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airybcby · 14 hours ago

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જ⁀♡⊹｡° because i liked a boy

♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, fem! reader, could be gn but i wanted to be safe in case i missed a few pronouns, childhood friends to lovers, mention of social media hate, goes from 2nd grade to the U-20 game, nickname 'my girl' used once

♡ synopsis — You’d been Oliver Aiku's best friend since you could walk, but what if you wanted to be more?

Oliver Aiku had always been larger than life. Even as a scrappy little kid on the soccer field, he had this magnetic pull that made you look at him twice. It wasn’t just the way he played—wild and relentless, like the ball was an extension of himself—it was the way he owned the field, every inch of it.

He’d score a goal, throw his arms in the air, and spin to face the crowd as if he were already playing in a packed stadium. The parents on the sidelines clapped politely, some shaking their heads at his showboating, but you? You clapped the loudest.

Parents exchanged awkward glances, but none of it ever phased Oliver.

He had you.

You’d been his best friend since you could walk—your families were next-door neighbors, practically an extension of each other. Whenever someone had enough of his showboating, he’d turn to you with that unshakable grin.

“You saw that, right?” he’d call out, jogging over to where you sat with your knees pulled to your chest.

“Yeah, Oliver, I saw,” you’d reply, trying and failing to hide your smile.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he’d say, tousling your hair before running off to join his teammates.

Back then, he didn’t care who was watching or what anyone thought. It was enough that you were there, your laughter and cheers louder than everyone else’s combined.

By middle school, Oliver had grown taller, his voice deepening as his grin remained the same. He still played soccer like the world depended on it, but something else was changing, too.

Your classmates whispered in hallways about who liked who, notes were passed in class, and suddenly everyone seemed to be holding hands. Oliver wasn’t immune to the wave of adolescent curiosity, but unlike the others, he approached it with the same fearless energy he brought to the game.

He started dating casually, his charm drawing girls in like moths to a flame. Each week, there was a new name, a new story. You’d sit on your bedroom floor together, him tossing a soccer ball from hand to hand while you half-listened to his latest escapades.

“She dumped me,” he said one day, catching the ball and staring at it like it held the answers.

“Why?”

“She said I didn’t text her enough,” he replied with a shrug.

“Did you?”

“Nope.” He tossed the ball into the air and caught it again. “Too much effort.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway. It was impossible to stay annoyed with him for long, but something about these conversations left a knot in your chest. You weren’t sure why until the day he turned to you, his grin soft and sincere.

“Hey, if you’re feeling left out,” he said, “we could date.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest. “What?”

“I like you,” he said, as if it were obvious. “If you like me, let’s try. You’re the only person who actually gets me anyway.”

The words hung in the air between you, so simple yet so earth-shattering. You liked him—you always had—but the thought of crossing that line was terrifying. Still, the way he looked at you, so sure, made it impossible to say no.

But it didn’t take long for you to realize you weren’t ready. The idea of ruining what you had—the easy laughter, the shared history—was too much.

You barely managed to hold his hand, let alone anything else. So you broke it off before it could go any further.

Still, Oliver didn’t hold it against you. “You’re my best friend,” he’d said. “That’s never gonna change.”

And he kept his word. To this day, you were the only ex Oliver Aiku had ever stayed friends with.

By the time high school rolled around, Oliver was no longer just a neighborhood star. He was the Oliver Aiku, soccer prodigy and the center of every conversation. He’d grown into his confidence, wearing it like a second skin, and the world couldn’t look away.

Everyone wanted a piece of him—teammates, classmates, even teachers. And though he still found his way to your side, leaning against your locker or texting you late at night, the space between you began to grow.

“I miss when it was just us,” you admitted one afternoon, your voice barely louder than the hum of the vending machines outside the gym.

Oliver tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean? It’s still us.”

But it wasn’t. Not really.

You didn’t say that, though. Instead, you smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the ache of watching him move further into a world where you couldn’t quite follow.

You tried not to let it bother you, the way girls flocked to him in the hallways, the way his name was always on someone’s lips. You weren’t invisible, not really, but compared to him? It felt like you were.

Still, Oliver always made time for you. You were grateful for that.

“You’re the only one I can actually talk to,” he said, making it clear there's a reason it's always been you two. “Everyone else just wants to hear about soccer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe that’s because you never shut up about it.”

He grinned, nudging you playfully. “See? That’s why I like you. Low maintenance. A good friend.”

For some reason, the words stung. You’d always been friends—why did hearing him say it now hurt so much?

When Oliver got his first pro offer, it should have been the happiest day of his life.

He found you immediately after practice, bursting through the door of your part-time job at the library with his usual uncontainable energy.

“I’m taking you out,” he declared, practically dragging you away from the returns cart.

You laughed, stumbling after him. “Shouldn’t you be with your family? This is a huge deal!”

He shook his head, grinning. “I have all the time in the world with them,” he said, flashing you a grin. “I’d rather be with my girl.”

You froze. “I’m not your girl—”

He cut you off. “Do you want to be?”

The air shifted between you, heavy with something unspoken. This time, you didn’t back away.

The words lit something warm in your chest, and for the first time in years, it felt like things were back to the way they used to be. Just you and Oliver, like always.

Oliver’s first season was everything you’d hoped for him. His name was everywhere, his skills celebrated, his confidence unmatched. When the season ended, he posted a picture of the two of you on Instagram—a soft launch for some, but for Oliver, it was a declaration.

“First year down, forever to go,” the caption read.

Some assumed he was talking about soccer. You knew better.

But by his second season, the narrative had changed. His performance wasn’t as sharp, at least in the eyes of fans and reporters. Every missed pass, every fumbled play, was scrutinized. And somehow, the blame landed on you.

“She’s a distraction,” one reporter wrote. “He was better when he was single,” another said. “With that woman clinging to him, he won’t make it in this industry,” a coach even said during a press conference.

Your social media became a war zone. Strangers flooded your posts with hate, blaming you for Oliver’s supposed “decline.” You tried to ignore it, but the words stuck to your skin like thorns.

The U-20 loss was devastating, the kind of failure that sent shockwaves through his career and his psyche. When you found him in the locker room after the game, he was a shell of himself, his usual confidence replaced by simmering frustration.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” you said softly.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he snapped. “I should’ve listened,” he continued, his tone venomous. “Everyone warned me, but I was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t ruin my life.”

You'd fought before, what couple hadn't but, you ruining his life? "I've been friends with you basically your whole life!" you argued back, fists clutching at the 'Aiku' jersey that adorned your torso.

No matter what you said, Oliver wasn't listening. “You’ve been nothing but a distraction. Ever since we got together, everything’s gone to shit. My career, my focus—it’s all your fault.”

The words sliced through you, sharper than any knife. “Oliver, that’s not fair—”

“Fair?” He laughed again, harsh and hollow. “What’s fair is that I gave up everything for this, and I’m still losing. Maybe if I hadn’t wasted so much time with you, things would be different.”

Your breath caught, tears blurring your vision. “If that’s how you feel, then I should go.”

“Maybe you should,” he said, his voice cold and final.

So you left.

The weeks that followed were unbearable. You deleted your social media, unable to face the onslaught of strangers blaming you for Oliver’s mistakes. Everywhere you went, you felt like a ghost, haunted by his words and the memories of what you’d shared.

You wanted to hate him, to let his betrayal harden your heart, but the truth was, you missed him.

And deep down, you wondered if he missed you too.

the synopsis is awful so sorry if you jumped in not knowing what was gonna happen

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku #aiku x reader #oliver x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk #blue lock #airy writes for blue lock #blue lock oliver #blue lock oliver aiku #bllk oliver #bllk oliver aiku

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growthhyp · 1 day ago

Text

The Garage Sale VIII

Jack took a deep breath, his chest swelling with pride as he recounted the day of his graduation. "It was like walking on air, man," he said, his eyes glazed over with the memory. "I had this new confidence, like I could take on the world. And everyone noticed." He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "The girls, the guys, even the teachers." His eyes grew distant, reliving the moment. "But it was what I heard that really pissed me off…"Paul leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What did you hear?"

Jack's expression darkened, his handsome features twisting into a snarl of anger. "Someone had set the fire, man," he growled. "Someone had torched the house with the intention of destroying everything she had ever loved."

Paul felt a knot form in his stomach. "Who?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, the anger in them burning like molten steel. "Adam," he spat out the name like it was a curse. "Adam fucking Rogers. The biggest dick in school, and my neighbor."

Paul's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. "What happened between you two?"

The room grew hazy, the scent of the garage fading away as Jack's story painted a vivid picture in Paul's mind.

Jack was just 15, with a lanky, skinny frame that made him an easy target. He lived with the last family before Mrs. Castellanos took him in, and every day was a battle against the cruelty of the world. Adam Rogers, the neighbor from hell, made it his personal mission to make Jack's life a living nightmare. Adam is 18, a high school senior with a lean and muscular build, Adam's days were filled with football games and bullying the weaker kids. He had a smug smile that seemed to follow Jack wherever he went, a constant reminder of his own inadequacy.

One particularly brutal day, Jack had stumbled home from school, his books scattered on the ground and his glasses cracked, a souvenir from another encounter with Adam's fists. His clothes were torn and dirty, a testament to the struggle he faced just to get through the schoolyard. As he approached the house, he could see Adam leaning against the fence, his football helmet tucked under his arm, watching him with a sneer.

"Hey, faggot," Adam jeered, his voice cutting through the quiet of the suburban street. "Where's your boyfriend today?" The words were like a knife, twisting in Jack's gut.

Jack ignored him, picking up his books as quickly as he could, trying to keep his head down. But Adam wasn't the type to let his prey escape so easily. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over Jack, the smell of his sweat and grass from the football field heavy in the air.

"I said, where's your boyfriend, queer?" Adam sneered, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. He grabbed Jack's shoulder, spinning him around so they were face to face.

Jack flinched at the contact, his heart racing in his chest. "I don't have a boyfriend," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady.

Adam's sneer grew wider, his grip tightening. "Yeah, right," he spat. "You're just a sad little faggot with no friends." He pushed Jack hard, sending him stumbling backward.

Jack felt the familiar burn of tears in his eyes, but before he could respond, Mrs. Castellanos appeared, her eyes flashing with a fury that was terrifying to behold. She stepped in front of him, her small frame seemingly growing to fill the space between them.

"Adam," she said, her voice cold and even, "you will leave Jack alone from this day forward."

Adam's smug expression faltered, his eyes wide with surprise at the sudden appearance of the old woman. He took a step back, his grip on Jack's shoulder loosening.

"What the fuck, you old hag?" he spat.

But Mrs. Castellanos was undeterred. She raised her hand, and a pulse of energy rippled through the air. Adam's eyes rolled back in his head, his body going slack as he was enveloped in a warm, golden light. The air grew thick with the scent of jasmine and musk, the scent of change.

When the light receded, Adam staggered back, his expression one of confusion and fear. He looked down at his hands, as if expecting them to be different, but they remained the same. Yet, something within him had shifted, something fundamental.

The following weeks saw a stark change in Adam's behavior. The once boisterous and confident jock grew quieter, his swagger less pronounced. His eyes lingered longer on the muscular forms of his football teammates in the locker room, a hunger in his gaze that he didn't understand. He tried to push it away, to bury it beneath layers of denial, but it was like trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands.

One fateful day, after a particularly grueling practice, Adam stumbled into the gym showers, his body slick with sweat. The sight of his teammates' bare, muscular forms washed clean of the grime of the game was almost too much to bear. He couldn't help but watch them, his eyes lingering on the defined abs and powerful shoulders that had once filled him with jealousy and scorn. Now, they filled him with something else entirely, something that made his heart race and his cock twitch with need.

He tried to ignore it, to focus on the burning in his muscles and the cold spray of the water, but it was no use. Every time he caught a glimpse of a tight ass or a well-defined chest, he felt his resolve slipping away like sand through his fingers. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and denial, but his body had a will of its own.

Days turned into weeks, and the whispers grew louder. Adam found himself drawn to the very things he had once mocked, his eyes lingering on the muscular forms of his male classmates, his thoughts straying to the locker room and the showers that had become his personal hell. He tried to fight it, to prove to himself that he was still the same person, but every time he tried to be with a girl, his body betrayed him. His cock remained stubbornly limp, refusing to respond to the soft touches and sweet whispers that had once been his lifeblood.

College came and went, and with it, Adam's dreams of football stardom. Despite his relentless efforts in the gym, his body remained the same—no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how much he ate or how much he rested, he couldn't gain a single pound of muscle. It was as if the incantation had capped his growth, leaving him stuck in the limbo of his high school physique. His teammates, who had once looked up to him with envy, now pitied him. His performance on the field suffered, and it wasn't long before the coaches took notice. The same body that had once made him feel invincible now felt like a prison, keeping him from the one thing that had ever brought him true satisfaction.

The locker room had become a torture chamber for Adam. Every flex and grunt of his teammates echoed in his ears like a siren's call, his eyes drawn to their powerful forms despite his desperate attempts to ignore them. The smell of sweat and manliness was a constant reminder of what he had lost—his place in the hierarchy, his identity as the alpha male. He'd find himself getting lost in the sight of their nakedness, the water droplets on their broad backs and chiseled abs, the way the soapsuds clung to their muscular thighs. It was a silent battle, one that he waged with every fiber of his being.

During games, Adam's mind would drift to the locker room, his eyes straying to the jocks on the opposing team. He'd find himself getting hard at the most inopportune moments, his thoughts consumed by the desire to be like them, to feel their power. It didn't take long for his performance to suffer, for his fumbles and missed tackles to become a topic of whispers. His secret was a burden, a weight that grew heavier with every passing day.

In the gym, the smell of sweat and testosterone was a constant torment. He'd watch the other guys lift weights, their muscles bulging and flexing, and his cock would throb in his gym shorts, a traitor to his true desires. He tried to focus on his workout, his eyes glued to the floor or the mirror in front of him, but it was no use. The sight of their glistening skin, the sound of their grunts and groans, it all just served to drive him mad with need.

One by one, the team members started to avoid him. They could feel his eyes on them, see the hunger in his gaze. It was like a disease, spreading through the locker room, making everyone uncomfortable. The whispers grew louder, the jokes crueler. "What's up, Rogers?" they'd say with a sneer. "Still trying to get some action with the guys?" And he'd just laugh it off, pretending not to care, pretending to be the same guy he'd always been.

But he couldn't hide it forever. The day he was kicked out of the football team was like a knife in the gut. The coach had called him into his office, his face a mask of disappointment. "You're just not cutting it anymore, Rogers," he'd said, his voice heavy with accusation. "You've gotta get your head in the game." But Adam knew what he was really saying. He could see it in the glances he got from the other players, the way they looked at him differently now.

Adrift and alone, Adam found himself wandering the college campus, his eyes always drawn to the places that had been his sanctuary. The football field, the gym, the locker room. They were all tainted now, haunted by the ghosts of his former life. He'd sit on the bleachers, watching the other players practice, his heart heavy with regret and longing. He'd go to the gym, pump iron until he could barely move, trying to recapture that feeling of power and belonging. But it was always just out of reach, like a mirage in the desert of his own despair.

The day he was kicked out of the dorm was a low point. The other players had complained about his lack of focus, his erratic behavior. They didn't know about his secret, but they could feel the shift in the air. The room that had once been filled with the sounds of camaraderie and victory now felt like a cage, closing in on him. He packed his bags in silence, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a leaden blanket.

As he moved into his new dorm, Adam couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to him like a second skin. He'd been placed with a regular college student, Aaron, who was as muscular and confident as the men Adam had once envied. The room was small but well-kept, with one glaring exception—the other side of the bed was adorned with rainbow flags, stickers, and posters of shirtless men. Adam felt his stomach drop as he realized his roommate was openly gay, something he'd never had to confront before. He tried to push the thought away, but it was like trying to ignore a blinking neon sign.

Aaron walked in, his smile wide and welcoming. "Hey, I'm Aaron," he said, extending a hand. Adam took it, feeling the firm grip that spoke of strength and confidence, two things he'd lost. "I'm Adam," he mumbled, his eyes darting to the rainbow decor.

Days turned into weeks, and Adam did his best to ignore the growing attraction he felt toward Aaron. He'd catch himself watching his roommate as he moved around the room, his muscles rippling with every step. He'd tell himself it was just the envy of a man who'd lost his edge, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He tried to fill his time with study and work, burying himself in his schoolwork to avoid the inevitable. But every night, as he lay in bed, the sounds of Aaron's breathing seemed to call out to him. The soft rustle of the bed sheets, the occasional groan as Aaron shifted in his sleep, it was like a siren's song, drawing him closer to the truth he didn't want to face.

Adam took to wearing headphones while he jerked off, the sound of his own ragged breaths drowned out by the music. He'd scroll through his phone, his eyes lingering on the images of muscular men that he'd saved in a hidden album. The sight of their bulging biceps, the way their abs rippled as they moved, it was like a balm to his soul, soothing the raw ache that had taken up residence there. He'd touch himself, stroking his cock with a desperation that grew with every passing day. The pleasure was intense, a bright light in the darkness of his self-loathing.

But try as he might to ignore the truth, it had a way of finding him. One night, as he lay in bed, his hand wrapped around his shaft, he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. Panic shot through him, his heart racing as he realized Aaron was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and understanding. The headphones lay tangled on the pillow beside him, a silent testament to his secret.

Adam froze, his hand hovering over his erection. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, his eyes darting around the room for an escape. But there was nowhere to go. Aaron stepped closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with the musk of his arousal. "What's going on, man?" he asked, his voice gentle, yet laced with curiosity.

Adam swallowed hard, his heart racing. "It's… it's nothing," he stuttered, pulling the blanket over himself. "Just… a… a… personal thing."

Aaron's eyes searched his, a mix of concern and something else—desire. "Look, man," Aaron said softly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the pit of Adam's stomach, "I'm not gonna judge you. We all have our… preferences."

Adam felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he realized that Aaron knew. The fear of being outed, of being the subject of more whispers and jokes, dissipated like mist in the morning sun. "Thank you," he murmured, the words thick with relief.

Aaron nodded, his gaze never leaving Adam's face. "You don't have to thank me," he said, his voice still gentle. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

The months that followed were filled with an unspoken tension. They remained roommates, but their relationship remained a dance of avoidance and awkwardness. The occasional glances that lingered too long, the accidental brushes of skin as they passed in the hallway—each was a reminder of the night Adam had been caught with his hand in his pants, his eyes on Aaron's body.

===

Graduation approached, a beacon of light at the end of a tumultuous tunnel. The night of the celebration party, Adam found himself swimming in a sea of cheap beer and nostalgia. The music thumped in the background, a cacophony of laughter and chatter filling the air as he leaned against the wall, watching the bodies sway and mingle. Aaron was there too, a beer in his hand, his eyes occasionally meeting Adam's before darting away, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As the party grew wilder, the drinks grew stronger. Adam felt the warmth of the alcohol seep through his veins, loosening the tightly wound coil of his inhibitions. He stumbled through the crowd, the room spinning, and suddenly, there was Aaron, standing just a few feet away, his muscular frame outlined by the strobe lights. Without thinking, without planning, Adam leaned in, his lips brushing against Aaron's in a clumsy, desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world stopped spinning. Aaron's eyes widened in surprise, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in, kissing Adam back with a passion that made the room fade away. The taste of beer on Aaron's lips was unexpectedly sweet, and Adam felt a thrill of excitement run through him, his cock growing hard against his will.

The kiss grew deeper, their tongues dancing together in a silent symphony of need. Adam felt his body respond, his muscles tightening and his senses heightening. He was aware of every inch of Aaron's body, the feel of his strong arms around him, the press of his broad chest, the smell of his cologne, and the warmth of his breath on his skin.

Aaron's hand slid down to his crotch, and Adam's cock responded immediately, straining against his jeans. Aaron broke the kiss and dropped to his knees, pulling down Adam's pants with a surprising ease. Adam's mind screamed for him to stop, to remember who he was and what he stood for, but his body was beyond his control. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming to resist.

Aaron took it all, swallowing every drop with a look of satisfaction that made Adam's knees wobble. They stumbled back to their room, the music from the party a distant throb in their ears. The room was spinning, but Aaron's hand was firm in his, grounding him.

When they reached the door, Adam paused, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't know what to expect—his mind was a whirlwind of desire and doubt. But Aaron just gave him that knowing smile and pushed him inside, shutting the door behind them.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of the streetlamp outside the window. Aaron's eyes shone in the darkness, hungry and full of promise. Without a word, Adam found himself being pushed onto the bed, his legs spread wide. Aaron hovered over him, his own cock now rock-hard, a testament to his desire.

Adam felt a rush of anticipation as Aaron's hand found his cock, stroking it with a firm grip that sent shivers down his spine. He was lost in the moment, his thoughts consumed by the sensations that Aaron's touch brought forth. Aaron leaned in, his breath hot on Adam's ear, and whispered, "You like this, don't you?"

Adam couldn't find the words to respond, his mind a jumble of emotions. Instead, he could only nod, his body arching off the bed in silent plea. Aaron's hand was replaced by something wet and warm, and Adam realized with a start that Aaron was licking his cock, teasing the head with the tip of his tongue. A moan of pure pleasure escaped his lips, and he felt his body tense, the pressure building within him like a volcano ready to erupt.

With a low growl, Aaron took him in fully, his mouth a tight, wet heat that sent waves of sensation crashing over Adam. His hips bucked upward, and Aaron's hands held him firm, his fingers digging into the flesh of Adam's thighs. Adam could feel his climax building, his toes curling with every stroke of Aaron's tongue. It was too much, too intense, and he was powerless to resist.

Adam felt a sense of release, of letting go, as he gave in to the pleasure. He watched as Aaron's cheeks hollowed out, his eyes closed in concentration. Each suck and lick was a declaration of ownership, a silent promise of more to come. Adam's breath grew ragged, his eyes glazed with desire. He'd never felt so alive, so consumed by another person.

With a primal urgency, Adam rolled Aaron onto his back, the mattress protesting with a squeak. He didn't care who heard them anymore. All that mattered was the feeling of Aaron's body beneath his, the heat of his skin, the musky scent of his arousal. He positioned himself, the tip of his cock brushing against Aaron's eager hole. Aaron's eyes fluttered open, and he let out a low moan, his body begging for more.

Adam pushed in, inch by inch, watching as Aaron's expression shifted from pleasure to something deeper, something more profound. His own moan mingled with Aaron's, the sound echoing through the room. He'd never felt so alive, so in sync with another person. The friction was exquisite, the tightness of Aaron's body a perfect fit for his own.

Aaron's legs wrapped around his waist, urging him deeper, and Adam obliged, his hips moving in a rhythm that seemed as natural as breathing. He could feel Aaron's muscles clench around him, the warmth and wetness a drug that sent him spiraling into an abyss of pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he threw his head back, the sensation of Aaron's body enveloping him too much to handle.

Their bodies moved in unison, the sounds of their passion filling the small room. Adam's muscles tensed and released, the pleasure building with every thrust. Aaron's moans grew louder, his nails digging into Adam's back as he met each movement with an eager buck of his own hips. The mattress squeaked in protest, but they paid it no mind.

Adam felt the warmth of Aaron's body surrounding him, the tightness of his hole gripping him like a vice. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that sent his mind reeling. He could feel his orgasm building, a pressure that grew with each passing moment until it was all he could think about.

With a final, desperate thrust, Adam came, filling Aaron with his seed. He felt Aaron's body convulse beneath him, his moans turning into a keening cry of pleasure as he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing in Adam's hand. The release was so intense, it was like nothing else mattered. For a brief moment, the world outside their room ceased to exist.

The aftermath was a sticky mess of sweat and come, the air thick with the scent of their passion. Adam pulled out, his cock still hard and glistening, and collapsed onto the bed beside Aaron. His heart hammered in his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Aaron lay there, panting, his eyes still closed, a look of pure bliss etched on his face.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the sounds of their bodies calming from the storm of pleasure. Adam's hand found Aaron's, their fingers lacing together in a silent promise that went beyond words. He could feel Aaron's chest rise and fall with each breath, the heat of their bodies melding together. The world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of them in their cocoon of desire.

Exhaustion claimed them, and soon their eyes grew heavy with sleep. The weight of their bodies, the warmth of their skin, the scent of their shared passion—it was all too much to resist. They drifted off into a slumber filled with the echoes of their cries of ecstasy. The room was a sanctuary of intimacy, the only place where Adam could be free from the prison of his own making.

===

But morning has a cruel way of bringing reality crashing down. The harsh light of day streamed through the window, illuminating the rumpled sheets and the sticky mess of their encounter. Adam's eyes snapped open, and the memories of the night before came flooding back in a rush of panic. His heart raced as he stared at the ceiling, the guilt and anger rising in his chest like bile. He couldn't believe he'd let this happen, that he'd given in to the very desires he'd spent a lifetime running from.

Turning to Aaron, the sight of his peaceful, sleeping form sent a bolt of rage through him. How could Aaron just lay there, so at ease, when Adam felt like he was drowning? The need to lash out was overwhelming, a pressure that built and built until he could no longer contain it. With a roar, he brought his fist down on Aaron's shoulder, shaking him awake. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he spat, his voice thick with anger.

Aaron's eyes snapped open, confusion and fear clouding his features. "What the hell, man?" he croaked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. But before he could say more, Adam was on him, fists flying. Aiden staggered back, trying to defend himself, but Adam's fury was a force to be reckoned with. The room was a blur of limbs and grunts, the bed rocking violently with each blow.

The sound of their struggle grew louder, and soon it was punctuated by the thud of the door being thrown open. The room filled with the shocked faces of their dorm mates, all of them staring in disbelief. "What the fuck is going on in here?" one of them shouted, pushing through the crowd.

Adam's rage was a living entity, a beast that had taken over his body. He didn't care about the audience, didn't care about the consequences. All he knew was that Aaron had ruined him, had made him feel things that no man should ever have to feel. His fists connected with Aaron's face, the crack of bone echoing through the room.

But the pain in his knuckles did nothing to quell the anger boiling inside him. It only made it worse. He could see the fear in Aaron's eyes, could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his own chin. And yet, he couldn't stop.

It wasn't until the sound of sirens pierced the night that Adam's rage finally abated. The sight of flashing blue lights in the window was sobering, and the reality of his actions came crashing down upon him. He'd gone too far. He'd hurt Aaron—his roommate, the one person who had shown him kindness and acceptance in a world that had turned its back on him.

The room was a wreck, the bed a tangled mess of sheets and discarded clothes. Aaron lay on the floor, blood seeping from his nose and a bruise already forming around one eye. His once-handsome features were marred by the fury Adam had unleashed, and the look of pain and betrayal in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

Adam was breathing heavily, his own face a mask of disbelief and horror at what he'd done. The sirens grew louder, the flashing lights casting eerie shadows across the room. The panic set in as he realized the severity of his actions—his future, the one he'd fought so hard to maintain, was now in tatters.

The door burst open, and campus security spilled into the room, their eyes wide with shock at the scene before them. "What the hell is going on here?" one of them bellowed, and Adam felt his world collapse in on itself. He knew what was coming next: handcuffs, a trip to the station, and the end of his college career.

In the days that followed, the whispers grew louder, the stares more pointed. The story of the night had spread like wildfire, and Adam had become the college's poster boy for unbridled aggression. The administration had wasted no time in expelling him, citing his violent behavior and the severe damage he'd inflicted on Aaron as reasons enough to cut ties.

As the finality of his situation settled in, Adam found himself wandering the very campus that had once been his kingdom, now a ghostly reminder of all he'd lost. It was there, amidst the bustling crowd of students, that he saw Jack for the first time. The sight of Jack's lanky and skinny frame brought a flood of memories crashing back.

Jack, the quiet, unassuming guy he'd picked on so mercilessly. The way Mrs. Castellanos had stepped in, her eyes flashing with a power he hadn't understood. The feel of her hand on his forehead, the strange incantation that had sent his world spiraling. It was all connected, all a part of the same twisted web that had led him to this moment.

The security guards' grip on his arms was firm, their faces a blur of disapproval and disgust. They marched him through the halls, his feet dragging as he tried to catch one last glimpse of Jack.

===

Adam's life had become a tumultuous mess, a stark contrast to the days when he was the king of the football field. His muscles had atrophied from lack of use, his once-handsome features now marred by the harsh lines of anger and despair. His hair was unkempt, his clothes tattered, and the gleam of arrogance that once filled his eyes was replaced by a haunted look that spoke of dark thoughts and unspoken regrets.

He often found himself wandering the streets, his gaze lingering on the memories of the past that now felt like a distant dream. The frat houses that had once held wild parties now stood as silent judges of his fall from grace. The football field where he had been a legend now held only echoes of his name, whispered in hushed tones and met with sneers.

The hatred for Jack burned in him like an everlasting flame, a reminder of his own downfall. He watched from the shadows as Jack strutted through campus. The plan began to form, a dark and twisted plot to bring Jack crashing down from his throne. If Jack could rise so high, then it was only fair that Adam should be the one to tear him down.

Adam waited until the witching hour, when the neighborhood was shrouded in a cloak of silence. His heart raced as he approached the house, the shadows stretching out to embrace him like old friends. He'd studied the layout meticulously, knew where the spellbooks were kept—the very same ones that had turned his world upside down. The irony wasn't lost on him; he'd use their own weapons against them.

In the quiet of the night, he slipped in through an unlocked window, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The house smelled faintly of incense and something else—something ancient and powerful. It was the scent of magic.

Adam's rage fueled his steps as he made his way through the house, his eyes scanning the bookshelves for the telltale glow of enchanted tomes. He found them in a room that had clearly once been Mrs. Castellanos' sanctuary—a place where she had practiced her craft, surrounded by candles and mystical artifacts. The sight of the spellbooks sent a wave of anger through him. He'd show Jack what it felt like to lose everything.

With trembling hands, Adam pulled a lighter from his pocket, the flame flickering to life in the darkened room. He watched it dance for a moment before tossing it onto a pile of old curtains that had been left carelessly near a bookshelf. The fabric caught fire with a satisfying whoosh, and Adam felt a grim satisfaction as the flames began to spread, licking at the books and consuming them.

He didn't dare to stay and watch the destruction unfold. The heat was already intense, and the smoke was beginning to fill his lungs. He had to get out before the house was fully engulfed, before anyone could catch him. He turned and sprinted through the hallways, his eyes stinging and his throat raw from the acrid smoke. He could hear the crackling of the fire growing louder, the house's very bones groaning in protest as the inferno took hold.

The night air hit him like a slap in the face as he leaped out the window, the coldness a stark contrast to the searing heat he'd just left behind. He didn't stop running until he was a safe distance away, his chest heaving and his heart thundering in his ears. The sight of the flaming house in the rearview mirror was a grim triumph, a declaration of war against the one person who had dared to best him.

===

Years passed, and the whispers of Adam's fate grew fainter until he was nothing but a cautionary tale.

Jack's transformation had been nothing short of miraculous. His body, once lanky and unassuming, was now a sculpted masterpiece of muscle and might. It was a power that had come with a price—his mother's house reduced to ashes—but it was one he would never forget.

After graduation, Jack felt the weight of Mrs. Castellanos' legacy heavy on his shoulders. The white polo that he wore; gave him the power and knowledge. The power to read minds and hypnotize others was a heady mix, one that made him feel both invincible and utterly alone.

But there was one thing that gnawed at the back of his mind: the fire that had destroyed his family's home. It had been ruled an accident, a tragic case of faulty wiring, but Jack knew better. The flames had burned more than just wood and memories; they had set alight a rage that simmered in him, demanding justice.

Using his newfound abilities, Jack embarked on a quest for the truth. He searched the minds of those who had known Adam, feeling their thoughts like whispers in the wind. It took weeks of meticulous digging, but finally, the pieces fell into place. Adam's hatred had not been satiated by Jack's transformation. Instead, it had festered and grown, turning into a monstrous desire for revenge.

Jack found Adam's dilapidated house easily, the sadness and anger emanating from it like a palpable force. The once-proud football star was now a mere shadow of his former self, living in the squalor of a home that mirrored the decay of his soul. The house was a sad testament to the life Adam had let slip through his fingers—a stark contrast to the warm, welcoming abode Jack had known from his mother's care.

The door was chipped and peeling, a far cry from the pristine white it had been during their college days. With a heavy heart, Jack raised his fist and knocked, the sound echoing through the silent night. The wait was interminable, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, the door creaked open, and there stood Adam, his eyes bloodshot and his clothes stained with regret.

Adam squinted in the dim light, his eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar form before him. "What do you want?" he barked, the bitterness in his voice a stark reminder of the life he'd squandered.

Jack stepped forward, his body casting a long shadow across the threshold. The firelight from the streetlamps danced across the contours of his muscular frame, a silent testament to the power that now resided within him. "You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within the very bones of the house.

Adam squinted, his eyes widening as he took in the towering figure before him. The shock was palpable, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle. "Who the fuck are you?" he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Jack's smile was cold and calculated, the firelight from the street casting an eerie glow across his face. "I am Jack," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very foundations of the house. "The same Jack you picked on, the same Jack whose life you tried to ruin. Do you remember now?"

Adam stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the towering figure before him. The skinny kid he'd known had been replaced by a muscular behemoth, a man who seemed to be carved from granite. "Jack?" he whispered, his voice barely a croak.

Jack stepped into the light, the fire from the streetlamps playing over his powerful physique. "Yes, now you remember," he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to shake the very air. "And now you have to pay for what you've done."

Adam stumbled back, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sheer size of Jack. The kid he'd picked on and tormented was gone, replaced by a man who looked as though he could bench press a car. "Wait," he stammered, his voice shaking. "Let me apologize. I didn't know it would go this far."

Jack's smile was cold and hard, like chipped ice. "Your apology won't bring my mother back," he said, his eyes burning with a fury that could have melted the very fabric of the universe. "You had your chance to make amends, but you threw it away when you lit the match."

Adam's face crumpled, a mix of fear and desperation etching lines into his once-handsome features. "Please, Jack," he begged, his voice cracking. "I didn't know it would go that far. I didn't know she'd die."

Jack's gaze was like a laser, cutting through the lies and the years of anger that had built up between them. "It doesn't matter what you knew or didn't know," he said, his voice cold and hard. "What matters is that you did it, and now you're going to face the consequences."

Adam's eyes darted around the room, desperation coloring his cheeks. "You don't get it," he choked out, tears of frustration and fear welling in his eyes. "Maria changed me. She did something to me. She turned me into…this!"

Jack's eyes narrowed, his expression unyielding. "And what makes you think I care?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You made my life hell for years, and now you want pity? You're getting what you deserve."

He reached out, his hand glowing with an eerie light that seemed to pulse with the very essence of the enchanted necklace. "By the power of the enchantment my mother bestowed upon me," Jack intoned, his voice deep and resonant, "you shall be cursed to never regain your former strength or appeal unless you are fed the essence of muscular men."

Adam's horror grew with each word, his eyes widening until they threatened to pop out of their sockets. "Please," he whimpered, his voice a pathetic echo of the once-booming bellow that had ruled the locker room. "I'll do anything, just don't do this to me."

Jack's smile grew colder, his eyes darker. "You'll do anything?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Including sucking the cock of every muscular man you see?"

Adam's eyes widened further, his body trembling with horror at the very thought. But as the magic of Jack's words settled into his mind, the idea grew more appealing, his mouth watering at the thought of powerful men's essence filling him. "No, please," he whimpered, but his voice was already changing, his tone growing softer, more pleading.

Jack's grin grew wicked. "You're going to crave it," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "You're going to seek out the very men you used to despise and beg them to fill you with their strength."

Adam's mind rebelled at the thought, but his body was already responding. His mouth watered, his cock growing hard at the prospect of being dominated by the very men he'd once ruled. The magic of Jack's words wound its way through his mind, weaving a pattern of need and desire that he couldn't resist.

Jack stepped closer, his cock swelling in his pants as he felt the power of the enchantment pulsing through him. He reached out and grabbed Adam by the neck, his grip firm and unyielding. "You want this," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that seemed to resonate through Adam's very soul. "You want to serve, to be used, to be filled with the strength of others."

Adam's eyes grew glazed, his body responding to Jack's words as if they were a siren's call. He found himself nodding, unable to resist the strange, compelling urge that was building within him. "Please," he begged, his voice a whimper. "Just let me have it."

Jack's grin grew wider, his eyes glinting with the victory of his revenge. He stepped closer, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his thick, engorged cock. It was a weapon of power, a symbol of the strength he now wielded. "On your knees," he ordered, his voice a low command that brooked no argument.

Adam stumbled, his knees hitting the ground with a thud that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being. His hands trembled as they reached for the zipper of Jack's pants, his mind a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, and a strange, desperate need. As the zipper slid down, Jack's cock sprang free, a monument to the power that Adam had once taken for granted.

The sight of the thick, pulsing member was almost too much to bear. The very idea of taking it into his mouth made his stomach churn, but the need was stronger. He leaned forward, his lips parting as if of their own accord. "Thank you, Sir," he whispered, his voice a mere wisp of sound.

Jack's cock was hot and heavy, the veins pulsing with the power of the enchantment. Adam took it in his mouth, the taste salty and slightly sweet, a flavor that seemed to resonate with the very core of his being. His jaw stretched painfully around the girth, and he had to fight the urge to gag as Jack's cock hit the back of his throat. But he didn't dare stop; the need to please was too great.

Jack watched with a cruel smile, his eyes never leaving Adam's teary gaze as he began to thrust his hips, fucking Adam's face with a slow, deliberate rhythm that spoke of his absolute dominance. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down Adam's spine. "You're going to suck it like a good little bitch."

Adam's cheeks hollowed as he took more and more of Jack's cock into his mouth, his inexperience evident in the awkwardness of his movements. The taste of Jack's precum was bitter on his tongue, but the power of the enchantment made it into a sweet nectar that filled him with a desperate need to please. He sucked harder, eager to make Jack feel the same way he had felt when he'd been at the top of the social hierarchy.

Jack's moans grew louder, his grip on Adam's head tightening as he guided him in a rhythm that grew more and more demanding. Adam's eyes watered and his nose was buried in the thick bush of hair at the base of Jack's cock, but he didn't dare pull away. The feeling of Jack's cock sliding in and out of his mouth was both terrifying and exhilarating, and he found himself getting lost in the sensation despite his fear and revulsion.

Jack's voice was like a siren's song, guiding him through the act, praising him when he hit the right spots, urging him on when he faltered. "Yes, that's it," Jack growled, his hips thrusting into Adam's face. "Suck it, you little bitch. You're going to learn to love this, aren't you?"

Adam couldn't help but nod, his mouth full of cock. The words were a declaration of his new reality, a reality where he was no longer the one in charge, no longer the one calling the shots. His eyes watered and his throat ached, but he pushed through, driven by a force beyond his own control. The enchantment had twisted his desires, turning him into a creature of submission, eager to please the very men he had once looked down upon.

Jack's moans grew louder, his hips bucking in time with Adam's eager mouth. Each gagging sound only seemed to spur him on, his hand tightening in Adam's hair as he guided him with a firm grip. "Yeah," Jack breathed, his voice strained with pleasure. "You're learning, bitch. Just keep it up."

Adam felt the beginnings of Jack's climax in the pulsing of his cock, the taste of pre-cum growing stronger. He sucked harder, desperate to prove his worth in this twisted new world. He could feel the power of Jack's orgasm building, the very essence of the man's strength and vitality. It was a heady feeling, one that both terrified and excited him.

Jack's hips bucked, and he threw his head back, a primal roar escaping his throat as he reached his peak. Adam's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth full of Jack's thick, hot cum. He swallowed greedily, the warmth spread through his body, filling him with a sense of purpose that was both exhilarating and humiliating.

As he knelt there, his body began to change. His back arched, and muscles began to bulge beneath his shirt. His arms grew thick and powerful, the veins standing out in stark relief. His chest swelled, pushing his shirt tight against his newfound bulk. The transformation was as undeniable as it was unwelcome. He felt his legs thickening, the muscles straining against the fabric of his pants. He was no longer the pathetic, broken man he'd become—he was something else entirely.

Jack watched with a mix of fascination and horror as Adam's body morphed before his eyes. The power of the enchantment was undeniable, the very essence of his own strength flowing into the man who had once been his tormentor. "What is this?" Adam grunted, his voice now deeper and more animalistic. His cock grew in his pants, pushing against the fabric until it was painfully obvious.

Jack stepped back, his own cock still hard as he took in the sight. Adam was no longer the broken man he'd known; he was a creature of power, his body a testament to the dark magic that had claimed him. "You're becoming what you always wanted to be," Jack said, his voice cold and detached. "Strong, powerful, desired."

Adam's grunts grew louder, his body straining with the effort of his transformation. The fabric of his shirt tore away, revealing shoulders that looked carved from stone and biceps that bulged with newfound might. His jeans ripped at the seams, unable to contain the growth of his thighs and calves. He looked like a creature of the night, a monster born of anger and despair.

Jack's cum filled him. His body responded with an almost primal hunger, his cock thickening and lengthening until it was a massive, throbbing shaft that pointed accusingly at the heavens. The transformation was complete, and Adam was no longer the man he had once been.

With a final, guttural shout, Adam's cock erupted, a fountain of white-hot semen that shot through the air, painting the room in a shower of sticky, potent seed. It was a display of power and need that would have made any porn star envious. His body convulsed with the force of his orgasm, his new muscles rippling and flexing as he emptied himself onto the floor.

Jack stepped back, watching with a mix of satisfaction and revulsion as Adam's body went through its final stages of transformation. The room was thick with the scent of sex and power, a heady aroma that seemed to cling to the very air. Adam's eyes were glazed over with lust and desperation as he watched Jack's cock shrink back down to its normal size.

Finally, the spurts of cum ceased, and Adam's body went still. He looked down at himself, his new muscles flexing unconsciously as he took in his changed form. The once-shameful need to suck cock had become a strange, twisted form of euphoria, a high that only grew stronger as he inspected his body with trembling hands. The bulges and contours of his muscles were like a map of the power he'd stolen from Jack, a reminder of his newfound place in the world.

Jack watched him, his expression a mix of triumph and pity. "Remember," he said, his voice a low growl, "this body comes with a price. You've got a week before it starts to fade." He paused, allowing the reality of his words to sink in. "You'll need to find another muscular man to feed your hunger, to keep the enchantment strong."

Adam nodded, his voice a submissive whisper. "Thank you, Sir," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Jack's. "I'm sorry for everything. I never knew… I never knew what I was doing to you." His words were sincere, the weight of his new reality pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

Jack stepped back, his smirk never leaving his face as he took in the transformed man before him. He knew that Adam's life would never be the same, that every time he saw another muscular man, the need to serve would consume him. It was a fate he'd never wish on anyone, but for the man who had once made his life a living hell, it was poetic justice.

"Adam," Jack said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through the very air, "you will forget that I cursed you. You will think of this…quirk," he spat the word out with contempt, "as something that has always been a part of you, something you were born with."

Adam's eyes were still glazed over, his mind swimming with the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm and the magic that had transformed him. "Yes, sir," he murmured, his voice a soft caress that seemed to echo Jack's own dominance.

Jack nodded, the smirk still playing at the corner of his lips as he pulled up his pants and zipped them shut. He didn't bother to tuck in his shirt; the fabric clung to his muscular frame in a way that seemed almost obscene. With a final, dismissive glance at the kneeling figure before him, Jack turned and left the house. The door slammed shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the night.

The walk back to his own house was filled with a strange mix of anger and satisfaction. He'd taken his revenge, but it hadn't brought him the closure he'd hoped for. The house fire had been a tragedy, one that still haunted him in his dreams, but seeing Adam broken and begging for his power had been a small victory. It was a start, a taste of what was to come.

Jack had always been a man of action, and he knew that sitting around and moping wasn't going to change anything. So he turned his focus to his next move—his plan to help those who'd been bullied and mistreated. It was a mission that had been brewing in the back of his mind for years, and now that he had the power to make a difference, he was determined to see it through.

The garage sale was a stroke of genius, a covert operation that served as both a beacon of hope and a silent threat to those who didn't know better. He'd gathered an impressive collection of enchanted clothes, each one carefully chosen and imbued with a specific power. The magic was subtle, but oh so potent, capable of turning the tables on those who'd once wielded power over others.

Paul sat there, his pants sticky with cum, his thoughts racing. He couldn't believe the story he'd just witnessed, the transformation of a man from tormentor to victim, then to something more. He glanced over at Jack, the hulking figure who now looked at him with a knowing smirk. The vision had been intense, but the reality was even more so—he was still sitting in a foldable chair beside this behemoth of a man.

Jack's words hung in the air, a challenge and an offer all rolled into one. The idea of publishing this story was tantalizing, but the potential fallout was too much to consider. What if it got back to Jack? Would he be seen as a betrayer, someone who'd used his mother's legacy for personal gain? And what of Aiden and Abe? Their relationship was theirs to share, not fodder for the public's entertainment.

Paul took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he stood up from the chair, his legs feeling like jelly. The sticky evidence of his arousal was a stark reminder of the power of the story he'd just witnessed. He looked at Jack, whose smirk had grown wider, and he felt a strange mix of admiration and fear. "Thank you," he said, his voice shaky. "This… it's a lot to take in."

Jack nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's quite the tale," he admitted. "But it's one that needs to be told. Just remember," he added, his voice dropping to a low rumble, "what you choose to do with it is entirely up to you."

Paul felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he processed the implication. He knew that Jack's offer wasn't just about sharing a good story; it was about using the power of the enchanted garments to reshape lives. The thought was both exciting and terrifying. "I'll think about it," he managed to say, his voice sounding more confident than he felt.

Jack's smirk grew into a full-blown smile, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth. "You do that," he said, his eyes twinkling with a mischief that made Paul's heart race. "And remember, the clothes make the man." With that, he turned back to the garage sale, leaving Paul standing there, the story of Adam's transformation still echoing in his mind.

As he walked away, Paul couldn't help but glance back at the house. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, a silent reminder of the power that lay within those walls. He knew that Jack had just handed him a golden opportunity, but it came with a heavy burden. The enchanted garments had the potential to change lives, to right wrongs, but at what cost?

#muscle growth stories #jockification #jock tf #ai generated #male transformation #personality change #straight to gay #hypnotised

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luvhaos · 9 hours ago

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omg for the drabble game, “come back to bed” and dino !!

lee chan x reader 𖦹 word count: 927 2025 drabble dialogue game — open

content: frat boy! chan, angst, suggestive content

Chan almost wishes that Seungkwan hadn’t told him you were coming tonight.

The house is pulsing with the bass-boosted music Vernon plays from his DJ table and Soonyoung has set up the light system to flash different colors. Every room is filled to the brim with people, and they eventually had to start turning people away at the door with the exception of select friends.

He’s gulping down whatever concoction Mingyu handed him, only half-listening to whatever story his brothers are telling some girls as his eyes scan the crowd for the fifth time. He still doesn’t see you.

There’s a tap on his shoulder and he turns, hoping that it’s you. Instead, his shoulders drop when he sees that it’s someone else; he vaguely remembers her — Minji, he recalls — a girl he hooked up with earlier in the semester. She was cute and he was a little tipsy, so he went with her to her dorm when she offered. He’d left the next morning before the sun even rose.

She smiles at him, gazing at him with bright eyes. “Hi, Chan!”

“Hey,” he says half-heartedly. He moves his head back to stare out at the living room, straight at the door.

She shifts to move in front of him. “How have you been?”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call after, you know, that night…” She’s saying other things but Chan isn’t listening. He only tunes back in when Mingyu says his name, asking him to add onto the story about when Soonyoung and Jeonghan dared him to chug a whole bottle of fireball.

Chan laughs a little, “Yeah, my mouth was on fire by the end.”

It earns laughs from the group and Minji slaps his arm lightly, giggling too loudly. She touches his bicep and tells him, “Wow, I forgot how buff you are!”

“Been hitting the gym with Mingyu more,” he says and she opens her mouth to say something but Chan tunes her out, eyes widening. Even in the crush of bodies and the dim light, he zeroes in on you.

Your arm is looped through your friend, Yeri’s, and the flashing lights make the glitter on your eyelids sparkle. Seungkwan’s on your other side and you grin at something he says, which makes Chan’s heart flip and his stomach churn. He knows he’s being rude when he doesn’t excuse himself from the group, shrugging Minji’s hand off him but it’s almost trance-like — his draw toward you.

It takes five steps for Chan to be in front of you and he asks Yeri, “Mind if I steal your friend away?”

“By all means,” she says, nudging you with a smirk. You roll your eyes good-naturedly at her as Chan wraps an arm around your hips, bringing your back into his chest.

“Hello to you too,” you say. Your hands rest on top of his as the two of you move along with the rhythm of the song.

“Hi,” he replies with a grin, pecking your exposed shoulder. “I can’t believe you turned down my invite but accepted Seungkwan’s.”

“I told you I had a paper to finish. Seungkwan just had better timing since he checked again after I had just submitted it.”

“Excuse, excuses,” Chan mumbles, tucking his face into your neck. You always smell good, your perfume only enhancing your natural scent.

You spin around to face him, arms winding around his neck to pull him even closer. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he hums, leaning forward. His mouth finds yours easily and his grasp on you tightens. As his tongue slips into your mouth, your hands slide into his hair. He moans into the kiss as he feels you tug on some strands. When you break for air, his mouth follows yours and he barely even realizes it. Neither of you have to even say anything before he’s tugging you through the sea of people and up the stairs towards his room.

Chan flings the door open and slams it behind him. You back him up until he hits the bed and tumbles onto the mattress. You straddle him, dipping down to catch his lips with yours again. The two of you twist and writhe together until you’re both breathless and sated. Well, Chan doesn’t think he’ll ever be sated when it comes to you.

You fall asleep curled in his arms and Chan watches your chest rise and fall with breaths, gaze tracing the contours of your face. He wishes that he could preserve this moment like a fossil in amber, wishes that it could last forever.

When he wakes up the next morning, you’re already standing, searching for your clothes in his dark room. Normally, Chan would be glad that he didn’t have to drop hints to get someone to leave but his stomach plummets when he sees you getting dressed. He leans up on his elbows and murmurs, “Come back to bed.”

You laugh breathily, stepping into the jeans you wore and slipping your top back on. “Tempting but I have to go. I’m meeting someone for breakfast and I have to clean up and get ready.”

“Are you sure? You can shower here and I can drive you—”

As his eyes adjust to the dark room, he sees you smile a little. “You’re sweet, but I really have to go.”

He frowns when you put on your shoes and wave over your shoulder as you open his door. Then, you’re gone.

It’s just like every time before, and each time, his heart breaks a little more.

#seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #dino scenarios #dino imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #chan x reader

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melonlord98 · 2 days ago

Text

Love That Waits: Chapter 1 - Rhea

Summary:

"He had the type of smile that seemed to increase the light in a room when it reached his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes that seemed to become molten when he spoke fondly of something. Though she rarely saw him speak much at all since she met him. She was surprised at her own attentiveness in that moment. When the fuck had she started to notice Jey Uso?"

A character study of the romantic relationship between Rhea Ripley and Jey Uso, through their eyes and the eyes of the people who love them. Starting from Smackdown 2023 to the present day. Somewhat kayfabe compliant, but also putting my own little spin on the most interesting love story in the WWE Universe!

These chapters are all written in third person, so if that bothers you, I'm sorry 😢. The first two chapters will be exploring Rhea and Jey's emotional states as individuals, but from the third chapter onward, each chapter will be split between both of them equally. With bonus chapters from the perspectives of Damian Priest, Jimmy Uso, Sami Zayn, and many others as they watch the relationship between Jey and Rhea blossom.

I will warn everyone in advance. This story is the textbook definition of slow burn and it will also not be including explicit smut. If anything sexual happens between the characters, it'll be more of a "fade to black" type vibe.

I wanted to write this fic to explore how Rhea and Jey truly fell in love with each other as they navigate through their own individual traumas. And since this story begins around 2023, I will admit that Rhea and Jey are not in the best place emotionally early on. So, be warned, "Fluff" is tagged, but it's not coming for a while 🤣.

My hope is to have a new chapter uploaded every week on Wednesday. This is my first fic and I hope you all enjoy! Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

Btw, all the chapters will be posted on AO3 as well if you prefer to view it there 😊!

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April 18, 2023

The shrill chirp of her alarm was what woke her. She leaned back, her arm sliding away from the slim contour of Dom’s waist as she fumbled to grasp the device. Cursing as it nearly fell off the nightstand. Rhea grunted as she pulled her other arm free from under her lover’s head, narrowly managing to catch her phone as it forcefully separated from the charging chord. She flinched back at the brightness of the screen and stamped the alarm off before tossing it onto the armchair just beside the nightstand. Sitting up dully, her shoulders sagged at the weight of what she now acknowledged was a rapidly growing hangover. Her head ached and she hissed as a sharp thread of pain shot from between her eyebrows and spread to the base of her skull.

“Fucking, Damian.” She groaned, falling heavily back onto the pillows, with her forearm falling over her eyes. Somehow a room shielded by blackout curtains was still too bright. They had gone out the night before with the Bloodline to celebrate the beginning of their alliance. She wasn’t usually the most overzealous drinker. She typically left those duties to Damian and Dominik, but something about that night had just felt right and so she had indulged them. Fuck was that a mistake.

A throb, just barely there, began to pulse at the right corner of her forehead and she cursed again. She’d swear off drinking if it weren’t so damn numbing. The thought was interrupted, however, by the sharp snort from the man laying next to her. She laughed low in her throat, wincing as action went straight to her aching forehead. Dom was a rather enthusiastic sleeper with a likely undiagnosed case of sleep apnea. Any other person would have been rudely awakened throughout the night by the sheer volume of his snores, but Rhea, who lived in a constant state of bottomless fatigue, often slept with a deepness just on the cusp of death. A match made in heaven (or hell, perhaps some would say).

Turning onto her side, she reached out to stroke delicately at the hair cascading over his ear. She was amused at the state of him. His body was turned away from her, but his neck was tipped back rather awkwardly and his mouth seemed to follow, hanging out to the side as he continued to snore. Her eyes scanned him lazily, stopping occasionally to scrutinize the dark spots on his purple silk pajama top from the steady steam of saliva that dribbled off his lip. A man who sleeps as immaturely as he lives awake. Rhea shook her head fondly at the thought. Her fingers continuing to stroke her fingers absentmindedly through his hair as she fell face first into the usual cogitations.

Her mind drifted to the previous year, the thought of her new beginning. How she and Damian had betrayed Edge and welcomed Finn. There was always something about it that never sat right with her. They had done everything right. She believed that. Edge had never deserved their patronage and so they outgrew him. Yet, it still haunted her. Even as she, surrounded by her two closest friends, had looked down at her old mentor and laughed in his face, that look in his eyes had remained imprinted in her mind. Betrayal. One in what had become a disturbing pattern. Her mind flitted to Raquel, her first loss. Her partner that had chosen everyone else over her. And Liv, a dead weight she had needed to shed the way a snake sheds its old skin; reborn in new, more vibrant color. Friendships she had sacrificed to become better. She was in the right. Edge had reassured her in the beginning. Damian too. She had needed to be selfish. She deserved to be! She was right—

Dom suddenly shifted in his sleep and Rhea jerked her hand back in alarm. His body rolled back toward her, realigning with his head and he smacked his lips before settling back into his usual snores. Not yet awake. Rhea stared at him and she could feel that familiar coldness in her chest. She cowered away from it. Throwing her legs off the side of the bed and nearly falling over herself as she made her way into the bathroom.

The pulsing forehead spread back into her hairline and she sucked air sharply through her nose as she felt bile rising in her throat. She fought against it, knocking her knuckles against the carved marble of the bathroom sink. The bathroom went pitch black as the door slid shut behind her. She couldn’t see anything and yet she felt stripped naked. Her skin hot, yet damp from sweat. As if she had been laying on hot coals. It was always like this when she thought of them. The memory of her many lost friendships like a disease that clung to the darkest parts of her. Parts she had layered over with molten rock and steel. She had made herself a blade, to protect against the reminders of her own past heartbreaks. However, it was moments like these where she felt like a snake eating its own tail.

Edge had told her that to be warm and embrace comfort was weakness. You could never get too comfortable. He did. So she and Damian had showed him the fruits of his labor as they usurped him. Rocking back onto her heels, she flailed for the switch and nearly fell when the white light of the mirror hit her square in the face. Her eyes burned with it, but the pain of the headache had dulled. An old pain replaced with a new one. A cycle she knew well. She could sleep, but she never rested.

She was able to blink as her eyes slowly adjusted and she finally caught sight of herself in the mirror. As she looked on, she realized that the dampness she had felt on her cheeks had not been sweat but were tears. The wet onslaught had flowed past her chin, soaking the collar of her t-shirt with a pale layer of foundation she had forgotten to remove the night before in her drunken state. Rhea sighed before turning her eyes down and flipped on the sink. She watched curiously as the water pooled in the cup of her hands before shoving it across her face. Repeating the process a couple more times before placing her hands on the counter and leaning fully over the sink. The harsh gush of the faucet a welcome buffer to the never-ending whirring that went on in her head.

For a while, she just stood and breathed. The yelling chorus of voices in her head eventually came down to a more gentle stage whisper. This allowed her to move her attention to something much more important than her many past lives. She needed coffee! With two harsh pats to her cheeks, Rhea straightened her back and shed her clothes.

The chill of the hotel hallway could be felt even through the thick cotton of her hoodie as she made her way down to the lobby. This hotel was not as nice as the other ones they stayed at in the much larger cities. This hotel chain’s buildings were always old, but now haphazardly disguised with a new coat of a rather jarring orange and baby blue paint combo whose ugliness Damian often bitched about during his hangover-fueled breakfast rants. He was a surprisingly chipper alcoholic on the morning after a long night of indulgence. Grumpy, but eloquent. Rhea would typically call him in the mornings and they would eat breakfast as a duo, since Finn and Dominik was particularly unpleasant if not allowed to rise of their own accord. This morning, however, she didn’t feel that she had the patience to deal with what Rhea knew would be a good-natured parental lecture about how she “actively suppressed her negative feelings”. Followed closely by an accusation of taking it out on her boyfriend who was no where near as strong as she was. Damian could do it later, once Rhea had been filled with a minimum of three cups of heavily sweetened coffee.

She stopped in her tracks just as she turned the corner into the lobby at the sight of a familiar face (or back rather). Jey Uso’s silhouette was hard to miss and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t snuck a handful of curious peaks backstage. He had his back to her, his arms hung bare through the cropped sleeves of his shirt and she could see the slight curve at the bottom of his spine that peaked out from the slit in the equally cropped bottom of his t-shirt. Her eyes moved back to the tattooed contours of his arms, the intricate line work shifting and bending with every minute flex. Art in motion. Rhea was always one to appreciate the artistry of a good tattoo. She and Jey had chatted enthusiastically at the club the night before about their many tattoos, though much of the conversation now only existed in jumbled scraps throughout her memory. His face had been so bright then. He had the type of smile that seemed to increase the light in a room when it reached his eyes. Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes that seemed to become molten when he spoke fondly of something. Though she rarely saw him speak much at all since she met him. She was surprised at her own attentiveness in that moment. When the fuck had she started to notice Jey Uso?

Rhea thought back to all the months before. All the confrontations, but nothing really stood out until yesterday. She’d known of him, but she didn’t know him. Even now, in the infancy of this new alliance. Last night was the first time she’d actually spoken to him outside of provoking him to Super Kick her in the ring. She looked at him wholly now. The coffee long forgotten as she pondered him. Apparently, this was a morning of way too much thought. But she’d worry about that later. Something about him drew her in. Made her want to know more as she continued to watch him prepare his breakfast. Now, leaning lazily against the counter as he waited for a paper cup to fill with orange juice. Rhea pondered Jey Uso’s appearance. His hair, his skin, his tattoos, his build. Once again, she had to admit that he was nice to look at.

However, that was never what truly interested her about him. There was a heat to him. Something buried so deep, yet burned so bright that you could narrowly manage to avoid getting scorched by it. A longing for something that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to figure out without asking him herself; something she’d never even dream of doing.

Rhea was brought out of her contemplation by the stiff jerk of Jey’s hand as he thrust it into his pocket. She looked on as he glanced around warily before pulling a small pill orange bottle out of his pocket. He hastily popped the white cap and levied the a couple tabs into his palm before tossing his head back and quickly downing the contents of his cup to chase it. Prescriptions from the looks of it. Considering who he fell under, she wouldn’t be too surprised if it was anxiety medication.

Jey bowed his head as he swallowed, the muscles of his back tensing under the thin black layer of his t-shirt. But it was his hand that truly caught her eye. The one not gripping the pill bottle lay open. She could see the patchwork of callouses that decorated the weathered skin there. But to her surprise, his hand was shaking rather violently. From the tips of his fingers to the curve of his shoulder. His whole body taught and coiled like a snake, poised to strike at the first sign of a threat. As her eyes made their way about him, she came to the unnerving realization that his feet were no longer facing away from her and when her head snapped up she was met eye to eye with him. The swiftness with which Jey moved had been what startled her initially, but her focus quickly pivoted to his eyes. No, what hid behind them. Or rather what didn’t. There was nothing there. A calculated emptiness. They both remained anchored in place. She wasn’t afraid to move nor was she afraid of him, but something was keeping her there. Something was keeping him there. Looked in at the eyes, but neither spoke. What was there to say anyway? Any individual with a single modicum of intelligence would tell you that it would be ill-advised to speak to someone who looked you the way that Jey was now. Like an animal. If he had gun it would be drawn. The empty heat she had been pondering before was now looking right at her and she couldn’t look away–

“Hey, Rhea!” Rhea was embarrassed to think about the rather indignant noise she made at the sound of Damian’s voice that called from down the hallway. She whipped around. Her face set into a glower that deepened as she noticed the crooked-toothed smile Damian flashed back at her.

“Yo, take it easy. Did I scare you?” he teased, nudging her suggestively with his elbow as he came to stand next to her. She turned her head dramatically, her face pinched into a pout as she shoved him back.

“Fuck off, Priest.” Her voice dripping with an exasperated fondness that she only ever offered to him. He shrugged before pulling his loosely tied robe closer around him and crossing his arms over his chest. His face the picture of amused curiosity as he said, “I called out a couple times and you didn’t answer. So, I got creative.”

Rhea blew air at her bangs, snorting a laugh as she said, “By creative, you mean loud, right?” He shrugged again, then he glanced behind her. Seemingly looking for something that he couldn’t find. She followed his gaze over her shoulder and almost audibly sighed in relief when she noticed Jey was no longer standing there glaring at her.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” she questioned with feigned innocence. Damian did seem to clock it in his hungover state, but he just shook his head. “Nothing. You just seemed lost in something.” he said matter-of-factly.

“Nah, just staring off into space waiting for our usual appointed breakfast date.” Damian scoffed, but made no objection to her explanation, moving past her toward the breakfast spread where Jey had once stood. She could still almost envision the perfect silhouette of Jey as he had been just moments before. A ghostly visage with some kind of death reflected in his eyes. An emptiness she now realized felt so familiar, because it was one she shared within herself. A loss of something. Of someone. A loss of innocence that only your greatest love can cause. A loss she’d felt twice but had been remedied by the new family she had now. Maybe Jey could use a new family too. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought and Damian fixed her with a concerned look but made no moves to address it. She resumed her pondering. Jey was too loyal to be fooled out of leaving his family. An absurd thought on her part. Impossible at worst. Yet another thing she’d add to the long list she chose to worry about at a later time.

Or she was full of shit, because even as she made her plate and get several cups of coffee in her system (maybe there was a way to just inject it into her veins first thing in the morning instead. She’d have to do research on it.), her mind wandered back to Jey Uso. More alarmingly, Roman Reigns. A man she had yet to lay eyes on in-person yet loomed large over the union of the two factions. The deal had been made by him. Paul Heyman had just been the typical obedient messenger. When she considered it, Roman was largely responsible for the man that Rhea had narrowly avoided a confrontation with just minutes before. He had beaten Jey down so completely that he was left with only his instincts to guide him. A weapon Roman had sharpened to act as an extension of himself. Jey was no longer an individual, but a cog in the great machine that Roman Reigns had built his now vast empire out of.

Roman was a familiar shadow to her. Like her own mentor, who haunted her even now. Roman Reigns did not seem like the type who took kindly to betrayal. Those who grew brave enough to stand before him was put down expeditiously. It’s why the Judgment Day had agreed to the alliance. Why try and fight a god, just to lose everything, when he’s willing to make you kings? Their faction was still young and while they didn’t have much to lose, fear was enough. Perhaps Edge would be ashamed of them now. The man who thought he was bulletproof. The one who taught them to fear nothing, but he showed his weakness then. He made them too strong, too strong to need him and they took full advantage. They had felled the king who believed himself to be the same god that Roman was.

Still, maybe Roman’s time would be coming soon too. The tension radiated off all the members of the Bloodline in waves. Sami Zayn had opened a door inside a house that every believed to be forged shut with steel. A door no one had thought to check for. And answer to a question that she was sure none of the Bloodline had ever dared to ask.

But that was none of her business. What choices the Bloodline members chose to make didn’t matter to her. So long as they stayed out of her way.

#jey uso #rhea ripley #sami zayn #jimmy uso #naomi #damian priest #dominik mysterio #roman reigns #liv morgan #jhea fanfiction #jhea #wwe #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #finn balor #raquel rodriguez #jd mcdonagh #solo sikoa

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dawnstruck · 2 days ago

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The way it's looking right now, I will be posting the first chapter of my Vanco story (spin-off to Lean on Me) on Saturday already. Was planning to wait until the end of the month, but I have made so much headway, I will probably wrap up the whole thing over the weekend.

Thinking to do bi-monthly updates instead of weekly ones this time, to make things last a little longer. I'm so excited to share all the fluff and angst. 😁😁

Here's the summary already, as a bit of a teaser:

Vander adopts children left and right. Silco just happens to be his husband.

#arcane #vanco #zaundads #fanfic #my posts

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queenmuzz · 2 days ago

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WiP Wednesday: Another Link in the Chain

A Emmrich x Rook Angst story

It’s winter time, and Emmrich wants to go out, wants to skate the frozen river, wants to go out to play with friends. Twilight is fast approaching, but he doesn’t care. He’s eight years old, he doesn’t need his mother to go with him anymore, he’s a big boy, the dark doesn’t scare him anymore.

But he’s also a dutiful son, the only child of the Volkarin household, so when his mother tells him that he can only go out after supper, and that supper takes place only after his father returns home, he bites his tongue and completes his chores. Tend the fire, and set the table. The latter he does eagerly, the sooner his father could sit down to eat, the sooner he could go out. Hopefully his friends wouldn’t have wandered off in boredom, leaving him alone. He hated being left alone.

The former chore, keeping the hearth alight, was much less fun. It was the only thing that kept their creaky, drafty tenement house warm, but he had it drilled into him that he couldn’t just dump wood into it willy nilly, fuel was hard to come by, especially in the depths of winter. He had come to realize at an early age that his family could not afford simple things that others could. Yes, his belly was always full, and he would never lack for clothing, but he had noticed that his parents were thin, their clothing was patched and shabby. But they were happy together, with their matching set of wedding rings, the way they both told him he was destined for great things, and he could never deny that they loved him more than anything in the world.

And that’s why he did his best to use the least amount of fuel to keep the fire burning. He might not be able to bring in money, like his mother's cooking, but he could help by saving a copper or two.

The door opens, bringing a gust of cold air as the tall lanky figure of Rupert Volkarin comes in.

“Father!” He throws himself at the man who laughs, catches him and spins him around.

“How’s my little Emmi doin’?” He sets him down with an exaggerated groan. “Not so little now either, eh?”

“My name is Emmrich!” He pouts even as he still clings to him like a toddler. Unlike other Nevarran children, he has no repulsion of the scent that permeates the man’s clothing. Yes, had heard enough from the older kids at school, the insults about his father’s profession. He really didn’t care. Sure, his father was a butcher, but that didn’t make him any worse than any father. He was just doing what he had to survive. He remembers seeing a Dalish Caravan passing through the countryside, and the way they revered the forest and trees, and yet they chopped down trees when need called for it.

“Well ‘Emmrich’,” his mother’s stern, yet loving voice comes from behind. "Your father is tired, and probably wants to clean up before supper. Would you be a dear, and heat up some water in the kettle? Enough for the wash basin and to steep the tea?”

He nods as he runs over to the fireplace and shoves another log into the hearth, stoking the flames. His father walks over and embraces his mother, sweeping her in a tender kiss as they make their way up the narrow rickety stairs. He smiles at how much they adore each other. Some of his friends’ parents can’t seem to stand each other. Not his. They were so deeply in love, despite their humble situation. When he grows up, he’s going to find his special person. No matter what it takes.

He lugs the water to fill the kettle. It’s going to take a long time to heat it all up, and it’ll use up a lot of wood.

Emmrich thinks hard. He wants to go out with friends before bedtime, and he doesn’t want to use the precious fuel that his father and mother work so hard to afford. What if there was a way to…

His arm tingles, and he reaches towards the fire. He’s had dreams like this, urges to unlock something within him. That he could tap into the energies of his dreams, bring them to this world and create flames without using wood. He closes his eyes and tries to replicate the action he’s done while he slumbered.

Three things happen: An explosion of hot air, so powerful that it knocks him back across the room, into the wall.

The creak of the ceiling beam, always noisy on windy days, begins to shriek and crack..

And most alarming of all, a figure, cloaked and masked has suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The only distinguishing feature is piercing grey, almost silver eyes that are locked on him.

#dragon age the veilguard #veilguard spoilers #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #I love me a time travel story

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whumpitisthen · 2 days ago

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Limbo

Previous I Masterlist I Next

CWs: dissociation/derealisation [whumpee thinking they aren't really alive], mentioned torture, mentioned character death, a candid conversation about death with Death the jolly fellow himself, angel whumpee, deity whumper, religious themes, carewhumper, the poor boy has no idea what's coming the boy is not doing so well :/ if only there was someone who cared :pensive: ( <- actively making him worse)

“Am I dead?”

The angel looks far away, grey, foggy under his skin. He perches on the bed he was provided, in the lavish guest room he was given. It's an emperor-size bed; it makes him look little with his bruised-up legs hanging off the edge.

Sitting at the long dinner table, legs propped up as he leans back in his chair, Grim hums distractedly. — “Hm?”

“Am I dead?” — Auden repeats after a swallow of consideration, this time at least managing to sound like he wasn't just talking to himself.

The Reaper’s lips curl with a slow hum. He forgets about the pen he was twirling — always playing, always busying his hands with something. A pen, a blade, someone's hair. His hand pauses only briefly, then he continues spinning it between his fingers like he never stopped. — “Mm. It feels like that, doesn’t it.”

There is the sound of thunder, far away, but close enough that Auden can hear it rumble. The sound of his Fall. It scares him so much he can barely breathe. His hands dig into the heavenly soft sheets, feeling undeserving. A moment passes.

“Mori,” — he starts quietly, voice breaking, — “they um… I did not mean to, I really didn't, but I asked them how uh, h-how they got,” — he gestures vaguely in the direction of the intimidating double doors leading into the bedroom, — “...here.”

He feels so similar to how he felt on the day Grim brought him home. Weak and hazy, no particular colour to him. Just tired. Shaken, commanding about as much presence as a ghost.

“It was really stupid, I know. It would be insensitive to ask anyone that, right? Especially so out of the blue, like I did. But I did not m-mean it um, literally. I just thought — I thought they were so nice. So kind. They, I, I did not expect anyone here to be nice. Not to me. I-It surprised me.”

They never found out what he really meant. He meant it to be a compliment. They took it as an order. — “That is what I had meant,” — he tells the Mori in his memory, a small murmur, as if they could still hear him, still trying to explain himself.

“They had gone quiet, and I um, I told them they didn't have to t-tell me anything they didn't want to. I felt horrible. But I asked them, so they answered.”

Now Auden is the one going quiet. He doesn't know how to continue, or if he even wants to. His melancholic rambling isn't even fully directed at the Reaper. Grim’s interest has been piqued, however. — “And what did they tell you?”

Auden squirms, frowning. — “Not pleasant things.”

“Is that so,” — muses the deity, expecting this to be the end of the conversation. For a minute it was, but then the angel finds it in himself to continue.

“They told me they came close to dying, many times. They told me they did die, but not literally — that confused me a little, but I’m, uh, I think I am starting to get it.” — Stealing a glance at the Reaper, he sees a bit of humour glint in his vermilion eyes. He must know the story as well as Mori, though, unlike them, he clearly finds the tale a lot more amusing. — “They said they barely remembered who they were before… before you um, saved them.”

The way he is saying all this makes it seem like he has some sort of conundrum he must solve. Like every bit of information Mori had relayed to him is a puzzle piece. However, while it is fun hearing about how Mori remembers their meeting, Grim does not enjoy long roundabout tangents that go on forever. Setting aside the pen, he stretches, swinging those heavy boots off the table, and fixes Auden with a questioning look. — “This is a lovely retelling darling, but is there somewhere you are going with this? Or did you just feel like sharing with me something I already know?”

The thunderstorm flies ever closer. Static ruffles the feathers on Auden's wings. His shoulders hitch higher, hiding him.

“You saved Mori…”

“Mhm.”

“And you saved me, from the, the dragon lady.”

Grim laughs. — “I did.”

“S-So, since Mori was saved by you when they were dying, and I was saved when I was near death, and we both ended up here, here w-with, well, with you…” — he trails off, hesitant to finish his train of thought. It's like he can't even bring himself to say it.

Finally, Grim's expectant gaze forces the words to tumble out of his mouth anyway.

“I was wondering if maybe… I did die.”

The silence is so loud Auden doesn't even dare to look up, afraid that all he would find is a pitying, mocking grin. His guess at the Reaper's expression is not far off.

“Are you asking me?” — Grim asks belatedly. The fanged smile is clear enough in his voice.

“...Nothing really felt real since then,” — Auden finishes vaguely, weakly, eyes stuck to his own shaky hands clasped around each other in his lap. He feels silly, now. Saying it all aloud made it sound like it's either the most obvious or the most stupid assumption in the world. He can't tell which one it is from the Reaper's mood, but shame sears his cheeks nevertheless.

It takes another moment of cruel silence before he is granted a curious reply; — “Where do you suppose you are right now?”

Auden curls up a little more. — “Somewhere between alive and dead.”

Oh, the poor thing is lost, in more ways than just one.

Grim thinks for a minute, leaning his temple onto his fist. The angel's reality has been all but turned upside down, and now his mind is fracturing. Perhaps the shards could be built into something vastly different. His Lord does find moulding minds especially enjoyable, though such a process can be unfathomably delicate. Still, for now, the safest way forward may just be care and patience. The angel is confused enough as it is, and while hilarious, he doesn't want his lamb losing all touch with reality before meeting his new master. He will have a difficult enough time keeping track of what is real under his care anyway.

“Where do angels go when they die?” — he inquires instead, half interested in Auden's answer himself.

“They don't…”

Grim rolls his eyes. Of course. — “Where do Fallen go?”

“To Hell,” — Auden answers promptly, but then thinks further, and finds the answer insufficient. He doesn't really know what happens to Fallen Angels besides ‘eternal damnation’, since that is just a sentence, not reality. He just never thought to think further than that. Because Fallen can die. They do die, swiftly, once they reach here, once demons find them and tear them apart. — “But, but when they die… I am not sure.”

“Would you like to know?” — the Reaper asks with an easy smile.

Auden lifts his head, a little surprised to be offered to be let in on such secrets of life and death. Asking questions rarely lead to straight answers back up in his Heaven. Most of the time, he was met with disdainful expressions and waved off, told that these kinds of matters should not interest him, or, more humiliatingly, that he should already know the answer. Embarrassed, he learned not to ask questions, and only now is he starting to realise how much of his present knowledge is made up of his own assumptions.

To think he would be learning of death from Death himself — and for his silly question to be met with an unexpectedly straightforward desire to answer; no mocking, nor judgement, nor annoyance…

A small glimmer returns to his eyes as he looks to the deity intently. — “Yes please,” — he whispers, amazed, a little reverent.

The Reaper lifts a claw and beckons Auden over. The angel slides off the mattress and begins walking over obediently, only to stop in his tracks all of a sudden, hesitating.

“W-Wait, no, no I don't,” — he stutters, waving his hands out in front of him, seemingly swiftly having changed his mind. — “You don't have to, to show — I'll, I'm sorry…”

Grim is confused for a moment, not understanding the sudden reluctance, his outstretched hand sinking ever so slightly. Then, he chuckles, light as a cloud. He waves his hand dismissively. — “Oh, no, not like that. That did sound somewhat threatening, I will admit. No need to fear; you are a smart boy, you do not need such demonstration.”

Being beckoned to come closer by the Reaper after inquiring about what happens to Fallen when they die — Grim can't exactly fault the angel for hesitating. Nevertheless, with a small bit more encouragement, the nervous dove sulks up to him cautiously in the end, keeping his hands close in front of him.

“Choose one,” — the Reaper says, motioning to the jade porcelain vase filled to the brim with fresh roses set in the middle of the table. Auden saw so many bouquets arranged in large pots lining the hall as he was looking for a way out. He wonders just how much work it takes to keep every one of them filled and replenished in such a massive mansion.

Once he has made his choice — sliding free the flower that least upsets the balance of the rest as he takes it out — he looks to the Reaper. The Reaper picks one for himself and lifts it to his nose.

“When angels die, their souls float towards Heaven.” — He flips the rose downwards, letting it flop on the table. — “When demons die, their souls remain stuck here. And when Fallen die — ”

The radiant red petals are suddenly wilting, growing limp and dark, then dry and ugly in the Reaper's hand. Auden watches the healthy, beautiful flower rot, and then finally completely erode into black ashes, floating in the air like smoke after a wildfire, leaving nothing behind. Some sort of twisted awe leaves his mouth open and raises the hairs on the back of his neck in seeing the effects of Death's touch. Obliteration, destruction, extinction — with just a single touch…

He held that same hand from Miss Thu’lin’s palace all the way here.

“When Fallen die,” — Grim repeats as he rubs the pads of his fingers together to rid them of the flower's remains, — “their souls have nowhere left to go, so they disperse, just like that. Like a warm breath on a cold winter night.”

Auden clutches his own rose close to his chest, far, far from those deadly talons of shadow. — “Do they just… cease to exist? Permanently?”

The angel's wide eyes bring fondness to the Reaper's smile. He asks, instead of answering; — “do you think you exist?”

“...I don't know,” — Auden admits, a hushed whisper.

The fondness remains as he puts his hand out, scaring a flinch out of the angel. Auden goes to carefully place his rose into Death's hand, but he takes hold of Auden's wrist before he could, plucking it from him and returning it to the vase. He holds his hand gently, but firmly, feeling resistance. It's hard to tell the difference between his silver jewellery and icy skin.

“You are alive, my dear,” — assures Grim, making sure Auden hears him, looking directly into his eyes, — “you are here with me, and that should be all the evidence you need that you still exist as, if you didn't, I could never find you again.”

The young angel's lips quiver, his eyes growing misty, but he listens, and tries in earnest to believe those words. His eyes flicker down as the Reaper's thumb runs across the back of his hand. Back and forth, slow and gentle. Auden's face never crumbles fully, his tears silent as they flow.

Death's frigid kiss presses onto his knuckles like a curse, and the angel forgets to pull away.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpifi @sordayciega @a-miscellaneous-number-of-rats

Taglist (tagged in everything I write): @morning-star-whump @whumprince @a-living-canvas