefinite time of cuddling with the princess.” My tone was serious as Mingi paused, making no sounds, “And you’ll be the small spoon too, princess.”

That got Mingi laughing, his chest rumbling as he raised our intertwined hands and pressed a kiss against my knuckles. I giggled and buried my head into his broad back, gently kissing it as we settled down into a comfortable silence. Mingi hummed, tracing my knuckles with his bare fingers, curling up his body to give me the chance to hug him into myself. My eyes fluttered closed as I pressed my forehead against his nape, breathing steadily and revelling in his familiar scent.

“You turned the stove off, right?” I mumbled into his skin, and Mingi hummed, nodding slightly.

“I have no intentions of burning down your lovely apartment.” I chuckled as I poked at his chest with my index finger.

“Great, thanks.” After a thought, I asked another question, “You made pancakes, didn’t you?”

“Guilty. Am I being charged for that too?” I could hear the smile in Mingi’s voice as he asked, his tone low, and I laughed, pursing my lips.

“Perhaps, yes, but I have to figure out what the punishment will be.” Mingi chuckled, wriggling his legs like a little child, “Although I can’t complain about getting free breakfast brought to me in bed.”

“Ah, ah, we are eating in the kitchen. If I spoil you too much, you’ll become too demanding, my princess.” I scoffed, staring at the back of his head, pouting slightly.

“As if…I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.” Mingi chuckled, turning his head to look back at me. We couldn’t exactly see each other, but I did raise my head to try and meet his gaze.

“Did someone buy you flowers? I saw them on the counter.”

“Yeah, I did. They are pretty, aren’t they?”

“They are, do you want me to buy you flowers in the future?”

Did I want that? I gulped, biting my bottom lip as my heart lurched suddenly. What was this? I thought my stupid thoughts and conflicting emotions were a thing of yesterday, of the past, and wouldn’t bleed into today, “I mean…I think, yes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, then,” Mingi muttered, flattening our interlocked palms against his chest. His heart was beating steadily, his skin warm through his pyjama’s blouse. I closed my eyes and sighed, enjoying the silence as neither one of us said anything else. Mingi started humming something slow and quiet, something he most probably listened to on his vinyl. It sounded beautiful, soothing, and comforting…much like Mingi himself. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip again, wondering if Mingi felt the same way in my presence as I felt in his. It was a jarring thought, the curiosity to know more about Mingi’s thoughts. He was like an open book, yet I realised I never really knew what exactly was going through his mind. He could read my mind so easily, it made me wish I could do the same for him. Perhaps then I’d understand why he’d stare at me so deeply sometimes, why his smile would soften and his eyes would light up if I laughed, why he loved holding my hands even if we were just sitting down in the living room, watching a movie.

A whisper, something faint and so very quiet I almost missed it, echoed in my ears, telling me that I knew the answers to my questions. It was so obvious, it was right in front of me. Mingi had never shied away from the truth. But I was afraid that if I admitted that there might be something more between the two of us, it would become real. I didn’t want that, I liked the serenity of right now and the secure feeling I only get when around Mingi. He shifted slightly, turning on his side and making me scoot back a little bit as our eyes found each other, his soft while mine searched his face. He raised his head and leaned forward, pressing a kiss against my forehead.

“Do you want to meet up before the get-together?” Mingi asked, his voice low. I nodded as I pulled my hand out of his to turn him fully onto his back, slithering closer to Mingi until I was lying halfway on top of him. He grunted but hugged an arm around my waist, his large palm warm against my skin. I hugged him as best as I could, burying my face in his neck as my heart raced, wondering why I didn’t want this moment to end, why I wanted to lay in his arms, in my bed, forever. Mingi hummed almost as if he heard my thoughts, burying his nose in my hair as he gently caressed my lower back, “We should eat before the pancakes go cold.”

“Five more minutes?” I mumbled into his skin, giving in to the urge to pepper kisses against his collarbone and neck.

“Okay,” Mingi whispered, his body relaxing further underneath mine as I pressed a long kiss against his jaw, my eyes fluttering closed. I wished I could capture this moment and keep it forever, store it deep in my heart, away from any prying and questioning eyes. I never wanted Mingi to walk away, and that was scary; that meant I felt too much for him already.

            The day went by in a blur now that I had something to be excited over. I had been wondering what to wear all day long, and all that hard work to clean my closet went down the drain just a day later as I tried to find the right outfit. It wasn’t anything complicated or fancy, but I rarely went out nowadays, so I wanted to pretty myself up. The get-together was at one of Seonghwa’s fancy houses; him coming from a rich family came with such benefits. And despite his status, Seonghwa remained humble and a great person to hang out with. He had been one of the first people to welcome me onto campus, so excited to have all the freshmen gather up in front of the building, his papers stacked neatly in his hands, his smile bright as he called everyone’s name to make sure they were there before he gave us a tour of the university and its grounds.

The house was already filled with people by the time Mingi and I arrived. Our hands were intertwined until we walked up to the front porch, ringing the buzzer despite being able to just walk inside. We knew Seonghwa preferred it that way, always lurking close to the lobby so that he could welcome everyone. He was beyond ecstatic when he opened the door and saw it was us, pulling us into bone-crushing hugs as Mingi laughed, and I handed him our little gift. It wasn’t anything expensive but the corner store wine Seonghwa would often get drunk off of during our crazy years; it made him laugh as he beckoned us inside with a wide smile. From there on, Mingi and I had migrated towards the kitchen, accepting the glasses of wine from Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s husband. The two had moved fast, but they had no regrets, living their happy and quiet life in one of Seonghwa’s massive homes. Hongjoong was trying to break through in the fashion industry, and Seonghwa's mother’s expertise was certainly of help to him.

I remained mostly by Mingi’s side at first, conversing with our old friends or the new people we were introduced to. At some point, Jongho joined us too, already drunk and jolly. We were sitting at Seonghwa’s massive oak table in the dining room, laughing about a story a guy I didn’t know was retelling. He seemed to be on good terms with Hongjoong, though. The two looked like they had known each other for a long time, and Hongjoong would look mortified any time the guy remembered something new that we might not have heard about. Jongho’s arm was around my chair as we were huddled close together, watching silly TikTok videos on his phone, when I felt Mingi’s hand settle on my thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. I glanced at him from the corner of my eyes, but his attention was on the guy now making a scene, his voice shrill and loud as he and Hongjoong argued about the accuracy of his story. I paid no mind to Mingi as I made Jongho scroll to the next video, mumbling about wanting to show me something, just as Seonghwa walked inside the room, two familiar faces on both sides of him. I gasped as my eyes widened, and I was out of the chair before anyone could stop me.

I reached Giselle first since she jumped in front of me, hugging me tightly and even lifting me off the floor and whirling me around, making me yelp as I held onto her for dear life. Wendy joined in on the hug when my feet touched the ground once again, and we giggled to ourselves as Seonghwa took my previous spot, smiling fondly as he said something to Mingi. And from then on, the girls and I found a nice sofa in Seonghwa’s living room and huddled together to catch up on life. Giselle was back in the country but only for two weeks; her next exposition would be closer to home, and she managed to negotiate to lessen her stay period over there. Wendy was planning on taking some vacation time off and going home, relaxing to recharge before she embarked on her new project. We giggled and shared stories throughout the night, going from tipsy to drunk as our glasses were always refilled with some fancy wine that was rather sweet than dry. At some point, Mingi had wandered over to us and greeted the girls with a big grin, asking whether we wanted to have dinner. We weren’t hungry, so we declined, and Mingi left only after ruffling my hair and telling me to keep it down with the alcohol. He was right; my worst enemy was hangovers, and even if it was Saturday tomorrow, he knew I would hate myself if I had to stay in bed all day long.

“So,” Giselle spoke up, glancing at Wendy before looking back at me, “Mingi, huh?”

My eyebrows furrowed as I took a sip of my wine, my tongue tingly and my legs a little numb, “What about Mingi?”

My speech wasn’t slurred, but I was only two glasses away from it.

“Well, I heard you arrived together,” Giselle said, as if that meant anything. I scoffed, tilting my head with amusement.

“And? Everyone knows Mingi and I are friends, no?” My eyebrows furrowed when Wendy and Giselle glanced at each other, “Or do people not know? I thought it was obvious…”

“Oh, there’s certainly something obvious about you two; I just don’t think it’s your friendship.” Wendy snorted, placing her chin in her palm as my eyebrows furrowed even more. What were they talking about?

“I’m lost,” I huffed, “What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty obvious to everyone in this room that you two are dating.” Giselle said, breaking the silence that would’ve stretched on, “Why didn’t you tell us—”

“Wait.” I raised my palm, an incredulous laugh bubbling past my lips as I closed my eyes for a second, “Dating? Mingi and me? That’s ridiculous. We aren’t dating, not even in the slightest.”

“We don’t buy it.” Wendy fired quickly, grabbing my wrist when I went to take a sip of my drink, “He’s been looking at you with hearts in his eyes the whole evening, he checks up on you every hour, and he never goes far enough that he can’t keep his eyes on you. I haven’t seen a friend who’s that protective, to be honest, so you can’t lie to us.”

“I know we don’t meet up as often nowadays,” Giselle started with a pout as I turned my head to look at her, “but I thought you’d tell us something like this still. It’s pretty important if you ask me…”

Wendy nodded in agreement, looking at me expectantly. I gulped, my eyebrows furrowing as I looked around the room, finding Mingi leaning against the fireplace with a beer in his hand, speaking to Yugyeom and someone I didn’t know. He was smiling, listening attentively to whatever was being said, but almost as if he felt my gaze on him, he looked up, and our eyes met. His expression softened, and he tipped his can of beer in my direction, winking before he looked back at Yugyeom, nodding to something he was saying. I bit my bottom lip, feeling my two friends’ eyes boring into the sides of my face.

“You know we saw that, now, spill.” Wendy pressed, and I sighed, looking down at my lap as I played with my glass of wine. What was there to spill? Mingi and I weren’t together, and therefore, there was no groundbreaking news I should have told them about. We were friends and nothing more; maybe our intimacy went further than that, but that meant nothing.

“We are friends, nothing more.” I took a sip of my wine, wondering where Hongjoong had disappeared to with the sweet alcohol in my glass, “But we’ve grown closer over the years, after graduating especially. I don’t know, we just…we’ve been sleeping together, I guess.”

“I knew it!” Wendy exclaimed, making a few heads turn in our direction. She smiled sheepishly, and I cleared my throat, glancing at Giselle since she was still silent. She had a contemplative look on her face.

“For how long?” She asked, genuinely curious.

I shrugged, averting my eyes from my friends, “For ten months.”

“What?!” They echoed, their jaws slack as they glanced at each other before looking back at me with an incredulous look on their faces. I grimaced and looked around, making sure no one was trying to eavesdrop on our conversation. My eyes found Mingi again as I chewed on my bottom lip, wondering how much more I wanted to share with the two girls. I felt like they wouldn’t understand what we had, that our intimacy was just as much platonic and nonsexual as sexual too. It just made sense to me, to Mingi, and I hesitated in saying it out loud because I knew many people wouldn’t understand how that worked or what that meant.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal. We are friends who sleep together sometimes, nothing’s changed besides that.” I muttered, downing my wine. Giselle’s eyebrows furrowed as she grabbed my hand.

“Are you saying you’ve never discussed what you two are?” This is why I didn’t like talking about Mingi and me, about whatever we had. They clearly didn’t understand and probably wouldn’t either.

“We don’t have to discuss it, Giselle, because there’s nothing to discuss. I can’t explain it either because it’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before.” My tone was harsh even if I didn’t mean it to be, and I sighed as I looked at Wendy and then at Giselle, “Let’s just drop this topic, please.”

“Okay,” Giselle said, but Wendy didn’t look done with this yet.

“You can deny it all you want, Y/N, but you’re in lo—” I stood abruptly, trying to keep my glare off my face as I looked at Wendy sharply.

“I’ll go and get a refill. Want something from the kitchen?” Wendy gave me a pointed stare as she shook her head, and Giselle shrugged, looking down at her own glass.

“Can you check if Hwa has any chips? I’d like some salted ones.” I nodded and turned around to head for the kitchen, my steps were heavy as I stomped through the house. I didn’t look at anyone as my head swirled uncomfortably, my thoughts eating me up and wondering what Wendy would’ve said if I hadn’t cut her off. But I didn’t have to wonder too hard since I already knew the answer, the skip of my heart proving it when I realised Mingi had brushed up next to me. He looked handsome tonight, ravishing even, in his form-fitting muddy green t-shirt, black cargo pants and thick boots. It showed off his physique nicely, his wide shoulders and small waist, the gentle but firm muscles of his biceps, and his broad chest. His black hair was gelled back, his small eyes sharper tonight as he had asked me to deepen them with some black eyeshadow. His numerous necklaces and bracelets were eye-catching, and his hands were littered with his silver rings. I sighed as I found the bottle of wine and poured myself some.

“Something happened?” Mingi asked gently, eyebrows furrowed. I shook my head and took a sip of my wine, taken aback when I realised it wasn’t the same one I had been drinking. Mingi noticed my grimace and chuckled, leaning over the counter to grab a different bottle of wine, “You’ve been drinking this one, not that one. That’s Hongjoong’s favourite, that’s why it’s so full, nobody really drinks it.”

I glanced down at the glass and hummed, deciding that I would finish it since I had poured it out for myself. I hoped Hongjoong wouldn’t mind too much, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“If I say no, will you want to go home?”

“Well, is your answer then, no?”

“Nope, I’m having fun.” I shuddered when I felt Mingi’s pinkie brushing against mine, and I retracted my hand, very aware that anyone could see us right now. I didn’t want Wendy and Giselle to give me looks when I returned to them, so I busied myself by walking around the counter to look for chips in the cupboards.

“Okay, me too. Let me know when you want to head home.” Home, as in my apartment. Mingi was sleeping over tonight as well, we had concluded it was best I didn’t roam the city on my own if I accidentally became drunk…which I was, just not too drunk yet.

“I will, save me some chips.” Mingi grinned before he left the kitchen, making me slouch against the counter as I sighed, feeling something heavy settle over my chest. The night had started out great, and yet, I was regretting it now. Was it really visible to everyone in this house that Mingi and I were sleeping together? Did everyone think we were a couple, much like Giselle and Wendy? My jaw clenched as I grabbed the salted chips and my glass, marching back to my two friends. If they didn’t bring this subject up again, I knew I’d be able to relax at last, but for that, I needed more alcohol and less Mingi.

            By the time 3 am rolled around, everyone was drunk and tired, so it was time to depart from Seonghwa’s mini-mansion and head home. My feet felt heavy, and I was sure I would’ve fallen to the ground if it hadn’t been for the arm hooked around mine, keeping me steady despite Mingi’s already wobbly stance. We were both drunk, there was no denying it, our giggles and laughter loud on the empty streets as we walked further away from the fancy neighbourhood Seonghwa lived in. We’d thought about calling a cab or catching a late-night bus, but the crisp night air felt refreshing against our heated skin, and we’d already been walking for fifteen minutes. We only had about ten more and we’d finally reach my apartment. The streets were empty and dark, illuminated by the lampposts and the full moon above our heads, our guide for the night. I giggled at the sound Mingi made, trying to imitate the owls that hid on the tree branches.

“That was horrible.” I laughed, leaning my head against his shoulder as Mingi scoffed loudly and dramatically.

“No, it wasn’t! You try doing it, then.” He shrugged his shoulder to make my head bounce, and I laughed, looking up at the star-filled sky. Taking a deep breath, I let out a loud sound that was a mixture of a roar and a meow, terrible and so horrible I almost choked on my own spit. Mingi stumbled on his feet hearing it, then pressed a hand against his mouth as he broke out into hysterical laughter, making me pout with a huff. It wasn’t even that bad.

“Stop it!” I whined, pulling away to punch his shoulder. Mingi just laughed louder, clutching his stomach as we stopped walking. I threw a second punch to make sure it hurt this time, and Mingi whined, grabbing his left shoulder as his eyes widened, “Don’t look at me like that, I told you to stop.”

“You’re always so demanding.” Mingi groaned, rubbing the sore spot as I stuck my tongue out at him, taking off again. He was hot on my heels as he threw his arm around my shoulder, yanking me into the side of his body and almost making me lose my footing. I huffed and grabbed him around the waist, turning my head to bite into his chest since his jacket was pulled to the side. Mingi yelped and suddenly stopped, grabbing my jaw and yanking my head up, “Are you possessed by a wild cat, baby? What’s with you tonight?”

I giggled, staring up into his eyes with mischief, “No, I’m just drunk.”

Then, before he could anticipate my next move, I pushed him back by his firm chest and took off running down the street, squealing like a lunatic as I jumped on benches too, trying to put much distance between Mingi and me. He was calling out my name, voice loud and higher pitched, his pursuit loud as he stomped after me, asking me to stop before I got hurt. But I didn’t listen to him as I giggled, the wind whipped at my face as I ran even faster, barely missing the boulder which would’ve sent me to the ground, giving me a nasty bruise. Running like this in my inebriated state wasn’t smart; my feet felt heavy, and my head spun as I whirled around to try and gauge how far Mingi was, but all I saw was a blur of his dark leather jacket and hair slowly catching up with me. I giggled and faced forward again, ignoring the red light for the crosswalk since there were no cars around, and grabbed the lamppost as I made a circle, sticking my tongue out at Mingi when I saw the scrutinising look he sent me. Before he could grab me, however, I took off again, laughing loudly as I was reminded of a time back in university when we were stranded under a store’s canopy while it rained cats and dogs. We were drunk then, too, and my brilliant idea had been to run out into the rain and jump into puddles. Mingi was against it until he saw how much fun I was having, and he joined me as we jumped into every puddle on the street. I didn’t let him blame me after we both came down with a cold the next day.

My apartment complex was in sight as I smiled to myself, my heart racing as I slowed down into a casual jog, fishing around my pockets for my keys. Mingi’s ragged breaths reached my ears before his arms were wrapped around my torso, his breathing loud as he squeezed me.

“That was foul, I feel like I’m about to throw up.” He panted as I chuckled, unlocking the entrance to the building, “You’re laughing, but I’m being serious, baby.”

I scoffed and stopped walking, turning my head to look up at him, “Baby? Why the sudden petname?”

“Can’t I give you one?” Mingi raised an eyebrow, his tone snappy. I shrugged and started walking again, albeit struggling a bit since Mingi continued to cling to me. Walking up the stairs would be a challenge like this, but it was for shits and giggles after all. I could only hope my neighbours wouldn’t hate me too much since Mingi and I were far from being quiet, stumbling into the railing multiple times while we giggled, our bellies hurting from all the laughter. Mingi refused to release me, however, so getting up to my floor was even more difficult with our drunkenness added to it. But truthfully to us, we made it and then stumbled on the last step, shooting forward straight into my door. Something made a loud sound, and my eyes widened as I turned my head, watching Mingi’s grimacing face, his forehead leaning on the sturdy door. I had caught my fall with my left hand, but it seemed like Mingi wasn’t as lucky as me.

“Fuck, I think I just split my head in two,” Mingi muttered, rubbing the already-reddening spot and I pressed my lips together in hopes to stifle my laughter, but it was fruitless. The second our eyes met, I started laughing loudly with little regard for our neighbour's sleep, Mingi’s lips downturned into a pout as he gave me a sad look, “It hurts like a bitch, don’t laugh at me! You’re so evil, Y/N.”

That only made me laugh louder, but it was muffled by Mingi’s free hand pressing against my mouth. He couldn’t stop my laughter like that, but at least it wouldn’t wake the whole floor up. He also took the keys from my hands and tried to open the door as I finally was able to calm down, and playfully bit Mingi’s finger as he yelped. He gave me an incredulous look as he pulled his hand back, and I chuckled, hugging him around his waist as he finally unlocked the door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, pulling me with him since I didn’t want to let go yet. The door closed with a soft click behind us, and Mingi turned the light on in the small hallway, shifting around in my arms so we faced each other. His arms came to hug me around the neck, head lowered as I peered up into his eyes. He looked pretty in the dim lighting, I couldn’t help but smile at him as he hummed, brushing a strand of hair off my face. My vision of hanging up fairy lights in the entrance hallway suddenly returned as I realised the light would be reflected in Mingi’s soft and warm eyes, bouncing off his smooth skin and painting him in a warm glow. I gulped, finding myself breathless for no reason.

“I want to hang up fairy lights in this hallway,” Mingi nodded as I spoke, his face focused and eyes searching my face. His expression had turned serious all of a sudden, and I found my heart racing nervously, “I think they would look pretty, plus I don’t like how dark it is in this hallway. I could leave them on overnight.”

Mingi just hummed, cupping my face as his eyes landed on my lips, his tongue poking out to wet his. I gulped, finding myself mimicking him, still breathless and my cheeks warm, “You’d also look really pretty underneath the lights.”

Mingi froze for just a second, body tensing before he dived forward, his lips catching mine in a passionate kiss. I sighed as I pressed up on my tiptoes, fingers burying in his leather jacket as Mingi’s warm lips captured mine between his, insistent but attentive so he wasn’t overdoing it. I stepped closer until our bodies were flush together, and my head tilted back, a whimper escaped my lips when I felt Mingi’s fingers sink into my hair, holding onto gently. He didn’t have to ask for me to open up; I did it naturally and eagerly as our tongues swiped against each other, hungry and hot. Mingi tasted like cheap beer and caramel, I had seen him sneaking a few caramel candies into his pockets before we left Seonghwa’s place. He hummed against my lips as I let him have his way, front teeth catching my bottom lip and suckling on it as I felt my cheeks become even hotter. My hands slipped underneath his leather jacket and generously felt up his firm chest before settling on his back, my nails digging through the thin fabric and into his skin. I felt myself moving backwards until I collided with the door and Mingi moaned as I sucked on his tongue, eager to get his jacket off so that I could undress him. I couldn’t explain the sudden want in my body, the heaviness on my chest a little lighter now that it was just the two of us. I wanted to feel his naked hot body pressed against mine, skin to skin and heart to heart.

As I gripped the collar of his jacket, I felt Mingi’s fingers wrapping around my wrists and his head pulling back, puffs of hot breath hitting my lips. His eyes opened as I licked my lips, staring up at him a bit dazed. The sudden rush of oxygen felt almost sickening, but I paid it no mind as my eyes bore into Mingi’s. They were shaking, they looked utterly vulnerable as they hid an emotion I couldn’t quite read. I realised even his hands felt to be gripping desperately around my wrists and I gulped, wondering if something happened that made him feel like this. Perhaps his friends, too, had been drilling him about the two of us. I knew Mingi was a sensitive person, and once something bothered him, it would stay on his mind for a long time. But before I could voice my concerns, Mingi gulped and then spoke.

“I love you.” I felt my blood run cold as my fingers tightened into the leather, my eyebrows twitching.

“Mingi.” I whispered, an incredulous laugh falling off my lips, “You don’t.”

I didn’t let him speak as I pressed our lips together to silence him, but Mingi was pulling back as he shook his head, “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

My heart was racing still, but the excitement was replaced with anxiety. My jaw clenched as I looked at his face, registering the panic and desperation in his expression.

“I love you, Y/N.” I flinched as I felt his hands cup my cheek, his head leaning closer as he forced me to stare into his eyes, “I really—”

“No.” I cut him off, voice trembling as I grabbed his arms, fingers aching as they dug into his jacket, “Stop it, Mingi, you don’t know what you’re saying. We are drunk.”

“Sober or drunk, it really doesn’t matter, baby.” His voice was low and a bit rough, riddled with slight panic, “I love you no matter what.”

“Fuck, no, you don’t, Mingi.” I snapped, my voice harder as I felt my hands shake, my eyebrows furrowing. It was as if someone had splashed cold water over my head; my toes felt numb and my legs too heavy to move. I couldn’t look at Mingi’s face anymore, so I averted my eyes, dread settling in my chest. Had Giselle and Wendy talked to him? This couldn’t be happening, not now. Why did Mingi have to love me? We’ve been fine until now; why would he ruin our friendship over something as silly as love?! Did he even know what love meant? Why was he so sure he loved me?!

“Y/N, please just—”

“No, Mingi, you don’t love me.” It felt as if someone had a vice-like grip around my throat, making it harder and harder to breathe and speak, “Stop with the nonsense.”

“You are the one speaking nonsense, Y/N.” Mingi snapped, eyebrows furrowing for a second before obvious fear crossed his features, “I love you. I will say it as many times as I have to, until you believe me. I love you. I really love you, Y/N, I—”

“Shut up!” I didn’t shout, but my voice was higher as I slapped his hands away, wishing to take a step back, but the door behind me stopped me from doing so. Instead, I pushed at Mingi’s chest to put distance between us as it suddenly felt hard to breathe, my bottom lip trembling, “Get out.”

“What?” Mingi’s face fell, his eyes widening.

“Go home,” I whispered and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it so that I could open it for him. Mingi was frozen, gaping at me as if I had just said the most horrible thing to him. I didn’t look at him as I gulped, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry. He had to leave now, I refused to cry in front of him after he told me he loved me.

“Y/N—”

“Goodnight, Mingi.”

A beat of silence passed as neither one of us moved, and a chill ran up my arms as Mingi’s jaw locked, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. I didn’t care, at least I told myself, as he brushed past me without a greeting or a kiss to my forehead, without brushing his fingers against mine sneakily, without a sweet and warm smile on his lips as he winked. I slammed the door shut as I heard him going down the stairs and quickly locked the door, scared he’d let his stubborn mind win and turn him back around, storming back inside my apartment. My legs suddenly gave out as I gasped, my brain in a daze from the alcohol and Mingi’s words as they swam in my head, loud and clear as if he was still standing in front of me and repeating them.

The only problem was that it had started sounding mocking and insincere the longer it echoed in my ears, and I flinched when I felt my cold tears streaming down my cheeks. And then, out of nowhere, a painful sob tore through my chest, shaking my body as I pulled my knees up into my chest, crying until there were no tears left. Love was a dangerous feeling; it never lasted, and it was misleading. It’s never been kind or fair to me, I couldn’t do it. Mingi wasn’t in love with me, he was just confused.

>> next chapter

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[definitelynotshouting]

saw this post assigning devastating quotes to each life series members, got incredibly inspired, and decided to try my own hand at it but specifically with snippets of the poetry ive personally written throughout the years :] thoughts and musings on several of my choices will be under the cut if you're interested in that sorta thing!! Enjoy<3

Bdubs: "it's all so blue. so blue, so wet, so cold, but you've got a fire in your heart like a hundred rockets. you aren't hungry, but you could eat the dead, / cut your teeth on a rotting corpse."

BigB: "SOMETHING HAS FRACTURED HERE AND IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN. EACH DAY YOU WILL CHASE THE FAULT LINES LOOKING FOR A BRIDGE ONLY TO FIND IT ALREADY BURNT."

Etho: "I am above myself, hovering, pressing pale fingers into the dull bruise of yesterday to test its lingering ache. Is this all that's left?"

Gem: "what are gods if not the mothers of our own inventions. we are the avatars of violence and love and hope and fear in equal measure."

Scar: "I think I want to live. I know one day, I must die. In the cosmic wheel of fortune, I am a gamble in the making, gentle breath washing a little luck over the dice."

Grian: "Within the shape of my clawed fingers are knives: scrabbled dirt; scarlet lines; the escape route / Between a fence and / Tall grasses."

Impulse: "Life's bitter, stilted offering / Is that every person we meet / Will one day become a perfect stranger."

Martyn: "Dangerous beasts must earn / Their survival. / You are no different than a knife / In the hands of murderers."

Lizzie: "When I think of the egg-tooth, / I revel in purple glass; the lightning; the shatter; the knife-slip between / Death, and a wake."

Mumbo: "This is your life now, / Found in the cracks and crevices, scraps pried between laughter and reckless abandon."

Pearl: "I am begging, raw in the face of absolution— do not hate me. Please, keep watering me in your garden, / Despite how closely my heart resembles a weed."

Ren: "— and sometimes hearts are forged in violence /— and sometimes blood cannot form scabs / — and sometimes wounds carry half-hearted sutures / — and we are all but living fragments / —"

Skizz: "Just a little longer. Please. / There is light pooling at the bottom of the flower vase."

Scott: "I can only hope that with the rising of the dawn / I will pass through darkness and return to day, / Where I am a solar ray blinding— teeth and claws sharpened, the stretch of my skin carrying gold / Above the dull, dug out earth"

Joel: "Tamed by nothing, no one, I lose myself to the shattered chains; / Yes, there is a loss."

Jimmy: "for year after bloody year, i clung to life with aching fingernails, grasped at every straw, took every scrap of double-barrelled hope and shot myself in the chest with it."

Tango: "every time you claw yourself from the ashes you insist it will never happen again. every time you reach the breaking point, it happens a little bit faster."

Cleo: "It's about catharsis, not letting go. / Because a part of me wants to hold this, / A swelling hurt deeper than tides, / Hotter than stars. The kind of rage / A mother might raise against her own child."

I dont share my poetry on here very often, partially because it tends to end up coming from a very personal part of me, but since this was actually a lot of fun maybe i'll start posting my poems more often here :]] i think what i found most interesting about this exercise was that as i scrolled my notes app and cherry-picked quotes for each character, it felt like the ones i chose naturally became part of a larger conversation-- as if the characters were speaking to me through my own words about their lowest points, about their ultimate views on the games filtered through the lens of a red life.

It felt enlightening; i dont often feel like im speaking to characters or being informed about their plots/preferences, etc. the way many other writers discuss in workshops or casually online, but by the end of this exercise i felt like i just... understood them, better than i had before. There's something inexplicable about reading your own words and consciously finding ways to apply them in a way that encapsulates them down to a character's core that just... truly highlights the specific qualities that resonate most with you. And i think stumbling upon that organically was a very vivid and incredible experience for me

Admittedly, i did struggle on Scott, Ren, and Etho a lot-- im not as familiar with them as characters, and for a while i couldn't quite pinpoint what exact themes they tend to carry with them throughout all their life seasons. But when i started to really look at everyone's quotes as a whole, i realized they felt like a story, like the response to a question-- as if i was being TOLD what they felt and how, and that that was how i needed to frame the rest of my selections. So Scott's ended up being about control, and the desperate hanging onto of it; Ren's is about the acceptance and bitterness of what he cannot change; Etho's is a quiet resignation rounded out with softer disbelief. The more i looked at these choices, the more they felt correct to me-- and while i still think i have a ways to go before i fully understand these characters, i feel like this has helped me a lot with that ultimate goal :]

Of all these poetry snippets, though, i think Scar, Skizz, and Joel's are my absolute favorites. Skizz's poem is actually the whole poem in its entirety (as is Cleo's, funnily enough)-- it's a short, very simple poem that is incredibly close to my heart for many reasons, but the main one being because it was written at one of my lowest points a few years back. Its about clawing for hope when there isnt any, and finding even the smallest of beautiful things to hold onto, and begging yourself to keep holding onto that at any cost. The pure, clean beauty of watching light refract through a vase of flowers, and knowing that sometimes, that's all there is to live for-- I felt like that really spoke to Skizz's life series character as a whole: finding the beauty in every tiny thing, no matter how small, and scrabbling for more time to appreciate it.

Scar's snippet comes from a much longer poem of mine about the difficulty of reconciling the idea of a future when you havent had to think of one before (incidentally, Etho's snippet comes from this poem as well). I think out of everyone, this quote encapsulates him the best; i like how it subtly references that inner well of vivacity he draws from that many other characters struggle to find, and how that in turn ties in with the lore that he never died a final death during Secret Life. And i love how it simultaneously manages to encompass the way he utilizes the social game in each season as well-- Scar's an incredibly intelligent social player, and i think the imagery of a gambler breathing their luck over the dice as they cast it, and as he casts himself at others for alliances and enemies, truly does fit him.

As for Joel, the full poem his quote comes from is one im particularly proud of, especially for its final lines. I think, quite honestly, i can let this poem stand for itself in its entirety:

They say transformation is letting the light in, But in my mind it's a violence. A coarseness, a fracturing, the bloody vowels between a scream And a howl. How do you transform without killing yourself? When I am a lion, my hands and feet Grow claws; my teeth sharpen. No longer do I spark— I ignite. Tamed by nothing, no one, I lose myself to the shattered chains; Yes, there is a loss. To transform is to leave behind a body And eat its still-breathing corpse.

I find myself referencing this poem a lot even in my daily life-- as longterm readers of mine already know, one of my favorite themes is that of replacing yourself and permanent transformation. This poem really is just about how changing, in any shape or form, alters you forever; how you can look back on yourself from even just a few months ago and feel like a completely different person despite remaining the same. Connecting it with Joel's character, and how he acts during his red lives in each season, was a natural and intuitive progression once i really sat and thought about it.

Alright thats enough yapping from me 😂😂😂 im not used to writing meta nor delving into my poetry on here, so this was a bit of an experimental post for me. If youve read up until this point, i both applaud your patience and really hope you enjoyed this window into my personal works and thoughts on them :]] cheers, and thanks to @/chipperchemical the op of the original post for inspiring me!!!❤️❤️❤️

[vicolette]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐟 !

– Warning : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, js pure fluff… nvm there MIGHT be smth suggestive that Alejandro says but idk if it’s that bad, sorry!, biting (into necks)

"Y/n?"

A low hum came from your mouth as your focus was still on your phone, lazily laid down beside your boyfriend of one year – Alenjadro Balde. He has gotten a day off (or he skipped work just to spend it with you), but it was horrible weather, so you both opted to stay at home.

"Would you still love me, even if I was a worm?"

"Mhm…" His giggle made you snap out of your little trance, taking a moment to think before the realization dawned upon you about what he had just said. "Can you repeat that?"

"Would you still love me, even if I was a worm?" The glare that you had given him made his heart shatter into tons of pieces, a gasp leaving his mouth when he saw how you shook your head.

"No?!" At that moment, you realized that you should have just agreed and move on, just to avoid his dramatic reaction. After all, your boyfriend was rather… expressive, to say the least.

"Nope." And back to your phone you went, but he had other plans. Both arms were now wrapped around your waist as he pulled your chest against his back, hiding his face in your shoulder as he fake-cried.

"You don’t love me anymore…"

"Who said I loved you?" You had to refrain yourself from chuckling when you heard another gasp, trying to return your attention to your phone as you scrolled through Instagram, yet it seemed to be impossible with his dramaticness.

After a moment of silence, he seemingly calmed down as he snuggled up closer to you, as if he wanted to be a part of you. Or so you thought.

"Would you love me, even if I was a tree?" The expression of disgust on your face wasn't seeable, but you could still hear Alejandro giggle about it.

"No."

"But trees give you air! Well, not really, but they commit Photosynthesis! So, basically–" As he continued to yap and rant about whatever, you gently massaged his nape, feeling tired from the long and exhausting day. Balde, sensing that you were on the verge of sleep, thought of other silly things to say.

"And if I was a cockroach?" At that question, you immediately shook your head with a frown, making him laugh at how your fear of little insects seems to never disappear. "Then as a hoodie, right?"

"Hoodie?" Confusion washed over you as you wondered how he could have stumbled across this one specific thought, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Why that?"

"I can keep you warm." Alejandro whispered as he then suddenly bit into your neck, making you yelp before you slapped him on his back, which earned one of his own laughter.

While you struggled, but still continued, to lecture him on his 'biting-you-randomly' habit, he playfully rolled his eyes and hummed in agreement sarcastically, completely oblivious to what you were saying. Just then, you realized why he had wanted to be your hoodie.

You were wearing his hoodie.

A shaky sigh came from you as you tried to remain very serious and calm about it, but once Alejandro noticed this, he tried to bite you again. In response to that, you placed a hand on his forehead and pushed him away, making him frown before he realized that he could now admire you like this.

"You as beautiful as a Renaissance painting." You visibly raised your eyebrows at his sudden choice of compliment, but you'd be lying if you would say that it wasn't anything serious for you. Even if he was quite annoying at times, his words didn’t stop you from staring at him and make your heart melt.

"You're certainly… creative."

"I know, gorgeous."

– A/N : at school rn, why is this so short… also I didn’t post anything yesterday?? Sorry for that🌚🌚

[jjkamochoso]

Okay guys I screwed this up yesterday!! This was a request from @killuagirly and was originally an ask but I accidentally posted it unfinished instead of saving as a draft and had to delete it lol SO here's the request: "Another Feitan request! Feitan with a Female Reader who's dying to 'pretty him up'! He's already gorgeous as is of course, but wouldn't it be so fun to do a morning & nightly routine with him? If she's lucky, Feitan will let her paint his nails! He goes for black when she asks what color he'd like, but maybe with a little pink heart on each ring finger! He wouldn't mind that much, so long as the Troupe doesn't see of course. He'd never hear the end of it."

Here's my answer to the ask: I loved this so much😭❤️ thank you for always bringing me your Feitan ideas, I absolutely love writing for this man🥺❤️ I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!🫶

And finally, here's the fic:

Pretty in Portor

Fluff

Feitan Portor x f!reader

Warnings: slight mentions of violence

Feitan had no clue how he got so easily persuaded by you. It was like you put a spell on him or used some sort of crazy Nen technique to manipulate his actions. Of course, he knew that wasn’t the case—

He just really, really loved you.

That’s why he found himself in your room in the hideout of whatever city the Phantom Troupe had business in this time, wearing a fluffy headband pulling back his bangs while you applied a face mask to his pale skin. You already had your own on, sporting a fluffy headband matching his.

“Why you no ask Machi or Shizuku, even Pakunoda, to do this?”

“They’re not into this kind of stuff,” you whined.

“And I am?” he questioned, prompting you to jokingly swat at him. “You bring in water? I no going out to bathroom to wash off.”

“Of course. I’m not a monster,” you replied. “I won’t make you too uncomfortable as you so sweetly partake in my nightly routine with me.”

“Too late,” he grumbled, earning a gentle flick of the forehead.

After you both rinsed off the mask, you rummaged through your belongings to find the rest of your skincare items. You laid them out on the bed, all of the foreign labels piquing Feitan’s interest.

“What this?” he asked, picking up a small jar.

“I was just looking for that! Thank you,” you said as he handed it to you. “It’s exfoliation for your lips. It gets all the dead skin off and makes them smooth. You want some?”

“Looks sticky. Absolutely not.”

“Your loss.” You giggled mischievously before your voice gained a flirty tone. “You know, if you ever wanna kiss anyone, this is a great way to make sure your lips are smooth.”

Feitan glared at you mercilessly. “Don’t say stupid things.”

“Just a suggestion!” you exclaimed, putting your hands up in defense. You put some of the product on your lips and scrubbed with your finger, taking care to get your lips nice and soft. Feitan busied himself with looking at your array of items, thinking your words over and trying not to blush. His eyes trailed up, sneaking a glance at the way your finger ran over your now moisturized lips as his mind filled with what they might feel like against his own…

He quickly went back to his reading of ingredients on whatever bottle he picked up, trying to shake those thoughts out of his head. You were none the wiser of what he was thinking about, though you couldn’t help but notice that Feitan was a little too engrossed in the bottle of serum he was holding, especially after his not-so-subtle peek at you just a minute ago. You wondered if maybe that could mean he felt the same about you that you did about him? You hadn’t a clue and it didn’t help to ponder over questions you were sure you’d never have answers to, so you picked up a bottle of nail polish to forget your worries for the moment.

“You want your nails done too?” you asked.

“Only if you have black,” he snorted, figuring your girly, pink loving self wouldn’t be caught dead in black nail polish. To his horror, you procured a bottle of his color request and held it up.

“Perfect! I’ll do yours after I do mine.”

Feitan wanted to protest, but knew it was no use. He was a man of his word, after all, so he sat quietly, mindlessly flipping through a book he had brought into your room as you began to paint your nails.

“All done,” you had said after a few minutes. “Your turn!”

Feitan groaned but sat across from you anyway.

“Hand, please,” you told him. He held out his left hand first and you went to work, but not before he almost shivered at the skin-on-skin contact. When both hands were done, two coats of polish and one layer of lotion later, Feitan was impressed with the end result. He had to admit, he was a fan of the dark color contrasting against his skin.

“They look so pretty!” you gushed, fawning over the great job you did with his nails. You grasped his fingers and turned them every which way, inspecting them closely. They looked nice, sure, but they were missing something.

Your eyes lit up. “I know! I can paint a little heart on one of the nails.”

“Anatomical?” He smiled darkly. “Bloody?”

You screwed your nose up in disgust. “No, I was thinking something more like this.”

You picked up a small brush, used for creating tiny details, and dipped it into the pink polish bottle. You then carefully made a few strokes over each of his pinky nails, drawing a dainty heart on each one.

“There,” you said triumphantly. Feitan looked at his nails, confused at how he should feel. On one hand, it was sweet of you to include him in your hobbies and enthusiastically make him participate, but on the other hand, how could you not see how wildly ironic it was, painting cutesy hearts on the nails of a sadistic torturer? The same nails that were normally inflicting pain and misery, caked in blood and other bodily fluids, were now covered in nail polish and sweet smelling lotion, being treated with a tenderness he forgot he had craved for so long. Unfortunately, because there was a “no fighting your fellow Troupe members” rule, Feitan wouldn’t dare to walk out of your room with the nail art; he couldn’t bear the idea of being teased to no end and not being able to shut the person up with violence.

“Tch. Cover it with paint. I no need anyone seeing this.”

“Aww Fei, are you sure?” you pouted. “But you look adorable!”

“No want to look adorable when killing someone. That your job.”

You giggled as you opened the black polish bottle again while the man quickly looked away, trying to hide his sheepishness at the compliment he inadvertently gave you. Now that your last minute art additions were covered, it made it even more special to him. He loved knowing he had your heart, a little piece of you, hidden away in a place only he knew of.

“This is more your style anyway,” you said, smiling softly at his plain black nails. You were about to put the polish back in your bag but before you could do anything, Feitan stopped you.

“Wait. Sit.”

You obliged, curious to know what he was up to. Feitan himself seemed surprised that he spoke up, but nevertheless continued.

“Choose color and give me brush.”

Your stomach fluttered with excitement when you realized he was going to do some nail art on you as well.

“I’ll do black,” you said, “that way we’ll match each other.”

“Gross,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks warm as he studied your splayed out hands in front of him, not daring to peek at your gorgeous face in his flustered state. He busied himself with the brush, starting his art. You decided to wait until he was done before looking at your nails to keep it a surprise. Your eyelashes fluttered closed, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere. Feitan, now finished, was going to question why you hadn’t said anything yet but he looked up to see your shut eyes. You looked so peaceful that he wouldn’t be surprised if you were asleep. His gaze darted down to your lips, the skin softer than ever after your exfoliation, and he was so terribly tempted to kiss you. He stared you down, deathly still as he took this time to inspect all of your pretty facial features while he knew for sure you wouldn’t catch him doing so.

“Feitan,” you whispered, his skin erupting in goosebumps at the way you said his name, “are you all done?”

He wanted to say no, have you all to himself as he continued to commit your every fine line and curve of your expression to his memory, but as selfish of a man he was, he didn’t want to make you wait to see his work any longer.

“Open eyes.”

You did what he said, but instead of your nails, your vision was filled with the handsome face of the man you adored to no end.

“So pretty,” you breathed out, getting lost in his gray eyes.

“You haven’t seen nails yet, idiot,” he chided, wishing the acid in his stomach could dissolve the butterflies flying around in it.

“Hmm? Yeah, you’re right,” you replied, finally examining his artistry. You gasped with delight at what you saw. Feitan had drawn a skull, similar to the one on his cowl, on each of your ring fingers.

“They’re perfect! Feitan, I love it! Thank you!” you exclaimed. He was about to answer you but was dumbstruck when you planted a kiss at the corner of his lips before bringing him into a bone crushing hug.

“I’m just so excited! We look so good!” you continued, eventually pulling away from him with a big smile. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to show everyone!”

You ran off, your bunny slippers thumping against the hard floor. Feitan brought his polished fingers to his face where they rested against the spot you had just kissed, letting a lovestruck grin rest on his face.

Your lips were even softer than he dreamed of.

[lesmiix]

This might be a bit of an oddly specific request, but could you write something where reader (cis girl, short in height) and we get in a fight there's no way we could win?

Basically we and Hyun-ju are together on the games and a group of men is being mean, we ignore it a first but then they misgender her and we get into a physical fight with them, and Hyun-ju has to get us out? Then fluffy moment where we apologize for making a scene but Hyun-ju comforts us

ONE-SHOT: Win or lose.

Cho Hyun-ju x Short!Fem!reader.

Summary: You got into a fight with men that were much taller than you and Hyun-ju has to get you out. Warnings: Mentions of transphobia, the word 'tranny' is used once. a/n: It made me so sad to write this bro, I know my pookie gets very vulnerable when someone misgenders her 😞 Today evening I'll post another request 🫶

🤎HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE OPEN!🤎

You had just came out of another game, the six legged pentathlon. You were in Hyun-ju's team, one of the few that survived.

They have already announced the numbers of players that survived and the lights would turn off in 30 minutes. You had to go to the bathroom really bad, but were too scared to go alone. You looked around you, wondering if you should ask one of the girls to go with you.

Finally, your eyes rested on Hyun-ju, she looked like she was zoning out. "cute" you thought for yourself.

"Ju-ju" You tapped on her shoulder, catching her attention. "Can you please come with me to the bathroom? I don't want to go alone."

She looked up at you, giving you a soft smile.

"Sure, let's go." Hyun-ju stood up and walked with you towards the restroom.

As the pink guard let you in, you rushed toward one of the cubicles, making Hyun-ju let out a soft laugh.

"Were you in such a hurry?"

"It's not my fault I've been holding it since yesterday." You answered, finally closing the door behind you.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, go piss girl."

Once you finally released yourself, you came out the bathroom stall and washed your hands to finally go with the girls, but just when you got out of the restroom a group of men approached you.

They were much taller than you, but the same heigh of the girl beside you.

"I didn't know there were such a pretty girl like you in here." One of them said, getting closer to you, holding your chin so you'd look up at him.

It wasn't long until Hyun-ju got between the both of you, holding his arm strongly, looking at him in an intimidating way.

"Leave us alone" She firmly said, eyes glued to his.

The men looked at eachother, as if they recognized.

"Bro, I think I've seen this dude before."

"What was a tranny like you doing in the ladies restroom?" He stared at the guys. "Isn't that a bit creepy? What is he gonna do to the other girls?" They laughed, your blood started to boil.

You felt your chest tighten as the men continued to laugh, and it took everything in you not to say anything. The word they’d just thrown at Hyun-ju echoed in your mind. Tranny. It stung, and you knew it stung her too. But what hurt even more was how they spoke about her, how they tried to degrade her, not just with their words but with the smug way they looked at her.

Hyun-ju, though, stood tall, not flinching. Her body language was firm, but you could see her hands trembling just slightly, her jaw tightening. She was always so composed, but you knew her well enough to understand how much those kinds of comments hurt her.

Without thinking, you lunged forward, pushing past Hyun-ju who was still standing firmly between you and the men. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fists clenched tightly, and your chest heaving as you got closer to the tallest one.

"Shut the hell up." You spat, voice trembling with anger, as you pushed the guy in front of you.

He staggered back, clearly surprised, but then he smirked, the asshole’s grin spreading even wider. He looked down at you like you were a joke.

"Oh, what’s this?" He taunted, towering over you. "A little fight woth the girl now?"

Before you could react, another one of the men shoved you back, knocking you off balance. Your heart pounded as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. You weren’t going to back down. You couldn’t.

You swung, but your punch barely landed, more of a glancing blow against the side of his arm. They were too tall, too big, and your strikes weren’t even close to reaching their intended targets. One of the men laughed again, clearly enjoying how easy it was to tower over you, and you could feel yourself starting to panic. The anger inside you was boiling over, but your body felt too small, too weak against them.

But just as the situation started to feel hopeless, you saw Hyun-ju move. She stepped forward like a blur, her eyes flashing with something you hadn’t seen before, anger. She grabbed the wrist of the man who had shoved you and twisted it with enough force that he yelped in pain. In a quick motion, she pulled him away from you and shoved him hard against the bathroom wall.

"Don’t you dare touch her again." Hyun-ju growled, her voice low and fierce, the kind of tone that made even the biggest guy hesitate.

The men stumbled back, visibly taken aback by how fast and strong she was. But the tallest one, still sneering, made a move to push past her, but Hyun-ju was quicker. She stepped in front of you, her body a solid barrier between you and them.

"Leave." she said, her voice unwavering. "Now."

The tension in the air was thick, but the men, sensing that they had underestimated her, seemed to realize they weren’t going to win this one. They exchanged glances, muttering something under their breath, and then with one last disdainful look at both of you, they turned and left.

You stood there, your chest still heaving, fists clenched, but it was over. The bathroom felt like a war zone, but it was over.

You turned to Hyun-ju, who was staring at the door where the men had just walked out. You could see the slight tremor in her hand as she slowly let go of the wrist she had grabbed and took a breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make a scen-" You started, but she cut you off.

"Don’t." She said, her voice quieter now, softer. "You don’t have to apologize."

You took a step closer, her words settling in, but they also made your heart ache.

"You don’t have to protect me like that." You whispered, reaching out to touch her arm. "You don’t deserve to be treated like that."

She finally looked at you, her expression softening, but there was still that flicker of pain in her eyes.

"I’m used to it." She said, her voice almost a whisper now. "But I’m not used to seeing you get hurt because of me."

You shook your head.

"I’m not going to let anyone treat you like that, Hyun-ju. Not now, not ever."

Her lips curled into a small, grateful smile, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice raw.

And in that moment, you realized just how much she needed you. Not for her protection, but for her strength to know that she wasn’t alone.

[sanitationnation]

I smell like shit. Dog Shit.

If yesterday felt like a wake-up call, today was a full-on reckoning. When Tom told us we were heading to “practical training,” I assumed we’d be learning how to use specialized equipment—maybe something related to my environmental science background, like water testing or ecological restoration. I should’ve known better.

The van ride was quiet, aside from the usual conversations in Spanish among the other guys. I sat in silence, staring out the window, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever was coming. When we pulled up to the dog park, it was already swarming with people—morning joggers and dog walkers. We weren’t given much instruction, just handed our equipment for the day.

Tom went around assigning tasks, and I found myself stuck with two things: power-washing the walkways and dredging trash from the riverbank. It didn’t sound awful at first. Power-washing was at least a machine-based task, something that seemed technical, if not mind-numbing. The dredging? That sounded gross, but manageable.

I started with the power-washing. The machine was loud and unwieldy, kicking up a mist of dirty water as I went. At first, I thought I was doing something productive, watching the grime strip away under the powerful spray. But the deeper into the job I got, the more I realized that I wasn’t just cleaning dirt—I was washing off layers of dog urine, old spills, and things I didn’t even want to think about. The mist that had seemed harmless at first now coated my arms and legs, carrying the stench of whatever had been caked onto those paths for months.

When it came time to rotate i thought what would be worse than this really? Well, i got a bucket and a sponge. And was told to wipe down the bases of lamp posts around the park.

Tom handed me a dirty bucket, a rag, a spray bottle, and a sponge and told me to wipe down the bases of the lamp posts. You know, because the dog piss corrodes the paint. So there I was, on my knees, scrubbing dried, baked-on urine off metal poles while joggers, dog walkers, and happy couples strolled past.

At one point, a woman walking her dog right next to me let her golden retriever piss on the lamp post while I was cleaning it. She saw me there. She didn’t even hesitate. I stopped, stunned, watching the fresh stream hit the metal while she scrolled through her phone, oblivious.

And of course, because this was a public park, people were watching. I could feel their eyes on me as I worked—some curious, some indifferent, a few openly judgmental. A jogger sipped from her water bottle as she passed, barely sparing me a glance. Another dog owner wrinkled his nose and stepped around me like I was just another part of the filth.

It was bad enough just doing it, but then came the ultimate humiliation.

A woman walking her labradoodle stopped next to me. She barely even glanced my way before—plop. She dropped a tied-up dog poop bag right into my bucket like I was just part of the scenery. I froze. Looked at the bag floating in my dirty cleaning water. Looked at her. She didn’t even register me, just walked off, earbuds in, living her best life.

I reached in and fish the thing out with my gloved hands, then walk over to the trash can to throw it away like it was just part of the job. And I guess it was.

By the time i finished doing every lamp post, my knees hurt, my hands smelled like disinfectant and ammonia, and my dignity was somewhere back on that sidewalk, next to a lamp post coated in evaporated dog piss.

Before you know it, they’re already soaked in piss again

Tom called for us to rotate again. My next task? Dredging trash from the riverbank. He handed me a pair of communal waders—yes, communal, as in, shared between thousands workers before me. They smell worse than the dog piss and seems like they were never washed. They were damp when I pulled them on, and I tried not to think about why.

The river was murky, with a thin film of who-knows-what floating on the surface. I stepped in slowly, feeling the squish of mud beneath my feet. The job was simple: wade in, use a rake-like tool to scoop up debris, and dump it into a bucket. At first, it was just plastic bags, beer cans, and the occasional fast-food wrapper. But the deeper I got, the worse it became. I pulled out an old, bloated shoe, its laces tangled in river weeds. A rusted shopping cart, half-buried in the silt. A baby doll missing an arm, its plastic face warped and discolored.

Then came the smell—something putrid, rotting. I hesitated before raking through the debris, only to reveal a mass of soggy, decomposing organic material. Whether it was a dead animal or just years of compacted waste, I didn’t know, but the stench nearly made me gag. I forced myself to keep going, but every second in that water made my skin crawl.

By the time we finished, my uniform was soaked in sweat, my gloves covered in grime, and I reeked of stagnant water and whatever horrors had been lurking beneath the surface. I wanted nothing more than to go home, to scrub off every trace of the day, to pretend for a few hours that I wasn’t here, that this wasn’t my life now.

By 4 p.m., we were finally released. I climbed into the van, silent, drenched in sweat, and unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. I’d never felt more judged, more exposed, or more out of place in my entire life.

This was my life now. Cleaning up after dogs. Cleaning up after strangers. Scrubbing out stains left behind by people who’d never even think about the guy scrubbing them, and a trash picker looking like a hobo.

I’m broke and I’m broken.

I’ve been humbled. I’ll never be the same.