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just-some-random-blogger · 14 days ago

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Tormented Spirit | 9

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN. T_T canon stuff/medieval health care might not be accurate so ROLLLL with it ok. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Daemon takes you to the dining room, and upon entering, you are met with Rhaenyra and Alicent, who were in the middle of eating lunch. For a split second, you are happy to see them both, but then you remember the horrible news regarding the princess's mother.

Daemon is taken off-guard by how you pull away from him. He knits his brows, following after you as you head towards his niece, deeply annoyed by how easily you disregard him. But upon hearing the words you speak, he freezes.

"My deepest condolences, my princess," you curtsy at Rhaenyra before placing a hand on her shoulder.

She is dejected and her eyes are sullen as she turns to you.

"She was in active labor last I saw her..." you shake your head, finding the words to say, "it is terrible to be without a mother," you turn to your sister, placing a hand on her shoulder as well, "the pain never quite leaves you. My sister and I know it well."

Rhaenyra turns back to her food, "how good to know."

You frown and crouch down beside her, "darling."

Rhaenyra slowly turns back to you, tears now falling from her eyes.

"Pain is difficult... but I've come to realize," you swipe her cheek, "it makes peace all the more precious." You chuckle under your breath when your own eyes begin to water, "I would know."

Alicent frowns, quickly feeling her own eyes well up at the display.

The same happens to Daemon. He watches three girls weep and his face hardens as he comes to Rhaenyra's side, "bisa tolī kessa rēbagon, ñuha riña." This too shall pass, my girl.

Rhaenyra turns to her uncle as he grabs her hand, heavy tears stream down her face, "ziry ōdragon." It hurts.

Daemon is supposed to say something, but then he notices Alicent begin to fuss over you. You softly brush her off as you come to stand. Alicent is quick to stand with you, and she is glad to have done so, because you nearly topple back.

Rhaenyra's hand is quickly dropped when Daemon comes to your side, calling out your name. You sheepishly turn to him, apologizing over and back as he escorts you to a seat.

Rhaenyra stares at you as her uncle sits you in the chair across her She watches how Daemon treats you, thinking she's never seen him treat anyone like this before, much less a lady. It makes her sorrow all the more sour.

He brushes your back but only calms after your food is served and he's seen you eat a few bites. He takes a goblet of wine but his eyes remain fixed on you, "better?"

You turn to him, sheepish, still, "I am. Thank you, darling."

Alicent's eyes widen at the sound of the pet name. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes with a huff. It is precisely that sound that makes you realize what you've said. You were used to referring to Alicent and Rhaenyra that, it came so naturally this moment, "I- I mean-"

"Where is your father?" Daemon turns to Rhaenyra, seemingly not noticing your slip up. He did notice, but why wouldn't you call him darling?

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw as she shakes her head, "mourning his lost heir."

Both you and your husband's face fall. You turn from the princess to the prince, reaching for his hand. Daemon clutches your hand as his brows constrict, "your brother is dead?"

"Just last night," Rhaenyra absentmindedly stirs her food, "his and my mother's funereal will be held in a few hours."

Your heart hurts for her, "my deepest sympathies for your losses, princess."

There is a thick silence for a moment. You all find it quite hard to eat, but you do so regardless. You force feed yourself through the unpleasant churn in your belly. After a while, you look across the room, finding that it looked everyone was experiencing the same thing. You break the silence, turning to your sister, "perhaps Alicent can accompany you to the temple to pray. It did always help me."

Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, but she does not react.

Your sister looks back at you and you give her a nod of encouragment. Alicent thinks for a moment, "a walk there be good for you as well."

You smile at the red haired girl.

"My prayers are terrible," Rhaenyra mumbles.

You huff and frown at the thought, "it is impossible. No prayer is terrible, especially not one spoken in earnest."

Rhaenyra remembers how her septa would use you as an example for praying. She sniffles, "would you join us, aunt?"

You perk and immediately nod, "I would love t-"

"No," Daemon quips, placing his silverware down, "I do not want to be subjected to tolling bells and incense."

You all turn to him as Daemon turns to you. You slowly shake your head, "if... that is the case, you do not have to come."

Daemon's eyes widen ever so slightly in offense.

"Perhaps you can wa-"

"Kesan daor mītepagon ao ñuha ābrazȳrys," I will not lend you my wife, says Daemon to Rhaenyra.

You turn from your husband to his niece. Rhaenyra looks back at you, "he says he will not lend you to me."

Your lips part, giving him a look, "Daemon."

"She has your sister," he turns to you, "if they need another companion, lend her your ward."

A long silence passes.

Rhaenyra stares her half-empty plate and decides that's as much as she'll ever get to eat in this moment. She pushes her chair back and stands, "I'm quite finished," she looks between the table. Alicent takes a final spoonful before standing as well.

"Raqagon aōha ābrazȳrys, kepa," enjoy your wife, uncle, Rhaenyra says as she walks off. Alicent follows after her, and both girls look at you as you stand to greet them goodbye. Daemon simply looks at his niece.

Rhaenyra, though she always harbored a special affection towards her uncle, could not find it in her to project her ire out on you, for you were nothing but kind to her, and after all, you were her closest friend's older sister. She nods at you as she leaves, "princess."

"Princess," you nod back and do the same for Alicent, "sister. Take care of each other."

Once they are gone, you sit back down and glare at Daemon.

It takes a moment for him to realize it. When he catches your look, his brows contort. You immediately quip, "would it very hard for you to stomach the ambience of the temple for an hour?"

Daemon turns back to his plate. He thinks of the night he came to you at the temple, "just because I came for you does not mean I wish to do the same for Rhaenyra."

You knit your brows deeply, not having a clue on what he's saying, "what?"

The image of sorrowful wailing still haunts him, and your prayer for death is not something he wishes to hear ever again. You cannot pray such prayers if you are not in that fucking place, "I forbid you from going to the temple."

"You forbid me?" you ask, flabbergasted.

"It is my prerogative where I go, and-" he turns back to you, "where my wife does."

You stare at him for a moment. You feel frustration bubble in your belly, "Daemon."

Anger bubbles in his belly.

You reach for his hand and gaze upon him in confusion, "the child's mother is dead."

He looks at your hand before his away, "I knew her mother longer than she has."

You chuckle in disbelief, pulling your head back. He looks at you, jaw set and eyes glassy. You shake your head slowly, "that's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Daemon laughs, hurt by your sentiment.

"Her mother is dead," you shake your head rapidly, "she who taught her everything she kno-"

Daemon stands abruptly, jaw and fists clenched tightly, making you flinch. He stares at you for a long moment and you feel your breath begin to grow heavy. You slowly reach for his hand, half expecting him to rip his arm away. When he does not, you come to a stand, "Dae-"

"You impress me with your commitment to understand everyone else but I."

His words stab you like a spear through the chest. Your eyes begin to water, "is that what you think I'm do-"

"Then what?!" he snaps, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

You begin to sob and you take his cheeks, "I'm trying to make you understand what I am thinking, why I want to go with Rhaenyra, because I know what it fee-"

"Do I not mourn?" Daemon swats your hand away from him. He quickly turns away when his tears begin to fall. He does not get to notice how you twitch at his action, nor how instantly your heart begins to race.

He walks off to the door, stopping for a moment, waiting for you to come after him. You do not.

More accurately, you cannot. You clutch your chest and try to calm yourself before you slip into a full blown attack. You force yourself to take five deep breaths, and thankfully, you do not feel light headed.

Daemon, too wrapped up in his self-suffering, does not even think to look at you and storms out of the dining room.

By the time the doors slam shut, you are able to bring yourself to go after your husband. You move as quickly as you can, convincing yourself sprinting was worth it if you managed to catch up to Daemon. The thing was, you were still a terrible runner, and it if wasn't hard enough to catch your breath, you were screaming out the prince's name as you did, making it doubly hard.

Daemon, on the other hand, did not have to try to walk as fast as he did. He is walking so fast, if anyone were to crash into him, they would shoot off and hurt themselves.

It doesn't take long for you to lose your breath, and though you didn't want to, your body to forces you to stop. You were so close. You managed to catch a whiff of Daemon's silver hair, but now everything was turning silver... then black. You reach to the side to lean against the wall, but you miscalculate your reach and shift your weight, only to slip and crash roughly onto the ground.

You're so out of breath, no sound comes out of you when you crash. The pain is immense, yet you are rendered mute. Your ribs throb at the impact of colliding against the stone floor. You do not know it, but your nose it bleeding too.

It's a wonder that you did not pass out. Or perhaps it was the gods' will for you to feel fibre of your body strangle itself from how your lungs struggled, as punishment for being unkind to your husband.

You do know know it, but two Gold Cloaks find you on the floor. They are quick to bring you to the maester's ward. You hear them explain to the measter how they found you, and you muster up your remaining energy to say, "Daemon... please."

The two Gold Cloaks understand and leave with the intent of sending your husband to you. They will not manage to find him till much later for he went off on dragonback.

You lie on one of the cots in the maester's ward, staring at the ceiling you've come to know all too well. You know your maester can do little to help you in this moment, but you are grateful for his care nonetheless.

"You mustn't strain yourself in your condition, your grace," the old man says, "you are carrying a child within you."

You tense at his words. Your sit up and straighten your back, rapidly shaking your head, "b-but, maester, how can that be? It cannot be."

He offers you a solemn look, "your father, Lord Hand, has made us monitor you-"

"He does not finish inside me," you quip and frantically motion, "he- he... he spills on my skin. How then can I be with child?"

The maester is taken aback by your confession. He does not give himself away though and calmly explains, "it is still possible for... the seed take root from premature ejaculation."

You are floored by this information. You shake your head in disagreement, "but— he will not believe me."

"He does not have to. It does not ch-"

"He will do everything to villainize me. He will accuse me of infidelity."

He frowns, "I can explain it to-"

"No!" you grab his arms, "you must not tell him! You must not tell a soul."

He pulls his head back, "your grace..." he brings your hands slowly off him, "you can only hide such a thing for so long."

You shake your head and bring yourself to stand, "it is a worry for another time."

"Wait- you cannot leave-"

"I cannot miss the queen's funeral."

The maester does his best to prevent you from leaving. He calmly tries to lead you back to bed and explain that no one would fault you for being unable to attend. You are persistent however and managed to get out of the room. Two other maesters come and try to reel you back in, and it is the same time your wards come running in.

News of you fainting had spread like wildfire, and both their faces were marked with avid worry. "Princess!" they call in unison.

"Make them release me!" you wail in exhaustion as you fight off the maesters.

"She cannot go," your maester says, "she is far too weak."

"Unhand her this instant!" Erryk barks, ready to forcefully shove the old men away from you.

The maesters pull away in shock and confusion as Erryk imposes upon them. Arryk is the one to keep you upright, and he is horrified by the state you are in. You lean into his armour, lulled by his hard steel as you sigh in exhaustion.

"You would subdue her in such a state?" Arryk snaps.

"She is hysterical," the maester says, "she is not strong enough to-"

"Aye, but she's strong enough to fight off 3 grown men?" Arryk grits his teeth as he keeps you upright, "have you not given her medication?"

He sighs, "there is no medication fo-"

"Then what business has she here?" Erryk raises his brows, "you'd keep her to rot?"

The man scoffs, "I am offended, ser, that you think you know better than I when it comes to the health of the princes."

"I do know better," Erryk snaps, "you will not treat her like a prisoner if she asks to leave again."

"Ha!" the maester snaps, "fine! I'm sure the days you've spent gutting men has made you learned in the ways to heal them, ser."

With that, the maesters leave and you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. You sigh as Erryk turns to you, seeing the hardness of his face soften in real time. You frown, "you should not have done that."

"My duty?" he narrows his eyes, "they had you surround like a criminal."

Arryk nods, "I fear they might have bruised you."

You sigh, fighting back tears. You steel yourself away and shake your head, "I should prepare for the funeral."

You do just that and Erryk and Arryk escort you to the funeral. You immediately spot Daemon, but he was stood beside his brother and niece, so you did not think it proper to interlope. You find Alicent standing just a few paces from Rhaenyra and debate to join her, but then you see the Lord Hand farther behind her, and you feel the need to cry.

"Papa," you mumble to yourself as you go to him.

Your father is quick to recognize your distress once you come to him, and quickly takes you under his arm. It is so instinctive, the Cargyll twins are shocked by it. They were supposed to keep close watch on you, but they decided to give you and your father privacy.

Otto had long decided physical affections were no use to you, and yet in this moment, he pulls you into him, securing one arm your shoulders. You press your cheek into his chest as you steal a glance at the king. Viserys stands before two lifeless bodies, and the sight mirrored that of the day your mother died.

You wrap your arms around your father.

He sighs, eyes throwing daggers at the Rogue fucking prince, "did he take the news badly?"

You shake your head, "I have not told him."

Otto sighs again, agitated and disappointed. His face is crestfallen as calls out your name, "what happened then?"

"I am terrified."

Your father tenses and clenches his jaw. He strokes your hair, doing his best to ignore the awful sounds you were making. "The gods with strengthen you, daughter." he turns to Alicent, "I will take care of it, my girl."

After the funeral, once Otto made sure you are taken care off, he goes to his other daughter and asks about the princess. Alicent is quick to explain to him that Rhaenyra is so much like you when your mother died, "I have not seen Rhaenyra in such a state."

Otto offers Alicent a soft smile, placing a hand on her cheek, "you are ever empathetic, daughter, to both the princess and your sister."

"Sister did not look well at the funeral either. I should check up on her."

"That won't be necessary," her father raises a hand, "I've seen to her already. She needs only to rest now."

Alicent slowly nods.

"You ought to offer some empathy to the king however."

The girl tenses at the thought.

"Unlike your princesses, the king does not have people to go to at this time. Even now, he's secluded himself in his chambers. It would be good of you to go to him from time to time, if only to express how you keep him in your prayers."

Alicent tries to make sense of it. She clenches her jaw, "wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to do this, father?"

He chuckles lowly, "how much sadder would he be if a widower offer another widower his bitter prayers?"

She stills at the thought and understands. Or so she thinks.

Otto smiles and places a hand on her shoulder, "it might be best if you keep private your visits to him. You need not explain your concern to Rhaenyra to further distress her."

She nods in understanding. In truth, she does not understand the true intentions of her father, and will not until it is far too late.

As this was happening, you were trying to get ahold of Daemon. You could not for he was quick to leave the funeral right after it concluded. He had seen you crying to your father and wanted to wash his eyes with alcohol, unwanting to behold such a gruesome sight. It stung far too much that you sought comfort in that cunt face. Why didn't you cry to him instead?

Daemon washes alcohol down his throat instead with members of his City Watch at his favorite brothel. Mysaria is there to keep him company and though her touch and words are gentle, he cannot find solace in them like he once did.

The two guards who had found you on the floor earlier today hear about the gathering and go to the prince to tell him what had happened to you.

"Your grace."

Daemon sulks as he stares at a cup of wine. Mysaria, who was stood behind his chair, looks at the men then to the silver haired man, "my prince. These men want to speak to you."

"Wha-what for?" he snaps through a hiccup.

"Your wife, my prince," one says.

Mysaria stiffens, lips parting. She was not a stranger to Daemon's foul moods and prided herself in easily defusing them. It changed when he married the Hightower girl. Though it was evident most of his frustrations stemmed from you, you were too much of a touchy subject, which is why she says, "I do not think he wants to talk about her."

"A whore should not stand meddle with concerns she cannot understand."

Mysaria scoffs, thinking about how Daemon fucked her once and called out his bride's name. When she brought it up after, he screamed, telling her he doesn't pay her to ask questions. She steps back and crosses her arms, "be my guest then."

One of the two guards lean forward in an attempt to gain the attention of the distracted man, "prince Daemon. We wished to report something regarding your wife."

Daemon ticks. He had been gazing into space, but now he has the wits to pours himself a drink, "is she dead now too?"

The two are taken aback. Mysaria steps back a few paces.

"N-no, your grace. But she-"

"Then do not FUCKING mention her to me!" Daemon snaps, jolting from his seat. His scream was loud enough to cause the noise to cease. He grabs his cup and downs his drink in one go. He then pushes past the two guards and begins to monologue.

"The gods give as the gods take," he says, voice horse and eyes misty. "Try as they may, I am not so easily replaced."

The room is solemn as they look upon the prince. He is clearly distraught and wholly drunk.

He stares at his cup, "wine does not taste sweeter with tears. Tonight, we drink to the Heir For A Day..." he burps, "perhaps he would have liked wine."

Back in the keep, as Alicent leaves her father's quarters, you go to them, which is why you cross paths. She is concerned by how you lean into ser Cargyll's arm as you walk, and immediately comes to your side, "sister?"

"Alicent," you smile, immediately perking up.

"Lady Hightower," the knight greets her.

"It's ser Erryk," you playfully whisper with a smile.

Alicent turns to you and offershim as soft smile, "ser Erryk."

"You spoke to father, surely," you take her hand, making her look back at you, "is his mood grim?"

She shakes her head, "no. He is... relatively placid, I think."

"Good," you break away from Erryk. He assures you are firmly planted on your feet before releasing you, "I can talk to him then."

"Shouldn't you rather be resting?" she asks in concern.

"It is urgent. I-" you shake your head, "I cannot delay any further."

Alicent realizes then that your hair was fully undone and slightly messy now. You were also in your thick velvet robe, and it only causes her further concern. "I know I am not Gwayne, but if there is anything you wish to speak of," she squeezes your hands, "I am hear to lend an ear."

Your lips wobble, but you steel yourself away. You crush your sister into your arms and pepper her cheeks with kisses, "my sweet girl. I am five years your senior. I must lend you my ear." You pull away and cup her cheeks. You frown when you see her glassy eyes, "do not worry for me."

She chuckles rather sadly, "we help but worry always for those we love."

Erryk heart pinches at the solemn exchange of the two sisters. He is glad to know that at least one more person in your family loved you with gentleness. He makes mental note to encourage you to write to your brother.

When Alicent leaves, you take a breath before knocking on the Hand's door.

"Enter."

You walk in and find your father busy at his desk.

"Father."

Otto looks up at you, immediately coming to stand, "what's wrong?"

You close the door behind him, catching Erryk's encouraging gaze. He nods before you shut the door. You turn to you father, finding he was already walking towards you.

He takes your hand, inspecting you. He speaks your name carefully, and it softens your frigid demeanor, "what has happened?"

You smile sadly, "I cannot sleep."

He sighs, partially relieved it is nothing so severe. He walks towards the door, "I will have one of the maids send you warm milk and honey."

"There is something I must tell you," you say, making him stop.

He turns back you, antsy over your serious tone, "if it is regarding Daemon. Do not worry. I have designs to keep him on a leash."

You release his hand and turn to your feet.

His expression hardens. He knows whatever you have to say is grave because you can no longer look at him. He steps forward and takes your cheeks, "daughter."

You look up at him, face stained with tears.

"Go to bed," he wipes your cheeks, "you'll muster the nerve to tell your husband the news soon en-"

"He does not finish inside me, father."

"..."

"I've-" you choke on your breath, "I've spoken about it to the maesters and he's explained it is possible for the seed to take root from premature ejaculation but-"

"Have you strayed?" Otto tightens his hold a fraction.

You are aghast by his statement and rapidly shake your head, "father, I wou-"

"Then there is nothing to fear," he cuts you off, brows tensing, "your child will be born with silver hair and violet eyes, and-"

"Only I inherited your hair color," you mumble, beginning to tremble, "if my child looks too much like me—" you rapidly shake your head, "he will-"

"Enough," he snaps, shaking you slightly.

You chest begins to tighten.

Otto notices and brushes your hair out of your face. He recites the common prayer you used to pray with your mother, "Seven, hear me. Father, strengthen me. Mother, protect me. Warrior, d—"

"Defend me," you sigh, joining in, "Smith, mend me."

"Mend my daughter," Otto mumbles softly.

"Maiden, beautify me," you say together, "Crone, enlighten me. Stranger, guide me."

Otto nods and strokes your hair, "now breathe."

It takes a few deep breaths, but you are calm now. He leads you to the door and opens it. "Oh, good," he says, once spotting your ward, "you're not entirely useless."

Erryk walks over to you, ignoring your father completely as he takes you by the arm.

"Take her to bed and have some warm milk and honey served to her."

"Yes, my lord," he says, though not sparing the lord a glance.

You, however, do, looking back with a soft smile, "good night, father."

He is about to reply, but then comes a servant boy, holding a plate of crackers and cheese, who freezes at the sight of the crowded entry. He thinks he's made a mistake, so he turns to leave, but Otto raises a hand and beckons the boy over, "come."

The boy walks past you, mumble a soft, "milady."

You smile and nod, "good evening."

Erryk eyes him suspiciously as he enters the room but refocuses on walking you back.

Otto closes the door and the boy places the crackers on the table. The man circles 'round to his desk and sits down, "what news do you bring me today?"

"Prince Daemon at the brothel, milord," the boy says, rolling back and forth on his heels.

The Lord Hand's face twists in contempt. He pulls his desk open and procures a cold coin.

The boy gleefully takes it and begins to explain the events that take place.

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inciting-chaos-series · 2 years ago

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j can you please make a corpse x reader where they are both publicly dating and as all internet couples do, get a fair amount of hate. but one day a specific comment gets under the readers skin so they distance themselves from corpse (lots of angst but with a good ending ?)

I'm sorry this took forever, I couldn't get my meds and went a lil crazy agh, also idk if this is any good tbh I feel bad at writing lately. Hopefully you like it though oof.

-J The Ghost

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Request: Hate Mail

You woke up from your nap to the sounds of several voices coming from the other room. He must be streaming… You thought groggily as you stretched and snuggled back into the covers enveloped in the scent of his cologne. You pulled out your phone and checked the time, almost four… Jesus, he really had made good on his word, you didn’t even realize you could be that exhausted. As you scrolled through your socials you saw the notifications of most of his friends live streams. Sussy Sundays, of course, how did you forget? He really had taken it out of you earlier.

You were grateful to have weekends off, allowing you to see him more than just any days you managed to get off work at a decent time, but you hated Sundays. You both took turns staying over at each other's houses and coming up with fun things to do together, but since he’d agreed to be a part of the Sussy Sundays, you had to find a way to entertain yourself. When he would stay at your house, it was easy to find things to do- dishes, laundry, and tidying up always needed done- but at his place, he mostly ordered takeout, and didn't really have enough stuff to ever accumulate messes, much less any laundry, so you were left to figure something else out.

A few times he’d asked you to join in on games, or hangout and watch him, but if the viewers got wind that you were with him- everyone's chat would latch on and start blowing up about it. You hated the fact that you’d turn viewers' attention away from the streamers they were watching, which led to you feeling guilty for making even the slightest sounds despite both him and his ever supportive friends trying to actively involve you.

Ever since the two of you had gone public, the internet had gone wild. In the beginning fans were pretty supportive and kind, but once Corpse started to post about you more and more, they quickly turned on you. It felt like the majority now was vehemently against the idea of your relationship. You knew that once it was public, you would get a lot of hate, but some of the comments were so hyper specific and vile- you couldn't help but be hurt. You always did your best to not read through them, or let him see when ones you did see affect you. You knew it was mostly young fans that were crushing on him and envious of you, but it all still seemed to leave you feeling drained, and anxious, an empty feeling of doom settling in with each critique. What if he saw merit in some of them? Sure most were shallow insults, but some seemed so spot on to you.

Who even are they? They're nobody, why is he with them??

He probably felt bad- he’s just too nice…

He can do soo much better…

You weren't usually an insecure person, but it was hard to stay positive when you did kind of agree. You worked a normal job, lived an average life, and you weren't really into the world of streaming, even as a viewer. It was- at the least- confusing to understand why he would be with you over someone with a similar lifestyle, or had more in common with him.

Tik Tok was your savior while he finished up with his friends. The algorithm only showed you the mind-numbing content you wanted to see, nothing about him or streaming at all. It was around 7:30 and you were halfway through a dinner recipe video when he finally entered his room again.

“Have a good nap?” He smirked tiredly as he plopped down on the bed beside you.

“So good…” You chuckled, saving the video before tossing your phone aside to snuggle up to him “How was the stream?”

“It was fun. Everyone said to tell you hi…” He wrapped his arm around you and absently traced his fingers along your arm.

“Tell them I say hi too.” You smiled as you buried your face into his hoodie. “Your friends are so nice…”

“Mhm… they really like you.” He chuckled. “Are you hungry yet? I'm starving…” You nodded and paused, still groggy from lying in bed.

“Can we get pasta? I’m craving it so bad…” Your voice perked up at the thought of the recipe video.

“Of course,” he laughed at your enthused voice, “you better start getting ready though…”

“Were going out?” You looked up at him in confusion, it was rare he ever wanted to go out, especially so spontaneously.

“Yeah why not? I mean… as long as you’re up for it?”

“Y-Yeah, just surprised that you are…” You beamed up at him before mustering the energy to get up and get ready. You pulled your hair aside and headed to the bathroom to wash your face, peeking slightly in the mirror's reflection and catching glimpses of him changing from the bedroom. The cheeky blush across your face turned quickly to a hot embarrassment as you watched the black button-down settle across his lean shoulders. Your mind started flashing through images of all the comments deeming you unworthy of him. You turned your face away from the mirror and avoided eye-contact with yourself- knowing it would only cement those thoughts and sour your mood even more.

You quickly brushed your teeth and headed back to the room, only to stare at the clothes you had brought in disappointment. Too loose you’ll look like a soggy cardboard box, too tight you’ll look like a shrink wrapped ham, too-

“You okay?” He chuckled from behind you as he fixed his shirt.

“Yeah… I’m fine.” You huffed out, grabbing at a random article of clothing and feeling yourself physically recoil at the thought of wearing it.

“You don’t look fine- if you don’t wanna go out we can stay in…” He shrugged and examined your clothes with you. “You still have some other things in my closet you know… you don’t have to keep living out of your carry on bag. You can keep things here.” He laughed softly.

“I- I know. I just… I don’t know- it's one of those days- you know?” You mustered up a small laugh. “Nothing feels right.” You shrugged it off.

“I get it… let's just stay in.” He sat beside your clothes on the bed, offering a soft smile as he took your hands and pulled you closer .

“No, I want to go out…” You furrowed your brow a bit, irritated that you were letting it all affect you so much. “I’ll hurry up.” You pulled another few items of clothing out and headed back to the bathroom, not wanting to even think about him watching you change right now.

You came back out after continuing to struggle through every aspect of getting ready while your mind attacked you. He sat up from scrolling his socials on the bed and quickly tucked his phone back into his pocket- a detail you wish your brain would find insignificant.

“Ready?” He smiled and stood as you nodded. He grabbed his jacket and threw it on as you grabbed your things and started to head out with him.

You were grateful for the comfortable silence as he drove to the restaurant, allowing you some time to try and change your mood. He’d put some softer lofi on the radio and let you silently watch as the streetlights flashed past your window. You weren't sure how he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, yet he always did.

When you arrived at the restaurant you were surprised to hear he’d made reservations for the two of you. You couldn’t help but smile, despite the discomfort welling up that he’d chosen something more fancy than you had expected- or dressed for.

“Wait, wait…” He hooked arm around your side, stopping you as you followed the host to the booth. He spun you into him in front of the elegant floor length mirror stood beside the entrance and pulled out his phone for a picture. You giggled at the quick cute gesture and posed with him, shutting your eyes as he snapped the pic to avoid any further mental spiraling.

Dinner went by uneventfully, you stayed a bit more quiet as he excitedly told you about new songs he was working on, or vented about the issues holding up his new merch drop. It wasn’t entirely due to your bad mood, you loved seeing him enthuse about his passions and how animated he’d suddenly become. His whiskey toned eyes would light up and his excitement was palpable in the air, making even you more energized. It wasn’t until halfway through or so when you came back from the bathroom that things shifted. You caught sight of him looking up at you returning before tucking his phone quickly away again.

“What’s that about?” You questioned lightheartedly with a laugh.

“Oh it’s nothing… Did you wanna get dessert?” He dismissed before swiftly changing the subject, but not before you caught a strange look on his face.

“Okay Mr. Secretive… um, I think I’m full though.” You shrugged awkwardly as you looked down at your plate.

“You sure weren't saying that about the wine though…” He chuckled as he sipped his own glass.

“I- okay?” You rebutted, hesitating as you gave him a confused glance. “I was just trying to cure my bad mood…” You internally cringed as your voice came out more defeated and offended than you intended, seemingly proving his point that you’d had too much. It was only two glasses… am I really that bad? All that stupid pasta I kept shoving in my fat mouth absorbed it all- I don’t even feel drunk…

“Wh- no… baby I- I was just making a joke… I didn’t mean anything by it-” His face softened with concern.

“No it’s fine… I probably have had too much- sorry.” You managed to squeak out, your face reddening with embarrassment. “Let’s just get the check…” I just want to go home now… Jesus Christ. You bit down on the inside of your lip as you heard the harsh, irritated sigh he let out.

---

The drive back from the restaurant was insufferable, just as it had been for him to the restaurant. He wasn’t sure if even his knives could’ve cut the tension radiating from the passenger side. It was clear something happened but he didn’t know what. Before he’d gone to his office to join the stream everything was fine, but once he came back the mood had completely changed.

“Are you- okay? Did I do something to upset you?” He asked as tentatively as he could upon getting back home.

“N-No, I’m fine. I’m sorry I had too much to drink.” Your voice was still soft but had a bit of an edge to it.

“I’m sorry I said that at the restaurant, I didn’t mean it like that at all. I meant it in like a- ‘it’s funny that you chose the wine over dessert…’ because I agreed- kind of way… I’m sorry baby.” He paused, taking your hands and tugging you gently closer as he kissed your forehead. “Y/n, If I did something to upset you, I wanna know, so I can fix it and make you feel better. You’ve seemed upset since I got off stream.”

“It… it’s fine, I’m just stupidly sensitive. I’m fine.” You ruined the entire night with him, great job. If he really wasn’t hiding anything on his phone earlier, he’ll surely start now. You huffed in frustration at yourself. “I should probably get home…”

“W- Why? You always leave Monday mornings…” He asked, feeling his energy plummet as you continued to shut down.

“I just have an early day tomorrow is all. I’m sorry…” You met his gaze, immediately wishing you hadn't as you offered a half smile to his heartbreakingly defeated expression. You pushed back the self-criticism as you went to collect your things, that could wait until you were alone in your car. He silently followed you back into his room like a kicked puppy and helped you gather your things, making your brain slew more insecurities about him wanting you gone. Once all your stuff was in your bag he walked you out to your car while you said your goodbyes.

“Please drive safe…”

He’ll just feel guilty if something happens…

“...text me when you get home…”

He feels like he has to say that… you’re so fucking sensitive. He walks on eggshells with you.

“I love you…”

No he doesn’t, why the fuck would he?

The drive back home continued that way as you dissociated the entire time, only letting the tears fall once you were back inside your own house. After having a small breakdown over the bullying your brain had done, you texted him you were home before collapsing down into your bed- exhausted by it all. You were ready for any solace you could get from mindlessly scrolling your phone, though it seemed the universe had something else in mind. You opened your instagram to check messages from your friends but were promptly bombarded by a photo he’d posted of the two of you from the restaurant. He’d put some goofy angel and devil emojis over your faces that you tried to let yourself laugh at but couldn't muster at the moment. He’d captioned it ‘LOMFL 😍🥵’ that got a small smile out of you, but not without a scoff. It wasn’t really until you tapped on the comments, you felt your gut tighten. The first few were various heart emojis from Rae, Tina, and Sean- but below that it took a turn. His fans attacked everything about you, your outfit, your weight, even your personality- as if they even knew you. But it didn’t stop there, some crazed fans had gone as far as finding you somehow- despite him never tagging you- and DMing your personal account even more vile things, even death threats. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to scream and show them how awful you could really be, but mostly you wanted to make yourself stop believing them. You didn’t want any of it to be true… but you were now convinced it was.

The next day you kept your phone completely off, even going as far as deleting all your socials before shutting it off. In the morning meeting with your boss you informed her your phone wasn’t working and email was how you should be contacted from now on, so you wouldn't even need it on for later. You went about your daily tasks at work completely numb, doing everything you could to keep yourself too busy to think. Of course, that only worked at work, at home it was entirely different. The next few days turned to weeks as you cleaned like you never had before, you rearranged furniture like you were suddenly trying to fit four Alaskan king sized beds in your home, you went to the store and meal prepped- full well knowing you’d have no appetite, you binged several of your favorite shows entirely.

By the third week, you’d fully run out of tasks to keep the thoughts and anxiety at bay. You scrolled through Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon- finding nothing. Out of either habit or some subconscious cue about the anxiety of not texting the only person you wanted to at the moment, you opened up Youtube. You rolled your eyes and groaned softly but scrolled through the videos anyway, cringing as the recommendations of Sussy Sundays and various other videos with your boyfriend popped up. You felt incredibly guilty about not talking to him. It wasn’t like the two of you talked non-stop, or that he’d be mad, you were just sure with the way you’d left things he was likely worrying about you by now. As you continued to scroll you saw a live video pop up in your suggestions, of him. He’s live? Why is he live? He doesn’t stream anymore… You were already anxious, but after reading the title ‘we need to talk…’ you started to feel sick. You hesitantly clicked the video and his voice rang out from your TV.

“...I really don’t give a fuck how you guys feel or what you fuckin think…” He paused, presumably reading the chat. “I know it’s not all of you… but those of you that are commenting this shit… I don’t wanna fuckin see it- I don’t everr wanna see this shit again… if you like my content but come into my chat, or friends chats, or on twitter.com or instagram and say that shit… fucking unsubscribe right now, fuck you. Get off the fucking internet, it's disgusting.” You took in a deep breath as anxiety welled up more, why was he doing this? “I’ll straight up never put out another thing ever again if this keeps happening. I know that people are always gonna be assholes, but if you’re a fan of me or whatever- and saying this fucking shit about my partner? Go fuck yourself. I don’t want your fucking support…”

You stared at his animated figure standing in the rain blankly and opened up your laptop, starting a video call to him. You waited for a while as he went silent on stream before it was denied. Is he mad at me? It’s all my fault- fuck.

“Anyways- I just thought I’d get on here and reprimand you fucks… and to all my actual fans, being kind and supportive, thank you, and keep reporting these people- love you guys… oodles and oodles… keep being you- I’m sorry you guys had to hear this… love you.”

You tried again as the stream ended. Again denied. Fuck he’s pissed… Because of me he had to get on after not streaming anymore and do that- fuck… You took a deep breath and tried to not overthink. Maybe he’s just sick of your bullshit. If he was worried or he’d been trying to contact you at all, he probably would’ve answered. You fidgeted nervously at the thought. I’ll just start a new show- keep my mind off this… You shut your laptop and dejectedly threw it aside on the couch before getting up and grabbing some blankets for another night of Netflix.

You were two episodes in when you decided to grab a snack but just as you paused the show and stood, there was a knock on the door. You looked over, and cautiously moved toward it. Peeking out the peephole you saw what looked like an outraged figure of your boyfriend standing outside. You felt icy panic run through you as you grabbed the handle and twisted, preparing yourself for the worst.

“You’re okay…” He sighed in relief as his whole body relaxed.

“I- Y- yeah… I- I’m fine.. What are you-” You tried to play catch up, still in shock to see him at your door, let alone not yelling at you.

“You haven’t answered your phone- for anyone- in like a month…” He seemed to pant out. “I tried to give you space and not worry too much when you weren't answering, but then you deleted your socials, and then didn’t answer Tina, or Rae… or me… I was… scared.” He paused and caught his breath. “When you video called me I panicked, I thought you were in trouble or- I- I don’t even know… I just rushed over.” He stepped in and yanked you into one of his enveloping bear hugs. You stood motionless, mostly from how tight his arms were around you, but partially from even more surprise. Here he was, yet again, proving that he knew you better than anyone- and certainly better than you knew him. The guilt of not talking to him only grew now. How could you have ever thought any awful things about the panic stricken, devoted, heart-of-fucking-gold man that was seemingly holding onto you for dear life?

“I- I’m sorry…” You squeaked out, faltering under his obvious concern. He sighed again and released his hold but kept his hands gently on your arms.

“Please don’t do that again… If you need space that's okay, but please just tell me… I- I didn’t know what to think- or do…” He knelt down to your level slightly, his face full of worry as he seemed to practically beg.

“I’m sorry…” You swallowed hard, feeling your face heat as your voice wavered.

“I-It’s okay… I- I’m not mad… I just wanted to know you’re safe- cause I worked myself into a panic not knowing- I’m sorry I just showed up out of the blue…” He took a deep breath. “If you still need space that's okay I just- I was really worried. I know I’m probably overreacting…”

“No… I just… I don’t know-” You looked down at your feet, the guilt consuming you now as he continued to prove every horrible thought you had about him wrong.

“Do you want to talk?” He questioned hesitantly as his mind began reeling in the same way yours had. You just nodded, looking up as he closed the door and looked back to you, eyes still full of worry.

You moved back to the couch and curled up into the blanket, comforting yourself and trying to hold back tears of guilt over how you’d acted toward him. He slowly moved to sit by you.

“What’s going on? A-are you upset with me?” He stuttered nervously, also anticipating the worst. You shook your head and shut your eyes as they welled up. It all felt so stupid now- but the constant harassment, death threats, and insults had done a number- and having him here, almost completely in the dark about it all but still so kind and loving was just too much all at once.

“Oh- baby… shh come here.” He soothed melodically as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly again. “Please talk to me.” His voice was soft and quiet as he pressed kisses onto the top of your head.

“I don’t wanna cry- it’s stupid…” You managed to mumble.

“It’s not stupid- something is really bothering you… is it the comments and shit?” You nodded.

“It’s all of it- I- I don’t know why you’re even with me…” Your voice cracked and broke.

“Y/n, I’m with you because I’m in love with you- I wouldn’t ever let the opinions of fucking dumbass ten-year-olds with no internet supervision change or dictate that…” You cringed as you heard the offended tone in his voice.

“I know… I just… I let my brain believe it all… and I feel shitty… and that just makes me wonder even more why- because I do shit like this- even though you’re nothing but amazing and loving to me…” You choked out between sobs.

“You’re not shitty…” His tone softened even more as he pulled your face up. “I have no idea what it’s like to go through that, and how you can even deal with it. Most people don’t. I knew it was hard to see, and if I had any idea that you’d been this upset about it for this long I would’ve stopped it right then and there…” He kissed your forehead and wiped off your tears. “I’m so sorry baby… I should’ve known.” You shook your head.

“I should’ve just told you… but I felt so stupid- letting it get to me- I wanted to just come home and clear my head and get over it… but then it got worse and I just I don’t know, I couldn't deal.” He pushed your hair from your face and let you continue after the sobs began to slow. “Now I just feel guilty and shitty for avoiding you- avoiding all of it, not telling you… especially when you are… like this- so nice, and understanding.” You scoffed harshly at yourself, making him chuckle.

“Don’t. It’s a pretty understandable way to react… I’m sorry honey…” He leaned in and kissed you softly. “Would it help if I pretend to be mad at you?” He joked lightly as you parted. You let out a weak but honest giggle and gave an exaggeratory nod. He laughed and tsked loudly. “I can’t believe it… how could someone so goddamn attractive, funny, kind, and lovable think that I’d be dumb enough to see any warrant to the words of fuckin dipshit kids? To think that I’m not already blindly and completely head over heels? I’m disappointed…” He mocked in a goofy tone.

“Shut up…” You laughed, wiping your face and pushing him playfully.

“I love you dummy.” He chuckled and kissed you again.

“I love you too, Corpsie.”

2K notes · View notes

inkofimagination · 1 year ago

Text

clouded confessions

late night smoke session turns into some feelings being revealed.

shy!hasan heheh

word count: 4k

“Boo, no,” came the quiet exasperated sigh through your lips. You shook your head with a frown, and stared down at the crazed page before you; scribbles of your notes that seemed to only get progressively more snappy. The sight only made the simmering agitation in your chest closer to its near-boiling point. You bit your lip, and squinted your eyes at the page. Maybe if you stared incredulously at it long enough, it would burn to ash.

This shit was truly too tiring for you.

Another sigh, it felt like that was all you were doing, huffing endless long breaths. You loved your job, really, cherished it too close to your heart. And it was all trial and error, you knew this. but fuck, it was tiring. The disappointment and anger that forms when you aren’t satisfied with your results are enough to doubt everything. And no one likes that feeling. The feeling of losing that grasp and love for your passion.

No one liked feeling the fear of not being good enough either.

You pushed your hair behind your ears, and with your eyes still on the page, you readjusted yourself so you were now lying on your stomach. Huffed as you settled with the paper in your grasp, and with one more quick scan of the notes, you felt the displeasure plaguing you only grow. You picked it up with narrowed eyes, and roughly crumpled it, tossing it across the room.

See how exhausting this is?

Today was a bad day, a grumpy day. You never liked those. You rather liked the days when you found enjoyment through your craft, the days when you could just fucking blaze through the cases without a

You were pretty sure you were beginning to see red. Maybe you were possessed because you were starting to feel the urge to smash your pretty head against the wall many, many times.

You rested your head in your arms with a small frown, and huffed. Deciding that, yes, going to bed would be best. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

You stared at the door and pursed your lips. The good lawyer and bad lawyer in your head were currently having a nasty debate. Go to bed and come back tomorrow with a fresh start or stay, and continue to get progressively angrier. The bad lawyer was sorely losing.

The disappointment towards your work tonight was beginning to make you feel rather sad, instead of angry. And with that, you rapidly decided that it was, indeed, time to go to bed.

You braced yourself before pushing yourself up, and sitting in a kneeling position. It was uncomfortable, the hard floor wasn’t all that kind to your legs, it actually rather hurt. You took a moment to brush your jean-covered legs before actually standing.

As you packed up, you began to zone out and get lost in thought. Whilst closing the case and reaching to clasp each buckle closed, a soft, nearly impossible-to-hear knock interrupted your actions.

You were staying at your friends Hasan’s house at the moment because he was kind enough to let you stay due to your apartment being renovated.

Your hands stilled, and you looked over to the door with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, thoroughly convinced he was asleep after his long stream.

The door opened, and you tilted your head a bit to get a glance at the unexpected guest. When the sight of a cheeky, sheepish smile came into your vision, you had to let out a soft laugh. He only smiled wider at the sound and looked down to hide it. “Hi, Hasan,” you said, looking away from his shy form to get back to your earlier activity of packing up your things.

Hasan Piker. You two became best friends not very long ago, but he was something else. You didn’t know what, but you knew you did really, really like Hasan. Strange, but he was the easiest person to talk to despite the fact you two very opinionated people. You could sit with him for hours and just talk about the weirdest things that have no relevance whatsoever.

“Hi, what are you up to this late at night, hm?” he walked in, shutting the door behind him and curiously looked at the various crumpled balls scattered across the room.

You let out a small ‘shit’, his short look at your mess acted as a reminder that you probably should tidy it up. Placing your case full of documents back on the ground, you paced over to each of the white papers, gathering them in your arms. “Well,” you huffed, “i was going to get to the bottom of this case, but it didn’t really go the way i wanted it to…”

Softly smiling at your mumbled words, he walked over and quickly picked up the rest (the majority) of the papers. “What about you, cheeky boy?” you asked in return, dumping the crumpled balls into the trash. Behind you, he grinned at the nickname. Always smiling when around you, he was. You looked up at him as he came to stand next to you, following your earlier actions. He brushed his hands and turned back to you with a hum, “Couldn’t sleep, ‘nd heard you shuffling around,” he tilted his head at you rubbing your eyes.

A sheepish ‘Oh’, passed your lips, “sorry if i woke you, war’, thought i was being quiet,”

He shook his head at your murmur, and waved a hand with a small smile, “You can’t wake someone who wasn’t sleeping in the first place darling, don’t worry about it,” he wasn’t lying either, really. Even his perfect sleeping schedule gets messed up due many thoughts of his.

Nodding, you bounded over back to your case and picked it up again.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go to bed now, thanks for helping me tidy up,” you grinned softly at him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hasan,”

“See you tomorrow, sweets,” came his gentle reply, still standing there like a moron just watching you. He considered stopping, not wanting to seem like a creep, but ultimately those considerations were put to rest within two seconds. Maybe he could play it off well enough. You had to have known he had a crush on you, and he knew it. He’s such a sweetie towards you, bless him, but not subtle whatsoever.

You gave him one last pretty smile before walking to the door, and just as you were about to open it, your hand ready on the handle, you stopped. You pursed your lips as a thought passed your brain, and raised your eyebrows with a hum. “Do you wanna smoke?”

You don’t smoke weed often but when your stress is going through the roof sometimes it is the only thing that helps.

A beat of silence.

“Fuck yeah, man.”

“Y’know, i love your hair,”

You gently whispered, twirling a soft dark brown strand between your fingers, and surveyed his face. His eyes were closed, and his body was so relaxed you would have thought he was sleeping. Maybe he was, you didn’t know any better. Hasan had his head in your lap, the rest of his body slung across your bed. You had been playing with his hair for the past 15 minutes. Once you started, he’d gone completely silent and shut his eyes. Maybe he really was sleeping.

He absentmindedly hummed in return, and you smiled at the sound. With one hand in his hair, you picked up the joint from the ashtray set on your bedside table, and took a puff. “It may possibly be even better than mine, i must say,” you declared, placing the joint in Hasan’s expectant hand.

At your words, he scoffed dramatically, shaking his head. He took his own puff, before battling your words with his own. “No way girl, are you fucking kidding me?” he exhaled with a scrunched face, making sure to turn away from you as the smoke trailed out of his mouth.

“I’m fully serious,”

He passed the joint back to you with a floppy arm, and you reached over to place it back in its respectful seat in your ashtray. “Nonsense,” he murmured, closing his eyes once again as you played with his hair.

“You’re so pretty,” at his whispered words, your hands, where they were making a small braid in his mane, ceased their movement. the sweet compliment was unexpected, and truthfully, popped up out of nowhere. You pouted down at him, feeling your heart swell at his words. Maybe he was sleeping and dreaming about someone. “Hasan, your eyes are closed, y’know,” he reluctantly opened his baggy, bloodshot eyes, and looked at you.

“Nuh-uh, not anymore they aren’t,” his eyes surveyed your face and he nodded to himself with finality. You cheekily smiled, nearly gushing, “Hasan Piker got a li’l crush on me?” you cooed, untangling your hands from his hair to pinch his cheeks.

He tiredly pushed your hands away with a hidden smile, you quietly laughed to yourself. You felt adoration fill your chest. Really, that pestering anger inhabiting your heart before had melted away as soon as your cheeky boy had popped up on the other side of that door. He didn’t even need to do anything, he didn’t even need to know that you weren’t having a good day, or time, or whatever. Hasan Piker just had to be himself to make you practically beam like the sun.

He had a crush on you? you had a crush on him. a big one too.

You clicked your tongue as he turned his head away from you, and you rested one hand on his chest and the other on the top of his head. Hasan had a smile covering his face, but he was shying away. You couldn’t believe it, you made the Hasan Piker shy. What a night!

“Stop it,” his voice was partially muffled into your lap, and you brought a hand up to your lips. The big smile on your face felt permanent. “You got a crush on me?” came your voice again, this time quieter, not as teasing—just as filled with adoration. He wiggled around, still groaning.

You lightly tapped his cheek, a silent ‘look at me,’ passing from you to him. a small smile was glued to your face as Hasan turned, brown eyes landing on your beaming face—to which he grinned.

That stupid grin stayed on his face as you raised your eyebrows at him and kept eye contact, whilst he looked away and gazed at the ceiling instead. He wanted to keep eye contact with you, it was a continuous challenge between you two. He never lasted more than ten seconds.

You let out a sigh, and looked away as well, trying to pull yourself together. Feared you were having a heart attack with how fast it was beating. The remnants of smoke clouding the air and your lungs only seemed to intensify your feelings—which were already so much. You didn’t know it, but he felt the same. maybe even more so.

“Shit, can you blame me though?” he exclaimed, sitting up. You jumped as he nearly knocked heads with you. Even he didn’t expect this, earlier before his mouth betrayed him.

God, you plagued his mind, and it just slipped out. Really, you were like a stubborn piece of gum stuck to the side of his brain, it was frustrating. Hasan was a complete ladies’ man, and knew his way around the female anatomy like he was a master in the art.

He loved women, went crazy for them but there was just something about you, that made him ache. You were so, so, so pretty, and carried such an abnormally beautiful soul with you everywhere you went. You were passionate in what you did, you were kind, and god damn, you were too fucking funny. You’re so much. too much. Hasan was a very confident man, a charmer, never afraid to speak his mind. Then there’s you, making him feel like a little girl crushing on Harry Styles.

Cheesy as fuck.

“I mean—you’re crazy, girl. Literally a fucking angel, it’s ridiculous,” Hasan mumbled to himself, more ranting than anything. He gaped for a few seconds, trying to gather the words on his tongue. You folded your lips into your mouth as you watched him begin his big confession.

“Listen, i’ve met women, right? Many, many women, men even! A lot of people!” you had to hide a laugh behind your hand at his words, “but you, ah–,” he snapped his fingers and shook his head at you.

“I am a confident man,” Hasan declared, pointing a hand at you.

“Yes, you are,”

After your small reply, he went quiet, still trying to figure out what it is he wants to say. He wasn’t about to say he loved you, no matter how much he wanted to, he was sober enough to know that that was a bit too much.

Hasan felt a lot towards you, you made him feel vulnerable, seen. You made him feel like a literal horde of butterflies were swarming his entire torso. You sometimes made him feel like he was dying, with the way you made his heart skip beats, or made it beat rapidly fast.

How does one convey that feeling without sounding clinically insane? I mean, sure, he’d been able to charm his way with the ladies before. But those ladies were different and you were something.

Something really important. It didn’t help that he was still high as fuck, so, he was relatively stumped on what to say—he did know that he wasn’t up for humiliating himself in front of you tonight.

You bit your lip as you watched him struggle, you considered simply just saying ‘I know, i know, me too,’ to make this whole thing easier for him. But you wanted to give him the time to find it.

The man showed no signs of giving up, and therefore you kept quiet. You played with the rings decorating your fingers as he stayed groaning and shaking his head at the ceiling every so often.

Clearly, he was having a crisis.

And just as you were about to say something, it came to him. Slowly, oddly—not the way he wanted it to, but he couldn’t exactly be picky, and he considered leaving this entire thing for later and instead writing you a letter. But, you didn’t seem like the type of girl to dig that and you were gazing at him expectantly, concernedly, he could feel it burning into the side of his face.

He never wanted to leave a crowd waiting.

“Okay,” he turned to you with wide brown eyes, suddenly feeling a burst of energy. The relaxing effect of mary jane said its farewells, and Hasan, ever unaware in his state of mind, wondered if he had done cocaine instead, you felt like a drug to him. “You, pretty lady,” he huffed, “make me lose my mind, it’s unfair,”

You raise your eyebrows at that, and let out a small laugh, but quiet down with a small smile once realizing he wasn’t done.

“You—and, as i stated before, a fucking angel, i mean come on,” he shrugged before reaching over and grabbing the joint from the ashtray again, Hasan figured he needed his heart rate to go down, relax a bit. He took a puff, grey smoke flowing out of his mouth in a long exhale, before continuing; “I like you a lot, darling. So much too, it kinda hurts a bit,” he placed the joint, now a stub, in the ashy part of its respectful tray.

You nearly melted, the smile on your face became a mere slightly gaped mouth and you thought your eyes were hearts, big red ones like from tom and jerry.

“Just something about you,” he let out a loud ‘whew’, waving an arm and sending you an exasperated look to which you couldn’t help but laugh prettily. And to Hasan, that sound was his fuel through this. This awkward confession that had been weighing him down the whole time he’d first seen you, this confession that he was convinced would make his chest burst eventually. You made it so easy for him, he didn’t care if he got rejected straight after or got laughed at, he still made you laugh.

Sleep, food, water, even fucking air was unnecessary, for the man believed he could live off of your joy and happiness forever.

“You got me wrapped around your pretty little finger,” Hasan murmured.

He slumped and looked at you, starting to feel the insecurity kick in. So, he sighed and looked away, pulling a fresh joint from the small tin on the bed, and ignored your observing stare—despite the fact he desperately wanted to return the eye contact.

You watched as he placed the joint between his lips, and you quickly crawled and snatched the zippo lighter you two shared off the bedside table, making it out of his reach. He still didn’t look at you, merely huffing with a small smile beginning to form on his face, and you had to grin at the sight.

You folded your lips into your mouth, and your eyes flickered around his face. You crawled over to him next, kneeling in front of his relaxed cross-legged form leaning against the headboard.

Letting out a huff at his stubbornness to look at you, you raised a single eyebrow. He only looked away further. it was an odd sight, a vulnerable one, to see the ever-confident Hasan Piker, show shyness and insecurity. He felt exposed, to let his charming facade fall.

You knelt forward and softly grabbed the side of his face, making him have no choice but look at you. to him, it felt like one of those scary fucking laboratory hypnosis sessions. Like his mind just stopped, and was consumed by you, you, you. You were overwhelming, like he couldn’t take a deep breath for a second.

Shit, he thought he might pass out when your hazed eyes flickered between his own, and soon landed on his lips for a split second.

And he thought he might’ve died and been sent to heaven when you gently lifted his face to bring the lighter up to his lips and lit the joint still set between them. It was silent, aside from the soft breaths coming from each of you, and the crisp sound of the paper on the joint burning whilst he took an absent-minded puff. You watched as the joint burned orange, and proceeded to flick the lighter closed, and set it on the sheets.

Truthfully, you seemed relaxed, and understanding, like you just knew. But you were so happy, nearly bursting on the inside. You weren’t quite sure how you were holding yourself together, you felt fully ready to fall apart. Just because of him. Hasan Piker, sure to be the death of you.

You turned back to him, plucked the joint from his lips and brought it to your own. He watched with wide eyes as your soft lips wrapped around the white papers, and you took a hit. You weren’t looking at him anymore, rather simply looking down, and he was feeling a bit glad about it. Not because your eyes were so intense and burned into him just naturally–but because he was sure to truly lose his shit if you did.

Grey smoke trailed out of your mouth and you turned back to him with a small smile, tilting your head. At the sight, Hasan let out a sigh, and lightly hit the back of his head against the headboard. “You’re so cute,” you quietly said, delightedly, and he groaned again and shook his head, bringing his hands up to cover his own smile. “God, don’t—” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Damn you, woman,”

You beamed, and shuffled to grab his hands away from his face. With them in your grasp, you folded your digits with his and his closed eyes opened. Hasan looked at you exasperatedly feeling like a crazed man on a drug. You laughed, the sound ringing clear in his ears like the prettiest bell he ever heard. Again, he could listen to it for ages, like it was a lifeline.

You gave him a knowing smile, released his hands, and readjusted yourself so you were even closer to him. You watched as he took a deep breath, processing the close proximity. Your heart skipped multiple beats as you brought both hands up to cup the sides of his neck, he sighed as you rubbed your manicured thumbs along his jawline. This beautiful man, you thought. You were disgustingly attracted to him, all of him. His entire fucking being.

He was leaning forward towards you now as you hovered before him. To him, it felt like he was being drawn in, he looked back on his hypnosis thought. Your eyes flickered all across the other’s face, and he moved so you were now instead sitting in between his legs. Hasan, cheekily with a grin, placed his hands on your waist and you huffed a soft laugh, resting your forehead against his for a moment. It wasn’t lustful, it was the final buildup of all the unspoken attraction, love, and need between each other. It was sweet, sensual.

He nudged his nose against yours, and he was so, so close. You two moved fluidly and teasingly, closely hovering over each other and chasing the other’s lips. It was like a dance, a silent, ‘you have me, now come get me,’.

Oh, and the reward was legendary. You had your hopes and dreams, but this? It was difficult to describe just how much better it was in comparison. Your lips finally slotted together like puzzle pieces, and this time, you really did melt. Your shoulders slumped and with a broken exhale, you curved into him. He didn’t care, only softly laughed into your mouth and wrapped his arms around your waist tighter, holding you together, whilst you curved your arms around his neck.

He was perfect, so much so, it ached. Your feelings toward him before this were like a game of tag, and endless chase, constantly seeking him out in everything you did; even subconsciously. The attraction kept you going, something to look for, to stay motivated for. But this? This was so much better, being able to have him right here. He was overwhelming all of your senses, you felt like you were drowning in him. You’d happily die this way.

And Hasan? The man thought he was living a fantasy. He really didn’t know what the fuck was happening, if he had something unknown put in his coffee this morning that made him extra desirable in the eyes of others, especially towards someone like you. Yes, Hasan Piker—ladies’ man, but you were a princess in his eyes. Someone he did not deserve, could and should not have. But here you were, and you were perfect in every sense imaginable. An indescribable beauty was carried in all of you, and he adored all of it.

Hasan, his mouth still on yours, ran his hands up your waist and flat on your back, only pushing you closer into him. God, you were so close, but he wanted more. Yes, he was already losing himself in you, but just a little more, just a little closer. He happily sighed into your mouth as one of your hands tangled in his hair and the other lightly scratched at the nape of his neck, and this time you were the one smiling.

You had to reluctantly pull away to take a breath, and Hasan blinked his brown eyes open with a grin. He rested his head against yours, and drew gentle circles on the curve of your back.

“Does that mean you’re into me too, pretty girl?”

#hasanabi x reader #hasan piker x reader #hasan x reader

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27goldensun · 2 years ago

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Is it worth it? An analysis on Louis’ stunts

Lately there has been a shift in how Louis’ stunts are being presented to the fandom, with babygate mentions growing and seemingly being pushed by Louis himself.

I have taken some time to go over some (very arbitrary) success indicators that could possibly justify this push in stunts as a marketing ploy, however I have only confirmed my suspicions that the fanbase IS NOT HAPPY and that has been translating in Louis’ numbers.

(May I add that I focused more on louis’ relationship with his fanbase and I know that’s not everyone’s definition of success so I also added streaming numbers)

I took my numbers from this website and I looked through late 2021 and 2022 mostly

Starting off, lets look at Louis’ twitter following and activity:

Number of followers

Throughout August, September, October and November 2021, louis gained between 20k and 40k followers each month, those numbers were much higher during the earlier months of 2021, so what could have sparked that change?

The first picture of louis with F in years dropped in August, which happens to coincide with the sudden drop in Louis’ following

In December, the First Christmas BS happened, and that generated a drop in his following (he didn’t actually start losing followers until 2022, but he only gained 4K in December 2021) that would be weird on its on, but paired with the start of his tour (in which his numbers should be increasing much more) it was very obviously correlated.

Now onto 2022, which was quite an eventful year

2022 marked the start of LTWT which was not only an incredible time for preexisting fans could have been a great opportunity to increase his fanbase by giving him more visibility, especially paired up with a new album. We’ll see that this wasn’t the case

The beginning of the year presented Louis with a slow, especially if compared to 2021, but steady raise in following. This drastically changed in July.

The infamous dm leak happened on July 30th 2022 and it greatly impacted the fandom, which was translated into Louis social media following. Looking at it comparatively, in June 2022 he gained 129k followers, in July that number dropped to 26k, showing the impact of those final 2 days. In August, his numbers only continued to drop.

With the album announcement, one could’ve expect a raise in following and activity, but the opposite happened, and I can’t help but link it with the marketing strategy that was chosen, with further mentions of his “personal” life, especially bbg

The promotional interviews began July 2022 still during LTWT and, at first, they were stunt free (with the exception of one Interview on July 21 2022, in which he stumbled when saying F’s name, something he seemed much more comfortable with later on).

September 6, 2022: It is during an interview with Radio Deejay Itália that the mentions truly begin. Louis brings up Freddie unprompted and says he travels to LA often to visit him, from this point forward, the kid is often brought up.

November 2022 we get all those articles saying “louis finds parenting to be challenging”, over 100 copy and paste articles of this nature were posted.

December 2022 the Christmas Bs 2.0 took place, with the kid being flown to the UK and spending around a week there, between Christmas and New Years. The only footage of louis and F interacting was posted on Louis’ birthday, in a short video of the two in a dinner with the rest of the Tomlinsons.

How did this translate in his twitter following? When FITF promo started, Louis only lost followers

August 2022 he lost 7k

September 2022 he lost 33k

October 2022 he lost 24k

November 2022 he lost 29k followers (not good right after an album announcement)

December 2022 he lost 28k followers

January 2023 he lost 43.9k (the most so far)

But did all this only happen to his twitter following? Surely that’s not the only indicator of his success and relationship with his fanbase?

I agree, although louis does seem to use twitter the most when connecting with fans, lets look through his instagram

When FITF promo started, Louis only lost followers

August 2022 he lost 24k

September 2022 he lost 18k

October 2022 he lost 30k

November 2022 he lost 49k followers (not good right after an album announcement)

December 2022 he lost 33k followers

January 2023 he lost 62.8k (the most so far)

Looking at his streaming statistics

(I’m using walls as a comparison for timeline purposes, although im well aware walls promo was far from stunt free, it seems most fans have, understandably, a harder time dealing with bbg than Eleanor)

*Walls debuted at number nine on the US Billboard 200 with 39,000 album-equivalent units

*Faith in the Future debuted at number five on the Billboard 200 selling 43,000 album-equivalent units

So there was obviously an improvement on FITF debut, but has it been consistent since the album release?

The “this is Louis tomlinson playlist” on Spotify

May 2021 The "This Is Louis Tomlinson" playlist reached 250k likes

February 2023 The "This Is Louis Tomlinson" playlist reached 320k likes

Album stream milestones

Walls

Over 100 million streams on Spotify: February 6th, 1 week after its release

FITF

Over 100 million streams on Spotify: December 10th, 1 month after its release

So, overall, the situation does not seem to be improving…

I will later go through his tour sales, but given the different venue sizes this could be a bit tricky

My interpretation of those numbers i presented is that no, it is not worth it. Regardless on your opinion about bbg, from a marketing standpoint this image doesn’t seem to be doing Louis any favors…

(Please feel free to add your thoughts, I’d love to deepen this discussion)

Also, I don’t think any stunt that furthers a queer person’s closeting could ever be “worth it”, this was just my attempt to try to see what could be their motivations for this (although if its commercial success, it’s definitely not working)

#louis tomlinson #babygate #bbg #stunts #analysis #faith in the future #fitf #walls #streams

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sebastianswallows · 2 years ago

Text

Ardour — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: professor!Tom Riddle x Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Tom got what he wanted, he is the Hogwarts DADA professor. It's more tedious than he envisioned, but his day gets interesting when his favourite student comes to him for help after she is hit with a strong aphrodisiac.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, age difference (she is in 7th year), dub-con kissing, sex pollen basically, hints of incest (reader is a distant Gaunt relation, don't ask me why, I just wanted a depraved twist and also to give her and Tom something more in common)

— WORDCOUNT: 4k

— A/N: I had this filthy idea and I AI-RPed it and it turned out so well I could not leave it be. So here's part 1. I expect we'll have 2, max 3 parts. Those will contain the smut. Credit to my writing partner, this cute little chat bot, who wrote a very soft and romantic Tom. I had to spend a lot of time re-writing him to be a bit more mean 😂 And yeah reader is more of an OC tbh, because the physical description was important for their similarity in looks. ...You'll see. Also don't mind me fancasting Tom Hughes as an older Tom.

There was a knock on the door. Professor Tom Riddle, who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, raised his head from grading papers. He sighed at the interruption and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He checked his watch to see if it was late enough for him to pretend to be at dinner, but he had no such luck — it was sometime in the late afternoon.

He'd once thought that getting this position was all he wanted. To teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and be the youngest one to take the position in the school’s history, would be a great achievement, after all — aside from giving him the opportunity to, like Professor Slughorn, collect students, Hogwarts' best and brightest, select his favourites, and helpfully guide them in a way that suited his long-term personal ambitions.

But what he found instead was that it was a great deal of hard work, unending responsibilities, and long hours. He had to always be available to help students, he had to think the year ahead before it even started, and he had to always be on top of the course material — or at least pretend to be. He had to put up with noisy and inattentive students, be careful to reward the clever and punish the disruptive, calculate awarded points and distribute detentions — but not too harshly. Last but not least, he had to put up with the other staff — the crass, the sycophantic, the obsequious, and the stupid. He almost missed his days working at Borgin and Burkes...

"Come in," he called out a little loudly, not really caring who it was as long it was someone whose presence doesn't make him want to claw his eyes out. He looked expectantly at the door, waiting for whoever was there to step inside and give him take a break from the endless stream of badly written essays.

The door opened slowly, and Adara walked in.

Adara Gaunt, Slytherin 7th year, and one of his brightest. She was excellent at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he had noticed in her an interest in the Dark Arts in general. She wasn’t a troublemaker like some of the other pure-bloods, entitled little narcissists who wanted to show off, which made it easy for her to not come under suspicion when some book was unaccounted for in the Restricted Section. She was less clever at hiding it after the fact, when she would answer a question of his during classes with an intriguing little tidbit, and he always knew exactly which book she’d read that in. If she got into trouble at all, it was casting the wrong hex at the wrong boy when she got picked on, and then making his well-groomed, fancy-robed, ignorant father complain to the Headmaster. Tom tried not to give her preferential treatment — but he had to actively try.

It didn’t help that she was a relative of his, by way of a second cousin of his lamented grandfather Marvolo, one who married some scion of the Black family and was scarcely spoken of again. He wasn’t sure what that made her — his niece? hardly. Not that he would ever tell that to her. Last thing he needed was some hanger-on.

No, as far as his students and most of the staff were concerned, he was a half-blood with the muggle name of Riddle, and nobody suspected anything illustrious from the magical side of his family — not that there had been anything particularly illustrious about the Gaunts for a hundred years. And as far as he had gathered from gossip and from observation, Adara’s outcast Gaunt-Black family wasn’t fairing much better than his own had. She spent every holiday she could at Hogwarts, she was withdrawn yet had a spiteful edge to her, she sought an escape from reality in subjects of the most extreme kind — his favourite kind, too —and, from his personal experience, he detected traces of neglect. An unwanted child, that much was certain. Sometimes, he thought she was still better off than living in a muggle orphanage — other times, he was not so sure.

She was pallid, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with an elegant showing of bones beneath her skin, and a quiet, withdrawn demeanour — in other words, a more unhealthy vision of him in a different sex. Still, he could see those eyes sparkle whenever he taught the darkest, most terrifying subjects, even while the rest of the class was frightened or disgusted. He understood why she liked it. There was nothing like the promise of power to the powerless.

And so, his eyes widened slightly when he saw her stepping unannounced into his office. It wasn’t like her… But if he were to talk to any of his wretched students, he could count himself lucky that it was her. His demeanour softened when he saw her standing there.

"Adara, it is such a pleasure to have you here."

"Hello, Professor," she said, closing the door behind her but moving no further in. "I hope I'm not disturbing you... I can come back later, if—"

Tom sighed at her timidity but smiled. "You’re not disturbing anything. Come in."

He got up and went to stand in front of the desk, ready to speak with her, and she came closer too.

"I'm very sorry to ask, sir," she started, swallowing the knot in her throat, "but... I was wondering if you can help me with something... I don't wish to go to the nurse about it, I don’t like her, and... you're an expert in this field — I mean, aside from Professor Slughorn, who I… also don’t wish to see. So I thought maybe you would know a solution..." She bit her lip after her ramble, looking at him to gauge his reaction.

She was terrified of bothering him, in fact, of being a nuisance, but she also didn’t know who else to turn to. He could tell she had gone through the options in her mind, and he was, in fact, the third after Nurse Blainey and Slughorn.

"Don't be sorry, Adara. It is my duty to assist students," he sighed. "Please, tell me what it is you need help with."

She looked up at him, visibly tensing even in the darkness of his office as she stood a few feet away, her face hot and body shivering under the effects of... something. Something unusual. She was typically a bit shy, but not that shy. She even looked a bit... unwell. Her legs rubbed against each other and she stood before him unsteadily, as if her bones or muscles ached.

"Well?" said Tom. "Go ahead…"

"I got into an argument with Amyas Avery and he snuck Ardour Fly up my skirt," she said in one fast breath, blushing profusely and looking down.

Tom frowned. Ardour Fly was a powder, a potent aphrodisiac that had few known cures. It irritated the victim and brought them to a point of sensitivity that was nearly torturous given long exposure. It was typically used between lovers, as the effects would not relent unless the victim was brought to... the very heights of pleasure. Until then, they would suffer painful, heated, relentless arousal that drove them mad with desire. What a snot-nose like Avery was doing with it, he didn’t wish to know — but he intended to find out anyway, as part of a long letter to his father.

"He did what to you?" His voice had that edge to it now.

He moved closer to look her over more closely, and she inhaled sharply at even something as innocuous as his approach. Tom brought a hand to her forehead: feverish, and she gasped. A gentle touch to her cheek with the back of his fingers rewarded him with a moan, and she was trying to look everywhere but at him.

"And where is Mr Avery now?" he whispered, his eyes scanning her body, taking in all the symptoms.

He heard her give a trembling exhale at the close sound of him, her eyes becoming lidded, looking drowsy. The timbre of his voice alone had driven her insane with want.

"I... Mmmm... I don't know. I guess he'll... go have lunch in the... Great Hall come dinnertime..."

"And did anyone else see it happen?"

"Mmmm..." she moaned, closing her eyes and biting her lip. "Vanius Nott was there, and Selby Carrow, and Ophius Black..."

Tom’s hand went to her cheek again, but he slid the edges of his fingers down beneath her jaw and tilted her face up to look at him. The storm of emotions in her was nothing compared to that in him: anger and cold fury were there, and a lust for revenge after what the useless progenies of socialites and sycophants had done to his favourite. They had humiliated her, bodily and mentally, out in the open where other little cowards could watch and laugh.

"And where were you when this happened?" he asked gently.

"In the Transfiguration courtyard," she said in a choked mumble.

Her head nearly tilted toward his palm, perhaps to nuzzle it, before he took it away. He almost wished he hadn’t hurried to remove it… His eyes slid to her uniform: ruffled, tie out of place, buttons holding on but barely… She’d either gotten into a physical scuffle, or she’d spent the last few minutes tearing away at herself in frustration before she decided to come to him for help.

He was so close he could smell her, smell the scent of something sharp and woody like ginger — the Ardour Fly — and underneath it, quickly overtaking it, something fleshy and sweet, warm and a bit salty, something cloying that settled at the back of his throat.

"Look at me for a moment," he asked gently.

She did, gazing into his eyes bravely. He held her eyes for a quiet moment, then without warning put his palm right over her lower stomach.

"Aaaahhh!"

She gave a weak animal sound, something half-moan half-scream. She was nearly bending over at the feeling. Beneath his hand, Tom worked a bit of wandless magic to confirm the state of her insides. As he suspected: swollen, throbbing, overworked, and underloved. He inhaled sharply in sympathy as the sensations coursed through him, before he quickly took his hand away.

He didn’t often have the opportunity to examine the effects of aphrodisiacs on their victims, although he had sold his fair share while at Borgin and Burkes. He never liked these dirty tricks out of principle, although a means to an end was a means to an end… But seeing their effects now on her, his favourite student, his flesh and blood, he felt far less forgiving.

She clung to her waist protectively — his hand had been warm enough that she felt it through her clothes, and it pained her in that way an unfulfilled desire does.

"Please, Professor Riddle," she whimpered, sounding on the verge of tears. "I can’t take it, please tell me you have a cure for it…"

Of course, there was no cure for Ardour Fly at Hogwarts. Those were rare and expensive. Perhaps Nurse Blainey could help her with the symptoms by means of some antipyretic potions, at least until they could have something actually useful delivered to the castle. But the only cure they had on hand, so to speak, was to let the aphrodisiac fulfil its purpose.

"Alright," he sighed, mostly to himself. He could do this. It was a legitimate concern. It could even be an illegitimate concern, because anyway, nobody was going to find out, he’d make sure of that.

"Oh thank you so much, please, it hurts, it hurts..."

"What hurts?" he asked coolly, looking in her eyes again. "Tell me exactly what it is that hurts."

She stared at him dumbly for a moment, then realised he was actually waiting for her to say it.

"My... my..."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, completely humiliated by the situation but dizzy from the effect of the Ardour Fly.

"My... intimate parts," she finally said, finding a term that was polite enough to say in the presence of a Professor.

"I see..." he whispered, his voice a little breathless now too above the anger he felt at the situation and his lingering anxieties. I can do this. "Show me where it hurts you."

Her soul left her body. She would have collapsed if she weren’t frozen stiff. She looked into his eyes, but there was no playfulness there. He was treating her as seriously, as clinically, as the victim of a poisoning… and it drove her dizzy with desire. It was at that point she realised she made a mistake going for help to the youngest and most handsome professor in the school.

But he didn’t seem any more amused by it than she was. He levelled at her the same stern gaze with which he expected them to hand in their homework, only now his voice was warmer and much close, and it was just the two of them, and he wasn’t asking for a roll of parchment but for her to lift her skirt.

Or did he prefer that she bend over?

The aphrodisiac was twisting not only her senses, but also her sense, and she found her mind going in the most depraved and humiliating directions. But he hadn’t meant it like that, did he? She genuinely was in pain, and her most dear Professor was offering to help. It made sense, it made sense...

After a few moments during which she switched between fighting with herself and looking into his dark eyes, she brought her hands to the edges of her skirt, and lifted it. She showed herself to him.

Tom’s icy gaze slid from her flushed face, down. Her panties were black with a lace flourish, and could barely contain her. She had been leaking down herself, the top of her thighs damp and shining in the candlelight, her folds swollen and visibly throbbing, the very material moving gently with a pulse that matched her heartbeat. And the scent of her, pure and innocent and aroused, became that much stronger now.

Tom stared at her with an intensity unlike anything he has ever felt before, and yet his composure betrayed nothing. It was only his stillness and the time he took to look at her, to drink his fill, that hinted at anything selfish at all. But inwardly, his senses were gripped by an unspeakable desire, a mixture of lust and pain and anger and something else, something that made his stomach churn at the mere thought of it.

His breath was slow and heavy as he spoke.

"You poor girl," he whispered. "What do you think should be done with those boys?"

Her lips parted in wonder at the turn in conversation. That was the last thing she expected from her Professor... to ask for her opinion. It made her realise how little she knew him...

"Punish them," she said with shaky anger. "Give them detention for the rest of the year or humiliate them or let me hex them or... I don't know, but I want them punished."

He smiled, feeling proud and oddly protective of her. That’s my girl, slithered a traitorous thought.

"Rest assured, I will punish them," he said with delight. "Not just detention, but much, much more."

He stared down at her, taking in the entire sight before him, a genuine look of affection in his eyes as he stared at her, an unspoken admiration. Her skirt was still held up in her trembling hands, her eyes were fixed on his, expectant and pleading and so, so obedient… But as he merely watched and said nothing else, she began to cover herself again.

"Thank you, Sir," she smiled, feeling so grateful she could cry.

It moved her beyond what he could know, to feel protected... Nobody had ever made her feel that way, not any of the other distracted teachers nor her fairweather friends and certainly not her parents.

"Um... so…" she asked with a blush. "Do you have a... treatment for the Ardour Fly, Sir? Can you help me?"

He grinned at that, seeming unhappy and excited at the same time, but also oddly… caring.

"Yes, Adara. I will help you."

She smiled at hearing it, as he expected. She trusted him completely.

Don’t get carried away, Tom thought to himself. Don’t let it go to your head.

He held her gaze, still smiling, and spoke in what he tried to make his most soothing, his most encouraging and reassuring tone. The irony was he hoped she’d gotten a hefty enough dose of aphrodisiac to even accept the treatment he was about to offer.

"There is only one treatment for the Ardour Fly we have available to us. It is a… procedure, but a well-tested method. It is, in fact, the recommended treatment. Do you understand?"

"I think so, Sir…"

She didn’t.

"I agree to help you, because I know you’re a good student and you deserve better than this, and I can only imagine what you must be going through right now… But it will take a considerable amount of… fortitude and… tolerance from your side."

"Alright, Sir," she said, looking up into his dark eyes.

She wanted to be brave for him, she wanted to be worthy of his praise and his help and his confidence, but most of all she wanted to show how grateful he was that he could help her. No, most of all she wanted something else…

"Good girl," he whispered, his smile tilting intimately.

A shiver ran up and down her spine at hearing it. She’d never been called that, and to hear Professor Riddle say it to her made her weak.

"You’ll need to lie down for your treatment," he said, then pointed to the far right of the room. "Go there, on the sofa."

It was an old and battered thing upholstered in green velvet that had worn away in places, but it looked to her like an operating table as she approached. She looked behind her as Professor Riddle followed, his arms politely behind his back. She didn’t see him take any equipment or potions, which made her wonder what this treatment was…

She sat on it, almost experimentally, letting herself gingerly on the cushion, but even that pressure was too much. Her head tilted back and she frowned with pleasure-pain at the intense sensation of having her tender parts all pressed together by her thighs.

"Now, lay on your back," he said as he came to a stop beside her.

She took her shoes off first, then came to rest on her back, trying to find a comfortable position. Her arms were stretched out and tense by her sides, and all she could look at was the shadowy stone ceiling.

Professor Riddle sat down on the floor, by her chest, and leisurely trailed his eyes up and down the length of her. She heard him sigh, but could not detect the precise feeling behind it.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly. "Do you trust me with every part of you?"

"Yes, Professor," she whispered almost so softly that he couldn't hear.

"Then listen carefully." His voice was almost gentle, almost. "I am going to kiss you now."

"Wh—!"

"Just one, soft, gentle kiss on your lips."

"Whatwhy?!" she asked in a tangle of emotions. She stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, her elbows braced against the sofa ready to lift her.

"I thought you said you trusted me," he said with a feline narrowing of the eyes.

"I d-do, but…"

"But what?"

She swallowed the knot in her throat and said nothing, conveying instead with her eyes and her lips and her frown all the things she couldn’t say: her worry, her fear, her despair for an ease to her pain, her mortification, and her frustrated desires… Tom understood her better than he wanted to.

"Ready?" he asked in a warm whisper as he leaned in.

His hand touched her cheek again, lightly enough that it was more of a tickle. She could smell ink on his fingers, and the salt from the sweat of his palms… She wanted to lick it clean.

"It’s just one kiss, Adara," he whispered in a last attempt to reassure her. "I’m not exactly asking for a huge sacrifice, am I?"

She wavered at that, her eyes dipping down shyly, sadly, even as his touch mollified her. She hesitated. "I've never been kissed, Sir..." she whispered.

Ah. So that’s why she was sad. This wasn't what she had imagined when she pictured her first kiss. She hoped to share it under quite different, more romantic, more conventional circumstances, if ever...

But at the same time, her body was screaming at her to accept, to assuage the aphrodisiac that was wreaking havoc on her nerves and her senses and her mind.

"You can still refuse," he said with a cocked brow, his fingers gentling her cheek with slow caresses.

She even felt a hint of guilt slip between her nerves... Professor Riddle was willing to help her, and here she was, stalling, fearing him, having doubts... He felt her hesitation.

"Don't worry, it will be a simple, gentle kiss. I will endeavour to make it positively sterile. Alright?"

She couldn’t look at him, but she nodded.

Tom leaned in even further and caressed her from her jaw to her chin in one long hungry lick of a stroke, looking into her eyes even as hers avoided him — deep and dark and lovely… He breathed in, breathed her in, for a moment feeling as if something of each of their own could merge into one being. He didn’t like that feeling, it felt like surrender.

"Do you trust me?" he asked in a huskier voice than he intended.

She looked up at him, pleading silently for him to be for her what he had been the whole time she was his student: her comfort, her consolation, her support, more than anyone else had been.

"I do trust you, Sir," she said with a choked voice, her throat tight with unspilled tears.

"There’s a good girl," he whispered, smiling down at her.

He could see her eyes growing dark at that, could see her breathing in panting breaths even worse than before, her knees coming up to offer her some comfort, to expose her to the cool air of the room and calm her aching parts… His eyes had that same smouldering look in them, but mixed in was the intense desire to prove to Adara that he could help her, comfort and protect her.

With the very tip of his index tilting her chin up, Tom leaned in and kissed her lips. It was the gentlest kiss imaginable, a pressing of his mouth against hers, quiet and silent and patient, a simple display of affection — but his eyes bore into hers throughout, like he was searching through her thoughts, through her very soul.

She looked back into his eyes throughout while his lips pressed with a certain kind of care into her, as tender as a fallen leaf. The scent of his skin so close, the scent of his clothes, the feeling of his warm lips and his cold finger, all made her feel a strange new feeling for her professor — or perhaps, it was not so new, she had just tried to suppress it because it was so indecent, so unworthy of him, and of her.

As he pulled away, he didn’t miss her little tongue slipping out to lick the taste of him off her. He smiled as he circled her chin with his thumb.

"How do you feel?" he whispered.

"The same? I mean, t-thank you, Sir..." she said, a little breathless. Her mind was still spinning from what he had just done for her. "But... It... it still hurts," she whined.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. That wasn’t part of the treatment."

"What?"

"The ‘treatment’ comes next. I’m going to have to give you an orgasm. It just didn’t seem courteous without kissing your lips first."

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle fanfiction #Tom Riddle imagine #Tom Riddle x Reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;ardour #Tom Riddle smut

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dnfao3tags · 10 months ago

Text

Monthly Fic Roundup - February 2024

haven't been too active this month but here's your monthly recs!

as always, make sure to leave some love :]

— Turning Right on Red by jestbee (expl. | comp. | 4k) ; established relationship + car sex

George's stream has consequences.

— Drumroll, Please by starsgaze (snowdreamr) (gen | comp. | 5k) ; bed sharing + relationship study

Everything it is, and everything it isn’t. A proposal, of sorts. A half confession. Over all, the weight of wanting and the agony of bearing with it. Dream and George, deprived of meaning.

— GeorgeNotFound OnlyFans by Simplysmitten (expl. | comp. | 37k) ; sex work + secret identity

Fresh out of university and struggling to land a job in his field, George finds himself desperate for a way to make ends meet. While his friends have big dreams of blowing up on YouTube, George decides to make an OnlyFans profile. Shockingly, George goes viral on both platforms, making his money troubles a thing of the past, but maintaining his anonymity a constant worry. How funny is it that he manages to make a friend named Clay on both platforms?

— don't know how long it's going to take to feel okay (i had the best day with you today) by brokenlikeastitch (teen | comp. | 7k) ; dream's mom + established relationship

Three times George needed a mom and Dream's mom was there for him.

— what i wanted to hear by alisonsomething, dizzy (expl. | comp. | 3k) ; phone sex

George is in Los Angeles and Dream is in Florida. It’s not the first time they’ve been thousands of miles apart, and Dream can’t stop thinking about one very memorable conversation they had shortly before George’s visa was approved.

— Suction by tsundanire (expl. | comp. | 1k) ; nipple play

George trusts Dream completely. Trusts him enough with his most sensitive bits.

— wish that i could step into yours instead by Kore_Writes (teen | comp. | 12k) ; canon compliant + character study

A series of moments in Dream's life that George had always been there for him.

— he loves him more than anyone ever has in the history of man by brokenlikeastitch (teen | comp. | 14k) ; pov outsider

dream and george over the years through the perspectives of their friends

— the end of all things by womanhunt (teen | comp. | 9k) ; marriage (eloping)

“We should get married.” The words make Dream choke on the scrambled eggs in his mouth, and George just stares at him blankly as he coughs and takes a drink of his water. And, before he can overthink it, Dream gives in. “Ok, yeah. We should get married,” he nods to himself, reaching out to pull George’s hands apart and link their fingers together. “Did you mean, like, soon? Or?” “I mean, like, today.” George murmurs, eyes still not meeting Dream’s.

— my love by cqfnce (teen | comp. | 8k) ; patches the good cat

dream and george go last-minute shopping for patches' birthday

— daisies, daisies by snowdreamr (expl. | comp. | 15k) ; mpreg + future fic

On secrecy and patience. On learning how to embrace the unexpected.

— this is me trying by dizzy (teen | comp. | 5k) ; mental health issues + hopeful ending

Is this a cage? George's guts rebel against that, too. He fought to be here. This is the freedom from years of locking himself inside. He has no regrets. He doesn’t want anything to be different, except maybe that he could walk into a room without Dream or Sapnap looking at him like he’s not who they thought he was.

— Circling Back by Scoops (consciousness_streaming) (expl. | comp. | 15k) ; identity porn + coworkers

As a remote worker, George's only real friend at Pog Industries is Clay, the marketing genius who skyrocketed up the corporate ladder. Sure, maybe his work bestie is old and really bad at Fortnite, and they've never actually met, but they have each other's backs. And that's what's important. When a position on the Board opens up for George, it's Clay going to their CEO, Badboy Halo, to get him hired in the position. To George's amazement, it works. Now, he's moving to America the night before the infamous Pog Industries Christmas Party, and he's ready to put some names to faces.

— make a home on the cracks by lodestones (teen | comp. | 2k) ; baby fever + developing relationship

He’d be a good dad, Dream thinks—people are always telling him he’ll be good at it. It’s not anything all-consuming, but it’s a fantasy he still returns to every once in a while, dancing in the back of his mind whenever little kids approach him and ask for a picture. He catches himself daydreaming about it at least a thousand times more often after the first time he watches George interact with younger fans.

— George Not Found Is Stupid and Hides His Pregnancy From Dream For Two Whole Months by mario anon and apple anon (teen | comp. | 4k) ; mpreg

Hes pregnant it is all i know how to write

— executive session by dizzy (expl. | comp. | 1.7k) ; exhibitionism

Dream is a senate intern, and George is the guy he's about to fuck on the senate floor.

note: i've been fucking WAITING for someone to write a fic on this

— no thing's so sure that i can't learn to doubt it by brokenlikeastitch (teen | comp. | 11k) ; professors au

The closer he gets to George’s door, the louder the crying gets, and when he finally reaches the open doorway, he glances in to see a girl sitting across the desk from George, practically hyperventilating. In all of his years of teaching, with all of the students he’s had upset with him, Dream is pretty sure he’s never had a student this upset with him. He wonders if George is, like, torturing his students.

— The need to know by tsundanire (expl. | comp. | 5k) ; dick measuring

DRICK vs GRICK

— dear future husband by dizzy (expl. | comp. | 3k) ; breeding and housewife kink

Dream tells George that since he isn't paying rent he should at least be putting dinner on the table... and George decides to prove him right.

— it is not about me being gay with george by alisonsomething (teen | comp. | 2k) ; insecurity + miscommunication

Dream’s latest TikTok makes George angry enough to confront him about it.

— Honeysuckle Jam by gottagetshiver (expl. | comp. | 71k) ; omegaverse

George has terrible heats, he always has. He'd thought that after years of peace on suppressants, he's be done with them forever. It works, until it doesn't. The doctor says his best chance at fixing his terrible heats is having an alpha with him, and it just so happens that Dream is an alpha. It'll be easy, right? Dream will help him through his heat, and he'll be fixed. The fact that George is madly in love with Dream won't complicate matters at all, right? It won't upend their lives and throw them into chaos, right?

note: published last month but finished this month so im including it

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dnf fanfic recs #dnfao3tags recs #mfr #mfr feb 2024 #monthly fic roundup

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bitchiswild · 1 year ago

Text

The Christmas Mission

Kim Chaewon x F!Reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 4k

A/n: 👩‍👩‍👧🎄📝

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚

From the moment I took my first breath, my mom and mama cocooned me in an infinite embrace of love. Life with them was a kaleidoscope of joy—I lived in a world where everything was perfect. Our family might have been small, but in my eyes, it was an entire universe of happiness.

However, that world crumbled when they decided to part ways. I remember the day they sat me down, their voices laced with reassurance, explaining that they wouldn’t share the same home anymore. I was just a five-year-old then, and although they might've thought I didn't grasp the depth of their decision, I knew our lives were about to change irreversibly.

Their separation during those holiday seasons felt like a hurricane ripping through our traditions. Choosing between spending Thanksgiving or Christmas with mommy or mama was an impossible choice. It felt unfair because all I wanted was to see us together, laughing, and sharing those special moments.

So, I devised a plan, a beacon of hope I called The Christmas Mission. I knew deep in my seven-year-old heart that if I could bring them together again, our family could be whole once more. With determination blazing in my eyes, I reached out to Auntie Yunjin, using mama's phone for secrecy. She chuckled softly at my boldness but agreed to help. Auntie Yunjin and I both sensed an unspoken truth—deep within Mama's heart, there lingered a love that hadn't faded for Mommy. And so, The Christmas Mission was a go.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Throughout the entire year, I mulled over a meticulous plan, carefully orchestrating it with Auntie Yunjin's invaluable guidance. We decided to set the wheels in motion come September, giving us a precious three-month window to reunite Mommy and Mama.

My strategy was simple yet profound—I wanted Mommy and Mama to reminisce about their past together. Each night, just before bedtime, I would implore Mommy to share stories of their shared history, the moments that stitched their lives together. It was a chance for her to reflect on their beautiful past.

And when I was at Mama's house, I followed the same routine, coaxing her to delve into their cherished memories. Those stories were like fragments of a once-perfect puzzle, scattered but holding the promise of reunification.

"Mommy, can you tell me the story of how you knew you loved mama?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mixture of anticipation and earnestness.

"Alina, I've recounted this tale to you countless times," Mommy replied, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

"I know, but I love it so much," I insisted, pouting slightly, hoping to nudge her into sharing the cherished memory once more.

"Alright, alright," Mommy relented with a smile, knowing she couldn't resist my plea. "It was during winter," she began, a nostalgic glimmer dancing in her eyes.

It was a whirlwind of activity during winter for idols like Chaewon, schedules packed to the brim with performances and practices. Despite the bustling chaos, Chaewon made a conscious effort to carve out time for us. Our relationship had blossomed over the past three months, the connection growing stronger with each passing day, yet neither of us had mustered the courage to vocalize those three important words.

Before each performance or practice, like clockwork, Chaewon would drop a message, a reassuring beacon in the midst of her hectic schedule. Whether she was en route to work or headed back home, she made sure to keep me in the loop, a constant stream of updates that helped bridge the distance between us.

But amidst her gestures, I sensed her guilt. She knew I often waited for her at the dorm, eager to be by her side. The longing for her presence was palpable, and it seemed mirrored in her own desire to break free from her commitments and just be with me. Her concern for my waiting was a testament to her genuine affection, a silent testament to the emotions yet unspoken between us.

As the holidays drew nearer, a gift arrived in the form of a lighter schedule for Chaewon. Suddenly, she had pockets of time, and those moments became our sanctuary. Nights were no longer dictated by tight rehearsals or packed calendars; instead, they were ours to relish. We'd stay awake, wrapped in the glow of movie screens, concocting treats not just for us but for her fellow group members as well. We immersed ourselves in all those quintessential couple activities, indulging in the sweetness of shared moments.

Then came that overdue date—a special occasion Chaewon orchestrated. It was her chance to lavish me with affection, to express her gratitude for my unwavering support and presence. How could I have possibly said no to her thoughtful gesture? After all, my love for her was steadfast and unwavering.

Our date unfolded like a cherished fairytale. We delved into the vibrant tapestry of Seoul, relishing delicious street food, diving into spontaneous activities, and capturing our laughter in photographs. It was a day painted with hues of perfection, but the canvas of our happiness expanded when she bared her heart.

Amidst the pulsating energy of the city, she turned to me, her eyes brimming with an affection that needed no words to convey its depth. And then, in a moment that echoed amidst the bustling streets, she whispered those three words that altered the rhythm of our universe: "I love you." Those words, so simple yet carrying the weight of an entire galaxy of emotions, wrapped around me like a warm embrace. Feeling the intensity of that moment, I leaned in, closing the gap between us, and our lips met in a tender, affirming kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, a testament to the love we shared, marking one of the top three moments etched in our hearts.

As I sat there, wrapped in the warmth of Mommy's story, my laughter danced in the air while my feet playfully kicked beneath me. In the midst of her storytelling, I caught glimpses of both nostalgia and a hint of sadness lingering in her eyes. Yet, amidst those emotions, there was something more profound—a glimmer of an enduring love she still held for Mama.

The realization that my plan was gaining traction filled me with an indescribable joy. It was working! The threads of their shared past, spun through Mommy's tales, were weaving a tapestry that rekindled something beautiful between them. That glimmer of love, buried beneath the layers of time and change, now danced vibrantly before my eyes.

In that moment, I felt like a silent architect, subtly nudging their hearts to remember what they once had. It was a fragile yet powerful realization, fueling my determination to see my Christmas mission through to its heartwarming conclusion.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Mama, can you pleaseeeee tell me the story of when you proposed to mommy? Pleaseeeeee," I pleaded, my hands clasped together in an emphatic display.

"Of course, baby. Just so you know, it was one of my favorite days," Mama replied with a wink, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she settled into the memory, ready to weave the tale for me.

With bated breath, I listened as Mama began, her voice laced with a nostalgic tenderness that painted vivid images in my mind. Her words carried me to a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of their love story, as she recounted the beautiful chapter of when she proposed to Mommy.

The air crackled with nervous anticipation as Chaewon prepared for the pivotal moment of her life—proposal day. Three years had woven an unbreakable bond between us, and for her, it was the perfect juncture to pledge eternity by your side. You were her world, the axis around which her universe spun, and she couldn't fathom a life without you.

Her meticulous plan had been meticulously crafted, with the assistance of her fellow members, especially Yunjin, who shared a special bond with you. Yunjin's role in the plan was crucial—to distract you throughout the day, giving Chaewon and the rest of the girls the space and time needed to prepare every intricate detail. Everything had to be flawless, just like the love you shared.

As the designated hour drew near, with Yunjin leading me back, all the preparations were set in motion. The stage was meticulously arranged, every element carefully placed to create an atmosphere of magic and love, a space where Chaewon would bare her heart and soul. The energy hummed with anticipation, every detail polished to perfection, all for that one unforgettable moment.

The room seemed to hold its breath, cocooned in an atmosphere pregnant with emotion. Chaewon stood in the center, her heart an orchestra of nerves and unwavering love. The ambiance, carefully crafted with twinkling candles and delicate touches, paled in comparison to the radiance emanating from her.

As Yunjin guided me into the transformed space, my breath hitched in wonder. It was as though the room itself was a canvas painted with the hues of Chaewon's adoration—a breathtaking masterpiece dedicated to our love.

But amidst the beauty, it was Chaewon who commanded attention, her eyes, shimmering with anticipation and vulnerability, locking onto mine. In that charged moment, her voice, soft yet resolute, began to weave a narrative of our shared journey.

"Y/n," she uttered, her voice quivering with unspoken passion. "These years beside you have been my universe, a symphony of laughter, comfort, and an unyielding anchor. You are my everything."

Step by step, she closed the distance between us, reaching for my trembling hand, our souls connected in an unspoken embrace. "Today, amid the echoes of our love, I stand here with a question burning in my heart," she continued, her voice an ethereal whisper carrying the weight of a thousand emotions. "Will you walk this path with me? Will you choose to share your tomorrows with me, painting our story in the canvas of time? Will you marry me?"

Tears shimmered in our eyes, mirroring the overwhelming surge of emotions coursing through us. "Yes," You managed to choke out, your voice trembling with raw emotion, but every syllable dripping with love and certainty.

In that hallowed moment, surrounded by the tender flicker of candles and the symphony of our hearts beating as one, Chaewon slid a ring onto your finger—a circle representing an unbroken promise, a vow to weather every storm together. It was a moment when time stood still, a crescendo of emotions intertwining, marking the genesis of our forever.

The weight of Mama's story settled like a heavy mist, veiling the room in bittersweet nostalgia. Her words carried the weight of regret and longing, painting a picture of a love that had weathered storms but succumbed to the relentless demands of her schedule.

Tears blurred my vision as I wrapped my arms around Mama, her vulnerability tugging at my heartstrings. "You know, Mommy still loves you, right?" I whispered, trying to offer solace amidst the sea of emotions.

Mama's response carried the weight of resignation, a silent acceptance veiled in her words. "No, she doesn't, not anymore. And I'm okay with that. I just want her to be happy," she murmured, the ache in her voice echoing the depth of her love.

But I couldn't bear to see Mama resigned to a love lost. With a newfound determination, I revealed my secret plan, the clandestine scheme that had been brewing in my young heart for the past few months. The confession hung in the air, a revelation poised to reshape their world.

Chaewon's confusion pierced the moment. "What do you mean, a plan?" she queried, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I gazed at her, my cheeks flushing with the weight of my revelation. "For the past three months, I've been coaxing both of you to share stories of your past," I admitted, my voice quivering with a mix of anxiety and hope. "I wanted to rekindle the feelings you have for each other."

Mama's initial shock dissolved into a burst of laughter, the sound filling the room with unexpected warmth. "You, my clever baby, are quite the little schemer," she teased, tickling me playfully, coaxing joyous laughter from deep within me.

In that moment, amidst shared laughter and gentle teasing, I glimpsed a spark of hope flickering in Mama's eyes, a glimmer of possibilities woven by the innocence and determination of a child's heart.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was the moment of truth—I had Mama fully on board with our secret mission. Now, the final act of our plan was set in motion, and I was the lead actress in this grand performance.

With a mischievous glint in my eye, I switched on the blow dryer and directed its warm air to my forehead, feigning the onset of a fake sickness. I knew one thing for sure—Mommy was a whirlwind of concern when it came to taking care of her sick daughter.

"Mommy," I croaked out, playing my part with as much conviction as I could muster.

"Oh, Alina, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Mommy's worry was palpable, her pacing back and forth a testament to her genuine concern for me.

Pretending to be in distress, I murmured, "Call Mama, I want Mama," sniffling to add authenticity to my performance.

As expected, Mommy's concern deepened, and she dialed Mama without hesitation. Mama arrived swiftly, true to the script, while I sat upstairs, ready to play my next part.

"Okay, Mama, I'll pretend to sleep while you have a heart-to-heart with Mommy," I instructed eagerly, feeling like a clandestine agent about to execute a crucial plan.

Mama chuckled at my enthusiasm. "Sure thing, stinker," she said affectionately, ruffling my hair before slipping downstairs to engage Mommy in a conversation that I hoped would rekindle their feelings.

As I lay there, pretending to be asleep, my heart raced with anticipation. This was the moment where the threads of our plan would intertwine, where Mama's words would work their magic in Mommy's heart. It was a scene straight out of a movie, and I was the director behind the curtains, waiting for the climax to unfold.

Quiet as a mouse, I crept to the top of the stairs, my heart pounding with both excitement and nervousness. Peering through the banister's gaps, I listened intently, the hushed tones of Mama and Mommy's conversation drifting up to where I stood.

Their voices, a blend of familiarity and a hint of something deeper, carried a weight of emotions. Mama's gentle words mingled with Mommy's tentative responses, and it was like listening to a symphony, each note resonating with the cadence of their shared history.

Mama's voice, soft yet filled with a wellspring of emotions, carried stories of their past, moments cherished and remembered. She painted a canvas with her words, a tapestry woven with love, laughter, and shared experiences that seemed to transcend time.

As I eavesdropped, I couldn't help but feel a surge of hope. Mama's tales were like tendrils reaching out to rekindle the spark that had once blazed between them. Mommy's responses, though cautious, held a touch of nostalgia and perhaps a flicker of the love that had never truly faded.

It was a delicate dance of emotions, unfolding like a carefully scripted scene. In that quiet space, I was witness to a silent dialogue, a conversation between two hearts seeking to bridge the distance that had grown between them.

Every word spoken was a thread weaving back the tapestry of their shared love, and as I listened, I dared to hope that our plan was working, that the fragments of their past were reawakening something beautiful between Mama and Mommy.

Alina observed from her hidden vantage point, a silent witness to the delicate exchange between Mama and Mommy downstairs. Meanwhile, in another corner of the house, Y/n and Chaewon found themselves in an intimate moment, the air thick with unspoken sentiments.

Chaewon stood by the window, her eyes tracing the contours of the room but her thoughts elsewhere, entangled in a tapestry of memories and unsaid words. You approached your feelings, feeling the weight of years of separation and longing.

"Chaewon," You began, your voice laced with vulnerability and a torrent of emotions.

She turned towards me, and in that moment, the unspoken love that had lingered for so long seemed to spill from our eyes. "Y/n," she responded, her voice a whisper laden with hope and yearning.

Each word carried the weight of our unexpressed feelings. "Despite the passage of time, my love for you has never wavered," You confessed, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotions.

Chaewon's gaze softened, a shimmer of unshed tears reflecting the depth of her feelings. "The love I have for you remains unchanged, a constant amidst the changing tides of life," she admitted, her voice a tender echo of our shared affection.

In that vulnerable exchange, our hearts beat in unison, a symphony of love and longing. With trembling hands, we reached out to each other, fingers intertwining in a silent promise, a silent vow to explore the resurgence of a love that had endured the test of time.

Embraced in each other's arms, our connection felt like a melody, harmonizing with the quiet transformation taking place downstairs between us. It was a moment of tender revelation, a shared confession that spoke volumes of the love rekindled, echoing the quiet whispers of reconciliation weaving through the house.

In that vulnerable exchange, as our emotions swirled like an unstoppable tide, a silent understanding passed between us. Without words, but with a depth of feeling that words could never capture, we leaned closer.

Chaewon's breath mingled with mine, our hearts racing in unison as our lips met in a tender, long-awaited kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, a communion of souls reconnecting after a prolonged separation.

The touch of her lips against mine held the weight of unspoken confessions, the echo of years of longing, and the promise of a future rekindled. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken vows and a renewed commitment, sealing the unbreakable bond we shared.

As we drew apart, the room seemed to hold its breath, the air charged with the unspoken promises hanging between us. The soft brush of our fingers lingered, a silent reassurance that our hearts had found their way back to each other.

In that tender moment, amidst the quiet intimacy, our embrace conveyed a story of rediscovery and a love reignited. It echoed the hushed whispers of reconciliation downstairs, a parallel journey of two hearts finding solace and hope in the embrace of love rediscovered.

“YES!” The joyous exclamation escaped me before I could contain it, echoing through the house. Quickly realizing my outburst, I covered my mouth, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and surprise. Mama's chuckle washed over me, her voice calming despite my momentary panic.

"Alina, sweetheart, come down here," Mama beckoned, her tone gentle and reassuring. Sheepishly, I descended the stairs, finding them wrapped in a warm embrace, the sight filling my heart with boundless happiness.

"Are you two together again?" I blurted out, unable to contain my curiosity and excitement.

Their laughter filled the room, a harmonious blend of emotions. "Yes and no," Mommy replied with a playful smile. "Your mama here has to take me on a date first."

My eyes lit up with excitement. "Can I plan it like I've planned to get you two back together?" I pleaded eagerly, the prospect of being the architect of their reconciliation sparking a newfound enthusiasm within me.

The sudden realization flickered across Mommy's face, a mix of surprise and intrigue. Her raised eyebrows prompted a moment of shared trepidation between Mama and me, unsure of her reaction.

"What do you mean?" Mommy's voice held a note of curiosity, urging me to explain.

Gathering my courage, I confessed, "Yes, I've had everyone in on the plan, even Mama. I orchestrated everything—the stories, the reminiscing about your past together—to rekindle your feelings for each other." There was a brief pause as I awaited Mommy's response.

She gazed at both of us, a mixture of astonishment and amusement crossing her features. "Chaewon, our daughter is remarkably smart," Mommy exclaimed, her tone a blend of surprise and pride.

"That's what I've been saying! When she told me her plan, I was shocked myself because it was actually working," Mama chimed in, her laughter blending with Mommy's, the tension dissipating into shared amusement.

The confession, once met with apprehension, now became a moment of shared laughter and revelation. It was a testament to the power of a child's earnest desire to see her parents rediscover their love, and it seemed our efforts hadn't gone unnoticed.

The air buzzed with joy as Mommy and Mama enveloped me in a warm embrace, their arms a cocoon of love and gratitude. They peppered me with kisses, their laughter mingling with mine in a symphony of happiness.

Giggles escaped me uncontrollably, a chorus of joy that echoed the newfound harmony in our family. In that tender moment, encircled by their love, I felt a profound sense of contentment knowing that our journey had brought us back together.

Their affectionate gestures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the rekindled love that now flourished between them. It was a scene painted with warmth, laughter, and the reassurance that our bond was stronger than ever.

With hearts brimming with love, we stood united—a family reunited by the unwavering devotion of a daughter and the enduring love between two souls finding their way back to each other.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The anticipation of Christmas filled the air with an infectious excitement, and in the midst of this joyous occasion, I shared a heartfelt wish with Mommy and Mama—a desire for a little sibling. Their surprise at my request was evident, gently explaining that it might be a bit too soon since they had only reunited a month ago. However, they promised to consider it.

On that magical Christmas day, amidst a sea of gifts from everyone, a particular box from Mommy and Mama caught my eye. With bated breath, I opened it, revealing a shirt with the words "Big Sister" printed on it. I couldn't contain my excitement—I jumped and squealed with unbridled joy. "I'm going to be a big sister!" I exclaimed, elation coursing through me.

Mommy and Mama chuckled at my exuberance, but as I rushed to them, tears began to well up in my eyes. Mama gently wiped away my tears, concern etched on her face. "What's wrong, baby? I thought you were happy?" she inquired, while Mommy held me close, offering comfort.

Amidst my sobs, I tried to explain. "I'm just so happy... our family is back together. It's all I've ever wanted for the past two years," I sobbed out, my emotions a whirlwind of overwhelming joy and gratitude.

Their arms around me felt like a fortress of love, a sanctuary where all my hopes and dreams had finally converged. In that poignant moment, the gift of their love and our reunited family outweighed any present under the Christmas tree. It was a moment etched in the tapestry of our lives, one of heartfelt emotions and the joy of a wish fulfilled.

In that moment, held tight within the embrace of Mommy and Mama, amidst the glow of Christmas lights, my heart felt like it could burst with overwhelming emotions. Their love enveloped me, a cocoon of warmth and acceptance that healed every fracture within me. It wasn't just about the joy of soon becoming a big sister; it was the depth of love that had mended the pieces of our fractured family.

Tears of sheer happiness streamed down my face, each drop a testament to the overwhelming gratitude and love I held for them. This Christmas, painted in hues of reconciliation and hope, etched an indelible mark on my soul. It was a chapter of our lives wrapped in the embrace of forgiveness, renewal, and the promise of new beginnings. As we stood there, united and filled with unspoken promises, I knew that this Christmas would forever linger in the tender corners of my heart as a testament to the healing power of love.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

#bitchiswild #BIW.WRITES #lesserafim x reader #fluff #lesserafim fluff #lesserafim imagines #lesserafim chaewon #chaewon x f! reader #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon #chaewon

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starrgaziinggg · 2 years ago

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SMAU | UNDERCOVER JYP-U

chapter thirteen -> feelings and secrets (written, 4K words)

directory | next chapter ->

"Okay, so that concludes the meeting?" Chan begins to wrap up, clasping his hands together. You take it as your queue to gently nudge Jeongin's side, forcing him awake after having dozed off halfway through your regular Friday afternoon student body meetings. It was safe to say Jeongin may not have been the best choice for the demanding role, yet here he was.

The sun was streaming through the large floor to ceiling windows of the meeting room, so you didn’t blame him for letting the warm sun send him to sleep. You were feeling hazy yourself, having to force yourself to stay awake through Chan��s words.

Jeongin smiles sleepily at you, leaning his head on your shoulder momentarily while the others conclude the discussion about the relevant topics, primarily the events of the charity week occurring at the beginning of the next month.

"You have until next week to choose the specifics for what you will actually do, but you've now chosen your teams for the events, right?" Chan asks, and you all nod your heads - bar Jeongin, of course, who just looks to you with a raised brow. You wave your hand, indicating you'd inform him of what he'd missed later.

The charity week was a week of events that ran once per semester. This year, your chosen charity was World Vision, and your collective aim was to raise a large sum of money to send off. It was known that most of the students that attended you university and their parents were well off, which meant it could hopefully be achieved.

There would be a multitude of events held throughout the week, and opportunities to donate constantly. It was your job as a member of the student body to advocate for the charity and push for as many donations as you possibly could.

Although it was difficult to balance the duties that came with being a student body representative with uni work and a social life, organising the dance course's activities for charity week was a great way to take your mind off of the shit show that was social media right now. Thankfully, Jisung's tweets were very well received, and he didn't get in too much trouble, but you dread to think of would could have happened to him if that weren't the case.

You were also dreading the inevitable next 'secret' that this awful account was going to expose next. It was as if you were constantly glued to your phone, refreshing Twitter like a fan girl on steroids with a constant lump in your throat. Nothing had been posted since last week, though, so you hoped it was going to be a one off.

"Excellent," Chan says, distracting you from your thoughts. Jeongin lifts his head from your shoulder to pack up his belongings, as if he'd used them in the first place. "I think we're taking a well needed break from alcoholic induced social events this week, so if I don't see you guys during the week I'll see you again, here, next Friday."

The way he switches so quickly from his head-screwed-on leader mode to his laid back, casual friendship mode never fails to crack you up. It's as if he has a split personality, and you commend him for being able to juggle everything as efficiently as he does. Once you finish packing your bag, Ryujin makes her way over to you. As the admin of the student body, she sits to the right of Chan in the school's meeting room, whilst Changbin - the vice president, sits to the left.

It was definitely an awkward hour, the two of them on edge with each other after their conversation over coffee the other day. Ryujin had come home and spilled everything to you and Hyunjin, sprawling on your bed beside you and delving deep into their conversation. Hyunjin had even taken a break from his art piece to listen intently to her, putting his input in and giving her advise when she asked for it.

Having Hyunjin over was a lot...nicer, than you'd expected it to be. He was quiet and pleasant and save for the hour he got bored and had a rush of energy, he kept to himself and worked hard at his painting. It was nice to have his company, the two of you not speaking and simply getting your work done in peace. His artwork came out beautifully, too, which left him heading home in a great mood.

That photo he'd posted was still on your mind, though you'd never admit that out loud.

"God that was a drag," she drawls, flopping to lean on the table in front of you as you stand up, the others heading out the door. "I love Chan, but these things could be over in fifteen minutes if he kept it simple."

"He'll have an aneurism if you tell him to shorten them," you snort, walking out the room with Ryujin's arm linked in yours. Lia and Yuna had told you earlier they were going shopping after the meeting, so you watch them walk in the opposite direction to you and Ryujin after saying goodbye. They'd invited you guys and Chae too, of course, but you knew if you indulged in their shopping spree you'd spend far too much, and the cost of being a Uni student did not come cheap.

So, you'd arranged a quiet night in with some of the guys. Jeongin had just bought a projector, so the plan was to hook up Jisung's fancy laptop to it and set it up in your dorm. You would have gone to the guys dorm, except Minho's recent cooking escapade had not ended well, and he'd informed you that his dorm had smelt like rotting eggs for half the week. Decidedly, your dorm was the agreed upon source of comfort for the night.

Chan had some more meetings with some uni higher ups about charity week, so he'd bailed, and Changbin and Ryujin's awkward situation had caused him to give it a pass too. Seungmin said he'd be making an appearance after his classes. Since half of his double major was English, he attended lectures at your sister school, the mainstream Uni across the road, which meant his schedule was pretty jam packed.

That left Minho, Jisung, Hyunjin, Felix and Jeongin turning up at your doorstep holding various different items an hour after you'd gotten back to the dorm.

"What's all this?" You hear Chae ask as the raucous tumbles into your dorm. You make your way out of your bedroom to greet them, Ryujin following behind you after the two of you had scrolled on tik tok for the hour in between your meeting and now. The boys were all in their comfy clothes; hoodies and joggers, much like you girls.

"Jeongin's got the projector," Minho informs you as he gives you a smile and hands you a box. You'd barely seen him this week, since he was starting to skip classes more regularly. You were surprised he hadn't been reprimanded for it yet, but Minho somehow got away with anything and everything. "That's a cake."

"I've got snacks!" Felix says cheerily, showing you bundles of crisps and bags of chocolate in his arms.

"Why have you brought a cake?" You ask, smiling at your blonde headed friend as he sports his usual grin, turning back to Minho. He shrugs.

"It was my, 'I'm sorry your deep dark secret got posted on the internet, here's a cake' cake, but Minho and Felix somehow forgot that I don't like chocolate icing, so now you guys can eat my pity cake," Jisung explains, already flopping onto the sofa with his laptop, though he's smiling as he says it. He's received mostly praise and positivity over the internet recently, so he wasn't in all that of a bad mood about the whole ordeal.

Felix smiles sheepishly, dumping the snacks onto the table. The other guys start making themselves comfortable too, Hyunjin flashing you a grin as he flops down beside Jisung. Minho has to step in and help Jeongin set up the projector when Jeongin announces he actually has no idea how to work it, and it takes them a further twenty minutes to set the whole thing up.

You're not complaining though, since after a collective agreement to watch the second Shrek movie (arguably the best one), you're nestled in between Chaeryoung and Minho on the sofa with Ryujin between your knees on the floor.

Surprisingly, you all sit relatively in silence, save for some commentary throughout the movie. You pinned it down to the fact that everything surrounding your group had been nothing less than dramatic recently, and you could all use a chill night together to relax. Seungmin shows up halfway through the movie, taking a seat on the floor.

You're just about to choose a second movie to watch when Yuna and Lia turn up, their arms littered with shopping backs. Yuna sighs exasperatedly, dumping the bags on the ground when she comes in, whilst Lia says a hello to everyone before going into her room.

"Do the stores you went into have anything left in them?" Minho scoffs, raising a brow at his blonde haired friend. She sticks her tongue out at him. "But seriously, how much did you buy?"

"A lot," she replies, gleaming. You shake your head at her with a smile, loving her dramatics. She was an actress through and through. "The stores were giving today - I bought, like, twenty things in one shop alone."

Ryujin whistles, grabbing Yuna's bags and sifting through them. You were sure she'd give you a proper haul tomorrow. "This is some good shit," she says, nodding. "I'm so jealous, I wish I had money to splurge."

"What about the bee movie?" Jeongin interrupts absentmindedly, leaning over Jisung to watch him scroll on Netflix for a movie. Seungmin shakes his head, standing up to join them.

"We watched that last week, remember?" He says, and Jeongin nods with an 'ah'. Seungmin leans his hands on the side of the sofa before looking up at Yuna. "How do you even afford all that?"

Yuna shrugs, snatching the top that Ryujin was eyeing up and shoving it back in her bag. "Daddy's money. He's gonna cut me off soon though, I just know it."

"Your dad lets you buy all this?" Seungmin says, eyebrows raised. "Damn."

"He likes spending his money on me," she counters, collecting all her bags before making her way towards her bedroom. "I may as well take advantage, right?"

Seungmin rolls his eyes with a small smile as Jeongin points to the laptop screen. Hyunjin makes a face at you, mimicking Yuna and her shopping bags, and you can't help but to laugh with him.

"What's so funny?" Ryujin says to you curiously, turning to look up at you. You simply wave your hand in response, sharing another look with Hyunjin as if you two are in on some silly secret. It was as if you couldn't help yourself gravitate towards him recently.

"What about titanic?" Hyunjin perks up, looking towards Jisung. There's a collective squeal from you girls, and Yuna and Lia both thumbs up the movie as they join you, Yuna already having changed into her pajamas. They both squish up on the floor.

"Not happening," Jisung groans, and you remember how he'd told you it was the only movie that had ever successfully made him cry.

"Oh come on," Felix protests with a whine, finishing off a bag of gummies. "It's a phenomenal movie!"

"I'm in agreement with Jisung, here," Seungmin says, giving up on the movie search and slumping back to the ground. "It's so long."

"Yeah, but it's worth it," Chae tries to justify, pleading after having to put up with Shrek for an hour.

Hyunjin looks as you, as if he wants you to back him up, so you sigh in defeat. "It's one of my favourites," you say, feeling everyone's eyes turn to you. "Plus I'm injured. Injured girl rules all."

Jisung and Seungmin groan together, knowing they've been defeated as Jisung searches the movie and starts playing it. Yuna even goes as far as to turn off the lights, leaving the glare of the movie screen the only illumination in the room.

Three hours later, almost everyone is in tears after having sat through the movie in almost dead silence. The only noise that was heard from you was during the sex scene, when you laughed as Jisung attempted to cover Jeongin's eyes.

"It's so sad," Felix sniffles, wiping at his eyes with his hoodie sleeves when the credits roll. Yuna turns the lights on again, and turns to reveal her red puffy eyes. Ryujin laughs at her, but she's none better, tears practically streaming down her face. The only dry eyes in the room are Seungmin and Minho. Even Jeongin, who's always trying to keep up with a tough exterior has tear marks on his hoodie.

"Hyunjin, I hate you," Jisung bawls, unable to hold back his tears. "Do you enjoy making grown men cry?"

"Hey, I'm crying too!" Hyunjin defends himself, and when you look over his eyes are brimmed with tears. He wipes them away sheepishly as he smiles at you. You think it's so cute he gets so emotional at movies like this - you remember when you'd all gone to the cinema to watch something Felix suggested and he was sobbing beside you the whole way through. "Plus, you're hardly a grown man."

Jisung only scoffs in return, attempting to get his sniffles under control. "How are you two not crying?"

Minho and Seungmin turn to eachother, and Minho shrugs. "I've watched it a million times, I know the plot. Plus, when have you ever seen me cry?"

"True," you say, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. He chuckles at your tear stained cheeks and offers you his hoodie sleeve, which you take and use to wipe your eyes. "Seungmin? Jack Dawson's death didn't hit hard for you?"

He shakes his head with a brown, his dark brown hair flopping over his forehead. "Not really. Like Minho said, I know the plot, and it's expected."

"You're insane," Yuna gasps, unable to comprehend the fact that the saddest movie of all time hadn't been able to make him shed a tear. "You must be made of steel."

He only shrugs in response, standing up and stretching out his limbs. "Should probably head back; that movie went on for ages and I've got shit to do tomorrow."

That spurs a collective agreement from the guys, the ones on the floor repeating Seungmin's action. Jeongin shakes his legs out after having them cramped up to his chest to make room for Lia beside him. "It's a Saturday, have a rest."

Seungmin ignores the comment, picking up his jacket and putting it on. You stand up too to say your goodbyes to them, when Minho tugs at your arm.

"Help me up," he whines, so you pull him up with a roll of your eyes. You miss the way he winces as you do so, turning to give Felix a hug, the boy waiting patiently with his arms open.

"Why don't we go for coffee tomorrow?" He says when you hug him. "Dance crew study session, like the good old days?"

"I'd be up for that," you reply with a nod, since you hadn't had anything planned for tomorrow anyway. "We do have to have our ideas ready for our practical on Wednesday, so would be good."

"We do?" Minho questions with his arm slung round you as his goodbye, which makes Hyunjin laugh as he leaves his departing conversation with Yuna.

"Maybe you should start attending lectures," he says slyly, looking toward you with a smile after Minho rolls his eyes and removes his arm from your shoulder. Hyunjin steps towards you, bringing you into his chest momentarily. You're slightly startled by the action, since Hyunjin is never really physically affectionate with you like Felix or Minho are, but you accept the hug. Everyone else was hugging goodbye, anyway.

"Maybe you should hop off my dick," Minho retorts, sticking out his tongue as Hyunjin pulls away and picks up his jacket.

"Gross," Jeongin gags.

You shake your head, laughing, in an attempt to ignore the butterflies forming in your stomach. "So, study date tomorrow?"

"Sure," Hyunjin confirms, looking over to Chaeryoung who turns away from saying goodbye to Seungmin to give a thumbs up.

"I could use it," Minho admits, and Felix claps his hands.

"Great! Aw, we're getting the old gang back together!" He smiles, and he's so happy that you don't tell him your 'gang' talks regularly on your dance group chat and is with each other almost every day.

The guys all head off then, leaving the five of you girls alone with a pile of sweets and crisp packets strewn everywhere and a half eaten cake on your table. You start cleaning up instantly, not wanting to have to deal with it later.

"So," Ryujin says, slyly coming up to you and nudging your shoulder before starting to pick up the mess. The other girls begin helping too. "Mr Hwang hugging you goodbye? Now that's an unforeseen action if I've ever seen one."

You give her a look, but your facade cracks when you can't help but to sigh with a smile. "Am I reading into that too much? Or was that a moment."

"That was most definitely a moment," Ryujin confirms, taking the trash bag Lia hands her with a smile and starting to dump the rubbish into it. "He didn't hug any of us goodbye."

You smile inwardly, unable to help yourself. You wait until Lia is back in the kitchen before you say, “Is it bad that I kind of like him?”

Ryujin laughs - a loud, bent over hysterical laugh as you watch her with raised eyebrows. She steadies herself with a hand against the arm of the sofa as Chaeryoung comes through at the noise.

“What on earth is all that about?” She questions, clearly fed up with cleaning as she flops onto the sofa and puts her fear up on the table.

“She’s finally admitted she’s got feelings for Hyunjin,” Ryujin says, grinning at Chae like a mad woman.

Chaeryoung’s eyes visibly light up, and she turns to you with a smile. “You’re kidding!”

“I never said I have feelings for him,” you point out, though it’s futile at this point since your two friends are squealing together. Shaking your head at them, you finish clearing the last of the trash up.

“We called it months ago,” Chaeryoung sighs, a glazed look in her eyes. She pulls her long dark hair behind her ears. “I like to think this is all because of me.”

“It kinda is,” Ryujin responds, moving the trash bag so you can dump the remanence into it. “You cracked the surface, and they did the rest.”

“Can we stop talking like we’re in a movie, please,” you groan, flopping down beside Chae and letting Ryujin dispose of the trash bag. “I can’t believe I actually probably like Hyunjin. Past me would piss herself.”

“That she would!” You hear Ryujin shout through from the kitchen, followed by audible confusion from Yuna and Lia.

“He definitely likes you back, anyway,” Chae sighs excitedly, clapping her hands. “It’s so obvious. When are you gonna tell him?”

“Woah woah,” you say, putting your hands up. Chae frowns at you. “We literally just reconciled our differences a couple weeks ago - let’s not move too fast here.”

“Well you need to tell him,” Ryujin says blatantly when she returns to the room, standing with her hand on her hip. “Or else we’re gonna have to watch him pine after you all semester.”

You roll your eyes at her. “He does not pine after me, Jesus,” you say, though you watch your friends share an obvious look. “I’m just gonna see how things go for now, and if I’m still feeling this way in a couple weeks then I’ll think about telling him.”

Ryujin and Chaeryoung groan simultaneously, Ryujin throwing up her hands exasperatedly. “We finally get a bit of drama that doesn’t make me want to cry and you’re not even gonna indulge us?”

“Charity week,” Chaeryoung says with a shrug, making you both turn to her. “It’s two weeks away - if you still think you like him, that’s your deadline for telling him.”

“I have a deadline now?” You stress, thinking about how you’d only started to realise your feelings towards Hyunjin yourself not half an hour ago. Chae nods decisively.

“It’s the perfect time. There’s always the big party at the outdoor auditorium at the end of the week with fireworks and stuff - how romantic would it be to declare you feelings then?” She gushes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. Ryujin turns to you with a crazed look, nodding.

“She’s so right. Plus, if my relationship scenario is a shit show, I want to live vicariously through you,” she smiles.

You tilt your head at her, thinking about what she’s told you about her conversation with Changbin the other day. “I thought you said you were on good terms now?”

“Yeah we are, but this whole ‘just being friends’ kind of sucks. If he wasn’t all over the place right now I’d be with him. I dunno, I just…feel like I need someone right now, but he just can’t be that person,” you nod, placing a hand on her knee to comfort her.

“I’m glad you’re mature enough to understand that,” you say honestly, Chae nodding her head. Ryujin had always been such an independent person - her self sufficience and bold personality having slightly intimidated you when you’d first met her. After the shit show that was last semester, you’d seen her demeanour crack, and you’d sworn to yourself to try and not let that happen again.

“It will be so much better for you in the long run to have some time apart. You still like each other, you still want to be together, just not right now,” Chaeryoung says with a sad smile, resting her head on Ryujin’s shoulder momentarily. “Right person, wrong time.”

“I guess,” Ryujin sighs. “Doesn’t suck any less though. You know what we should do next weekend? Clubbing.”

You instantly groan at the idea, knowing clubbing was not your scene these days. Your group used to go clubbing regularly, but you’d decided the late nights and hangovers were just not worth it anymore. You would, however, indulge your sad friend if she needed you too.

“Fine,” you say after a second, which makes Ryujin smile. Chaeryoung agrees too, and after finishing your talk with the other girls when they come through to join you, you all go your separate ways and head to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up at a surprisingly reasonable time, the sound of Yuna practicing lines making you stir. She’s up earlier than you, for once, which is rare for her, but you knew she had auditions for the end of year show coming up soon, so she’d been practicing lines non stop.

You’re just about to grab your phone to check your messages when you hear her scream. It startles you, causing you to practically jump out your skin and rush through to her room. Lia is right there with you, sharing a panicked look as you both burst through the door, staring at the back of Yuna’s head.

“What the hell?” Ryujin says groggily, walking through in nothing but her underwear from the sudden commotion. Chaeryoung follows shortly after, her hair a riot and having obviously just woken up. You all crowd round Yuna who’s on her phone, watching her slowly turn around you with the colour drained from her face.

Chills run down your spine when she days, “That Twitter page posted about me.”

tag list

@cursed-mars-bars @https-skzology @imasimplol @hyunverse @aestaeticous @dorisnumber1fan @tasteskz-sword @amnmich @detectivedoodle @amara-mars @end0rchans @raresevng @thementallyunhinged @nhyun @lixie-phoria @llavendarlilacc

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #stray kids #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin #skz #hyunjin x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz fluff #stray kids smau #skz x reader #skz texts #skz smau

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tivostream4k · 2 years ago

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canmom · 17 days ago

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Animation Night 196: the Demoscene

Hey everyone! It's gonna be a short post today, because the hour is late, but I've been teasing this all week, soooooo~

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This is a square-numbered animation night, our first in a while, and that means it's a night for something computer-related. And what is more true to the essence of computer animation than the demoscene?

And damn, what a topic. 'Computer art subculture' is the usual way of describing it, and that's accurate enough. But let's get into details...

A demo is a computer program which is kind of like a non-interactive game, and kind of like a music video. It generates images, usually synced to music, in realtime. But that doesn't quite get to the heart of it.

A demo is kind of a combination of art piece and coding challenge. The exact constraints vary: perhaps the whole program fits into a tiny size (such as 4kb). Or, it's made for a specific oldschool computer, such as the Amiga, taking advantage of the unique quirks of the hardware to push its graphics capabilities to the absolute limit.

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Perhaps it's better to start with the history - a well-covered subject in books, articles and even documentaries, which I will have to cover extremely briefly. Back in the late 70s and 80s, when personal computing was really taking off with machines like the Commodore 64, copyright took a while to catch up - particularly in Europe. With network bandwidth far more limited than now, it became popular (relatively speaking) to distribute cracked software at events known as 'copy parties' - you'd bring along your files and exchange them for others.

Often, the groups who created the cracks would add a little intro to take credit for their hard work. With space at an absolute premium, these 'intros' would need to be tiny - perhaps just hundreds of bytes. But constraints breed creativity, and soon groups would compete to distinguish themselves with the most impressive intros. Perhaps you see where this is going...

I'm going to brush over a long and fascinating history here, because space is limited and I would rather try and dig into the history another time - I'm hardly the person to tell it, anyway. So let's just say this: the practice of making these intros, or more generally demos, very quickly grew into its own art form - if you didn't have cracked software you could just bring along a cool intro to the copy party. And as copyright law heated up and the cops started coming for copyparties, the nascent demoscene started to diverge from the warez scene, developing into its own, unique subculture - legal but still indebted to the hacker culture which birthed it.

Broadly speaking, the demoscene is organised around demoparties - big gatherings, largely taking place around Europe, where groups gather to enter their demos into competition, create new demos right there, and engage in related activities like live coding... or dorky shit like throwing keyboards as far as possible, don't ask me about that one. It's not all about creating demos either - over time, the categories have expanded to include music, digital art in general, 3D asset creation, etc. etc., unified more by the aesthetic of the scene than anything. Take a look at the entries for a party like Revision (the largest party, based in Germany, hosting about 800 guests each year) to get a sense of the broad scope of the scene.

But the core of it all is still demos! 4k, 8k, 64k, unlimited in size. PC, amiga. Demos have evolved a great deal over the decades, and it is hard to generalise too much. Still, in contrast to game graphics, which usually emphasise authored content, efficient streaming of assets etc. etc., the emphasis of the demoscene tends to be much more on procedural effects and more abstract visuals.

You can get a taste for what a winning demo looked like as of 2007 with debris. by the group Farbrausch, pouet.net's top-rated demo of all time: techno music, a camera flying over a cityscape as cubes stream around...

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And here's one of the most popular 4kb demos, rendering a procedural snowy landscape with a bit of chromatic aberration to taste...

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Modern demos have introduced tools like the node-based animation and sim software Notch, which shifts the emphasis away from programming a bit. Rainmaker, which won Revision's PC demo category this year, hardly attempts to optimise for file size, with its executable weighing in at a hefty half a gigabyte, but it certainly goes all out with all that data, hitting flashy scene after flashy scene...

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Even in the space-contained categories like 64k and 4k, you can see a modern approach to HDR colour, grading, depth of field etc.:

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Especially for the smaller categories of demo, the music tends to be procedurally generated - i.e., chiptunes - as well. But even without that constraint, there is a natural tendency towards many types of electronic music in the scene. After all, it's all about making computers do cool shit.

And to be clear, although technical flexing and generative art is definitely a big part of it, there's plenty of familiar animation stuff in here too. Successful demos tend to feature tight music sync, creative imagery, and definitely some kind of progression or flow in how the images are juxtaposed and how they fit the development of the music. If you felt really pretentious, you could compare it to poetry. I do feel really pretentious, so I will!

Where do you find demos? Unfortunately, there are now many dead links. pouet.net is still something of a hub, featuring a pretty exhaustive database of demos and a voting system to sort them by popularity, as well as providing a forum for the scene (hopefully not about to disappear as its main admin just announced his plans to quit). Demoscene.info tries to be a decent public-facing intro, with links to the major parties and groups that still mostly work. The scene.org awards celebrated a set of demos each year from 2002 to 2011. Youtube psenough reports weekly on what's happening in the scene. There's also Demozoo, a database similar to pouet.

We might also here mention the website Shadertoy, likely familiar to any graphics programmer, which was co-created by oldschool scener Inigo Quilez and carries much of the same spirit. Shadertoy lets you write fragment shaders in opengl to run in the browser, essentially a type of demo, and people use it for all sorts of shit.

So, that's a brief summary. Tonight, starting in just a minute, if you'd like to join me at twitch.tv/canmom, we'll be checking out a random cross-section of popular demos from across the last few decades. I'll be running them on my computer, if possible. I fully admit to being an outsider to the scene, yet to go to a demoparty and see it all in person, but I think it's cool as shit, so let's go explore it together for a couple of hours~

#animation night #demoscene #Youtube

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finniestoncrane · 2 years ago

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Perfect Day

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 4k commission: eddie has the absolute worst luck planning for your valentine's day together, but it ends well at least! 🐀💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, fluff, breeding kink

Valentine’s Day had to be perfect. At least in Eddie’s mind. And this one held far more weight than any others might, because it was your first Valentine’s Day together, and Eddie’s first ever Valentine’s Day that he was spending with someone he cared about. Someone who was willing to spend the most romantic holiday with him as their partner. Because of this, and because he was so consumed and influenced by media, the only representations of love he had for company before he met you, he had convinced himself that if it wasn’t the most romantic, completely perfect in every single way, kind of day, that he would have failed you. And you deserved more than that. You deserved everything. So, Eddie had great plans, visions of exactly how the day would go, what he would do, what you would say, how you would feel. But, much like everything else that Eddie experienced in life, nothing went the way he intended it to.

It started with the card. He didn’t want it to be some sort of rehashed version of one of the ones he had taunted the Batman with. It had to be perfect for you. It needed to just scream You and Eddie if it was going to be worth it at all. But not a single shop in the whole of the city were offering anything that came close to being good enough for you.

Your first Valentine’s Day together had to be special. It had to be memorable, wonderful, good enough for you. Because if he could never be truly sure that he himself was good enough, he could at least try and make sure that everything he did was.

In a bid to see his vision come to fruition, he made an attempt at making his own, but his attempts felt clumsy, childish. With trembling hands, covered in glue and paper cuts, he worked away at over twenty designs. Not one of them were worthy of giving to you. In his mind, he knew what he wanted. But unfortunately, the world, nor he himself, could conjure up the perfection he was looking for.

Sweet, soft, beautiful, peachy, the sun when it shone in rays through the clouds, a familiar sound like a lilting song. Those were the things he thought of when he pictured you in his head. And nothing could be as good as you were, which he realised was the first hurdle in making everything perfect. It could never live up to you or what you deserved.

And everything else fell in line with that first disappointment.

By the time he had decided on an activity which would make the day memorable. In the end, Eddie settled for the classic. A romantic meal, expensive, somewhere that served your favourite food. But when he had finally completed his research, saved enough money, there were no tables left. Things book up fast in Gotham, especially when every other day another restaurant is destroyed in a fire, a bombing, a mafia related shoot out.

He'd even wandered around the city going door to door at any establishment that looked like it had a kitchen, begging them, offering an absurd amount of money, if they could just cater to the specific menu he had in mind. Something that would satisfy you, make you feel special, to let you know how precious you were to him. On several occasions, he had considered taking to his stream, begging his followers. But he felt that it might undermine him.

Eddie had made a note of several business owners and restauranteurs who were a bit too stuffy for his liking. He’d get his revenge on them later for ruining your Valentine’s Day. Although, when he stopped to think about, he was mostly angry at himself. He hadn’t though it through properly, or he had, but he’d overthought it. He was to blame, completely and entirely. No one else. And sure, swift revenge in the form of bashing and blood might temporarily make him feel like he had gotten some of his anger and disappointment out, someone to put the blame on briefly so he could go back to planning, he knew it would all fall apart again either way. The crushing guilt. The sadness. It was pretty ordinary for him, he realised. Why bother trying to fight it?

Finally, in a desperate bid to succeed in providing you with a romantic evening of your favourite foods, Eddie, somewhat foolishly, decided that he would cook for you. In a last minute rush, he had almost crashed on his way to the supermarket on the thirteenth of February. The only time he had free now, since he had waited until the last possible minute in hopes of finding a reservation somewhere. He’d even thought about finding a couple who had a reservation and then disposing of them. He’d make you happy, by any means necessary. But, he realised that the effort involved would take far more time than he had.

Desperately, frantically, searching the aisles for ingredients, he collected them all up in his arms, paid for them with the meagre money he had in his account, and headed home to take stock of what he had managed to accumulate. Although, upon stock taking his provisions, he realised he had missed several key ingredients. It would be fine though, he was sure. He wasn’t much of a chef anyway, he could barely cook instant noodles right. He relied on you so heavily for his sustenance and nutrition. The least he could do, he felt, was extend that gift to you just this once.

All day on the fourteenth, Eddie stayed at home, trying to learn how to cook on a whim and failing miserably. By the time you returned home from work in the evening, he had already made several iterations of the same meal, each one of them ever so slightly better than the last, but nowhere near the standard of cooking you were used to, or that you deserved.

You walked through the door, intrigued by the smell. Ingredients you recognised, but they smelled… wrong.

“Hey, Eddie! Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Hey! You’re early…”

You moved to kiss him, planting a soft, warm kiss on his cheek which was flushed and coated in sweat.

“I thought I would come to your place straight after work. I missed you today! It’s love day, Eddie. Besides, I don’t mind waiting around. What are our plans for this evening? I know you said it was going to be amazing, and I don’t doubt that for a second, but I’m just curious!”

“Uh…”

Eddie shifted nervously in front of the stove, trying to cover the pots and pans, but you giggled at him.

“I figure it has something to do with that delicious smell? Edward Nashton, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were cooking me a romantic dinner.”

You cocked your eyebrow at him, smiling playfully, so touched by the fact that he would go to all of that trouble for you instead of just taking you to a restaurant like every other guy.

“I’m… well, that was the plan. I’m trying to cook something at least.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No! No… I’m doing this for you. You sit down and get comfy. Put on a show. I’ll be waiting on you hand and foot this evening.”

“Oh my, Mister Nashton, I’m so flattered.”

You blew him a kiss, blinking your eyelashes at him flirtatiously before you kicked off your shoes and got comfortable on his sofa. But your rest and relaxation were short-lived, as you started watching Eddie out of the corner of your eye, soon shifting so you could see him better, monitoring what he was doing. It was impossible not to try and keep an eye on him. He clattered every pot, dropped so much cutlery, and sighed continuously, muttering to himself in annoyance or stress, you couldn’t determine which.

“You good?”

You called out from the sofa, your voice carrying over the sound of steam and bubbling, the metallic clattering, and Eddie’s heavy breathing. He shouted back.

“Yes! All good!”

But he didn’t sound good. And it didn’t smell good either in the apartment. Something was burning, and you weren’t sure Eddie was aware of it yet.

“Is… that smells almost done, huh?”

“What?”

“I said, whatever is in the oven it smells-”

“Oh f- fudge… Damn it!”

Eddie hissed in pain, letting out a small yelp as he opened the oven door, the handle burning his hand, the tray that whatever the charred remains were supposed to be burning it further. He tossed everything onto the kitchen island, watching the blackened crumbs spreading everywhere. You tried to smile at him, to reassure him or comfort him, but beyond him at his back you could see a disaster emerging.

“Oh, Eddie! The… Eddie the pot!”

He turned quickly, letting out what would have been a comical scream had the situation not been so unpleasant and serious. The sauce in the pot had bubbled over the hob completely, and a thick, dark smoke was beginning to rise up, threatening to set off the smoke alarm. But he caught it just in time. Not enough to save the dish, but enough to save your ears from the screaming assault.

Eddie tossed the dish towel he held in his hands on the floor and leaned back against the cabinet. He tossed his head back dramatically, smacking it on the cabinet behind him and letting it droop forward again, uttering one dismal, silent, defeated word.

“Ow.”

You got up quickly, rushing over to him, a tiny giggle escaping at how sweet he was, but concern painted over your face as you reached him, lifting his chin up to look in his eyes.

“Oh, my sweet Eddie! Are you ok?”

“Just a bump.”

You tutted, pulling his gaze back to yours as he tried to look away, staring at his feet which shuffled awkwardly on the ground.

“I mean in general… you seem awfully stressed. Is anything wrong?”

He sighed, unable to keep any modicum of truth from you when he stared into your sweet eyes. He could feel himself melting away, his insecurities, his worries. It was like you could defrost the chill that he permanently lived under. Enough, at least, that he could be open and vulnerable, and honest. In a flurry of words, he let everything out.

“I… I just… I wanted everything to be perfect for today because I feel like I have a very tenuous grasp on you not that I have a grasp no you, you can leave whenever you want, but I’d like it if you didn’t leave because you’re the very best thing that’s ever happened to me and I don’t deserve you but I thought if I could make you happy and give you a perfect Valentine’s Day that you might think I was worth it, all the trouble and the effort, but I couldn’t even do that so if you feel like you want to just let me go then you should because you deserve better than I could give you even at my best, which I don’t even think I’m capable of living up to anymore.”

He stopped, taking in a huge breath, shuddering and trembling with it as he let it go on the exhale.

“And I didn’t even get you a back-up gift.”

You took a deep breath in yourself, trying not to take the weight he had placed on himself onto your own shoulders. You needed to reassure him, help him lessen the burden on his own so that he knew that anything he did was good enough for you in future.

Taking his hands in yours, you leaned in, resting your chin on his shoulder and breathing slowly with him until you could feel his heart rate slow down.

“Eddie, it’s ok. Really, it is. There’s no need for you to get so worked up, not like this. Everything you did tonight was perfect, and do you know why?”

He shook his head, dejected, sullen, almost child-like. And you realised you were staring at the soul of a child who had never been told he was good enough as he was. Not by friends, or teachers, or the nuns at the orphanage.

“Because you tried, Eddie. And that alone is enough to make me feel wanted, and loved, and appreciated.”

You punctuated those three words with a kiss to his shoulder, leaning back to plant your lips on his for a quick second before you squeezed his hands and continued, noticing that his smile was making its first appearance of the evening.

“It’s really ok. You’re everything I want. If I could, I’d have you sitting still and not doing anything, that would make me happy enough. Anything else you do, and I really mean anything, including your little criminal escapades, is just extra toppings on the huge, sweet sundae that you already are. Yeah?”

He nodded a little, his cheeks flushing pink, smile hard to suppress even though he was trying to.

“Besides… I really only wanted one thing from tonight.”

He looked up at you, suddenly worried, as though he was going through the list of possibilities he hadn’t considered yet. Engagement? A surprise vacation? Something simple like a box of chocolates and a stuffed bear?

But you calmed those nerves quickly, leaning in to kiss him, passionately, tender, a little bit forceful even as you brought your hands to his chest, tugging at his shirt to pull him closer to you. When you broke it off, parting your lips from his and smiling at him, eyes half-closed, sultry and suggestive, he still looked confused.

“So you… oh… oh!”

You nodded, giggling at his sweet, surprised face, and trailing him back towards the bedroom by his hands, leading him through the hallway and never breaking eye contact. He still looked a little bit hesitant, as though he was worried he might have got the wrong end of the stick, but you wouldn’t let his low self-confidence trick him into thinking you didn’t desire him completely, and as you walked, you let go of his hands, undressing yourself bit by bit, until you were at the bedroom door.

In the bedroom, once Eddie was well aware of your intentions and had calmed down a bit, you started undressing him, removing his shirt one button at a time, slow, painfully so, but he waited patiently. His eyes were glazed over, and you realised that all of the tension was leaving him as he stood, thoughtless, completely under your spell, waiting for the next step.

But the passivity wore off once he was standing shirtless and he was watching you remove the remaining articles of your own clothing, sliding out of your panties last and sitting back on the bed. You reached for his hands, grabbing them and pulling him forward, towards you, then into you, where you nuzzled his chest before pulling him on top of you on the edge of the bed.

He leaned against the edge of the mattress, kneeling on it slightly, as he traced the edges of your body, fingers finding comfort in your skin, arms wrapped around you, holding you, his palms kneading at your soft, supple skin as he moaned into your neck. He draped kisses over you like soft satin, letting his tongue warm your skin, softly exhaling over the wet patches, tingling, sending shiver over your entire body.

One of his hands left you, and the instant twang of desertion was quickly replaced by anticipation as you realised he was reaching for his cock. Craning your neck to watch him, your pupils dilated, breath shuddering as he gripped the thick shaft, teasing his hand up and running his thumb over the sticky, flushed head. You dragged your fingers up over his chest, settling them on his shoulders and pulling him closer, giving him just enough time to position himself against you before he slid between your walls, buried deep in you at first thrust.

“Fuck… Eddie…”

There was a brief moment of pause as he clumsily pulled himself out of you, reaching to place his palm against your cheek.

“Sorry… are you ok? Was that too… hard?”

“No, it was amazing, good… It felt… so good…”

Even in the dim light you could see his proud, almost smug, grin forming at the compliment, the ego stroke of knowing he felt good inside of you, at least as much for you as it did for him. And with the encouragement of your words, he pressed his tip against your swollen lips once more, pressing in slowly before offering one quick, hard jolt, up to the hilt, groaning as you clenched around him.

Eddie managed out a few slurred words, salivating as he spoke, unable to focus too much, his brain on his other efforts.

“You’re good… feel so good…”

His soft hair fell in front of his face, and he made a couple of attempts at blowing it out of the way, before he realised all of his breath, his effort, his exertion, was going into you and the way he held you, the way he filled you.

As Eddie fucked you, harder than usual, more strenuous in his efforts, he kissed you, softly, sweet and sour, the differences between the way he rutted into you and the way he let you know how much he loved you with his lips, his tongue, it was heaven.

There was a difference in the way he was touching you now, the way he grabbed at you, possessive, obsessive, filled with desire. He felt insatiable, in his need to taste you, to fill you, to have you stretched open for him.

“This has… to be special… I love you…”

Eddie groaned past the words, grunting with every movement of his hips, with every pump of his cock within your walls.

“I don’t want to leave… your body… I don’t want to stop…”

You were about to ask what he meant when it hit you, and you let your legs fall behind him, holding him inside of you, pulling him closer.

“… and I’m not… going to…”

You could make out the sweat beading on his forehead, the way that strands of his light hair stuck to it.

“…not until I’ve left… every drop of me… inside of you…”

In a heated moment, he stopped completely, the base of his cock almost consumed by your lips, his hips pressed into your body, hands finding your face, cupping your cheeks and looking into your eyes with the bright intensity you had come to know and love.

“You’re everything to me. You deserve everything. And I want to give you everything I have. Do you want that?”

You nodded, licking at your lips, begging, pleading silently.

“I can give you the best gift I can, make you mine… so sweet… so soft…”

He began moving again, his cock twitching as your walls clenched around him in response to the surprise of the motion, slow and steady but deeply satisfying.

“… so breedable… ready to take me…”

“Oh my god, Eddie… please…”

You were choking on the words, swallowing your own drool as you salivated at the thought of him taking you, claiming you, marking you with his seed.

“I want to fill you up… hng… I want… fuck… I want to see me… dripping out of you…”

Your legs began to tremble, the pressure building inside of you immense. You let out a scream of intense ecstasy as Eddie’s thumb found your clit, rubbing it swift but soft as he spoke to you, his sweet sermon of words you had no idea you were so desperate to hear.

“Knowing the rest of me… is still… ah…. Buried in side of you… your mine… let me spill my seed in you…”

He growled the last sentence, loud and clear, confident. The way he spoke when he donned his mask and coat, how he spoke when he wasn’t just Edward Nashton. When he was in control, on a mission. Determined. You could almost smell the scent of his leather gloves, all in your imagination, as he gripped your cheeks, running his thumb over your lips.

“You’re mine to fill up… heh… you’re mine… to do what I want with… yeah?”

You nodded ferociously, unable to accurately form any words, but something akin to a jumbled up yes followed by a string of pleading terms at least spilled over your lips as you clung to him, desperate for him to live up to these promises.

As his pace quickened, Eddie leaned over you, his face buried into your chest when he could, whispering to you as he rocked his hips, his body, back and forth, taking in the sight of you under him, the way you felt, the way his cock was served and warmed by your slick.

“Wouldn’t it be romantic… to make you mine… to start… a family… on Valentine’s Day… wouldn’t that be… a pretty good gift?”

Eddie’s thumb was working your orgasm out of you faster than expected, helped along by the delicious words he spoke with all of the genuine intent he could muster in his state of arousal, close to climax himself.

As he quickened his pace in response to your screams, to feeling you cum on him, around him, he managed to keep his voice low, to a whisper, before he began yelling, unable to control himself.

“To have you committed to me… make us one… completely… fuck, fuck… oh god!”

“I want… to be inside of you… hng… until we make that… happen…”

His movements became more forceful, like he was trying to approach it almost mechanically, being thorough, to make sure it would happen.

“I need you… ah… to take me… take all of me…”

Eddie’s fingernails pressed tiny crescents into your skin, the pain feeling exceptional, tingling and sharp, as he held your hips to him. His balls slapped against your ass as he thrust, the explicit sounds hitting the walls around the room, the slapping louder and more frantic as he reached his climax. Tensing, his cock twitching against your walls, he came inside of you, a roar emanating from his sweet and soft face. You could feel his load, warm, thick, filling you. Your stomach muscles contracting under the pressure of your own orgasm, brought on by the knowledge that you were filled with Eddie, consuming him, marked as his. Potentially starting a new life, in a very literal way, together, forever.

For all that his efforts had culminated in nothing going to plan, it really felt like the perfect way to spend Valentine’s Day, and the most wonderful way to end it. Eddie sighed, content with the way the day had gone, pleased with how you had taken him, keen to take big, romantic steps with him despite his calamities and clumsy nerves. Bringing you into his chest, he exhaled, the satisfied breath turning into a pleasant, easy hum as he stroked your hair.

It had been an acceptable day. In fact, it was more than that. It had been good. Actually good. A very good valentine’s day indeed. It felt good that he could be open and honest around you, that he could speak his mind and say how he felt, what he wanted. That you two were so in tune with one another. He felt silly, for doubting himself around you, or for thinking that you would even be with someone that you didn’t think deserved your attention. Eddie knew you were smarter than that, better than that. And knowing that you were so valuable to him, so wonderful, so capable. It made it easier for him to recognise those traits in himself. Sure, you were the most wonderful person in the world. But he himself had to be pretty wonderful too to be good enough for you. And he kissed your forehead, a silent thank you for that gift that you hadn’t even intended to give to him. And the one that he hoped you might give to him in another nine months, or else he would have to keep trying.

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