#Now while Into the Pit is no where near that bad

[jaythelay]

"Into the Pit" is starting to feel like Silent Hill 2 does for Silent Hill.

[hypnagogics]

pathetic/nerdy/loser/perverted ellie ramble AJAKSOJSOJS. LOTS OF SMUT!! quick and really crass, just needed to get this outta my system LMFAO. want some more? click here for the continuation!!

she'd be pining for you so hard, just consumed entirely by the limerence, so impossibly down bad for everything about you, it ate her up inside. she needed you in every way possible, needed to smell you, to taste you, to feel you clench around her fingers and tongue, she wanted you to crush her head —glasses and all—with your thighs, she needed it all.

and yeah, she did feel creepy about it—staring at your tits from afar, maybe sitting in the park someday after her class, thank god for transitional lenses. she felt her face go tomato-red from the shame, what in the world was she doing, ogling her sort of-friend like that, but fuck did it fuel her fantasies.

in the dark of the night, you were the only thing occupying her poor, horny mind, as she stuffed two, no, three digits in her soaking pussy, using every morsel of her imagination to materialize the sight of you being the one to make her see stars. she'd imagine covering you in marks and hickeys, watching your wrist flex while you were knuckle deep inside of her.

her eyes brimming with tears, knuckles dripping in pearly cum forming a fucking puddle beneath her, pounding in and out of her quivering walls over and over and over again until she felt light-headed, she found it the only way to cope.

“ugh- fuck baby, yeah that's it..mmf." whines and just the utmost pathetic pleas tumbled from her swollen, rosy lips, her clit near aching from the abuse she thrusted on it nightly. chanting your name in the night akin to a prayer— ironic. this was anything but holy—imagining the way your tits would bounce, the way you'd cry her name out and drench her in your fluids, she'd even imagine herself on her knees, being the one staring up at you between your legs as you run your nails through her hair, hold her chin.

“please, wanna cum again, c'mon baby. fuck, fuck, fuck- yeah, hnn-!!” tears fully streaming down her freckled cheeks at this point, her whole body tensing as she came for what seemed like the thousandth time this night, she continued until it was causing her a great deal of pain. until she was completely wrung dry. “...what am i doing. fuckin’ hell.”

breathing heavily, the shame really sets in now. what was she doing? rolling over in her damp bed, she'd groan while the embarrassment made her cheeks burn hotter than the deepest pits of hell—where she's convinced she's gonna enjoy the hospitality of if she keeps this up—she'd bury her face in her pillow and pass out into a slumber, only until the cycle repeats itself the next night.

but little did she know, her experience was being mirrored, almost with creepy accuracy, wherever you were. pining just as hard for the lanky loser you were mere acquaintances with. teasing her on purpose, just to watch the dark flush spread across her features, to watch her shift uncomfortably and avoid your taunting stare with everything she's got, squeeze her thighs together to soothe the ache you knew she was going to take care of later as soon as you part ways. it drove you nuts too. if only she knew. if only!

WHY DID THIS EAT LMAOOO but oop went a little overboard my bad um ok enjoy bye can u tell im in a mood lately pls give me notes even tho its 2am ik everyones dead but oh well luv u

[nabtime]

Better Watch Out

Danny had just started to feel like he was settling in with the Waynes. It had been... not ideal circumstances that brought him to the family in the first place, so getting used to not having to deal with all that mess was the first hurdle. The second being getting used to dealing with an entirely new- if more pleasant, mess. The Waynes, and Gotham by extension, were- to put it lightly- fucking crazy. He wasn't in Amity anymore and however much he'd thought it was the weirdest place on the planet before- he was absolutely rethinking that now. Where he had been one hero against a handful of villains, Gotham had a whole brigade of vigilantes against an army of villains. And they were... Bat-themed. For the most part. He'd yet to meet any of them, so he hadn't gotten the chance to ask what all that was about.

None of that was the point though. The point was that Danny had only recently stopped feeling like a fish out of water around his new foster family, and now the Holidays were coming. The Holidays that always served to put him in a sour mood. The Holidays that made him more prone to lash out and snap at those that didn't deserve it. The Holidays that, despite being Jewish by heritage, Bruce seemed oddly enthusiastic about celebrating.

(It reminded him, painfully, of Sam. He'd yet to be able to see here since everything went down and he missed her and Tucker something fierce. Which was maybe also putting him in a bad mood.)

So you really couldn't blame him for feeling a little tense about the whole situation. Not only were the Christmas decorations that smothered the Manor making him grouchy, but his grouchiness was also making a guilty pit form in his stomach. He was a moody teenager and adding trauma on top of that didn't help how caustic he could be- and adding fear on top of that made it all the worse. What if he saw Dick in his Santa hat, grinning and innocent, and he snapped? What if he saw Damian, stoic but loving, give Titus a shiny red bow-tie collar for the season and he made a caustic comment that went too far? What if he saw Bruce so much as smile at him while standing near the giant tree in the foyer and he saw green?

What if he ruined Christmas? Again? For people that didn't deserve it? Again? What if he hurt the people he cared about that had only ever shown him care and consideration? Again?

So Danny was just a bit tense. A bit on edge. And he was trying. Oh Ancients was he trying. To not be such a little bitch about all the Christmas stuff. But he had a limit. Bruce, being the rich socialite that seemed far too enthusiastic about family-centered holidays, did not have a limit. Every inch of the manor was covered in tinsel and holly and blinking lights and fake snow. Every spare moment was filled with different siblings being coerced into doing cheesy holiday activities, with Danny being the only one to attend every single one of them. (Cutting down a Christmas tree with Jason. Buying presents at the mall with Tim. Decorating while hanging from the chandelier with Dick. Caroling very badly with Stephanie. Making snow angels with Cass. Watching Christmas movies with Duke.) And he attended them all with a barely restrained snarl and a badly bitten tongue. The one time, one time, he'd told Bruce no- the guilt had eaten him alive (and dead) at seeing the man melt into the most pathetic kicked-puppy look he'd ever seen.

No grown man should ever be able to do that with his face. Danny never wanted to see that again.

In return, though, he had to face the Horrors.

The latest Horror being the worst he'd ever faced to date. A Horror that he thought he'd never have to face. He thought he'd slipped past this particular one by aging out. He was too old for this. He shouldn't be there. Damian, scowling and eyes filled with murderous intent, shouldn't be there. Dick and Bruce seemed to both be having the time of their lives. It was far too disturbing- and the continuous blasting of Christmas music and the overheated crush of a restless crowd only made it worse.

They were in line to see Santa at the mall.

It made his skin crawl. He was fifteen! Damian, the poor bastard, was also fifteen!

He could practically feel Ghostwriter laughing his ass off at his predicament. This was worse than getting stuck in a rhyming Christmas cautionary tale. He would 100% rather be stuck in one of Ghostwriter's cheesy poems than be stuck in the stupidly long line to see the fake mall Santa that probably didn't want to be there just as much as Danny.

But Bruce looked so fucking happy. Genuinely happy.

It was something he'd noticed early on about his foster dad. He smiled a lot and smiled big, but he rarely ever meant it. Now, Danny wasn't usually one to notice things like that. He got pretty wrapped up in his own problems and just- didn't have the skill to notice these things. Usually. But, well, being ghostly gave him a bit of an advantage. He could get a pretty good read on a person's emotions, regardless of what expression they wore. If he felt close enough to them. Frostbite had compared it to, like, family pack bonding. And he really, really didn't want to think about that further (why had it never worked for his parents? why did he feel so close to Bruce so quickly? why?) But, more importantly, he could tell that while Bruce smiled a lot, he rarely meant it.

But whenever Danny or his foster sibling begrudgingly participated in "family holiday activities" he smiled and he meant it. Bruce, fundamentally, was a sad man. Always grieving something. But here and now? In line to see his teenage children visit fucking Santa in the mall? He was smiling from ear to ear and his emotions, for once, matched. Yeah, there was a hint of mischief there, but it was overwhelmed by the giddy joy and excitement.

A suspicious amount of excitement... Like he was expecting something.

And then Bruce was leaning down between him and Damian and with a bright grin, he muttered, "I have a surprise for the both of you."

And even Dick, who had not stopped taking a stupid amount of pictures the entire time, paused to look at Bruce curiously.

"As I've told you both before," he said, looking over at Dick and back to Damian, "I know the real Santa. Met him a few times, saved Christmas with him a few others, and he owed me a favor for the last misadventure we had. So, I asked him to be here, for this one afternoon, for you guys."

Danny barely caught a glimpse of Dick rolling his eyes in the background. Oh, okay, so this was bullshit that has long been established. Nothing new on his account. That was something at least.

"Father," Damian interrupted with scorn and a promise of violence in his voice, "you are aware that this- Santa Claus creature- is fictitious, are you not?"

"Damian, chum," Bruce responded carefully, sincerely saddened, "why would you say that about an old family friend?"

And, poor Damian, looked two parts baffled and three parts murderous. Nonplussed and unable to even fathom a response to his father. He just stared the man down.

Dick huffed in exasperation behind them. "C'mon, B. Will you let that go already?"

Bruce furrowed his brows, eyes already taking on that faint sheen of kicked-puppiness, and looked back up at his eldest. "You don't believe me, Dickie? After all these years?"

Dick responded with a flat stare. Danny kind of wished he had popcorn for this moment. It was like witnessing a mild car crash. Nobody got hurt and it was still wicked to see parts flying everywhere. There was even a chance of things catching fire. Man was he glad he could just watch.

"Danny?" Bruce pleaded, turning to him with those sad, sad eyes. "Do you believe me, chum?"

And fuck how was he supposed to respond to that?

"I have it on good authority," he said, thinking of yearly fight, after fight, after fight, "that his existence is very hotly debated in the scientific community."

He could feel the questioning stares from Damian and Dick but he refused to look away from the innocently tilted head of his unfortunate foster father.

"Is that a yes?" and he sounded so sincerely hopeful. He couldn't crush the man's spirit. He couldn't.

But he also refused to lie and say he believed in Santa. At fifteen.

He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, but eventually replied. "It's a hotly debated topic."

And Bruce just smiled that empty smile and patted his shoulder. "Thanks, chum."

He, again, ignored Damian and Dick's stares. If he looked at them, he'd break. If he so much as made partial eye-contact, he was gonna fucking lose it.

"Oh look! We're almost at the front!"

Danny was living his worst life. Officially. This was the bad time-line. Dan's future didn't even come close. He was going to go mega evil any second now and kill everyone in the vicinity and then himself. This wasn't happening and it wasn't real and Santa Claus can't hurt him because he isn't real.

But Bruce, the saddest man in history, utterly and sincerely believed that he was.

So Danny was going to sit on some random old dude's lap and pretend to care about what he wanted for Christmas and whether or not he'd been a good boy this year and he was going to force a smile the entire time and his soul might shrivel up and die all the way inside, but at least Bruce would be happy.

What the fuck kind of afterlife was he living.

And then it was their turn and Danny was forced to go up first because the alternative was Damian committing homicide in the middle of the mall while Dick and Bruce cheerily took pictures.

Okay. Just sit down. Spit out answers to any inane questions. Pose for picture. And leave. Simple and easy and completely unbearable. But- for Bruce- he would bear it.

But, damn it all, a chill went down his spine as he approached.

No. Absolutely not.

There was no way. But he examined the man sitting in the chair and the more he saw the more the sinking pit in his stomach grew. Full thick beard of snow white hair. Brown eyes filled with smug mischief and magnanimity. Thick red velvet jacket made for trapping in heat in extreme cold weather, lined with white fur that looked suspiciously close to trim on cloaks he'd seen in the Far Frozen. A not-quite-ghostly-not-quite-magic-but-something-in-between aura he often got around Gods and Ancients.

Fuck, but Bruce actually knew the real bonafide Santa Fucking Claus.

What, and he means this with a great amount of emotion, the fuck.

He sat down in a stupor and the man just placidly smiled at him, a twinkle in his eye letting him know that he knew Danny was currently experiencing new stages of grief not yet known to man and was just gonna let him ride it out. How nice of him. Because of course he was being nice. He was Santa.

Fuck.

He looked up at the man. Ghost. God. Whatever. And for a good moment that's all either of them did. Just. Stared.

Sorry, Santa, Danny's brain has suddenly gone on vacation. 404 not found. Please leave a message after the tone. Error. Sorry, there's nothing there. Please try again.

After a few agonizing moments he asked, "how? Do you know Bruce?"

And Santa laughed at him, the sound working its way into his bones and filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. It tasted just a bit like egg nog. Gross.

"Well," the man started, voice deep and rich like a good cup of hot chocolate, (whatthefuckwhathtefuck). "Why wouldn't I know a man like Bruce? Honorable, righteous, and very skilled. One of the best the Justice League has, if I'm being honest."

And then Danny's brain stopped completely. Because there was no fucking way Santa (FUCK) was implying what he thought he was implying.

But it all made so much sense now. His ears were ringing suddenly and the world was greying out but he was Seeing the Light.

"-nny?" Santa (FUCK!!) was saying. "Are you alright? Want to tell me what you want for Christmas now?"

"Hm," he said airily, still not all the way there, "I'm good, thanks."

And then he slid off the man's lap and walked back to his foster family in a daze. And he looked at Bruce (BATMAN!! FUCK!!!) and he slid a slow hand down his face, attempting to take the skin off it in the process.

"You alright, Danny man?" Dick asked, only half paying attention while he gleefully snapped pictures of a sullen Damian barely restraining himself from committing violence while stubbornly standing next to Santa instead of sitting on his lap.

"That's the real Santa, Bruce is Batman, and I'm half-dead," he replied bluntly.

Dick fumbled his phone in response and Bruce merely raised his eyebrows.

"That's an odd start to a 'three guys walk into a bar' joke there, chum," he said amiably. And Danny wouldn't have noticed the tension in his voice if he weren't ghostly. But he was and unfortunately for them all, it was now everyone's problem.

"Not a joke," he said. "I'll explain the dead part later but Santa outed you on accident."

"Okay, no," Dick interrupted, "we are not leaving the dead part for later, Danny, what the fuck."

"Listen," he said flatly, slapping his hands on either side of Dick's face and smooshing it to convey his seriousness while he spoke. "Santa is real, he's a God, and he's sitting right there." He emphasized with a sweeping wave of his arm in the direction Damian was stomping back towards them from. "We're leaving the dead part for later."

"What is all this about? Dead part? What is going on?" Damian demanded in rapid succession, growing more aggressive and persistent with each question.

Danny, already on his last fucking nerve, was gonna lose it. For real.

"Apparently," Dick drawled, disbelief and an unfair amount of derision in his tone, "that's the real Santa, he told Danny B was Batman, and Danny's now saying he's dead."

"What-"

Damian did not get to finish his sentence because that was the exact moment Danny finally snapped. Every bit of pent up tension and hostility, every bit of restrained Holiday fueled fury he'd been bottling up. Unleashed all at once because Dick decided to be an asshole about not believing him.

Danny snatched one of the giant plastic candy canes that lined the aisle of the queue to see Mall (but actually Real) Santa and gave a good swing in Dick's direction. Dick who had unfairly good reflexes and was able to dodge by jumping over the swing and landing back neatly on his feat.

"Danny?!" he cried, incredulous.

But Danny was no longer listening. Only reveling in the wild swinging of the candy cane and attempting to land a hit on Dick for being an absolute dick and finally unleashing hell upon the world and specifically his asshole foster brother. And maybe he put a little bit more ghostly strength in his last swing than he meant to, because when he finally made contact- he heard a pained off as Dick went down hard.

"Danny, please," he wheezed from the soft bank of fake snow he'd fallen into, "it's Christmas."

He screeched and continued his assault. "It's December 10th!"

And then, promptly; Bruce wrangled the candy cane from Danny's grasp, Damian pulled Dick from the floor, and they were all calmly escorted from the mall and asked politely to never return.

Danny really, truly, hated Christmas. And it looked like that wasn't going to change any time soon.

[poetsblvd]

BABY WHO? ꪆৎ CS55

“Please Carlos, not Juana!”

You grumble exhausted, two whole hours of bickering about baby names and you’ve gotten no where.

Not even a single clue as to where you could meet at a middle point, with your husband seemingly dead set on giving your unborn daughter a name you’re sure no one’s heard of in years and you ready to take it through a slightly more modern route, you’re seemingly stuck in the middle of nowhere.

So far you’ve heard a variety of names you’re sure won’t suit your princess, or even be to her taste, if she’s anything like you that is.

Alondra, Benita, Biatriz, Martina, Alejandra and nothing!

Nothing feels right and you’re sure you’re at your wits end with discussing baby names.

A whine tumbles out of you, the fear of possibly choosing a bad name for your unborn daughter that could lead to her resenting you forever and ever practically chokes you, causing you push your head into a pillow, shoving the plate full of your current pregnancy obsession of coconut ferrero rochers into Carlos’ chest.

“Mamita no! Estaba bromeando, lo juro!” ( i was joking, i swear! ) Your husband muffles a laugh, placing the plate of treats onto the bedside table next to him, he buries his head near yours.

“She’ll have a beautiful name like her mother, prometo.” ( i promise )

He pushes your hair back from your forehead, the cool of his gold wedding ring pressing itself into you, letting you nuzzle your face into his hand.

You stare at him softly, one hand joining his on the swell of your growing belly. “You promise we won’t name her that? Or…or Benita?”

A deep laugh bursts through him, chest shaking in mirth he pulls you closer to him covering your face in kisses filled with so much love you’re sure you’ll die if ever deprived of them.

“No amorcito, no Benita or Juana.”

You hum frowning slightly, “You’re not upset are you? That I don’t like the names very much, I just want to like them together. And I just don’t see her having such a name to be very honest, I’m sorry if I’m pressuring you.”

You say it so softly it makes his heart clench, he’s aware of the fact that you’re more sensitive than usual with your pregnancy hormones especially with you being in your second trimester, and it upsets him that you’re worried and genuinely fearful about his feelings as though he’s the one growing a whole baby.

“I promise I was joking Amor, swear it. I’m not upset at you at all, never ever ever! And we will like and choose a name together okay? You aren’t pressuring me at all.” He stares at you warmly as though hoping to convey his deep love and reassurance for you, grinning brightly when you nod and relax.

“Okay? Good! Now would you like a glass of water? It’s been a while now and se supone que debes estar bien hidratada, for both you and the princess, hmm? ” ( you’re supposed to be well hydrated. )

Stretching his arm slightly to the table he picks up the crystal glass filled with iced water and a thinly cut slice of lemon to help pit your ever growing nausea.

“Beberse todo.” He mumbles bringing the glass to your lips and tipping it upwards to let you drink, parting it from your mouth only when you hum. ( drink up )

He presses his lips to yours in a noisy peck. “Good job amorcito.”

“Now, about baby names huh?” Smiling at your enthusiastic face, he places the half full glass back down and hums as though deep in thought, tapping his fingers lightly in your belly.

“I’ve always liked Amara, or! Even Estrella? But more so Amara, because you’re mi amor and she’d be mi Amara!”

A breathy laugh bubbles out of you, the joy pillowing through as you filter the lovely name Amara.

You test it on your lips again, “Amara, Amara. Amara Sainz.” It sounds perfect.

It feels perfect, and from the look on the Spaniards face you know he thinks so too.

“Okay.” You giggle, pulling him in closer and letting him breathe you in, trying to entrap you fully in his senses.

“We found her name!”

“We did, amor we did.”

“Thank you, I love you, I love you.” You hold him closer.

“No. thank you, te amo mucho.” He kisses you hard and lovingly, pushing all of his gratitude and deep adoration for you in the kiss, before suddenly pulling away with a dramatic gasp.

“Shit! Lando’s gonna be disappointed.”

Your brows furrow confused and a little dazed from the kiss. “What why?”

“I may or may not have let him think I’d name mi niñita, Landina.”

“Carlos!”

“What? Charles thinks we’re naming her Charlene!”

“…And don’t even get me started on what Fernando thinks we should name her.”

“Dear god Carlos!”

“Fernanada. It’s Fernanda.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

love note , hii thank you sm for requesting !! i absolutely loved writing this it’s such a perfect idea !! i did change it a teeny tiny bit with reader being a bit more emotional and carlos being a bit of a reassuring boyfriend because we love <3 anyways i hope you liked this !! thank you once again for requesting 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOURS, MINES, OURS

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! nanami k. / m! reader

warnings — mentions of blood due to a minor injury, soft -> mean -> soft dom! nanamin, cucking ergo exhibition bc kuna def wants to fuck you, possessive! nanami, crybaby! vessel! reader, use and variations of the word slut, established dom/sub dynamic, hole inspection, light masochism, dacryphilia, shower sex, minor daddy / sir k., implied age gap n zero prep . ✦ . wc — 1.5k . ✦ . notes — less of a fic more of a lengthy thirst bc i'm still sick but i really wanted to deliver somethin for you guys so forgive me this once 💔 happy holidays 🎄

it’s 6:15 p.m. when nanami wanders into your garden, still clad in his work attire. the first two buttons of his shirt are undone, his tie hanging loosely around his collar, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. he’s somewhere in between tired and exhausted; dark circles rimming his almost sunken eyes but he’s not quite ready to pass out yet. he won’t give in to the heaviness of his eyes until he sees you.

and he does see you — you’re crouched in a corner, knees buried in a miniature mountain of soil, completely and utterly enthralled by the flowers in front of you.

orchids. a dark pink in the centre, although their petals are a light pink that fades into a pink-stained white colour. they vary in intensity but altogether, they’re beautiful and pink.

“they’re resilient little things, aren’t they?” he muses, his voice thick with drowsiness. which catches you entirely off-guard and has you flinching away, scraping the palm of your hand on a nearby rose bush in the process.

you wince, brows pulled together and lips jutting forward in a pout. nanami feels his heart drop, guilt settling in the pit of his stomach instantaneously.

“fuck,” he curses, a rough edge to his voice, “i’m sorry my love,” as he crouches beside you, cradling your injured hand in his much bigger, warmer palms. it’s not nearly as bad as it seemed at first; a singular scrape stretching across the expanse of your palm. but nanami does his due diligence, wiping away what little blood had appeared with his handkerchief.

“i should’ve made my—” he stops himself mid-sentence and lowers his gaze, arching a brow over the rounded rim of his glasses. “…presence known” he continues, staring pointedly at the tent in your shorts.

warmth creeps up your throat, spreading across the bridge of your nose to either cheek and the tips of your ears as you promptly cross your legs. to which nanami presses his lips together, blowing air through his nostrils.

“that — ” he starts, grimacing, “that must be uncomfortable,” as he takes a seat on the dirt floor of the greenhouse and pulls you into his lap. and you open your mouth to protest against it; he’s going to ruin his favourite slacks. but he presses a long, thick finger to your lips before you can get a word out.

he clicks his tongue, his tone morphing from the saccharine sweetness that you’re used to. nanami isn’t, by any means, harsh with you but his near-silent disapproval is enough to have you curling into yourself.

“i’m sorry,” the words tumble past your glossy lips before you even process them. and nanami responds immediately: “i’m sorry who?” his voice becomes more and more like a rumble as tiredness continues to pull at his sore muscles. but you humour him anyway, “i’m sorry sir,” which earns you a much more content-sounding rumble from the elder man.

“that’s my boy — now let’s get you taken care of inside where it’s warmer.”

skin–to–skin; nanami’s pressed firmly against you and you can’t keep your hands to yourself. cold fingers instinctively go to the curves and contours of his muscled torso; tracing the outline of it all while you chew on your lower lip. it’s hard to tell who’s more enamoured by the other but if you had to think about it (like really hard) you’d say nanami is.

“what are you thinking so hard about silly boy?”

your nose crinkles and a muscle in nanami’s jaw twitches at the sound of the third voice. it’s nothing like the silky-smooth voice that makes your heart flip-flop in your chest. but it has its appeal and is welcomed nevertheless.

“‘kuna i’m not —” you try but he interjects: “liar.” and you have half the mind to argue with him but nanami clears his throat, thick finger curling beneath your chin so that you’re made to meet his gaze.

he’s staring down at you, warm water from the shower overhead dripping from the edges of his hair. his gaze intent as he pushes you against the cold tiles on the wall. there’s a stark contrast between the two temperatures; one that makes goosebumps appear on your skin and provides a twisted sense of pleasure. but that too is welcomed.

“none of that,” and he clicks his tongue again, his distaste for the mouth that had appeared on the back of your palm as clear as day. sukuna, though, grits his teeth and you can’t help but think to yourself that the only thing they have in common is their distaste for each other.

“your blind devotion to a man who could never satiate you is beyond my comprehension,” sukuna smirks, “a slut like you needs a real man to fuck them right.”

a slut.

an onslaught of tears blurs your vision and nanami leans in, warm breath fanning your face. then he sucks in another breath, taking in the floral scent of your shampoo, before exhaling slowly. “did you hear that baby? ‘kuna thinks you’re a slut.” he whispers, emphasizing the nickname in the most condescending way he could. and you nod quietly, obediently in response. staring up at him with those big, innocent eyes of yours that looks the prettiest when it’s wet with unshed tears.

“i know my boy’s got a greedy hole on him,” he continues matter–of–factly, “i mean look at his cock, started leaking back in the greenhouse ‘cause of my voice and now it’s fully hard because you called him a slut.”  completely unbothered by the quiet whimper you let out. 

and silence — sukuna doesn’t say anything, lips pulled into a tight line. but this does little to discourage nanami who spins you around so that you’re pressed against the tiles, sensitive pecs to glazed clay and your back to him. then he’s pulling your legs apart, spreading your cheeks so that your winking hole is exposed to him.

“in fact, let’s both look at this slutty hole that i fill with my cum as often as i like because, if i recall correctly, you’re resigned to watching.”

quiet whimpers that bounce off of the tiles turn into sultry mewls. he’s being so mean, his voice dropping by an octave or two, and it makes your cock throb. he’s crouching behind you so that he’s at eye–level with your hole and you can’t help but gasp when a thick finger is pressed against it. then he pushes it in, it’s dry and it burns but it’s (like everything else) welcomed without complaint.

“do you see that?” nanami asks, it’s a rhetorical question and even then, not directed at you whatsoever but you find yourself nodding along to whatever he says anyway. “the way it winks at me? that’s because it missed me and the way that it stretches and clenches around me? that’s because i’m the only one who can touch him like this.”

 sultry mewls turn into pornographic sobs. the way that he describes everything has your stomach in knots. it’s no longer a want but rather a need. you need him inside of you but he’s taught you better than this — you need to use your words to get what you want.

so, you do, voice breathy as you try to form words in between needy cries. salty tears trickling down your warm cheeks as you string a sentence together. “i need you,” you croak, glancing over your shoulder at him, lips quivering.

and he coos at the sight of you, removing his finger before standing upright and cupping your cheeks. “that’s right, look at daddy, only i can make you feel better, hm?” to which you nod in response and his smile widens, “where do you need me, my love? show daddy.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as you nod again — immediately spreading yourself wide open with your fingers. presenting yourself like this to him, tears and all, is second nature to you. it comes naturally which he thoroughly enjoys.

and nanami groans at the sight of your hole as if it’s his first time seeing you like this and within seconds, he’s aligning the angry tip with your entrance. he brings his lips to your ears, his breath tickling the sensitive skin and sending warmth to your crotch. “it’s going to hurt a little,” he warns, leaning forward to press gentle kisses to your tear-stained cheeks as he pushes himself inside.

he was right, it does hurt. it hurts like a bitch and it takes some time for you to adjust. nanami’s just so big; he makes you feel so full. but after he bottoms out and slowly finds his rhythm you know you’re a goner. pain and pleasure — you don’t know where one ends and the other begins but it feels good nevertheless.

you’re content babbling as he pistons his hips, balls colliding with the curve of your ass every time he thrusts into you. it’s all you need and all it takes for your cock to begin spurting ropes of cum as he assaults your prostate.

[bella-goths-wife]

Yandere Vees x platonic reader

Vox, velvette and Valentino x reader

Warnings: Valentino

Okay so you know how I move through stories so much because I hyperfixate on something and become obsessed with it? Well guess who watched the hazbin hotel show after watching the pilot episode years ago. And I saw so much yandere potential.

So let me know if you enjoy this and if I should make more.

You were quite a modern soul, with you dying around the 2010s

And you died quite young at the age of 18

So when you get to hell your pretty scared and confused, with no one around who could help you

So you did what you could to live, by surviving off scraps and sleeping rough on the streets

That also leads you into a life of crime as you relayed on robberies and mugging people to get enough cash to afford to eat for the week

But on day you make the grand mistake of trying to mug an overlord

Vox was simply trying to avoid paparazzi by going through the back alleys, that’s until he hears loud music out of no where

See, when you got to hell you were given your own special ability the same way the others had

Your ability was Turntablism

Which essentially means you could manipulate and create new sounds from your environment, similar to how a DJ can use turntables to manipulate and create new music from existing sounds

This means you could silence or enhance sounds around a demon and that you would be able to create a sound from the environment, such as loud music, and it would be able to discombobulate or entertain the demons around you

So you silenced your footsteps before surprising vox by blasting loud rave music to confuse him as you grabbed his wallet and phone before hightailing it out of there

Of course that doesn’t work, vox watches you through the phone as he decides how to deal with you

He sees you climb into your ‘home’ which is in fact a cardboard box built around a dumpster with a small pit outside of it for fires

You intrigued him for some reason and he thought there was no harm in watching you for a few days before he decided what to do with you

He watched how you used your ability to survive and how you were actually white street smart

Eventually, he came to a decision

He appeared to you and claimed that you owed him a debt for stealing his wallet, before offering you a job as his assistant with a room in the vee tower in exchange for you soul

You were extremely cautious of him so you denied his deal, until he points out the fact that you were a young homeless girl who had stolen from a well known celebrity who could easily have killed you

So you shake his hand and your soul is officially voxs

He stuck true to his word and gave you a small room near his in the vee tower, and even if it seemed small to him it was the biggest room you’d ever slept in before

Vox explained the daily tasks he wanted you to be able to complete while you worked there and explained how he wanted to combine his hypnosis with your ability to make it so that the voxtech jingles would be more persuasive and would make more buyers come in

You nodded your head with the doubt that it would work stuck in your mind, but vox owned your soul now and you had to do what he said

He eventually introduced you to his business partners, velvette and Valentino

Velvette could not give less of a shit about you and just barked her coffee order at you

Valentino on the other hand tried to offer you a job in his studio but vox warned him that your soul was already owned, so val settled on just pouting while ordering you to fetch him some lunch

You worked with them for a few months and it wasn’t all bad

Sure, they were all demanding people who would hurl abuse at you if you got something wrong, but vox provided you with food, shelter and clothes so you couldn’t complain really

They all grew accustomed to your presence, so much so that when you weren’t around they had the strange feeling of missing something from their daily routines

Being vox’s assistant was hard because it practically made you all of their assistant, because we all know the vees share everything

So some days you’d work closely with vox, and others you’d be in vals dressing room to assist him with scripts or choosing actors for certain projects (vox told val that you were too young to be in the studio, which you were eternally grateful for)

And other days you’d be with velvette as she scoffed for the millionth time at the fashion designers attempts to please her

Velvette liked having another young eye to look at the designs, she’d never admit that she respects your opinion in a million years though

Eventually after working for the vees for a few months, you held a reputation in the offices

You’d hear your bosses workers whisper the nickname ‘pet’ as you trailed after one of the vees with a schedule in hand

You hated it but you decided to just put up with it, it’s not like you had any authority to be able to do anything about it anymore

But the whispers of your coworkers reached the ears of your bosses and they all seemed to have a shocking reaction

When they sat down and talked about it, they realised that they do view you as more of a pet than a worker

And how they seemed to need you around in some capacity to be able to go about their days normally

That’s when their obsessions began

And you had a long, dark road ahead of you

This is probably trash 😭

But this is just a rough idea of what I’m trying to do so I have loads more ideas

Let me know if you’d be interested :)

[eveningdawn222]

something about how "wholesome" batfam aus where jason and bruce have a good relationship inherently require jason to be portrayed as overreacting and hysterical when he returns. something about how the lazarus pit madness trope gives people an excuse to make this palatable. of course he wasn't in his right mind when he did those things, but he's all better now :) it's so silly how angry he was :)

something about how jason has to grovel for forgiveness at tims feet "oh im sooo sorry for trying to kill you (lmao) i was sooo crazy" and tim can then be magnanimous and forgive him because he wasn't in the right state of mind. tim is such a vulnerable little kid (at most 2 years younger than jason) and jason is a grown ass man (was in a comatose state for a couple of those years but who cares) so obviously tim is gonna be soooo traumatized and he's gonna flinch when the big bad man comes near him :( he's a badass vigilante who is smarter and better than everyone but he's also a traumatized little baby who everyone needs to be super nice to :(

something about how tim gets to be a kid, how tim gets to be a victim, how tim gets an apology and groveling and guilt and jason gets -

what? bruce telling him he loved him? a hug and a moment of vulnerability and jason having to split himself open to be dissected by the whole family. jason having to laugh at jokes about his death, jason having to be the one to reach out and admit he was wrong and crazy and totally out of his mind, while bruce can just grunt and give him a hug.

people want bruce to be a good dad because it doesn't feel good for him to be abusive. but by shoving him into these roles, jason's own story becomes unmoored. what would jason have to be angry about? bruce is trying his best! jason is being unreasonable, he's destroying this family, he just needs to realize that while bruce isn't always perfect, he's in the right and jason just needs to -

isn't it funny? how it's never your fathers fault? how it's always on the child when the relationship sours? isn't it funny, how you can slit your child's throat, and it'll be okay after you apologize?

something about how jason todd is a woman and a child and a victim and a son and a brother and a monster.

something about how the only thing jason todd ever did right was die. and how much it must fucking hurt to sit at a dinner table and laugh when someone makes a joke about it.

[porcalinecunt]

okay . . hear me out; ak!jason who has a kink w creampies. he doesn’t know why his body literally craves it like oxygen w his bf (ftm n on birth control!), he just wants it so bad!! ૮₍ ˃̵͈᷄ . ฅ ₎ა

031 𐙚 KINKTOBER — 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 poor arkham knight misses his boyfie’s cute cunt, so when his partner in crime takes over for the night, he gives you a little surprise!

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ AK! JASON TODD X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader. tons of breeding (duh!), mentions of impregnation, size kink, jason todd being an amazing boyfie! <3

・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ as an apology for not doing well this kinktober, have a lil halloween gift frome yours truely! :3 ty for everyone who pitched in and to those who’s requests haven’t been fufilled for kinktober, they will be as normal smuts. thank you sm for understanding! <3

rationality wasn’t jason’s best concept to grip, especially regarding his lovely little boyfriend.

coming home battered and bruised, drenched in sweat as pieces of his armor crashed onto the ground only for you to still rush into a tight hug with him made his shell a little bit softer and his dick a little harder.

if only he had time for you, something that comes every blue moon. after all, vengeance waits for no one, not with the scars the knight bears. yet the urge never fully washed out, no matter how many times he strokes his dick silly until his hands are covered in cum. the sight of your dumb lil' eyes peering at him makes him harder then a fucking rock.

every peek at your barley covered ass, every tight embrace, every needy kiss drove jason mad. the thought of a quickie wasn't enough, he needed to stuff you full load by load. so imagine his relief when slade promised to watch over the bats for the night, allowing the knight to tear through the road all the way home while you laid unsuspectingly in bed.

the familiar banging noises startled you from falling asleep, followed by heavy footsteps with heavy static breathing. your feet barley touched the ground when the door swung open and a wild jason pushed you back onto the mattress.

"jay..? what's wrong?" you asked timidly while pressing a hand against his cheek.

you would get your answer once you felt something poking at your thigh. while being no stranger to his length and girth, the same pit in your stomach still formed. it's been a long while.

"'m sorry baby-" "don't apologize..!"

you giggled, a sound that made jason near bursting. you continued even while he unbuckled his belt, pushing his pants and boxers far enough to where his cock slapped against his stomach, revealing his neglect in it's full glory with precum already leaking down the base. you didn't even realize how spread your legs were, not until he tore your underwear clean off and pushed himself in with a groan of relief.

the warm wetness of your pussy engulfs his girth perfectly, almost like it was designed for his cock. jason, while never admitting this, always enjoys the first moments of penetration. the waves of chills, the sound your cunt makes and the breathy moan of relief you let out through your lips. fuckin’ perfect, too good to be true.

“a-ahh..hah..jason..”

you whispered, tangled with the sweetest whines that only feed the knight’s insatiable need to fuck you full with his seed. snapping his hips against yours in a frantic motion, his balls slapping against your ass as your legs are forced up until your feet faced the ceiling.

“ja!—jason! right there..oh fuck! right there..

your moans were chopped up thanks to his relentless pace, nonetheless, babbling your pretty mouth away as he already found your poor cervix. all while the vigilante remained focused on his primal goal, ignoring your pleas to slow down.

“mm no can do baby..not ‘till i’m done with ya.”

he groaned, now gripping the pillow your head rested on. the headboard banged against the wall, surely leaving a couple holes that’ll become a massive dent later. “fuckkk..atta boy, he’s like a fuckin’ vice around m’dick. don’t ya think?”

you couldn’t even reply, not with your brain becoming cock drunk mush. eyes rolled into your head as the knot in your stomach threatened to snap at any moment. you begged through broken sobs for him to let you cum. for him to fuck a baby in you. something that punches a chuckle out of the knight.

“oh..baby, i’ll give you a cute lil’ kid one day..jus’ wait a little longer, okay?”

he cooed in his typical faux sympathy voice, chuckling until he finally groaned an indication of his own orgasm. his pace growing sloppier by the second as you screwed your eyes shut.

he didn’t even say a word when he came balls deep inside you, only pressing his full body weight onto your smaller figure until you milked every last drop from his cock. after all, there’s not a chance he’d let even the tiniest bit spill out of you. your legs twitched and your stomach felt weirdly full as jason laid on top of you, out of breath.

“baby..” you whined, pouting a little. “i didn’t get to cum yet..”

jason, exhausted yet relived from his post mission boner, simple began to move his hips against yours once again.

“sorry pretty boy..lemme make it up to you right here, how about that..?”

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[vivwritesfics]

The Bad Luck Boy

This is the story of the bad luck boy and the two people he loved.

2.3K

LeStappen x reader

This is the story of the Bad Luck Boy.

The Bad Luck Boy was a nice boy. He was polite and sweet, making those around him smile.

The Bad Luck Boy was a hard working boy. His career was his everything. Well, almost his everything.

The Bad Luck Boy was a handsome boy. Everybody knew it, including his teammate and his biggest rival.

Y/N L/N had known the Bad Luck Boy since her karting days. They raced each other, pushing each other off the track. Together, they moved into Formula Three. Together, they moved into Formula 2. When Charles won the F2 championship, he graduated up into Formula One, while Y/N was still stuck in F2.

She herself won the championship in 2018 and, by 2019, she was racing alongside Kimi Räikkönen in Alfa Romeo Racing. Two years later, after proving herself and scoring a podium in the Alfa Romeo car, Y/N L/N was offered the second seat in Ferrari.

When they were kids, Y/N and the Bad Luck Boy raced in karts alongside Max Emilian Verstappen. Max had always been an aggressive driver, but Y/N loved the challenge. Unlike with Charles, she didn't move through her career with him, instead following in his footsteps. When Y/N moved up into F1, Max was already racing at the front of the grid; she only really got to race against him when he pitted.

The Bad Luck Boy loved his job. His job treated him like shit, though. Y/N herself struggled weekend after weekend in the SF-23, but there was nothing worse than watching the Bad Luck Boy struggle in it.

The SF-23 got Y/N around the track at least in seventh, but the Bad Luck Boy was barely making it around the track. There was one race where Y/N didn't even make it onto the track, unable to start because of the car. But watching Charles wrestle with it, hearing him on the radio, was painful enough.

The Bad Luck Boy had one thing going for him. He was in love. Better than that, he was in love with two people. His teammate and his rival.

Yes, the Bad Luck Boy had some good luck. He loved two people and those two people loved him. But it wasn't without its complications.

Y/N stood beside Max as he drank his can of Red Bull, further down the paddock, Charles was completing an interview. "Shouldn't you be down there with him?" Max asked, offering her a sip of his drink.

Y/N shook her head, refusing the drink. "Unless we're doing our challenges or media duties, I'm staying away from him," she answered him. "I can't be shouting his name across the paddock or saving him seats for the drivers parade." Her tone was somewhat bitter as she kept her eyes on the pavement.

Letting out a laugh, Max finished his drink. "Oh, come on. It's not that mad. You're standing with me now, and nothings happening."

"Because I'm not your teammate, Max. Nobody thinks there's anything going on between us, but also because they're convinced I'm trying my absolute hardest to sleep with Charles. I've seen the edits of the two of you, grabbing each others waists with blushing smiles, but I don't get to do that. If I go near Charles, I'll be called a slut and accused of trying to distract him from the race. You don't understand how badly I want to kiss the both of you but I can't."

"Kiss me, then," answered Max.

Y/N stared up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "All this winning has gone to your head because you're losing it," he said and shook her head.

"No, I'm serious. If you kiss me and everybody thinks we're going steady, they'll leave you alone about Charles."

"And then I'll be accused of sleeping with you because you're winning."

It really was a complicated situation. Y/N could be seen to be close with Max, but nobody thought they were romantically involved. But they were wrong and Y/N loved Max more than anything.

But she also loved Charles. Her teammate. The man she was being accused of sleeping with. Which wasn't strictly a lie. But it was more than just sleeping with him, she was in love with him too.

Max let out a sigh, but he placed his arm around her, anyway. "I'll blow you a kiss when I lap you later," he said and walked away.

Their relationship was rather... depressing. They could only be together when they were alone and that was heart breaking enough. Y/N watched Max walk away, walk back to the Red Bull hospitality unit.

Letting out a breath, she strode forward, walking towards her teammate. She passed him, and Charles' eyes moved across from the interviewer, looking at her. Y/N smiled, a smile that was surely captured by cameras, and continued on, making her way towards her drivers room.

As soon as Y/N got into her drivers room, she threw herself down onto the sofa.

Y/N loved her job, she loved being a driver. But it was getting harder and harder. If driving in the SF-23 wasn't bad enough, she had to avoid one of her boyfriends at all cost. One of them she could only briefly talk to. It really fucking hurt.

***

For once the Bad Luck Boy was having some good luck. He was at the front of the grid, fighting with Max and Lando.

Y/N, though? She was struggling.

The car wasn't handling well. She'd had an okay qualifying the day before, landing her in P5. After a good start she'd ended up in P3, driving with her boyfriends. If things kept up like this, they'd all be on the podium together.

But then Y/N had ended up with a shit pit stop. They'd called her in without having the tires ready and completely fucked up her race.

Y/N managed to complete two laps after that until the car began to malfunction. The hydraulics failed and she ended up in the wall.

Nothing serious, just a lot of frustration. "Fuck, shit, fuck!" Y/N shouted into the radio as she climbed out of her car.

And then it was Charles' turn. In the next race he had engine failure.

And then Y/N had engine failure.

All of that, on top of keeping their relationship a secret, Y/N was struggling. She was really, really struggling.

It was a whispered secret, something she said to Max and Charles in the late hours of the morning, when all three of them were half asleep.

While Charles and Max slept somewhat soundly, with Charles in the middle (most of the time. It was either him or Y/N. Max insisted on sleeping to the outside of the bed, closest to the door), Y/N thought. She thought a lot, about their relationship, about whether the stress was really worth it.

As soon as these thoughts came, they left. Y/N had shaken them away by the time she woke up.

She hoped they didn't know anything, but, of course, they did. Max and Charles were all too aware. They knew exactly how she was feeling, and it hurt.

Max wanted to say something, he wanted to talk to her, but Charles wouldn't. "Max, she loves us," he said. "She's with us, and she loves us."

And, of course, Y/N really did love them. She still does. But she'd been pulling away.

Where they'd used to spend all weekend every weekend together, Y/N was suddenly sleeping in her own room without the boys snuggled up against her.

The turning point was the Mexican grand prix. The race was going well; Max was P1, with Charles and Y/N racing close behind. When all three of them managed to cross the finish line, they were ecstatic. Maybe the Bad Luck Boy didn't have that much bad luck after all.

They couldn't keep their smiles from their faces as they spray the champagne over each other. It was something of an amazing night for the three of them. They celebrated and spent the evening together, sharing a bed and each other.

But then things started going down hill again.

Y/N used to stay in Monaco. She used to spend all of her time between races going between Max's apartment and Charles'. But lately she'd been returning to her own home in Switzerland.

Max was at a breaking point. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't sit around feeling anxious because of how distant his girlfriend was being. Charles felt the same, which was somewhat comforting. They needed to do something, they needed to speak to her.

Max was going to do it, Max was going to speak to her, but Charles wouldn't let him. As much as he tried not to be, Max was aggressive, and Charles couldn't see things ending well if he was the one to speak.

So, Charles took the reins. He attempted to cook them dinner (with Max and Y/N having to help a lot), and sat her down at the table.

Dinner was peaceful. It wasn't how things used to be between them, but it was peaceful. Still, it didn't feel as though Y/N was all there, and that left a horrible feeling in the pit of Max's stomach.

After dinner, Max began clearing things away as Charles took a hold of Y/N's hands. They were soft in his own, and he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "You know Max and I love you, right?" He asked, staring into her eyes with his lovely green ones. "You know that Max and I would do anything for you, right?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/N nodded her head. She knew. Her boys were amazing, the most amazing people she knew.

"Then tell us what's going on, please."

She sucked in a deep breath and pulled her gaze away from Charles. "I love the two of you," she said. "But I hate having to hide us. I hate the comments I get whenever I'm pictured with either one of you. I hate that I can't kiss either of you when any of us end up on the podium. I hate that we can't go on traditional dates and we can't hold hands when we're walking through the paddock," she admitted.

Nodding his head, Charles leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I understand, chérie. Maybe we should think about coming out with our relationship publicly."

As Y/N and Charles had been speaking, Max had been busy doing the dishes. He loved mundane little things like this, something he didn't often do. As he listened, he shook his head. That wasn't the whole issue, not at all. It might have been a large part of it, but Max knew it wasn't the whole story.

With the towel over his shoulder, he walked into the room and leaned against the door. "Spit it out," he said to his girlfriend, his voice with a particular edge. Charles sent a glare in his direction.

"Fine," Y/N said shortly and let out a huff. "I love driving for Ferrari, but the car is dogshit. Charles, imagine how many more times we could have joined Max on the podium this year if the car wasn't a pile of crap. We could have actually beaten him! The car, with everything else I listed, has pushed me to my breaking point," she whispered and pressed Charles' hand to her forehead.

Max let out a laugh. The bastard actually laughed! He pushed away from the wall and walked over to his partners. "Schat, you're ridiculous," he said and pulled Charles hand away. "I want nothing more than to kiss you when I'm on the podium. Charlie and I want to take you out on dates and hold your hand. If we were doing that, would you feel better about how terrible the SF-23 is?"

Y/N nodded her head. "Can someone please kiss me?"

The three of them attended the next grand prix together. They walked through the paddock, hand in hand in hand. Everybody seemed to be silent as they came past. Cameras flashed, but they didn't care.

Walking past the Red Bull hospitality unit, Y/N and Charles kissed Max goodbye and kept going, on to the Ferrari hospitality.

The gossip surrounding the three of them went on for weeks until Y/N, Max and Charles posted their announcements.

maxverstappen1

liked by username, charles_leclerc, y/nl/n95 and 199,453 others

maxverstappen1 She's a princess

view all 19,455 comments

danielricciardo finally! Sick of pretending I don't know y/nl/n95 but you didn't know? danielricciardo didn't I?

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen 1, y/nl/n95 and 188,329 others

charles_leclerc my kind of race weekend

view all 20,945 other comments

pierregasley congratulations to you three! y/nl/n95 thanks pierrrrre gasllllley! (i officially prefer you to daniel) danielricciardo hey!

y/nl/n95

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 193,457 others

y/nl/n95 losers

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maxverstappen1 that's not very nice charles_leclerc but she won't share the moments where she games with us y/nl/n95 i don't game because I'm not (guess what) a loser like you two

By the end of this story you would have realised that the Bad Luck Boy wasn't so unlucky after all. He had two people who loved him more than anything and, finally, he could show the world he loved them.

[hipsdofangirl]

i like this one

phlebotomist! minghao x reader

summary: another blood-drawing session, hopefully your hot amazing doting professional boyfriend doesn’t lash out on his juniors again.

genre: semi (not really) hurt-comfort, established relationship, fluff, non-idol

major warnings: brief mentions about bad outcomes of blood-draws, blood but contained, use of needles, slight innuendos but nothing explicit

minor notes: minghao doesn’t appear till halfway, some medical terminology and some not cause i forgot what each thing is called, everyone does the procedure correctly but i may miss steps, some inappropriate worker-patient interactions, not proofread

wc: 2k

“just to let you know, i have very tricky veins,” you warn.

the phlebotomist who welcomed you chuckles quietly, snatching gloves from the box near your right arm. you observe them as they snap on their gloves.

the phlebotomist comments, “don’t worry, i’ve been doing this for a while so you should be in safe hands. needles don’t make you sick do they?”

you quickly shake your head. “no, well at first yes but i’ve conquered my fears over them recently.”

they smile. “that’s good! now place your arm on here.” they lower down an arm rest on the chair you are sitting at.

you brace yourself. for the past couple times, the phlebotomist always had trouble finding your veins, ending up with you near-fainting or presenting you with a hematoma that covered your arm. you exhale, ready for that possible pain.

the phlebotomist flicks their eyes to you. you only present them with a fleeting smile.

they inform you, “this is going to be uncomfortable for a bit.” they wrap the blue rubber around your arm and tie it, the texture grating against your skin and sitting uncomfortably on your bicep. you only smile in response.

once secured they move on to the crook of your elbow, maneuvering their pointer finger and pressing down on bits of skin where blue lines are visible; they press down 5 times, spots centimeters away from each other.

“i like this one,” they state. you exhale again but quieter, hoping the procedure would go smoothly. the phlebotomist prepares their equipment is about to insert the needle; you turn your head away, freezing your body to be still, and inhale.

the needle goes in smoothly; you glance back at the phlebotomist.

after a couple minutes the phlebotomist gets antsy, the tube was only halfway filled. they slowly move the needle out.

they toss it away. “this one is not as fast as i hoped, but it should do. now for your other tests.” that’s right—you had 2 more tubes to go. you groan to yourself and tilt your head back: luckily no dizzy spells or pain yet. they quickly grab a cotton ball and tape to plaster it.

the phlebotomist looks at your hands and presses down, starting with your right. nothing to note. they press down on your left—also nothing to note. they sigh and gather themselves back. they take off the band you subtly forgot was there.

“how about you go the bathroom and run your hands under warm water,” they request. your eyes narrow, never hearing this task before. “i’ll call you back when you should be good.”

you push up the arm rest and saunter over to the connected bathroom. you turn on the hot water, wincing when you placed both hands under. you lean your body on top of the sink—head drooping in mental exhaustion. of course it wouldn’t go easy. if only they had listened to you.

after 5 minutes of listening to your inner monologue to pass the time, you are called back. hand now beating red, you sit back down. the phlebotomist doesn’t fully smile as the arm rest sits back down.

after going through the steps again, they insert the needle next to a knuckle in your right hand. nothing comes out. they take it out and mutter to themselves as they plaster on another cotton ball.

“do you mind if i try one last time?” they ask. you admire their persistence but dread the question.

“sure.” you know no one can come save you now.

they attempt the pit of your right arm again, taking off the tape, and as expected, nothing.

they roll their eyes, throwing away the sharps before walking to the main area. you slightly slip down in your chair and close your eyes—still no terrible symptoms you suppose. how long has it been though?

the phlebotomist comes back into view and releases you. no way they are going to send you home now, right? your hands are still hot to the touch.

“you are going to be transferred to another chair, if you are okay with getting poked more?” they state.

“anything to just get it done; i can keep going,” you reply.

another figure positions itself in the doorway.

“alright. just follow me, please,” the figure with the senior phlebotomist badge states.

the junior informs him, “personally, i like the one inside of their arm.”

the senior scrutinizes you. “i like this one as well.”

you smile, blush creeping upwards on your face. you meet your boyfriend, minghao’s, eyes. he fidgets, hand trapped under his other palm; you can tell he is struggling not to swallow you up in a hug.

eagerly, you push up the arm rest again and trot towards him. out of the corner of your eye, you notice the earlier phlebotomist slouch with a grumpy look.

minghao notes when you are beside him and slowly begins to walk over to the lab window.

once it is only you two, he remarks, “how come you didn’t ask to see me?” you glance down to his lips to see the lower one slightly more pronounced than the upper.

“i tried to subtly suggest it,” you defend.

he interjects, “you should have just outright stated it.” you sigh, nonchalantly bumping your shoulder with his right arm. he sighs himself, noticing you aren’t looking at him anymore, and he can’t help but not take his eyes off you. “i know you have a hard time speaking up in these professional situations, but it would be better for me—you to get the help comfortably that you need.”

you snort, “the terms ‘hospitals’ and ‘comfortable’ don’t seem to fit in the same sentence to me.”

his eyes crinkle. “maybe not, but still. you should not be in pain when it can be avoided.”

you rub the inside of your elbow, remembering one of a previous phlebotomist’s attempts at fishing. minghao glances around, then places his palm on the center of your back, thumb rubbing circles.

suddenly, he slightly grips your shirt with the tips of his fingers, causing you both to stop. at the little window stands one of the lab techs and friend.

“vernon, what’s the minimum amount needed for their tests?” minghao releases his grip and walks up to the window, placing the rack of vacutainers assigned to you. vernon turns around and picks one up—gloves on.

“ahh, i know it’s 3 mL for the cbc count but i’m not sure about the other,” he peers down at the other tube, placing the one in his hand back on the rack carefully. like he is breaking out of a trance, he stands upright. “oh, hi yn.” he waves.

you smirk at his constant demeanor. “hi vernon,” you respond in a singing-tone.

vernon takes a step towards the computer and not-so-subtlety flicks his eyes between you two. you switch your attention to minghao to see him scanning your face; you provide him a gentle smile and another shoulder bump.

minghao only observes you, his eyes clouded with thoughts regarding you. “we’ll do the lowest amount required for you, and don’t worry, i’ll set you up.”

those bland words made your stomach flip—you don’t know if it’s from the semi-blood loss or needle punctures or your cute yet serious boyfriend showing his minute care. even before you got together, you fell in love with the precise care he gave to everyone regardless, you pondered what he did for those he cherished; now you knew, only now you see one side of him, the professional side that can’t help but let cracks of adoration slip through his eyes.

vernon bobs his head—probably listening to music through one ear to pass the time.

minghao graces your knuckles and slides past you, leaving his hand behind him, gesturing for you to follow. “meet me in my room, vernon.” with a slight pep in your step, you trail behind him, tapping his outstretched fingertips so he pulls them back to his side.

once you both are at his designated station. he pats the back and monitors you as you position yourself in the chair; once you are settled, he steps closer and you feel yourself be slightly lifted.

minghao washes his hands in the nearby sink—with lukewarm water—as vernon knocks on the door frame to announce his presence. he turns off the faucet with his wrist and side steps to let vernon set down the rack.

“have a good day, yn,” vernon announces, reaching out his bare wrist to you, sandwiched between his gloves and coat. startled that he is already leaving, you stretch out your own wrist and bump him. you meet minghao’s peeping gaze and notice a smile hiding from the outside, adorning his face.

minghao snaps on the gloves and finally notices. “how are your hands still red?” he grumbles.

you laugh. “they did keep me in the bathroom for a while.”

his grumbles rumble his chest. “so stupid. why didn’t they call me in.”

you tilt your head at him, mockingly; he notes your expression with narrowed eyes. he focuses back to the tourniquet. “i know, i know,” he surrenders, shoulders loosening.

placing the rack directly beside you, he feebly grasps your left wrist and faces it down, wiping it with a sterile wipe. your hands still red (how long did they leave you in there?), he tenderly pressed down between your knuckles before settling next to the ring finger.

the senior phlebotomist peeks into your eyes and glances down, taking the needle connected with the tube. he also notices your right hand twitching in anticipation.

quietly, he utters, “do you want to help me out again?” you glimpse back at him and nod with a faint sound.

he grins, positioning the needle. “ready?” he whispers. you inhale sharply and look away, yet your eyes flick back to his concentrated face. “3, 2, 1.”

he inserts the needle. with a quick pulse of pain, you turn back at him.

he doesn’t look at you but acknowledges, “you’re doing great for me.” your cheeks faintly blush at the familiar words he probably didn’t mean to come out that way; this moment surprisingly intimate as the only thing grounding this moment are the patterns of breaths colliding from the two of you.

you peer down to see blood zooming through the into the lavender top. it amazes you—the difference between the two and how quickly your blood can race.

he carefully pulls the needle a bit towards him. he peeks at your expression and you notice it. “are you ready?” you hum in response.

he pushes the lavender top tube towards you, and you clasp it in your right hand; with both of your strength, the vacutainer tube is separated from the drawing tube. he positions it into the rack and grabs the next one; he places it into your hand, and when your hand tightens around it, he pumps the drawing tube into the top. soon, blood begins to flow again into the red-topped tube.

you scan minghao’s face and giggle softly when you notice his little nose scrunch. he huffs air, feeling your gaze directed on him and slightly relaxes. soon after, you both remove the tube and he places it back on the rack. he removes the needle and grabs a cotton ball; with no words spoken, you move your free fingers on top of his and he slides out, plucking the tape to place on top as you swipe your fingers back.

a succinct kiss to the side of your lips reminds you where you are—ironically. you blink rapidly and pout at him. minghao giggles and saunters away, throwing the sharps into the bin.

he walks back, just out of reach, and lowers your chair; he rips off his gloves and tosses them away.

you stand up, stretching out your back. minghao gingerly snatches your right arm to survey your previous sites.

he purses his lips. “no doubt these are going to bruise. hopefully not too bad though.” he meets your gaze, his voice turning into a murmur for you, “tonight, let me know if you are in any pain, okay?”

you nod—you now notice you do it a lot; you wonder if minghao knows he is part of the reason you lose your ability to speak.

you grin. “you’ll be able to tell anyways.”

he gives you a look and steps back, a breathy chuckle rasping from him. “that’s true. but if you want a treat you’re going to have to use your words.”

a/n: a lot of warnings this time…does it turn away readers? should i just include the major warnings? also this might be too personal, but idc it’s sweet and everyone needs a comfort during medical procedures.

and yes everything here did basically happen to me 😭 not fun. except minghao obv that’s how i banged this one out fast please dont expect lol

can’t you tell i’m a stem/healthcare major 😛

tags: @jcxbliss

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training VIII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You stared at Peter with a slight frown, knees pulled to your chest with your hands clasped together against your skin. He was sound asleep, breathing deep and even while you were so far from slumber. You hadn’t slept good in weeks, not since that really bad nightmare that night, but it had nothing to do with the awful images that had plagued your mind that night…

…and everything to do with the kiss.

You stared at the dark-haired man, watching him sleep and fighting with yourself over feelings you didn’t quite understand. You hated Peter. You absolutely hated him, and why wouldn’t you? He was the sole reason you were even here, trapped and meant to live out this nightmare. He wanted you, and so he took you, and not once had he hinted at a smidgen of remorse for that.

In the same breath though, he was your only source of comfort, and shame tore through you at the memory of allowing him to kiss you. So focused on the foreign feel of his lips on yours, you’d forgotten all about your nightmare, trying to get him off and then…letting him. Again. And again. Peter had kept kissing you until your sobs had mellowed into something much quieter, until your harsh breathing became light.

You hadn’t even remembered turning your head into him until you woke up the next morning with your face in the crook of his neck.

It wasn’t something you wanted to repeat, and you had jumped, hurrying to get started on breakfast no matter how early it was.

How funny it was to be complimented by Steve on your initiative when the whole ordeal had been driven by your fear of Peter and what had happened. You hadn’t wanted to see the man, let alone be near him, and so you’d thrown yourself into successfully cooking the few meals you’d mastered in your time here. If Peter noticed your sudden reservations around him, he didn’t voice it.

You avoided his eyes at dinner, and you kept your back to him when you slept. You woke up before him and made to leave him alone, and you at the very least feigned sleep whenever he joined you in bed. There were many nights like tonight where you struggled to sleep and settled for staring into space or watching Peter instead.

Absentmindedly, you reached up to touch your lips, tears kissing your eyes as you did.

Jane had told you that Peter was one of the good ones, and that he’d be good to you…but he wasn’t a good guy. If he was, he wouldn’t even be participating in any of this, or at the least…he’d feel some kind of guilt. He’d try to help you escape, maybe turn everyone here over to some good police. Peter wouldn’t be doing any of this if he was good…

Before you realized what you were doing, the sound of the slap echoed in the room.

You hit Peter again and again, the other man long awake by now, but you couldn’t stop. He was up and facing you and fighting to grab your hands, but you weren’t really hitting him with any rhyme or reason. Your vision was blurry, and you couldn’t see from crying so hard, but that didn’t stop you from hitting him.

“Y/N, stop-!”

“You’re not good,” you sobbed, pushing at him as he tried to restrain you. “I’m here because of you. They’re dead because of you.”

One harsh slap had Peter’s head whipping to the side, and you crawled back away from him. You kicked at his hands as he grasped at your legs. Your foot met his cheek, and you turned on your stomach. You could hear Peter calling your name, but you mistook the concern in his voice for anger, paying no mind to your haste to get off the bed until you were falling off.

The sound of your face connecting with the corner of the nightstand was loud, and you sharply inhaled when you hit the floor. You could hear Peter swearing, and you tasted blood when you licked your lips. You were crying for a whole other reason, now, your hands pressed to your face as you laid on the floor. Even from behind your lids, you knew the room was now flooded in light, and you flinched when you felt Peter’s hand on your shoulder.

“Let me see… Y/N, let me see,” his voice lowered, tone more serious than you’d ever heard him.

He pulled your hands away, and you heard him sharply inhale. Your face felt so warm, and when you peeled your eyes open, Peter was helping you sit up.

“You’re okay,” he breathed. “Come on.”

Your legs shook as he helped you stand, and he forced you to lean against him. The anger that you’d felt moments ago had dissipated into embarrassment. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how much you tried, and when you made it to the bathroom, Peter forced you to sit on the toilet. You could hear him wetting a rag in the sink, and you winced, hissing when the wet cloth met your skin.

Peter sighed.

He didn’t say anything for a while as you cried, just cleaning your face and occasionally running his gaze over it. You couldn’t tell how mad he was, if he was mad, at all, and your lips trembled as you thought about what Steve would do in his shoes. You shuddered at the thought, and again, you found yourself thinking about Jane’s words as she compared Peter to the other husbands.

As if he read your mind, Peter spoke.

“You know I should punish you for that…”

Your head started to fall, but Peter prevented it from doing so. You blinked at the redness on his face.

“…but I think this was punishment enough…don’t you…?”

You sniffed, studying the tiles of the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

You felt crazy for apologizing to him of all people.

Peter didn’t respond, opting instead to stand and wet a new cloth. You could hear him wringing it out, and when he grabbed your arm, you let him pull you to your feet. You stumbled with him, tears spilling over again, and Peter kept his arm around you as he climbed onto the bed. You were crying again, the saltiness of the tears making your wound sting a little, and Peter pulled you against him as he leaned against the headboard.

Peter wasn’t a good guy, and you wanted him to stop acting like one. You wanted him to be mean, to yell at you and punish you. You wanted him to be like Steve, strict and hateful and violent. If Peter was like Steve, this would all be so much easier. If Peter were like Steve, you wouldn’t feel confused about the man who’d kidnapped you. You would hate him and fear him, and there wouldn’t be anything confusing about it.

…but Peter wasn’t like Steve.

Peter held you when you cried, and he kissed you to make you feel better, and he let you talk about things you weren’t supposed to. He’d let you see how your mom was doing, and he cleaned up after you when your body and your mind weren’t in sync. Peter held damp rags to your face even when the injury was your own doing…

…and he kissed it better.

“Once you make it a few times, you’ll barely even have to think about it,” Natasha said, taking the dish out of the oven.

Jane was supposed to help with dinner, but you’d come to find out that morning sickness wasn’t exclusive to just the mornings. The redhead had assured you that the two of you would be just fine, and you’d sworn there’d been a hint of a smile on her face. It wasn’t that Natasha disliked you. At least…you didn’t think so, but part of you felt like she was just as unsure of you as you were of her, and so the sight had given you pause…until you were reminded of the pain in your face.

You gently touched your cheekbone as you looked over the salmon wellington.

“Buck really likes it. He says it’s his favorite thing that I cook, and I guess I was feeling nice today,” she lightly chuckled.

You cracked a smile at that, noting how good it smelled and thinking that you probably couldn’t blame him. The thought of the brunette had it falling some, and you found it hard to reconcile Natasha’s husband with the same man who killed your best friend.

“I don’t know what Peter likes… I’m still just getting the hang of not burning things, so maybe he’ll never tell me.”

Your tone was light, but your frown deepened. There was something in you that wanted Peter to tell you, that wanted to see him smile with surprise as you cooked his favorite meal, and you grimaced. When you glanced up, you could see the other woman briefly looking at your face before looking away, a slight frown of her own on her features.

“Peter didn’t do this,” you suddenly said, feeling the need to defend him.

Peter, like all of the men here, was a lot of things, but he wasn’t that, and you didn’t want her thinking he was.

“You keep looking at it, and I know what you must think…”

She didn’t respond, focusing her attention on the side dish.

“…but I did it. I fell off the bed. I…I’m having a really hard time, and I didn’t want to be around him.”

You weren’t supposed to say that, and you were relieved that Steve wasn’t home yet. You didn’t want to think about being on the other end of his ire if he heard you saying anything less than stellar about your time here and your relationship with Peter. Your gaze found the counter.

“He’s been really…patient with me,” you whispered. “More than anyone else would be.”

Natasha eventually nodded.

“Bucky warned me that it might take a long time for you to adjust. They warned all of us to be understanding with you.”

You didn’t know that, and you blinked.

“It is hard,” she finally said, and you looked at her. “It’s very hard to think about how your friends and your family have to go on without you. To think about what conclusions they’ve been forced to accept about what happened to you.”

Your frown deepened, and as Natasha stared at the mashed potatoes, your mind whirled.

“I can’t say for sure that you’ll ever fully accept it. Some of us have, and some of us haven’t…” it was clear which category she put herself in. “…but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to think that they’ve found some kind of peace with whatever they think happened.”

Her green gaze met yours.

“I tell myself that it’s better they think I’m dead than know the truth.”

You blinked at her, and for some reason, you thought that she knew. You thought they all knew about the details surrounding how you’d gotten here, but Natasha’s mention of ‘friends’ made you think that maybe she didn’t. After all, if she knew that your friends had been brutally murdered in the efforts to take you, that would make her wildly insensitive…and she’d never struck you as the type.

“Did…?”

You paused, opening and closing your mouth.

“Bucky…didn’t tell you…?” you quietly wondered.

You could see the slight confusion on her beautiful face, and now you wished you hadn’t said anything. Before she could respond, you quickly shook your head, turning away.

“Never mind. I… Forget I said anything.”

You were quick to throw yourself into finishing dinner, and you could feel her eyes on you here and there.

Truthfully, you didn’t know why you just assumed that Natasha knew that. After all, that would make the man she laid down next to every night a murderer, and while you’d just assumed that wasn’t his first time, maybe you shouldn’t have assumed that she knew. It was possible Natasha thought that was one line her husband hadn’t crossed, and you didn’t think it was your place to tell her that he’d shot someone down in cold blood.

You didn’t think it was your place to tell her that the man who hugged and kissed her and who she was making dinner for was a killer.

At dinner, you found yourself eyeing Margaret here and there, concluding that if Natasha didn’t know about Bucky, then she didn’t know about Steve. It wasn’t a stretch to think that Sharon didn’t know about Sam either, and in all that, it really just hit you that the other wives probably thought you were just crazy.

As you felt Peter’s fingers graze your hand in your lap, you found yourself thinking that maybe you were.

When you looked at him, you felt your heart clench at the way his eyes dimmed with one look at your face. It wasn’t the worst bruise in the world, but the corner of the nightstand had cut you deeper than either of you thought, and it was more than noticeable. Peter leaned in, and your lashes fluttered when his lips brushed over the bruise. They lingered for a bit, and when he pulled away, he reached up to gently touch it.

You noticed that Peter’s own cheek was still a little red, and when you glanced over, eyes catching familiar blue ones, you wondered if he’d mentioned what happened to Steve. The blonde’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t look the happiest. However, Steve rarely looked happy, really only when Margaret was smiling at him or when he was with his daughter.

You hurriedly looked away, your gaze resting on your plate, shoulders only relaxing when Peter’s hand met your back.

You shook your head at Peter’s words, fighting back tears.

“We knew this was temporary…”

Your lips trembled, and you looked towards the window, feeling like your stomach had dropped to the floor.

“I only did this to help you adjust better, to get into the swing of things-.”

“I don’t like being here when you’re not,” you tearfully interrupted, struggling to swallow.

“Y/N-.”

“I’ll be alone,” you choked out, and you didn’t look at Peter when he reached for you.

One of his hands was on your arm, the other reaching for your face.

“Hey…look at me,” he softly commanded, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “You won’t be alone. The other-.”

“They can’t talk to Steve like you do…”

You were trying to keep it together, realizing how ridiculous you were acting, but was it crazy to say that had you realized your good behavior would make Peter’s hiatus from work shorter, you would’ve acted differently? You’d grown used to Peter being just around the corner, and the thought of going back to entire hours without him was making your chest hurt.

It was getting hard to breathe.

You could hear him calling your name as you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your chest, but it did nothing. What about the nights where he’d have to stay late, and you would be forced to try and go to sleep without him there? You would be lying if you said that knowing he was just a room or two away didn’t make you feel more relaxed, allowing you to feel more comfortable in the kitchen or cleaning and therefore less likely to make mistakes like you had before.

The threat of Steve just around every corner made your stomach churn. Even if Steve wasn’t here, the other husbands weren’t yours. You didn’t belong to them like you did Peter. They wouldn’t treat you like Peter treated you, and most of all, unlike Peter, they wouldn’t plead your case to Steve should you screw up again. Hell, they might even punish you themselves, and you turned away from Peter.

“Y/N…”

“You c-can’t,” you gasped, struggling to breathe. “I’m going to break something else-.”

“You won’t.”

“…or burn the food again or screw up something like I always do and…”

You were shaking, and you reached up, twisting your fingers into your hair while Peter tried to calm you down. Your head felt too light, and the room wasn’t as clear as it normally was. You thought about the sting of the wood on your palms and the darkness of the basement. You hadn’t forgotten that Steve wanted to put you down there after your outburst that day. It was something you never forgot.

How easily and quickly Steve would’ve forced you back down there if it hadn’t been for Peter.

Peter was right. You had known this was temporary, but you hadn’t allowed your mind to linger on it. You hadn’t wanted to think about the day Peter would decide you were in a better place and he wouldn’t have to be here as much. You hadn’t considered having to function without him.

You were crying, now, and you hated it.

You hated Peter for putting you in this situation. You hated him for deciding you were who he wanted and ruining your life. Peter wasn’t the good guy, he was so far from a good guy, but he was the hand you’d been delt, and you knew that it could be so much worse. You’d seen the so much worse, experienced it, and as much as you hated Peter for who he was, you appreciated him for who he wasn’t. Peter terrified you and confused you, and you grappled with his role in all this…

…but you needed him.

“You can’t leave,” you sobbed, voice unsteady.

“I’m not leaving,” Peter whispered, taking your face into his hands.

“Is this about the other night? I’m sorry,” you hurried to say. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t-.”

“This isn’t about the other night,” Peter softly told you. “I told you I wasn’t mad about that-.”

“Then why? Why?”

You could hear your voice getting higher, but you couldn’t stop it. The thought of being in this house without Peter was pushing you over an edge you didn’t know existed, and you were positive you were going to be sick.

“I have to-.”

“Did Steve tell you you have to? Did you tell him what I did?”

Peter assured you he didn’t, but you didn’t believe him, frantically shaking your head.

“I shouldn’t have hit you,” you cried, pulling at your hair. “I was angry about the kiss, and I was confused and scared…”

The next time Peter said your name, it was stern, his voice hard, and it just made you cry harder.

“This was temporary. You knew that. You know that I have a job just like Steve and the others, and you’re meant to be here at home…”

You fought to get out of his hold, turning away and trying to stumble off of the bed, but Peter wouldn’t let you. His fingers dug into your arms, and he shook you.

“Do you understand?”

Tears spilled from your eyes as Peter held your gaze. The only sound in your ears was that of your own harsh breathing and the occasional sob. You snatched yourself out of Peter’s hold, stumbling to your feet.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you cried. “After everything you’ve done to me…you can’t stay a little longer?”

You watched Peter sigh, and you knew he was gearing up to refuse you again. In a matter of seconds, you swiped the lamp off of the nightstand, the sound of breaking glass reaching your ears. The dark-haired man froze, his face falling just a tad, and you backed up when he stood.

He called your name when you ran around the bed, close on your heels as you grabbed the other lamp. He was calling your name, a warning in his tone as you broke the other. You could feel his hand on your arm, but that didn’t stop you from ripping the covers off of the bed, flinging them around the room in a rage.

You were heading for the bathroom when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You hadn’t realized you were screaming until his hand covered your mouth, the room suddenly a lot quieter, and you couldn’t stop yourself from breaking down in his arms. You were a sobbing mess, and you curled in on yourself as best as you could.

Your wails made it past his hand, and Peter shushed you, but you couldn’t stop. You could only think about hours alone with your thoughts, hours without Peter, hours of having to navigate the ticking time bomb that was Steve. You couldn’t do it, not yet, and your head fell as you cried.

When Peter took his hand off of your mouth, his voice was in your ear, softly shushing you. You clung to the arm around you, struggling to breathe, and Peter rocked you with his lips at your ear.

“Y/N…”

“Please, don’t go,” you cried. “Please…”

Your nails pressed into his skin, and you were sure you were drawing blood.

“Please,” you begged him.

You could feel him sigh, and he didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time. Peter shifted so that he was leaning against the bed, and you were in his arms, your head leaning back against his shoulder, his jawline in your vision. He was still rocking you, his free hand smoothing itself over your head. Tears stained your cheeks, and Peter leaned down, pressing his lips into your hair.

“Alright…”

You tilted your head back, staring at him.

“I’ll stay a little longer. I’ll talk to Steve…”

You tightened your hold on his arm, holding him closer.

“You promise?” you forced out, voiced breaking.

Peter looked down at you, his fingers grazing your forehead.

“I promise,” he assured you, kissing your forehead. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

[thatstomorrowsproblem]

DPxDC A Boy and His Pit Demon

Danny 

The world was green, green, green. Green beans, bean soup, Soup Time. Soupy, soupy Soup Time. 

Would Soup Time hurt now? 

Most things hurt now, because he was broken, broken, broken, but not the green. Green, green, green. 

Green isle, green sky, green eye, green soup. 

He paused. 

Green, green soup. He liked green, and he liked soup, but maybe he didn’t like green soup. 

“No eggs, just soup. I am not Sam, I am not.” He giggled quietly at the thought of amethyst eyes encircled with black and purple paint and approached the lake of green. 

It smelled like Soup had been left out in the sun to rot.

“Hot rot, hot rot.”  

He laid a clawed hand over his icy chest. Food was mean. Sometimes, food fought back. 

Food fights, fighting food, union fight, fighting Soup? Hot-rot green soup. 

He was so hungry, but hot was bad.  

Ice core, hot sore, hot-rot soup. 

He was already so broken, broken, broken, and green was good. 

The hot-rot soup was hot, and he was ice, but it wasn’t fighting back, and it might be nice. 

What did he have to lose? Lost friends, lost home, lost mind, lost all, found Soup. 

He liked green. 

He hummed happily before diving headfirst into a pit of rancid, fetid ectoplasm leaving the Infinite Realms behind. 

Damian 

Damian was nine years old, but that wouldn’t stop him from being the best the League had ever seen. 

He was almost there already, of course. 

He’d even won a fight against his mother once.  

Of course, Damian had set many traps on the battlefield in advance, but it was only proper to use every tool that one had on hand. 

Damian moved smoothly through his training stances, clearing his mind of all thoughts except executing his actions flawlessly. 

He had perfected them years ago, of course. He was not a baby, and he’d been practicing with the blade since he was four. It was important to keep all of your weapons, sharp, however, and ones own skills are the most valuable weapons. 

He often practiced near his grandfather’s pools.  

It was a place where few had permission to go unless accompanying his grandfather, after all, and the soft green glow was pleasant to be near. 

It could be dangerous, of course, but Damian was not so foolish as to risk falling in while healthy. 

A sound caught Damian’s attention, breaking him out of his fluid routine. 

His head whipped towards the Lazarus Waters which had begin to froth and bubble violently. 

Damian had never seen such a reaction before, but he’d heard from others what it meant. 

Rarely, perhaps once every five decades or so, a demon would rise from the pits. 

There was nothing even the best trained assassin could do against them. 

They were strong, fast, unkillable, and the only thing you could do if one set its sights on you was pray for a quick death. 

Damian straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, readying his blade. If he were to die, he would do so with his pride and strength in place. 

He only had to wait a few moments before a nightmarish head rose from the boiling pool. 

It was blacker than night, seeming to suck the luminescence from the waters around it. Its eyes were slitted, with sclera the same toxic green as the pool’s waters. Its mouth was a nightmare of serrated fangs bared in the parody of a smile. 

Damian raised his chin defiantly to death. “You do not belong here. These are my grandfather’s pools.” 

The demon’s head tilted far past what any human would be capable of, and it let out a low, static-filled hiss. “Hungry, hungry. Play, play?” 

Damian gritted his teeth. He had never heard of a pit demon ever speaking before, and the thought of it wanting to play with its food before it ate him brought him nothing but anger. 

If he were to die, he was going to do so with dignity. 

Damian sniffed. “No. One does not play with their food.” 

The creature let out another awful sound like lightning or a windstorm before its gruesome maw stretched even wider. “Fight food.” 

Damian took a deep breath before he let it our slowly and pointed his sword at the creature. “Then let us fight.” 

The creature rose slowly from the water, revealing a small, thin body, but Damian knew that size mattered little when it came to the power of a pit demon.  

It was almost human in the same way that his mother could be called almost nice. 

It had a head, a body, two arms, and two legs. 

However, its limbs were too long. Each of its hands had five skeletal fingers each ending in a razor-sharp blade. Its thin legs had an extra joint, and its stance hurt Damian’s spine just to look at as it floated above the pool dripping toxic water that could kill or poison the living. 

“Fight,” it growled in a voice filled with the cackle of a broken League communicator. 

It did not try and dodge or evade as it spend towards him, claws outstretched, and Damian thought he might get at least one good hit in before he died. 

Damian’s blow struck true, right at the demon’s center of mass, but it didn’t slow its momentum in the slightest, and Damian barely had time to get out of its reach before its claws could impale him. 

He spun quickly, keeping the creature in his sights as it turned on the ground, back arching like a cat about to pounce. 

There was no wound where Damian’s blade had struck, only smooth black skin, darker than night. 

Damian growled. 

It was still playing with him. Still making a fool of Damian, even in his last moments of life. 

Damian shrieked, darting forward and aiming a blade at the pit demon’s heels. 

If he could injure it somewhere delicate, maybe it would retreat back into the waters. 

The monster laughed, unnaturally twisting its legs out of reach and back into the air without a thought for the limitations of gravity or basic anatomy. 

Damian pivoted, slicing upwards at the beast’s exposed face, but the being only caught the sword in its bare hand. 

Damian had a solid grip on his sword. 

One of the first things he’d learned, mastered before the age of five, was how to keep a firm grip on his weapon while maintaining enough flexibility for rapid movement. 

The moment the creature wrapped his hand around the weapon, however, it was as if his favorite blade was as insubstantial as a cloud, and it went through Damian’s hand in an instant. 

The demon laughed its monstrous laugh again, tossing the beautifully forged custom blade behind itself as if it were a common stick. 

Damian knew he would die from the second he’d seen the pit demon emerge, but it was worse to know how insignificant of a threat he posed. 

With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed and threw a poisoned dagger at the creature. It whizzed between its eyes, and the creature turned its sharp smile to watch the blade sail away. 

It wasn’t fair! 

The creature dropped to the ground in front of Damian, assuming the deplorable fighting stance of a seasoned street brawler, and Damian brought his own fists up at the ready. 

If this monster was going to toy with him like a cat with a mouse, if it liked to play with its food, Damian would be sure to win at least one game. 

The pit demon was even smaller on the ground, barely reaching Damian’s own chest, and Damian grinned savagely. 

He never got the chance to fight someone smaller than himself. 

In a quick movement, Damian darted forward, aiming a blow at the demon’s shoulder. 

Damian wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that his attack had landed, or the fact that the creature hadn’t moved a single centimeter from the force. 

Damian ignored the stinging in his fist and decided to count it as a win. He’d never heard of anyone ever landing even a glancing blow against a pit demon, not even when a dozen of Grandfather’s best had been fighting one together. 

The demon threw a half-trained punch at Damian, and he stepped to the side to grab its wrist, hoping he could use the momentum against it and throw it to the ground, but his hand passed through the creatures arm as if it wasn’t there at all. 

With the distraction, Damian almost didn’t notice its other hand whipping out, and Damian could do nothing as the monster hit his diaphragm with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and send him tumbling backward to the ground. 

He heaved in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the killing blow to land. 

He had fought well and landed a hit against the untouchable. 

A soft weight settled against his chest, and Damian’s eyes flew open. 

The pit demon had settled on top of his chest. “Brave, brave, boy. Fights well, so young. Good fight.” 

Damian shuttered at the being's sharp fangs so close to him, but tried to take pride in knowing that even a true pit demon thought him a worthy fighter. 

His mother and grandfather might never know, but Damian knew that he had done his position as Heir to the Demon proud. 

The creature moved its face toward Damian’s exposed throat, and he prayed for a swift death. 

The creature nuzzled the underside of his chin before growing limp and beginning to hum softly. 

Damian froze in confusion. 

The pit demon’s mass shifted, black body becoming almost like a liquid as it pooled around his neck and over his chest. “Good boy, good fight, like boy.” 

Damian knew he shouldn’t provoke the pit demon. He knew that. However, he had already played the monster’s game and wouldn’t sit passively until it decided it was ready. 

That was one indignity too far. 

“Are you not going to eat me now?” 

“Eat!” The pit demon screeched, purring hum coming to a sudden stop. “Fight food, fight boy, eat food, like boy. Boy fight, I fight, like boy, eat soup.” 

Damian swallowed. The pit demon spoke English, and Damian was fluent in the language. He was not as sure that the pit demon was fluent, however, with how little sense it was making. 

“In return for sparing my life, you would like soup?” Damian tried, furrowing his eyebrows. 

A hand reemerged from the black mass that was the pit demon, and a clawed finger pointed at the Lazarus Waters. “Ate Soup, green Soup. Sam I am not.” 

Damian didn’t know how not being named Samuel was related to drinking Lazarus Waters, but that was irrelevant to the small, absurd hope rising in his chest. “You are satiated after consuming my grandfather’s… soup, and you have no plans on eating me?” 

The demon wheezed out another crackling laugh and patted his cheek. “Funny boy, funny soup, like boy, keep boy.” 

Its sharp hand melted back into its body, and it resumed purring. 

Damian’s mind raced at the implications. 

He had fought a pit demon, he had landed a blow and impressed the creature, and it seemed that it planned on staying. 

Damian had– He had been the first to impress a demon with his fighting prowess, and he seemed to have won its loyalty. 

He had always known he was destined for greatness, of course, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this as a possibility. 

Damian laid a hand carefully on top of the purring monster on his chest. “If you are not Samuel, then what may I call you?” 

The demon rumbled and hummed, pressing itself into Damian’s hand. “I am P4NT0M, I am Dan, I am not Dan. I am Phantom. I am Danny.” 

Damian wrinkled his nose. Most of those names were unacceptable, but he supposed that he could make due. “Phantom, then. Welcome to Nanda Parbat. I am Damian al Ghul, grandson of Ra's al Ghul.” 

The creature purred more loudly, and Damian ran a hand along the monster’s cold brow. 

Damian grinned and sat up, cradling the black purring mass against his chest. 

He was Damian al Ghul, first of the League of Assassins to ever earn the respect of a Pit Demon. 

He would also be the first to tame a pit demon. 

[fourstarsoutofnine]

To get away

Chapter 3.5: Chain’s perspective.

(mainly legend)

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Warnings:blood, guilt, lots of self loathing😭

“We could just leave her here, you know. The towns are safe. They’re always safe. She’d be better off here than with us. She can’t fight, has trouble walking long distances… she’d thrive in this lazy town.” The vet suggested. In his mind he was killing two birds with one stone. You’re out of their hair and he doesn’t have to worry about you. You’re here, safe, and they’re far, far away from you by the time you wake up. He doesn’t have to feel bad!

“Absolutely not.” The old man shut down the thought. “She’s our responsibility now. What do we look like as heroes of Hyrule if we leave her here? Abandon a poor girl at an inn in a town she’s unfamiliar with.”

“That does seem kind of unfair…” Sky commented. “She’d be terrified…”

“So we let her sleep and when she wakes, we let her eat breakfast then get going. She’ll learn to keep up the pace, and we’ll all give her the benefit of the doubt. She might not be cut out for it, but we’re not just going to leave her.”

“It was just a suggestion..” the vet huffed, crossing his arms.

��—————

For all the chain knew, you’d been asleep for a while. It was nearing noon. The vet was getting tired of waiting on you. There were things that needed to be done. They needed to get supplies and get back out on the road!

“Vet, go wak—“

Before the old man could get the sentence out of his mouth, the vet jumped up and bounded up the stairs to your shared room. He burst in. “Aaalright, you’ve had it good long enough, time to get up—“ he ripped back the covers and saw an empty bed. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked around the room before walking back out and running down the steps.

“Vet???” The sailor looked at him with a concerned expression.

“She’s not in bed.”

“What do you mean she’s not in bed? She’s not anywhere down here, we would’ve seen her.” The champion spoke.

“I know that, champion, that’s what im saying. It’s weird…. Maybe she… went back where she came from? She was just kind of dropped here, as she said… maybe as she slept whatever magic that put her here took her back…”

“That’s too simple of an answer. Scour the town, boys. She must have run off.” The old man said

“She probably heard us earlier…” Sky frowned.

“No don’t say that. Don’t blame yourself..” the old man replied, putting a hand on his back. “We can’t do that..”

“What other explanation is there?” The traveler crossed his arms. “We talk about leaving her here and now she’s gone.” He huffed, heading out.

“Wait, trav—“ the vet tried to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, but the traveler brushed him off and went to go search for you. The vet sighed heavily. He was right. This is his fault. He brought up leaning you, he pushed hard for it… now you’re Hylia knows where, likely unarmed—you could be dead by now and it would be all his fault…

He set out on his own to find you, that familiar feeling of guilt settling deep and heavy in his chest, the weight of the world on his shoulders, all the horrible things you must be feeling, if you’re not gone onto eternity already…. He thought back to every mean thought, everything he’d said to you… that funny feeling of guilt. Self hatred….

Failure. He’d failed another. First Marin. Koholint… and even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, he did care for you. That much was very clear. He wouldn’t be searching so fervently if he didn’t. There wouldn’t be tears in his eyes and a pit in his stomach as he saw a group of monsters gathered around something, cackling and jumping like they’d won… he wouldn’t be fighting them off of you so valiantly, and he certainly wouldn’t be dripping tears onto your shirt as he picked you up, blood drying in your hair and on your clothes and seeping into his own tunic. He wouldn’t be shouting for the others so loudly his throat hurt. He cared for you. And now he worried he wouldn’t get to tell you.

[threepandas]

Bad End: No Question

The republic fell slowly, then all at once. Rot building like a creeping cancer, in all the places the shining lights of luxury did not touch. Festering and untreated, all while I could do nothing to stop it. I knew it was coming, could see the story unfolding, yet? Was powerless to stop it.

No one listened.

Why would they? I was just a naive child, spouting nonsense. After all, they all said, they all believed... the Republic Was Forever.

Until it was not. Until it all died. And from the bleeding, screaming, ruin? The Empire came, swallowing everything whole. Right up to the end. While in my head, I knew how the story would unfold. Had tried and tried, to no avail, helpless and small as only children can be, as the tidal wave finally hit.

Believed, even as they lay dying. Even as I watch as the people cheer, as blood ran thick in the streets, clogging the gutters. The luxurites dead. Both guilty and innocent alike. The boot heels, upon the necks of the poor, no longer. Or so their leaders proclaimed...

Easy scapegoats. Obvious targets. The villians for their narrative, pay no mind to what happens next. The money and power, the land. We are HEROS! For the PEOPLE! You can TRUST US.

Ha.

Of course.

All hail the Emperor. Wealthier then any man has ever been. Truely, we are Free.

Yes, when the revolution came, I wasn't with them, my family. My "proper" social circles. That's probably all that spared me. I would have been hunted down, otherwise. Innocent or not. Can't have any of the old power bases lingering about, after all. People might get the idea to rally. Might miss the Old, when the New loses it's shine. Child or not, we can't have THAT, now can we?

The staff and volunteers of the soup kitchen, hid me with the other children as the adults boarded up the windows and doors. I held a young mother's child, looked her in the terrified eyes and swore, on my life, that I would gaurd her daughter with my life. I remember expecting to raise that child. To never see her again. Not alive.

Remember wondering, how far I could stretch the coin, if I pawned the pretty little bits of jewelry my parents gave me. Assuming they weren't ripped right off me, the second we got out. I had plans to hide them. Begun calculations. So many little mouths to feed. We had to stick together. We MUST stick together.

Then it was over.

My "disgrace" of an uncle came for me. Found me in the near ruins of my "silly little project". He was the one who had wanted to work. Had a stable worker lover everyone knew about but no one talked about. He was covered in bit of hay. Smelled strongly of horses. His lover had grabbed him and dragged him to safety, hidden him, desperately, among the stalls.

Out of our entire House...

An entire House, once noble, now wealthy. Out of HUNDREDS of people? Built over centuries, branches upon branches, marriages and adoptions. Wards and in-laws. Newborns to lovers to elders on their deathbeds? Of them all, so few remained. And yet... I could not even blame the servants who abandoned us. Who turned on their Slave Masters in all but technicality. They had been treated so cruely, for so long.

.....but the children? What crime did they commit?

I stood in the ruins of Manor after Manor, great house after great house, and wondered. Would I let this make me a monster too? Was this anger or grief I felt? Would any of us ever be free, from the sickening rot that had crept so slowly into the hearts of these people? Both, the ones I had called kin, and the very people who killed them. But oh... there were so many bodies to bury. So, so many bodies.

Some of them... so very, terribly, small.

But as we put out embers and buried the dead? The oh so glorious empire was rising. A fat and lumberous beast, settling with already groaning bones into the still smoking pit, where the Republic lay dead. And, benevolently, the Emperor saw no reason to kill us. We were informed by pristine letter, hand delivered, as we stood smoke stained and filthy, among the pyres.

At least... thank the gods. At least my Uncle remembered.

He and I, fellow outcasts and trouble makers, he recalled my "nonsense". How it had very much come true. So he took the Emperor's letter. Smiled benignly, with the bland promise of nothing. And gently corralled us few who remained into the only remaining dining hall, to pour over the letters as a House. A Clan. Together.

He looked to me with haunted eyes... and wanted to know.

I phrased it as a vision. It would be easier to swallow that way. Not unheard of, in legend. Not out of the realm of possibility. Just absurdly, absurdly rare. But... did we not live in world shaking times? It would make sense, it felt, that the gods would at least MENTION such things...

A novel, a lifetime ago. We were hardly the Protagonists. Not related in any way. Dramatics and death would surround them. A dark age followed, supposedly, by light. But... was the real world ever so simple? I didn't know. I could name all the players. What would occur.

It would be up to US to protect ourselves.

And we WOULD need to protect ourselves. For the Empire was not a kind place. Nor fair. It was the rot of the Republic laid bare. Without pretense. And soon... the purges would begin.

I was, of course, right. The people's blood soaked victory soon gave way to dismay, as they became targets. Divided. Conquered. Inquisitors, hand chosen by his most graciousness, the Emperor himself. I held my tounge, kept my piece... and hated it. Undermined what I could. Rebuilt my soup kitchen.

Attended court.

Because, of course, all we loyal subjects MUST attend court. Don't we love our Emperor so? See how we fawn! We simper and bask in his greatness! Oh we hang on your every WORD, most royal Majesty! We are entranced! Loyal, loyal subjects, all. Such decadent parties as the people starve.

Didn't my family perish for such similar actions? But, ah, they deserved it. Of course. And THIS is for MORALE!

I sip wine looted from the Redcrest family's cellars. They were dead now. Were proud of their wines. They made them for centuries. There shall never be more bottles, yet frivolous, we drink them away. What crime did they commit? Their workers? I close my eyes and keep my smile fixed.

A pleasant expression, because everything is Fine. Remember who you fight for, survive for, you are the canary in the mine. If you go silent, they know to run. The longer you live, the more people you can help, you can do this. Remember... sometimes rebellion is refusing to die. Refusing to let them pull hope from your desperate, bleeding, claws.

Just smile.

Everything is Fine! See? We're Smiling!

"Such a lonely seat. Not going to dance? Mingle? One might think you're not having fun." Comes from behind me, the voice an almost silibant rasp, rumbling thunder and the whispered hiss of a blade. If ever there was a voice made for threats and the confession of terrible things, it was this. "But how could that be? Such a loyal servant of his Majesty would never be so divisive and disrespectful. You must surely be ill. So, tell me then, your excuse?"

The only reason I do not jump, and splash on more reminder of tragedy right down my front, in a display I can not afford, is that I freeze up. Jumping would look guilty of something. It would not matter that he walks all but silently. That I did not notice him and was startled. That it is a simple, human, reaction. Why am I so JUMPY? Guilty conscious? Perhaps an Inquisitor and I should... Talk.

And dropping my wine? Making a SCENE? Am I seeking to undermine his Majesty?

That's ON TOP of the fact, that... frankly? My House can not AFFORD to replace a wine stained dress. With his Majesty's demands for constant decadence yet performative humility, his hoarding of wealth and demands of tribute? We are barely scrapping by. Most "graciously spared" survivors are.

Not ALLOWED to become lower class. Disappear into the masses and work or live quiet, modest lives. No. We must PROVE our LOYALTY to his Majesty. Constantly. Forever. Right up until we fail and are punished for it. In a sick game, no one can ever hope to win but him.

We are to continue on, as though he did not burn the world down. Yet in revamped parody of what was. Like a social outcast, holding towns hostage, to play out "high school prom" as the MOST popular kid, forever and ever and always more. Or ELSE. Because he never grew up and never got over it. Because people didn't like him. So he'll MAKE them. Kill them if they refuse.

The fifteenth version of this dress. Lace carefully taken off and redone elsewhere, I cycle through "new dresses" and trade with allies who are about my size. Who could possibly afford to meet the man's mad demands? When we are barely feeding are own? When he has seized our assets yet will not let us work?

We are dying.

Painted in what inherited gold, silks, and jewels remain. Terrified. We are dying.

"Nothing to say? How quiet. One might think you are... afraid. But how could that be? You would know, as a loyal servant of his Majesty, that you have nothing to fear from us. No Inquisitor would harm one of the loyal subjects, of our beloved ruler. You are perfectly safe... that is, of course, assuming... you are, in fact, Loyal."

The near shifting of heavy cloth against heavy cloth, the sigh as it slid against armor, markes a deadly presence behind me. Light, almost silent, steps are nearly lost under the music, as he moves. Circling me like a hunter. I force myself to turn towards him instead of shying away. Claw control back of my instinct frozen limbs, with desperate hands. I cannot, CANNOT afford this.

"Ah, but you are sick. Headache, perhaps? The drink too strong?"

Red eyes bore into me from a silver mask. Infamous claws, on hands that have done so much, are tucked behind his back like gentleman, out on a stroll. Bone white robes, over armored black under robes. Monochromatic, blood red, and silver steel.

The Grand Inquisitor.

"Perhaps you've tired yourself. With all that dancing you did not do. So many questions. So few answers. But then, ah, I've been speaking so rudely, my dear. Talking over you. How has your evening been, hmm? Pleasant, I take it?" His voice was as light and almost charming, as a gentle hand; wrapped delicately around the throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just a simple remind that it could. If he did not like, what you had or were about to say. "Come, sit, I insist."

The smile on my face felt like it was a dam under pressure. Like my teeth could only barely held back the screaming in my head. The mask of my expression, covered in hair line fractures, only just holding together as I nodded. Followed along. Hysterical comparisons to the march before firing squads, danced in the back of my head. I shoved them back. Down and far away. I... I had to be present. Alert.

The chandelier's light caught with terrible beauty, on the brutal points of his claws. As he gestured, almost a mockery of the polite gentleman. He would be one, if not for the unspeakable things he had done. He was certainly polite. His etiquette immaculate.

Social dances. A mockery of comfort. Mock, mock, mock. His mere presence, his brutality, desecrated it all. Made profane the familiar. For who? WHO? Could break bread with the butcher of men? Could smile politely and serve them thoughtful bits of nothing? Treat them as your own? Yet... yet we were all to afraid to resist. To refuse.

Did they delight? Forcing us to welcome them, where they clearly were not wanted? Where we could not refuse them? Perverting the purpose of our traditions and our ways? Was... was it funny? Or just another tool to use against us?

Smile, dip your head, a small curtsy or bow. The guest invited sits first, serve drinks, time appropriate food if you have it. In my head I knew each step. The etiquette of the classes and why each was the way it was. He did not reach for the pitcher on the table. Merely settled back into his chair, like a throne.

Was he deliberately breaking the social norm? To create discomfort and pressure me to talk? Did he not know? His past was shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he simply did not feel like it. Who, here, could insist? Shun him for his rudeness?

I tried not to sweat, under his heavy gaze. Did not partake. Sat, back straight, my gentle mask-like smile fixed, as I stared over his shoulder. A pretty doll. Ragged and worn around the edges. Trying desperately to appear The Good And Loyal Citizen, least something... Unfortunate, happen.

"What a lovely dress." He mused into the tense silence, breaking it to brutal shards. "Yet, I can not help but notice the shade. The cut and design. Madame Signe's work, isn't it? It suits you." Everything inside me went cold. It was. But if he recognized it...

"Yet? I can not help but wonder, my dear. Why the lace is in the wrong place? You wouldn't happen to be trying to pass off that dress as something new, would you? Trying to subvert and undermine his Majesty's very clear command? That would be treasonous. And you, such a loyal subject, would never."

He knew.

I didn't know how much he knew, but he DID.

Struggling not to shake, not to give everything away, I lied. Of course, I did. Right through my teeth. I would, I had, and I promised. Straight to the end. Lie and lie, until I had nothing left in me. I know nothing, I know no one, there is nothing here to find. Lies upon lies, all while those I love flee for their lives. Praying to gods I don't think can even hear me, that it will be enough.

The slight tilt of his head somehow projected a sense of mocking indulgence. One long leg crossed the other, lounging like a warlord. The clawed gauntlets on full, gruesome display. Every part of him, from the set of his shoulders to the angle he sat, radiated amusement. As though he were watching a silly little child, playing foolish little games. Getting into mischief, then trying to hide the obvious evidence.

Was I quite done? His silence seem to say. He can wait.

I tilted my chin up with a strength and defiance I did not feel. Yes, I was done. Let come what may. I... I tried.

"So afraid, dear citizen. Acting as though I'm some sort of monster in the night, out to butcher and hunt the innocent. One might get the wrong impression. You might even hurt my feelings." He laughs, a sound that seems to roll and fall dangerously, past grinning teeth. Sharp and deadly. "But of course... I understand, I do. About your dress. You can not help it."

"After all, you have not changed a bit."

....what?

"Still compelled, against all rhyme and reason, to tend to the wretched under classes. The filth and wastrels. Beggars and whores. Instead of purchasing dresses for parties? You, oh loyal Citizen, are of course, exemplifying his Majesty's great Mercy."

That's not what... He KNOWS it's not... Where is he GOING with this?

"Yes, we must make exceptions, perhaps. Have mercy. After all... you had nothing but the best of intentions. And how can I hold that against you? When you can not help what you are? Soft and foolish. So very merciful and giving. Humane."

He dropped the word like it was a joke. Almost snide, laughter haunting the edges of it like a pack of hunting hounds. As though humanity to others, itself, was laughable. What a joke, he seemed to suggest, the mere concept of mercy. Of compassion for the sake of it.

So, why? What game was he playing? If he had to mercy to give me? Why even suggest...?

"Do you remember, the Revolution? That glorious rise, as the old fell away. As shackles were broken. As class lines no longer bound us. As we, both children, sat in the dark?"

Impossible.

No... no it... please, God, it can't....

The music was very far away. Muted, as though through blankets. Conversations becoming indistinct. Memories of stale air and dust. Packed earth beneath me and cold stone pressing against my back. The terrible, uncertain creek, of cheap woods from both the crates and ceiling above us. Everything that COULD be stacked against the doors, was.

Wondering if we would survive fire. If they, in their anger and hate, would think of it. Oh god, oh god, we were just kids-!

White hair, like bone, forever silent and staring. Never came close but showed up every time I did, they noted. A crush. Local boy, they mused. He was too thin. Bruises where there shouldn't be. Scars on skin too young. He didn't run when I went to him, but never came to me. I tried to feed him. Just one more story. So many tragedies, that I could do so little to change. All I had was soup.

"Ah~ there it is. You recognize me now. It's been so long, hasn't it, my dear?" Something pleased and horrifying, curled like spreading poison through his tone. "I am a man, grown, now. Have become quite accomplished, if I do say so myself. Wealthy, influential, well connected. Powerful. No longer weak and unworthy of your time."

"In fact," He leaned forward, as though telling a secret. Almost playful, despite the horror of his words. "It's my turn to control you. To be the powerful one. To have everything while you have nothing."

"I will admit... I have been waiting for this for a very long time. You were so beautiful. Trapped in you wretched blood bought finery, chained to the House that would keep us apart. I knew even then, that I would have you, that I was the ONLY one that could be allowed to have you. No one else. And oh, his Majesty has been so very, very obliging."

Folded papers were withdrawn from his robes. Offered almost carelessly. If it weren't for the intensity of his stare? I would believe he didn't care, how I reacted. With shaking hands. I smooth the pages as I open it. From the desk of the Emperor himself... a... a marriage contract.

"Exactly as I wanted. You'll never escape me again. Smile, my dear."

"We're getting married."

[woneuntonzz]

📞 ; “you’ll see me later near the flagpole, i’ll stand there and wave at you, wave back?”

𖹭 : player!seunghan x afab!reader

💭 you had no idea why seunghan seemed to be so indifferent towards you, especially when he had fooled around with half the girls in your circle.

⤷ contains: angst (it's quite bad i think), fluffy fluff, humor, cussing, indications of s/h, mentions and indications of self-exiting, mentions of smoking, drinking, suggestive scenarios, themes of insecurity, mention of other idol names for world building

⤷ wc: 9.8k !!

not proofread :>

Insecurity is something none of us are safe from. One might find themselves one gloomy evening after a long day, staring into the horrid pit they call ‘me’. 

It’s just so hard to love yourself when there’s no one to love you.

You’re not the prettiest, nor the smartest. You have a fair share of hobbies, but you’ve always thought you’re just mediocre in all of them. You’ve always thought it’s an internal error, nearly unfixable because you’ve been trying so hard your whole life but still weren’t able to reach a certain point of excellence. Perhaps it was the lack of encouragement, the lack of presence, your parents are the most insouciant they could be, and it hurts even more for being an only-child. 

You’d think having friends would help, but over time it would feel as if they were all keeping you around just for your accompaniment, like a pet —not even one they’d dote on, just one they’d have around so they wouldn’t make a fool of themselves blabbering on about whatever was going on in their lives. It’s been five years of their running mouths and pretty faces, and it’s getting harder and harder to care.

“Hong Seunghan? He's got the face for sure, but he’s a jerk.” 

“Does it matter? You two were so fucking loud last night.”

“Geez Y/n, sorry —but yeah, it’s just a shame. You can’t really expect anything else from that guy than a quick fuck.”

The first mention of his name flew over your head like a feather, you thought he was probably just another one of those guys, not really worth the thought.

At some point in time however, his circle of friends would merge into yours. Some would build friendships with the occasional make outs and doing the dirty deed whenever they felt like it, and some would actually end up dating, but they would be toxic at best. This deranged circle is definitely not desirable, but for a bunch of horny teenagers, it’s not really much of a shock. 

“Shit, Seunghan, why the hell would you just leave me like that?”

“I left you a towel —and you have hands, right? you were just using them with me—”

“Shut up!”

They were laughing after having done something so unholy with the presence of everyone just outside the room where they had dealt with their business. It was the norm now, having sex while everyone else was in the living room, shamelessly making the lewdest of sounds —it’s a house owned by one of your friends whose parents were seemingly as neglectful as yours, it just happens so that their son was a fucking narcissist.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to fuck me.” 

“You have a girlfriend, Intak.”

“Y/n, she’s not around, and if you think about it you’re doing her a favor, taking care of me while she’s away—”

“You’re disgusting. She already said no.” —you never expected for Seunghan to suddenly butt in because no one really ever cared enough to save anyone from a situation such as this one.

“Look who’s speaking, you’re just as much of a fuckface as I am.” you could only watch with furrowed brows as the two went on. 

“Yeah? I don’t force myself into anyone, unlike you.” —really? for being the philanderer you are? —you’d think to yourself, keeping your eyes on Seunghan.

“Bud, she just said ‘you have a girlfriend’, I didn’t hear a ‘no’ or an ‘I don’t want you to make a total wreck of me’, did you?” you’d only roll your eyes, walking out of the room. “Hey, Y/n, wait up—”

“Just leave her alone dude. She doesn’t want you.”

You wish you could care less, but it would happen more often —some of your guy friends trying to get you to fuck, and him coincidentally being in the same room, reasoning with the other guy so you wouldn’t get trapped —if you already weren’t for being in their circle. 

You thought he was sick, what was his reason for stopping you from taking a hit when he bounced back and forth from your friends and probably girls outside of your scope. 

One night however, you’d make sure he wasn’t around, and finally, you’d give in. 

Feeling particularly lustful, you were in luck. Woojin was around, just as pent up —if not more— no longer able to keep his hands to himself. The skinship drew you in deeper, and soon you’d be whispering in his ear, “Let’s go up stairs.” —him giving you a hastened nod before taking you by the arm and dragging you to an empty room at the second storey. 

Everyone seemed to be surprised to see that it was you behind those risqué sounds. Still, you didn’t know how to act. Should you be embarrassed? proud? should you just be nonchalant about everything? you didn’t want things to get awkward for you and Woojin, and so you’d try your best to not show your flustered self to him.

“Is it really okay that I took your first time?”

“Y-yeah, don’t think much about it.”

You two were seated on the bleachers of the school gymnasium, the day after everything that went down. His chuckle, so sweet yet so subtle would only add to the heat on your face. 

“I just always thought you were so reserved, you know? I thought you’d want your first time to be with someone special, as far as I know, that’s not me —I’m your friend, your my friend.” he was calm, and soft, justifying his thoughts.

“I thought so too.” you shrugged at him. 

You looked out into the distance, to the basketball ring, and underneath it was Seunghan. The hell? —you’d say to yourself, seeing the boy beneath the ring shaking his head after making brief eye contact with you. 

What was his problem? Was it about you sleeping with Woojin? he was already there when you came down the stairs with Woojin, both of you equally as blown out as the other. When you saw him, he didn’t even seem to care, he even had his arms around one of your other friends nearly shoving his face against hers. So what was his problem?

“Maybe he wanted to fuck you before anyone did.” —now you were second guessing yourself, maybe you shouldn’t have told your pretty little best friends about it.

“I don’t think so. He hadn’t even touched me—”

“Oh right! it’s kinda funny.” their laughter filled your ears, so horrid.

“My God Jean, I don’t know why’d you even bring that idea up, Seunghan wouldn’t even look at Y/n for more than two minutes, be for real.” they tittered to each other, at that point anyone else who saw you would’ve never thought you were part of the initial conversation in the first place.

As harshed it sounded —especially coming from them— it was nothing but the truth. Not like he owed you anything, but you felt as if there must be something wrong with you for him to not be giving you as much attention as he would any other female. Not even only that, he didn’t even talk to you as much as he did with everyone else. The others would talk to you, some like Woojin more regularly than others. It just seemed like Seunghan was just so indifferent towards you, even after all those times he’s rejected your friends’ advances for you. 

It was enough for you to question your self-worth, your face, your body, your attitude. You’ve always been so compliant, other than those times you’ve rejected attempts of unruly hands getting into your pants, you had every right to do so anyway. These people you call your friends, they’re all so full of themselves, even them being vocal about their insecurities were all just pure complaints, like a broken car —they could get it ‘fixed’ as they pleased, with their parents’ consent or not they could do whatever they want, unlike you. As much as you wanted to get a higher nose bridge, fuller cheeks, a prettier eye shape, a more flattering body, you’re stuck with what you had. You didn’t have the money, the time, the energy, and most importantly, the motivation. 

Facing the mirror made you sick in the stomach, hideous —for a lack of a better word, was all you could think of whenever you saw the lump of patheticness, you. 

Everything started with Hong Seunghan, noticing how touchy he’d get with the other girls —and every other girl except you— how he smiled at them, and never at you. He didn’t ignore you entirely, but he wouldn’t be enthusiastic like he’d be with everybody, everybody except you of course. And soon enough, your doubts tripled from the backhanded assurances —if you could even call it that— feeling as if they resent you wouldn’t come as a question, not at all. They did a pretty good job of making you feel unwanted. 

“Unwanted? come on, we’re just here to have fun, none of that dramatic depression shit —anxiety or whatever lame excuse you have.” —and you still had no idea how to mend your pain. 

You stuck around, for as long as your dignity allowed you to. You would never be special like them. You were merely a filler, and you played your role well. For some time, Woojin was around, then he’s not. In a blink, he’d be your enemy too, just cause he got to fuck the more popular girls in your circle. How amusing. —suddenly he was like everyone else, never to swallow his pride. 

Everything at once became too much, way too much. You got into vices you swore you’d never get yourself into, drinking and smoking your spirits away. Wherever you’re headed in life, at that time it was blurry, hazy, unforeseeable. With every other senses blocked, all you could feel was the shot of liquid burning your throat as it slid down.

Your eyes shifted around, looking for a bright light that was never there, and you’d catch a glimpse of your reflection and for a while you were able to spur a thought out of your disarrayed mind —you’re a monster Y/n. You felt and looked dreadful, clearly in need of aid, but from who? you’d only feel the need to down more of the searing liquid, frustrated with yourself, with the world. You will never be enough for everyone, not even yourself.

Brain almost turned to mush, your vision doubling the images you’re able to decipher at the moment, you’d shuffle around the unfamiliar sheets, on a bed you’ve never laid on. 

“There’s some aspirin on the bedside table. I’ll be at class.” 

Of all people, it had to be his bed. You sat up, face buried in your hands as you tried to remember even the slightest bit of what happened that previous night. Nothing, your mind could only bring you to the void of nothingness. You’d feel yourself around, what if something happened with you and Seunghan that night? before you could ask him however, your eyes would meet his, and in them was a glint of something you weren’t able to pick up on given your very unkempt state. He’d leave you there, not another word leaving him. 

If you weren’t so thoughtful, you would’ve just left his room as it is, pocketing the aspirin —he may or may have not— left you, but you took your time tidying up his bed, not even giving the aspirin a second look before you headed out. You knew you needed the medicine, but you just couldn’t bear that thought that it was from him. He never cared —he shouldn’t care.

You still went to school earlier that day, not sparing anyone a minute of your time. You felt so defunct, so dead. On the way out of your last class for the day, you’d only subconsciously wipe your nose and blood was smeared across your face. You thanked yourself for being sober enough to rush to the comfort room and take care of it. By chance, you’d stumble into one of your friends. 

“What a sport, bet you could down five barrels.” —the last thing you wanted to hear was their distasteful guffaws.

You tried your best to let out something, anything in response, but a feeble smirk was all you could display, walking out of the comfort room in need of fresher air. You thought that was the end of it, but that night you’d go home, back to your parents. You never thought they’d even notice you didn’t go home that night, but to your surprise, one of them opened their mouth to you at the dinner table.

“You’re only in your junior year Y/n —highschool might I add, I hope you’re not wasting your life away.” you could only very subtly shake your head, suppressing the scoff threatening to leave your lips the moment your mom started talking. 

So what if you were wasting away? it’s not like they cared enough. They had barely given you an ounce of their affection, giving you money of the same value as convenient store student meals they considered the equivalent of a birthday celebration. Your last actual birthday was six years ago, before your parents had to ruin their relations with their own parents —your grandparents. 

The grounding of this whole mess started from when your parents had introduced one another to each other’s parents. Did not go well. For years, resentment was loud and clear, even as a kid you could see it, but for the sake of your parents you pretended not to. Your parents had you without getting married, still, your grandparents loved you wholly like you were their own child. Even after your birth, your grandparents from both sides still opposed the idea of marriage, hence your parents’ dismay. They’d cut ties with your grandparents so they could carry on with their wishes of being wedded, but till now, were still not able to do so, not earning enough to fulfill this desire. 

Love wins all they say, but their love was none you could see nor feel, so did abandoning their parents do anything for them at all? for their love that seemed to be so important that they’d continue to deprive you of your emotional needs? 

You refuse to be like them, you want to be better, to prove something to them, to yourself. Perhaps it’s time you got a grip. 

It wouldn’t be easy to stay out of the ‘friends’ that would be the foreground of your miserable life, but slowly you’d get the hang of giving absolutely no fucks for whatever they had to say. 

“You can’t be serious, you? studying? if you’re just gonna be out fucking some pathetic guy downing tequila like it’s water you—”

“I have a life, Rina. Maybe you should get one too?” you’d feel a little better, finally not letting them underdog you like they always have. 

You were a lot more vocal, and they didn’t like it. Soon you’d be the topic of discussion, behind your back, or when you just weren’t around. You knew, it was hard to say you didn’t care, it felt like fifty missiles coming at you at once, but what else could you do? tell them to stop? —as if they would.

“She’s such a fucking brat. What had gotten into that bitch?”

“Wait, who now?”

“Y/s/n Y/n.”

Upon hearing your name, he just couldn’t help but insert himself in the conversation, though he wasn’t meant to. “What’d she do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, be a bitch? she thinks she’s all that but she’d probably end up in a ditch somewhere.” laughing at such vile words is sickening. “Anyways, Han, please, please, please sleep with me tonight. I feel so stressed about the finals.”

He scoffed at her, loud enough for her to flinch. “Why don’t you study, freak? I’m going, I’m gonna study so I can at least continue to senior year.” 

“Do you hate me now, Han?”

“Never fucking liked you in the first place.”

He saw you leave that atrocious house for the last time, but he never knew it would be the last. He still waited for you, though none of your friends ever thought of it. 

Senior year flew by, and he noticed you never came back. He also noticed that you avoided him, and everyone else involved in that shitshow like you never knew them. 

They made sure you wouldn’t get away with it that easily. Within a span of weeks, your life was hell once again. You were labeled a slut, an alcoholic, a toxic gossip. It was tough to wake up the next day, to continue to breath under their condemnatory glares. The thought of who you were to them was so close to swallowing you whole, into obscurity, where you belonged.

“Y/s/n Y/n? please wake up.” —an unfamiliar voice, one you thought was from the heavens coming to retrieve you from the hell you lived in. 

She helped you sit up from the murky tiles of the school comfort room, assisting you with holding yourself up with a hand on the small of your back. 

“Y/n, please don’t do this again. If you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. Tell me everything.” —Ahn Yujin, a girl from the pilot class, she’d heard about you, but everything she’s picked up so far contradicts your lifeless image. 

She figured you must've been a victim of such vindictive mouths. You could only tell your stories through messages, fearing if you did it anywhere else, someone might overhear and use it against you. 

“Don’t worry, it’s all going to be kept between you and I.” —back in school, Yujin stuck by you whenever she could. “I have a friend in another class, Ningning, you should join us for lunch!”

You felt dumb for doubting the luminance of her tone, bright as ever. This was the first time you’d had someone you felt comfortable enough to call your friend, and you were thinking, maybe, it’s just all out of pity, then it would be easy for them to just overlook your existence like everyone else does.

Your ambiguity would be lifted once you’ve received the first letter.

hey y/n, i know you’d probably think i have bad intentions, writing this and all, but i just wanted you to know that i’m really worried about you. i wish i could’ve done something to drive away those rumors, you didn’t deserve any of this. i was scared that you almost ended it all, i hope it doesn’t happen again. i wish i could give you a hug right now, but for now, this would have to do —with a cute little drawing of a bear with open arms. The artist was definitely not Van Gogh, but it was sweet nonetheless.

When you met Yujin and Ningning again that day, you would hesitantly come up to her with a warm embrace. She was a bit surprised, but happy you were finally showing signs of healthy vigor. “Hi Y/n!” she exclaimed whilst she hugged you back.

“I just wanted to say thank you, for everything —to you too Ningning. I literally wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you guys.” the two would engulf you in a big hug. 

“Life is tough and highschool is filled with monsters. Rina and her little girlfriends? they can rot in hell, I’ll tell you that!”  

“Shh! wait, Yunjin, people might hear!” a slight chuckle left your mouth, for the first time in a great while. “But I agree. No worries, you have us now, fuck those buffoons.”

Finally, sincerity, something you never thought you’d be met with ever again. If it weren’t for that letter though, you would’ve never figured out just how genuine Yujin and Ningning were with helping you out. Even at home, you’d be talking with them, sometimes on a call if you were feeling safe enough to make a slight noise in your home with your parents around. 

“My birthday is in two weeks, God, I don’t think I'd even make it by then because of this stupid physics assignment —and the thesis too! I hate, hate, hate Lee Woojin.” you laughed at Yujin’s mention of that pathetic fool’s name, immediately catching the attention of both girls in the call. 

“Y/n, is he one of those jerks?” Ningning would bring her face closer to her phone screen. 

“Yes, he is. He’s bad bad.” you laughed at their reactions, Ningning shaking her head with a smirk whilst Yujin slammed her hands against each other once, scoffing. 

“Of course he is, I swear to God, I will remove him from our thesis paper.” 

“Honestly, he’s really nice when you first meet him, but as time goes by… you realize he’s just a total perv, him, Seunghan, Dowoon, all the same!” 

You shouldn’t be surprised, but you couldn’t help but perk up hearing Seunghan’s name again after a while. His reputation, like everyone else in his friend group, was tainted —salvageable, yes, but still burnt a hole through his once admirable esteem. Girls were all over him then, the younger and older, but now, with news of him fooling around so often, he’d be nothing but a pretty playboy. 

But he was no longer your concern, boys like him are never worth it, destroying the little self-worth you had. For all you knew, he probably never cared for you. 

None of that would matter anymore, and for the second time, you’d receive another letter, the last one was shoved in the peephole of your locker, but this one was left under your desk. 

i hope you’re reading these —also hope you’re not throwing them away after, i don’t want to assume, but I see you’re holding yourself up pretty well? i’m really proud of you :3 

How could you throw such precious efforts away? you kept them all, and eventually made the decision to stick them to your personal journal that you haven’t touched for so long. Your day wouldn’t be complete without them, and you’d wordlessly thank Yujin and Ningning by being there for them like they always were for you. 

“Hey, Y/n, we should do a little something for Yujin’s birthday.” you and Ningning were huddled against each other, whispering in the cafeteria before Yujin could arrive. 

You quietly gasp, coming up with an idea. “Wait! I think I got it.”

And the rest of the six minutes was spent with the two of you suppressing giggles and trying to be as quiet as possible till Yujin got there. “What are you two up to?”

“Not much, just the—” you looked at Ningning as an attempt to seek help. “—group project for social studies.”

She’d just nod, slowly, eyeing the two of you with suspicious eyes, all in jest of course, and you were all laughing by the end of it.

your smile is so pretty, always smile, yeah? happy you’re happy, finally. —and another cute little sketch of a teddy bear.

You almost laughed at how ridiculously adorable it was, not meaning to sound harsh, but you really thought Yujin could draw better, but maybe she was in a rush when she made it. 

i haven’t told you this, have i? —anyways, you deserve all the happiness in the world. if i could, i would take all the pain away from you, i’d take it all for you. be happy always, lots of hugs and kisses (? —are kisses okay?) —another day, another letter. 

You couldn’t help but emit a soft chuckle, shaking your head at just how sweet these letters were. You made sure you paid back Yujin all the love you’ve been receiving, through her words, the smallest and biggest of gestures, and her letters. 

i see you reading through my letters, not being creepy though, i just can’t help but look because you’re so cute. i’m being for real too, your little giggle is everything, and again, your smile beats everyone else’s. i think i’ll only be going to school to see that sweet smile of yours :D —this would be the letter left under your desk on Yujin’s birthday. 

You can’t help but overthink the surprise you’ve prepared for her, because even on her birthday, she was still able to give you something that —for you— could never be topped by anything else in this world. To others, it’s ‘just words’, but these words were ones that encouraged you to be more motivated, to make an effort in getting ready for school everyday despite how hostile the environment could be. 

Later that day, you and Ningning would be extra busy, convincing Yujin to wear the blindfold you had prepared —you had to make sure it would be comfortable for her— leading her somewhere in the park just near your school. 

Two, three —“Surprise!”

You were both proud with the simplicity, yet incredibly pleasing to the eyes. A little picnic set up, with a cake you and Ningning split your budget for. 

“This is just —I, oh my God.” she had her hands covering her mouth, eyes watery from the fondness you and Ningning had drowned her in. 

You and Ningning would help her kneel down carefully on the blanket you’ve laid down. 

“We hope you like the cake, we weren’t so sure which one to pick.” Ningning says. 

“I love it, I— thank you guys.” Yujin hugs both of you once more. 

Once released from their snug grasp, you’d utter, “We wanted to make sure this day would be extra special, and I want to thank you again for helping me and being my best friend, and for the letters too.”

“I love you Y/n, I really do.” she beamed at you, the dearest smile you’ve ever received since your grandparents. “Oh, but, what letters were you talking about?”

You blinked once, was it not from her? “Letters? oh, did I say letters? I meant to say words, you’re words of encouragement and all.”

“You’re so sweet, thank you Y/n.” you’d give her the same smile she’d given you, holding her hand, but at the same time, your mind was going fuzzy and you’d just ask yourself —whose letters were they?

Perhaps it was Ningning? but she seemed to be just as perplexed as Yujin was, you were just thankful that they didn’t feel the need to question you further about it. 

You’d keep receiving the letters, but would still be clueless as to who this mystery sender might be. They seemed to be quite genuine, especially for hiding their identity. 

the workload is starting to get really hard to bear with, i hope you’re doing good. i really wish i could help you, but i hope this little hug can help. —and another drawing of a bear with open arms.

Are they a classmate of yours? you could only be certain they were also senior year because they were aware of the piling schoolwork everyone in your year had to endure. 

Even with the sender’s anonymity, their letters would still serve as a reason for you to withstand the storms of your life. You’d tell both Yujin and Ningning about it eventually, and they would be just as invested in them as you were, intrigued by this endearing mystery. 

“They seem really sweet, but I really can’t think of anyone.” —was all you could answer to your friends’ queries. 

“Hmm, whoever they are, I hope they’re just as good as they appear to be in these letters.” They were reading through the letters in your journal, smiling at certains points.

“Oh my God, what a flirt.” you’d rush next to Ningning, peaking at the page where they’d stopped. 

i want you to read this and not think i’m playing, because i saw you this morning and thought you looked really pretty —you’re pretty every single day, but this morning was something else, i don’t sound crazy, right? or creepy?

“You should totally write something back to them!” Ningning spoke, almost in a squeal. 

It was the letter from earlier that day, and it was the first time the letters would come off as more flirty like what Yujin had just said. You weren’t quite receptive with the thought of calling them your secret admirer, you’d pretty much prefer to call them your anonymous best friend.

who are you? —you left a little note above your desk before you left school that day, hoping they’d see it and respond to you.

college is nearing, i wish you all the luck in the world. i know you’ll get in a great university, and have great friends, be careful with friends, okay? also remember to always take care of yourself, no matter what. 

so i wrote this last night, but i added this just now, i see you’re curious, i never thought it would matter. truly, your smile is enough. i don’t want to be in the way of your thoughts, don’t think about it much, still i really don’t want you to think i’m just messing with you. i promise to see you before we graduate :))

Your smile would diminish by the end of the letter. Right, you were graduating already. With a sigh, you’d fold the letter into one of your notebooks. 

The letters never stopped, and soon, your journal was full. You got a new one, filling three more pages with their letters before graduation day. you’ll see me later near the flagpole, i’ll stand there and wave at you, wave back? hehe :3 —a note was stuck onto your designated chair during the ceremony.

Your heart pounded so quickly as time flew by, the awarding was barely in your mind anymore, all you could think of was seeing this mystery person, seeing an actual being behind those lovely and comforting words. Once everyone had their medals hanging from their necks, with smiles and faint laughter, there would be a speech left by the deans and the principal. All that’s left is to let that cap fly into the air, and look near the flagpole. 

With a smile on your face, you got a little closer at the stage, just enough to be at a reasonable distance from your anonymous best friend, still you weren’t able to spot them right away. After a while, the crowd would scatter, and you could finally look without many people in the way. 

You never thought you’d see his smile, a smile that called for the angels, the angel that you are. 

Before he could give you a wave, you’d disappear from his sight, like snow under the summer sun. His eyes would move down to the floor, perhaps he was too sure? Well, he didn’t exactly picture that you would run to him and wrap him with your warm embrace, but he thought you’d at least spare him a small smile, either way, he couldn’t blame you. He understood why you’d react that way. 

You didn’t know how to feel, was it really him? him out of all people? out of all people, him again? you wanted to believe he was just out of his mind, wanting to mess with you all over again, but then, if he really intended to, he could've done so without all the trouble of writing you all these letters every night waking up extra early just to leave them under your desk before you got there, all to get a smile out of you. 

This was not the Hong Seunghan you knew.

═══════════════════════════════════════

Getting into a decent university was your biggest concern all summer, not being able to think about anything else than your entrance exam results. SNU, Yonsei, and two more back ups, you just hoped you weren’t much of a fuck up during the interview, though you did stutter at multiple points —which almost crumbled you into pieces— you’d say you did a pretty good job, till you were coming up with better answers you could’ve said right after the interview finished. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s open our inbox.” you were on a call with your best friends, all equally excited, and anxious. 

“I will shit myself.”

You checked yours, you got four emails from all four universities you applied for. You only got into two, much to your luck, one of them was Yonsei. 

“Oh my God, we’re going to Yonsei together!” Yujin had her hands clasped together.

“I can’t wait to skip classes with you guys!” you both laugh at Ningning’s quip. 

“Maybe not that, but yey!”

Your life seems to be moving in the right direction, one where you’ll finally be able to reach a point of contentment, and pure bliss. 

You’d find yourself smiling at the ceiling, eyes closed, laying flat on your back. It felt so good to be out of the haphazards, just thinking about the future and what it held for you and the two of your favorite people. 

Relief coursed through your body, finally you could step out of that dismal household. Your parents promised to send you money regularly, but you were determined to get some sort of side job that could earn you enough so you could save up for something nice —you yet weren’t sure for what exactly, but you’d figure it out soon enough. 

Arriving at the dorms, you were thankful that it was spacious enough, not like you’d have a use for so much space, just that you hoped you could pre-establish some boundaries with your roommate, who —fortunately for you— was very nice and quite extroverted. 

“Hi! My name is Haewon!”

“Hi! I’m Y/n, nice to meet you!”

And she was nice enough to invite you and your friends to a little get-together they had. 

“There’s not many people, but I think Sunoo said he was bringing in a few friends, I'm not familiar with them either.” Haewon shrugged right as she spoke about her friend Sunoo. 

This was the circle of friends you thought you’d be in in highschool, but does that really matter anymore? you already had Yujin, Ningning, and now Haewon, and possibly a few more you hoped. 

You’d meet up with Yujin and Ningning before you got to the get-together, you were all just as nervous as the other, but were still anticipating something wonderful out of it. 

“I just hope they’re really as nice as they sound, I mean, meeting Haewon earlier, they probably are, but still!” Yujin spoke with haste, using a hand mirror to guide herself with fixing her hair. 

“We’ll be okay, tonight will be great.” you urged with pure excitement. 

You were a firm believer —just recently— that things would go well if you believed hard enough, and throughout the ride to the meeting place, you wore a smile, one that would only shine brighter once you were greeted by Haewon and two other girls. Soon enough you’d learn their names, Seeun and Sullyoon. However, Sunoo seemed to be running late.

“I wonder who he’s coming with, I hope they’re nice too.” Sullyoon kept her eyes on Haewon —who looked to be growing a bit annoyed— as she spoke.

After five counts of minutes, you’d hear a few pairs of feet approaching, and you’d turn yourself around to face them with a wee bit of hesitance. 

“Finally! Well, anyways, this is my roomate Y/n and her best friends, Yujin and Ningning.” 

“Is Haewonnie mad at me?”

“Don’t even get me started with that—”

“Yeah, okay, okay. I brought my roommate too, Seunghan, and his best friend Sohee.”

Him again. 

Everything was flashing back in your mind in one full swing, the letters, graduation day, the aspirin. It wouldn’t be as bad looking back at it, but he was right there. Perhaps you made a mistake on graduation day? maybe he was just in the way of your anonymous best friend who stood near the flagpole. But he was the only one there. —your thoughts would stray far from the conversation at play, but you wouldn’t let yourself get too lost in your head to shut everyone out. You tried shutting him out, but somehow your eyes were progressively becoming so drawn to his own. Why was he suddenly giving you this much attention? it should’ve been over the moment you had rejected the aspirin, the morning you woke up on his bed, but he was here again, and he’s different. 

It posed a question, what is it that could truly change somebody? an event? a place? another person? you could say, from that night alone you could observe that he’s changed as much as you did. A lot more smiley —like you, a bit timid, but still very open —like you, listened very carefully and very well, especially to you. You’d mind him the entire night, but made sure you were still being a functional friend and not just sitting there like an idiot thinking about this one guy that you suddenly couldn’t get off of your head —get out!

The moment would come where it was finally time to say goodbye. Everyone was so nice to you and your friends that nothing else came out of your other than small thank you’s whilst you gave them little waves, even him. He waved at you too, but he seemed too happy for his own good. 

That night however, while you got your stuff fixed, opening the bag you brought to the get-together for anything you would need for class the next day, you’d be met with a small piece of paper, folded in half.

good luck for tomorrow’s classes, it was really nice seeing you again. i missed you, y/n —there it was again, that stupidly cute bear that could easily be mistaken for a koala.

You really had nothing else left to do than to just wait for the sun to rise again, but not without giving everything an hour of your thought. You’re dazed with his sudden, and very unexpected appearance at that get-together, though you could never be sure, he didn’t seem to be the same Seunghan that bounced from girl to girl, ignoring you —something you so desperately wanted to get off your mind, but it was all coming back now. Because what could be the reason for him to write you all those letters? suddenly he was so concerned for you now? Was it because you almost lost your life? Was this just his pity getting the better of him? 

Whatever it may be, it was for sure driving you insane. 

“Good morning Y/n! I went down to get breakfast and I noticed you got mail, I fetched it for you if it’s alright, figured it might be from your family.” your eyes went wide at the envelope Haewon held up to your groggy face. 

It’s not from my family, they’d never, “Thank you.” —you had a hunch of whom it might be from.

And your hunch was right. 

good morning! i was hoping maybe you’d consider (you really don’t have to though) having lunch with me later today? and maybe we can talk for real, no pressure though! you really don’t have to show up (but please do?). i know you know who i am now, and i totally get why you’d react the way you did, i honestly would’ve reacted the same way (i really tried to draw some kind of emoticon with a bear, but i’m not exactly an artist).

You were already at the dining hall with Yunjin and Ningning when you read the letter. Though, with furrowed eyebrows, you wondered when and where exactly you’d be meeting him for lunch, other than that, your chortle by the end of reading it was very telling.

“Another letter? your secret admirer followed you to Yonsei?” your tittering escalated into a hearty laugh leaving Yujin wide-eyed. “Wait, do you already know who it is?”

“Yeah, I know him very well.” you replied, leaving them with a sheepish grin. 

“Him? Who is it?” both of them left their mouths agaped when you continued to chuckle at them.

“You’ll find out eventually.”

“And when exactly is ‘eventually’?” 

Lunch? you really didn’t know where else to go other than the dining hall, so you went there again for lunch time. You told your friends that you were waiting for this not so mysterious person, and they’d situate themselves at a table farther, but near enough to see whoever sits at your table.

Whilst you waited, you’d grab your lunch from the food queue. Once sat, your eyes would constantly shift from your food to the entrance, and you could only take tiny bites, not wanting to inhale your food entirely when your company was yet to arrive. You toyed with the single piece of vegetable on your plate using a steel spoon, did he stood me up? —at that point you had even received a text from Yujin that read, where the hell is that idiot?

He’s right there. By chance, more desirably by fate, glancing towards the entrance your eyes would stay there, locked with his. Both of you would shy away as he got closer, and when he was finally at your table he would softly utter, “I’m sorry, did I keep you waiting?”

Yes —you’d think to yourself, yet you’d shake your head at him at a staggered pace. For a moment you thought he’d sit next to you, walking to the empty seat next to you, but then he’d go full circle, sitting across from you. 

Right in front of you is a plastic bag, quite obviously food. “Oh, is this…”

“It’s chicken, you can save it for later if you want, it’d still taste good if you microwave it again, you have a microwave, right?” you almost laugh, he was just as comical as he was in his letters.

You wondered if this was what changed, or if this had been the Seunghan behind that playboy facade all along. “Yes, Seunghan, I have a microwave.”

Later that day, your friends just had to have a talk with you, it was the four of you in your dorm room, Haewon being included by chance. Firstly of course, you had to give your roommate a little summary of what had been of your highschool life, who you used to be, and him of course. 

With utter disbelief, gasps were evoked, one after another like chimes until Ningning spoke, “I still can’t believe that was the Hong Seunghan from highschool, I mean, he did seem a lot nicer at last night’s dinner, but who would’ve known?”

He’s changed for good, as he should —you thought, you were in college after all, it would only make sense for him to get himself together.

“But, if he’d been giving you those letters since highschool, do you think he'd have changed then?” The question came from Haewon who was very clearly immersed in your story.

“Maybe? I didn’t really see him as often, and, yeah, I kind of hated him then.” you mentioned it in your story too, how he used to be so apathetic towards you. 

“Oh, yeah. So how’d lunch go?” the three had their noses pointed towards you, trapping you against the headboard of your bed. 

“It was good.” really Y/n? —you’d question yourself, because everything you could recall from lunch that day was just the two of you shying away from each other’s eyes, seemingly waiting on each other to speak. 

“How good?” 

Fine would’ve been a better word. It was your first time having lunch with him, let alone spending time with him. You held your first actual conversation, and he was very unlike how you’d hear him talk to others back then. Most importantly, he was all eyes and ears for you. It was the very first instance where your eyes would gaze into each other long enough for you to feel something you had never felt before.

good morning! you know, i should’ve asked yesterday, but would it be okay if i got your number? just wondering hehe, also you can tell me if you want me to stop with the letters, maybe you’d be more accustomed to messages (okay, it looks like a bear, right? sohee told me it doesn’t, i got a little too paranoid about it.) 

Though feeling a little awful having to go to class again, today sparked a fire in you, a sort of motivation, a new objective if you will. 

This time, you’d approach him at that one class you shared. He’d freeze when he saw your figure taking wary steps towards him, anyways, shouldn’t he be the one approaching you?

You’d stand in front of him for a few seconds before very nonchalantly sticking a post-it near his chest, on his dress shirt. You’d give him a small smile before making your way out of the lecture hall. 

xxxx - xxx - xxxx, ttyl <3 —he thought he must’ve looked ridiculous wearing such a bashful grin, anyways he couldn’t care less, not at all when he had a conversation with you to look forward to at the end of the day. 

hi? sorry if i’m bothering you, i don’t know if you’re busy or not, personally, i’m not busy, not saying you can’t be busy. if you’re busy maybe we can talk when you’re not busy anymore heh

He writes letters over messages too? —you’d giggle to yourself, curling up into a ball as you messaged him back, not really busy, hi :))

OH

HELLO

so, yeah 

i just hope, idk

i’ve been contemplating

it’s ok han, go ahead

i just wanted to say i’m sorry for everything, from highschool and all that. it just didn’t feel right to just move on from everything knowing how much it affected you. 

i hope this isn’t overwhelming for you

i should’ve said this irl

but lowkey i’m kinda scared of confrontations

yea, i can tell lol

YOU CAN?

oh

yeah

i see why

i’m one idiot sandwich

You hummed quietly to yourself, biting your bottom lip as you typed, more like an idiot cupcake

a cupcake? 

yea

u were a jerk, but ur very sweet as it turns out

oh, sorry bout that hehe

u rlly don’t have to keep saying sorry

i’ve forgiven u a long time ago

really?

thank you, it really means a lot

like A LOT A LOT

thank you for also considering meeting me for lunch and talking to me n stuff and not ignoring me

and also, i hope u don’t think i’m playing you with those letters

i meant every word, all from the heart :3

that doesn’t sound too cheesy right? god i’m sweating right now

no han 😭

i think it’s very sweet

and really adorable

ur so adorable

Explode —he thought he’d explode right then and there. You were calling him adorable? he’d never foreseen this ever occurring, it seemed unreal at most.

seunghan?

yes

i’m alive :D —you’d think he was aware of how cute he was, but truly it was just the effect you had on him.

By that time, you thought the letters would stop coming, after all it’d be easier for him to message you. 

“Good morning Y/n! I grabbed your mail for you, it came with food, some melon bread, if I had to guess, this is from…” Haewon would eye you keenly, nodding at her, she’d only nod back in response, catching the signal.

good day! —wow, that sounded like a message from the dean, but anyways, good morning to you, miss lovely. i’d like to propose something, so you, me, your friends, my friends —lunch, sounds good?

It would be the five of you at lunch, talking about whatever was there to talk about —mostly professors you didn’t like, and students that caught your attention— talking, throwing a few jokes around and laughing altogether. It would all be harmless fun, well, that was until all you could see was each other. At first it would all be pure coincidence, but then after a few more coincidences, suddenly your eyes looked for each other. It was like playing tag, and your friends are all ‘it’. Eventually, your friends would catch up to you two, not outrightly saying it, but they could tell something was at play. 

“Y/n?” 

“Yes?”

What was I gonna say? “Oh, uh…”

“Seunghan?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll talk to you later.” —his smile was very sure, very eager for your heeding.

═══════════════════════════════════════

ur going to movie night?

i got the good shit 😎

i’m scared

fear not damsel

i’m sure ur gonna love it fr fr

who r u calling damsel 🤨

oh sorry

princess (?)

that better?

see u at sullyoon’s

bye shinchan •^•

see ya princess >:)

It’s been a while, a while nearing five months. What’s changed? nothing much, you got closer, more comfortable, though not face to face, through messages you just seemed to spew anything at each other displacing all worries that once floated around your mind. And of course, you still received the letters —one hundred and ninety-four letters, from the very first day till today.

FOR NARNIA! I AM excited :)) we’re watching EVERY movie in the franchise, you better pack your softest blanket, AND, also, i have a little gift for you. just a little something, i hope you love it as much as i do. —a drawing of a smiling bear, at some angles uncanny, making you laugh on the way back up to your dorm room after fetching his letter.

You gave a lot of thought on picking out pajamas for this one-night occasion, cozy or cute? Why not both?

“I knew it’d be so cute on you! I can’t wait for everyone else to see!” Haewon would coo at you, caressing the fuzz of your lion onesie. “Do the roar.”

“No.”

You and roommate would walk your way to Sullyoon’s dorm room —one she shared with Seeun— in your fuzzy and colorful onesies, with a few snacks and beverages at hand. And of course you wouldn’t forget your fluffy comforter. 

“Hi —Oh my God, that’s so cute!” like you expected, Yujin and Ningning would come cooing at you too, and soon Sullyoon and Seeun. 

Yujin gently squished your cheeks together. “Are you excited for the movie?” you’d asked through squished cheeks. 

“Of course cutie.” —and a slight poke to your left cheek. 

“FOR NARN—” Seunghan would stop in his tracks when he saw you all huddled up at one end of the ouch in your fuzzy lion onesie. “...nia.”

You’d perk up at the sound of his voice, giving him a peppy wave. “Hi!” you mouthed at him, and he’d happily wave back rushing beside you. 

In between the two of you were pillows and a few plushies. “I got us some turtle chips, don’t tell the others.” he’d whisper.

“Why not?”

“Limited supply, princess.”

Soon, everyone would settle down, snacks laid out where everyone could reach to take a handful, and of course, your beloved turtle chips would be hidden under a blanket laying on top of yours and Seunghan’s laps. The lights went dim, and the movie was on. 

“We should do Harry Potter next.” 

“Chill girly, we haven’t even gotten this one started.” —and laughter. 

The movie was fun, as far as you could tell. It was quite difficult to find any sense of focus for the movie when you could feel the warmth of his body, even being a few inches apart on the floor, both leaning against the edge of the couch. You’d use the turtle chips as an excuse to look anywhere near his direction at multiple points in the movie, reaching for some chips from the blanket —it was dark so you’d have to make extra effort anyway. The twelfth time you reached into that bag of chips you shared, the back of your hands would brush against each other, and you’d flinch, moving your hand away almost immediately. 

“Sorry.” he’d whisper. 

As the night went on, it would happen more often, and you would care less and less, until not at all. Either way, you were both just in for the snack, and maybe a little more. 

Three movies in, you’d glance beside you, seeing a drowsy Seeun next you with Ningning laying herself against Seeun’s side, already asleep. You looked up, Sohee seemed to actually be invested in the movie, and so was Sullyoon, Yujin and Sunoo? Well, they were awake, but they might just be watching something else. 

“Y/n?” you’d lower your head, almost jumping at the close proximity of your faces. 

“What is it Han?” you were able to utter quietly, subsiding your flustered state. 

He just stares for a while, taking in the colors on the tv screen reflecting on your glistening eyes. Breaking his trance, in a whisper, he’d ask, “You read my letter this morning, right?”

“Of course” I always do —you weren’t brave enough to tell him the rest just yet.

“Here’s my gift.” From behind him, he’d bring out a little teddy bear, one in your favorite color. “And also, I wanted to give you my letter for tomorrow in advance —I feel like this is pretty convenient timing.” Now, from under the blanket, he would bring out an envelope, colored a nice, light orange.

He hands it to you, and you’d very gently take it from his hand as you whispered again, “Thank you, Han.” 

The letter seemed to be a lot more decorated. The envelope was of somewhat higher quality —it was a lot thicker— and it had a few stickers here and there, you could tell he was trying to get a pattern of some sort. You were eager to read through it right then, but just as you opened the envelope, he brought his hand to lower yours that held the envelope, moving his body closer to yours in the process. “It’d be better if you read it tomorrow.”

Your sides were pressed onto each other, but none of you would budge. You’d just go back to the movie, or attempt to do so. With the fleeting time, you were already halfway into the last movie. When your yawn deflated, you’d feel some weight on your shoulder. You were, in all honesty, too sleepy to capture all of your emotions. And without second thought, you’d allow your head to fall on the one that lies on your shoulder. 

The letter —suddenly you were wide awake. You glanced to your side, seeing his alluring visage, closed lips and slight agape mouth, you chuckled, ever so quietly as to not wake him up. You would very carefully open the envelope, freeing the folded piece of paper. You gave yourself a few seconds to take in the tiny sketches of bears, Shinchan, stars, hearts and other whatnots. 

hey, i hope you have time to read everything, i'm very nervous writing this too. i just wanted to say that for the first time in my life i found something —no, someone i can never seem to move on from, someone i would never give up, not even for my own life. i know i was never the best person you could have around, and i have so much guilt in me for taking my chances for granted. i've liked you since october 12th 2020, it's been four years, we're also in college now. i hope you don't think i'm only saying this for my own sake, but i just wanted you to know that's it's been you since october 12th 2020. i was young and stupid, i cringe at this excuse but maybe it's true after all, but still it was so wrong. nothing was stopping me from pursuing you the moment i saw your beautiful face —your beautiful self, you're so beautiful, everything about you is beautiful. at that time i never knew you thought so badly of yourself, please don't ever think that again. if others can only see your flaws, all i see is how perfect you are, hoping this doesn't sound too cliche to the point where you'd think it's fake :(( it's true, i love you. we're like jack and rose —or maybe not, jack dies lol (i mean i'd die for you anyway), romeo and juliet? oh, no, they both die, so, noah and allie? ...no, NO. even better, seunghan and y/n, y/n and seunghan. hoping this love story is one where no one dies (at least not until we're, like, 90) and no one is forced to move places because your parents hate me and vice versa —anyways, i really love you, and i totally understand if you're doubting me, before i end this letter i just wanted to thank you for being so strong too, again, i love you.

The final movie ended with your watered eyes, but it wouldn’t be the movie that would evoke your emotions. With a few blinks, your tears would fall, and slowly, your hand would creep under the blanket, reaching —not for the chips, but for the hand of the very first you’d call your lover. 

Your touch would wake him from his slumber, and he’d look at you, head slightly hovering over your shoulder. “Are you okay? was the movie that sad?”

You’d chuckle softly, giving his hand a light squeeze. “I just —I love you too, Seunghan.”

“Wait, you read the letter?” eyes curious, but still evidently sleepy, you’d guide his head back on your shoulder. “Oh, you did.”

Silence took over, and soon light snores from your friends. You’d slowly shift yourself to a position where you were facing him, and he’d do the same. He was physically unable to hold back, lips planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You two figured your friends are already far off into dreamland, so you’d get comfortable, arms wrapped around each other. He has one arm under your head, hand drawing circles on your hair, his other arm was wrapped around your waist allowing his hand to settle on the end of your spine. You had both arms wrapped around his waist, snuggling into him with his gift teddy bear stuffed in between the two of you.

“I feel like it'd be better if you heard it from me directly.” He tried his best to be very quiet, but would end up earning a groan from one of your friends. 

“Just bring yourself closer, Han.” —he was more than happy to oblige, and now you could feel each other’s warm breath hitting the skin on your faces. 

“I love you Y/n.” —and of course, every happily ever after ends with a true love's kiss. 

End.

[ruewrote]

𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠.

PAIRING: chloe price x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of possible death GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: love me now by john legend WORD COUNT: 765 CHAPTERS: one, two

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it had been just over a week since rachel had gone missing and you had never seen chloe so...broken?

since she had gotten expelled she now spent her days in bed or out getting high. you were more than worried for her, she barely spoke to you anymore whether that be through person or messaging. always ending up with you getting left on read or delivered most nights.

joyce gave you sad smiles as you showed up to take care of her daughter or well atleast try to.

often leaving trays of food out for her, then coming back to get it and it would be barely touched. the curtains of her bedroom always closed, the strong scent of beer and weed making your stomach churn as you laid snuggled up close holding her.

you've never seen her look so small before.

for the boisterous girl you had first met seeing chloe in this state terrified you and the fact you couldn't do anything to make her feel better made the pit in your stomach grow deeper.

a few weeks later and rachel was still missing.

the students of blackwell reluctantly went back to their normal schedules, classes did too, even with the constant rainfall.

as for chloe she was nowhere near okay, but she was out of bed and determined more than ever to find rachel. placing missing person posters all over town with your help of course.

you would do anything for that girl...for your girl.

like now where you're stood close behind her, your hands in gloves gripping a bleaching brush which was covered in blue hair dye.

ever since the two of you had gotten together you had taken on the role of dying her hair, tired of seeing her miss patches at the back. you also happened to love the calmness of the process, that was when you actually got her to sit still.

her normal fidgeting was now still, the room that was previously full of music and life is dull and quiet.

you were just about done double checking you covered everywhere before taking off your gloves and picking up a piece of tissue, shuffling round to kneel in front of her.

she had been awfully quiet today, it had gotten so bad you wished that she'd just scream and shout at you, to do something. anything.

your fingers gently grasped her chin as you wiped away any excess off of her forehead so it wouldn't burn the skin, her eyes skimming your face as you did, a soft smile tugged at your lips as you went to give her a kiss only for your lips to be met with her cheek.

that sinking feeling coming back again as you backed away. peeling the gloves off of your hands, gathering your things whilst she tried to explain herself. the tears nearly spilling from your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat to speak to her.

"i-im gonna go home, give you some space. remember don't leave that on for too long, i love you." pausing to look at her seeing the regret and pain on her face. she reached out for you, but before she could catch you, you slipped out of the door.

you didn't know what to do anymore, this was all becoming so draining. feeling terrible for even thinking that, but you felt like you were losing her.

now instead of stopping off at her house before school you went straight there, sometimes even grabbing a coffee and still having enough time to be early.

your grades that were once slipping now back on track, you spent your time drowned in homework or extracalicular activities so you didn't have to think of her. of everything. every once in a while calling joyce for updates.

tonight was one of the nights where every had been done, school work, chores. so you ended up having a self care night. not remembering the last time you did something nice for yourself.

having a shower, slipping into some pjs and putting on home alone. a christmas movie that you once loved but now couldn't watch without thinking of her.

clicking off the tv, falling onto your bed. bundling yourself up as you listened to the rain beat against the window.

you missed her laugh, her sarcastic humour, her touch, you missed her.

for the passed few years it had been you two, she was your constant and having it all ripped away from you so suddenly hurt.

you felt forgotten. for the first time in ages you were...alone.

© ruewrote.