#also stone's reaction during this 😭

[iwasbored777]

I CRY EVERY DAMN TIME

[obaewankenobis]

till forever falls apart; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair x reader (female pronouns, y/n not used)

word count: 10.6k

summary: not quite friends, but not quite lovers; you and finnick odair have been living in a careful balance that always leaves the both of you wanting more. when the third quarter quell arrives, you realize it’s better to be late than never.

warnings: typical hunger games stuff like child murder, forced prostitution, etc... slight mention of like suicidal thoughts but it's brief. smut (fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, i can't remember anything else, pretty vanilla stuff).

notes: there's kind of a lot of plot which i was nawwwt expecting. my bad if you're not into that i guess i know a lot of people look forward to the freaky stuff and it's def not my strong suit so i apologize 😭.

It was a little fucked up, the way you actually looked forward to being summoned to the Capitol.

Yes, they’d tortured your district for generations by killing children for decades upon decades. 

During your games, they starved you, maimed you, and forced you to kill other innocent children when you were just sixteen–a child by any means.

The torture hadn't stopped after the games, either. Even the nightmares were a walk in the park compared to the prostitution that awaited you in the Capitol. The looming threat of your family’s safety being compromised should you dare get any ideas of disobeying. 

So yes, it was a bit crazy to have a smile tug at the corner of your lips when a peacekeeper knocked on your door and told you President Snow had summoned you to the Capitol for the End of Victory Tour celebration. 

The smile, like always, was followed by quiet humming and a little skip in your step as you’d hurried to pack what few possessions actually mattered to you.

The reason for this temporary insanity was simple: whatever despair and destruction the Capitol had thrown at you, they’d also given you something to make up for it, even if it was purely unintentional. The apology came in the form of Finnick, another victor who’d shown you the ropes after you’d been crowned the year after him.

Being from different districts, the only time you were able to see him was when you’d both been called to the Capitol.

Gazing out the window as the station came into view, you sighed and imagined what you’d do upon arriving.

You take in the bright pinks and yellows of the stone streets, the rainbows that glittered against stained glass windows as the sun shone through them. The looming presence of snow-capped mountains provided a dramatic background and suit of armor around the Capitol, a stark contrast from the bright, bubbly city. 

For such an evil, awful place, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Your body had the same reaction it did the first time the train had screeched to a halt: completely frozen in time, so still a breath could not be squeezed from your lungs.

You hated the feelings that overcame you, of such paralyzing fear it made you weak. Hated how your fingers became so shaky it took you several attempts to button up your coat. Hated how your legs were so unsure of themselves you feared you’d collapse if you stood up too suddenly.

All of a sudden you were sixteen again, a terrified  tribute arriving in the Capitol like a lamb for slaughter.

You hated coming back here every six months at the very least — once for the Games, once for the tour, and however many times you were summoned by Capitol citizens. 

The Games were obviously hard–and so was the business you did in the Capitol–but the Victory Tours were a special form of torture. You hated looking at the winner, because they always seemed so lost and terrified, trembling like a lone leaf on a branch as the wind whistled through.

This past year had been a little different — there'd been two Victors this time, and their win sparked something in the districts that you’d never seen in your life. You didn’t hold any hope there would be long lasting change, but you were glad to see this year’s Victors weren’t alone. You wished you could’ve had that.

A gust of wind sweeps through the door as a Capitol attendant opens it, bringing you back to reality, and you force a small smile as the sunlight hits your face.

Waves of bronze hair catches your eye, and it takes everything in you not to jump from the platform and run to greet him.

He’s as beautiful as ever; the sun turning his hair a nice gold. His skin is a little paler and his hair is a little darker, given the winter months, but it’s only noticeable to you because you’ve spent hours running your fingers through it; spent days admiring the way water sluiced off his skin and glistened while he swam. 

You notice him immediately–not just because you’ve been subconsciously searching, but because he’s never greeted you at the station before. It’s then you notice dark circles under his eyes, the way they’re glassy with fatigue, and the rigidness of his posture. Your eyes narrow slightly and you open your mouth to greet him, when his arms open wide in invitation to his embrace. It’s then you know something’s really, really wrong.

Because as much as you care for Finnick, and as much as you know he cares for you, he’s never been so openly affectionate with so many people watching.

It’s part of the agreement you have; around others you’re polite, friendly even, and everything else you actually yearn for is tucked away behind closed doors.

So, when you wrap your arms around his neck, you’re hoping it's brief, because you don’t want to get used to being so close to him in public. And when you begin to pull away, you’re startled to find him gripping you close to his body, lips brushing your ear so he can whisper something without anyone else knowing or overhearing.

“I need you to meet me in my room in half an hour. It’s important. Don’t be late,” he says quietly, urgently, before suddenly releasing you. It doesn’t sound like one of your late night rendezvous, unless he’s wound really tight and that desperate for release — no, this seems far bigger than that.

When he finally leans back, you grasp his forearms and study him, searching for answers in his eyes and only being met with apprehension. 

Forcing a small smile, all you can say is, “It’s good to see you too, Finnick.”

He squeezes your hand in his own for a brief moment before disappearing, leaving you alone with two Capitol attendants who are supposed to just be carrying your bags to your quarters — but you know they’re guards in disguise, making sure you have nowhere to go.

It’s exactly twenty eight minutes later when you appear in front of Finnick’s door, a hand raised to knock when it flies open. 

He’s a little more relaxed, though you can see the tension in the ticking of his jaw and the tight grip he has on the door. Still, the corners of his mouth lift upward in a smile as his eyes land on you. “I was worried you’d be late. Y’know, you’ve never been a very punctual person.”

“I’ve never seen you so high strung before.” You shrug, “Thought I might hurry my ass up for once, in case you had a heart attack.”

He laughs, a lovely melody that makes your insides melt a little whenever you hear it, but you can tell his mind is occupied. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, about that… where exactly are we going?” You ask, though you know deep down you’d follow him anywhere. 

“You’re asking so many questions. You don’t trust me?” He asks teasingly, flashing you a smile, and you’re overwhelmed for a moment because Finnick was like the sun — golden and glowing, blindingly radiant from the smile on his lips down to the tips of his toes.

You do trust him — and as he leads you to an awaiting black car, you reassure yourself that he’s not leading you to your imminent death.

Well, maybe you were wrong. Because the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth–backed by Plutarch Heavensbee of all people–are nothing short of treasonous. And in Panem, treason is inevitably followed by death, or a fate so much worse death seems merciful.

“You’re sure she’s not going to say something?” Plutarch asks, and you think it’s because you haven't said a word since they told you about it all. About District 13, the stirrings of rebellion in the Districts, the plan to escalate into a full scale rebellion with the newest victors from 12 — Katniss and Peeta — being the face of said rebellion.

“No, we can trust her. I promise,” Finnick nudges you with his shoulder, as if urging you to confirm what he’s said.

You look around to the others in the room at the Heavensbee mansion: Beetee Latier from Three, Johanna Mason from Seven, and Haymitch Abernathy from Twelve. They don’t look nearly as surprised as you do, so you suspect you’re one of the last people to be told this news. 

“Yeah— I just… you really think it’ll work?” You cringe as your voice comes out in a dry croak.

“We won’t know unless we try,” Plutarch says, and you wonder why he’s in on whatever this is. He’s just been promoted to Head Gamemaker, and he lives in this mansion that spans the entire street and is packed to the brim with books and priceless art. Surely there’s nothing wrong with his life that would make him want to rebel. “You and Six are the only ones we haven’t talked to… and we need as much unity between the Districts as we can get.”

“Okay,” You say after a moment, willing your voice not to shake. It's less fear and more excitement at the prospect of something better in your future. 

You can hear Finnick’s audible sigh of relief, hear the soft scratch of his chair against the floor as he pushes it back, and feel the softness of his lips against your temple as he kisses you.

You wish he wouldn’t do that. Not because you’re embarrassed that anyone would see it, but because it just serves as a reminder that he’s just out of your reach. Every touch or kiss was on stolen time, and one day, the feeling you got around him would catch up to you in the most devastating way possible.

So, instinctively, you duck down in an attempt to escape him, and try not to notice the slight frown that overtakes his features.

“I’ve kept you all long enough,” Plutarch says in  dismissal, checking his watch. “The victory party is tonight, and I would hate for any of you to miss seeing the little lovebirds.”

“C’mon.” Finnick grabs your hand and tugs you to your feet. “We’ve got to get all prettied up.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff. “I’m perfect just the way I am. You on the other hand…” you look him up and down. “Well, we’d better hurry up.”

He gasps and clutches his chest like he’s been struck. You know he knows it's a joke, because there truly is nothing prettier on this earth than Finnick Odair.

The brief joy you feel when you see Finnick can only last so long.

While they’re not particularly awful, just annoying, looking into the faces of your prep team makes you nauseous. All it does is throw you back to nearly a decade ago when you were a tribute. 

And, sometimes, being constantly reminded of the horrors you endured made you wish you died in that arena. Not all the time, but sometimes.

“Arms up!” Shrills Iris, who resembles a lemon the way she’s dressed head to toe in bright yellow. You obey the command on instinct. Something cool, almost metallic, slides over your body. The dress is made of a thousand tiny silver-white jewels, each rope swishing and clicking against one another when you move. Matching jewelry weighs down your ears and neck, twinkling and making you appear to be a jewel yourself.

“All done!” The woman beams, clapping her hands together and practically shoving you out the door and towards the direction of the car waiting to drive to the President’s mansion.

You’re sure making victors attend every celebration in the Capitol brings Snow a special kind of pleasure. It’s probably the only kind of joy he ever feels in his life, looking at the miserable faces of past tributes and knowing that because of him, their bodies have either been sold to the highest bidder or withered away due to addiction — or sometimes, in the worst cases, both.

You are grateful for the chance to see the newest Victors, though. You want to be in their presence and somehow have them light a spark of hope in you.

“You were right,” a voice behind you says. You turn to see Finnick. 

“What?”

“Earlier,” he continues, his eyes briefly flitting to your dress before returning to your eyes. “You are perfect just the way you are.”

“I—” Stupidly, you can feel a hotness in your cheeks, and know he’s managed to make you blush. He always does that, finds a way to make you stumble over your own words. “Thanks. I think I was right, too.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You do look so much better all dolled up,” you tease, using this as an excuse to take him all in. He, of course, looks breathtaking, which is a bit annoying because you’ve never seen him be anything less. He’s wearing a seafoam colored shirt that brings out the green in his eyes. It’s nearly see through, mostly where his muscle strains against the fabric. It gives everyone a glimpse of his body you feel honored to have seen up close, but it also makes you feel sad at how obviously he’s being objectified. His trousers are a light linen, and you frown again at how… Well, conservatively he’s dressed, despite the sheerness of the shirt.

“I haven’t seen you this covered up in years, shouldn’t you be practically naked?” You blurt out, and you’re rewarded with another laugh that makes your heart sing.

“If you want to see me naked, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask,” he grins, the tips of his teeth peeking through his lips.

“I meant,” you clear your throat and will the blush in your cheeks to subside, “Normally you’re a lot more… distracting.” Well that doesn’t sound any better now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Distracting, hmm? I’m free in…” He pretends to check the imaginary watch on his wrist. “Just a couple hours, if you are. Your place or mine?”

“Finnick,” you grit your teeth. You know he knows what you mean, and yet he still teases.

“Ye-es,” he replies in an almost sing-song voice before his expression becomes a little more serious. “I’m not supposed to take away from the lovely couple tonight. Apparently I can be a little distracting. Did you know that?” His eyes twinkle with more laughter you’re dying to hear.

“You? Distracting? Never,” you reassure him, patting his chest as you move past, trying not to notice how his eyes linger on you.

You disappear into the crowd, not only in search of a drink, but some different company. You, Finnick, and alcohol were a deadly mix you swore you’d never combine again. Luckily, there's no shortage of people holding trays of drinks, from bubbling champagne to deep red wines, and you quickly pluck a glass of rosé. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed, all you know is that you’ve just finished your third glass and are reaching for a fourth when your stomach starts rumbling. You realize then you haven't eaten since you’d been on the train. It’s not that there wasn’t any food at this party, there was, in fact, an excess, but it was so rich you were worried it would only further upset your already queasy stomach.

The voice that finally made you understand the phrase butterflies in your stomach calls your name, and you can't help but smile as you turn around and see Finnick holding a plate of shrimp drenched in a red sauce, setting it down on the bar in front of you. Your favorite. 

“Thank you!” You can’t contain yourself as you throw your arms around his neck, nearly brought to tears as you think of how delicious the shrimp would be. “I am sooo hungry.”

Finnick doesn’t even budge at the force of you throwing your weight towards him;he probably knew you were going to do that, just as he knew you hadn’t eaten. He knew you eerily well, Observing you must take up a lot of his time. “I figured you could use a break between all that wine.”

You smell the alcohol on his breath and know he's been doing his fair share of drinking, but that’s not the only indicator — the touching becomes almost second nature when he’s got enough alcohol in him. 

Although you’ve pulled away from him, his fingers curl around your waist to keep you in front of him, his thumb drawing circles on the small of your back. You can feel his chest pressed against your back, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as you lean into him. He’s a sturdy and comforting presence behind you. You tell yourself as you lean back that it’s to steady your feet, but you know deep down you long to feel his skin against yours, and you’re too drunk to think about the consequences of people seeing you.

“How much longer do we have to stay here?” he whispers, and you suppress a shudder at the tingles that erupt up and down your whole body, starting where his lips touched your ear.

“We haven't even seen Katniss or Peeta yet.” You hate how breathless your voice has become as his hand trails down to rest on your hip.

“I was being serious earlier, you know,” he says, and you're so close to him you can hear his heart race. Why would he be nervous to ask you to come over? It was casual, you were friends. Friends who helped each other out sometimes, but friends above everything. Being anything more terrified you.

“Really?” You pretend not to notice the pounding of his heart or the sharp intake of his breath. “Mine or yours?” It's funny to pretend either of you really have a place here — the training center’s living quarters hardly count as home.

“Mmm, we can decide later,” he says, suddenly pulling away. Cold air nips where his body once stood, and you’re thinking he’s finally come to his senses about being so handsy in public, but then he’s dragging you to the tile platform where people are dancing, and he’s sweeping you into his arms. 

The shrimp is long forgotten, as is the grumbling of your stomach. It’s too busy forming knots as you sway.

“You didn't even ask if I wanted to dance,” you smile, one hand instinctively going to Finnick’s shoulder while the other grasps one of his. His free hand rests on your lower back.

“Do you want to dance?” He drinks in the sight of you, savoring how close you’ve become.

“Yes,” your voice is barely above a whisper. The music is slow and soulful, and all you can do is stare at one another.

“Good,” he says, but you’re not sure how good this really is.

There was a reason you’d created rules for this whole… arrangement in the first place. You drew a hard line in the sand that Finnick kept trying to cross.

When Snow first told you what happened to desirable victors, you hadn’t believed him. And then, two days later, your boyfriend wound up dead. A freak accident at the power plant, they’d said, but you knew. Deep down you knew the timing was too close to be a coincidence, that Snow really did mean what he’d said about everyone you loved dying if you didn't comply.

You were terrified of the same thing happening to Finnick, so much so it was the only recurring nightmare that occupied your brain.

He’d been the one to suggest it be nothing more than just sex, though, probably for the same reasons that had held you back from asking for anything more. And, yeah, that should’ve been what you wanted, but you could admit to yourself that you were a hypocrite. For wanting all the good parts of him, but not the danger that came with it. For wanting him to be able to look past his own fears and want more from you, but not being willing to do the same. 

“When should we leave?” Your palms have grown sweaty at the unspoken desires racing through your brain, so you use it as an excuse to disentangle your arms from his body and rearrange them to clasp around the back of his neck.

To steady yourself, of course.

Now, both of his hands are on your hips and he draws you even closer so that you’re chest to chest, so close your breaths become one.

“Not yet.” His voice is soft, even pleading. “One more song.”

Upon closer inspection you find he’s tipsy, but not drunk. He’s a little looser but still of a sound mind, which is why it’s even more terrifying to look at him, because you can't think of a time where the two of you have acted like this fully sober. Neither of you are under the influence of drugs, or alcohol, or even overwhelming emotion that would make you do crazy things. Except the morning after the first time.

The sexual attraction had always been there, but the first time either of you acted on it had been after a particularly wild night that left the both of you to fill in the blanks as you woke up next to him, naked in your bed.

“I’m so sorry — so so sorry! Things got so out of control last night, it was a mistake,” you’d said hastily before he could say the same. You’d rather not be rejected when your head was pounding and you’d felt so sick. You’d clutched the sheets tight to your chest, suddenly self conscious by how bare you were.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he'd said it so casually you thought you'd misheard him at first. You probably looked as confused as you were, because he continued, “ It doesn’t have to be a mistake. I like you, I like… this,” he gestured to the two of you, and when you said nothing, he added hurriedly, “It doesn’t have to be anything. Actually, forget I even said—”

You'd cut him off with a kiss, and had fallen back against the silk sheets with the intention to burn every inch of him to memory, since you couldn’t remember the previous night and cursed yourself for it.

“Hello-ooo,” Finnick’s voice tore you back to reality. “Did you even hear what I said? The song’s over, we can leave now.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you suppose it’s for the best, so you nod and let him lead you to one of the many black cars that sit outside the President’s mansion. One designated for the tributes and victors that only drove to and from the training center. 

Finnick wishes he could read your mind, especially when you get that glazed over look in your eye, the one that signals you were in a land far away from here.

All night, he’d wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked. 

Glittery, silver eyeshadow made it look like your eyes were really sparkling when you looked at him. In a dress that was tailored to fit you just right, hugging you in all the right places and flowing down to your ankles, yet somehow leaving a tantalizing amount of bare skin exposed.

Your smile completed everything, though. The way it met your eyes when you saw him across the room… he’d do just about anything to make sure you’d smile at him like that again.

When he’d led you to the dance floor in the gardens, it’d been for his own selfish reasons. Not just that he wanted an excuse to hold you close to him, but because he knew you’d look exquisite against the night sky littered with stars. The moon bathed you in a softness that made you glitter and glow, every beam that struck your figure only further highlighting your beauty until he was certain you were from another world entirely.

He’d especially wanted to tell you how you looked then. But like the rest of the night, whenever he opened his mouth, his mouth went dry and his tongue became stuck in the back of his throat, forcing him into silence.

You might think he was the sun, but he thought you were the moon.

He looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky every night just for him.

If only you were willing to see it, instead of whatever twisted reality you’d decided was the truth.

He feels like he’s in somewhat of a daze as he leads you to the car, feels out of his body when the two of you push past his door in a tangled mess of hands and teeth and tongue. 

It’s rough and fast and everything he’s not feeling as your lips attach to different spots on his neck and suck hard enough to leave marks. When he’s sure there’s not a spot left untouched by you, he begins to return every bruising kiss you’ve left with some of his own with enough force to match. His lips detach from yours and dip down to your neck, your chest, until he’s biting at your breasts, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a hunger he hasn’t felt in so long.

He wants to feel you, taste you, hear you — he wants his whole being to be consumed by you. He removes his mouth to continue his kisses down your body, relishing in the soft moans he manages to elicit from you and committing every sound to memory, like he’s never going to get this opportunity again. He kisses between your breasts, down your stomach, and purposely skips past where he’s sure you want him most before settling his lips on your inner thighs, his kisses turning almost lazy.

He wants to continue this slow pace, like you have all the time in the world, but that’s just not how the two of you do things 

It’s not a show, or even a display of real passion — no, it’s just two pathetic people making the best out of a lousy situation, acting like physical pleasure will somehow cure the constant ache of your hearts.

He fears the sweetness he seeks from you is souring at that realization.

It’s not that he doesn’t want this. Oh no, he’s been thinking about this since the moment he saw you in that dress and measured how difficult it would be to take it off. Actually, if he was being completely honest with himself, he’d been thinking about this the moment he saw you step off the train platform.

It’s that he wants all of this and more, but he’s not sure how to go about it. It’s not like they’re being totally subtle, but if Snow found out… he’d likely use it against both of you. You’d be just another thing for Snow to hold over his head, another person for him to worry about, and Snow would probably do the same to you.

So maybe, if Finnick continued pretending this was nothing more than casual sex and you were nothing more than a good friend, Snow would be convinced too. 

“Finnick,” you’re breathless beneath him. “What’s wrong? You sort of spaced out for a sec… we can stop if you want.”

No, he doesn’t want to stop, but it’s probably the first time he’s ever been asked that. 

He shakes his head, both to answer you and to clear his head, and leans over to kiss you again. 

He’s glad you don’t press it further, not as his tongue finally laps at your clit and elicits a loud gasp from you that gives him the self satisfaction to continue.

Your fingers card through his hair and pull instinctively when he adds his fingers. Now it’s his turn to moan, and the vibrations make you shudder.

All this does is spur him on, wanting to hear the little moans and whimpers from you that he’s grown so familiar with. They only make him harder to the point where it’s almost painful, but it does nothing to slow him as he continues flicking and swirling his tongue. In fact it has the opposite effect, he only becomes more earnest and determined in his efforts.

When he adds a finger he feels a sharp tug at his roots and knows he’s doing the right things.

Since that very first night, Finnick Odair had thought you were too good to be true and too easy to slip through his fingers. So he made it his mission to commit you to memory, treating every encounter like it would be the last one. As a result, he knows every sensitive spot you have, every noise you make and what they mean.

When he gently sucks on your clit and lets his teeth graze it, he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before you become undone. Your hips buck towards him, begging for more, and he obliges with sliding in another finger.

He detaches his mouth for a second so he can soak up the memory of you like this. Your head is thrown back against the pillow and your hair strewn in every direction. A faint sheen of sweat has appeared on your face as you pant, eyes are screwed shut with pleasure.

You’re so beautiful he cursed himself for stopping, even for a moment. At that moment, he doesn’t care about his own pleasure, all he can think about when he closes his eyes and returns his mouth is the image of you.

You’re together when the theme of the Quarter Quell is announced.

The day starts out normal enough. You both have your… clients to attend to, but when Finnick walks through the doors of the apartment you’d been given to share with several other Victors who were bought by the Capitol, you can push the awfulness of the day aside to soak up as much of him as you can before one of you is sent back to your district.

When he suggests a shower, the horrors of the past few hours are washed down the drain when the hot water pours over you. It’s so hot that Finnick begins to complain that he’s starting to feel — and look — like a lobster being boiled alive.

“But now I’m cold,” you whine with your back to him, clattering your teeth together for dramatic effect.

“Really?” He’s inched closer, and suddenly you’re not shivering from the cold.

He is all consuming.

When you emerge from the shower you find your fingers pruney and the mirrors all fogged up — you've been in there far too long.

The two of you finally separate to get ready for bed, and when you finally slide into the bed next to Finnick, his arm instinctively goes around your shoulders. 

He’s flicking through different Capitol channels that are all different forms of mind numbing torture, before landing on the official news station where Snow is about to read from a card announcing the twist of the Third Quarter Quell.

“Oh! Wait, stop here, I forgot they were announcing it today,” you say.

“I don’t think it matters that much,” Finnick’s expression is sour, but he doesn’t turn the television off. “It’ll be just as difficult to mentor as any of the other Games.”

“I don’t know… I mean, I couldn’t even imagine trying to train two extra tributes,” you muse, thinking about the last Quell, and almost miss what Snow says next.

In the next moment, you almost wish you had missed it.

“...shall be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”

The two of you have vastly different reactions. Finnick immediately springs up from the bed and begins to pace, only stopping when he hears the sound of strangled sobs fighting their way past your lips. 

In an instant he’s next to you, wrapping both his arms around you and tugging you close to his chest. “It’ll be okay,” he tries to soothe, but his own voice is shaky and you suspect the embrace is meant to comfort him just as much as it is you.

I’ve wasted so much time, you realize, and the awful, choked noises you make turn into something so much worse.

You begin to weep, utterly defeated. There’s no fight left in you, and that’s why it’s worse than the short cries, or even hot, angry tears. Realizing the past nine years of torture hadn’t been worth it, and you really should have died in that arena. It would’ve been so much more merciful than whatever this was.

You’re the only living female victor from your district, there’s no hope for you. Finnick, at least, has a chance at not being reaped at all.

“We’ll figure something out,” Finnick continues. “You know… with everything that’s been going on.”

His reference, although vague, makes you think long enough that your cries have paused. Plutarch and Thirteen, you realize. Surely they would be scrambling to come up with a plan right now, because how could Katniss — their beloved Mockingjay — perform for them if she died in another arena? But saving her didn’t leave much room for the rest of you.

“You’re right,” you force out even if you don’t believe him, because you don’t want his calm demeanor to disappear. If he starts to panic you’re sure you’ll lose it completely.

“We should get to bed,” he says abruptly. “I think we’ll have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

There are three of you victors gathered around the dining table in Plutarch’s mansion with him. You, Finnick, and Beetee. You know there are more victors in on it, but you three are the only ones currently in the Capitol, and nobody wants to waste any time. When everyone else arrives for the games, whether as a mentor or tribute, they’ll be informed.

“We have a military, we have political unrest, and we have our symbol. We have everything we need to make this work. Do you know how rare this is?” Plutarch laments. “Thirteen has hovercrafts, so we’ll have a way to get you all out if we can figure out how to work around the forcefield.”

“Which is easier said than done,” Beetee adds. You’re not sure how to feel about him — he’s incredibly intelligent, that’s for sure. He’s such a genius you feel out of place in this discussion, because what could you possibly have to add when he could solve basically anything? 

He carries himself with such palpable sadness, though. His shoulders are always hunched like they’re physically weighed down with emotion, and you’ve never seen him without deep circles under his eyes.

“Can’t you just turn them off?” Finnick asks, turning to Plutarch, “You’re the head gamemaker.”

“I wish it was that easy, but it won’t work,” Plutarch shakes his head. “It’ll give Snow too much of a warning, we need it to be so sudden he’s left scrambling.”

“We have to blow it up,” Beetee squints his eyes, deep in thought. 

“Tell me what supplies you need and I’ll make sure they’re in the Cornucopia,” Plutarch promises. “But do you know how to do that? Can you figure it out?”

“It’s Beetee,” Finnick insists, “Of course he can.”

Beetee brushes off the compliment with a shake of his head. “It will require a lot…” he pauses at an odd place in the conversation, a habit of his you’ve picked up on, “... of calculations.”

“I could probably help with that,” you interject yourself into the conversation for the first time. “With the calculations, I mean. We do a lot of stuff like that at the power plants in Five.”

Plutarch breaks into a smile while Beetee nods his head slowly. “Excellent. Tell me what numbers you need, and I’ll get them for you.”

You nod earnestly, your chest swelling with a mix of emotions you haven’t felt in forever: confidence, pride, and hope. Like it isn’t just the talk of four lunatics around the dinner table, but a feasible option. A better future for Panem was being dangled above your head, just out of reach.

By the time you see Finnick again, that hope has been completely squashed in all the fuss of the week.

Right now, you’re both just tributes changing out of the ridiculous costumes you’d donned during the opening ceremony.

You’re not talking to him though, not after you saw him cozying up to Katniss Everdeen in nothing but a knotted golden net.

Rationally, you know you’re being a little ridiculous. The net isn’t his choice, it’s his stylist’s angle to get him sponsors. And he’s talking to Katniss in that awful persona he takes on when he’s in the Capitol, the personality everyone expects him to have.

Still, bile rises in your throat at the sight of them.

Trying to slip away unnoticed, though, proved to be difficult due to your illuminated costume shining bright against the evening sky. At least your stylist tried to make your outfit unique this time, dressing you up as lightning to represent Five’s industry of power. It’s still a poor imitation of Twelve’s fire costumes though, because they blow everyone else’s outfits out of the water with no competition.

You hear Finnick call your name as you hurry towards the tribute center and ignore him. You reach the elevator alone and turn around quickly, only to see Finnick standing as the doors closed on him.

Well, almost closing. A hand jutted through the elevator doors and forced them open again, revealing Finnick in all his glory — he hadn’t changed out of the net.

“Almost thought you were trying to avoid the pleasure of my company, honey.” His voice is annoyed and the nickname is not endearing but patronizing.

“Why don’t you go ask Katniss to keep you company?” You didn’t want to say anything, because really it’s irrational to think anything could be going on between him and Katniss, which just means that you look like a jealous fool and nothing else. But seeing him with someone so strong and sure of herself, the complete opposite of you, made you realize how quickly Finnick could slip through your fingers. He was so easy to lose.

“Sweetheart…” he begins, and you can tell he’s trying not to sound too amused, “The whole reason she’s in this mess is because she’s with Peeta. And… she’s seventeen. She’s a kid.”

Both good points, which only annoys you even further because it just proves you have no reason to feel the way you do. “Whatever,” you scoff, turning away from him and wondering how much longer this elevator is going to take. Please, let it be done.

It’s like someone’s answered your pleas because the door rings at the level four and it’s Finnick’s cue to steps off. “By the way,” he says over his shoulder. “I didn't know you were the jealous type. It’s cute.”

The door shuts before you have the chance to retort.

In training, it’s hard to do anything at all. The only things flashing in your mind are the faces of the tributes in your games and the tributes you failed to train. All of whom have been dead at least a year, but they haunt you just as much as they did on the first day. 

You’d gotten so close last year. Finch — a clever, redheaded girl — had made it to the final four before she’d died. It was the closest any of your tributes had gotten to victory since you’d been crowned.

She haunts you the most, the way she was little more than skin and bones by the time she died. A direct failure on your part; everyone had been rooting for the star crossed lovers or the stereotypical career from Two that they’d overlooked your tribute, no matter how hard you’d advocated for her and practically begged for sponsors.

“You alright?” Finnick sidles up beside you, holding a thick rope in his hand that’s tied suspiciously like a noose.

“Yep!” You force out a more cheery tone than you’d wished, and cringed at how sharp and on the verge of a breakdown you sounded. “I’m going to help Johanna out.”

Johanna Mason did not need help. She was throwing axes at one of the weapons stations when you popped up behind her and forced out a greeting.

She gives a little shriek and drops the axe dangerously close to her toes. “You see a girl with an axe in her hand and decide to jump her?” She seethes, “Do not do that! Or it’ll drop on your toes next time!”

Her words are furious, but you know she’s harmless at the moment. You know her well under unfortunate circumstances, from two years ago when your tributes had formed an alliance and the two of you had been forced to work alongside one another as mentors. 

Until the tribute from Seven split your tribute’s head open with an axe.

“Sorry,” you huff, picking up an axe and marveling at the weight of it. “I had to get away from Finnick. He’s been freaking me out lately.”

“Freaking you out… how?” Johanna narrows her eyes, and it's then you remember she’s in on the rebel plot to break Katniss out of the arena, and the rest of you if you were lucky.

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s thinking. “Oh— not about that, he’s just… hovering. I don’t think I’ve spent this much time with him during the daytime since we first met.”

Johanna visibly relaxes and then rolls her eyes. “Please tell me you guys aren’t still doing that stupid friends with benefits thing. Please.”

“It’s not stupid!” You object, a little offended by the way she’s framing it. “I told you, it’s for the best… right now, at least.”

“You guys are such idiots,” she sighs, eyeing the axe in your hand. “Are you actually going to use that?”

With a shake of your head you hand it off to her carefully. “It’s just that… you know, with… Snow…” your voice drops to a whisper.

She cuts you off. “Yeah. I know.”

Oh. Yes, she does know exactly what you mean. A wave of shame overwhelms you and you open your mouth to shower her with apologies but she cuts you off.

“I don’t need you to pity me. Well—” She thinks about this for a moment and changes her mind. “Actually, if it makes you listen to what I’m gonna tell you, then yeah, poor me, all alone. Whatever. I’m telling you, you’re being a fucking idiot.”

“I am not—”

“You are!” Johanna hurls an axe at the board with so much force it breaks completely. “He likes you. It’s kind of sickening, actually, and so obvious. I mean, he’s literally staring at you right now— no, don’t look, brainless!”

“Johanna,” You begin, watching her pick up another axe. “I appreciate this tough love… aspect… whatever you have going on, but—”

“If you want to waste your last week alive pining for a guy you already have… be my guest. But don’t talk to me about it, it’s annoying.”

She’s crude, and mean, but she’s right. All the worries you have will be gone in a week. Either one of you will be dead, or you’ll be freed from the Capitol’s chains and in the safe hands of Thirteen.

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” you say abruptly. “How are you doing with this whole Quell thing?”

She snorts and throws another axe, her jaw tight with anger. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

You’re starting to feel that maybe she hates you when she asks, “Have you ever thrown one of these before? I mean, probably not, judging by the way you were holding that one, but…”

“Yes, I’d love to learn!” You know that’s what she’s trying to ask. It’s her version of trying to be kind, even if it’s laced with insults and sarcasm.

A hint of a real smile appears, and you can't help but admire how pretty she is, behind all the anger.

For the next half hour, Johanna teaches you how to throw an axe, while you chit chat about mildly unimportant things. She soon gets bored of small talk and starts cursing the Capitol six ways to Sunday, and you think how nice it must be to be free about how you feel. 

Not that Johanna hasn’t paid the price for it— no, the Capitol deserves every spitting word she throws their way. You brush off her rants with nervous laughter and look around to see if anyone’s listening, because you still have your family at home, but deep down you agree. 

It’s refreshing though, to talk with a real friend who’s unafraid to speak her mind and actually understands what you’re going through. Your friends back home, however sweet, couldn’t even begin to know the half of it.

“I wish I could teach you something,” you say ruefully, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead. “Working in power plants doesn't really prepare us for the Games.”

Johanna shrugs. “It wasn’t a trade, I was just helping you out. And… you’re the least insufferable person here, so I'd rather talk with you than anyone else.”

You’re sure it’s the kindest thing she’ll ever say to you, so all you do is grin and hand her an axe back. She catches your arm and pulls you close, like she’s going to hug you, but instead just leans in and whispers in your ear, “Don’t back out. Or I’ll actually have to kill you.”

You know what she’s talking about, and you know she’s not kidding this time.

Now it’s time to find another victim — err, friend — at a different station to continue avoiding Finnick. You spot him with Katniss, again, but to her credit she looks less than amused at whatever he’s saying. You squash the flame of jealousy beginning to burn in your stomach, because you’ve been over this with him already. That, and the fact that you don’t really have the right to be jealous in the first place.

Finnick looks up from the rope he’s fiddling with and his eyes find you, which now means you have to scramble to find a station.

You spot Cashmere at the archery station and make a beeline, relieved to see her brother is not with her, because it makes the introductions and inevitable awkward small talk a little more manageable.

“Hi,” you force out. Cashmere fixes you with an icy stare but says nothing for a long moment, she just observes. She’s terrifying, to say the least. To busy yourself you pick up a bow and fiddle with it a bit, examining the craftsmanship in an attempt to look busy.

“You shoot?” She says after a minute, her voice almost making you jump.

“Not… really…” And just like that, you’ve lost the singular ounce of interest she held for you.

You listen to the instructor as he tries to teach you how to shoot, but it's clear after the first few tries this is not your strong suit. 

You wish you’d been born into a district that gave you a natural advantage in the Games; you’d won yours by nothing more than sheer luck. Everyone who hadn’t been killed by starvation, dehydration, or mutts were too busy killing one another before they paid any attention to you.

You hear him before you see him, the soft chuckle as one of your arrows misses the target entirely. “You should take lessons from Katniss,” Finnick says lightly, but it only makes you frown.

“I’d like to see you try,” you grumble, but you don’t actually want him to try because you’re sure he’s legally required to be perfect at everything he does.

“Why don’t I show you how to throw a trident instead?” He suggests, and that's the last thing you want to do. What you want is time. Time to think about what Johanna said, if all this angst was even worth it when you’d be dead in a week. Time to think about what you actually want. 

Time, unfortunately, is a luxury a victor would never be able to afford, often wasting it locked in a prison of their own minds.

“Okay,” you concede finally. “I guess you’d be an okay teacher… I’ve heard you’re not half bad.”

The training week has come and gone, the interviews with Caesar Flickerman having been the last hurrah before they sent you all off to die. 

You tried, unconvincingly, to remind yourself of the rebel plot to break everyone out, but it did little to soothe your nerves. You suspected they didn’t let you in on everything; that much was clear by the silent communication between Finnick and Johanna.

All of these thoughts are racing through your mind and keeping you from sleeping. The pillows have been thrown around and the sheets have tangled and bunched around your legs as you toss and turn, trying to find a position that would pull you into at least a few hours of slumber.

All of your thoughts circle back to Finnick. Throughout the week you’d spent several nights in his bed, but tonight you’d both agreed you needed your rest to prepare for the day tomorrow. 

Still, you can’t worry about him any more knowing he’s just a floor below you. Throwing on a thin robe you make your way to the elevator, not exactly sure what you want but deciding your mind will be made up by the time you reach him. 

You don’t even have to raise your hand to knock, the door flies open and you’re met with sea green eyes that pierce right into yours. They’re clear of sleepiness and brighten as they land on you, so you know he’s been awake like you.

You walk past him and know he’s trailing behind you, closing the door to his bedroom once you’re both inside. “I want it to be like the first time.”

“What?” 

“You know, the first time we…” you trail off, suddenly shy, and hope he’ll fill in the blanks on his own. 

“Yeah… what about it?” Finnick’s eyebrows furrow into a slight frown, like he’s trying to remember that night, the one that’s hazy with emotions and drenched with alcohol.

“I just… I mean…” You struggle to find the words, because what about it is right. “I guess what I’m saying is I don’t want to think about the consequences.”

Not a whole truth, but enough of one. You want to be able to be with him one last time, and don’t care about the consequences because you're sure to be dead soon. 

There’s a long, drawn out pause as he looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s staring straight into your soul. It’s so silent you’re sure he can hear the pounding of your heart as blood roars in your ears, sure he can feel the air that’s become suffocatingly thick with tension.

“Okay,” he says simply, and that’s all you need before you close the distance and kiss him.

You’ve kissed him many times before, but this one is different. You’re expecting it to be like the others, desperate and rough like you’d lose each other in a second. 

This one is slow, like you have all the time in the world. For this one night, only two things are really certain: you have Finnick, and Finnick has you. The ones that follow that first one are just as deliberate and calm, so much so that you lose track of time. While it couldn’t have been that long, it was beginning to feel like hours, any pause being reduced to nothing more than short breaks to breathe before you reconnected.

You’re so wrapped up in the feeling of his lips against yours that you don’t even notice you’re moving until the back of your legs hit the bed and you almost fall back.

He steadies you with a hand on your waist and pulls you back in for another kiss.

“Someone’s eager to get me in bed,” he mumbles against your lips with a smile.

“Am I that obvious?” You ask with a giggle, a little embarrassed at how breathless you sound.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he pulls you closer until your body is flush against his and you can feel everything. “I think I’m a little more desperate.”

Yes, judging by the hardness you feel against your body, maybe he is.

This time you fall back intentionally, pulling him with you and savoring the feeling of his weight pinning you against the mattress.

You never want to stop kissing him like this. His lips are working in a way that’s so sweet and gentle you’re getting dangerously close to blurting out something you shouldn’t.

When he pulls back, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of you, you can really look at his face.

The green of his eyes are barely visible because his pupils are completely blown out, like even his eyes are desperate to get as much of you as they can. His bronze curls are beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat beginning to dot his hairline.

The only thing that shocks you is that his cheeks are tinted a light pink, and his lips, reddened and glossy from the kissing, are pursed together in…

“Are you nervous?” You blurt out, eyes widening at the realization.

“No,” he mumbles, leaning forward to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest that forces him to keep your gaze.

“Why’re you nervous? We’ve done this like, a million times,” you laugh, but he’s not smiling.

Finnick’s answer surprises you so much that your own smile is instantly wiped from your face. “I just want to make sure it’s good for you. I want you to be happy… even if it’s only for a little bit.”

His tone is so earnest and anxious you’re sure you’re about to cry, because no one’s ever been this sweet to you. Except him. “Okay,” you whisper. Those funny three words are jumping in the back of your throat, and you have to swallow hard and kiss him to make sure they disappear.

Still connected by your lips, you roll over until you’re straddling him, his back propped against the headboard. You never want to stop kissing him; when his lips are on yours it’s like you’re in a whole different world. One without all the worries that weigh you down and pry you apart from him. It’s the most relief you’ve felt since your Reaping Day that you whine when his lips leave yours.

He laughs a little at your desperation, his hands sliding under your shirt and raising it above your head before tossing it aside.

Finnick makes quick work of the rest of your clothes and his own, and before you know it you’re both naked.

You’re glad he flips you over because you're a little embarrassed how wet you’ve become — not that it’d be a secret for long.

His hands slide down and gently pull your legs apart so he can settle comfortably between them.

Now it’s your turn to feel nervous, unfamiliar with the position you’re in — at eye level with one another. It’s so different from the impersonal ones you’re used to. 

When he’s behind you, you can almost be satisfied with it being just sex. You’re free to pretend it’s anyone, it doesn’t have to be Finnick.

But now, looking into his eyes and being met with a stare just as intense, you hope he can't feel your pulse skyrocketing.

Just as you feel the familiarity of one of his fingers working its way inside you, you’re hit with a force of emotion so hard it knocks the wind out of you and you have to hide a gasp. You realize, with a stab to your chest, you never want this to end, but know it will. Know you have to make this a memorable goodbye in case only one of you survives.

He makes you feel so good, knows your body so well it’s basically second nature when he pumps his fingers in and out in a way that makes you arch towards his hand, silently begging for more.

He’s just about to slide a second finger in when you know he senses the change in how you’re kissing him. It’s more like the desperate, hungry ones you're both used to. 

In a moment he’s withdrawn completely and you cry out at the loss. “Why’d you do that?” You groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Finnick demands, holding your chin with one of his hands and forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

“Nothing, can you just get back to—”

“Bullshit.” He withdraws his body from you completely, leaving you cold and lonely as he sits back on his knees. His eyes widen as he looks at you, and you can literally see his pupils returning to their normal size. “You don't want to not worry about the consequences,” he realizes. “You’re just here to say goodbye.”

You want to protest and sit up, but he’s reading you to filth. “Finnick, I—”

“No,” he says with so much force it surprises you, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “No, I told you we’re going to be fine, why are you acting like this is the end?”

You can recognize the edge of terror in his voice and know he’s not really mad at you. He’s panicked, because if you don’t believe his words, why should he?

“Finnick,” you say again, gently this time, and he slowly opens his eyes. You reach your hand towards his face and cup his cheek, an act so tender you can feel your own heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach. “I want to believe you. About everything. Really, I do, I just… I just want to do it right this one time.”

And it’s true. You’ve been intimate with him countless times, but they all feel so wrong compared to the rawness of tonight.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he whispers, grasping onto the hand that’s on his cheek and bringing it down to his chest. You feel his heart beating a million miles a minute, thudding so hard against his chest it might just burst free.

You nod, knowing you don’t have the strength to argue. You want tonight to be perfect, just in case it’s the last time, and you’re already missing the feeling of his lips.

Finnick seems to have lost the internal battle he’s been warring against himself, because when he surges forward to kiss you, his words are seemingly forgotten.

His kisses are still tender and steady, but an edge of desperation creeps toward the end. As if when you pull away to catch your breath, it’s the last time he’ll ever feel them.

You return to the position of before and try to fall back into the rhythm that’d been temporarily disrupted.

His fingers find their way back inside you just as his lips reconnect to yours, but this time you’re impatient. You want to be ready and able to enjoy it, but you can’t stand wasting time without him inside you, knowing you only had a few hours left together.

He seems to sense this, too, because his fingers curl inside you and send shockwaves up and down your spine. Blindly, you reach for his pants and fumble with the waistband for a moment before slipping your hand inside.

Instantly you find his cock, hard and practically jumping at your touch as you wrap your hand around it. You’re rewarded with his hips jumping towards your touch and groan that’s immediately swallowed by your kiss.

Just a simple touch has him impatient, understanding your sudden desperation. The brief whine as his lips leave yours is replaced with a moan as you feel the thickness of him pressing at your entrance.

“Wait!” You cry out, so suddenly it startles him into jumping back.

“What’s wrong?” He looks panicked, then grief stricken, like he’s done something wrong.

“Nothing, I just needed to say—” Please, just let me say it, you beg your brain. “I love you.”

Finnick’s features instantly relax and he’s back against you in an instant. The smile that’s overtaken his entire face is the brightest you’ve ever seen.

“I love you too,” he says in between kisses, “I thought I was being pretty obvious about it though.”

He doesn’t even wait for a reply before thrusting into you. Your nails dig into his shoulders and he pauses, letting you adjust for a moment.

“I think you were made for me,” He breathes, forehead dipping down to connect with yours.

“Oh come on, don’t be cheesy— ah!” He’s setting a pace that’s been like the rest of the night, slow and sweet, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you both grow impatient with it.

For a while there’s only the sounds of labored breathing and skin against skin as he thrusts into you, until your gasps and moans grow more frequent and you both know you’re getting close.

He increases the pace to something much more demanding now, not caring about the path of scratches your fingernails are making down his perfect skin, marring his perfection ever so slightly.

“Please—” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, because you know he’ll give you the release you so desperately crave. Still, with the coil wound tight at the base of your spine it’s all you can do in your sex-drunken mind.

You both come right after the other, completely in sync, there’s no hesitation when Finnick wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his chest.

“I meant it, y’know,” you say quietly after a minute.

“Me too. All of it.”

The giddiness you feel at his words disappears at the reality of the situation. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner. We’ve wasted so much time.”

“I know,” he sighs, because that's all he can say.

Tomorrow, everything will change. Both your lives will be on the line for a greater cause, your next breath will not be guaranteed, and neither will his. But for these few sacred hours, before the first cracks of dawn seep through the curtains and drag you back to reality, you have certainty, you have contentment. 

A sigh escapes your lips, and Finnick looks down at you resting your cheek against his chest.

He hopes you can’t feel his heart accelerating when you begin to draw little patterns in his skin.

“What’s wrong?”

The look in your eyes makes him wish he hadn’t asked.

“I’m just going to miss you.”

He could protest. Could point you towards the logistics that favor both your survival, could ramble about how the rebels are going to get all of you out. How you won’t ever need to miss him because he plans on sticking to you like glue until he draws his last breath.

The little part of him that's just as scared as you are stops him from saying any of it. He’s agreed to sacrifice himself and everyone around him to ensure Katniss and Peeta make it out. He could do it without hesitation if he didn’t have to think about you.

Instead, he just presses a long kiss to your temple and pulls you impossibly closer. You think he’d burrow himself in your skin if he could.

“Me too,” is the last thing you hear before the lull of sleep, aided by the warmth and safety you feel in his arms.

You hope tomorrow never comes.

[sluttysnowangel666]

sweet like candy - choi su bong / thanos

pairings : thanos/ su bong x fem reader part 2

summary/request : despite only a few insignificant interactions with thanos, he grows jealous when he sees you talking to an ex marine, dae ho.

warnings: jealous thanos, use of drugs, swearing, violence, ooc thanos bc he’s kinda nice most of the time except for when he’s jealous, lowkey sub thanos idk how it happened but bros a good boy😭, oral(f receiving), hand job, sex(p in v)

ngl this is not my best work unfortunately:( it just feels like i rushed too much at certain parts but i just didn’t want it to be too repetitive to other stories with too much detail when we all know how the games work. send me some requests, i wanna do au or write for thanos where the reader and him are outside of the games

not responsible for the content you consume, use discretion when reading past the border. 18+

“Señorita, excuse me.”

You turn, an eyebrow already raised at the strange pet name you’d just been called. It’s a tall, young ish man. You take in his appearance; his hair is a bright shade of purple, slender fingers painted like infinity stones, marked with dark tattoos, chunky rings, and a cross necklace.

You don’t respond, instead continuing to walk in the eerie room painted like the sky, with a giant doll at the other side.

You sigh, still confused at how you ended up here with 456 other people in ugly green tracksuits and millions, if not billions, of won in debt.

He raps you a song, also stating his name is Thanos, which you try to tune out but its mediocrity makes you stifle a laugh. He notices, and your sweet smile makes him smile.

“I like you.” He says, flashing you a little heart with his fingers. You roll your eyes, walking past him as he lingers on your trail.

A man runs out, player 456, you note. He begins screaming, saying the game was “Red Light, Green Light” and the doll was going to kill us if we moved. His reaction makes you nervous, his fear seemed so genuine.

“My dad comes home like this sometimes,” Thanos says, noticing your shift in demeanor. “Saying there’s bugs in the walls and his phone’s been tapped by the government.”

“Do you think the guy yelling is high?” You ask.

He smirks a little before answering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Fuck no.”

The game begins, and Thanos takes your hand. You go to pull away but his grip is tight.

“Let go.” You whisper, on a red light.

“Come on, señorita. Let’s stick together.” He whispers back.

Before you can respond, the girl in front of you starts screaming about a bee landing on her. She faces you both and laughs a little.

“Oh, shit. I just moved, didn’t I?”

Bang.

Blood splatters on you and Thanos’ face.

“Don’t scream.” He whispers, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your body is in shock, frozen. You grip his hand in return now, trying to hold your shaking.

More rounds continue, but neither of you move. That is until the man tells you to finish you have to be behind the doll. Thanos moves you behind him, and you press your head into his back with your eyes shut tight, gripping his jacket. He slowly moves, pulling you with him.

A woman reacts to the body, and an another shot goes off. Panic ensues, as people run and shots fire continuously. All you can hear is screaming and shooting.

During the next green light Thanos doesn’t move, but you feel him fidgeting around. Two rounds go by of this before he finally moves again.

He lurches forward, and you feel him go “Ding” as he pushes a group of people down. Three shots ring off, and during the next green light you let go of him. He doesn’t even notice, skipping and jumping and dancing during every green light.

In the end, you survive. Splattered in blood, yes, but alive nonetheless.

You avoid him after that, feeling unnerved by the way he played during the games. You noticed him sharing a pill with a guy later, which made his behavior in the game make sense to you.

You sat on your bed, your face buried in your knees as you rocked back and forth. The lights were out, everyone going to sleep but, how could you? After everything you saw?

You glanced up at the piggy bank, glowing gold

and filled with won.

———

The next game was about to begin.

You had been brought into a room, eerily similar to the one with the doll, except the room had rainbow tracks and pink suit men standing around it. They ordered you to get into teams of 5.

You wandered around, searching for a group of people who wouldn’t kill you for fun.

“Hi.”

You turned, facing a handsome dark haired man, his hair half tied up. He was neatly kept, carrying himself with confidence and grace, despite everything.

“Hi.” You respond, meekly.

“Would you like to join our group?” He motions to the 4 men behind him. Their faces are stoic, but they look friendly enough. You notice the one man on the team was the one who warned everyone about the last games. You accept their offer; it’s not like you really had a choice anyway. Besides, why not let them pity you if they felt sorry enough to offer you a spot? No one else was itching to have you on your team…

Or so you thought.

On the other side of the room, Thanos was searching for you to be in his group. He felt inclined to protect you now after the events of the first game. The drugs were fueling him into wanting to be the hero of your story. He was convinced he could you get out of here, and you would tell the world Thanos the Great saved you with a snap of his fingers. Besides, such a sweet face like yours? It would be such a waste for you to die somewhere so silly.

He finds you, in the sea of people, talking to another man.

He fumes with rage, the ecstasy making him react more uncontrollably than usual.

He bites his lip, all of his prior convictions now forgotten. Let the bitch die then, he thinks to himself.

The games start, and players drop like flies from the first groups alone.

Thanos’ team goes, and you can’t help but cheer when you see them play successfully. You jump up and down, laughing and clapping at their win.

Thanos locks his eyes on yours, noticing your childlike joy at his win. It makes him strangely prideful, makes him forget why he was so mad at you in the first place.

He bows to you, like a musician after a performance. You blush a little, smiling at him, forgetting why he scared you in the first place.

Your team is last, and you’re up first playing ddakji. Your whole team plays successfully, and you survive another round of the games.

You go back to your bunks, Dae Ho wrapping a friendly and comforting arm around you as you both walk. You sit with your group, eating and laughing while you slowly forget the chaos around you.

Thanos watched it all play out with Dae Ho again. His palms were sweaty the whole time, hoping you’d survive and walk back into that room. The second you walked back through the door alive, his eyes were on you.

“Are you good?” Nam Gyu asks Thanos, noticing his eyes constantly following you.

“I don’t know what the fuck are you talking about.” Thanos spits, defensively. He takes another pill, needing the courage for his next move.

“Let me have one.” Nam Gyu begs. Thanos reluctantly hands one over.

Nam Gyu takes it with haste, as Thanos stands and makes his way towards you. He quickly gets up and follows his friend, ready for whatever fight may come.

Each time you laugh at Dae Ho, Thanos picks his pace up a little faster. He’s convinced that it’s like with each laugh that slips past your honey coated lips, then the closer Dae Ho is to getting to taste them. He sways his body unnaturally as he walks, wanting to appear more bad ass than he really felt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He says as he approaches you.

“Thanos.” You say, a warning in your voice to leave you alone.

“You good, bro?” Dae Ho asks.

“Why the fuck are you talking to my girl?” He addresses Dae Ho now. You and Dae Ho both scoff in disbelief, but this is how your reaction played out in Thanos’ mind.

They both laugh

“Dae Ho, you’re so funny.”

“Well, you’re sexy.”

“Let’s make out and fuck right here in front of Thanos.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

He reaches his hand out, grabbing you by your jacket and yanking you to your feet.

“Thanos!” You yell. Dae Ho and In Ho stand up to diffuse the situation. Before they can even intervene, you land a closed fist to Thanos’ eye.

He backs away, holding it as a little cut forms.

“Crazy bitch.” He says. He points at Dae Ho. “You stay away from her.”

“Fuck off.” You yell at Thanos. He backs away, still facing you and nodding his head in anger. His face reads This isn’t over.

“You okay?” Dae Ho asks. You nod, slightly breathless.

The way Thanos grabbed you was rude,

unnecessary,

controlling…

and hot.

You wanted to kick yourself for feeling so attracted to him in that moment. He was mentally unstable, high; everything that could be wrong with a man, he was.

Yet here you were, yearning for a piece of him just as he yearned for you.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep in your bunk. You were stressed with nerves, with the thought that each next day could be your last. You tapped your foot relentlessly against the frame of the bed, until a person above you made a threat.

You sighed, getting up and walking to the door to be let to the bathroom.

You washed your face again for what was probably the 15th time, feeling like the blood was still on you.

You didn’t even hear the door, didn’t hear him walk up behind you, didn’t notice he was there until his hands were on your hips.

You gasped, turning with your fist, ready to make a collision; but Thanos was quicker than you this time, catching your wrist before you could seal the hit.

“Whoa.” He said, “Relax, girl.”

“What are you doing in here?” You yelled at him. He shushed you, making a tcht tcht tcht sound.

“You embarrassed me out there.” He said, tilting his head to show you his bruised eye.

“You? How about you yanking me to my feet in a room full of people?”

He says nothing, but he smirks at you.

“You’re just so pretty. How am I supposed to sit back and watch my girl flirt with other men?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s what I know you are.” He says lowly, his hand resting against your throat. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours. You don’t ask, you just take from people. You’re a bully.”

“What are we, kids on a school yard? I’m a bully?” He steps closer than he already was, pressing himself into you.

“Yes.” You whisper out.

“Quiet now, aren’t we?” He teases, his voice low.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just fucking do it.” You say.

He laughs loudly, “Kill you? Get serious, girl.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You say nothing. Your hands are pressed against the counter top of the sink, and his body is pressed against yours. Chest to chest, you have nowhere to go.

“Move.” You say. Your eyes are locked, and you feel like prey being tortured by predator. Tortured in the way he’s doing nothing, just staring you down. He doesn’t budge still.

You grab him by his collar, pulling his face inches from yours.

“Move.” You say again, your voice pleading.

He notices. You’re not pleading him to move because of fear, you’re pleading for him to move because of lust.

His fingers trail up your arm, then trace your jaw to pull your chin up. He laces his fingers through your hair, pulling you so that your lips are on his.

He didn’t expect you to kiss him the way you did, it took him by such surprise, which he dared never admit because he was almost never surprised. But the way you grabbed his collar, trying to pull him so deep into you that you both might collapse into each other like stars.

“Where’d this come from?” He asks breathlessly, barely able to break away from you to get the question out.

“Can you just shut up?” You say quickly, pulling him back into you.

“As my queen commands.” He says, matching your ferocity with the kiss.

Both of his hands rest on your cheeks while he kisses you, but you take one and slowly push it down to your sweats.

“Why so eager?” He asks, breathlessly.

“You’re talking too much.” You say, pushing him off you. “Get on your knees.”

He scoffs, shocked. “Are you serious?”

You nod, and so he listens. He kisses down your body, tugging on your sweats when he’s on his knees. He kisses your thighs, mumbling sweet nothings about your body that were too soft to hear.

“Thanos-“

“Su Bong.” He corrects you, needing to hear you moan his real name.

“Su Bong, please don’t tease me.” You whine, so he concedes. Lifting up your leg onto his shoulder so he can kiss and lick and suck every part of you. You whine, pulling his purple tufts of hair.

“You are so sweet,” He whispers. “Sweet like candy.”

“Oh, my boy.” You moan, egging him on. His nails grip into your thighs unintentionally. He’s just so desperate for you, desperate to taste every drop.

Your nails dig into his forearm, scratching for release.

“Please, oh, please, Su Bong.”

He looks up at you, pupils dilated like the size of black holes. You throw your head back, grinding your hips into his mouth, chasing your release.

You pull his hair harshly, and he digs his nails into your thighs even more as you release. You cry out, repeating his name like a prayer, and he moans into you, fueling your release. He doesn’t miss a drop.

He comes off you, breathless. He sets your leg down, pulling your sweats back up as he stands.

You stare at each other, both of you panting in silence for a few moments. You sneak your hand down, resting it against his hard crotch. You smirk a little, and he mirrors it.

“I think I love you.” He moans as you rub him.

“I think you’re high.” You respond, and he laughs and nods. He leans down to kiss you again, gentler this time.

“Do you want one?” He asks, nodding to his necklace. You hesitate, but end up shaking your head no.

“I think we should head back.” You whisper, still rubbing him. He shakes his head no, moaning into your neck. He grips your jacket in desperate agony.

“I need you so bad.” He finally admits.

“Fine.” You fold, and he’s ever so quick to pull your sweats back down. He unhooks one of your legs from the pants, pulling it up so he can rest it around his hips as he pushes his sweats down just slightly so he can insert himself into you.

So, there you both are. Standing with one leg hooked around him and absolutely gripping the sink as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You don’t even try to hide your moans, throwing your head back in euphoria as Thanos buries his face in your neck with shameful whimpers. You grip onto whatever part of him you can for support. Your back is slamming into the edge of the sink over and over, surely leaving a bruise on your tailbone.

He kisses and sucks on your neck, leaving dark bruised purple hickeys on every inch. Marking you, so that you knew who you belong to and so that everyone else out there knew too.

His thrusts were relentless, and the angle he fucked you was crucial, hitting into your cervix each time. Your hands pushed on his hips, resisting his movements slightly, which only fueled him more.

“Stop it.” He moans.

“You stop, you’re being so rough.” You whimper.

“This is me being gentle,” He says. “You want something less than this, then I better not ever catch you speaking to another man again.”

You moan in defeated acceptance, grasping at his shoulders instead for balance. His perfect thrusts make you leak all over him, his pants soaked with your juices.

“You’re so wet.” He moans. “I think you’re gonna make me cum.”

You tighten around him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, and you yank him by the collar to pull his lips onto yours.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, oh please.” You beg him, between kisses.

“I’ve got you.” He manages to get out, holding you as you let out the most heavenly cry. Your moans send him over, and he pulls out to spill himself all over your cunt.

He smears it on your folds with his hands, and you smack his chest, giving him a push off you while he laughs at your irritability.

“You’re such a dick.” You say, wiping yourself with a paper towel from the dispenser. He kisses your neck with a smirk.

“Come lay with me when you’re done.” He says, walking out of the bathroom.

You roll your eyes, cleaning yourself up before walking out.

You re enter the bunks, searching the room for his bed. He’s in a lower ish one, laying down with hands resting behind his head and his eyes blissfully closed. Your eyes move back and forth between his bed and your empty one, until your feet start moving before your mind can even decide.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when you crawl in beside him. He just wraps his arm around you, kissing your temple as you both drift off to sleep,

both of you blissfully unaware of the horrors of tomorrow’s game…

Part 2?

[goldfades]

Can you do a pt.2 of UConn wbb manager headcannon pleasee

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ─ UCONN WBB MANAGER

─ warnings | mentions of injuries, fluffy, nothing else?

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

there are soooo many videos of manager getting upset over dumb calls that they make on the court

and people like read her lips and it's so funny because she'll just cuss them out not knowing there's a camera on her

like she gets pissed but since she can't get involved, she'll just talk to herself as she takes pictures

they become reaction pictures

the caption would be like "when my mom pisses me off but i can't let her hear" or something like that

there are a lot of videos of manager being really sassy but there are PLENTY of her being a sweetheart

especially to fans!!!!!!

not necessarily like clips or anything but anyone who's met her LOVES HER

she will gladly take pics of you and the player she's with, and not only that but baby girl will get ALL the angles

it's adorable

i feel everyone is very protective of manager but ESPECIALLY kk and paige because they're like her guard dogs

this may be like a really niche example but kinda like kiyoko in haikyuu??? yeah...

also NIKA

paige/kk get really protective over literally anything so it's just them tryna make you laugh when they're protective, but you/nika have a different dynamic where it's like

if anyone tries to disrespect you, not only will they have to deal with paige/kk but NIKA

and she's sm scarier than them no offense...

you know you've made into manager's heart when she starts to tease you because she's like... not being too professional with you anymore

especially like the freshman, ooo she loves teasing them

in this ask, where nonnie talks about how the team brings out manager's soft side is sooo true

like she may seem like a cold-stone bitch but in reality, she's NOT !! not even a tiny bit, poor girl just has the worst case of rbf EVER

her soft side comes out when any of the girls get injures, oh my gosh

she's the first to come to their aid and help them

and she's always there for them after the fact cus she knows how hard injuries can be when you play a support

she's there emotionally and talks them through it, makes sure that they know they're still part of the team injury or not, and of course that she loves them!!

AND she's very soft with the girls when they're going through stuff outside of basketball

relationship issues, family issues, drama within your friendgroup, baby girl is there to help them through it!!!!!

but she's not just like "therapist" friend, trust the team in return knows when theres something up w her and will do everything in their power to help her

and jump whoever hurt you

when manager gets her nails done, the team gets SOOO hurt bc they can't get theirs done bc of basketball so they get super mad at her (jokingly ofc)

so she just rubs it in their faces to get them angry LMAOOO, its very funny to witness

every once in a blue mood, manager will post a thrist trap and OH MY GOD

the entire team is in her comments hyping flirting with her up!!

and especially after uconn kinda blows up on tiktok, you bet those old thirst traps will make themselves into the damn edits

you and paige will hang out during that time and just look at edits while laughing your asses off (but paige is lowkey into yours cus she favorites them)

OOOO AND SHE FORGETS THAT THE EDITORS CAN SEE WHEN SHE SAVES THEM SO SHE JUST GETS EXPOSED AND EVERYONE'S JUST LIKE PAIGEEEE PLS 😭😭

i feel like there's def an edit with the audio "milkshake instrumental" bc everyone thinks u give off like... mean girl vibes

BUT EVERYONE FALLS IN LOVE WITH U BC OF IT, IF THAT MAKES IT???

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[lazorbeanz]

Here's a list I made of random thoughts and reactions I had during and after watching STH3 hehehrmrr why did I make this…

(Part 1 🫠)

!spoilers ahead duh!

- damnit Kyle

- ACOUSTIC LIVE AND LEARN?! it’s so peaceful

- Did flashbacks of past trauma just jolt shadow out of a 50 year stasis?-

- bro really took the “woke up (from a 50 year coma) and chose violence” saying literally HDHDHHSD

- Movie Shadow is so cool I LOVE

- Still silly as always hehe 🤭🤭🤭

I just love how that iconic level completed/victory tune played during that last scene ^

- HAHA OZZY GET SUBTITLES!!

DOGGY TRANSLATOR :D

“You stole my hoomans” IM WHEEZING

- okay is it coincidence that where their camping site was, was in the same area as Sonic’s old cave orrr…

Anyways nice lil trip down memory lane! ^-^ also interesting to see that not everything of Sonic’s got moved from the cave into Tom and Maddie’s house

- Omg the ✨stateoftheartsecuritysystem✨ made a return xD good to see he can still master them nunchucks…

- I swear this kid could draw better at like 3 yrs old then I could at 16 🥲

- Tom: *trying to have a wholesome father to son conversation*

Sonic: “yah…iN mA LuNgS”

Tom (in his head probably lmao): “where is this kid’s braincells-“

- “I don’t know what I’d do without ya…*scene switches over to shadow* I’d probably be a totally different hedgehog”

BYE I’m sobbing that was just a SAD move. WHYY DID YOU DO THAT😭😭

- You heard him…leave the lil guy alone :(

- “peace…” “quiet…” STOPPP YOUR GONNA JINX- aaaand yep called it. Here come the uninvited guests 🚁

- *Neon starts playing during the helicopter scene* AWW HELL YEAAAA BANGER SONG + BANGER SCENE = PEAK CINEMA RRRAAAHHHHH

- look at Tails being the copilot HES SO ADORABLE I LOVEEEEE🥹🥹🥹 the little detail of the helmet shifting forward as he looks down..still too big on him but he looks so happy wearing it AAAAAAA

- ONE MILLION PERCENT MUSCLE™️ MENTIONED!!!!

- THE SKYDIVING SCENE WAS AAAAARGH SO COOL I WAS FLAT OUT JAMMING TO THE SONG ATST AKBDJABDJAND I LOVED THEIR SMOOTH AS FORMATIONS AND THEN THE HEROIC LANDING GRAAAAHHHHH

- Tails: “woah…these energy readings are off the chart…”

Meanwhile my sonic boom brainrotted ass: “FORTUNATELY WE HAVE A BIGGER CHART-“

- ONE MILLION PERCENT MUSCLE™️ MENTIONED!!! (AGAIN)

- “excuse me?! Why do you look like me?!”

“I don’t look like you…you look like me!”

- sonic refuses to listen to his team strike one

- ugh shadow and motorcycles >>>>>

- BABYYYYYY 🥺😭

- i am literally squealing, crying and laughing over this one scene

Okay so ofc we got tails just BEING A KID ENJOYING THE CONCERT AWWWW AGAIN MORE SMOL DETAILS LIKE THE HAND CLAPPING AND THE WAGGING TAILS AND SWINGING THE LEGGIES HES LOVIN IT!! 🥹💛

Then we got sonic who you can see IS subtly vibing along…and then he glances over at Tails AND HIS FACE KINDA LIGHTS UP?! LIKE HIM JUST SEEING THE SHEER JOY HIS LITTLE BUDDY IS HAVING RN HES HAPPY FOR HIM I CAN TELL

Knuckles just looks annoyed lmao

And the Commander looks like he’s literally having second hand embarrassment HSHDHDHDHD

That’s what ya get for tryna having a meeting in the Chao Garden ig 🤣

- I-is Commander Walters really dead?… ;-;

- STONE RIDING A MOTORBIKE HELLO?!

[batbabydamian]

🦇🐥 Batman and Robin (2023) #5 rambling and a conspiracy theory lol

tbh this is the most exciting issue for me since…the first one 💀 i’m going to talk about the story and art separately because Nikola Cizmesija’s one of my favorite action focused comic artists so this issue’s a treat 😭

Alfred used to mediate during a lot of Bruce and Damian’s early relationship, so it’s refreshing to see Bruce take more initiative involving himself in Damian’s life even if it’s for a case lol

a couple instances of Alfred’s fatherly support on behalf of Bruce and Damian from Batman and Robin (2011) #2, 4, 39 and Teen Titans (2016) #1

Damian seems to take Bruce's involvement more as a sign he’s not reliable rather than Bruce finally just. being around to help him. which is fair 😭

this is complementary to Cizmesija’s art, but i love this half of the page so bad 😭 the negative space and the shaded foreground with Damian mid-run gives this feeling of time kinda stopping for us to really feel the impact of Damian’s entrance AND the effect it has on Bruce, like!! that wide eyed expression in the below panel!! 😭

Bruce’s quiet “you can do it, son” to A FULL BODY CHEER OF “GO, DAMIAN!” Bruce witnessing Damian be great outside of Robin, and on top of that it’s just another mundane moment that Bruce has wanted with Damian 😭

this is such a goofy bully line sdfgh though the whole “broken” bit might be a callback to Batman and Robin (2011) #1, in that Bruce is really trying to do his job as a father here or i'm likely reading way too into it

SO the “shocking ending” of Zach being Zsasz’s kid was definitely a surprise but then got me wondering what is up with Williamson doing reveals of new kids for villains lol otherwise, the hints in the issue were neat!

the tally marks!! at least tallying blocks is pretty innocent compared to kills 😭

and Damian would recognize how Zsasz moves, since he’s personally fought him before in Streets of Gotham (2009)!! very much not in a sport, but uh maybe it was to Zsasz

the art!! first a shoutout to the colorist Rex Lokus for giving Damian his green eyes and maybe melanin (it didn’t look consistent throughout so i say maybe)!! 😭 also a Talia by Cizmesija!! even though this panel calls her a “not great” teacher…💀

SUCH A FUN PAGE 😭 i’ve been into montage scenes lately lol and i love how quickly Cizmesija establishes Damian’s routine - Tues, Wed, and Fri are the funniest for me!! Damian grumpily getting lectured by his teacher in the foreground while his classmate’s still visibly steaming from the hit he took LOL, DAMIAN’S BUG EYED STARE WITH HIS SUNGLASSES UP, and then Damian looming. stealthily. in a tree. while some kid is blatantly pointing him out HAHA 😭

Cizmesija’s use of motion lines and effects when conveying movement is so cool!! the shonen manga vibes jumps out!! the smoke/dust trails following the movements; the limbs and soccer ball having a sort of blur effect with the motion lines. V COOL.

which leads to my favorite part of Cizmesija’s work - HIS IMPACT SHOTS!!

more motion lines and effects!! the splatter effects!! the arcs!! the jolting impacts!! GRRAAHH!! the setup to that impact shot of Zach's block is so great, and then following with Damian's reaction!! i almost wish that "???" wasn't there, just because that expression of stunned silence already feels so loud!!

last thoughts about Cizmesija's art is that i'm really hoping for a showdown between Damian and Zach next issue because i need to see a Damian fight scene in Nikola Cizmesija-fashion 😭 we get a taste of it with Orca and soccer but i NEED MORE LOL for now, dropping the moment when Damian overpowers Zsasz, in Batman: Streets of Gotham #11 since it was such an epic moment

okay SLAPPING MY CONSPIRACY BOARD!! so on another note Principal Stone being Shush is starting to feel like a red herring and Ms. Heather Hall could actually be Shush. Shush’s main point about Damian as his instructor was emphasizing how much potential he has, but the “wrong” influence could affect that

Stone and Hall have made the same observation about Damian’s potential, but the difference is how they address that - one wants Bruce to be more involved while the other wants Bruce to back off

Stone acknowledged Damian can take care of himself but still wants Bruce to step up in Damian’s life; Hall says it’s okay to be a helicopter parent BUT implies giving Damian space (which we already know Bruce has given so much of after Alfred’s death to the point of neglect 😭)

Hall even suggests moving Damian on to college, which would estrange Damian further. also idk how Damian kicking his teammates/bullies asses at soccer is really “making friends” lol

and of all the subjects she’s teaching, it’s AP Biology - according to the current case Batman and Robin are working on, which is centered around DNA-sequencing, it makes Hall the perfect accomplice to Langstrom

this is where my brain started reaching because i laughed at first at how specific that comparison is, but then it just made me think of how Shush’s first introduction was sniping Bruce LOL anyway, Bruce’s reaction is me 😭

one more Cizmesija appreciation panel - the lil running effects behind Damian :)

[theislandoflosttoys]

Now onto Vio's NSFW hcs! 🥰 Sorry if it's a bit short, I feel like I covered a lot of Vio's own NSFW hcs in the Vidow post I made.

Just a reminder, here is a link to my rules & disclaimers for my spicy content if you wanna take a gander, otherwise let's move along!

DISCLAIMER: NSFW Content. Explicit. MDNI.🔞

Vio Link NSFW Headcanons - Porcelain AU

Vio is the king of aftercare! Man is devoted to his partner, he is ready with water, warm washcloth, a snack and cuddles after you're done for the night. He would 100% offer to massage you if you're sore. Speaking of being sore, he is often checking if you need to change positions during sessions, knowing his partner might get sore from being in one position for too long. His kinks include: body worship, brat taming, overstimulation, edging, submissive-dominance play, dacryphilia, biting & marking kink. He's also kind of a masochist lol, please scratch up his back he'll thank you for it. Favourite positions are for the most part ones that will let him admire his partner the best, he will try and maintain eye contact. So positions where he can see their face is a must. Vio did most of his research though reading (*cough* erotica *cough*), mostly because he wanted to go into it knowing at least somewhat of what to do. He for sure read it with a straight face in front of people. He's pretty serious during intimacy, but not unkind, he's soft and lovesick, please let this man be happy world 😭❤ He prefers to take it slow, he's okay with quickies but he'll pout a bit if he can't show his partner the love he says they deserve. If it wasn't obvious, Vio is a soft dom & service top. He takes pleasure from giving his partner pleasure, to the point he can occasionally come untouched from giving his partner pleasure. He just loves to see his partner come undone for him, he will stare. Likes to maintain eye contact, especially as he goes down on his partner. He wants to see every reaction and change in expression, and oftentimes after getting his partner to finish a few times if they're too tired to continue he is fine without reciprocation. He's a very giving man, he just wants his partner to feel good. If his partner decides to give him head...well, he won't say no that's for sure. He's pretty quiet in terms of noises during intimacy, usually only soft grunts and quiet little moans, but it's when he gets close when his stone exterior cracks. He'll bite his lip, shivering softly, and gods the way he tilts his head back so you can see his adam's apple bob....it's hot. He'll pet his partner's hair, gently to encourage them. And when he finishes, he might accidentally pull a little on their hair, but smooth it down right after with a breathless apology. Due to the influence of the earth element, he is very strong. Like, hold you up with one arm with no effort kind of strong. There's lots of fun to be had with it for sure. hehe. He loves body worship, like it is probably the biggest turn on for him. To be able to take his time and kiss over every inch of skin of his partner, it's something he dreams about sometimes when he's alone. It makes it ten times better if his partner dresses up. Whether that means in lingerie or dainty little body chains, it has him absolutely drooling and wrecked, he will not be able to keep his hands off of you. His partner is stuck being his stress toy afterwords 😊 His second favourite thing, which will never fail to get him going, is if his partner sits in his lap while he works in his office. Like climb into his lap while he's at his desk and see where that gets ya. Bent over the aforementioned desk the moment he is finished writing his sentence down. 🤭 But yes, Vio is a very loving and devoted man. Like he is the definition of a man downbad for his lover, total simp. He just wants to love his partner and give them all the attention they deserve.

Porcelain AU Masterlist

[sirensea14]

Oooooh Bendy's love triangle in the story between Alice and Siren sure is gonna be an interesting one 👀👀

Now, how her interaction with questers will go?? (Like cuphead, Holly, Mugman ect ect..) Will she even meet them?? Tell me!!

Yeps, she does meet them!

Holly bombarded her with so many questions like: How did you get those feet? Do you have powers? What powers do you have? Why does your eyes glow like cuphead's and bendy's? Can you dance and sing? Whats your Talent? Do you eat seafood? So you like soups or not? Girl tried to chill while being interrogated by the bookworm XD

Cuphead would flirt with her at first but eventually stopped because of her stone cold reactions (she likes bendy's puns better)

Mugman was sweet to her and was kind enough to introduce the other people in the house and calm her down because of Cuphead, Holly and the warners (but she's already calm tho lol)

Cala was kinda terrified of her at first but eventually they become good friends (Siren already knew she was a mermaid from first look)

Boris would call her "Ren" and sis cuz she acts like a chill big sister to him. He secretly cringes at bendy whenever he flirts with siren but he's also happy that he's just him.

Alice would be delighted to meet her, altho siren had a little precautions on her because she's an angel, and Alice knew that. Alice trying to sense her cloudy emotions made her first interactions with alice awkward. But eventually she accepted it, she can sometimes grasp her emotions but most of the times, its blocked by something

(edit: I FORGOT FELIX WHAHHAHA😭 thank u for noticing it @melody-starlight 🥰)

Felix would simply be chill about her. Tho she'd be curious how his magic bag works so he kinda shows it to her but not much. Felix likes the way she is quite chill with different situations, tho he does calm her down whenever she has a panic attack (mostly this happened during books 9-11) She sometimes reads his stories of adventure after meetinv the cat, she gained interest in his books lol (bendy would talk to her fanboying how much he loves felix's adventures)

She has a good relationship with all of them as the 9th quester of the group, just the most nonchalant and overreacting at the same time, no in between XD But she's also one of the most mysterious quester since she's secretive, that is before they went to the labyrinth...

I have a drafted answer ready to use if u ever ask what would she be in the story itself... 👀

Also if ur interested in knowing what her interactions will be with the other characters; villains, angels, demons, other toons, the house—just ask (⁠ ��⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

Ooooohhhh, theres also so many things i wanna tell ya like her powers and stuff but I'll save that for asks

[crguang]

Thank you so much for your answer! I wouldn't want to waste your time, but at the same time, I long for answers from you? As if only you understand what I want to say. Sorry to be inconvenient in any way. You can call me G.

Sincerely? Don't worry about writing too much in the answer, I love reading what others have to share.

Maybe I'm similar when it comes to writing down negative feelings. Who do I want to fool? I like a light and dark romance with very intense feelings.

I would love to explore so many of Kafka's stances in different situations, like you said, the fact that he doesn't feel afraid eliminates a lot of things, which makes his reactions even more interesting to reflect on.

For example, I wonder, if R died and Elio told Kafka, how would she act in her final days? Would she be more affectionate or attentive? would leave?

For starters, even if it was fate, would she try with all her might to avoid you if she realized that you would be in any way even a little important? Anyway, I don't know how you are there, but good morning and take care!

im soo flattered this is crazy😭 you’re not inconvenient in any way. im glad you’re interested in what i have to say because kafka’s my favourite hsr character and i will blab about her if given the chance so… bear with me for this one

you’re really making me use my brain omfg. this scenario is so sad but i do have a serious answer. first things first, i have to mention that while im sure kafka truly believes in destiny and that “choice is an exhaustive list of possibilities”, she doesn’t like it. if you refuse her enough times during her companion quest, she says that a long time ago elio convinced her that people have no “true free will”. it implies that she didn’t believe it to be true before and that he had to prove it to her for her to change her mind. during the quest, she’s also like “oh you think you can change destiny? go on, try it. the outcome will be the same” which makes me think she’s either tried before or has witnessed others fail to do it; it’d make sense that she’d be convinced after that. however… she also says this:

i thought it was really weird at first. she believes destiny is set in stone and tries to convince the trailblazer of that but she still wants them to prove her, and elio, wrong. why? her voice also gets softer here. we know that elio said the TB would change her and that she would change them, that their destinies are intertwined. we don’t know what change that is though, only that she wants it to happen. the fact that she hopes they can rise above destiny makes me think she doesn’t like the path that she’s walking on and that’s upsetting because it means she must feel stuck in some way. she’s obviously super nihilistic, and everything she does is to make that one future elio predicted a reality. the stellaron hunters are “destiny’s slaves” as she said, they have no right to choose, no freedom; how can you be happy or content as a slave? kafka isn’t someone who likes to move at someone’s else’s pace, yet she moves at destiny’s pace every day. anyway, let me actually answer your question now😭

regardless of if elio told her R would die before or after knowing them, i don’t think she’d avoid them at all. first because if that’s the predetermined future then who is she to defy it, and second because she would never expect to fall in love with them. i like to think it’s the one thing that will always surprise her, since she doesn’t feel apprehension like i mentioned last time (no fear + she often knows/ can deduce what will happen), she wouldn’t be scared to get attached. plus, she sees and causes death all the time, and like elio she probably believes that “death will come for us all” (as he says in her character story). and if i follow what i said last time, she’d only realize her feelings after she fell for them so it’d be too late anyway. so no, i dont think she’d avoid them. i don’t think she’d try and change their fate either, but elio is cruel as fuck if he knows they’re together and he tells her R will die like wtf😭 he might not even do it because he withholds certain things from her so that she can’t interfere in his script, but if he does…. ughhh i dont even wanna think about it its so sad.

kafka would make the most of it using what the script doesn’t say, regardless of how you die she’d want you to be happy and free of any fear towards it. im gonna cryyy she’d show you as much of her as possible, would dedicate her time and effort into you without tipping you off that something’s wrong… even if she prepared for it, she could only truly grieve afterwards because kafka doesn’t live in the future (“the past and the future are the same [unchangeable]. i’m indifferent towards them.” she says in a voice line). all she can do is enjoy the time she has so yeah, she’d be more attentive and affectionate and open. and when you die, you’ll leave with an understanding of her that no one has.

[cheemken]

Hi! So I just recently got interested in your Pokemon Champion body swap AU and I just have lots of questions to ask you if that's alright (if you're still into pokemon that is.)

1. How do the Paldea kids, Alola kids, Galar kids and the Unova protagonist and the other Unova characters who were with Steven at Reversal Mountain at that time (Plus Cheren and Bianca) think about the body swap? One by one?

2. How does the pokemon league of each region think about the body swap? One by one? This is also includes the gym leaders themselves.

3. How does the signature pokemon of the champions react to the body swap? How do they help their respective trainers?

4. What was the reaction of each Champion when they are in each other's bodies? Their thoughts, feelings and how they cope? Especially Geeta since she is in the body of Hau and Hau is a god damn child. Or Iris since she is in a body of an adult, Geeta? And even Hau in the body of Lance or Steven in the body of Iris who I think is a 12 year old? Man, the age differences here. And don't get me started on both the gender and body dysmorphia and complications some of the champions will have to face.

That's all I would like to ask. Just take your time answer my questions. I will wait🥰

Hi hey, it has been such a long ass while since I last posted abt pkmn omf😭🤣

But happy to have you here, I'm glad you like my silly little au, and I'm sorry it took a while for me to answer too, I just got home cbmddn

Anyways to finally answer your questions hahah

1] the Unova kids, well, kids as if they're not adults in my hcs and aus hahaha, I'll answer that around the third one don't worry, but yeah ofc, Hilbert noticed first, bc hey, Iris doesn't usually show interest in shiny rocks, only if it has smth to do w dragons, ofc he knows what his best friend likes

I think Bianca would notice second tho, cause ofc, Iris was usually so clingy to her, and would listen to her ramble on abt her research, but surprisingly, Iris was caught up in her own world, finding some rare rocks and stones

And soon, she told Cheren, who then told Hilda, and now they're all a bit sus bc Hilbert is like, glaring at Iris lmfaooo

Steven ended fessing up bc he was so damn sure Hilbert was abt to throw hands w him, demanding where Iris was

The Paldea kids, oh, Penny knew immediately lmfao. Geeta, while not the best at technology, had some semblance of knowledge abt it, Iris, however, is like a grandma trying to figure out the buttons, look, she and Drayden are both shit at tech cut them some slack, it's actually canon lmfaooo

Penny did play along tho, see if Florian and the others would notice too. But w them caught up w their own stuff, and Iris trying to figure out shit, well, Penny went over to her and asked her if she really isn't Geeta. Bc she knows Geeta's smile, that's not how Geeta smiles bc for once it didn't unsettle her lmfao

Iris said yeah she's not Geeta, and told Penny to not tell anyone, and help her get back to Unova, or maybe figure out what's going on. Penny sighed, god, she always gets dragged to these kinda things, but damn it was it thrilling lmfao

The Galar kids, I think none of them would notice it was Diantha in Leon's place now, bc ofc, Dia is quite a great actress. The ones who noticed immediately tho? Sonia and Raihan

I think that's when Diantha slipped

Sonia, for one, bc she noticed the loneliness in those eyes again, she never thought she'd see it again on Leon, and she ended up asking abt it, if he's doing okay, if Rose suddenly showed up again, or smth happened. Dia kinda slipped and said she misses her brother and Drasna, voice so quiet that you have to be real close to hear it. Sonia asked what was that, but Dia shook her head, said it's nothing, just,, champion responsibilities. No, Sonia did not at all believe that

Raihan figured out it wasn't exactly Leon bc Dia slipped during a battle and almost said Psychic instead of Fire Blast lmfao, that and after that battle, he also saw her, ofc in Leon's body, almost head to the women's restroom lmfaoooo

2] okay let's be real, the Indigo league would immediately find out it's not Lance bc Hau, as chill as he is, is still rather young and this is the first time this has happened and he started to panic the moment they gave him paperwork

And soon enough, Clair is there calling every other league if they found Lance and if their champions are also alright. Karen was there trying to calm Hau down tho

The Hoenn League, yeah, Lance and Cynthia aren't fooling anyone. Plus, Tate and Liza figured out and just deadass told everyone else lmfao. Cynthia did reassure Lisia tho that they'll get Wallace back, and she apologized to her for trying to trick her into thinking she's actually Wallace. Lisia just looked at her and smiled and said "yeah, I kinda figured, Ms Cynthia. My uncle never burns anything when he cooks, even when he's sick." Cynthia vowed to never talk to any member of this family again girl this is just humiliating at this point lmfao

Sinnoh league, oh, they took a while to figure out it's actually Wallace, but y'know how they figured it out? Gardenia took "Cynthia" out for some treats at a cafe, and Cynthia will always, always, order cake and hot chocolate, but Wallace ordered tea and Gardenia just "yeah, no, who the FUCK—" she immediately messaged the group chat. Candice, Gardenia, Roark, Flint, and even Volkner found it funny tho

Unova, well, yeah, after the events of Reversal Mountain, Stevene just straight up told the league bc he is NOT risking both Hilbert and Drayden's wrath lmfaooo

Kalos, honestly, Leon is a shit actor, he slipped the second day and Drasna was just "oh, dear.. then where is Diantha?" Sycamore kinda,,, resents him, low-key, like really low-key, cause ofc that family dinner w Drasna and Dia, he really thought it was Dia, for once their family was together after Diantha's busy schedule, but now he finds out it wasn't actually Diantha. Drasna was also a bit sad, but honestly she's more worried for Diantha cause during all that, they probs don't know where she actually is

Alola, yeah, Geeta's also not fooling anyone, they really really really had to calm Hala down and stop him from storming to Paldea bc he thought his grandson would be there in Geeta's own body. Geeta was calm through it all, even chuckled and said it is rather amusing, but, she has already contacted the other champions, perhaps they have the solution for this. The kids did ask her abt her league tho, and abt Paldea, and what the region was like, they'd want to visit there some day. Geeta told them she has a protege there, close to their age, perhaps they'll meet Nemona one day, she is looking for trainers on par w her

Galar, yeah Dia is actually fooling all of them except ofc, Sonia and Raihan. Idk I don't think those two would tell anyone just yet, I think they did ask Dia what's going on, and Dia finally told them and even she's not sure how this happened, and she's still trying to figure out how to get back to her body bc of all the bodies she could've switched w, it just had to be Leon's

Paldea, Iris also isn't fooling anyone. Well, she's kinda fooling some of them, she and Hau impersonated some of the champions enough, and w Dia's acting lessons, well, she learned a thing or two. Then again, Penny was observant, Larry did notice too, he just, well, he isn't getting paid enough to care. Their champions come and go anyways, when asked abt why Geeta seems a bit off he'd just said "I don't know, do I look like her babysitter? That's one job I didn't applied for."

3] Dragonite, ah what a tough and terrifying dragon, he's so soft w Hau. Like, he knows that Hau is getting nervous, and it reminded him when Lance was also just a boy, when he tries so hard to act tough, so he's there nuzzling close to Hau, calming him down too

Metagross, ofc, it's a smart Mon, it knows it's Lance lmfao, but also, just to mess w Lance bc of how gruff his personality is, a far cry from Steven's, it often won't listen to him, y'know, just to fuck w him a bit lol

Milotic, oh, this one is as petty as Wallace, immediately found out it's Cynthia and just. Would Not listen lmfaooo

Garchomp, also figured out it's Wallace, yes it's bc of the tea thing, but unlike Milotic, Chomps is more confused than anything cause smth like this didn't even happen when they were in the Distortion world

Haxorus, she honestly pities Steven at this point, man is being interrogated like a Plasma grunt😭🤣

Gardevoir, well, ofc she tries to play along, but I think day one she figured it out it's not Diantha, and had some mental conversation w Leon going "Where is Diantha?" And Leon is never ever forgetting that deep foreboding voice ever, he never thought that's what Gardevoir even sound like w a human voice, he still shivers at the thought

My ace for Hau in this is Decidueye, I think Deci would be at least a lil bit intimidated w Geeta, tho it did find it amusing when Geeta tried a Z Move, especially w Mallow teaching her

Charizard, also a lil bit intimidated of Dia, but hey, Dia was also soft y'know, she gave him pokepuffs and he got attached real quick lmfao

Look look listen I know Geeta's ace is Glimmora, but in my hcs, it's Kingambit, bc it fits and it should've been him at the start and I will die on this hill. Anyways, he's also a lil bit weirded out at seeing Iris in Geeta's body bc ofc, they both have drastic personalities, and when he saw Iris sneaking out to get ice cream he actually blanched before he remember ah yeah, that's not his trainer hahaha

4] see, okay, while yeah, the age difference is a bit odd, but in my hcs I did change their ages and such, mainly bc when I write my hcs and aus, it's mostly set in like some timeskip after the events of each game y'know. So Hau is at least 15-17, while Iris is in her early 20s, so technically Iris is an adult

But yeah the gender dysphoria is so real, I think w Cynthia especially, bc for one, girl is trying her hardest to keep her life in check in her own body yeah, but w my hcs she's like, yeah she's not doing well, like, her left eye is scarred, her body was too thin, sometimes she forgets even the most basic of things, but Wallace's body was so different from hers. Sometimes she thinks this is what she could've been if she didn't spiral y'know, and during the time of the body swap, she kept thinking abt it. One of the few moments Milotic would actually be nice to her tho, as if reassuring her that hey, she's making an effort, and that's better than nothing

Geeta will admit tho, she did miss having a younger body, and wow was Hau flexible, Geeta wasn't that flexible when she was younger lmfao

But yeah I'm sorry but I'm not gonna talk much abt the body dysphoria lest I spiral too hahaha

Anyways yeah hahah

[scary-monsters]

Now I'm curious. How do you see Gyro fitting into your modern Diego / SBR au?

LOVE this question because.. tbh.. I haven't thought a whole lot about his role in the au 🤔 but now this has me thinking.

diego first finds out about gyro through johnny's instagram account, and by that time the two have been dating for a while. this is during diego's time at cambridge, right before he moves to the states, so him and johnny are both 20-somethings that finally moved past the awkward kiss years ago. they aren't quite best friends again but they follow each other and sometimes engage in the same sort of banter they did as kids.

but gyro's backstory on his own isn't something i've really fleshed out, i think this is because writing his character is weirdly difficult for me, i'm not fully confident in myself in that regard. same with drawing him. 😭 i like the idea of him being in a band ??? and maybe johnny meets him at a show, probably when he's around 18 or 19. johnny is struggling with his own identity, not only in terms of sexuality, but he doesn't go to university, he has no idea what he wants to do and just sort of.. spends his time tending to his family's ranch (this is how diego and him met; diego took riding lessons there when he was very young)

so ANYWAY, let's say johnny tends to frequent a local bar that occasionally hosts shows for small bands. and let's say gyro's band plays one night and johnny finds himself enamored by the frontman. maybe it's gyro's confidence or the way he keeps making eye contact with him and clearly trying to get a reaction out of johnny who maintains a stone-cold expression the entire time. thus begins johnny's crush that he fights very hard to suppress.

the one thing i DO clearly imagine, and find funny, is the idea of gyro trying to talk to johnny and accidentally spilling a drink on his shirt 💀 and apologizing profusely before wheeling him away backstage to get away from the crowd and clean him up. he gives him a band tee and jokes that johnny can pay him later before giving him his number, and they stay in touch (gyro always initiating the conversation). this is such a rough idea but eventually they catch feelings and johnny fully succumbs to his identity. so he becomes a roadie!! and travels all over the place with gyro, whose band slowly grows in popularity.

going back to diego (bc oops, he's the main character), i don't think he'd meet gyro until the band becomes successful enough to tour a small number of cities in the states. that meeting would be hilarious tbh. i also love the idea of it not happening until the gyjo wedding. either way, diego will be a shithead at first and demand credit for being johnny's "true gay awakening" 💀💀💀

granted, this au branches into self-ship territory and gyro plays a very different role, HOWEVER, in terms of where i would place him when it comes to a potential fic? this is what i'd do with him. i think. this is a lot of brainstorming LOL... thank you for the opportunity and SORRY THIS IS SO LONG

[ta-ni-ya]

Ok let me just do this real quick before I forget any more of the story I’ve created since months 💀

Backstory of Tsukiko Koizumi

(Contains kind of serious experimental things and abuse towards child so don’t read if you’re uncomfortable ;-;)

I kinda always feel cringe at my imagination when I’m actually writing it 😭 please don’t mind me-

She grew up in a family of doctors who were known to be mad scientists too! Her mother passed away due to the extreme atmosphere of the experimental scents which affected her breathing and she became weak leading to her death.

Tsukiko was just a kid when her mother died, she used to go out and play a lot and her father would actually keep her away from his lab to ‘protect her’ but she didn’t knew what his true intentions were.

Her father who was known to be mad scientist as a nickname, wanted to keep her healthy to experiment things on her. When tsukiko turned 8, she slowly became aware of it and couldn’t do anything, her father would use her skin to try products and feed her his new drugs and see her reactions. Tsukiko suffered like this for years until she turns a teen.

She soon grew her elf ears and tried to hide it. She would often loose control over her body and many times accidentally attacked people. Her father didnt want her to go out because of that and would forcefully lock her up in his lab.

There were rumors about her attacking others, and she was given the nickname 'monster' after that. The other kids started bullying her verbally as deep down they were scared to get too close to her and could only tease her from afar. But some would throw stones at her to be extra.

That is until she finally had it enough and escaped after attacking and going wild- she was all bloody and faints on her way to god know where.

She is rescued by the leader of the revolutionary army and and raised by them. She learns how to fight and finds a devil fruit giving her the ability to manipulate blood. She befriends sabo and koala too.

They taught her how to control her body too and not loose control. Her main job or work is that she becomes an assassin for the revolutionary army. She mainly goes under cover as a dancer as I’ve drawn her lol

She only looses control when it comes to her friends. She cares a lot about them. By friends I mean when she decides to join the straw hats during her mission at the same place as them.

She decides to leave the revolutionary army and joins the crew, she bids them farewell but never forgetting their goodwill and help to her..

Yea I’m cringingggggg hsksnfkzlz byeeee that’s it 💀 that’s all I remember from the last few months bruh

Btw this is her when she learns to control her emotions and not loose total control- (kinda like how chopper is)

Now again I’m still not caught up to the anime and I’ve written according to whatever I’ve learned so far- I also don’t know if my friends/ moots have seen one piece but I just wanted to post it yk ahhhhh ok yea Bie-

Do not judge me ok- I’m just a baby 😭

[xylatox]

Chemtrails || jww

It's my first time reading a fix by the lovely lexi so I'm super excited for what's in store. (also deeply missing wonwoo hours).

Before I begin, I understand how difficult it is to overcome loss as your never really do but I'm glad that this piece helped heal a small part of you Lexi and I know this will heal part of me too :)

But the winter chill that accompanies the gloomy atmosphere is another unpleasant reminder of the dangers of wishful thinking. — I will always eat up phrases like this, it's borderline poetic.

I'm not even halfway and I feel like I'm going to cry no joke, like the tears are already threatening to fall.

“You know I’ve said healing isn’t linear, Suzy,” Seungcheol, the director of the group, says in a supportive tone. — omg Seungcheol as the director 😔😔

You roll your eyes and tuck your arms tighter into your chest. The older guy always has a plethora of slogans for personal growth up his sleeve. You reckon he probably made the fucking sign with the awful font and stereotypically hopeful photography? It’s anyone’s guess, but you have a good one. — this made me laugh😭😭 omg no because Cheol is such a sweetheart but this is so real like. I'm not sure if it's a combination of the setting being in a church but I'm sure my reaction would've been the same.

WOOYOUNG CAMEO?!?!?!? I fucking gasped, oh my god. — YOU DID HIS PERSONALITY SO WELL LEXI OMG I LOVE HIM😭😭

AND A SOOBIN MENTION? I am loving every moment of this.

“Oh, really? Is that why you don’t speak during the meetings? You’ve already predicted that sharing is a waste of time?”—???LMFAO😭 nooo

You avoid his gaze, finally landing back on the pool table where Wooyoung awaits. The kernel of an idea pops up alongside your smile. “Play me for it.” — absolutely unrelated but I misread this as play with me and I almost screamed

omg her fish named Carat, sobbing. On another note, I do love the chemistry theh have together, they're so cute.

Wonwoo’s smile turns small, still bright but a tad dimmer, and a stone sinks down deep into your stomach. “It was my mother’s birthday that day. She died three years ago in April, but her birthday is always the hardest day for me to get through.” — cue the tears again :')

Four becomes five until Wonwoo brushes a hand along your knee. “Are you alright? I know that was heavy, but a winner deserves her prize, right?” — I would've sobbed on the spot

The almost kiss my god...

His explanations of corporate law terminology to the plotlines of One Piece became your lullabies. — I just wanna say this feels very boyfriend coded. Like it's probably just my experience but One Piece has some men in a chokehold (I'm not even near finishing it)

“You should focus on the November report instead of ogling your new piece of man candy.” — I will always love Wooyoung, his personality is amazing

You turn sharply, hair whipping across the open air. . “Because I got tired of all the noise of everything after… — this hit home, god I'm in tears this is so good

“I don’t need to be saved, Wonwoo,” you say through fractured, sob-laced hiccups. Your eyes look past his brown ones, into the depths of his soul as you ask—plead even—“I just want to make the pain stop.” — I feel sick ugh. The Kiss ugh😭

You giggle before he reattaches his lips to yours. His kisses taste like rainwater and second chances, physical proof that not everything has to be lost. — girl is you a poet oh my god this is beautiful

You hate your father; the realization strikes you like a penknife to the heart as you press your forehead into the steering wheel, knocking your knuckles into its center until your own horn screams back at you. You hate him for leaving you alone to pick up the shards he created by going away too soon, sooner than you were prepared for. How could he part from you with such a gaping hole left in your chest and no roadmap for how to fix it? Was it even possible to mend such a wound when its shape was present everywhere you looked? — I'm fully sobbing by the way, ugly ass tears and everything

Hongjoong :(

It strikes a nerve in you, so deep it pulls a response out of your lips before you can stop it. “That’s a fucked up question to ask.” — no cuz I would've said the same thing.

Like from my experience with grief, I was angry at the world for 10 years before I got some semblance of help, so yeah, it's fucked up I think to even consider that. Like I get it, but you can't expect people to put behind their anger and way to cope because you don't understand or aren't willing to yknow (apologies for the minirant ^^)

Otherwise, everyone has to tread around it like it’s a disease. It’s exhausting.” — this, they literally make people (especially those that become angry with grief) seem like if they're the problem and it's heartbreaking. What do you want someone to do in that situation??? Its hard to live in a world that quickly moves on from things when you're stuck in this same cycle living through the moment over and over again (apologizes for the rant x2 ^^ Lexi this is absolutely amazing, I must say again)

“I can’t give any parts of me when I don’t know what’s left to give at this point.” — this. I absolutely adore the MC's personality.

A muddled cry escapes you before your lips connect again, your tears wetting the space between your mouths. — I love kisses riddled with sadness it just heals a part of me

Whoever the creator of the slogan from that third week of the support group is—Seungcheol, a random stranger, or a prophetic person who knows all too well the tragedy of grief itself—you’re growing to believe time can bend every sad emotion into something manageable, especially grief. And yes, you have yet to see what your own grief ultimately turns into, but you know you’ll take comfort in the fact you won’t be alone when that day comes. — crying :(( god the ending was so sweet and so real to the entire concept of grieving. This did heal part of me and I hope that anyone else who reads your work Lexi is healed as well, your writing is absolutely amazing ♡

CHEMTRAILS | 전원우

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 11K ⟢ GENRE: angst, smut, sprinkles of fluff ⟢ TAGS: heavy themes of grief/death including a mentioned drunk driving incident (do not tread lightly if these topics are difficult for you to read), minor character death (including a child, but it is all offscreen), coworkers au, pet names (baby, doll, etc), light breast play, fingering, protected sex. ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms. LINK TO FIC PLAYLIST -ˋˏ✄┈┈ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an incredibly personal story for me, as I have suffered parental loss and it is one of the hardest things I've gone through, but in a way, writing it out has helped heal a small part of me, so I am happy to share this with you all. Bless to my friends beta-ing this for me—Allie (@lovetaroandtaemin), Raven (@shadowkoo), Lily (@prkhaven), Sulkie (@innocygnet), and Tiya (@gyubakeries), and everyone else who read snippets of this before it became what it is now. The fic's title inspo is from a song by Lizzy Mcalpine!

GRIEF DOESN’T END, BUT IT CHANGES SHAPE OVER TIME.

The white text over the image of a pastel sunrise initially made you gag when you stepped into the room, the church’s banner haphazardly put up to prepare for today’s session. Now, it’s all your brain can focus on as the surrounding attendees share their stories. The initial greetings stopped thirty minutes ago, with many at the waterworks now to your secondhand chagrin. Others nod and provide supportive commentary, but you don’t have it in you, silence the only usable response. A few people you recognize from the first few weeks surround you; others are brand new, red-faced as they meander through the reasons for their attendance. 

The four walls reek of silent regret and raw sadness, the sniffles and coughs of those trying to hide their pain sticking to the air like heat on a summer day. You’d prefer it to be a hotter season, if only to focus on something else but the ridiculous text looming over you. But the winter chill that accompanies the gloomy atmosphere is another unpleasant reminder of the dangers of wishful thinking.

You could say all the stories and puffy expressions don’t hit a nerve somewhere deep inside of you, but then you’d be a liar. As you’ve learned in the past year, though, you’re getting very good at hiding and denying.

 It’s been forty-five minutes of passive listening on your end, but your attention remains on the chalky slopes of text against the yellow sun disappearing into the mountain formation.

“It’s been six months, and I still don’t know what to do. When I think I’ve gotten over one stage, I’m reminded of something that sets me back.” One attendee you’ve known from the start, Suzy, continues on while staring into the coffee cup in her hands. She’s typically meek in tone, solemn while her hands stay in her thick coat as she recalls the details of her twin sister’s battle with leukemia. But today, there’s a new aura about her, something clipped and biting that is unique to see in this place.

Maybe she’s on the stage of anger this week.

“You know I’ve said healing isn’t linear, Suzy,” Seungcheol, the director of the group, says in a supportive tone.

“I get that, but can I get a break from feeling more than one stage at once? For the love of God.” She blanches immediately and mutters out an apology, making you chuckle to yourself.

You used to think that the phenomenon was a myth, a way for people to rationalize their pain by separating all of it into clear, definable chunks. While you’re now well acquainted with each piece of grief, they all remain a mystery in your eyes. You’re unsure who to ask for the right answers, and you’re not opening your mouth now to humor the group with questions.

The plan has always been the same: attend each session like you’re supposed to, get your slip signed off, and go home. That was the routine for the past two weeks, nothing more to add or subtract. When people addressed you, you weren't unfriendly, but you didn't offer any information. These things considered, you’re adamant about keeping with tradition for the remaining six meetings, including this one.

Yet, the second the door of the church opens, and you see Jeon Wonwoo enter, you know it’ll be impossible to continue staying under the radar.

Wonwoo apologizes profusely as Seungcheol pulls up a chair for the newcomer. Wonwoo’s wearing a scarf that covers a substantial amount of his face, but you’d recognize his wire-frame glasses and that black mop of hair anywhere. He may barely be an acquaintance, but he’s not terrible to look at. “My car was giving me trouble this morning, so—”

“No problem, man,” Seungcheol cuts him off. “Nobody’s late here. You’re always arriving somewhere at the moment you’re meant to, I always say.”

You roll your eyes and tuck your arms tighter into your chest. The older guy always has a plethora of slogans for personal growth up his sleeve. You reckon he probably made the fucking sign with the awful font and stereotypically hopeful photography? It’s anyone’s guess, but you have a good one.

Some hair falls into your face just as Wonwoo sits across from you in the large circle. You think that just might save you from being seen, but recognition crosses his face out of the corner of your eye, and you curse under your breath, knowing you’re fucked.

Jeon Wonwoo, from the legal team at the publishing house you both work for, sees you, the quiet girl from the marketing department. He must have some idea why, given his department’s close relationship with your higher-ups, and that makes your intestines twist in a way akin to food poisoning. You think it may be the perfect time for the world to split open under your feet and take you away, but that’s only a dreamer’s level of luck.

“So, Wonwoo, you’re a newcomer, as we can see. What brings you to the group?”

Wonwoo stutters on an explanation, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “I think the lady before me was in the middle of her story, but maybe I can share after.”

Seungcheol winks in acknowledgement and goes back to Suzy, continuing where they left off in their discussion. “So, for the stages…”

You feel the heat of Wonwoo’s gaze from across the circle. He’s probably trying to decipher just exactly what led you to this place. Not the church, per se, but the situation at hand. Tired of the burn of his irises on you, you turn your stare on him. His eyes look small under the guise of his glasses, but they enlarge considerably when you make it known you’ve caught him ogling. With your mouth in a thin line but your eyebrows quirked up, you send him a silent dare to continue staring. To your pleasure, he pales and turns away, looking in the same direction as everyone else as Suzy continues on with her rant.

Any secondhand inkling you had to share with the group before the end of the program dies with the turn of Wonwoo’s head, and you prefer it that way. His presence gives you an excuse to not break from routine. Not like you were going to, anyway.

“He was there?” Wooyoung ruffles his hair in secondhand embarrassment, the sound of his nervous expel of breath drowned out by the music in the bar. The local hotspot was a mere five blocks away from your work, and it rarely became overcrowded before you guys had the chance to leave, so coming around now and then with your best friend was still doable, even under your circumstances. It was hard to say no to Wooyoung when he gave you such toothy grins and pleading words. “You barely come out anymore, at least try to spend some time with me for a bit? It’ll be good for you.”

He had to be the only person left you could stomach being around, and the last man on the planet who could handle your latest less than sunny disposition.

Wooyoung immediately goes back to making his shot for the solid blue ball close to the top left-hand pocket when you shoot him a glare that even he can’t joke himself out of. “You think he’ll say anything?” he asks as he moves his pool stick back and forth, testing the waters of the angle he’s chosen to hit the cue ball from.

“I hope not.” You groan and knock your head against your pool stick. Replaying yesterday afternoon in your head, you barely could get through the workday filled with pitch proposals and strategy meetings. You couldn’t help but wonder if Wonwoo was lurking around every corner of the building, waiting to discuss how he saw you and tease you for something not meant for teasing. He didn’t seem like the type to do so, but you expect less and less from the male population with every passing day. “He probably already knows about what happened anyway.”

Wooyoung hits the ball, but it veers a little too far for the shot to be completed. He swears, an audible “fuck me” rolling off of his tongue. You make haste going for the striped orange ball, and with no seconds to spare, you hit it into the center right cup. You land another two before your best friend has a chance again, but it doesn't matter. All that’s left for you to shoot in is the eight ball.

“One day I’ll manage to get close to beating you.”

“The night’s still young,” you respond before chugging down what’s left of your bottle of soju. The alcohol goes down your throat smoothly, but it doesn’t soothe the itch that still sits under your skin. With another few drinks, and you teetering on the line between buzzing and full-blown drunk, you think you’ll be able to forget the feeling exists.

That sting only intensifies when you see a handful of guys from the legal team walk in, Vernon and Jihoon trailing behind Wonwoo’s towering form. Their presence causes you to miss the eight ball entirely, the cue ball slowly rolling towards a pocket until it falls in.

“Goddamnit, man,” you curse. You reach for your drink, but you curse again when the empty bottle touches your lips.

Before Wooyoung can ask, he turns his head to see the men going up to the bartender and gnaws at his lip. “Maybe they won’t notice us?”

“That’s as likely as you getting a girlfriend,” you tease. You pull a couple of dollar bills out of your pocket and set your pool stick down when you see the men edging away from the bar-top. It may be a risk when they’re still so close by, but your dry mouth tells you to take the chance. “I’m gonna get us another round.”

You place your hands firmly on the shining wood of the bar, the gloss of it contrasting with the rough calluses and paper cuts across your hands. A few fingers beckon the bartender over with a new set of soju bottles. The green glass that holds the liquid refracts against the overhead lights. It’s so bright, you don’t notice the figure whose shadow mars their outlines.

“Didn’t think you were the drinking type,” Wonwoo finally pipes up. Where his voice yesterday was quick and bashful, and his typical tone at work is clinical to the letter, the cadence of it now is warm, like a smooth pool of honey.

His arm brushes yours as he places a few bucks of his own on the bar for the bartender to take. The contact raises gooseflesh across the space where his skin met yours for the briefest of moments. It sends a new itch up your spine, one that’s barely familiar and on the cusp of foreign. You lie to yourself with careful precision, swearing in hushed tones inside your brain that it doesn’t ignite a long, burnt-out flame somewhere inside of you, and you almost believe it.

Almost.

“I also didn’t used to go to work-mandated support groups, but here we are.” You aim your bottle in his direction with the slightest of tips, a sarcastic salute that doesn’t make your secret any easier to address out loud. You sip gingerly, the pull of your lips from the bottle long and slow, but the alcohol holds no solution for your bitter tongue or sick stomach.

You know this, and you drink anyway. It’s better than the alternative.

Wonwoo’s the one who takes the bottle from your mouth. A few dribbles of soju trickle down your chin, but before you can snatch it back, he says, “I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried to begin with.”

He nods with a close-lipped smirk, in no way believing your glib. The bartender brings three gin and tonics for Wonwoo’s troupe, and you can’t hold back the giggle that erupts from deep in your throat. “Typical.”

“What? G and Ts are too good for you, miss marketing expert?” Vernon and Jihoon call their coworker with a loud shout of his name when they see their drinks are ready, but Wonwoo throws them an expression that shuts the younger men up.

“Who said I was an expert? That’s Soobin’s role, anyway.” You tut your head in a random direction. You have nothing to prove to Wonwoo, but you take pride in your job being higher than one of meager content creation. He chuckles, and the sound tickles your ears in a way you push down. “I’m a trend analyst.”

“Oh, really? Is that why you don’t speak during the meetings? You’ve already predicted that sharing is a waste of time?”

You sober immediately at his questions. You grip the neck of the soju bottle tighter as you try composing an answer, anger prickling the base of your neck. What can you say that gives nothing away and keeps with the pre-set banter, all while you remain even-keeled? You land on, “It’s not like that,” and make your move to walk away, bored with the conversation now.

Wooyoung looks over at you like you’re crazy, and you know the thoughts immediately swirling in your best friend’s head. You haven’t flirted with a man in probably half a decade, at least, but if the nerd isn’t getting any, the very least you could do is entertain some sort of romantic attention for the two of you.

Wonwoo grabs your arm softly, his fingers setting the same fire the contact from before did, but it holds an entirely new scope and set of stakes. “Humor me. What’s it like, then?” His voice is featherlight, gentle in its prodding. He holds no judgement, his earlier words only teasing but clearly striking a nerve in you he’s trying to amend with his new tone.

You avoid his gaze, finally landing back on the pool table where Wooyoung awaits. The kernel of an idea pops up alongside your smile. “Play me for it.”

“What?” Wonwoo chuckles, perplexed. You point towards the table with your index finger, and Wooyoung immediately turns his head, attempting to hide his spying to no avail.

“You win, I’ll tell you why I’m in that group.” Your smirk grows, the cheshire cat smile that now adorns your face growing with every word. “I win, you tell me what you were doing there yesterday in the first place.”

You put a hand between your incredibly close bodies, a fact you did not realize until you offered some ante for Wonwoo to chew on, and he takes the bait like you expected him to. “Deal.”

He shakes your hand firmly. It’s another set of touches that warms you to the bone in a way liquor never has before. You shuck that information to the side as you walk to the pool table with Wonwoo hot on your heels. He stops to deliver the drinks to his awaiting team, but he makes it to you with a few quick strides.

“Want me to break, or do you need to prove you can play first?” you ask with the same tantalizing smile you wagered him with.

He takes a hefty sip of his tonic and licks his bottom lip to catch the alcohol that threatens to spill over. “By all means.”

If only he knew how stupid it was to let the lady go first this time.

Wonwoo stares down into the pocket the eight-ball just flew into. While he’s mystified how you managed to just destroy his record and prove him wrong in a matter of ten minutes and three plays, you smirk openly. It always used to bug ex-boyfriends and situationships when you were better at a more masculine task or hobby than they were, but you always flicked their comments back with a middle finger and a nonplussed demeanor. It’s a delightful change of pace for someone as attractive and confident as Wonwoo to be mystified by your capabilities, even at the expense of his pride.

“She beats me all the time, man. Don’t sweat it.” Wooyoung tries to walk up and rustle your newly defeated opponent on the shoulder. He thinks better of it when Wonwoo gives him the same glare you threw at the younger guy a short time ago.

Your best friend offers to grab you another drink as you laugh, but you shake your head. “Gotta head home. Carat can’t feed herself.”

Wonwoo gives you a quizzical expression as Wooyoung leaves, and you respond with, “My fish. Very adamant about her feeding schedule.”

He flashes a high-wattage grin, and the feelings he’s stirred in you tonight try to scratch their way back to the surface, but you repress them once again. It means nothing, anyway. You won’t act on it, and the guy is probably ready to hightail it back to his friends by now.

He offers to walk you out, and all your preconceived notions upend themselves into the air. Wooyoung pulls you by the shoulder when you say goodbye and whispers, “If you miss out on that guy now, you’re even more ridiculous than I thought. And I’ve seen you suck your thumb while you sleep, remember that.”

When you make it to the driver’s side door, you remember it’s time to collect your payment. Now or never. “So, gonna tell me why you were in the group yesterday? Or will you chicken out with the best two out of three rounds?”

“Easy, I’ll tell you,” he says, concealing a grin until his next words come out. “But, it’ll be during dinner tomorrow night. My place?”

You gulp down heavy air, again recognizing the clear proximity of your chest to his. You can see the slow rise and fall of his upper body, his heart steady but clearly put on edge. He’s patient but barely, waiting for you to either accept the invitation or decline with bated breath.

“Why?”

You don’t mean for the word to come out the way it does, one-fourth hopeful and the remaining three-fourths speculative. It’s not like you’re unappealing under normal circumstances, but the girl who would’ve jumped at the opportunity for a date with a cute guy is not who’s standing in front of Wonwoo right now. You want to be her, trade your place for hers to make the smile on his face brighten, but you’re unsure how to get her back, and if there’s any point.

“Because I owe you, don’t I?” You shrug your arms, not saying no but not giving him confirmation either. “And you’re not the type to not collect when you’re owed something.”

“What makes you think that?” Some of your fire returns as you cross your arms, body posture exemplifying your intrigue.

“Because you wouldn’t have bet against me knowing you’d win if you were.”

There’s no witty remark or sarcastic comeback that comes to mind. He so easily saw through you, it scares you into saying yes right there. But, even while ruminating for a moment, you search for reasons to deny him of your company, and you find none. If tonight wasn’t so bad, what’s one more without expectations?

“Sure,” you finally say, and he gives you the grin you were looking for that could go toe to toe with any city streetlight. That mesmerizing, gum-revealing grin that makes a part of your knees weak.

You knew he was nice to look at from faraway in the secrecy of your cubicle, but it’s at a new level now, one that’s unquellable.

On the drive home, as you replay his smile in your mind’s eye, you know without a doubt that the buzz in your veins isn’t just because of the soju still lingering in your bloodstream.

It’s not, under any circumstances, a date. 

You parrot the words as you move around your bedroom, the clock on your dresser practically screaming at you to leave while the day is young. Work ended an hour ago, and you’re still stumbling on what to do about your attire.

No way is this a date. I’ve been on them before, I know it when I see it.

The recesses of your mind try to commit every sentence to memory as you put on lipstick, curl your hair, and throw an old dress under a denim jacket. It’s habitual to look nice for a new person, you remind yourself. It’s not like Wonwoo won’t welcome you into his home if you’re wearing a greasy t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, but you digress. You’re simply collecting on your payment, and if he takes it any other way, that’s his problem to deal with.

The ride to his apartment is tense, to say the least. A million thoughts run through your head while you grip the steering wheel tight during every turn and stop through the city to his downtown complex. You try to make light of the building that greets you, thinking about how much legal counsel must make to afford such swanky living spaces, but it doesn’t help. Your hands tremble, no matter how forcefully you clench your fists to stop the shaking.

He’s Wonwoo, a guy who has an interest in seeing you outside of a professional setting, and you’re you, half emotionally composed on your very best day as of late. You have some basis for being nervous, no matter what one would call the meeting arranged between you two today.

He called it dinner, so you’ll start there.

Greeting you at your door in a black V-neck and gray jeans, he looks too clean for someone who must’ve been lounging around before you arrived. “You look nice. Got a hot date or something?” He bites his lip in satisfaction when you huff out a breath of air, blowing off his harmless dig.

“I’m here for the information I won last night. And the plate of food you promised me.”

He beckons you inside with a smile and an arm pointed inside, and you walk through the threshold with all the knots in your stomach, reminding you of their presence with every step.

Wonwoo’s living space appears to be stereotypical for a guy in his mid-twenties. The apartment’s all dark wood and grey wallpaper, from his industrial bar table to the kitchen marble, but he’s made it his in his own way. Some action figures line a bookshelf near the kitchen, and a guitar sits on its stand in the corner of the entertainment center dominating the living room. But you glean little pieces of information about him from the tchotchkes that surround you. The black cat plushie that sits on the sofa, the NASA magazines he must have a subscription for, and the sounds of jazz playing low on the TV all indicate the quiet eccentricities of his personality.

He’s a secretively unique guy on the page and in person, and you admire it. Some part of it scares you, how easily you’ve grown accustomed to him in a few short meetings, but that’s not anything to mull over right now.

“I was just fixing the pasta when you showed up. You can sit anywhere.” He moves his head in either direction of the couch or the table, but you saunter over to his side instead.

The aroma of the tomato wafts across your nose, the sauce definitely homemade rather than store-bought. You peer over into the pot, the margarita-covered penne mixed in with vegetables and meat. “Who knew you could cook?”

Wonwoo chuckles, hearty and deep, as he stirs the food in the pot. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

Yet. He says the word with such relaxation, like it’s inevitable you will discover more information about him. Like he’s certain you’re not going anywhere. It has to be a delusion of the future filling him with such confidence, without a doubt.

Shortly after that, the table’s decorated with towering plates of pasta and a lit candle at the center. The mixed scents of vanilla, jasmine, and tomato sauce blend harmoniously somehow.

You share small talk about Wonwoo’s cooking skills and your pool abilities over dinner, bantering throughout with the dry humor you delivered yesterday. Wonwoo takes it all with a smirk, volleying it back at you with charm that makes you forget your dinner exists altogether. You don’t eat all the food on your plate, but you’ve never been more full.

Both of you migrate to the couch with your glasses of wine, leaving the plates on the wood’s high-top and getting comfortably lost in more conversation. Suddenly, you remember exactly why you’re there, and you turn the tides of the conversation to address the purpose of your attendance. “So, the support group.”

Wonwoo laughs into his glass, shaking his head in a gesture that tells you he was just waiting for the inevitable. “What do you wanna know?”

“Why were you there?”

Wonwoo’s smile turns small, still bright but a tad dimmer, and a stone sinks down deep into your stomach. “It was my mother’s birthday that day. She died three years ago in April, but her birthday is always the hardest day for me to get through.”

“It was a sudden sickness, one that we didn’t expect her to get.” He runs his thumb along the ring of his drink, his finger leaving an opaque smudge. He looks back up eventually, the ghost of his small smile haunting his features. “I’m just grateful I had the time with her that I did before it was too late, you know?”

Wonwoo’s words reroute all the knots from your core to your throat, making you unable to speak. You click your own nails against your drink in a pattern, counting the beats in sequence to avoid the tears welling in your eye ducts. One, two, three, four taps. 

Four becomes five until Wonwoo brushes a hand along your knee. “Are you alright? I know that was heavy, but a winner deserves her prize, right?”

You appreciate Wonwoo trying to lighten the mood that you’ve darkened with your silence. The slam of the bottom of your wine glass startles Wonwoo a smidge, and while you didn’t mean to scare him, you know you need to leave before you fall apart.

“This was fun, Won, but I-I have to go.” A tear falls from your face as you speak, another escaping before you can make the waterworks disappear. Wonwoo holds your arm the same way he did a day ago when you were so close to leaving before. This time is different, though.

Wonwoo’s worry for you and whatever’s haunting you replaces his previous somberness. You recognize the contortion of his face like the back of your hand. You’ve seen it in family members and their condolences. The friends you kept and even the ones you lost from being distant. Even coworkers you never spoke to and random strangers who could recognize the shadows of loss.

It disgusts you, and you can’t bear to see it from Wonwoo of all people. You attempt to yank your arm away like your life depends on it, but he doesn’t let you slip away so easily. “Will you talk to me, please?” he asks. “You don’t have to hold back whatever you want to say.”

“I’m not, not at all. And it’s presumptuous of you to assume I am.” You shake your head, voice sputtering on some kind of laugh. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I do.” Again, the space between you and him is virtually nonexistent. Your hearts match in rhythm, despite your sadness and apprehension. The unspoken strings between you snap one by one with every movement of his hand, slowly reaching higher until his hand cups your face. His thumb runs over your jaw bone.

You don’t know whether to pull him closer or run now that’s holding you with a looser grip, and the thought is as sobering as his mouth a breath from yours.

“I have to go.” You clutch his wrist with your hand, but you make no move to turn and walk away. You leave indents in his skin from your nails gripping him, but he doesn’t break his hold either.

Then, in a broken trance, he lets you go and steps back, swallowing hard. “I’ll see you at work, then?”

You nod. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Anytime, really.”

You think about the importance of words, what they carry and how deeply they can mean when a person you care about says them. “Yet” and “anytime” have never been of significant value to you before, passing vocabulary that’s left little for your heart to grasp onto. But he says it without facades, each vowel and consonant holding the undercurrents of his desires. You feel your knees buckle a touch as you ponder it on your way out of his apartment and to your car. Your thoughts dwell on what that kiss would’ve felt like, and the panic that follows when you realize how badly you wanted it.

A week flies by, and then two more, until you realize you’re always passing Wonwoo’s cubicle with a cup of coffee, or he’s pestering you with a sticky note or two regarding legal jargon you’ll never read up on.

Neither of you mention what almost occurred in his living room so long ago, but it feels like only a second between that moment and the present when he’s inhabiting your space at work or blowing up your phone.

You don’t know why he started calling and texting right around the time you were prepared to shut your eyes for sleep, but it was a comfort you didn’t mind cherishing before dreamland took you under its wing. His explanations of corporate law terminology to the plotlines of One Piece became your lullabies.

A regular person can’t cement themselves in your life overnight, but Wonwoo is anything but regular.

As you’re filling out your timesheet for the week, your thoughts circle back to Wonwoo as you notice him in the conference room with the rest of the legal team. Vernon talks animatedly with his hands as Minghao and Jun type down notes. It’s a riveting silent film, but the only actor you’re interested in is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose incrementally, and it makes you melt in your chair.

You have emails to type, spreadsheets to complete, and here you are acting like a high schooler with an unrequited crush.

Pulled sharply from your daze, Wooyoung bats you on the shoulder with his clipboard. San from HR laughs at your best friend’s assault on you, your acquaintance’s chest rippling as you rub your shoulder and give Wooyoung your signature glare. “What the fuck?”

“You should focus on the November report instead of ogling your new piece of man candy.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply, calm and collected, even though someone has now turned the judgement on you for your prying eyes. Wooyoung had his own priorities as a market strategist; he had no business judging you for taking time off of business tasks to ogle.

You return to your initial view of the conference room, watching the gentleman in the confines of the glass office.

You don’t expect Wonwoo to be staring right at you when you turn your attention back to their meeting. Wooyoung and San talk amongst themselves about your comical behavior in the third person, but you don’t mind them and their idiocy. You’re too focused on the man who’s a dozen feet away.

Wonwoo practically gives you the same glare you delivered to him in the support group the first time he was there, but his eyes are all humor and no bite. He holds his binder up a smidge, signaling somehow for you to look down at the one propped against your laptop. You find a blue sticky note sitting on the front of it, and you know Wonwoo must’ve stuck it there when you went to the bathroom a half hour ago.

7 PM showing of Spider-Man Saturday. You in? X

It’s a measly set of perpendicular lines in Wonwoo’s handwriting, nothing extravagant on the sticky note itself. How can the letter and his proposition turn your heart into mush so easily? And why does it make you immediately nod in Wonwoo’s direction?

What was he doing to you?

You’ve watched the 2003 film many times in your life—you could recite the lines by heart, truth be told—yet seeing Toby McGuire swinging around in a latex suit still brings childlike wonder out in you. You smile into your handful of popcorn at the scene before you, the kicks and punches between Spiderman and the Green Goblin in the middle of Manhattan amplified by the theater’s sound system.

You dressed up a bit more this time for the outing with Wonwoo, despite your self-insistence on keeping it casual. Nothing had happened between you up to this point, only the opportunity for a kiss that never came. Who was to say anything romantic would happen now in the darkness of a theater?

The movie cuts to Spiderman swinging Mary Jane to a hotel high-rise away from the chaos of Times Square, and Wonwoo picks that moment to take the hand not holding more popcorn into his own.

It’s a funny feeling, the moment before something unexpected happens. It’s like your body bristles to a point of high alert before you’re struck with the reality something is occurring, for better or worse. He rubs the back of your hand in slow, delicate circles, and it feels like the start of something good while every cell inside of you screams to run.

The flutter inside of your stomach at his touch dies when you give into the spiraling thoughts, a cruel voice reminding you the butterflies won’t last. It carries the face of a person you’d rather forget. A smile that haunts every hour of your existence, and eyes you wish you could look into one more time outside of your nightmares.

You tug your hand free and speed out of the theater, not bothering to look behind you to see if Wonwoo is following you. You know he is, his calls of your name muffled amid the horrendous laughter ringing in your ears. When you’ve stopped running, you realize it’s raining all around you outside. The alleyway behind the theater only provides so much cover, but Wonwoo doesn’t care. All he wants to do is hold you as you’re hyperventilating, so he does.

“Hey, hey, hey. What happened?”

You hiccup, unsure how to go about saying the words when a phantom hangs over your shoulder and whispers words you have no willpower to fight. What makes him any different from everyone else? Nothing, and you know it.

“I’m right here,” he swears like it’s true, and you see red.

“Until you get sick of it, right?” You can’t look him in the eye as you say it, but it doesn’t make it feel less true expressing it out loud. “This isn’t gonna change. You’ll always wonder what’s wrong. I’ll never give you a valid excuse because I barely fucking know myself and shut you out. You’ll get bored really quick, Wonwoo, so what’s the point?”

“What are you talking about?” His mouth hangs at you accusatory questions, and it only makes you laugh harder. 

It’s easy to pretend your tears are only rainwater splashing down your face.

“There’s no point chasing after me anymore. I’m not worth the hassle, and it’s too much baggage for you to unpack, so don’t waste any more of your time.” You move his hands from your face with weak fingers and watch his arms fall limply at his sides as you turn to head towards the sidewalk and back to your car.

Wonwoo’s laugh is so bitter, you can taste it on your tongue. “You may think that what you’re going through is something nobody can understand, but a part of you knows you’re being ridiculous right now.”

You shake your head and continue down your path, barking back at him with a “Go fuck yourself.”

“You’re not the first person to lose someone, and you won’t be the last!” You stop walking down the alleyway, and you hear the sharp intake of breath on Wonwoo’s lips. He takes another second and set of steps to get closer to you before saying, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

You turn sharply, hair whipping across the open air. “You wanna know why I’m in the group, Won?” Your question drips with rhetoric like venom, sarcasm bordering on fury. “Because I got tired of all the noise of everything after…after—Chaewon just wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone about work and what was going on with me. And everyone at that point kept poking with their pity until the shit I said and did that day happened.” You flail your arms at your sides, the rain soaking through your sleeves. 

It was unprofessional, a huge moral deficit, as your boss put it. Especially when all Chaewon asked for was a valid reason for an extension on your trend report. “No coworker, especially not a subordinate, should treat another coworker that way. Your personal matters should not impede on your ability to be a team player.”

Your boss used every administrative play in the book while looking over the materials you ruined for the newest magazine issue, and that was before you screamed in your department head’s face. You didn’t mean to hurt Chaewon the way you did, but admittedly, it felt good to do it.

It was nice to let a part of you run free, even if it was a vulgar and unapologetic piece. But if you had known it would cost you every ounce of your pride and some semblance of your privacy, you would’ve thought twice. 

Your entire body is drenched by the time you finish your tirade, as is Wonwoo’s. “So yeah, that’s why they put me in that pity party of a support group. Because God forbid I snapped one fucking time for a valid fucking reason.”

“They just wanted you to get some help. Everyone needs that sometimes,” Wonwoo murmurs. He tries to step closer, each movement apprehensive, like he’s cornering a rabid cat into a carrier.

His movements make you feel like one, a wounded animal in need of immediate attention without regard for its unwillingness to accept it. It turns your eyesight red, and you think you may just be feral at this point. “I don’t need anyone’s help, Wonwoo! Not that group, not Seungcheol, not the damn lackeys in that fucking office, and especially not—”

Wonwoo gives up the pretenses and yanks you into his arms. He plants a hand across your hair and squeezes you in his hold, still tender despite the vice grip he has you in. The tightness of his hug shakes something loose in you, and you barely recognize you’re crying until Wonwoo cradles you closer and shushes you, even as the rain beats down on you both. “I’m here,” he promises.

“I don’t need to be saved, Wonwoo,” you say through fractured, sob-laced hiccups. Your eyes look past his brown ones, into the depths of his soul as you ask—plead even—“I just want to make the pain stop.”

“Let me help,” Wonwoo offers, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. It may be the most ridiculous, careless thing you can do at the moment, but when the urge to kiss him comes, you don’t stop it.

Call it an emotional break or a sudden rush of your suppressed desire shining through, but the second you press your lips to his in that brick alleyway, you don’t regret it. He tastes like salvation, of unbreakable promises. It could either heal or ruin you, but you don’t mind if it’s a little of both.

The raindrops cling to your clothes like a second skin, latching onto every curve. It’s easy to shed with the help of Wonwoo’s hands. By the time you’re an inch away from the doorframe of his bedroom, he’s wearing his briefs, and you’re left in your underwear. His warmth wraps around every part of your body like a campfire, stoking all the cold out of you and bathing you in the heat he provides. The thunder roars on, and lightning splashes the sky in white streaks, but the only light that sustains you is him.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles as he grazes the underside of your bralette. The material is so drenched that he can see the peaks of your nipples through it, but he’s trying to keep his composure and go at a speed you’re comfortable with.

You don’t hesitate, not wanting the moment to be dampened by your worst thoughts. They’re at bay now, and you want to use that time for what it’s worth. “More than okay.” You unclasp your bralette from your back, letting the wet garment plop to the floor. “Touch me, please.”

His index finger drags so slowly across your nipple, the ripple of electricity that tickles your skin follows the same tempo. While you’re willing to go fast, Wonwoo cherishes you with reverence. Even as he takes your nipple between his lips, moving his fingers down your stomach and into your underwear, he remains patient. “So wet,” he groans against your skin when he guides his fingers along your slick folds. It’s like he’s discovering a precious treasure before him, twirling your wet curls in his hair with his free hand as he runs the pads of his opposite fingers through slick heaven.

You tremble in his hands, all the nerves in your body a hot, frenzied mess in his hold. He thumbs your clit in slow circles, making it hard to stand any longer in the in-between space of his living room and bedroom. “Woo, I want more.”

He takes his fingers from your center and lifts you into his arms. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he chuckles into your throat. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You giggle before he reattaches his lips to yours. His kisses taste like rainwater and second chances, physical proof that not everything has to be lost. He never lets you go or takes his mouth away on the slow trek to his bed.

Wonwoo sets you down gently, his eyes giving away all of his vulnerability. “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” You blush, wrapping an arm around your face, but he pulls it away and kisses each finger on your hand. “Every inch of you.”

The words go unsaid, but the bite of his lip and dark hood of his eyes tell you his desire goes beyond lust. I want to explore you forever.

Even the parts of you that you’ve deemed too dark, too painful, too unworthy of anyone’s entry. His expression tells you he may just take the risk and split you open fully to see what’s inside. With his eyes peering deeply into your soul, you think all he sees is hope. Like your heart holds the sun that peers out after the worst downpour in the world.

He rolls his briefs down his hips until his length springs free, knocking into the lower segment of his abdomen from how hard he is. “And you called me beautiful,” you say, breathless. Wonwoo’s cock drips pre-cum at the swollen tip, and you have no qualms sitting up and reaching out to encase him in your palm, running his essence across his skin.

He tips his head back and his mouth goes slack, a curse leaving his tongue. “You may kill me.”

You smile and run your lips along his neck, dragging your canines along the skin of his jugular. “If I do, I promise it wasn’t my intention.”

Before he can get too lost in the pleasure of your fingers wrapped around him, he traps your body between his own and the sheets below you. He doesn’t stop kissing you once he finds your lips again, even as he stumbles finding a condom in his bedside drawer and rolls the latex onto himself.

You don’t need to prepare for the eventual drag of his cock between your walls, already dripping from his previous touches, but he envelops you completely when he fills you to the hilt. He fits so snug inside of you; you think he could sit there forever and never leave. “You’re so tight, holy shit,” Wonwoo moans as he begins moving his hips.

You release a garbled moan, the sound practically swallowed by his tongue in your mouth. He takes and teases, but he always gives it back, rolling his lower half into you with a deliberate pace that helps you inch closer to a release. It paints the back of your eyelids in slow strokes. The act of getting there is as beautiful as the release itself when it’s with someone like Wonwoo giving you such perfect bouts of pleasure.

This feeling, like Wonwoo, is addictive and addicting in the same instance. You think you could get used to this, and it’s not just the lust having its way with your mind. Having all of him like this, his days and nights, rain or shine, may just be possible with the way he pours his devotion into your body. You just have to give him the opportunity.

He kisses you with the strength of a thousand stars exploding at once, and that’s the moment you fall apart underneath him. You let yourself bask in the feeling of your orgasm. You clutch onto his shoulders tightly as your walls spasm around him, sucking him in for every drop of pleasure he has to give.

He spills into the condom soon after, his hips stuttering and his kisses stilling as he feels his body succumb to the same pleasure you felt a few moments ago. The look on his face is pure bliss, the laugh on his lips the softest sound to accompany the pitter patters of rain on the window.

He throws the latex away before nestling back into the bedsheets with you. His arms wrap around you like vines as you rest your head on his chest. It's a comfortable silence between you, no words needing to be said to express your feelings for him.

I know you could love me forever if I give you the chance to.

You feel his response in the slow fall of his heart rate and the small snores he emits in the crown of your hair. The softness of his being is all you need to fall asleep too, and you think it may just be worth it to let him in.

The moment you wake, you feel a wave of nausea creep through you. The thoughts that erupted in that rainy alleyway a handful of hours ago come back with a vengeance. They clutch your throat with a begrudging hand until water streams from your eyes, hitting Wonwoo’s pillows like bullets. You try to subdue the sobs that rack your body, terrified of waking the man sleeping next to you, but it proves to be a fruitless fear. He sleeps like a stone through it all, immovable and solid.

With weak limbs and a fuzzy mind, you unbind yourself from Wonwoo’s hold and collect your things when you get out of the bed. Every piece of your heart breaks, the glued pieces of porcelain cracking once again into a heap on the floor as you walk away and out of his apartment.

It could only last for so long, that peace he provided, and you feel foolish for thinking a few hours of pleasure could change the new reality you’ve come to grips with long ago.

What the fuck did I do? I shouldn’t have gone out with him again. I’m so stupid.

Driving home in the rain, you try to turn on the radio to something that will be loud enough to drown out the spiraling thoughts and the sounds of your sobs reverberating through your tiny car’s interior. With a cruel twist of luck, Billy Joel’s “Everybody Has A Dream,” blares through the speakers. The piano chords and Joel’s whistles are ones you could recognize anywhere, and it stops your brain from falling further down the hole you’re accustomed to.

It’s his song, the song you have barely gotten through a note of without bawling.

You stop your car in the center of the road, despite the light being green in front of you. Cars screech behind you and blare their horns, some even roll down their window in the soaked night to curse at you, but you don’t care. The entire world could burn down, and all you would hear is the keys of the piano signaling your send-off.

The rivers on your cheeks become floods, all-encompassing and combating the leftover parts of the storm raging on outside of your vehicle. It makes the veins in your head pulse like a bass drum, but there’s nothing else to do, even if the song’s faded out by now. The DJ’s voice fills the space, but you can barely hear him.

You hate your father; the realization strikes you like a penknife to the heart as you press your forehead into the steering wheel, knocking your knuckles into its center until your own horn screams back at you. You hate him for leaving you alone to pick up the shards he created by going away too soon, sooner than you were prepared for. How could he part from you with such a gaping hole left in your chest and no roadmap for how to fix it? Was it even possible to mend such a wound when its shape was present everywhere you looked?

You continue to sob, no grounding techniques or motivational words coming to mind as your heart restarts just to bleed out all over again. 

Some time after the funeral, a doctor told you grief often changes the chemistry of a person’s brain. It undergoes neuroplastic changes and leads to alterations in emotional regulation and cognition. It made sense, given the way you exploded on Chaewon two months ago in front of everyone in the office. And all of that, the choice to either take a mandatory leave or seek counseling, led to that ridiculous fucking support group. And all the moments you shared with Wonwoo since then.

Guilt bubbles up behind your anger until it overtakes it, the way you’ve been acting almost shameful. You don’t regret him, but you regret this tugging you’ve done with his emotions alongside your own. But what other options have you had at your disposal? You’ve been stumbling around in the dark for so long, the light is not something someone easily accustoms themselves to again.

And Wonwoo is a person who exudes a radiance unlike anyone else you’ve ever met. You can’t believe there’s a chance he can truly seep into the darkness you live with now and soak it up for you. Not without him taking on some of it himself. 

You decide when the tears come at a slower pace that you won’t let him; he’s worth more than that. And it might break what’s left of the fraction of hope you held onto when you met him, but you’re grateful he gave you something at the very least. It’s better than nothing.

“I still think about what it would be like to kill him, even if I know it wouldn’t solve anything.” Hongjoong grumbles, twiddling his pack of nicotine gum between his fingers. “In my dreams, I do. I do it before he has the chance to make it past my driveway. Before I forgot to watch her playing.” Hongjoong breaks into a fit of angry sobs, and it tugs at your heartstrings bitterly.

The police and cops ruled the death of Hongjoong’s five-year-old daughter vehicular manslaughter. The guy who committed the crime had been remorseful and received less time because of his allocution. According to Hongjoong, he forgave the stranger a long time ago, but you don’t think anyone blames him for the anger and resentment that still lingers.

“Do you think your wife or other children gain anything by continuing to harbor this anger?” Seungcheol asks with no judgement, just objective curiosity.

It strikes a nerve in you, so deep it pulls a response out of your lips before you can stop it. “That’s a fucked up question to ask.”

Suzy gasps, hiding the sound behind her coffee cup. Hongjoong looks surprised himself, but Seungcheol is pleased to hear your voice. He’s only ever tried to make small talk with you while he’s filled out your slips after every session, but you’ve never given him any room to work with. Until now. “Why do you say that?”

“Because…” you ponder the answer, the coherent reasoning jumbled amongst your impulsive thoughts. “It’s a bit unfair. Sure, maybe he’s not the same husband and father he used to be, but what does anyone expect? His oldest kid dies, and he’s supposed to shelve that for the sake of others?”

“Nobody’s asking that of him,” Seungcheol responds. “I asked if it serves anyone for him to hold onto negative emotions.”

“Whether it does or doesn’t, big fucking whoop. Grief doesn’t serve anyone with anything purposeful. It’s all bullshit pain we’re supposed to make better somehow in just the right amount of time or else. Otherwise, everyone has to tread around it like it’s a disease. It’s exhausting.”

You barely registered Wonwoo’s presence in the room, but his messy mop of waves concealed in a beanie adds a second layer of pain to your words. You’ve evaded his texts and calls for the past two days. Avoiding work yesterday didn’t help the way you thought it did, Wooyoung texting you profusely with secondhand messages you didn't want to be reminded of.

It was better this way. You repeated the words to yourself like a mantra when the first batch of Wonwoo’s messages appeared on your lock screen. But seeing him now, you know it was a lie.

Heartbreak, like grief, lacks a purpose beyond the demand to be felt.

Wonwoo clears his throat. He tries to pose the question to the entire group, but he stares so deeply into your eyes when he says it, everyone knows it’s only for your ears to cling to. “Have you ever considered that the reason you think it serves no purpose is because you don’t let anyone in to help you make sense of it?”

Your bottom lip quivers despite your urge to compress your feelings, the anger that was simmering in your stomach now at a rolling boil. You kick the chair from under your legs as you leave the circle, cursing the entire time. You hear Seungcheol request a ten-minute recess for the session, and you know without a doubt the walking slogan is following you.

You keep your focus on the brick wall of the bakery that shares a back alley with the church when Seungcheol finally makes it outside. “Don’t say—”

“I’m just out for a smoke. Was needing a break anyway.” Seungcheol flicks his lighter to life and has a cigarette between his lips in the next second. A huge plume of smoke leaves his lips, and the acrid smell of smoke hits your nose, but you don’t turn from it. He reaches into his pack and hands you one once he lights it.

You chuckle sadly as you weigh the cigarette between your fingers. “How did you know I used to smoke?”

“You suck in a breath when you get angry, and your hands shake like you’re going through withdrawal. That used to happen to me when I tried quitting the first time.”

You nod. “I haven’t really done it in a while. Haven’t had the energy to go buy anything besides frozen meals and water.”

The silence between you both is deafening. Seungcheol doesn’t pry, although that’s his very job, to help you face your emotions head-on, and you don’t elaborate on your points from earlier in the group session.

“My wife died five years ago,” he finally says. He flicks the cigarette at his feet, digging the ashes into the surrounding dirt with his foot. “Was a drunk driver on the way home coming back from a restaurant. I was driving.”

You try to respond, but no words come. The lining of your throat kills them all before they can leave you, like butterfly wings that never unfurl. He goes on amidst your silence. “It took a long time to realize it wasn’t my fault, just terrible timing.”

You turn to look at him, but he keeps his attention on the shops and sidewalks surrounding the church, cold air leaving his mouth in grey clouds. “I’m sorry,” you say, the two words with no serrated edges this time, the anger from your voice gone.

“‘S nothing for you to apologize for. You didn’t know, and I don’t talk about it all that much.” He gives you a knowing stare with the shrug of his shoulders, no bitterness in his expression as he explains without words that you’re more alike than you would’ve known. You can’t imagine the guy having a bitter bone in his body, even if he has reason to. “But that’s why I started this. Going on about it may not help all the time, but I can let some of it go when I know I’m not alone, even if that feeling only lasts for a minute.”

“Are you saying that I have to explain why I’m like this with everyone to feel better? That’s your nugget of wisdom?”

Seungcheol's eyes turn solemn, disappointed but not surprised at your rhetorical questions. “What I’m saying is that pain isn’t avoidable. You know that better than anyone by now. And locking yourself away clearly isn’t working.”

You fight back the tears passing through your eyelashes and puff again. “I don’t need your backdoor psychology, Choi. Even if you and everyone in that group has more than some idea of what I’m going through, it’s not the same.”

Seungcheol chuckles without humor as he hands you another cigarette, his fingertips lingering over your palm in a familial way. His touch is warm despite the winter weather, the contact a salve over the cracks that have formed in the past few days, and it makes you feel worse somehow. “Whether you push people away or not, your capacity to hurt isn’t going anywhere. Wasting time you’ll never get back by being alone does nobody any good, especially yourself.”

“I don’t do anything for anyone like this,” you respond, words breaking. Your hands shake as you take two more drags, smoke filling your lungs as the shadows continue looming. “I can’t give any parts of me when I don’t know what’s left to give at this point.”

“Speaking from my experiences with you—which I know are limited—I’d say you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Seungcheol plucks the cigarette from your hands once you make it to the end. “And I bet your little friend would say the same thing, if not more.”

Like the call of a siren song, Wonwoo comes through the back door of the church, a bit embarrassed to intrude, but relieved to find you before you left. It’s all over the sudden sag of his chest and the downturn of his eyes.

Seungcheol smirks to himself while he puts his pack back in his coat pocket. “Speaking of the devil, I’ll leave you to it.” He pats Wonwoo on the shoulder as he makes it to the door of the church. The closing of the back door punctuates the silence between you.

“Are you finally gonna talk to me?” Wonwoo asks, his voice teetering on desperation and indignation. He doesn’t want to be angry, you can tell, but it all comes out in the crinkle of his eyes and the line of his lips.

You don’t blame him, either. You’re the one who left him as soon as you woke up, no verbal or written explanation left behind to keep him from assuming the worst. “What do you expect me to say, Won? I don’t—”

“Don’t say you don’t know what I want from you. I’ve been clear about that since the first day we saw each other in this fucking church.” You’re taken back by him cursing, the act one you’ve not seen from him often, but he keeps going. “I want to help you. Whether that’s as your friend or something more, I can accept that. But what I can’t accept is you keeping up this act you’ve been putting on.”

“It’s not an act,” you say defensively. “It’s too hard to let anyone in. It may be hard for you to accept, but that’s the truth.”

“You need better practice at lying, sweetheart.” When your face crumbles with defeated confusion, Wonwoo goes on. “If it was so hard, you wouldn’t still have Wooyoung in your life. You wouldn’t have kicked my ass at pool, and you definitely would’ve done a better job at avoiding me. You may not want to admit it now, but you’re using your grief as an excuse to run away from feeling anything else.”

“You don’t know me,” you say, the words an echo that reaches through time with an entirely different meaning.

“I think I do.” His chest is barely an inch from yours, and before you know it, your lips join in a bruising kiss. It’s desperation from the days you spent without each other, almost stitching the time between that night you were in his bed and now together like a crochet tapestry. It’s yearning to be better than how you’ve been, to do better for the man who wants to teach you how to find happiness again.

Most importantly, it’s hope, unadulterated and unembroidered with the promises of what would’ve been. It’s only now, and that’s enough. It would always end this way, you think. Wonwoo holds you so close he may squeeze you into his coat to keep you from running away. A muddled cry escapes you before your lips connect again, your tears wetting the space between your mouths.

When you part, you think you may never let him go again, and this is the penance you’ll pay for the rest of your life for thinking you could ever handle being without him. “Where do we go from here?” you ask with glassy eyes, finding a glimmer of peace in the way Wonwoo holds you close to him with all the gentleness and love in the world.

“We heal.”

ONE MONTH LATER

None of the group members believe it when you offer to go first during the second to last session. You had half a mind to not to, promising Wonwoo you would share on the final meeting day so you wouldn’t have to suffer through another gathering with everyone knowing your story. Wonwoo only held you closer, stilling your trembling body with kisses to the crown of your head and his reassuring words whispered into your hair. “You’re stronger than anyone in that room, and it’s time you prove it.” You love him for that, among the plethora of a million other things, but that’s another conversation for another time and for only the two of you to share.

Suzy, Hongjoong, and the rest of the group follow you with understanding eyes, a response you used to dread. But now, you accept it just to get by. Seungcheol stares with immeasurable pride behind his eyes as you clear your throat.

“My dad passed away a year ago now,” you start, hands shaking but firm against the plastic coffee cup. “It was sudden, so sudden when the call came I didn’t believe it. I called the cop that told me about the accident a liar, like it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t happen to me, and not to him. Not yet, anyway.”

“You always think that you have more time to spend with someone, to tell them all the things you didn’t have the courage to say to them when they were still around. And that’s how I felt about him and our relationship, like I’d have a lot more moments to fix what I needed to for the two of us, and for myself. Maybe I never would’ve been ready, anyway, but—I couldn’t accept that all those chances, all those opportunities, were gone when he was, too. Most of the time, I still don’t. It doesn’t feel real, like it’s this thick fog I’m under that’ll eventually clear.

“And that’s why I’m here with you guys. And maybe talking about it now can help me to get through it the right way.”

You don’t look up from the floor as you continue, but Wonwoo’s hand on your thigh and Seungcheol’s leading questions ground you through it all. The tears flow, and the words leave your lips with all of their broken seams. Each thread of your heart unwinds, the experience equal parts freeing and devastating in the release.

Whoever the creator of the slogan from that third week of the support group is—Seungcheol, a random stranger, or a prophetic person who knows all too well the tragedy of grief itself—you’re growing to believe time can bend every sad emotion into something manageable, especially grief. And yes, you have yet to see what your own grief ultimately turns into, but you know you’ll take comfort in the fact you won’t be alone when that day comes.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @innocygnet @ghstzzn @xylatox @bambiihee @prkhaven @lunarlaina @jjunberry @frenchkisstheabyss @okiedokrie-main @chanranghaeys @brownbunnyb @lovetaroandtaemin @livelaughloveseventeen @aaa-sia

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 ── .✦ @kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @pirateeznet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺 𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺 © 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖢𝖧𝖶𝖤; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍.

[lorenlily]

REACTIONS, THOUGHTS?!?!?!?! what was your favorite scene because i NEED someone to freak out with

sparklez im so sorry for the late reply i had a really really bad yesterday but I'm gonna rewatch the episodes today because I loved them so much and LUKE oh my god I didn't expect to get so much of him in the second episod ebutbit makes sense because we're gonna have so much annabeth and grover during the quest! i think the whole set up is so good!! at first i didn't understand the fade to blacks but i think they line up really well as that post said about chapter endings (i would like them to be a little shorter tho)

I saw you liked the second episode more but I love how the first episode just lays the groundwork for percy and sally's relationship and just sets up that bond and his character arc up so well and I'd like to think of both episodes as the "premiere"

I love the look of camp so much, I think Chiron's CGI is a little out of place it seemed better in the movies (speaking of the movies i kinda wished we kept the this is a pen line) but speaking of new dialogue I AM SALLY JACKSONS SON 😭 that made me cheer so hard!! but the "i made a new friend" and he's taking about luke!! even the "she's my little sister" seriously he kinda stole the episodes for me a little but mostly because I've read the books and I'm just wired to think about the last olympian and the ending

I love aryan as grover and omg dior as clarisse!!! Seriously sea of monster is so underrated and I love that book maybe a little more than the lightning thief and I can't wait to see more of clarisse!

ANNABETH!!! she's perfect!! I can't wait to hear her say seaweed brain I need to hear Leah say seaweed brain!!! PERCY is also so perfect I just love how these kids have read the books and just know the characters and I really love how we're not shying away from percy's anger and disdain for the gods because it is on par with luke and I think especially reading everyone else's pov in hoo you really start to realise the difference of how everyone views percy

also I knew he was going to be but Jason absolutely killed it as Mr. D

I'm really intrigued for the next episode because it's medusa and it seems from interviews they're going for the interpretation of medusa being a rape victim so i wonder how they'll handle that and if they do have sally turn gabe to stone or not at the end of the series

literally I do feel like this shows going to be the thing that gets me through this next month and apparently we're getting a behind the scenes documentary at the end so that'll be fun

[gothamslostboy]

it’s a me luigi 🧍🏻

the song request i have told you about before i forget it because i will 100% forget it tomorrow morning

the song is

be nice to me by the front bottoms!

this is kinda what i was envisioning

the lost boys x male reader

this is platonic 🫶🫶

and it just basically goes with the lyrics timelinevyknow, because the timeline is going on about a friend who’s a killer and their bestie, and just how all that is going

i think, anyways here’s an example so i hopefully make more sense

so i feel like it would be such a good fic, where the reader realizes that his friends are vamps but he can’t completely hate them. like he realizes and it’s weighing in on him like boulders, he starts to crack because there’s barely nothing of him left yknow. the boys n him have a good friendship there are certain parts that ask a lot of him like only hanging out at night so he lacks some things, but he starts spiraling?

anyways idk if the example helps or not

but no worries if you don’t wanna do this i completely get it it’s a big ask 😭 i’d write it myself but writing is very hard broski 😞

take all the time you’d need for this 🫶🫶

A/N: This song is now stuck in my head and I couldn’t be happier about it. Ugh i love how your brain works this request is so good! The examples helped immensely, they helped me come up with a lot of my own ideas haha. I’ll probably make a part two of this w/ same Reader and Dwayne at some point. thank you feardot:]

Reforging A Family

The Lost Boys x Platonic Male Reader

PAUL MARKO Y/N DAVID

———————

Y/N? Paul takes a deep sigh and leans against the cave wall. Despite his frustration, he restrains himself lashing out at me. You can’t hide there forever. Please just talk to us bud. I curl myself further into the corner of the bed, back pressed tightly onto the headboard & the cool stone wall. I know I can’t, but the only time I’ve left this spot is a couple times during the day to use the restroom, but I don’t plan on getting up again any time soon. I can see his outline through the sheer curtains, just like I can also see another figure, I’m assuming Marko, coming up behind him.

The two whisper with one another, the new figure squeezes Paul’s shoulder before motioning for him to back away. Hey bud, I’ll be back in a second ok? He waits for a second, shoulders slumping in disappointment as he walks away.

Turns out I was right, it is Marko who gently lifts up the curtain, poking his head through with a soft smile

Um, do you mind if I sit on the bed Y/N? You don’t have to speak if you’re not ready, just shake your head no. He waits a second for my reaction, lips curling up a little wider as he sits. Alright, thank you. He clears his throat and moves his gaze to his fingers, tracing the patterns on one of the blankets. This is, uh, this is a lot better than earlier, my cheeks flush in embarrassment, remembering the crunching noise of Dwayne’s foot after I pushed a barrel on it.

We sit in silence for a moment, and I realize just how bad of a shape I’m in. My throat is hoarse from screaming, my stomach hurts for food and water, yet the worst thing is that I can still feel where David had grabbed my shoulder. I’m sure that it’s bruised, maybe even worse. I don’t know what I expected them to do when I tried to run, but I didn’t try it again. I bet that I look just as bad as I feel, it’s almost humorous how there’s very little left of me right now, I feel more like a husk of my former self.

We didn’t expect you to be here when we woke up, so thanks for staying. Marko looks at me again, but I have to look away. His grins no longer appear friendly, even though I know he’s trying to be. After what I saw last night, I doubt it ever will again. I can hear Marko clear his throat, and I almost feel bad for looking away when I hear his strained voice.

I know you think we’re monsters, but can you please look at me? You’re one of my best friends, I’d never hurt you, but it’s like your changing-

My head shoots up. You say I’m changing? Sorry, didn’t know I had to stay the same after watching Dwayne rip a guy’s neck open! I’m practically yelling, but I lost my voice hours ago and all that’s left is a whisper. He’s shocked at my voice, shrinking backwards a bit before opening his mouth again. Can we talk about this later? You voice is driving me, I feel myself becoming panicked again as I rush out the last part of my sentence, driving me insane!

I regret my words almost immediately, and fight the urge to apologize as Marko stands up and leaves, stopping with his back turned to me for only a second. Yeah, I’ll uh, Paul can bring you some food and water, I’ll get Chinese. He rushes off, leaving me alone for the first time since the boys have gotten up. I’m so tired, but is it safe enough to fall asleep? Maybe their just waiting till I’m most vulnerable, but I doubt they’d need the advantage.

No body’s gonna hurt you, get some rest! David’s voice comes from the other side of the cave, much more stern than his brothers voices have been. Can he tell what I’m thinking? Has he always been able to? How mu- Yes I can, don’t over think it right now. Sleep!

A tsunami’s worth of drowsiness washes over me, and I can’t help but listen to David’s orders as I spread out, legs aching from being held up to my chest for so long.

~~~

Do we wake him up? He hasn’t eaten or drank anything in almost 24 hours. I bet he’ll- speak of the devil, I open my eyes to see three of my friends? Do I still consider them that? I’m not sure where Dwayne is, but I can’t say I’d want to see him. I basically fly back against the headboard, letting out a yelp as I feel shooting pain down my back. Damn dude, that sounded like it hurt, Paul leans towards me but is stopped by David. He hurt himself trying to get away from us, now’s not a good time to reach for him man. He nods, standing back in his place between the other two.

Oh.

Alright, it’s time to talk Y/N. You freaked last night: understandable. But you didn’t leave during the day, does that mean you still wanna hang out with us? He raises his eyebrows as he waits for me to answer, rolling his eyes at my widened eyes.

Alright dude, give us something to work with here. He lays across the foot of the bed despite Marko’s hand reaching for him, and looks at me. How many times do we need to tell you Y/N, no one is going to hurt you. We like being your friends.

It’s true bud, he hesitates for a moment before sitting on the head of the bed, giving me as much room as he could. He holds out a water bottle and I take it, pouring half of it down my throat almost instantly. You’re like our brother now. You said it yourself! He smiles, proud that he’s regained the ability to be near me. You said we’re the closest thing to a family you’ve had since moving here, we care about you! He tries to pull me into a side hug, but I shove his arm back.

But you’re a killer! The boys are silent as my cheeks become stained with tears again, giving each other looks I’m too emotional to decipher. I choke out a number of half sobs, the boys waiting quietly before I continue, my voice quieter than before. And I’m your best friend…

Hoping he can feel my wordless apology, I lean on Paul’s shoulder. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me a little tighter. Ya know I think it’s unfair, my eyebrows furrow as I look at david, but Marko is the one to answer. Your situation.

We didn’t want to tell you what we are because we knew it’d scare you. A slightly dry chuckle leaves me. Great job on that dingus! The boys seem to relax, I know Paul did because I felt his shoulder move. Hey, there’s the Y/N we know and love!

So, we’re all good now right? Paul’s face turns in front of mine, and I can’t help but focus on his teeth. I, I mean, my head drops to my knees. I love you guys, but this is- I skim through my brain, trying to find a way to explain my thoughts. We lose ya man?

I look back up and notice that Marko’s now sitting across from Paul, David’s legs draped over him. I’m in my head. It’s like I try to write you poems but the words just don’t make sense. David chuckles, odd way to phrase it but I hear you.

I think he’s really trying to help, his eyes focused on the barrel from last night, still knocked to the side. Dwayne feels horrible, he never wanted you to see him kill, especially that, he moves his head around a bit, trying to think of the right word. Enthusiastically. He’s mortified of scaring you again, so he’s out trying to give you a little bit of space. But that dude deserved to die-

People can suck, but they’re still people. I should hate you guys. Should? That means you don’t right? So let’s just forget about this.

I sit up a little straighter again, a small “thump’ as my head make contact with the wall once again. There are certain things ask of me, like forgetting about the deaths of god knows how many, and there are certain things I lack.

So don’t forget. We all look at Marko. You know we kill to survive, but you can also know we kill bad people, the people who hurt everyone else. That’s not so bad right? We’re basically just the death penalty without the wait.

I genuinely laugh, everyone else joining in. I guess that’s better than killer.

Yeah man, it’s better. So, we can start over, regain some trust? He holds out his hand, I grab it and shake it. We can regain it slowly, I think.

— TAGS —

@britany1997 @g4ywastaken

[mushkasstuff]

CW: Drugs (🍃), Established relationship, fingering, hand job, makeout session, grinding

MDNI 18+

Being a stoner with Issei Matsukawa

Issei would have such a nice vibe to smoke with

If you're tripping he will make sure you're feeling okay but also poke fun at you

He'd be doing shit just to see your reactions, like putting on a show with a lot of color, or super chill music with a nice beat

He would let you mess with him as well

You could lean on him, ask him super personal questions even though he will just give a sarcastic answer

I imagine that I would come home from work and go shower, when I come back Issei has a bowl packed and has already started snoking so we can be at the same level when I start since I'm a lightweight

Also, I find that shit where you smoke and then blow the smoke into another persons mouth during a makeout hist asf I wanna do it so bad 😭

Issei would take a fat ass rip with you on his lap and then grab your chin and kiss you, he'd blow some of the smoke to you and you'd inhale and start kissing again

Stoned, hot, and steamy makeouts with Issei where you bith are too sedated to go much firther so it's just clothed griding 🤤

If he's in the mood he might finger you, don't get me started on his hand tho

Literally the hottest shit ever. His fingers are so much longer and thicker than yours and feel so fucking good.

He will find your g spot and press his palm against your clit as he massages thag spot

Man knows how to work it, he will have you cumming in minutes

He eould be hard as well though, you wouldn't wanna leave your mans hard now would you?

Issei is big. We all know the man is hung. He'll let you jerk him off :)

He likes hiw small your hand is compared to it and likesbto see you play with him.

He's infatuated with you just as much as you are with him

afterwards you guys would curl up in bed together with some chill music in the background and some snacks as you both settle down for the night

His head would be on your chest with arms wrapped around your waist as you both fall asleep together after a very relaxing night :)

Authors note: Asks are open for chatting and request!!