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agustdiv1ne · 1 year ago

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telepathy (m) — cbg

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)

wc: 11.7k

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!

note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*

☆ playlist ☆

masterlist

beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful.

the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being.

people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get.

yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe.

“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.

he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could.

although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.

if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.

and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.

without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…

”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now.

he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.

a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.

he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.

decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane.

beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different.

beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.

this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.

“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”

beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”

“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.

beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”

“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.

“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.

“yeah, i’ll think about it.”

as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.

unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends.

as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”

oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to.

the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.

“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”

unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies.

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you.

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight.

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior.

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again.

he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?

yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool.

the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too.

as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.

a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck.

he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him.

just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears.

the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway.

the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow.

when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.

he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it.

groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become.

“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”

would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek?

“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.”

he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly.

“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”

he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks.

reality crashes down on his head.

he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe.

“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”

beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.

over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings.

he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.

it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure.

over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive.

by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him.

at least, he likes to think that you do.

staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.

though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold.

“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning.

still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace.

that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel.

“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him.

he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.

there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.

when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.

with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.

friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster.

“so, are you gonna try out?”

yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”

yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”

scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”

the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself.

“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”

“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win.

he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious.

just a little innocent curiosity.

disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”

“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch.

“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.

“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”

“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.

“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv.

“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on.

beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?

“...i guess.”

“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”

“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”

and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again.

soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually.

it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.

mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.

the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate.

maybe the universe really is trying to apologize.

the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.

and most importantly, he’s not a creep.

you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.

you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now?

beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…

wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…

he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?

in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…

“hello, pretty girl.”

you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.

“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”

“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”

your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”

beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”

sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”

a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”

“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.

your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.

“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused.

“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck.

“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”

“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward.

you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—”

“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”

fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…

beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”

rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?”

“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?”

the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.

“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”

“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,�� he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”

your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”

beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”

“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”

“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”

“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.

“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”

oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”

jackpot.

beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.

“it would be much easier for me to show you.”

“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.

chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action.

something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him.

“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”

another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad.

“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck.

you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”

his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.”

beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”

you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead.

“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”

you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away.

“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough.

“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”

two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—

then he finds it.

your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.

god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.

it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?”

you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.

you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever.

and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want.

“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”

“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”

a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore.

“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”

he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you.

the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick.

meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you.

“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”

imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner.

thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”

finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off.

“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.

no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.

“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”

you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.

“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”

attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty.

“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”

“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips.

but good things come to those who wait.

“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”

you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”

“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.

“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”

the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”

his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does.

“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt x you #txt x y/n #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #💌 — gyu #agust.nsfw

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mymelloii · 8 months ago

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Random Ren/Redacted HCs

---Minors/Ageless blogs DNI---

CW: Mentions of gore and stalking

_____

Ren has his eyes and mind on you 24/7, on the days you stay home so does he. Whenever you go out, whether it's with friends or to run errands he's always trailing close behind; far enough not to be noticed, but close enough to protect his angel.

-If you ever have the misfortune of coming across a creep during one of your walks, he'll promptly drag them into an ally way and give them the ass whopping of a lifetime before they can do any harm towards you. Typically he wouldn't even allow those types of people to approach you, let alone gaze at you, but on the rare occasion that someone does cat call you or even tries to touch you he'll bash their head into some good ol' concrete; without you noticing of course.

On the days you stay home are probably his favourites, he gets to watch you all day, doing your morning routine, while you busy yourself with your hobbies, or better yet watch tv/your preferred streaming service. As you lounge on your couch Ren is watches you through the camera he installed in your living room. Meticulously watching each and everyone of your reactions. Whenever you laugh so does he, if you start to cry or tear up, so will he. His emotions are practically interconnected with yours.

-His PC setup isn't anything notable, despite the fact he has 3 monitors, the first one capturing you, the one next to it being all open tabs of all your social media accounts, and the last one being work related or his screen saver of you. He has a simple wooden desk with a gaming chair, no RGB- though, he might have one of those mouse pads with a character that eerily resembles you.

Whenever he works, he loves having you on his main monitor; it truly makes him feel like your there with him. If he's alone, which is most of the time he is, he'll find himself talking to himself. Each topic of conversation is always about you, he's either commenting about how amazing you look today, or praising you for the littlest things. In his eyes everything you do is nothing less than perfection.

-Although he has a playlist of his own he loves listening to any and all of your favourite songs, doesn't matter what genre it may be he's all up on that shi. Extra points if it's romantic. He'll go on a daydream about you, imaging you, how whenever you listen to the song you can't help but to think about him and how your chest tightens up at the mere thought of him; as he feels with you. He knows every song in your playlist and all the lyrics to your favourite songs. Maybe one day you'll notice him and make a playlist just for him.

This one is less serious but as mentioned before on the 14DaysWithYou blog Ren had a red room phase. Though it was short lived I like to image that while he was selling the parts he obtained totally humanely that he often added a thank you note and one of those cute freebies you get whenever you buy from an Etsy shop. The note reading "Thank you for supporting my small business. Your patronage means everything to me! (*^_^*)" ITS SO DUMB DJKSDUVI

-In canon, he is extremely apathetic towards everyone with the exception of you. Which also makes him extremely accommodating towards your needs, he knows all your struggles even if you haven't voiced them to him yet. He accepts you and your struggles, no matter how big they may be; he'll always find a way to help you. This could be helping you with work, making or ordering special meals for you or simply listening to you vent. Whether it's mental or physical to him your health and happiness is his main priority.

Which leads me to that while he may be exceptionally caring, he's also remarkably jealous, towards everyone and everything that catches your attention. Now, he would never do anything that will harm you, but he's not above harming or black mailing others that get closer than he's comfortable with. Could be a coworker or a friend that is getting a bit too friendly with you which will enable him to scour every crevice of the internet to find any dubious rumors or photos including them. He'll also hack into their phone and go through their internet history and photos for more evidence against them. He'll then DM them through one of his burner accounts and present everything he found and threaten to leak all their information on multiple threads. Moth watch out 😨

-If the subject of your affection happens to be an animal or a stuffed animal he obviously can't go through those lengths. Although he would get jealous if he sees you cuddling with your pet instead of him he knows that the affection you feel is different and will opt to plopping himself next to you and proceed to get extremely clingy. He doesn't mind sharing you with any of your non-human companions as long as he stays yours.

_____

I haven't wrote in a while so srry if there's any run-on sentences + it's late so SPARE ME. Again these are all headcanons and if you wish to find canon content of 14DYW visit here, as well as to remember and respect the creators wishes and boundaries ^^

Side note I plan on writing more so if you have any suggestions please let me know! I haven't made a list of my do's and don'ts but please don't get offended if I don't take your suggestion!

#14dwy ren #14dwy #14 days with you #14 days with you ren #14dwy redacted #ren 14 days with you #14 days with you fanfiction #14dwy x reader #yandere #yandere visual novel #please dont flop

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lalunanymph · 7 months ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 (part 2)

✧˚ · . three minutes past his 27th birthday, the mass serial killer known as 'dawnbreaker' finally meets the girl from his dreams

✧˚ · . part 1

✧˚ · . warnings:- dawnbreaker!zayne x fem!reader, HEAVY ANGST, mentions of food, mentions of illnesses, mentions of injuries, spoilers for zayne's lore, alternative timeline, mentions of babies, mentions of pregnancies, pet names (darling, my love, beloved), nightmares, mentions of smoking, MCD, brief mentions of su_cide, nightmares, a not so happy happy ending, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. i am not responsible for your media consumption

✧˚ · . dawn says: i had to split the last part into 2 because it was literally so long tumblr said nope sorry girlie this ain't making it into the tags lol

✧˚ · . playlist

“You may know me as Zayne, but I go by another name…”

He exhales it into the suffocating silence:

“Dawnbreaker.”

Your eyes bulge wider, mouth falling open in horror. Of course, you were aware of that name; you knew who he was.

Serina Callaghan, daughter of Detective Callaghan, had told you numerous stories about the elusive serial killer. How no one could find a trace of him.

Yet, here he was—standing in your kitchen with remorse etched onto every pore of his body.

You feel a sick sense of nausea bubbling from your stomach to your chest, threatening to spill onto the floor.

You had taken him in… made love to him… held him in your arms every night… when he had killed all those innocent people…

As if reading your mind, Zayne shakes his head. “These people—the ones who had passed on—I never killed them for fun. They wanted me to end their lives because they were overtaken by the disease… by the Abomination.”

His words shock you out of your reverie; tames your urge to grab the phone and call the police. For a split second, you wonder what Zayne would do to you if you were to lunge for the cordless phone; would he escape?

Kill you?

Forcing yourself to be far braver than you felt, you clutched your trembling hands together, taking in a deep breath.

“So, m-mercy killing,” your voice shook, but your deduction was spot on.

“Yes.” He shrugs off his coat, and you eye the wad of cash he takes out and sets on your kitchen counter. “I will never kill someone unless they pay me to do it. I do not like taking lives, but as one of the last Evolvers in this generation… it is my duty to help.”

Evolver?

The layers of truth were starting to make your head spin. You could barely unravel your spiraling thoughts.

“I thought Evolvers were extinct.”

Zayne shakes his head. “We are rare, but we are still here.”

As if to solidify the truth, he holds out his hand. On his palm, the air condenses, and the temperature in the kitchen drops a few celsius. You watch, gobsmack in silence, as bits of snow appear, coalescing right into a singular teardrop-shaped crystal that unfurls into a shimmery flower with five petals.

“Ice,” Zayne explains, and slowly approaches you. He gently places the flower on the table, right where you were standing.

He backs away, giving you some space to work out your emotions. You stare at the jasmine flower, in silent contemplation.

It’s intricate and beautiful, but ice in itself was deadly.

While it looked harmless falling from the sky, it had the power to bury people under its weight; causing hypothermia, avalanches, and skin burns.

You glance at Zayne, wondering which category he belonged in—if he was a chilly breeze or an entire fucking snowstorm.

His weary gaze spoke volumes, though he let you reach your own conclusions. Zayne was giving you a choice: one many people in your life didn’t.

Stay or leave.

Be with him or turn him away.

Two forks of an outcome; you had no idea what to choose.

Your silence stretches on and Zayne hangs his head forward. He’s about to turn and leave, when you slowly reach out to touch the jasmine flower. It’s cool on your palm, tougher and durable. Not wet and cold like real ice.

“Crystals?”

Your voice comes off low, hoarse. There’s a dazed look in your eyes, one which tugs on the sorrow lining his soul.

He hates to do this to you; hates how conflicted you look.

“This is what you use to kill people, don’t you?”

Astute, again. Zayne would honestly be impressed by your wits if he wasn’t painfully aware of how you were holding him accountable for his horrendous mistakes.

“I know you think awfully of me—”

“Why kill them?” You’re breathing heavily now, anguish coating your every word. “What if you could save them, instead? Can’t that be done?”

Zayne shakes his head, unable to meet your eye. “I have spoken to a few scientists about this… but many of them were taken by the Abomination. It’s caused by constant exposure to Protocores and is incurable. The only thing I can do is make sure those infected have a swift end.”

Your silence strikes him heavier than a hit.

“Infected?" you murmur hoarsely. "Constant exposure? A swift end? Do you even hear yourself?”

You simmer and bubble, cheeks flushed with anger. “Zayne—these are human beings! People with love, dreams and hopes. People with families. They’re not jobs or ledgers. They deserve a bit more dignity than that.”

Suddenly, the despair in his eyes turns ice cold. You’re hopeless to stop him from approaching you, and scramble back until you bump the kitchen counter, eyes wide and fearful. But, he stops just shy of your feet touching, an unfathomable expression on his face.

“I would never hurt anyone. Ever. You of all people should know. Didn’t you say you weren’t afraid of me the first time we were intimate together?” He fights hard to not let his tone turn accusatory, eyes shining with frustration and unshed tears. “What made you change your mind this time?”

“You killed them… you killed them all,” you’re close to tears, trembling from head to toe. Zayne looks like he’s about to cry as well, begging you to see beyond the murderer you thought he was; to embrace him and hold him and share his burden, even though he knows it’s unfair to put all this weight on you.

He was so tired of pretending that everything was alright. And deep down, he knew you were, too.

This world wasn’t kind to anyone, and he only had you to soothe the ache—to be the light he looks forward to every morning.

Please, don’t go, he wants to scream, hands balled into fists at his side. Don’t leave me alone… you are the only one I have left.

A sob bubbles past your lips, and you wrap your arms around you; willing yourself to stand upright and be brave.

“Do you regret it?” your voice is thick, and he longs to staunch the tears falling from your cheeks, but the words are lost in his throat.

“All of them? Did you ever regret killing them?”

Zayne tightens his fists, clenching down hard enough for his nails to leave pale moon crescent indents on his palms.

“There was a boy I had to kill once. Georgie. He would’ve been thirteen…” he closes his eyes, hoping to find some strength to push on. Zayne was so incredibly tired from constantly fighting.

“We celebrated his birthday at a cafe, too. He loved macarons. And chocolate. But, his mother gave him the disease. I had to be the one to put him down. I still think about him every time I hear ‘happy birthday’.”

His words are simple, but they make you bleed, staring at the floor with tears blurring your vision.

You fall into a thick disquiet, and so did he. Zayne stands upright, like a prisoner about to be read his final judgment; willing you to forgive him—god he hopes you find it in your heart to forgive him.

He wasn’t a good man—a fiend of the night people were afraid of. But, Zayne would never forgive himself if you didn’t take him back. He would dig his knees to the ground, beg for you to change your mind.

In the throes of his own self-loathing, he almost flinches when he feels your arms wrap around his torso. Your head thumps onto his chest, and he realizes you’re fully crying now. He embraces you fiercely, quickly. Holding you fast to him as if you both could fuse together and become one.

You leave tear stains across his blood speckled shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders as violent sobs rip through you.

“Do you hate me?” He forces himself to ask through numb lips. Zayne doesn’t know what answer you would give—if you would even reply to him.

But, you shake your head, hiccuping his name.

“Are you afraid?”

There’s a slight pause, and you shudder, shaking your head again.

Zayne nuzzles your hair, rocking you from side to side like he was comforting a hysterical child.

Your sobs eventually stop and you’re both swaying in each other’s arms now.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. Zayne hums in confusion, and you continue. “I’m sorry for being so quick to misjudge you. You’re not the bad guy, Zayne. You were forced into this horror… our world is so fucked up and you were just trying to make it better any way you could.”

You peel your face from his chest, eyes red-rimmed and nose runny. He gently dabs at your tears and snot with the sleeve of his dress shirt, careful not to press down too hard.

He doesn’t say anything else, and you both let the silence scatter and fall where it may. Somehow, your fingers end up in his hair and he’s nudging you back against the hard counter.

Zayne lifts you up effortlessly, parting your legs wide to slot himself in between them, hands gently squeezing and groping your thighs and hips.

The need to reclaim you claws through him, searing his every coherent thought with nothing but the cry of your name.

He looks down the line of his nose, tilting your face up to the light so you meet his eyes. What he finds in your expression makes his heart ache in misery—your sadness and despondency hitting him right in the soul.

“Would you rather I stop killing people?”

It’s a loaded question, one that has your mind reeling. You eye the blood on his shirt, now soaked through with your tears.

“Only if you promise me you will never find pleasure from it.”

He shakes his head, firm in his conviction. “Never. Not once, or ever. I can promise you that.”

“Do the police know?”

A good question, indeed. Zayne nods, catching you off guard.

“Callaghan’s colleague. Detective Ivan. He was the one who scrubbed my records clean. He knows not to seek me out because… it means he’s next.”

Zayne lets the words hang in the air. He hears your mind whirring, thoughts piecing together.

“Detective Ivan found out and agrees with what you’re doing? So, the police are turning a blind eye?”

“Yes,” Zayne murmurs, trying hard not to fall into the gravity of your lips; forcing attention to this distressing topic.

“He was with me when Georgie died. He saw the extent of how the Abomination takes over people. Dark as it is, he agrees with my ethics and now, I only focus on people who come to me through word of mouth. Rarely do I ever hunt them anymore. They choose this end because it is far less painful than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

He steadies himself with a short breath. “Living as a rotting corpse with no control over your body.”

You suck in a sharp inhale. Your smaller fingers fist the front of his shirt, your mind a million miles away.

Zayne nudges your face towards him, fingers cold on your skin. He swallows hard, and you follow the motion—his throat moving, Adam’s apple bobbing. Impulsively, you lean forward, catching him off guard with a chaste kiss.

He musters a low groan when you begin to tug on his hair; sliding your tongue into his mouth.

Frantically, he grips your thighs, hips—fisting your hair to pull you closer.

Hot breaths clash. Moans echo around the kitchen. You lean back, far enough for silvery strands of spit to connect your lips to his.

Zayne devours the dark look in your eyes, and he thinks loving someone shouldn’t hurt this much, but for you, he would go through the agony all over again.

The tormented man wants to swallow you down, break his rib cage open and tuck you safely close to his heart. Your sighs and gasps fuel him to be better—change his ways so he could have you in his life forever.

“Zayne,” you sigh, all syrupy and love-struck. You play with his shirt’s button, and before he can stop you, you start to unravel all of him.

“—No." He grabs your hands in a panic, stopping your intentions in loosening his buttons. Those scars on his skin flash behind his mind, marking him as a lost soul and unworthy of you.

You shake your head, determination lining your pretty features. “Don’t hide from me anymore, Zayne. I want to see you—all of you.”

He’s helpless to stop you from unfastening his armor, greeting those silvery scars with a soft gasp.

There was a reason he never fucked you with the lights on—those lacerations on his body caused him shame.

But, you don't recoil out of disgust like he expects. Instead, your pretty fingers topped with pink nail polish trace the milky white divots; those signs of pain and abuse he had to endure for his entire life.

Peering at you pass thick lashes, he sees you lick your lips, the desire on your face as clear as day.

“You’re so beautiful, Zayne.”

Not giving him a chance to speak, you dip your head forward, pressing your soft lips reverently to the scar just above his heart.

Zayne feels like something seismic has just happened—an internal earthquake which rocks him apart.

Outwardly, the world doesn’t change; the flickering light he keeps on forgetting to fix over your sink still casts intermittent shadows across your face; the outside world whirs with sounds of robots and automated deliveries.

Nothing has changed and yet, everything inside of him has fundamentally been shifted.

A strangled sound emanates from his chest, and you look up quickly, afraid that you might have hurt him.

But, Zayne’s not in pain—not in the least. His green eyes shine verdantly like a forest after a storm, locked right onto your flushed face. You think that out of all the realities in this messed up world, you might find the real meaning of adoration in them.

He cups your face, smoothes your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I love you.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said this out loud. His breathing stutters, caught off guard. And you’re staring at him, too. All wide eyes, and parted, perfect lips.

Slowly, you defrost, bringing your hands up to your face, pressing your palms to the back of his hands.

The silence is deafening—a pin could roll off the counter and fall to the ground, sounding like an explosion. Zayne swears he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

“I love you, too.”

Your voice is soft. Fragile. It echoes with shades of fear, but never uncertainty.

For if there was one thing you were certain in this life, it was that you were completely, sincerely and stupidly in love with Zayne.

His eyes ripple close, and so do yours. Foreheads gently touch, breaths shared as one. The two of you stay like this for a long time, savoring this quiet, beautiful connection you had both created in such a short time.

Zayne has never known love in this lifetime.

Slowly—surely—he was starting to warm himself up to the idea; falling deeper and deeper into a head on collision with your devotion.

None of it scares him; how could it when it’s the stuff of his dreams? Of a forever stretching into the tiniest moments: languid mornings over shitty cereal and sappy medical romcoms on your beaten up couch and nights spent warming your sheets.

He can’t fight it; this feeling of always wanting to be by your side.

And so, he openly and fervently welcomes it.

“You’re glowing.”

Serina’s offhand comment brings you up short, and you fight back the creeping flush threatening to overtake your cheeks; preferring to bite your lower lip and turn you face away so she couldn’t see your growing smile.

Her silence isn’t judgmental this time. Rather, it’s tainted with a cynical curiosity.

“I guess Zayne really does make you happy.”

You hum, going back to your supplies of flour and sheets of freshly roasted nuts.

“He’s staying with me now.”

“Oh.”

You don’t turn to face; don’t have to because you know she’s making a face behind your back.

“Is he coming to pick you up later?”

You think about him astride his motorcycle, dark locks whipping in the wind; fitted black trench coat, pristine suit and tie clinging right onto his frame and feel your stomach twist with nerves.

“Mhm hmm.”

Serina pauses, and you could tell she was struggling with something to say.

“I’m happy for you.”

Whatever it was you expected to drop from her mouth, it wasn’t this.

You turn around, and the incredulity must've been transparent on your face because she bursts into laughter, doubling forward to cackle with glee.

“Your face! You look like I just came out and told you I sold children’s blood by the bag.”

She snorts and straightens, wheezing slightly. “I am happy for you, you idiot. I’m glad you’re not fish food yet and you’re glowing and you have a stupid amount of hickeys you try to cover up every day with that shitty concealer I got for you five fucking years ago. Point is: I’m happy for you.”

Serina emphasizes the last word, and you shyly lace your fingers together, feeling both sheepish and incredibly exasperated.

“I… Thank you.” Not knowing what else to say, you flash her a small smile, one which she returns instantly.

Scoffing, she runs a hand through her platinum blonde hair and tosses the rag she was holding across her shoulder, gesturing to the door.

“Go. I can handle closing time. I know you’re dying to see Zayne tonight.”

You perk up, in disbelief. “Serina—”

“Leave those nuts in the fridge. They should be easy to chop up and temper with our chocolate bark tomorrow.” Hustling you out of the kitchen, you squeal at the feel of her cold fingers prodding your lower back. “Now, go. Call Zayne up and let him take you home. I’m sick of your love struck puppy expression.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, and unlace your apron. “Are you sure you can handle it? I can stay with you and help.”

Serina makes a face, though you could tell she was joking. “Ugh, and have to be around you for another hour while you pine for and miss him? Yuck. Get out of here.”

She jokingly swats you with her towel and you get her message loud and clear.

“Okay, okay. Goodnight, you ass.”

“Goodnight, simp,” she drawls, and you scoff, rolling your eyes while you pick up your phone to call Zayne.

Serina waits together with you, smoking a cigarette and filling you in on the latest online celebrity gossip.

When Zayne arrives, sharp on time and sharply dressed as ever, she shoots you a smirk and a wave. You wave back, and slip on the helmet he passes you, stradling behind him to speed off into the night.

They look happy together.

The young woman chuckles tiredly, scrubbing a hand down her face. She trudges back into the cafe, cleans up the remaining plates and cups, humming under her breath. As she fills up the dishwasher for its final load of the night, she hears the front doorbell tinkling.

Frowning, Serina wonders if you had left something behind when the sound of heavy footfalls resounds in the quiet space.

Thinking nothing of it, she straightens, a scowl on her blush rose lips.

“We’re closed,” she calls out in her most polite voice.

The presence in the dining space does not remove itself. From her stance inside the kitchen, she could just make out the silhouette of a tall man partially hidden behind the pillar separating the main hall from where she stood.

Fuelled with distaste and annoyance, she rounds the corner, fully prepared to fight off this stranger and tell them to piss off.

“I said, we’re closed—”

Her words are cut off when she notices a faint glow of purple surrounding him. His eyes which were once blue were now soulless and drained, clapping onto hers, their pupils widening slightly.

Strange bulges appear on his body, and in the limited light, they seem to move up and down his arms.

Crawling like they were filled with life.

She takes a step back, a sharp scream piercing the air.

The man falls back, putting his hands over his ears. He yanks on his graying hair, teeth bared and spittle splattering onto the ground.

“Shut… up…”

His moans rattle and thump, filled with pain. He looks at her, and in the briefest of moments when they make eye contact, Serina could plainly see the anguish in them—the desperation for someone to end it all.

“Please,” his hoarse voice makes her skin crawl, her hairs stand on end. “Someone… Help me… kill me…”

The stranger falls to his knees, back arching like a cat poised to throw up all over the polished, hardwood floors.

He heaves, and spittle drips from between his clenched teeth. Serina can’t move; completely frozen to one spot, locked on the sight of his pale hands curling into claws.

Those choked sounds he made would haunt her for the rest of her life. But, nothing could prepare her for when he lifts his head and the bulge under his right eye bursts, revealing a dark, tentacle appendage dangling from his cheek.

“Please,” he begs her with what was left of his humanity.

“You have to help me… you have to save me.”

Zayne’s arms wrap around your waist as you’re stirring a pot, his hum of adoration and contentment rumbling against your back.

“What?” you tease, picking up some bay leaves and tossing them into the fresh marinara sauce. “Are you excited to make me cook even after I slaved for a whole night in the kitchen?”

He clicks his tongue, kisses you right on your pulse point.

“Feisty. And here I was, about to fully offer you my assistance.”

He drops his arms, and you turn back to him with a pout.

“I was joking,” you backtrack, fluttering your lashes. “I could really use your help,” and add, “Please,” when the beginning of a smirk plays on the corners of his mouth.

“Alright,” he hums, grabbing a handful of sweet basil and a knife, chopping them up finely to be added to the pasta sauce once it was done.

It was comfortable working alongside him. Zayne didn’t need endless chatter to fill in the void, and neither did you feel obliged to talk his ear off.

You start to hum, and he tunes in, admiring the rise and fall of the melody; how clear and bright your voice is.

“Would you like to put on some music?” He suggests, pointing to the old radio sitting atop your kitchen counter, a fine layer of dust on its smeared screen.

You take him up on the offer, nodding.

Zayne pushes a button and the last recording you had on plays in the room. A voice from long ago vibrates with nostalgia, reminding him of days passed and a comfort only found from warm sheets on a Sunday morning.

“Why don’t you ever let me into your home?”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Pardon?”

You exhale a laugh, and a teasing quality takes over your smile. “Your apartment. How come I never see it? Do you have piles of bodies you’re hiding from me?”

A slender, calloused finger materializes by your hip, poking into your side. You flinch and giggle, locking eyes with his amused expression.

“Careful. Do not go around unnecessarily exposing me.”

“So, you do have them under your floorboards.”

He decides to challenge you back. “Are you afraid?”

You scoff, picking up a wooden ladle to stir the sauce. “You must be mistaken, Zayne. For it isn’t me who should be afraid of you, but you of me.”

He resists the urge to pick you up and spin you in his arms for being so damn adorable. Reigning in the cute aggression, he titters a laugh. “And why is that so?”

“Because,” you turn to him, your teasing smile growing wider. “I know things you don’t know. I have a certain set of skills not many have knowledge of and I can and will use them to my advantage.”

“Oh, really?” He drawls, raising a brow. The expression draws his handsome face into a comical curiosity; it nearly breaks your resolve not to laugh. “Enlighten me on these skills.”

You clear your throat, setting the ladle down. “For example, I can bet you that I am a better dancer.”

Unexpectedly, he sweeps you into his arms, grabbing your left hand with his right and encircling the other one around your waist; you had no choice but to place your other hand on his broad shoulder to keep your balance.

He was close—much too close—and it makes your face burn hot, your mischievous quips dying in the back of your throat.

Zayne holds you fast, sure—swaying you from side to side as you both slowly circle the room, one gliding footstep at a time. He makes sure to lead you properly, careful to keep you two in an orbit far from mishap.

You feel safe enough to lay your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat and breathing alongside the sweet, romantic music. Eyes falling close, you lavish in this sense of serenity and comfort you had never felt in your life.

Zayne, too, takes a second to savor this moment. He gazes at the peace suffusing across your face and feels his heart growing lighter.

I want this for the rest of my life.

The thought jolts him from his reverie; scares him enough to convince himself to take it back.

But, as much as Zayne wants to delude himself, he can’t run away from the truth.

He wants this for as long he breathes on this godforsaken planet. As long as the seas ebb and flow and the sun turns on its fucking axis—he wants you. Zayne doesn’t care what others might think; how they would make a mockery of your connection to him. He would kill anyone who tries to get between you both.

And he hopes that deep down, you feel the same way, too.

He wakes up in the early morning to his phone vibrating on the dresser.

Zayne groans, feels a sinking weight on his chest and realizes you had fallen asleep sprawled on top of him.

His instincts override his fuzzy mind to not wake you up, nimbly grabbing his phone and answering the call without looking at the screen.

“Zayne.”

The voice on the other end jerks him fully awake, and he resists the urge to jolt upright, remembering you were still fast asleep.

“One second,” he murmurs into the receiver. The other man hums.

Zayne puts the phone back down, gently scooping you up and rolling you to the side, tucking the covers under your chin.

He sits upright, turning to plant his feet to the ground and picks the phone back up.

“Detective Ivan?”

“We have an emergency.”

Zayne stops scratching his bare chest, tired green eyes sharpening from the urgency in the older man’s tone. Ivan would never call him unless it was serious and usually there was only one reason why he would.

“An Abomination has attacked a young woman in a cafe. Nightstar Cafe. One of those oldy diners that open till early morning.”

Ivan doesn’t hear Zayne’s sharp breath, nor is he there to see how terrified the younger man looks, turning his gaze to the sleeping woman next to him.

“A young woman? Was she blonde?”

He can feel Ivan frowning on the other end. “How did you know?”

Zayne concocts a lie. “I saw the cafe in passing. Is it serious?”

“We have no visual on the Abomination and neither on the girl. We’re stuck and we need your help. Only you can track her down.”

Zayne racks his brain, thinking of his apartment that’s almost an hour away from yours. If he could get to his tracking systems quickly, maybe there was still time to solve this case…

“Alright,” he made up his mind. “Give me half an hour to find her. I’ll alert you to her whereabouts.”

Ivan breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Zayne.”

“Do not mention it.” He clicks off the call, turns to find you still fully asleep. As quietly as he could, he stands and gets ready, dressing in a nondescript black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, bundling up with his trench coat to keep the autumn chill at bay.

Just as he’s about to grab his bike keys, he hears you stirring.

“Zayne?”

Your voice is fringed with exhausted curiosity, bleary eyes blinking and trying to pin onto his figure in the total darkness.

He’s next to you in a heartbeat, bending down to place a kiss on your forehead. “I have an emergency. You stay here and rest, alright? Wait for me. I’ll be home for you soon.”

You could only nod obediently, watching him rush out of the room; the front door closing behind him with a loud thud.

Wondering what could’ve spurred Zayne into such a frantic mode, you close your eyes, about to drift off when you hear a knock.

Woozily, you get to your feet, stifling a yawn. The hem of his too big shirt brushes your thighs, and you rub your eyes, frowning when the knocks get more insistent.

“Coming,” you call out, and trudge to the front door.

Peering through the security monitor, your heart skips a beat when you notice your best friend on the other side, her expression wild; eyes darting down the hallway and jaw strained.

“Serina? What’re you doing here at this time?”

Your voice carries out to the front, and you hear her over the security intercom.

“Babe, please. Let me in. Something terrible has happened. I can’t explain it, but I need your help.”

She sounds afraid and terrified, and your heart squeezes in fear when she glances down the hallway again, as if she were being chased.

Without another thought, you unlatch the door for her, and she comes barreling in, sinking to the floor the second you shut the door closed.

You fall to your knees next to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Squinting in the darkness, you faintly make out splotches of darkness on her tank top, and it’s not until you switch on the lights that you notice it’s blood.

“Serina!” you gasp, and in the brightness, her irises have completely pin pricked, only a thin ring of blue surrounding them.

She grabs your hands, tugs you closer to her face. Your heart is about to fly out of your chest, and you fight back, trying to break free from her grasp.

But, she’s fueled by fear and something else—something which ramps her paranoia up to concerning levels.

“Man. Wanderer. He hurt me. Tried to kill me. I ran… I ran here. I had no idea where else to go.”

Her words slur and clash in a cacophony of confusion. You can’t make heads or tails what she’s trying to say, but you attempt to piece it together for her sake.

“Hold on, hold on. Breathe.” You grab her thin shoulders in your white-knuckled grip, trying to shake the fear out of her. There was no time for confusion; you needed to know exactly what happened to her. “Start from the beginning, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand.”

Without warning, tears fill her eyes and she pitches her head forward, breaking into silent sobs.

Your arms automatically wrap around her, pulling her into your embrace. She cries, screams and wails, breaking down in total fear.

“It’s okay,” you soothe her, like how you had soothed Zayne many, many times in the aftermath of his nightmares. “You’re fine. You’ll be safe.”

She shakes her head, hiccuping incoherently. “He hurt me. He cut me with his teeth. I—” A full body shudder goes through her.

Alarmed, you rock back on your haunches, eyes wide and locked on her pinched expression. “Serina, are you okay—?”

The words die on the tip of your tongue, and you instinctively stand up, backing towards the wall when you notice her eyes starting to glow a bright purple.

“Serina—!”

She curls onto the ground, crying out in pain. Her body starts to writhe, and a gruesome crunching sound cracks through the air.

Too late to escape, you watch in horror as her body convulses, the bones of her spine breaking and twisting. Her skin turns a revolting shade of purple, and spittle froths down her mouth.

Before the petrifying purple light entirely consumes her body, she manages to hoarsely cry out two words which shakes you to your core:

“Save me.”

SOBS im sorry to have to cut it here but it was too long </3 last part coming soon !! reblogs and feedback are sincerely appreciated 🩷

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy my concept, repost my stories or translate and post them to other platforms

#🦢 writes #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne angst #love and deepspace angst #dawnbreaker

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inkbybambi · 1 year ago

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⚜️ pornstar!ghost who's so, so in love with you —

words: 3.8k tags: smut, creampie, pet names (good girl, love, darling, etc), throat holding, no use of y/n, fem!reader, ghost and reader are so in love with each other, biting/marking, mentions of sex work. notes: inspired by @ghosts-cyphera 's pornstar!ghost. thank you so, so much for creating him and for letting me bite him and chew him like a squeaky toy. please read the original here and give it lots of love! here is the playlist i made while writing — a mixture of soft and sweet and filthy and everything in between. minors dni, my blog is 18+.

in the muffled quiet of the bathroom, you take a deep breath. your heart beats in time with the rhythmic thumping of the bass that reverberates throughout the flat. that same steady beat of edm songs has been on repeat since you arrived at the party, and your blood hums with the vibrations. you love parties; the drinks, the snacks, the absolute unhinged bullshit that can only be achieved by those in front and behind the camera.

you’re surprised there hasn’t been a noise complaint.

you slip from the bathroom, perhaps just a little tipsy, the warmth of the drinks and the atmosphere thread through your blood like fire, the colored flashing lights casting everything in a multi-colored glow. you move through the crowd to find the one person who means more than the entire world and —

he’s sitting on the couch, pretending to listen to one of the newer talents; she’s a touch too close, fingers reaching out to graze his forearm. he doesn’t even blink twice before he’s pulling his arm away, pretending to adjust his watch as his eyes sweep the room.

as soon as his gaze lands on you, he straightens up, leaning forward in anticipation. the other girl looks put off but neither of you pay her any mind as you make your way to him, crawling onto the couch where he’s (been) waiting for you.

you nestle into his side, taking the red, plastic cup you trusted him with when you went to the bathroom. you take a small sip.

“this isn’t my drink,” you tell him.

“you’re right.”

you pout at him, eyes glittering with the lights.

he looks at you expectedly, pointedly looking at the cup and giving you that look. the one he gives you whenever he wants you to do something, and you always listen.

you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out at him, before dutifully drinking the water that he’s so graciously filled your cup with instead of whatever fruity and far-too-strong cocktail the host had conjured up. he snorts, rolling his eyes fondly as he slings an arm across the back of the couch.

when half the cup is gone, you look back at him, doe-eyes big and glassy, the need for praise and approval simmering under the surface. even in the low light of the room, you see how his eyes soften as he takes you in. his hand comes up to cup your face, cradling it. you close your eyes, nuzzling into his palm as you enjoy the moment of calm. as his thumb gently wipes under your eye, your eyes flutter back open to focus on him, and he tilts his head as he assesses you.

this moment is just for you two. even in a room full of people, you’re unable to focus on anything but him.

he glances at his wrist to check his watch — the one you gave him for his birthday last year and the one that’s been on his wrist ever since, not even taking it off to film unless absolutely necessary.

(and if he got you a bracelet that matched his watch as close as possible for your birthday? neither of you mention it, but you know.)

ghost’s never been one for social niceties —preferring to keep to himself — and you know you haven’t been here too terribly long, only one drink deep, but both of you have a rare day off together and he’d rather be alone with you for as long as possible than at this last minute thrown together “party” by a few colleagues.

he leans in close to graze his covered mouth against your jaw — he never takes off the skull mask, except when he’s alone with you.

("it's part of my charm," he claims, grin stretching across his lips, getting ready for his first shoot of the day. you bite back an amused smile, sitting in front of him and fussing until he sits still so you can paint on his eye black.)

“i think it’s time i took you home, princess.”

and christ, his voice.

it's well known you’re closer than most, so it’s not terribly surprising when you arrive and leave together and generally stick to each other like glue.

you press your lips right against the sensitive skin behind his ear, brushing against the fabric, voice masked by the music but still keeping it low enough so only he hears.

“then take me home, simon.”

his eyes flash dangerously, taking your cup and abandoning it on the coffee table. his large hand dwarfs your own as he drags you off the couch.

you didn’t say hello to anyone in particular when you arrived and you don’t stop to let anyone know you're leaving. you’re too focused on his thumb running across the ridge of your knuckles, the way he laces your fingers together, how you two fit so well together.

if there was a red string tied to your pinky, you know it would lead you right to him.

the ride back to your flat is spent with his hand on your thigh, hot and possessive like a brand.

there's something different about tonight. ghost's touch lingers, as if he doesn't want to be without you for even a second, and you're drawn to him like a moth to flame, helpless to do anything but get as close as you can, hoping you won't burn and turn to ash.

you know exactly where the night is leading when he pulls you to your bedroom, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting everything in a halo of warm, dim light.

ghost turns to you, hands on your hips, pulling you closer. you fingers tease the edge of his mask, hooking under the familiar fabric and starting to drag up. you pause as his lips come to view, watching him carefully.

glassy eyes meet yours and you forget to breathe for a moment. you want to capture the warmth swirling in his eyes, keep it close on the days that are dark and dreary, on the days that only he makes better.

you pull the rest of the covering off, his hair slightly ruffled, haloed by the light.

a delicate smile graces your lips, reaching a hand up to run your fingers along his jaw — a motion so familiar, a motion repeated in front of cameras and bright lights and others watching. he's sharp lines and features carved from marble but he's so soft, a comfort you can't name when you're with him.

he looks like an angel, heaven-sent.

"whatcha you thinkin', pretty girl?" he asks, voice low, accent thick, capturing your wandering fingers and pressing a kiss to your inner wrist, right beneath your bracelet.

you don't say anything, continuing to admire him, biting your lip. you're afraid to speak. afraid to give a name to these emotions that have settled into your bones and blood, seared into you.

for now, you keep those words locked in your heart, protected by ribs and flesh and walls that he so carefully picks apart with his teeth and tongue and fingers.

you shake your head instead of answering him, a gentle smile gracing your lips, threading your fingers through his hair. it's fluffy and a bit on the long side. he showered as soon as he was off work. he never wants others lingering on his skin.

you tip up on your toes enough to capture his lips with yours, biting at his bottom lip.

he presses you up against the wall, mouth hot and wet on yours. he licks deep into your mouth, fingers lacing in your hair. you grip the front of his shirt, mewling into his mouth as he kisses you like he'll never get to again.

some of your lipstick is smeared on his lips when he pulls away, eyes black. you shiver under his stare.

you press a tantalizing kiss to his jaw, teeth nipping.

"want to film it?" a mischievous smile paints your lips, hands raking lower to hook into the hem of his shirt.

both you and ghost have quite a collection of videos and pictures of you two, hidden behind locked albums and passwords. it's a testament of trust — one that's been carefully built and protected, tucked away where only you two know.

"not this time," he replies, voice soft, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. he cups your jaw gently, wiping away smudged mascara. "this is just for you n' me."

you swallow thickly, choking down words threatening to spill from you. the temptation to say something lingers on your tongue, pressing behind your teeth, daring you to take a bite.

the kiss you press to his lips is far softer than anything, heat just below the surface.

ghost doesn't make a habit of kissing those he's filming with. a bite or two, something more vicious and rough — but with you? sometimes he'll kiss you like you're glass, afraid of marring you, breaking you. other times, it's all heat and liquid fire, consuming you and all you think about for days after.

he'd wake up every day kissing you if he could.

your clothes are a mess on the floor, not that you particularly care right now.

not with the way ghost is pressing his weight down on you so deliciously, hot and heavy, devouring you. he cages you between his thick forearms, barely giving you room to breathe, biting and nipping and licking deep into your mouth until your lips are shiny and swollen, pupils blown so wide, they're practically black.

"wish i could be the only one to see you like this," he pants against the hinge of your jaw, dragging teeth and tongue down your body.

the urge to bite and bruise and mark clouds his mind, wanting nothing more than to bury his teeth into the supple flesh of your thigh, until the imprint of his teeth lasts for days.

surprisingly soft hands part your thighs, baring your glistening desire to his burning gaze.

but that's not what he's looking at.

he's unable to look away from the temporary tattoo that's fading on your skin. it's been washed away from your time on set — spit and water and release coating your skin — but it's unmistakable.

a ghost.

"what's this?" he asks, thumb stroking over the faded lines of the tattoo, breathless.

you rise up on your elbows, desire thick through your veins. you don't have to look to know what he's asking about. but you look anyways, mesmerized by his thumb grazing over your skin.

"the girls and i had some on set," you begin, voice soft. "we were filming in a bath so we figured why not, y'know?"

he looks up from between your legs, predatory and possessive.

you lick your bottom lip, feeling bold.

"thought it might be cute to have you with me," you say, a whispered confession.

ghost looks like he's repenting for his sins, kneeling between you legs. you thread your fingers through his hair, arching your hips up, failing to bite back the whine rising in your throat, needing him impossibly closer.

“oh, love.” his voice is rough, wrecked, dragging his lips over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing right along the edge of where the ghost fades. “let’s give you something a little more permanent, hm?”

he shouldn’t — he really shouldn’t — but the urge, the need to mark you is overwhelming. it overrides every other rational thought.

he sees the way others look at you. he'll watch your videos — out of curiosity and not jealousy, he tells himself — and see the way your co-stars have this star-struck, pussydrunk look about them. he never brings himself to finish watching the videos.

his teeth sink into your skin, a sharp shock of electricity and want flooding your senses. your nails dig into his scalp, hissing out a breath between your teeth. his teeth are deep, and you can't find yourself to care. arousal leaks from your cunt, begging to be touched and filled and claimed.

ghost eventually withdraws his teeth. you sink down into the mattress, tension seeping from your body. the sting of the mark he left becomes a focal point of your attention, body buzzing and thrumming with arousal as ghost licks thick stripes to soothe the deep impression, admiring his work .

"laswell's gonna kill you," you mumble, moving to cradle the back of his head, trying to pull him up.

he goes willingly.

his eyes sparkle, a cocky smirk painted on his lips as he drags them from your cheek to your lips, indulging in a slow kiss, tongue pushing in your mouth and licking along the edges of your teeth, grazing the roof of your mouth.

"good thing i don't care what laswell thinks," he says against your lips when he pulls away, continuing the path of his kisses down your jaw to your throat, pressing delicate kisses to your pulse.

his cock lays against your hip, thick and pulsing and dripping pre-cum. you lace your legs up around his waist, heels of your feet resting delicately at his sides.

one arm cages you in while he uses his other hand to push your hair back from your face, lips tracing a path from your forehead down your temple, right above your ear.

"and me?" you ask against his jaw, wrapping around your arms around broad shoulders, enticing him to lay more of his weight down on you.

"and you what, sweet thing?" his reply comes so quick, so fluid, like he was waiting for you to ask.

"do you care what i think?"

he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek before pulling back to look at you in a way only he can. you've seen — felt — the stares of your coworkers when you're filming.

it never compares to how ghost — simon — looks at you. like you were made only for him (and maybe you were, you think, from time to time); like you were the moon and he was so desperately trying to be the stars to be close to you; like his every breath began and ended with you.

he doesn't answer you with words. he's never been a man of many words, anyway.

he cups your jaw so softly, thumb brushing along your cheek. his eyes are so bright, his touch is always so gentle.

you can't remember life before he came into it, a blur of memories and moments lost to time. all you know now is that you can't — won't — go through life without him by your side, so deeply entwined in your blood and bones and soul.

his mouth is warm and tender against yours, and it's so easy to lose yourself to the comfort and the haven he has become. he kisses you like his life depends on it, like he'll stop breathing if he lets you go.

his fingers skim along your sides, down your spine and to your hip, tilting you up against him until your ass is resting against his thighs, cock hot and heavy and leaking right above your clit.

he carefully guides himself down your cunt, slipping himself between your folds, gathering your slick, before notching the fat head at your entrance and you ache.

he's so big — bigger than any of your coworkers, anyone you've slept with outside work — but he pushes himself so easily into your soaking pussy, walls fluttering around each inch that sinks into you. you feel so fucking full of him, the stretch a pleasant burn that ignites in your belly, lighting up your nerves like a wildfire.

always a little delirious when he pushes into you, consumed by the tight, wet heat of your cunt, he pants against your cheek, cradling you against his chest.

you fold yourself into him, legs hitching higher, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. you lick at the sweat clinging to his skin, cologne sticking to your tongue.

without any words, he knows when you're ready. you always need a moment to adjust to his size, feeling the deep, steadying breaths you take. he pulls out slowly, carefully, until the tip rests at your entrance, before snapping his hips back against yours. his lips fall to the column of your throat, feeling each moan he pulls from you, each whimper and whine.

you love the way he fucks you for work. it doesn’t feel like it’s work, not with him, never with him. you try not to dream too much about being able to keep him all for yourself.

this feels different. this is different. deep, slow thrusts, lingering kisses, noses brushing, breathing in each other.

your name sounds like a prayer on his lips, as he takes your fingers to kiss them before lacing them together, pressing your joined hands above you on the pillow.

your vision is hazy, clouded over with pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes open with each deep, steady thrust, his cock kissing the tip of your cervix.

"look at me, sweetheart," he begs, accent slurred and thick, eyes so dark and inviting. you want to lose yourself entirely to him.

maybe you already have.

"you don't even know what you do to me," he whispers against your lips, keeping his confession sacred between you. your breath stutters in your throat, unable to choke down the thoughts drowning you, a tear slipping down the side of your cheek.

he chases it with his lips, placing softer kisses to your eyelids, and then above your brow, moving down your nose to the bow of your lips. your nails dig into his sides, trying to convey each muddled thought through your touch, marking and marring him and staking your claim.

a sharp inhale follows a deeper thrust, choking out his name as pleasure floods your veins like venom, overtaking you.

"there?" he breathes, nails digging into your hip to keep you steady. voice lost, all you do is nod and mewl, pressing your breasts up against his chest, always needing him closer.

"yeah, baby, i know," he says, almost laughing, arm lacing around your waist to press you flush against him, his other hand tangling in the sheets beside your head.

with anyone else, you'd roll your eyes and scoff at the arrogance. but with ghost? you're so pliant and loose in his grip, letting him do whatever he wants with you, so submissive and obedient, only for him.

"oh, you've needed this ever since we got to the party, hm?" his teeth graze your neck, down to your collar, right above the curve of your breast. "bet you would've let me fuck you in the bathroom, hm? let my cum leak out of you for everyone to see, let them know that you're mine?"

his thrusts are sharper, meaner. it's everything you want, eyes rolling in the back of your head as the pleasure burns hotter and hotter, the precipice of release right there. the sound of your cunt drawing him in deeper with each smack of his hips against yours fills the room, each moan accented with your pussy gushing around him, his cock coated in your desire.

"gonna be my good girl and cum for me?" his voice is so rough, a hand around your throat forcing you to look at him, mouth open as you pant out each breath, unable to think of anything but his name.

unable to think of anything but your first name with his last, a contract with your names, a band around your finger.

you can only whine out a yes, please, fuck please, want to cum for you. the fingers around your throat tighten, the edges of your vision seeping black.

a sharp bite to your shoulder is the catalyst for your orgasm. thighs shaking, a moan of his name weak in your throat, your cum coating the tantalizing line of hair from his bellybutton to his cock, dripping down your thighs.

"fuckin' hell," he growls against your skin, snapping his hips hard, grazing your clit twice, three times, before you feel his spend paint your insides. thick, hot spurts of his cum pulse from his cock, drawing out your own orgasm and making your brain static with pleasure.

a mixture of his cum and yours spill out from the edges of where he's buried inside you. his cock pulses a few more times as he comes down from his high, skin slick with sweat that's rapidly cooling.

he presses his entire weight down onto you, burying his face into your neck as your nose buries into his hair. sex and release and the last dregs of your perfume permeate the air.

you card your fingers gently through his hair, a comfortable silence lingering as you both fight to catch your breath. he needs a haircut, fingers tangling in the length. maybe he'll let you give him one tomorrow.

his body sinks deeper into yours, his breath even and steady to the point where you think he might've fallen asleep inside you. you're not about to wake him.

“have you ever thought about leaving?” you ask, hesitant, letting your question linger in the air.

“the industry?” comes his reply a moment later.

you hum in acknowledgement.

he takes another moment more to think, before his answer comes, muffled against your throat. “sometimes, yeah."

“if i left, would you leave with me?”

his reply comes not even a second later, without any hesitation.

“my love, i go where you go."

you're glad he's tucked into your neck, arms wrapping around him protectively, possessively, throat clicking as you swallow. more tears slip down your cheeks, burning a path down your cheeks and settling in his hair. your eyes close as the emotions threaten to burst from your chest, a weak attempt to maintain your composure.

you can only hold back so much.

“do you believe in soulmates?” you ask, significantly softer. you only ask when you're confident your voice won't betray you. the crack gives you away.

ghost is silent, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat and you.

"'m not sure," he replies. he sounds worried, unsure. your heart beats painfully.

he's scared you're going to leave.

you'll never leave him.

“maybe they’re not in this world," you say, fingers tracing along his shoulders and down his spine. "maybe in another, another life, another place."

he shivers under your gentle touch.

"i think you’re mine," you say, heart beating and aching and tearing at the seams; so, so scared of your confession. "i can’t imagine going through this life without you.”

his voice, so much stronger, more confident and brazen and sure comes after a heartbeat.

“good thing you’ll never have to, darling.”

#ink by bambi #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley/reader #simon riley/you #ghost/reader #ghost/you #simon riley smut #modern warfare smut #simon riley imagine #modern warfare imagine

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itsonlybaby · 7 months ago

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˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝜗℘

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒smut﹒fluff﹒angst

﹒ ◠ list under cut ! ͘ ౨ ⸝⸝ most rec ꒰ twt links

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫

　birthday wish - ModernAU! Throwing a surprise birthday for Murphy, but what happens if the guest of honor is late for the party?

　mine - Murphy was always protective of you, so when he thought Jasper sparked an interest in you- he was quick to shut it down. 　the moon, the sun - When Titus died you set out in search of a new fleimkepa, only finding Murphy; a misunderstood roach. 　full of hate - You hated Murphy since you landed on the ground, you didn't expect him to awaken something in you.

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　useless - you feel useless to the people of Arkadia, maybe Bellamy could help with that. 　wooden deer - you met in the shop's area of Polis, you trading Bellamy a small wooden sculpture, which he kept. Thinking of you every day, every day for 2,026 days. 　divine - ever since the massacre of the grounder army he's been different, but you don't give up on him 　haircuts - bellamy noticed you have been losing sleep over your son, so he decided to help out. Only, he doesn't stop helping out.

　failed mission - Azgeda assassins are supposed to be stone-cold, and feel nothing, but what happens when a certain boy tries to gain your trust 　jealous meeting - bellamy calls a group meeting to decide certain defense plans and catch up with everyone, but his jealousy gets the best of him. 　longing dreams- you had a dream about your best friend Bellamy, and you try to suppress the feelings by avoiding him. Bellamy doesn't let this slide. 　flowers of you - when the second praimfaya hit you thought you were the last person on Earth, until the group came back down, landing in your valley. 　the wolf and the lamb - you stumble across a knocked-out person, doing the only thing you can do you save him; not knowing with that would lead to. 　pyramid - it wasn't uncommon for you to flirt with Bellamy, but it was unusual for him to flirt with you back. 　friends with benefits - you and Bellamy were friends, friends who often did each other favors.

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　whenever you want - you've been crushing on Monty for years now, and you decide it's time to give him a hint, which doesn't go as planned

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐞 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐚 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐧 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐧 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　 loading. . .

　　　　　 ୨୧ 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐭 . ৎ .ᐟ ۫ 　sneaky memories - You got captured in Bardo, and while Levitt was sifting through your memories he came across a more private one.

ㅤㅤㅤ౨౿ ﹒𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ㅤ

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐨﹒

⸝⸝ incest ╰﹐siblings, parent/child, cousins

⸝⸝ pedophilia ╰﹐if the reader or character is a minor I won't do it

⸝⸝ inflation

⸝⸝ sexual assault ╰﹐this goes for cnc, and rape

⸝⸝ scat play ╰﹐piss, and shit

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨﹒

⸝⸝ safe age gap ╰﹐they are still of age, but there's a gap

⸝⸝ stalking ╰﹐not yandere stalking

⸝⸝ twt smut visuals ╰﹐twitter porn I think matches a character's vibe

⸝⸝ anything else you can think of ╰﹐if I don't like your request, I wont write it, but that's rare

ㅤㅤㅤ౨౿ ﹒𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞

　just call me baby.

　i am 19 years old, this is my main blog that I've now abandoned but cant delete > @saturdaykrualt

　my discord is 'itsjustbaby'

　im really passionate about creative arts, such as painting, writing, and music.

　i have to listen to music while writing, here's the playlist!

　and this is my main playlist

ㅤ ˖ㅤ ㅤ۫ ㅤ if you have any questions don't be scared to ask﹗✦

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deluwoo · 1 year ago

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thoughts on bf!enha

pairing ▸ enhypen x f.reader genre ▸ headcannon, fluff, comfort, crack (?? in some way), established relationships warnings ▸ food, mention (1) of alcohol [lmk if there r more] wc ▸ 345

eun's notes ▸ prev from my old blog @/wonieweb!! pls enjoy bc i miss writing :((

y.jw: times of silence where you just appreciate each other’s company. using elastic hair ties and scrunchies to play with his hair. writing down the little details about you: allergies, favorite restaurants, etc. muffled laughter especially when the two of you are eating. late night strolls near the Han river. attempts to do make-up on you l.hs: you secretly record when he sings so you can replay it anytime you want. sleeping until 10 am in the morning. both of you are bed heads just staring at each other confused for 10 min. homemade earrings. festival or carnival dates at night. resting on his lap during long car rides. reading fanfics with him ABOUT him and laughing 99% of the time. p.js: vinyls and wine (coke) at 10 pm. grocery shopping for the other boys. finding your stuff in his bag because you rarely bring yours. making fun of his pre-debut photos. sunday brunch with his family. you watch him play games on the big TV. homemade lunch on school days. fingers around belt loops when out in public. s.jk: dog parks and ice cream. peach/apple picking with him. free tutoring but it ends with the two of you extremely confused and irritated with the subject. 2 whole albums of polaroids of the two of you. a playlist of songs that remind him of you. late night car drives to the drive thru. babysitting together. dancing in the rain. p.sh: strolls with your hands in his pockets. using the ‘its our anniversary’ card to get discounts in restaurants. stealing his hoodies and cloaks. short but kind compliments at the most random times. the most random texts at 1 am. likes to choose your outfits. getting sulky because hes just laughing at you for no exact reason. switches from being the little spoon to a big spoon. k.sn: homedates where u binge watch kdramas and eat. “because im your bf” excuse. diy photoshoots. late night gossiping. secret photos of each other sleeping. grabbing you by the waist onto his lap. matching pfps or lock screens. pinterest boards for each other. kissing of cheeks. n.rk: homemade memes of each other. private twt just to simp over you. hes the most romantic when youre asleep. youre couple love language is quality time. likes to buy you flowers and presses them when theyre almost wilted. library dates. buying stationary together. 4 am talks on the rooftop. he’ll put your stuff on the higher shelves to see you struggle then eventually traps you against the shelf while he gets it for you.

a reblog wld be nice 👹👹 repost of previous works ©wonieweb now ©deluwoo

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patheticbabie · 1 year ago

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The Feels - Dick Grayson x Reader

The Feels - Dick Grayson x Reader (fem reader)

A/N: I was listening to the feels by twice while writing this, so this is very self indulgent for me to write this. Yep I got carried away writing this, from 2am - 3am. But I had fun, cause I’ve had thots about Dick Grayson for two nights in a row now. Anyways enjoy 💙

Warnings: best friends who are idiots, friends to eventual lovers, they did this whole thing backwards, smut 18+, NO MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS, dirty talk, grinding, fingering, recording intimate acts, nipple play plus nipple piercings, oral (f receiving), caught in the act. Wow okay I think that’s all the warnings.

It’s finally the weekend, and it was the rare occurrence that everyone was at the Manor, to hang out or do their own thing. Dick had asked his best friend if she wanted to come along with him, and seeing as her weekend was free she thought why not.

“YOU CHEATED! You can’t do that, you can't gang up on me and put down +4’s.” Dick scoffed and pointed at Jason, Tim and his best friend with a scowl.

“House rules Dickiebird, so go on pick up the cards” Jason grinned

Everyone’s competitive streak comes out, with arguments about their stupid house rules, and ganging up on one another. The only players left were Jason and Dick. Both players glared at each other. They’re both down to one card, and Dick picked up a card and hid his grin.

Jason grumbling about how he didn’t have the correct colour was forced to draw a card. Dick laughing to himself, slammed the +4 into the pile.

“Hey littlewing….uno bitch”

***

Feeling bored hanging around downstairs, Dick made his way up to his old bedroom, and played something from his playlist, whilst going about tidying little bits and pieces.

She made her way upstairs, getting close to his bedroom, his bluetooth speakers blasting a familiar kpop song, by both of their favourite girl group.

“You have stolen my heart oh yeah, never let it go oh oh, no never let it go oh oh oh” she heard him sing loudly, and watched from the door as he did the choreo in front of his full length mirror without a care in the world.

Making her way into his room, she giggled seeing him and came closer to him and grabbed his hand with a smile and teasingly said the lyrics “you got my attention, so what’s your intention? Tell me baby, what’s the deal?’

He pulled her close to his chest, with a smirk and twinkle in his eyes as they danced lost in a world with just them. His finger gently pushed a stray hair behind her ear, as she watched him with a dreamy look. “Did you enjoy the little show? I do think I could be twices’ 10th member.”

Laughing softly, she loved hearing his little random thoughts. “Hm.. maybe, but there is that one problem, they’re a girl group and you’re a guy. Although I would love to see you perform TT or fancy, that would be amazing to watch.”

Pulling away from her, he laid down on his bed and patted the spot beside him. Laying next to him, he gathered her in his arms and played with her hair. The silence was comfortable, as both of their thoughts were filled with each other.

“Hey bunny, you heard they’re coming here for a concert?” she hummed as her answer

“Do you wanna go together, like…as in a date night thing?” he didn’t know he was holding his breath waiting for an answer.

Sitting up slightly, she looked down at him trying to hide her ever growing smitten smile. He had a sense of panic, it’s only been 10 seconds since he asked her out, but it felt like time was slow, “Bunn-” he didn’t finish the sentence as he suddenly felt a pair of soft lips pressed upon him. Holding her closer to him, his hand tangled in her hair, as they kissed.

Pulling away slightly from his addictive lips, she whispered, “to quote twice; I got the feels for you. And yes to the date.”

He grinned, “a woman who knows the ways to my heart.” pulling her on top of him, so she was straddling, he didn’t think he could ever be tired of the view in front of him.

She laughed softly and winked at him, before leaning down to connect their lips. His hands roamed her body, as she moved her hips against his ever growing boner, moaning softly into the kiss as Dick softly pulled on her bottom lip. Her hands tugging on his shirt, he reluctantly pulled away from her lips to remove it and throw it on his bedroom floor.

Biting her lips as her eyes followed the hard lines of his body, watching him subtly flex. Unaware of the needy whimper that escaped her throat, and the slight grind of her hips on his cock. He chuckled softly

“Baby, I love how needy you are.” his smug smile got wider as he made sure to grind up against her hard, for her to feel his desire for her.

Tapping her thighs, he asked her to remove her shorts. Not ever being one to deny him of anything, she quickly removed her shorts, throwing it on the ground next to his shirt. Settling back down onto his lap to grind against his cock, she pouted “Why am I the only one in my underwear? Dick you’re such a perv.”

“Because I love this view, wait can I take a photo? I promise it’ll be for my eyes only.” With a nod, he reached to grab his phone, opening the camera, and grinned at the position they’re in. Her on top of him, her hands underneath her shirt and cupping her tits, wearing a blue thong which coincidentally was his nightwing suit colour. Tilting her head to the side with an innocent smile, She lifted her shirt and rested it on her collarbones, allowing him to see the matching lace bra. He smirked, and snapped multiple photos of her.

“Hm..you know how they say videos are sometimes better? I have an idea, is that okay with you Dick? You know something for your spankbang when you’re away.

Groping her ass before giving it a smack, he smirked at her yelp “Of course bunny. I’ll hold the phone, and you do whatever you’re comfortable with.:

Phone focused on her body, lowering the cups of her bra, he growled seeing her nipple piercings. He had an inkling but never asked her about it. Now in front of him licking his lips as he watched through his phone as she played with her nipples.

“Are they sensitive?”

“Hm…extra since my nipples have always been sensitive.” her voice airy as she moved the metal bar on her right nipple. Her free hand tilted his head up to watch her, and her smile was mischievous.

“Do you wanna see what it’s like to suck on them? You know for curiosity's sake, and even better, I’ll record you doing it. What do you think babe?”

“Fuck yes” he handed her his phone, as she pressed record and a gasp escaped from her as his lips latched onto one nipple, as his tongue swirled around the metal bar. His hands are busy cupping and squeezing her tits, his fingers working on rolling her right nipple. Kisses made their way to her right nipple, as he gently sucked on the nipple making her moan loudly. The view she had from his phone was making her lose her mind. Stopping the recording, she threw his phone on the bed, before tugging on his hair and pulling him into a deep kiss.

“Need you, please. I want you” she panted in between breaths as his lips made their way down her neck. His fingers made their way to where she wanted him most. Fingers rubbing her pussy through her blue lace underwear, he felt how wet she was.

“Yeah baby? I can feel how wet you are. I’ll give you anything you want.” He growled against her neck as he bit hard enough to leave a mark. Sliding her panties to the side, his fingers ran through her lips, feeling how drenched she was. Slipping his fingers in her cunt, he cursed at the delicious feel of her velvety walls squeezing his fingers.

He glanced down seeing how her pussy easily sucked his fingers in with how wet she was for him. Thumb rubbing her clit, he groaned addicted to watching his fingers becoming wetter with her desire. “Fuck baby, look down and see how your greedy cunt easily takes my fingers.” looking down she whimpered seeing his fingers work in and out of her cunt with a steady pace.

“Looks so hot right princess? The way your cunt squeezes my fingers, not wanting to let go. And the sounds this pretty pussy makes? I’m addicted to it, I should make your moans and the pretty sounds your pussy makes my alarm.

“Dickie…can I record this pretty please?” she didn’t have to ask since she knew his answer, as she grabbed his phone, already having the camera ready to record.

Removing her off his lap, he laid her down on the pillows, spreading her legs. He groaned seeing how wet she was. Looking up at her, he winked at her flustered face “let’s make that recording better, I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy like it’s my last meal.”

With a nod, she pointed his phone down towards him, his hands holding her thighs apart, he knew how wet she was, but he couldn’t help himself as he spat on her pussy, and she gasped, behind his phone. Not wasting time, his tongue licked a long strip from her cunt to her clit, fingers gently working in and out of her. Lips sucking on her clit, she felt him making moves with his tongue as if he was spelling something. He was though, spelling his name on her clit, she whimpered as her hand tried to steady as it focused on him.

Moving away from her clit, to press kisses down to her opening, his eyes trained on the camera, giving a wink, finding her entrance his tongue replaced his fingers, and she let out a loud moan feeling his tongue in her pussy.

Her free hand rolling her nipple and playing with the metal bar, feeling weak watching him between her legs. Not knowing where to look, through his phone's camera, or watch the real thing. His groans wracking her body, he couldn’t get enough of how sweet her pussy tasted.

Pulling away slightly, he panted to catch his breath, he looked at her flushed face and laughed softly, “your pussy is so sweet, so fucking tasty, gonna spend all my days eating your cunt out.”

“I-I won’t complain, getting eaten out everyday sounds like a dream” she whispered breathlessly

His lips wrapped around her clit before moving down, as his tongue entered her cunt. Using the zoom on his camera, she focused on how Dick was tongue fucking her as his thumb rubbed tight circles on her clit. Feeling her pussy tighten around his tongue, she panted and moaned his name loudly, knowing she was close.

“P-please. Fuck I’m so close.”

Groaning against her cunt, he worked his tongue as fast as he could, as his fingers worked on her clit in the same rhythm. Hearing her scream his name loudly, he felt her squirt on him. Groaning, he worked his tongue lazily against her pussy, groaning as he felt her squirt again.

Unaware of how loud her scream was, and unaware of someone standing by the doorway having witnessed Dick eating his best friend's pussy and making her squirt and her holding Dick’s phone towards the scene and recording everything? might be the hottest thing he’s witnessed.

Subtly adjusting his jeans, he awkwardly cleared his throat. Both heads snapped towards the door. Both of them quickly tried to cover up with the bed covers. “Jay…how long were you there for?” Dick asked breathless, chin shining and dripping with your essence.

“um…I guess…long enough to see you make her squirt twice. And you asked her to record it? Fuck that’s hot. Anyways, I came because I heard a scream so I wanted to see if things were okay, and I can see things are more than okay.” He smirked at both of them

“Hey princess, ask Dick to send me that video if you’re okay with it.” Winking at her flushed face, and he laughed as Dick threw a pillow at him telling him to get out and close the door.

Pulling her into his arms, both breathless from what had happened. “You know he was right, that video is the hottest thing on my phone…well until we fuck and I record us, with your consent of course bunny.”

“Hm…that sounds like fun. A close up of your cock going in and out of my pussy…sounds like a great movie night.” she grabbed his hand and placed it onto her wet pussy, sighing as he ran his fingers lightly through her.

“But not till after our date, because I”ve been looking forward to this concert.”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x reader smut #dick grayson smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson #candice writes #nightwing

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q-starhalo · 6 months ago

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I LIED, THIS IS MY LAST IMPORTANT LETTER TO YOU AT THE MOMENT:

No but it's seriously has been such an honor liveblogging Bad on the qsmp and I'm so glad I took the chance to do so when I was thinking about whether or not to post about him here <3 While I can't say when I started posting more on my account, I can say that I'm so glad it was this community and Bad that inspired me to do so and I will forever be thankful for that <3

And I also have to say that I was glad that I took part in our little road trip to Purgatory that day and joined the bus discord since I've met so many more people even if I didn't talk there for 2 months after it opened ^^"

And now onto my favorite people (which is just all of you guys but I can only remember so many users o(-()

@alchemicaladarna You have been such a nice person to see in my notes and in my feed <3 While we don't speak much, you're a really sweet person and I'm glad I got to meet you

@anth4rax You are one of the fastest people I've met when it came to liking posts. And while you can be a tad chaotic, you're always a welcoming presence in my notes and in the bus <3 I'm really glad I've gotten to speak to you and be your friend <33

@azure-wing While I believe we don't speak much, it's always a pleasure seeing you hanging out in the bus and notifying others who's live <3

@badanddapper You posting Bad and Dapper clips have always made my day <3 Thank you <333

@baginamybeloved NIKOLA <3333 Siempre es un placer hablar contigo en español or in english and figure out if something is just a my country thing or not xD And even then, it's just a pleasure talking to you and I'm glad we've met <3333

@bixxibee Bixx!!! <3 I'm always happy to see you around and speak to you <33 You're a really nice person and I'm glad I got the chance to meet you <33

@boytoyhalo SIREN!! <3 While I think we've barely spoken, I'm always happy to see you around <33

@celluzu I don't think we've spoken before but I'm grateful for the Bad and Dapper you drew for me during the Trick or Treat on Tumblr <33

@creechurrr CREECHURRRRRRRRRR <33333333333 AUGH I LOVE WHENEVER YOU COME INTO MY ASKS YOU'RE MIND IS SO BEAUTIFUL YOU ALWAYS GET ME AND YOUR FICS ARE AMAZING <33333 AND YOU'RE SO KIND AND I'M SO GLAD I GOT TO MEET YOU <3333

@dappersautismcreature While we don't speak much, I love seeing you here and there and I loved your starhalo au's <3333 OH AND THE UM UM I FORGET WHAT IT'S CALLED BUT THE GRIM REAPER FIC ONE WAS SO GOOD <33333

@disfrutalakia Kia!!! You've always been my go-to blog for the Brazilians and Bagina and I'm so glad I got to meet you <3

@etoilesmoon One of the many people who understand me when it comes to starhalo 🤝 Hope I get to speak to you more <3

@gnostie GHOST!!! While we've only started speaking more recently, I'm so glad Mizu directed me to you when it came to clowns and just cute stuff in general <3 Ha sido un placer de conocerte <33333

@hgduo YOU GET ME. YOU F★CKING GET ME. (Also you're very cool. Tons of love to you <3)

@islayuri YOU'RE SO TALENTED OH MY GOD YOU'RE ART MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE <33333

@kadextra KADE. KADE. YOU'RE ART AND YOUR THEORIES AND THE BLACK SIGN STUFF. <3333333 And not only that, but you're such a sweet and talented person <333 Sending you lots of love <3333

@kaijuparfait PARFAIT!!! <333 It's been a pleasure talking to you about starhalo in the past and now more recently hearing (or more so reading) about Godzilla and how it fits Bad <33 Glad I met you <33333

@karoo-o LOVE YOUR ART AND IT WAS AN HONOR MAKING A PLAYLIST FOR YOU DURING THE VALENTINE EXCHANGE <3333

@kays-artstuff Even if you don't do much qsmp art, I'm always so glad to see you in my notes and I love seeing your art, it's so 💥💥💥💥💥

@l3m-n LEM!! While I rarely see you now, it was a pleasure talking to you here and there <33

@little-soldiers We've spoken here and there but you were such an inspiration for me to write out a little fic and I still hold on to that encouragement whenever I want to write something but don't think it'll be well <333 Thank you <3333

@lunaeclipse1057-ao3 LUNAAAAAAAAAA <3333333 While I've already said this, you're genuinely a sweet person even if we've barely spoken and I hope I still see you around <33333333

@lxrd-ren While I don't think you open Tumblr anymore, I just want you to know that you were and always will be the best bus buddy ever <33

@mizuski-broken MIZUUUUUUUUUU OH GOD WHERE DO I BEGIN?????? You always get me when it comes to the paranormal and you're just such a nice person to be around with <3333 I'm so glad I got to meet you and consider you a friend of mine <33333333

@muffinclutch Love seeing you in my notes <333 Hope to see you around <3333

@qsmprambling Always glad to see you around <3333

@starscollide0 YOU'RE ART IS SO 💥💥💥💥💥🔥🔥🔥🔥💥💥💥 And you're also such a nice person <3333 I hope to see you around <3333333333

@tubborucho LISS!! I'm always happy to see you around and you're truly the go to soulfire/tubhalo person <3 Lots of love to you <333333

@ultra-raging-ghost Ghost!!! It's always such a pleasure seeing you out and about whether it be you drawing or talking about mainly ayhalo and cucuhalo to in my notes, I'm always glad to see you <333 Hope to talk to you more <333333

And of course to many others like the people in my notes (@toxic-foolhalo-yuri, @j3ssicaangel, @fl10werc4t, @kayleighthekoala, @starriknight, @mystifiedmystery, @nightlight26, etc.) and everyone on the bus like Theo, Zero, Brubs, Zunto, March, Tannin, Des, Nico, and so so many others!!!! <3 Thank you again for this wonderful experience and trust me when I say, I will always be here <3333

- Yours truly, Star ★

#Thought I'd do one while we're at it cause why not #I feel like the shorter messages seem like I don't care much BUT I DO TRUST ME I THINK YOU'RE REALLY COOL #anyways love you guys <333 I'll see you when Bad goes live <3333 #qsmp #qsmpblr

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thelightsandtheroses · 8 months ago

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seven: me and the devil, walking side by side

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter summary: an unwelcome visitor brings everything to a head Chapter warnings: Reader is a single parent to a teenager, mentions of breakups, discussions of cults/religious movements and violence within these, threat of a gun, tension, lightly implied panic attack/anxiety, 18+ blog mdni, Notes: Chapter title i

s from Me and the Devil, originally by Gil-Scott Heron but I have both this and the Soap&Skin version on my playlist for this fic. Thanks for all of your patience with this chapter. It’s a big one! Word Count: 5.4k

Previous | Series | Next

You’ve been through breakups before. It’s nothing new. Usually you like to be the one to leave before you can be left. That takes out some of the salt in the wound.

Your separation from Joel hurts though. It physically hurts.

Your chest aches, your eyes sting, you miss him. Every small detail brings Joel to you; a flannel shirt, the soap everyone in Jackson.

You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve distanced yourself from a good man - and aren’t those rare to find?- or the impending fear of The Junction. Perhaps it’s both.

On the moments that Joel is not haunting you, your past is.

Beau once asked you whether you were sure that breaking up with Joel was a good idea, if it would perhaps be better to bring him on side. That’s Beau; a survivor, pragmatic to his core.

You can’t quite find the words to voice what it would have meant to you to tell Joel. You still feel complicit somehow in everything that Ethan did, you realised too late, you didn’t stop him. There’s too much shame ingrained in your body for you to tell Joel.

The pain of the breakup feels like a suitable punishment.

“Anything?” you ask Beau as you sip your tea in the kitchen.

Beau shakes his head wearily. “No sign on anyone yet.” He pauses. “If I had to say anything though, it’s almost too …. clean. There’s no sign of anyone, sweetheart, anyone or anything.”

“They’re cleaning their tracks?”

“Probably.”

“Shit. We should leave.”

“We’re better off here than out there,” Beau replies calmly, “‘sides, we can’t just haul Gabe off in the middle of the night now. He’ll ask questions.” There’s an unspoken question - will you ever tell your son the truth?

“I hate this.”

“Me too. We’re going to get through this though.”

“Are we?”

“Of course.”

“Who were you patrolling with?” you ask, eager to change the subject.

Beau shifts uncomfortably. “Just -”

“Joel?”

He nods. ‘Did he notice the clean-up?“

“Things like that don’t get past him. He’s … aware of techniques like that.” probably for the same reasons as Beau. Their chequered histories made them survivors and in some strange kept people they love safe - Ellie for Joel, Sean and you for Beau. “We both commented on it. Joel doesn’t know about the junction though, he’ll assume it’s more like raiders. He wants to raise it in the town meeting tonight - I think he’d mention it sooner if it was more than just a theory. Maybe that can work to our advantage though.”

“How?”

“Well, if he says to Maria then she’ll probably put a stop to traders for a bit. That might protect us a little longer if Jackson’s more closed. It’ll give us time to decide on what we’re doing.” Beau smiles at you. “You and Sean, you’re not alone in this. You, Gabriel, Sean and me … we’re sticking together.”

You nod, sniffing loudly. You won’t cry, you won’t.

“There’s a trader in,” Esther says casually, smiling as you look up from your books.

It’s probably nothing, it’s probably just one of the usual traders who passes through Jackson, but that doesn’t explain why your blood is turning cold and your palms are sweaty.

“A trader? One of our usuals?”

“No, no, never seen him before.”

“Oh, really?” you ask, schooling your expression as much as you can. “What does he look like?”

“Not as good looking as Joel Miller, how you let a man like that go, I will never know.” Esther sighs and you remember that when Joel first came to town, Tommy had been trying to match the two of them. It hadn’t lasted long. You’d asked Joel about it once but he’d been polite, a southern gentleman to a tee so you knew even if there was a story, it wasn’t one you’d hear any time soon.

“Well, I’m sure he’d be heartened to hear your support on that. So, the trader?”

“I don’t know, he had dark hair and he - he had presence, a slight limp though.”

“A limp?”

“Uh huh. Shame really, and some burns but other than that …. he seemed real friendly, had a Victorian doll for trade too, might have some things for your boy. I heard a rumour about coffee.”

You walk past Esther, barely letting her complete her sentences before you’re heading out of the library.

Beau’s on the way to the hall. He’s in the stables and you can see him chatting with Ellie as you approach them.

“Hey Beau, Hi Ellie,” you say, walking in and smiling broadly. You think it’s a normal, false smile but by Beau’s expression, and Ellie’s, you’ve failed miserably. “Beau, there’s a trader at the community hall, want to go check it out?”

Beau looks at you and you hope he’s noticed how you said trader, how you all but winked and raised an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Oh, really?”

“We were talking about trading some of our old stuff soon, right? From back when?”

He definitely understands now. “Of course. Ellie, it was real nice talkin’ to you.”

Before you can leave, Ellie grabs you arm. “Wait, can you just wait a moment?”

No, you think, but it’s Ellie and you’ve already let her down so many times recently, that you nod. “Catch up in a moment, Beau?”

“Okay. I’ll be outside.” If you know, he’ll probably be working on a plan, just in case. He’ll be looking for signs of more of them. You and Sean told him about Ethan’s strategies, about his plans if that first gated community failed.

Ellie looks worried, her arms are folded around herself and it reminds you she’s still just a child, only fifteen. Younger than your own son.

“How are you doing, Ellie?”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, over the whole arm thing and the accident. I know it made you and Joel argue and then - and then you broke up. I know it’s-”

“Ellie, it was nothing to do with that,” you say vehemently, “Nothing at all about you. I promise.”

“Then why? I thought you liked him?”

“I did.” You do.

“I’ll never understand any of this,” Ellie laments, shaking her head. “Why not just - why’d you come into our lives just to do this then?”

You would have preferred it if she hit you. “I never wanted to hurt you, or Joel. I promise that. I’m - I have to go, Ellie, but I - we can talk more.”

“‘S no point. Unless, is there?” Ellie looks up hopefully.

You shake your head, digging your hands into your pockets. “Take care, Ellie.”

You have to get to the hall, you have to hope your fears are unfounded.

You can’t feel your fingers.

You know.

There are fresh flowers on each table in the hall; it’s a simple gesture, one that intimates the security, the homeliness of Jackson. It’s a place where you can do that again, it’s about living not surviving.

It clashes with the raging survival instinct in you, the fear that your home isn’t as safe as you hoped. The knowledge that everything is about to come crashing down.

What if they’ve already infiltrated? What if there’s been a Junction spy reporting back for months? They would despise you for what you did. They would demand your blood. But what if he …

You look over at the crowd around the trader and begin moving forward with Beau, each step in sync, his presence an unspoken crutch.

You hope you’re wrong about this.

He is not who you remember. That is the first thing you think when you see him. His hair is longer now with his limp, thinning dark locks tied back in a scraggly ponytail. There are more lines on his face, a vicious burn on one hand and you know underneath his clothes will be the hidden scars you left him with - you missed the first time. The second time you hit his leg though.

His eyes widen with delight when he sees you walk into the building. “You,” he exclaims, “At long last, we meet again.”

In your imagination, this scene always was more obviously like a horror film. In your nightmares, you’d be bleeding, taken, surviving once more. The scene was always in some abandoned warehouse, cabin or barn too.

You watched too many movies growing up.

However, you could have never expected this moment would happen in Jackson’s community hall. You could never have expected there would be an audience either. People are still milling around, looking at his potential wares, going about their day like the world hasn’t just ended once more. You want to scream at them, you want to call the insanity of this situation out but your feet are rooted to the floor with thick tendrils of fear holding you in place.

You notice Joel and Tommy at one table. Joel’s eyes look confused as he seems to gauge your expression.

You can see Sean standing near Maria. Sean looks so uneasy; almost grey, and you cannot imagine how your friend is feeling right now, you know he suffered in his own way at The Junction. His face is calm though, he’s planning, waiting for the right moment. You recognise the way his hands are shoved into his jeans pocket though, the way his eyes move wildly around the room when he thinks no one is looking at him.

Your legs feel shaky but you refuse to lean against Beau, to show any weakness in this situation. This situation has been a long time coming.

It’s been seventeen years. You are not who you were then. You have been shaped by him and the Junction, that is true, but you’ve become your own person again. Each tragedy, each win, each memory has sculpted who you are at this moment, has trained you for this moment.

Beau whispers your name, gives you choices on how you play this. He’s on your side, that’s clear, that’s beyond question. Part of you wants to hand the situation over to him, to let Beau deal with it while you bury your head in the sand once again.

That’s not possible though.

You wonder if it’s only the four of you who are aware of the tension at this moment. It’s a secret that your neighbours and friends can’t see, that you never wanted them to see.

And Joel -

Everyone is in danger now.

“Hi honey,” Ethan says loudly with a smile, “It’s been a while. Why don’t you come on over and say hi to your husband now?”

His words have the desired effect; everyone stops, everyone stares, heads moving in a ripple of movement throughout the hall.

Next to Sean, Maria’s smile fades and her face hardens. You hear the hushed whispers around you as they realise Ethan is looking and talking to you.

It’s Joel you want to look at though. You feel drawn to him like Orpheus, knowing you can’t look and desperate to all at once. You remember how he was unable not to turn around in those Greek myths, how you’d argued in class it was foolish and inevitable all at once.

Is this you now? Are you the damned, foolish one? Is your failure, your doom, inevit

Seeing Ethan solidifies everything; Joel is the person you love, the man who loved you and you have lost him because of your secrets and past, in a foolhardy attempt to protect Gabriel.

Gabriel. He’s nowhere to be found as you look around you and you’re grateful for that. You can protect him for just a few more minutes.

Instead of your son, instead of Ethan, you finally allow yourself to glance at Joel. Joel’s face is pulled into a frown and he looks … hurt. You’ve hurt him once again.

You can imagine his thoughts right now - he’ll be wondering why he bothered to trust you, how you hid this from him and why.

“I -” you stutter words, your mouth opening and closing without making any sense. You exhale slowly. “How’s your leg?”

Sean bursts out laughing. It’s a strange, mangled giggle borne of surprise and worry that immediately stops as people look at him.

“So how’s that how we’re playing things, huh?”

“This isn’t a game, Ethan.”

“Isn’t everything you do a game?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t - you were married, you were married to him?” Tommy exclaims, looking at Joel and then you in the vain hope one of you will provide an answer. There’s an unspoken conversation between the two brothers, one clearly Tommy isn’t happy about. “Who is he?” Tommy says your name in a low voice, imploring you to confide in him.

“He shouldn’t be here, he needs to leave.”

“I need to leave?” Ethan asks, an unreadable expression on his face. “So you haven’t told them anything about who you really are then? They don’t know there’s a fox in the chicken coop?” He says your name, tutting with disappointment.

Whispers carry around you like leaves in the wind. You’re not sure what people are thinking right now. You’ve been too quiet, too secretive, it would be easy to wonder who you really are. In another world, maybe this is who would have been - his dutiful wife and spy.

You notice Maria saying something quietly to Tommy, how the two of them are subtly clearing the hall of bystanders. Joel is staring between you and Ethan with a blank face.

Do they think you’re a victim or the perpetrator in this scenario? You notice Beau take the smallest step forward, readying himself for something.

“I don’t think this conversation is serving our community right now,” Maria says flatly.

“Hey Joel,” you hear a familiar voice call. ”Has the trader got anything good? You better not have traded like half of everything you own for coffee again. I honestly don’t get the whole coffee thing anyway, it tastes like burnt- ” Ellie’s voice breaks off.

Your heart races as Ellie, Jesse and to your horror Sean walk into the community hall, completely oblivious to what’s happened but seemingly starting to realise that something is going on.

“Not now, Ellie,” Joel gruffly says.

“What’s uh -” Ellie breaks off.

Ethan is staring at Gabriel and your heart sinks. For sixteen years, you have convinced yourself that Gabriel doesn’t look like Ethan, that there’s no passing resemblance at all.

There is though.

You see it now and it feels like a glaring beacon, another lie come home to roost. A truth you couldn’t avoid forever. He’s yours, you know that, but together in the same room you can see the similarities.

“Mu-” Ethan begins warily, noticing the tension around the room. He looks alert, worried, ready to do whatever is necessary. That’s how it is in this world - you have drummed survival into him from an early age. It feels antithetical though, that the child you want to protect and nurture knows how to fight, how to endure this world you placed him into.

Sean immediately takes a step towards him, but Joel’s there first, a strange look in his eyes. “You need to go home, all of you. Now.”

“But -”

“No arguments, Ellie.” His tone is firm. To anyone else, they would think him a strict parent, a firm, resolute man who accepts no arguments. You can hear the worry though, the slight fear in his voice that Ellie is here. That you have endangered her. Endangered everyone.

“Ergh,” Ellie says but she holds her hands up and takes a step backwards exit with Jesse. She looks over at you and then Ethan and then Gabriel, a frown forming on her face and then she pauses.

“Well, isn’t today full of revelations,” Ethan says in a wonderstruck tone. “It’s curious. He really does look -”

“Oh fuck off.”

It’s enough though. Those few words and you realise Gabriel is putting things together. The betrayal and fury in his eyes eviscerates you.

You look at the ground, hearing the shudder of your breath. No. No.

“Holy shit,“ you hear Ellie mumble under her breath.

“Ellie!” Joel says, the desperation starting to become clearer.

How much does our -” Ethan continues.

“Ethan, shut the fuck up and just go,” Sean interrupts.

“You’ve got braver on the outside. It’s a shame you showed none of this in the Junction when -”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Maria says, her voice even and cool, “It’s time you head on out now though.”

Joel clasps Gabriel’s shoulder so he can’t pass, can’t get any closer to the chaos around you.

“Leave, huh? Well, I think that perhaps you’re mistaken. I didn’t just come here for my son after all.” Ethan sighs. “It’s been a hard winter.”

Joel tightens his grip on Gabriel’s shoulder. Beau and Tommy exchange a look.

You wish you had a weapon, had something to stop this.

You shouldn’t have missed the first time, you shouldn’t have aimed for his leg the second time either.

“So, how many settlements have you been through now?” Sean asks in a nonchalant tone. “I think after two or three, it really says more about -”

“The Junction goes where it is needed. I have heard it is needed here.”

“We don’t need the Junction here,” you say quietly. “No one needs that.”

“You’d rather be damned?”

“If the alternative is an eternity with you, with pleasure,” you say icily.

You hear a slight snort of laughter and turn to meet Joel. He’s still resting a hand on your son’s shoulder, but he’s looking at you. He nods, a subtle gesture anyone else might have missed but that fills you with relief.

You might get through this.,

“You got your fire back, I’d almost forgotten. Now, what was it you used to say when we discussed this. When we discussed what to do about reluctant participants, people who didn’t know they needed to be saved? You remember this is the nice way? It could have been very different after all, but I am here offering magnanimous absolution, even to you.”

“I don’t need your absolution. I don’t need anything from you but for you to go now. For you to leave this settlement, leave these people alone. That’s what all of them need, to be away from you.”

“You think it’s right that they’re here without the Junction’s Word, but maintain all these resources while your own-”

“Leave. While you can,” you say flatly.

“Do these people even know you?”

“You need to go, Ethan, now,” Sean says firmly. “We said we don’t need the Junction here. This can end amicably.”

“Amicably?”

“Yeah, no need for it not to, right? Democracy over depravity - that’s the Junction’s way, right? The old ways, the right ways as you used to call it.” Sean’s face twists into a tormented grimace at those words.

Beau scowls and you realise that while you’ve kept the Junction in a box for seventeen years, Sean hasn’t. He has told Beau, he has talked about it. It’s you who has been stuck.

“You dare speak of the ways when you -“

“Just go, now. Sean’s right,” you say firmly.

“Amicably, is that what he said?” Ethan asks, regarding you again with a scornful expression that turns your blood so cold, you’re amazed you’re not exhaling ice. “Amicably.”

“Ellie, all three of you, I am not playin’” you hear Joel say in a deadly tone.

The three teenagers make a move to leave, relief flooding your veins as you gratefully nod at Joel.

Gabriel is the last to leave, he hangs back until Joel nods at him firmly, but as he moves to the door - he’s almost gone, he’s almost safe - there’s a sound.

“Nope,” Ethan says coldly, “He stays.”

You look at Ethan, at the gun in his hand, pointed directly at you.

“Mum?” Gabriel asks, his voice shaky.

“I thought Eugene fucking searched the traders,” Joel yells at Tommy or Maria, or perhaps you or Beau. All you can see is the barrel.

You’ve always known how this is ends for you.

“You should leave now,” Joel says in a deadly tone. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or Ethan. You spin around, meeting his gaze desperately.

His hand on Gabriel is firm enough to stop him from either fleeing or running towards Ethan. You notice the way his muscles are slightly tensed, not too tight, but you make out his vein snaking down his arm.

You’ve mentally prepared for a dozen reactions to what is going on around you: disgust, hatred, pity, but you didn’t expect what meets you. Joel’s face is steely, poised to fight but a flash of fear passes his eyes when you connect with them. He is afraid for you, he is worried. There is no hatred, no disgust, nothing you expected.

He is not asking for you to leave. He is trying to protect you.

It’s like a lead balloon in your stomach. Maybe, maybe you could have said something all this time ago.

“Trust me, she’s not worth it,” Ethan says conversationally. “This settlement, my son? Now those are different stories.

“Are there others here?” you ask suddenly as you piece more of the day together. You can barely recognise your flat voice, the way you’re not entirely in your own body any more. You’re existing, and now you know that because you’ve finally been living and now you know what that is, you’ll lose it all*. “Did they help you keep the gun?”* Someone could be here from the Junction and you need them gone too.

Ethan pivots, takes a couple of steps forward and turns around the room, observing the rapt, frozen crowd around you both. It transports you instantly to dusty rooms, to a younger, more vibrant man you thought wanted to do something good in the world. It takes you back to a place you wanted to belong in, to a time you believed and hung off every single word he said.

“Others?”

“Yes, are they already here?”

“Why would -”

“I know your plays, I know them all.”

“Do you?”

You stare blankly at him, raise an eyebrow slightly. “No. I thought I did, but I didn’t. I thought you were someone else.”

“I am the voice of -”

“You’re a tyrant, a hypocrite and a snake oil salesman all wrapped up. You don’t speak a word of truth and you never have.”

“I’m the vessel, and so is my -”

“If you speak about my son, I will rip you apart so violently it will make the infected look tame.”

“You didn’t have these teeth before. What a pity. It would have been useful.”

“Go.”

“We’re past that.”

You realise he’s right. He’s in Jackson now, this ends one of two ways. Tommy and Joel, they can’t let him leave like this. You can recognise the desperation in his eyes, the hunger, the plans and strategies.

“You’re my wife. I am not going without you and my son.”

“We’re staying here.”

“No. I’m not,” Gabriel says, “Not with her.”

“Gabriel, shut up,” Sean snaps uncharacteristically. “Just leave it now.”

“My son ”

“You want to talk about the Junction? Let’s talk about it then. Gabriel, did you want to grow up in a place that would kill you if you -” You zone out as Sean continues, unable to fully bear the full truth of life in the Junction being exposed to the people around you.

You remember being hungry so much, the fear of breaking a new rule or tenet that your husband came up with. You remember how the inclusive, welcoming commune it was supposed to be shifted. How it became radicalised, against any sign of difference or subversion of what Ethan thought a person should be like. You remember the sexism, the way your voice began to become quieter and quieter.

You remember that Ethan scared you, that his move to the Vessel was antithetical with everything you knew about him. How his words, his dreams became literal, how he looked like he hated you by the end. You remember the violence of the Junction, you remember the lack of excuses.

In some ways, in many ways, it was worse than Kansas.

“Did I physically harm you? Did I not lead you to salvation, to the tenets of hope?” Ethan asks, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“The tenets? The ones that started off just close enough to normal and then suddenly you decreed that women couldn’t wear trousers because it affected the crops, or that if I spoke unless spoken to it would damn me, or that declared you the sudden voice of hope, or a - they never held hope, your rules. Not for anyone but you. You were dangerous, you are dangerous. You harmed us all without laying a finger, that was the beauty of your plan, right?”

“You never said a word to stop me from this though, did you? In fact, you -”

“I’m not finished, Ethan. You’re not a good person, Ethan, and I will never regret keeping my son from your dangerous, frankly nonsensical shit. That’s being a parent. So tell us who’s inside, who’s helping you and maybe we can figure a way out for you to leave.”

“You and I know they won’t let that happen. Do you remember the plan for then?” He laughs then. “I’m leaving and i’m leaving with my son. He’s the future of the Junction.”

“There is no way in hell that will ever happen.”

“He wants to. I can see it in his eyes.”

“No, Ethan, you know how this is going to end.”

Ethan sighs and nods. You exhale shakily and then look up as you hear the sound of the gun load. “Then I’ll take you with me to the eternal life instead.”

You don’t shut your eyes. You don’t look down. You will not cower for him.

You wanted to live. You’ve had more years than you expected. You wish you had more. It was always going to end this way though.

He will have to look at you. You will not make this easy for him.

“No, Mum -” your son’s voice is enough to make you waver, but perhaps, perhaps everyone else can keep him safe. If Ethan kills you, maybe they’ll protect him. It’s fine.

It’s fitting.

It was always going to be this way.

You wish you were outside though. perhaps by your bench and that quiet sanctuary you found. You want to hear birdsong, feel the sun on your skin one last time. You want to breathe in the fresh air and remember that.

Maybe they can scatter your ashes on the bench.

The bench bought you so much - peace on nightmare ridden nights, Joel, the difference between surviving and living. If it wouldn’t make Ethan happy, you’d tell Gabriel that now, or Sean. It’s too much for Gabriel.

Perhaps Joel knows. You hope he does. You hope he doesn’t.

You’re sorry. So sorry these people you love have to see this, have to mourn you. You should tell Gabriel you love him one more time, but you don’t want to burden him.

There’s a sudden crash, you feel yourself hit the floor and you finally allow yourself to shut your eyes as the gun goes off.

You expect to feel pain, to feel warm or cold, or something. Instead there’s nothing.

There are hands around you, pulling you away, words - Joel? Is she hurt? Did it get her? Words fade in and out. Something’s gone wrong. This doesn’t feel like death.

You open your eyes.

Ethan is on the floor and unconscious. Joel is shaking his fist and Beau squeezes your shoulders before heading over to a shaken looking Sean. Next to him, your son stares at the floor.

“So yeah, we used to be in a cult,” Sean says, running a hand over his hair and shaking his head.

You hear an almost laugh, a polite but awkward acknowledgement, from maybe Tommy or Beau, but you’re still glued to the floor, still reeling from this day.

You feel eyes on you and look up to meet your son’s gaze. Gabriel looks at you as though he has never seen you before, through you in fact, and immediately runs out of the room.

“Wait, Gabriel.” You make a move to go after him, to explain. If you can just talk to him, then maybe it will be enough. You shouldn’t have avoided this, you should have told him this.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got him,” Sean says, moving quickly.

“Where do we put him?” you ask flatly, staring at the unconscious form in front of you.

“The jail,” Maria says quietly. “The jail, Joel.”

“Guess we’ll finally use it,” Tommy replies.

“He can’t stay,” Joel says. “Tommy, he’ll -”

“I know, brother, I know.” Tommy looks down and then at Maria whose lips are pursed.

“He tried us,” Maria says, “We have to do what we have to do.”

“I’ll handle it,” Joel says calmly, authoritatively. He isn’t looking at you and you feel ashamed of what you have bought into his life. Blood, anger, pain. He’s bought you peace and calm and love and this is how you repay him?

“Me too,” Beau replies calmly, examining his nails in a pseudo casual pose. “It won’t be a problem at all.”

The two of them each grab one of Ethan’s unconscious arms, dragging him outside and towards the bank. Beau nods at you on his exit.

They’ve left you. Sean and Gabriel are outside somewhere, Joel and Beau are gone and while Tommy and Maria are here, they are not your people.

You feel empty and numb. You brace the edge of the table and fight back the racking, great gasps of breath as shock courses through your body. You’ve been fighting tears, fighting back the fear and emotion of the past weeks.

It wasn’t just this moment, it wasn’t just today. It was the anticipation, the fear, the secrets that have lasted seventeen years.

“You need to let Gabriel, Sean and Beau stay,” you say, “I know you won’t want me here and I’ll go. I’ll go, but please let me see them from time to time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry because I bought them here with my secrets and I’m sorry, Maria, please, please know that -” You cough, a sob Breaking through. “Please don’t make them leave too.”

“We’re not making you leave, we still want you here,” Maria says in a gentle voice. She’s looking at you in the same way as someone would a startled deer, trapped in the headlights. “We need to understand more - if you’re right, if there’s anyone here, what we need to worry about it, what this - this group could do. You can help though. And you’re not leaving. This is your home, you didn’t do anything -”

You feel warm, soft hands around you, hear soothing sounds as you finally allow yourself a moment to feel.

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul@pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable @iamskyereads @genetics4life @everyth1ngfan @frickatives @perennialdoll247 @joelsgreys @pedrobaby @missladym1981 @noisynightmarepoetry @picketniffler @titlee78

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #your hand in mine fic #fic: your hand in mine

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hbowardaily · 10 months ago

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HBOWarDaily is celebrating it's three years anniversary this month and we have also reached 2k followers recently. The first event in our celebration will be a Reblog Fest!

The goal of this positivity event is to encourage reblogs and comments in the fandom, we have so many amazing creators who deserve all the appreciation they can get!

During this one month long event, starting February 1st 2024, you will have day to day themes to follow with your reblogs, as we will do on the blog too!

How you can participate:

reblog and leave a comment in the tags to as many posts as you can covering the daily themes

all kind of posts from the fandom is welcomed

let's spread some positivity and discover new parts of the fandom with the daily themes!

Daily themes from February 1st to February 29th:

band of brothers

the pacific

generation kill

masters of the air

fanart

moodboards

fanfiction

gifset

fanvideo

graphics

playlist

memes

headcanons

post with 10 or less notes

post with less than 100 notes

post with more than 200 notes

OCs

ships

an underrated character

rare-pairs

favourite episode

favourite scene

favourite POV character

favourite background character

behind the scenes/cast

AUs

crossover/parallels

comment on AO3

free choice

Have fun with the event and spread some positivity!

#band of brothers #the pacific #generation kill #masters of the air #hbo war #hbowardaily #*events

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freezingmcxn · 5 months ago

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The Maine Forests AU

This is a creepypasta AU i made up many moons ago, this is a full break down of everything, there is certain things I need to go in depth with but they will have to be in a separate post, so please don’t hesitate to ask about anything you want to know more about!

Playlist to listen to when reading :)

My AU is set in Maine, obviously, but it primarily focuses on a place called Durham in my fanfiction.

Instead of all the creepypastas being confined to one large mansion, they live separate lives in different parts of Maine, some within the forests, some in towns.

Some of them have crossed paths and formed relationships, while others have not.

Those who live in the forests (although not all of them do) can move around various parts of Maine to stay hidden from society.

They only leave the forests to get supplies or, in some cases, to kill.

The forests are connected through a Portal System, allowing them to move around easily and stay hidden.

Portal System:

What is it? How does it work?

There are hidden gateways located deep within the forests of Maine.

For example, you can find a portal in Durham that leads to Carmel and vice versa.

90% of Maine is forests so you could go anywhere you wanted, this is extremely useful to the creeps who go about their lives slaughtering people.

These portals are invisible to the naked eye and are situated between two trees, which the creeps mark for convenience.

For those unaware of the forest's secrets, it would take months to understand this system.

Hikers or campers who accidentally wander through a portal become disoriented and confused due to the sudden transportation, leading them deeper into the forest and closer to any lurking creatures (or creeps).

These lost individuals are called "Wanderers" and are commonly seen by the creeps, standing around aimlessly and on edge, their sanity slipping as they’re usually scared shitless and very confused.

Wanderers usually die after a few hours but sometimes the torment can last days.

They usually die at the hands of feral entities, dehydration or hunger.

It’s rare that a creep will kill the wanderer as there’s a limit on how far creeps can go in the forest.

At a certain depth there’s a risk of being affected by The Slenderman or attacked by dangerous entities, most of them stay away.

Entities:

What Entites? Why are they there?

There's a lot to unpack about this topic.

The forests in Maine are unusual, there’s a supernatural element that nobody fully understands.

These forests are home to mythical creatures and cryptids like skinwalkers, wendigos, fairies, and various forms of the rake.

Some entities come across as humans, some do not. It is common to see shapeshifters.

All of these creatures exist because of the supernatural aura in the forests (I will discuss why this exists later in this post)

Many blogs online detail sightings of these unusual beings, most creatures are never close to hiking trails or forests outskirts so it’s easy to dismiss the claims as fake or hoxes.

Due to the forests being hotspots for all things supernatural, cult and satanic rituals take place within them.

Due to this a lot of demons, spirits, and other things of that sort arise and inhabit the trees.

Also, you should note that the Portal System allows some entities to appear anywhere at anytime.

The Forests:

What’s happening there? Danger Zones?

The forests are divided into three zones: Zone 1, Zone 2, and Zone 3.

As you move deeper into the forest, your chances of survival decrease. In addition to the natural dangers, there's also the looming threat of becoming a victim of The Slenderman.

Zone 1 (The Outskirts): This area includes parts of hiking trails and camping sites. Creatures here are generally not a major risk. You'll encounter normal forest animals and perhaps the occasional cryptid, but they aren't typically harmful.

Zone 2 (The Forest): This zone presents moderate threats, with a mix of bloodthirsty and harmless creatures. It's advisable to have someone with you for added safety, as an extra set of hands, eyes, and ears can be crucial. Additionally, this area is known to harbor various creeps living in cabins, tents, and campers.

Zone 3 (The Depths): In this barren and silent area, there are only two likely outcomes: becoming food for The Slenderman or one of his proxies. If you've made it this far without dying, the chances of survival are slim. No animals or sounds exist here, amplifying the eerie and deadly atmosphere.

The Slenderman:

Who is he? Whats his relevance?

This has changed over the past few months and Slenderman has came and gone from my AU but this is the official release of it so here’s the deal with him.

Important: The Slenderman is not the primary focus of this AU, it is more so focused on how the creeps survive and live their lives.

The Slenderman, like other mysterious creatures of the forest, is a manifestation of supernatural energy.

He lives in the deepest parts of the Durham forests, where he lures victims by calling their names and leading them off hiking trails, then feeds on their fear. (think of pennywise!)

He also targets "Wanderers," who end up in Zone 3.

These specific “Wanderers” usually end up becoming his proxies, they lead people to Zone 3 in order for him to feast on their fear.

The Slenderman gains strength with each feeding, empowering him to edge closer to civilisation and feed on the fear of more people.

However, despite growing his power, he has never successfully breached into inhabited areas (towns).

The Slenderman awakens every five years to feed, remaining active for one year during which he tries to move beyond the forest's boundaries.

During the time of my AU he is awake!

Proxies:

What are they? What’s their purpose?

PSA I did cross the Marble Hornets characters Brian (hoodie) and Tim (masky) but please be know I treat them differently than how they are portrayed in MH! I am aware that they are separate from creepypasta, this is for fun and convenience..(same is said for Kate)

Proxies are people who have become hollow shells under The Slenderman's control, they rarely speak or interact with others, it depends on how far gone they are.

Their actual consciousness is gone, The Slenderman can use their bodies to do his bidding by possessing them.

They are no longer their old selves and have no memory of what they were before serving The Slenderman.

The proxies help The Slenderman by luring new victims to him, helping him grow stronger. The reason he needs proxies is because he is confined to Zone 3 due to lack of “food” for lack of better term..No food means no growth, no growth means no power or ability to get close to his goal.

The furthest he has gotten before is Zone 2.

The Proxies are recognized by the others, who give them nicknames based on something unique about them.

For example, Kate, who wears steel-toe boots, is called "Boots," and Brian, who wears a bright yellow hoodie, is called "Hoodie."

Purus:

Whats is Purus? What’s their role in this?

Purus is the main reason the portals are open/were created. This is very detailed and an important part of my AU so please read for the full effect.

This is only a summary of the timeline, I can totally post that another time!

Purus, was a cult that emerged in the 1970s and captivated many until its abrupt end in the 1980s.

David Newton was once a seemingly ordinary real estate agent in Durham, David's life took an unexpected turn following a psychotic episode.

This episode plunged him into an obsession with religion, marked by vivid and terrifying hallucinations of a deity named Zalgo.

According to David, Zalgo revealed to him a chilling prophecy, the imminent collapse of both the “underworld” and overworld, an event that threatened all of humanity.

Compelled by these visions, David believed it, he took this as a sign, his divine duty was to lead people to safety and into a new era of salvation.

As he gathered followers, Purus became a sanctuary for those seeking refuge from the apocalypse.

David Newton’s followers abandoned their previous lives without a trace, retreating deep into Durham’s forests to live nomadically, cut off from civilisation.

Major concerns arose over these individuals who had vanished from society, raising alarms among authorities and loved ones left behind.

Within the forest, a disturbing atmosphere of mass hysteria took hold of those poor souls.

Driven by David’s incessant preachings of an impending apocalypse, the followers were consumed by a relentless wave of anxiety and fear.

The constant dread of the foretold collapse of both the “underworld” and overworld left them clinging desperately to David's promises of salvation amidst the looming threat.

David became convinced that creatures from the "underworld" had begun wearing the skins of the humans in the towns of Maine.

Fueled by this delusion, he initiated a series of terrifying hunts, targeting these supposed "skin stealers."

As paranoia spread, the cult's members were drawn into his madness, also participating in the brutal rituals.

These sacrifices became a grim staple of life within the cult, each ritual further binding the followers to David's twisted vision.

The once peaceful forest sanctuary devolved into a stage for their dark ceremonies, where fear and devotion merged in an attempt to ward off the apocalyptic doom they believed was closing in on them.

The cult began to spread beyond Durham’s forests, travelling across Maine.

They moved from town to town, convinced they were purging these places plagued with "skin stealers."

Each new town that encountered the grim rituals of Purus, was left with fear and devastation.

Hundreds were killed and thousands were reported missing during this time.

As authorities began to close in on the mysterious murders and disappearances linked to the cult, David Newton found himself under mounting pressure.

Unwilling to face capture before the apocalypse, he devised a final, desperate plan.

One day, he announced to his followers that Zalgo had delivered a new vision, the apocalypse was imminent, and their salvation lay within a nearby lake in Carmel, Maine.

Believing this lake to be a portal to a safe haven, David led his followers to its shores, proclaiming that they had finally reached the gateway to salvation.

In an almost euphoric state, the cult members rejoiced, convinced that their journey was at an end.

One by one, they entered the lake, seeking the promised sanctuary.

None survived.

The aftermath was gruesome.

Rumors spread through the surrounding towns, whispering that the bodies recovered from the lake had been disemboweled and despite a thorough search…

David Newton’s body was never found.

Some stated that he had escaped, while others believed he had met a fate even darker than that of his followers.

Purus haunted Maine long after the cult had vanished into the depths and left behind a whole new mess.

David led his cult through a sinister circuit, moving between Portland, Fort Kent, and Bangor in Maine.

These towns became the primary sites of their horrifying sacrifices. When viewed on a map, the locations form a triangle, with Carmel positioned at its center.

Theories suggest that the supernatural energy and portals that are now present in the forest are a direct result of the blood rituals carried out within this triangle.

David’s dark actions were thought to have unleashed a malevolent force, binding the locations in a web of significance.

Oh my god it’s finally finished..this has taken…a lot time and effort, I had worked on this throughout my finals trying to make it all make sense, so thank you so much for the patience and unwavering support :)

Asks are always open! I will be definitely spending lots more time on discussing my AU this summer and working on the fanfic as well :D

#creepypasta #asks open #au #headcanon #fanfic #creepypasta au #The Maine Forests #alternate universe #forest #aesthetic #creepypasta proxy #proxies #slenderman #horror #creative writing #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta fanfic

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moonstrider9904 · 5 months ago

Text

Pretty Thoughts

Part 3 of the Urban Flora mini series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Cross-posted to AO3 | Series Masterlist

Summary: You awaken to two truths - you are unmistakably in love with Crosshair, and you are both the main story on a popular gossip blog. Although this screams destruction for your reputation, what if it's a blessing in disguise?

Tags: Smut (18+ only), alcohol consumption, gossip, confrontation, female masturbation, vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie

Word count: 5.7k

Playlist: Pretty Thoughts by Alina Baraz

A/N: I've had the most fun writing and posting this series! Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, and shared! You are all the best. I hope you like the ending to this mini-series!

The nearly incessant beeping from your holopad woke you up after a night of heavy sleep. You were in that stage between your dreams and consciousness where you were just starting to make sense of things, and you reached to your nightstand for your holopad as you let out a groggy groan. When you unlocked it, your eyes widened at the screen, disregarding its glow on your pupils.

You had over 200 notifications among your messages and socials, and you quickly decided that couldn't be good.

You sat up on your bed and turned on your lamp - the sun was just beginning to rise outside, and the blinds in your bedroom blocked most of whatever light could come in anyways. You crossed your legs and held your holopad in front, and you opted to check your direct messages from any friends. First, you checked the messages from your closest friend, Pen, whom you rarely saw, but you could always confide in, and your heart nearly leapt from your chest when you saw the picture of Crosshair wearing the outfit he had on the day before, looking at the camera with a hint of confusion, but still composed and handsome as he normally was, and you recognized the area he was standing in as the street just outside the motel you had visited the day before.

Below the image, Pen's text read: Daaayum! Are all clones this fine? Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?

You closed out of her conversation and went onto your ongoing conversation with a different friend, Eloise, the daughter of the Senator from Corellia: Heads up, you and your mystery man made it to Scandal Gal.

Below, she had attached the full screenshot of the blog post, and below Crosshair’s picture, you read the caption:

Wakey wakey, high society: Sweetie's mystery man appears to be a silver fox dream. My sources say he was spotted entering a hotel with Sweetie and then leaving it, with our damsel of the moment seen leaving earlier than him, apparently glowing. While we may be left to fantasize about the happenings within the motel's walls, what I'm more interested to know is if this handsome young soldier is willing to introduce any of his brothers to us poor, starving gals. Consider me first in line.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you did what you knew you shouldn't have done and went over to Scandal Gal's blog and read the comments, though to your surprise, none of the comments were dragging you. You'd half expected to be called a slut by every commenter, but most of the thirsty girls in the blog were fawning at how handsome Crosshair was. You didn't particularly like a horde of girls digitally cat-calling your man, but you preferred that over a ruined reputation.

Overnight, you had become a phenomenon. What started as a picture with a few comments speculating about your encounter at the opera was now a full-fledged story that easily hundreds of people around the east side of Coruscant were following. You read multiple comments talking wonders about Crosshair, others talking wonders about you, very many admiring your relationship and how attractive you both looked together—and a few comments here and there dragging you and/or Crosshair, as expected, but overall, you and Crosshair had taken over the holonet for all the right reasons.

You wanted to laugh, but a part of it freaked you out as well. You’d never made a high profile of yourself. You’d always enjoyed your spoils in life in as private a way as possible, and the few times you’d actually made it to Scandal Gal had been because a dress you wore somewhere was beautiful, not because of your love life.

And only then, it hit you—did Crosshair know about this? And if he did, how would he take it?

Catastrophizing wouldn’t get you anywhere. You got up from your bed and put on your bathrobe, which rested on the armrest of the cozy chair next to your bed. You opened the blinds of your bedroom and took a moment to admire the Coruscant skyline with the sun making its way up the sky, dancing with a few clouds against the light blue hue. You exited your bedroom and headed past your living room with your holopad in hand, towards the kitchen to brew your coffee. As the coffee brewed, you opened the blinds to the rest of your apartment and basked in the morning peace far away from any whispers of scandal that lived in your holopad. You figured that was the bright side of it all—whether it was good talk or bad talk, it only lived in your holopad, and it wasn’t going to make its way into your calm morning.

The calm was interrupted when the door to your apartment flew open, and your mother seemed to glide inside, letting the door close behind her. Her eyes scanned the apartment until they found you, and you couldn’t decide if she was angry at you or not. At the sight of you, your mother sighed—even in her apparent disappointment, which you wouldn’t pretend not to know the cause of, your mother had a regal stance worthy of the senator of Coruscant, with her dark beige suit and her expertly done hair; even her floral scent that commanded respect.

You tried to be as nonchalant as possible, gesturing at the coffee brewer with your hand and raising your eyebrows. Your mother sighed again and shook her head, and instead, she gestured with her chin at the holopad that rested on your counter.

“Have you opened that thing this morning?” She asked you.

“Yes,” you uttered.

“Darling, what were you thinking?” Your mother now seemed more worried than angry at you. “Do you at least know this man well enough?”

“Well enough to know I’m head over heels for him,” you admitted.

“And then there’s that ridiculous gossip site,” your mom continued. “I tell myself it’s no big deal, just a little source of entertainment for spoiled rich teens with nothing better to do, but I can’t fathom the fact that now they’re picking on you. I’m too nervous to read any of the posts or the comments thinking about all the horribly unkind things everyone’s sharing about you… people can be so cruel.”

You sighed. “I know, but, Mom… as far as I’ve checked, the things Scandal Gal and the readers are saying aren’t that bad…”

“Meaning?” She inquired.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “They love him. They’re saying he’s devastatingly handsome and fawning over him, some of them even want to go stand outside the clone bar to see if they can get boyfriends.”

“But what are they saying about you?” She asked.

“I’m a hero. They like my dress, the scarf I wore, and the man I’m with. I think there’s an ongoing wager as to whether or not I’ll marry him,” you delivered blankly.

Your mother’s eyes widened, and you held in your laughter at her reaction.

“Mom, relax,” you said. “I’m not saying I will. But I do really like him. And all things considered, I expected mayhem, and even if there are a few mean things here and there, they don’t compare to how good most of the responses are.”

“That’s rare,” your mother admitted. “And I suppose you’re right, you can’t control what everyone says.”

“And I won’t try to,” you agreed. “I’m just saying it could be a lot worse and if it’s not as bad as I thought it could be, I’m gonna embrace it.”

For a split second, your mother looked at you in plain disbelief. Regardless, she sighed, straightened her back, and gathered herself, and she met your gaze again with understanding.

“Alright, now tell me, who is this man?” She asked.

“He’s the sniper who took out the assassin who tried to kill the Chancellor,” you said as you poured your cup of coffee.

Your mom raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows too, pouring another cup for your mother.

“I met him at the start of the opera,” she explained. “I even invited him to our box, but he said he already had one, he didn’t want to refuse it and seem rude.”

“Yeah, he was invited because of his efforts,” you said. “In fact, I… I met him during the final intermission at the opera. We got to talking and he’s just… fascinating.”

Those were all the details you’d give to your mother about that night.

Your mother’s demeanor seemed to soften as she drank from the coffee you’d given her. With a soft exhale, she set the cup down on the counter and pressed her hands together in front of her chest, avoiding your gaze for a few moments.

“Sweetie, I don’t want you to think I’m exploiting your relationship with this man,” she began.

You tilted your head. That was one of the last things you’d expected her to say.

She then met your gaze. “But this is actually a very good look.”

“What, for you?” You asked.

Your mother chuckled. “I have spent months collaborating with Senator Chuchi to pass a clone rights bill. When your… boyfriend…”

You chuckled. “Crosshair.”

She nodded slowly. “Right. When Crosshair saved the Chancellor’s life, we got a lot more support, but we’re not quite there yet. Too many people view the clones as vessels bred for combat, not as actual human beings with human emotions and human needs. And, as triumphant as Crosshair was in saving the Chancellor, his effort was still that of a soldier, hence why we’re, as I said…”

“Not quite there yet,” you continued. “And… you think that if I’m public with him, so public that people are talking about relationships and gossiping like they do with anyone else in our society, he’ll look more human.”

“And by extension, the rest of the clones,” your mother added. “It just might shift the tide in favor of finally giving them some more rights.”

You smiled softly and took another ship of your coffee. “I love the sound of that. I just don’t know how I feel about scheming regarding Crosshair.”

“Be honest with him, then,” your mother suggested. “If you’re not on board, be as private as you possibly can, I won’t hold it against you. It was just an idea. And now that I think about it…”

You looked up at her again, waiting for what else she had to say.

“We do have that art gala coming up tonight,” she suggested. “Why don’t you invite him?”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll ask him. I wouldn’t mind getting all fancy and seeing him, but for starters, he needs to want to go.”

“He went to the opera, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but that was an invitation of honor,” you answered. “And he didn’t seem like a fish out of water, but I can’t help thinking this just isn’t what he’s used to.”

Your mother gazed at you sincerely. “Don’t you cage him into the label of a soldier, too. If you like this man and you want to be with him, you’re going to have to realize he’s more than that.”

You raised both of your brows. You knew she was right, and to have heard that coming from your mother, it meant volumes. You barely ever approached what she did inside the senate, but you pondered on how much her words made sense based on what little she’d shared with you about her efforts with the Pantoran senator. And even if she wasn’t trying to pass a clone rights bill, she was still right—Crosshair was a living, breathing man, and even though you knew he was a soldier, you hadn’t met him as such. You’d seen him at a high society gathering over drinks. You’d shared coffee and bantered with him, kissed him under the rain, made love to him time and time again until you couldn’t get him out of your thoughts.

As soon as your mother left, you reached for your holopad and ignored the multiple notifications you had, heading straight for Crosshair’s frequency number and typing out your message at least three times before sending it, trying to find the most chill way to invite him to the art gala. You sent the message and waited for the reply, frantically scurrying to your holopad anytime it vibrated. For a while, he didn’t answer, and before you lost hope, you finally saw the notifications coming in from Crosshair.

Can’t resist another little encounter with me, can’t you, Sweetie?

You chuckled, but you felt nervous at the same time. That obviously meant he’d been, in some way, exposed to Scandal Gal too.

How fancy do I have to dress? His next message came in shortly after.

You chuckled at your phone and typed back: Fancy enough to knock everyone dead.

Instantly, Crosshair replied: ’Kay. I’ll be there.

After you texted him all the details of the event, you went about your day with a twinge of excitement sprinkled over your every move. The sun made its way around the sky until it was time for you to get ready for the event, and for this occasion, you chose a dark purple dress paired with long black gloves and no necklace, since you’d be wearing your hair down your shoulders. The dress’s top had a black ribbon outlined in the shape of a triangle, with the base at your waist, and it was filled with discreet black sequins. On the right shoulder, where the dress’s top met your sleeve, you placed a dark gray brooch that your mother had given you on your eighteenth birthday, and looking at yourself in the mirror, you were almost ready to go. You did your makeup and grabbed your purse, and then you went out the door to the nightlife of Coruscant, where your mother was already waiting at the bottom of the building with a vehicle.

Your pulse was racing for the whole ride, knowing you would meet Crosshair there. You clutched your purse with both hands over your pressed thighs, and you could feel beads of sweat forming in your palms, having to take deep breaths from time to time to keep yourself steady. The vehicle finally arrived at the gala and parked just in front of the red carpet you were meant to walk on, and only then it dawned on you that multiple pairs of eyes thirsting for scandal would be on you. But you wouldn’t back out, not now, not when you were the very image of elegance in society about to meet with your Silver Fox Dream, as Scandal Gal had put it.

You resolved to knock them all dead too.

The door on your side of the vehicle was opened by an usher, and you stepped out, straightening your posture and taking in the scenery of flashing cameras and excited partygoers, and confident as you looked, your heartbeat hadn’t calmed down in the slightest. You looked around, scanning for the only person you were interested in seeing.

And soon enough, your eyes landed on him. His attire was possibly better than the one he wore the night of the opera, with a slim fit pitch-black suit and shirt, adorned with a burgundy vest under the coat, and rich red rose in his breast pocket. Crosshair’s watchful eyes gazed back at you, and as you remained still in front of your vehicle while your mother got out, Crosshair made his way to you, letting you behold every detail on him as he got closer to you, and when he was finally right in front of you, you took in all of him.

Crosshair was strikingly debonair, undeniably gorgeous, charming in his pride and confidence. He even smelled incredible. His tall figure seemed to loom protectively over you, complimenting your lack of height when you stood next to him, and you both made such a perfect pair you almost hoped that gossiping teenage girls were in proximity to behold your beauty, perhaps even eat their hearts out as a treat for you.

“Miss,” Crosshair greeted as he took your hand and brought it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

His gentle kiss ignited every inch of your skin as you briefly remembered the moments of passion you’d already shared with that man. You gave him a demure smile, taking one step closer to him, wishing with every fiber of your body to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss not unlike the one you’d had under the rain the day before, but perhaps it wasn’t the time or place for such a public display. Moreover, as Crosshair was lowering your hand down from his gesture, your mother exited the vehicle and appeared at your side, smiling at Crosshair.

He acknowledged her and gave her the hint of a smile, taking a slight bow. “Ma’am.”

He held out his hand, offering her the chance to be greeted in a similar way as you, and to your surprise, your mother obliged.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” your mother said to him. “I didn’t know you’d met my daughter until this morning.”

“She’s a wonderful lady, ma’am,” Crosshair responded without a hint of hesitation or insecurity.

You were in awe at how easily he was getting along with your mother as the two continued to make small conversation, and soon enough, your mom went ahead and entered the building, with you and Crosshair following behind, your arm linked in his. Camera flashes on you weren’t scarce, and in the distance, you could hear high-pitched cries of “There they are!” and “They’re so hot together!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at yourself.

“Basking in your triumph?” Crosshair broke the silence between you.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“That was a bold move, inviting me here, introducing me to your mother,” he continued, his features holding the sternness they usually did, but you picked up on no disgust on his behalf.

“Yeah, well…” You said. “Overnight, we kind of became public figures, you and me. There’s this gossip site that’s been following me around for a while, nothing major, but when you and I started talking at the opera, we got popular.”

“Ah, Scandal Gal,” Crosshair mused. “Yes, I was approached and stalked by a teen.”

You nearly snorted trying to hold in your laughter. “What?”

“The picture of me that’s on that site was taken by a sixteen-year-old girl,” Crosshair said, smirking. “Somehow, I’m more afraid of gossip-hungry teens than I am of tactical droids.”

You chuckled. “They’re formidable, alright.”

“So… you’re feeding them what they want by bringing me here?” He continued the conversation.

“No, not exactly,” you replied. “That’s a side effect. Because of Scandal Gal, my mom rushed over to my place this morning panicking a little, but I explained to her that… well…”

You and Crosshair had just reached the bar of the opulent salon where the gala was being held, and you both took a seat on your respective stools. Crosshair eyed you with intrigue as you trailed off, prompting you to speak up, and you realized why you’d stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say.

But this was Crosshair. He was a dream incarnate, and you were already there with him, a striking and attractive couple that commanded everyone’s attention, and you found yourself smiling at him as your pulse rose once more.

“That I… I feel a lot for you,” you said. “That I really like you, Crosshair, and this isn’t a meaningless fling for the sake of shock value to me.”

Crosshair maintained eye contact with you, and his features softened ever so slightly, so discreetly that an untrained eye wouldn’t have been able to notice. He broke eye contact with you to gesture at the bartender and order drinks for both of you, and then he turned back to you, with his lips curving to a smirk.

“Well, well,” he hummed. “How touching.”

It was good that he didn’t appear repulsive at your sentiments, but your poor, racing heart would need a more precise answer. Then, Crosshair’s smirk widened, and he looked down at his knees, letting his inner softness glow through if only for a moment.

“It’s not meaningless for me either,” he replied.

You smiled brightly and exhaled the tension from your chest. “Really?”

“Really,” he answered.

“Then… there’s something else you should know,” you said.

And you then explained how your mother wouldn’t use you both, but that you were supporting her cause in the senate, how him being exposed to something other than the front lines would put clones in a more human light, at least to the members of the senate who were still on the fence. You even gave Crosshair the opportunity to back out immediately if he felt like his strings were being pulled, but all the while, Crosshair remained with that serene smile at you, and when you were done talking, Crosshair reached for your hands and held them in his.

“Does this bill mean I’ll get paid more?” He asked.

You laughed openly, and he chuckled in return just as the drinks he’d ordered were placed beside you by the bartender.

“Sweetie,” he said to you. “I don’t care much about the other things. Not Scandal Gal, not the Senate, although that bill sounds decent. I came here to be with you because I can’t get you out of my brain. You’re not what I pictured a high-society woman to be, and… well…”

You smiled softly at him, and now it was your turn to prompt him to speak.

“Now that you’ve introduced me to your mother,” he said, “I hope I get the chance to introduce you to my brothers too.”

Your smile widened. “You’d do that?”

He nodded, smiling softly at you. “You’re a smart girl, you can handle it.”

You laughed and reached for your drink, an Urban Flora cocktail that could have been an exact replica of the one you drank when you first met Crosshair at the opera. You took a sip of it without breaking eye contact with Crosshair, and when you lowered your drink, you raised a brow at him.

“But can you handle the Coruscant high societal scene?” You asked.

Crosshair took a sip of his own drink, the smoky, rich Corellian whisky he loved so much, and he leaned in closer to you, close enough for you to smell the smooth, luscious drink on his breath.

“Try me, Sweetie,” he purred.

You giggled, and you both gently bumped your glasses together, and you went on to continue talking about whatever sparked your interest as you finished your drinks. Crosshair told you about his missions, his brothers, even a couple of anecdotes of when he was a young cadet. In turn, you told him about your days as a schoolgirl, your plans for the future, what you liked to do in your spare time, the planets you longed to visit all over the galaxy. And then, when the glasses were empty and the conversation was fulfilled, you and Crosshair stood up from the bar and went around the room, and you greeted most of your friends and acquaintances as well as introduced Crosshair to all of them. Crosshair was a flying success with everyone, and you couldn’t help but gawk at him just a little. The night wore on as smoothly as velvet, until it was getting late, and you were bound to return home.

You directed a look at Crosshair, a look that was filled with allure, and he reciprocated. Quick goodbyes were said, and soon, you were sitting with Crosshair at the back of your vehicle as the chauffeur flew you home. As you sat together, you were in silence, and though Crosshair was great with words, you’d learned he was far better with his actions, and he reached for the rose on his breast pocket and handed it to you. You smiled at him, slightly flustered, and for the remainder of the ride, you scooched closer to him and leaned your weight on him, eager to arrive at the privacy of your apartment.

You had no intention of waiting. After you and Crosshair had left the vehicle, the moment the elevator doors closed behind you, you were both on each other. Your hands ran all over his back as you both locked lips, hungrily devouring each other in that small space, and you then let your palms rest on his chest. Crosshair took each of your hands and tugged gently at your middle fingertips, enough to hold onto the gloves you wore as you slid your hands down and the delicate fabric came off, exposing your skin. You heard Crosshair shudder softly before he took you into his arms again, kissing you as passionately as before, and you both felt the elevator pulling to a stop.

You gathered yourselves—there was no need to surprise someone waiting for the elevator with a steamy scene—but when you found there was no one there to see you, you and Crosshair held hands as you made your way over to your penthouse, and the moment the door closed behind you both, you were on each other’s lips once more. Your wandering hands removed his coat and his vest, and he found the zipper at the back of your dress. He lowered the zipper, causing the dress’s blouse to fall limply around your silhouette, and you took a step back, wanting him to watch as you wiggled out of the dress and let the fabric fall gracefully on the floor, leaving you to step out of it.

Crosshair eyed you hungrily as you approached him. Your breasts hung freely at your front, and he didn’t miss the hickey he’d left on your ribs the day before. On your hips, there was a pair of lace black panties, but the top prize was easily taken by the stockings that covered you from the middle of your thighs to your toes, which he couldn’t make himself tear his gaze from. You chuckled and took his hands, leading him slowly into your bedroom, and he followed you blissfully until you were at the foot of your bed.

You let go of him and sat back all the way to your headboard. You pressed your legs together and slowly slid your panties away from you, tossing them aside, and you spread your legs to show him, never once breaking eye contact with him. Your gaze was alluring, slightly teasing, and Crosshair watched. He watched as you spread your legs and took your hand to your inner thigh, teasing your skin, until your fingers finally brushed fully over your folds and your clit. You let out a playful gasp, smirking at him and taunting him, and as he watched, Crosshair began to undress. Your smirk widened, and you continued to touch yourself in the way you most liked, delighted by the sight of him losing the clothes that covered him. Your cunt was wet and swollen, pulsating and sensitive, all you needed to do was increase your pace ever so slightly and you’d tip yourself over the edge—as Crosshair crawled onto the mattress, you decided to give him the full show. Making sure his eyes were still on you, you applied more pressure onto your clit and used your three middle fingers to rub, and looking into his eyes, you finally got to enjoy the waves of your orgasm.

You reveled in how hungry Crosshair looked, pleased and aroused by the little show you put on for him. Crosshair couldn’t help but take his hand over to his cock, pumping slowly as he watched you pleasing yourself, until your orgasm faded, and your moans quieted when you removed your hand. You found Crosshair’s gaze and pouted at him, holding your hand in front of you and curling your finger, beckoning him to come to you. With a smirk, Crosshair obliged, and he positioned himself between your legs, planting soft kisses around your inner thighs before brushing his tongue lusciously over your folds. He moaned into your skin, and you whimpered in return, dazed and sensitive after your antics.

As Crosshair continued to please you with his skilled tongue and lips, you suddenly felt his fingers finding yours. You spread your hand before interlacing your fingers with his, holding him as he brought you closer to another release. Your body squirmed harder than it had the first time around, the white-hot ecstasy seeming to explode within every fiber of your body. You didn’t hold back with your moaning, letting his name escape you many a time, enticed by the velvety texture of his tongue contrasting with the raspiness surrounding his jawline.

When Crosshair emerged from between your legs, you tugged on him, prompting him to rest at your eye level. You wanted to feel him close to you, and Crosshair knew what it was you desired. With your legs still spread, you rested back and let him take the lead, feeling as he slowly inserted himself within your tight, warm walls. You both moaned in unison and stared deeply into each other’s eyes as he began his thrusts slowly, luxuriously letting you feel everything. Your lips begged for his, and you perked your face up to kiss him as you felt your body gently bouncing on the mattress in his rhythm. Crosshair’s kisses made you float higher and higher, and drenched in pleasure and ecstasy, you felt like you were in paradise. Crosshair was truly capable of taking you there.

Crosshair paused his kisses on your lips and lifted himself to look at you, his gaze stern and seductive as he increased the snapping of his hips. He grunted as he hammered into you, shuddering and twitching inside you in anticipation, soon unable to contain soft groans and whimpers. Crosshair looked straight into your eyes, flooded by adoration of you, until the pleasure was too much for him to keep his eyes open even as much as he wanted to gaze into you. His eyes shut and the rhythm of his hips became unfathomably fast, and so too, you descended into bliss for the third time that night. You smiled amidst your orgasm, chiming his name in a delicious moan, your hand still securely holding his as he released inside you and fell limp on the mattress beside you afterwards.

You both panted, each your own dazed and flustered mess as you made futile attempts to recover, but as much as you were both unable to do much else, you remained holding each other’s hands. As time passed, you soon felt Crosshair’s thumb brushing delicately up and down your finger, and you watched him with a tender gaze. You felt you’d fall asleep right there, and if you did, you knew you would want for nothing. You knew you’d have nothing to worry about for as long as you were together, and the pain of temporary separations would be worth it if it was Crosshair you would wait for.

And there on your mattress, filled with love, resolve, and exhaustion, you drifted off into sleep.

A gentle sunlight and the song of birds woke you up. You noticed the space beside your bed was empty, and you didn’t waste time getting up and placing your robe over you as you sought out your lover. You walked over to the living room and your attention was drawn to the balcony, where he stood with his back turned on you, shirtless and wearing his pants from the night before, gazing out at the scenery.

You took a moment to admire him and the way his skin appeared golden under the morning sun, contrasting almost artistically with the green plants on your balcony, the blue sky, and the skyline ahead. With soft steps, you approached him and stepped out onto the balcony, and you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder blade. Crosshair delicately shuffled and brought your figure next to him, draping his arm around you, and you both stood in silence for a few peaceful moments, watching the scenery.

“What are you watching?” You asked him, knowing it was in his nature to observe.

His amber eyes scanned the scenery, and he almost looked humbled. He had the face of an innocent life being beholding the universe ahead of them, realizing how small they truly were in comparison to the greatness of creation itself.

“Out there, as soldiers,” Crosshair began, “it often feels like we fight because it’s all we know. We were made for it. Myself, my brothers, more obviously bred for different purposes, all to serve one war. But aside from why we were created, we never really stop to think what we’re fighting for.”

You looked up at him, watching his features soften in realization as he spoke. Crosshair then angled his body more towards you, and he held you tighter, pressing you to the warmth of his skin, watching you with the most tender gaze you had ever felt on you.

“I won’t forget this next time I’m on the battlefield,” he continued.

“You mean, Coruscant?” You asked. “The Republic, these people, this skyline… peace?”

He smiled. “I mean you.”

You smiled at him, devoted.

Crosshair chuckled. “All of that, too, but, mostly you.”

“Oh, Crosshair,” you wrapped your arms around him and perked on your toes, requesting a kiss.

Crosshair obliged and kissed you gently, almost carefully, feeling as the sunshine draped over his skin. He wished he could remain there longer, but he had a duty, a duty that had brought him to you, and a duty that he had to fulfill in order to one day be with you more properly. He knew that, with you on Coruscant waiting for him, he’d always have a reason to return, and a reason to keep fighting. He’d never thought of a life besides being a soldier, but if you were in it, it couldn’t be so bad.

And out there, on that balcony, Crosshair held you close to him until the very last moment he could spare with you, until he had to leave again to be a soldier, always with the promise of returning to you.

This just in: Sweetie and Sniper Man are still together and far more public now that I and my loyal sources have done our job ;) I do think we have a power couple in our midst, and the next time these two show up at a fancy event dressed to impress, you’ll hear about it from none other than yours truly. I certainly wish the happy couple all the best, and my challenge towards Sniper Man to bring forth more eligible men from the fine and respectable GAR still stands. Help us gals out, Sniper Man, we all love you so much, and we can’t let Sweetie keep all the spoils!

Yours truly!

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