#anyways the embed seems to work properly this time thank fuck

[nyagrounds]

COMMUNITY GARDENS - a purplegreen playlist

The Scary Jokes - Community Gardens

if there's something to be learned from all these LOSERS… / it's that the price that you pay / for arrogance and a false sense of immunity / is to face the wrath of a dying star

The Griswolds - If You Wanna Stay

there's these crowns upon my faith / to tell me something's about to change / won't be hard to be replaced / something better will take the place

Tyler, The Creator - I THINK

i don’t know where i’m going / but i know what i’m showing / feelings that’s what i’m pouring / what the fuck is your motive? / and i wish you would call me / by your name cause i’m sorry / this is not apology / you are such a distraction

Carly Rae Jepsen - Happy Not Knowing

i turn your love away / cause i want to sleep at night / it’s just like my broken heart is my alibi / i’m afraid afrad afraid afraid of knowing what i’m knowing what i’m knowing / i’m happy not knowing!

The Scary Jokes - Emotional Vagrant

but you're always finding new ways to feel defective / is your failure to connect just your way of protecting yourself? / when your attention starts to wear / you just can't bring yourself to care / but in time you're gonna find yourself / ensnared by your own self-absorption

Ricky Montgomery - Don’t Know How

i wanna be the one that makes you stay / i wanna be a name that you can’t say / i wanna do it but i don’t know, i don’t know how

Friday Pilots Club - End of It

so i say what i, what i always say like / is it what you want? is it what you need? is there  / something else you needed from me? / try to take a collar to a dog with no owner / tell him sit, lay down, roll over 

The Colourist - Little Games

oh we were comin' around / you threw me back down / you had my trust in your hands / you gave it up again

Billie Eilish - when the party’s over

tore my shirt to stop your bleeding / but nothing ever stops you leaving

The Scary Jokes - Friends With You

here's to you and me / and the crumbling infrastructure no one else can see / the end result of my own reckless impulsivity / could you spare a sec to talk to me 

Tyler, The Creator - ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

i can't stop you, i can't rock too, / i've been back there and i cannot die too / but i've got to know

My Chemical Romance - Famous Last Words

now i know / that i can’t make you stay / but where’s your heart? / but where’s your heart / but where’s your

Jenn Champion - Coming for You

you’re so tired of the world giving up on you / giving up, giving up, gi-giving up / and when you can’t stand i’ll be standing up for you

Paramore - Rose-Colored Boy

i want you to stop insisting that I'm not / a lost cause, 'cause i've been through a lot / really all i’ve got is just to stay pissed off / if it's all right by you

Two Door Cinema Club - What You Know

and i can tell just what you want / you don't want to be alone / you don't want to be alone

Carly Rae Jepsen - Roses

i’ve said it before / and i’ll say it again / that i’ll always be here / when you need a friend

Los Campesinos! - It Started With A Mixx

trying to find the perfect match between pretentious and pop / some crappy artwork that took way way too long to draw / handwritten track listing restarted every time the pen smudged / encoded title doesn’t give away as much as it should

The Scary Jokes - Sylvia’s Just A Dying Fad

sylvia, you say that the moon is your only friend / but she's a bitch and she don't listen when you cry / sylvia, my love, there is just so much i can do for you / after all, i'm just a friend

Frank Ocean - Thinkin Bout You

no i don’t like you i just thought you were cool enough to kick it / got a beach house i could sell you in idaho / since you think i don’t love you i just thought you were cute that’s why i kissed you

Miniature Tigers - Like or Like Like

i climbed up your front porch / and i doorbell ditched ya / and I felt so bad, couldn't cope to what i did / so i laughed myself sick all the way to my car

Milo Greene - Young at Heart

if we stay strong between the ears / then maybe we won't fuck this up / there's always heartbreak on the horizon / because words are not enough

Carly Rae Jepsen - Higher

took some time / a few mistakes, but / you came in and showed me how / never let me hit the ground / all the love was hesitating / but ever since you came around / i feel more than safe and sound

half • alive - TrusT

i have faith that the world i’m in / will be redeemed to its place again / but there’s a weight that i can’t explain / so tell me why i feel this way

The Scary Jokes - Wrath of the Termite King

how long will this follow you? / it's so bitter that it's lost control of you / and it thirsts for your destruction

Mitski - A Pearl

you’re growing tired of me / you love me so hard and i still can’t sleep / you’re growing tired of me / and all the things i don’t talk about

Florence + The Machine - I’m Not Calling You A Liar

and i love you so much / i’m gonna let you kill me

food house - 51129

you say you know me best, you know me best / let you sleep on that lie forever, go and get your rest / if that were true, if that were true / i wouldn't hide away from places not to talk to you

[formulinos]

Hyperfixation Corner | Review: Jacques VIlleneuve's Private Paradise

as a little celebration for my incredible mark of 300 followers, i wanted to do a very neat, very special hyperfixation corner! but since we're running on so little time and i'm very slowly doing my research for what i actually want to devote a long time, i decided to dive in the strange little world of jacques villeneuve for this small review of his 2007 cultural reset album "private paradise". i honestly am stunned. if you enjoy music, don't click in the jump after the cut tbh. but hey, you know you are curious to hear more about it!

(what the fuck! 300 followers!!!! thank you all SO VERY MUCH)

First of all, it's important to highlight that as much as this album SOUNDS as if it was done in 48 hours, it wasn't. Jacques started composing songs seriously (but as a hobby) in 1996, when he got into F1 (according to himself). He also took to himself to learn the piano in 97, so you know, he showed some affinity to music. In fact, as practically all three album reviews at the time will tell you, Seville Villeneuve was a piano teacher - hopefully not like Isabelle Huppert in that film - and taught it to Gilles, who also knew how to play the trumpet, very well if I say so. I'm gonna embed a video of it straight away because it's how I want to waste tumblr's one video rule:

Very nice. Anyway, his son Jacques started properly composing around 2000, taking five more years to decide to record some of those during Christmas. The madlad actually liked what he heard and, to be honest, driving for Sauber, he had enough time to devote himself to make a full LP. He got his sister, he got a bunch of friends, and he did 13 songs that I will never be able to forget in my life. After realeasing his first promo single "Accepterais-Tu ?"during the 2006 Canadian Grand Prix weekend (more on that later), Private Paradise was released to the world, and I'm sure that the 233 copies that were sold were very well enjoyed!

note: honestly, although it's pretty clear by now this is not a good one, i would like to put out a disclaimer that my own taste in music sucks. i'm not like The Other Girls, i listen to indie music, like arctic monkeys XD i also didn't get Sour, i'm honestly not proud of it because olivia rodrigo seems very dedicated to her aesthetic and her work and i wish i could enjoy it but it's not my type. basically, don't take music refs from me and don't believe that bc i didn't like it it means that if you did your taste in music suck. also tag your taylor swift i'm tired of everytime she releases a song you guys find a way to make graphics and parallels w her songs. 

Track 1 - Foolin’ Around: The second the album started playing and I heard the claps, snakes started manifesting in my house. It's never a good sign when a song starts with the beat in a folk rock album, and the guilar strums confirmed it. It's... derivative, it's incredibly generic, the lyrics are as deep as when I tried to learn bass guitar when I was 13 because I wanted to start a band after I listened to "A Hard Day's Night". But here's the thing, I knew when to stop, and this song didn't. It goes for too long, and the decision to repeat the WHOLE FUCKING THING after changing the pitch and a weird ass guitar solo is horrid. TBH all the songs in this are weirdly long, the whole album clocks at 54 min. Jacques would legit have benefitted from the Streaming pattern nowadays of 2 min 30 secs songs. 

Track 2 - You Are: He thought he ate with his vocals here, he really did and it's even heartbreaking. If Foolin' Around shows he doesn't know where to stop, You Are is the first evidence he didn't even know where to start (singing lessons). As always, the lyrics aren't deep at all, but it doesn't even matter bc it's kinda entertaining to hear him feel himself over his long notes. He struggles so much they had to resort to backing vocals in the same volume as the main ones... Absolute highlight to me!

Track 3 - Father: OK, they got me on this one. In fact, Melanie Villeneuve is the MVP of this album. As the title says, this is the Gilles Tribute Song, and to be fair, lovely. Melanie's voice is incredible, she conveys the emotion perfectly and hey, I'm not gonna slag off Jacques for not singing as well with his sister when you know, once you read the song lyrics, you can tell it's equal parts trying to honour and love their dad while also kind of dealing with the feelings of resentment for him not being there and for sometimes racing too hard and having to share their own grief with the legends of F1 fans who lost an idol. Fair play. I miss Gilles.

"It's a very important song. It's the only personal song on the album. I don't write personal stuff and I don't want to sing personal stuff either, but this one, because it's with my sister, I'm quite happy doing it."

Melanie singing 'Father' in the album launch, February 2007.

Track 4 - Tout Dire: Thankfully, Melanie's on-track involvement ends in Father and I can talk shit about Jacques in peace again. This one is iconic, tbh, he served it here. The whole gist of it is how some girl hurt routinely his feelings and he can’t act the same way as if nothing happened anymore. I think that his voice works better in French - barely but at least this song is more complex than the other two and feels less dated, or maybe French just matches the old people vibes of this album.

Track 5 - The Ones:  HONESTLY! FOR FUCK'S SAKE! This album is such a flop that there isn't a digitalised booklet anywhere and I almost considered buying a copy so that I could get more info on who else was involved in making this, but no one is selling this in here. If there isn't a single listing of your album in Brazil, you flopped. Anyway, the woman singing in this is Ely Breton and you need to put some respeck in her name because she sang for Cirque du Soleil's Delirium spectacle short after this. Lovely gal. Hate the song.

Ely killing the competition, same album launch in February 2007. There was literally one presentation of this ever and I beg them to #ReleaseTheVilleneuveCut

Track 6 - Accepterais-Tu ?: Jacques really listened to this once and said "I ended everyone's careers. This will be my lead single" and he thought it would be a good idea to release it BEFORE THE CANADIAN GRAND PRIX. This is where he lost the battle to Kubica, sincerely, if I was a backup driver I'd clown Jacques too. BMW Sauber probably talked to him after the German GP like "bruh honestly you can't come back. It's not because you're driving lazily and crashing the car all the time, it's because your song is complete wank". Even Steve Rider and Mark Blundell take the piss of him in this pre-race feature.

About the song itself: the thing about his French songs being more complex absolutely bites him back in the ass when he overdoes it. It's catchy, but in a way you wish brain bleach was a real thing and to make matters worse, he struggles SO hard with his vocals. If this was an IRL marriage proposal it would become a r/relationship_advice post in 2 months time.

Track 7 - Why Did You Come ?: IDK either dude. Again, it took me forever to find who is the milf singing in this with him and after quite a bit of googling, it seems to be Amélie Veille, who has a nice career it seems. Stream one of her songs instead. This one is completely forgettable and I got so tired looking for Amélie I forgot to write how I feel about it.

Yes. February 2007.

Track 8 - Vaguement: This is so dramatic and pointless... I don’t get the violins.. the Spanish Guitar vibes... the weird ass music video.... the way it's so long but then when it ends you’re like “what? now???"........ who did this.... electric chair...... my behated.....

Track 9 - Lullaby: I don’t know what overtook me, probably the hatred for Vaguement, but this one… was not so bad. Honestly, this wasn’t as much of a chore and it even gave space for some theorising because if you listen to it (and you are totally in the right not to), it sounds more of an adieu to F1 than a standard love song. Might also be quarantine brain but I feel like I’m realising things here and Mr. Villeneuve lied when he said Father was the only personal song in this album. All good work he did here was thrown out the window when he struggle vocals during the guitar breakdown and I found myself thinking of the superior Lullaby by The Cure. 

Track 10 - Private Paradise: 

It’s the title song and it absolutely fucks. Why lie for the tl? At this point I might have borderline Stockholm Syndrome but really, he looked camp in the eye and it looked back and they didn’t mind. He made an effort, it was cheesy and he embraced it. Let him have his little Coldplay moment! If there were more songs like this the album would have been more torelable. I absolutely hate how much I enjoyed this one

Track 11 - Étrangers: He bottled it but I am still under the effect of Private Paradise so I don’t even mind it. Again, another voice of an uncredited woman and unlike the other three, I can’t confirm nor deny who it is. I saw one single link that credited it to both Jacques and his half-sister Jessica (who if my math isn’t off was around 13-14 when they recorded it, such a prodigy!) but I failed to find anything on song credit databases.

Track 12 - Women Come Women Go: We get it Jacques you are sexist. I swear I laughed OUT loud at how he tried to rhyme “women” with “one man” KDJJSJSJJS PLEASEEEEEEEE not when the women featured throughout this mess didn’t save your day! Fuck off!!!!!

Track 13 - Mother Earth: FULL CIRCLE! THIS IS AS BAD AS THE FIRST SONG! If Lewis and Seb heard this ode to snow (Canadian or Swiss? It matters less than you think!) they would give up on all environment causes. Pair this with the Incel Manifest we just listened to and we can call it a Certified Jacques Moment. He’s so crazyyyyy I love him XD Oh, and the choir did their best!

Overall, I’m gonna grade this a 4/10 because I love Gilles. Basically, a 10 to all the women in this and a complete zero to Jacques. HOWEVER, I do have to cheer him on for the absolute balls it took to record this seriously and pursue his hobbies and while it does suck, again, I don’t think I would be able to do any better. Plus, it wasn’t just Jacques who went wrong here… several people listened to this and thought it was good enough to release it. Blame them equally!!! I think that if he did a sophmore album today, he would be better equipped. Good luck Jacques, don’t give up on your dreams and ignore the haters! To the rest of you lovely people that support me, thanks a lot and see you hopefully sooner than it seems! Screw you guys, I'm going home :D

[tehrevving]

Stop and Stall What’s Safe

When a stray bullet ricochets, Dante doesn't know how to save you. With a last ditch effort, he remembers how the bruises on your skin used to heal after sex, and just prays that it works.

Dante x Reader (Reader is neutral but can get pregnant), Gunshot wounds, Angst, Masturbation.

I had a little bit to drink, and was in mood. So this is like, angst but with a crack premise.

I don't know what to say about this apart from that Reader gets shot, Dante doesn't know what to do and ejaculates on the wound to try and heal it. That's it, That's the premise. Enjoy lol.

Dante’s heart is still racing, even though it’s been hours. You’ve been asleep on his chest for a while now and even though you’re breathing and warm and alive, his head just won’t stop spinning. It had been his fault. He’d almost lost you because he was too fucking stupid to think about the consequences of his own actions. He was terrified, lost in his own thoughts with no idea how to go about not making the same mistake again.

He’d never liked involving you in his line of work, even though of course sometimes he didn’t have a choice. It’s not like he could always keep his lives separate. Dangerous creatures often decided to try and invade his home that he shared with you, though luckily they never seemed to attack while he was away. They would always wait for him to appear before they made their move, he was never sure why, but he was thankful for it. 

In general though, in a fight, you knew what to do. You would hang back, away from the battle, arming yourself with one of the numerous weapons that were stored underneath his desk, or under your desk, or behind some of the artwork. So when a bunch of low tier fucking assholes decided to disturb the peace today, it had all gone according to plan. To start with anyway. 

He’d been fighting them, dispatching the weak ones easily. They were never a match for him anyway, but especially not when he was showing off for his mate. It had been easy, he hadn’t been concerned, or worried at all, until a Chaos had sauntered its way into the office. 

Dante knew that they were fast, far faster than you as a plain old human would be able to handle. So he’d focused his attention on it, trusting you to dispatch any of the small fry if they managed to get close. He’d tried the usual strategy, shoot to stun, and then tear it limb from limb once those sharp spikes were no longer a factor. 

He’d never had to consider the enclosed space before though, while fighting something so fast, so high powered. He’d aimed properly, got it in his sights right in between the eyes. He’d waited until he’d thought the timing had been perfect, but even though he liked to think so, Dante wasn’t perfect. 

He hadn’t been able to anticipate the way that the creature had moved, the way that it had shifted slightly and thrown his marksmanship off. That the piece of shit would shift slightly, throw off his aim, that the thing would start rolling, moving its spines so fast that no bullet would have a hope of reaching it. He never expected the angle at which his bullet would ricochet off it’s shining carapace at full speed. Dante never fucking anticpated that any devil hell bent on destroying him would be smart enough to deflect his weapons straight into your god damn body. 

He’d watched it happen in slow motion, the bullet deflect and start to turn in your direction. He’d seen your eyes widen, but he’d not been fast enough to do anything. Dante had watched as you crumpled to the floor as his stray bullet hit you, he’d watched it part your flesh, and embed itself deep within your abdomen. 

Fuck, he’d been overtaken by an all consuming rage, he’d never felt anything like it before. It was like he wasn’t himself anymore, like his subconscious was moving without permission from his physical body. The entire world around him slowed down as he lost control. He wouldn’t have been able to recall exactly what he had done if you’d asked him, but every single damn devil in the building had been destroyed by his hand within an instant. 

The Chaos was the last to go down, the ultimate subject of his rage. He moved faster than it could react to, his claws ripping it to absolute shreds. It didn’t even get a chance to shriek before it hit the ground, dead, and his entire focus shifted to you.

Dante was by your side seconds after you’d taken his deflected bullet, surrounded by the shrieks of dying devils around him. He grabbed your body before you hit the ground, lying you down carefully onto your back. You had looked up at him, with shock and horror and fear in your eyes, before immediately pressing your hand to the blood pouring from your abdomen. He’d expected to see disgust, or hatred, because he was the one that did this to you, but instead, you’d just been terrified. 

He hadn’t known what to do, he’d just panicked, his entire mind wiped blank. You’d started speaking, throwing him out of the haze that had threatened to overwhelm all of his senses. “Bandage,” you’d said to him, snapping him out of his stupor. “Dante. Pressure on the wound.”

So he had torn the shirt he was wearing to pieces, the fabric didn’t matter in the slightest. He’d ripped the material from his front, wrapping it around his hand. He didn’t know how much pressure to use, how much pressure humans needed, so when he pressed the fabric against your slick abdomen, it didn’t seem to do anymore. 

“Harder,” you’d barked at him, and so he pressed down with the sort of pressure that might have bruised you on a normal day. He didn’t know what to do, he could feel your blood pouring out from the wound, even through the layer of fabric bound around his palm. 

You were surprisingly calm, or maybe you were just in shock. He didn’t know how being in shock felt, or what this much pain might actually feel like. He could be cut in half and recover from it a trace of a scar of course, do he had no frame of reference. “Is it bad?” you had asked him, and he hadn’t known how to reply. 

“Did it hit any organs? I can’t feel anything,” you’d asked him, and in the moment he had ignored the way that a small amount of blood had bubbled up from your throat to your lips while you’d spoken, but now that it’s all over, he can’t help but imagine the whole fucking thing in vivid detail.

He’d tried to think. He knows when his own organs are compromised, it’s a slightly different feeling, but as he’d looked down at you, he’d realised he doesn’t know how to map his own experiences to your body. You’re so much smaller than he is, and you have more organs in your abdomen than he does, don’t you? “I don’t know,” is what he finally manages to say, because he doesn’t know how else to respond. 

“Call an ambulance,” is what you’d said next, but as he’d looked around the shop, and at the carnage his own enraged demon had caused, he knew there was no way anyone would be able to get to you. 

“I can’t. Fuck. I can carry you. I can fly,” he’d said, panicked, desperate. He’d tried to move you, but you had screamed in pain, a sound that he’d never heard before, a sound that tore him in half all the way down to his soul. He’d immediately put you back down, but even then, your screaming hadn’t stopped. 

His entire hand had been wet, your blood welling up around his crappy shirt. He was going to lose you, because he didn’t fucking know human first aid, because he hadn’t fucking thought about his actions and shot a firearm in an enclosed space, against something that could easily deflect bullets at insane speeds. “What do I do?” he’d asked you desperately, but you hadn’t replied. You’d been in shock, and Dante doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how pale your face was. He’d started crying and he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t known what to do. 

“I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.” He’d been distraught. He knows the basics, but not how to save you. The pitiful fabric of his shirt had been dyed completely red, and he knows it’s not absorbing your blood anymore, there’s just too much of it. 

He’d pulled his hand away, just to get a look at your wound. It had been bad. The blood wasn’t stopping, and he could see your insides, his bullets are much more powerful than a normal calibre, even a ricochet. He’d willed himself to think as he’d felt your breathing start to slow, and felt your life starting to drift away. Fuck. He wasn’t going to let that happen. 

His brain for some reason, had decided to fixate on when you’re first gotten together. When he hadn’t been able to control himself, and he’d left bruises on your skin. He’d noticed the bruises, felt guilty about them, but then suddenly they’d started disappearing once the two of you had decided to become exclusive, and stopped using condoms, and started pulling out and spilling himself on your belly instead. He remembered the bruises returning though, once you’d confirmed that birth control would still work on his half devil spunk, and he stopped pulling out. 

It had been stupid, and a fucking long shot. But he hadn’t known what else to do, and your lips had been turning blue right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t know how the fuck he’d planned to manage it, but as he’d pressed down on your abdomen with slick fingers, he’d started struggling to undo his fly with the other. 

It had felt wrong, so fucking wrong, as he’d pulled out his cock. He hadn’t been hard, but there had been no other options. He’d started stroking himself, and of course nothing had happened, arousal had been the last damn thing that his panicked mind was expecting. 

He couldn’t keep looking at you, watching the life drain from your face. He’d shut his eyes, imagined you teasing and encouraging him. He’d imagined the way you would bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes while egging him on.  

It had started to work eventually, but he was so worried it wasn’t fast enough. His dick had started to rise and for the first time in his life, as a virile and overeager half devil, he’d wondered if he could ejaculate at half mast.

He’d pulled out all the fucking stops, because he hadn’t known what else to do. He’d pressed down on your wound with one hand, trying to block out the feeling of your heartbeat starting to slow while he stroked himself.

He’d twisted his hand on the tip of his dick, stroking loosely and then putting pressure on the base, before moving back up. Of course he knows how to get off, but it’s completely different under pressure. 

It had been a struggle, but the longer that he had kept his eyes closed and pretended, the easier that it had gotten. It had become easier to convince his penis that this wasn’t a life or death situation, that he was just casually jerking off and not using it as a last ditch attempt to save your life. 

He’d gotten there eventually, though all of his progress had almost been ruined when he had to lift his sticky palm from your flesh. The wet sound had broken his heart. He hated the way that he could hear your laboured breathing start to bubble up from your lungs when he released the pressure. 

He’d just hoped that this would fucking work. 

Dante had taken his dick in hand, lined himself up, and with a terribly reluctant moan, shot his seed all over your wound. He’d tried his best to hold back tears as he watched the white settle over the red staining your skin, watching with bated breath, wishing for anything to happen. 

He’d been able to see it right in front of his damn eyes, that his cum was slowly disappearing, sinking into your wound and reducing the amount of red. He’d watched as the bleeding had gradually stopped, and as your skin began to knit itself back together. 

He’d waited with baited breath, watching as every trace of what had just happened disappeared from your skin, within moments there wasn’t even a scar on your abdomen. The only evidence remaining being your blood staining your skin, and his hands and the floor, and the tears streaming down his face. 

He’d pulled you to his chest, begging for you to wake up, wiping his eyes on your hair. The office had been a disgrace, was still a disgrace. There was blood everywhere, sticky stains from where he’d ripped the damn devils apart, and of course your own life essence, staining the floorboards by his desk. 

Eventually you had stirred though, eyes disorientated and unfocused. You had been in no state to do anything for yourself, but he didn’t care. He’d carried you against his chest, washed the blood off of your now healed skin, and off his own and then gotten you into bed. 

You’d been exhausted and incoherent, immediately curling up against his chest and falling asleep, but his mind couldn’t stop racing. He’d been so fucking close to losing you and he hadn’t even known what to do to give you a fighting chance. 

His last ditch effort had been disgusting, even though it had worked, and he’s horrified with himself. Repulsed by the fact that he’d even considered it, but horrified by the fact that he’d actually been able to get off to you dying. It makes him reconsider everything. 

Dante knows that he won’t sleep at all tonight, but that’s okay. He had to watch over you, and make sure that you don’t stop breathing, that nothing else happens to you. He cries again, his face pressed to the pillow to try and muffle the sounds so that he doesn’t wake you. He vows that he’s going to be better, that he’s going to learn how to save your goddamn life next time, no matter what it takes, and that he’s not going to let anything like this happen again.

[writerpeach]

Peach

Twice Momo

1629 words

Categories: male reader, smut, anal

NSFW 18+

You awaken abruptly, startled by a loud noise going off across the street as you look around your hotel suite, Momo nowhere to be found. 

You're not worried as her and her group are constantly busy, but the lack of her touch leaves you cold and sorrowful. You pick up your phone to look at the time, it shows 7:00 am. You were still tired, but without her warmth around you it wouldn’t be easy to fall back asleep anyways. You pull the sheets off, slowly rising and try to shake the cobwebs off.

Feeling slightly frustrated, you get up to go wash your face, eyes still glossy with sleepiness as you find an unfamiliar bottle sitting on the counter with a pink sticky note attached.

You pick up the note and read it first, it’s written in Momo’s very pretty handwriting with her cute signature drawing at the bottom.

“Sorry I left without saying goodbye babe! You looked so peaceful sleeping so I didn’t want to disturb you. I have schedules early today and most of the afternoon, but I left you a special gift we can use later tonight. <3”

You pick up a small bottle with clear liquid inside, the label has Japanese characters you still have trouble reading, but you manage to make out the words “300ml Anal Lubricant”.

Jesus fucking Christ Hirai Momo.

The two of you had never really talked about the idea of partaking in anal sex before, Momo wasn’t against it but it was something that she never really brought up. She had mentioned having it before, but didn’t really talk about her former partners, nor did you, it was something that didn’t seem very important to either of you.

You wash up and get dressed, still shocked at the idea of Momo wanting anal. You put on a hoodie as you head out to find some breakfast. It was a little early for most places to be open, but you find a quaint hole in the wall place closeby that serves American breakfast.

You can barely focus on your scrambled eggs, your imagination runs wild as you think of all the sinful things Momo wants you to do to her later.

It’s almost 6:00 pm and the sun is going down, you’ve run out of things to do by yourself. You think about going to a cafe to catch up on some work, but you’re honest with yourself and you know nothing will get done with the thought of Momo on your mind.

You return to your hotel room and lay on the bed watching some Japanese music show with artists you weren’t really familiar with, as your phone lights up and buzzes.

>MM: I’m on my way to your hotel, but i’m stuck in traffic :>( I’ll be there within an hour hopefully. You better be ready to take me <3

Ninety minutes later a satisfying click comes from the door, and in walks the gorgeous Hirai Momo, wearing tight jean shorts, and a tucked white and grey striped sleeveless tank, her back almost completely exposed.

“Wow, you look fucking great.”

“Thank you,” Momo says blushing. “It took fucking forever to get here because there was some kind of weird festival going on.”

“Did you like your gift?”

“Of course. I-” You sat there speechless, not really knowing what to say.

“You don’t have to say anything, you can thank me later,” she says with an ear to ear grin.

“Let’s just do this. I need to blow off some steam after this long day.”

Momo quickly strips her top off and unhooks her bra, revealing her big and round perky breasts, dropping her clothes to the floor. Turning her back to you, she slowly peels her shorts and underwear in front of you, giving you a show while revealing her perfectly curved and toned ass and a glimpse of her glimmering pussy.

Momo climbs onto the bed next to you completely nude and whispers softly in your ear.

“Come fuck my ass.”

A tidal wave of equal anticipation and nervousness surges over you, as you strip off your clothes rapidly as if they were on fire.  

You take a few moments to bask in the sight of Momo bent over the pillows, still not entirely sure this was happening. You inch up behind Momo who's in front of the thick black headboard, ready to take all of you in.

Squeezing the bottle of lube with a squish sound, you pour a generous amount onto your dick, rubbing it in to make sure you’re completely coated. You squeeze a dab of lube on your middle finger, pressing it inside her asshole and prepping her by fingering her lightly, as you tried to ready her for what was ahead. She gives out a slight moan, enjoying your touch inside her most intimate area.

She looks behind her with a reassuring look on her face. “Don’t worry about hurting me, I’ll be fine.”

Grabbing your slick cock with one hand, you bring it to her asshole, gently pushing the tip inside and watching as her ass slowly swallows your head.

Momo cries out briefly. You ask if she’s okay and she gives a quick nod, giving the go ahead to proceed.

Momo’s asshole was vice-grip tight, you can barely just get the tip in as her flesh resists you, pulling out just as slowly as you pushed in.

You reinsert your cock and manage to push yourself in a little further than before, Momo’s tightness warming up to you. You pull out again and squirt more lube onto your dick to help coat her insides. Inserting yourself for a third time, you feel her asshole opening up more, the extra slickness allows you to penetrate Momo even further, watching as her ass tightens and slowly engulfs you.

This wasn’t the first time Momo has done this, but she had trouble adjusting to your length. You push more and more of yourself into her, watching her asshole stretch around you until you can almost fill her fully. Momo is gripping the sheets at this point, unable to deal with the feeling of her ass being thoroughly filled, her moans fill your ears with delight. You pull out again and give her time to recover, making sure she's okay before you continue.

You thrust back deep inside her asshole, Momo has fully acclimated your length and you’re finally able to embed your cock completely inside. The length of your entire dick has disappeared inside her widened asshole, as her tight walls surround you, pressing your balls firmly against the lips of her dripping pussy.

“God, you’re so fucking tight.”.

You press your hand into her left hip and pull her body back into your dick fiercely, pumping harder than you had been able to before. You place a hand on her right cheek, rubbing circles around for a while before giving a hard slap, her round muscular ass giving off a slight jiggle. Momo lets out a small shriek as you do it once again harder, watching as a red mark forms in the shape of your hand. You grab both hips and pull her back, piercing your cock deeply into her tight asshole as she moans and buries her head down into the sheets.

“Fuck...you’re so deep,” her voice now barely audible, the pleasure overtaking her completely.

Your thrusts become harder and longer, and you increase the speed as you fully impale your dick all the way inside her asshole. Momo’s moans become louder as you pound into her, giving her lasting full thrusts at an unforgiving pace that ensures she won’t be able to walk properly for days.

The feeling of Momo’s asshole completely gripping your hard cock was heavenly, her tightness is absolutely overwhelming as you feel your orgasm approaching soon. You fuck her so hard and so loud that the sound of your balls slapping against her pussy reverberates throughout the room. You dive in and out of her ass, pulling out all the way to your tip, and then dipping back into her, filling her asshole to the hilt and ramming into her as hard as one possibly can, giving deep powerful thrusts as Momo screams with ecstasy.

.You feel a tenseness building which can only mean one thing.

“Fuck Momo... I’m getting close.” You can barely construct words as your breathing gets shallow and airy.

“Don’t you dare pull out, “ Momo looks back with absolute lust in her eyes.

”Cum deep inside me. Fill me up.”

Hearing those words unhinge you, and you shove your cock into her tightness as deep as it was able to go, drilling her asshole as hard and fast as feasible, reaching the point of no return rapidly.

“I’m gonna fucking cum.”

A few more thrusts inside her was all you needed as your cock convulses, and your balls erupt.

You grasp her hips tightly as thick hot semen flows out of your cock, flooding into Momo’s tight asshole, each spurt filling the inside of her walls. Each spasm brings more and more bliss, your thrusts become shorter and softer until you can barely move, feeling thoroughly drained. Your cock throbs as you slowly pull out, you gaze at Momo’s asshole as a massive current of sticky white cum pours out, dripping onto her thighs and soaking the bed sheets underneath.

You both try and catch your breath, as Momo’s voice comes out first.

“That was...so good. “

The two of you covered in sweat collapse onto the bed, completely spent.

[eleventoes]

the storm in the distance | oneshot

❮ a oneshot from the all you’d never see series ❯

pairing: seokjin x siren!reader | fluff & angst word count: 7k ♪: i love you boy - suzy warning(s): mentions of blood & death synopsis:

Sirens were infamous for their dulcet voices, enticing in all its honeyed tones, laced with the intent of beguiling innocents into the treacherous waters; for no reason in particular, other than the cruelty and mischief that had seized their hearts ever since the beginning of time.

Only, your exception came in the form of Kim Seokjin, and suddenly you couldn’t keep yourself away.

***

Sirens were beautiful creatures, of course they were; seemingly ethereal with orbs that reflect the depths of the sea, and smiles that were undoubtedly stunning, yet wickedly so, because the most charming of appearances ensconced the emptiest of hearts.

Perhaps in that sense, you would be considered a defect of sorts; a sore thumb that stuck out in the flawlessness that was nature itself.

Because for a siren who was supposedly emotionally detached from something as disgustingly human as love, you were all too enraptured by the boy by the shore.

Kim Seokjin.

You had managed to make out his name in all the times you’ve kept watch on his silhouette from your usual spot near the reefs, in what the humans on land would have called ‘stalking’, and what fellow sirens would have termed ‘staking out prey’. Sirens rarely needed to talk, especially in human language, so it was no surprise his name tasted strange on your unused tongue; but you liked it anyway. There were many things you liked about Kim Seokjin, of which the most prominent was his compassion.

Funny really, that you would adore his compassion out of all things considered, when it was the very thing that had failed to embed itself into your system.

The very first time you encountered the human, you had been anything but alluring; quite the opposite, with grotesque cuts running down the entirety of your arms, carmine spilling relentlessly from every gash. It had been the fishermen, as usual, and you had been unfortunate to have been caught up in their stupid little endeavors; though you hadn’t been alone. The other sirens caught along with you managed to maneuver their way out by stalling your own escape. Not that you could blame them, or think anything much of it, because you were lone creatures, and survival was a primal instinct.

So much of a primal instinct, in fact, that you had resorted to your tune in order to get those pests off your back, earning yourself all those lacerations as some sort of battle scar in your haste to clamber out of the mess of metal wiring and steel hooks. The end result was landing yourself in a tiny cave offshore some equally tiny island, breath ragged and body sore.

That was the cause, and the immediate effect was a boy, no older than eighteen human years, walking in on your vulnerable state, eyes wide and mouth wider.

“Wha—”

He continued flitting back between your iridescent tail, marred by the scarlet abrasions, and your angelic features, though you were sure your scowl was far from pleasing to the eye.

If it had been any other time, you would have laughed humorlessly at his pure bewilderment, but you were in potential danger, what with being injured and being partially on land, an area you were no expert in.

Irritatingly enough, you felt his curious gaze softening at your helplessness, and you readily despised the sympathy so clearly laden in his hazel irises.

At your impatient huff, he wastes no time in coming up with a response, flashing you what appears to be a reassuring smile, “You don’t have to be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

You want to retort that he should be the one fearing for his life instead, but you bite it back, mostly because you realize you were far from mastering the human language and had no means of verbally expressing your hostility. The boy stills, awaiting your response, but you weren’t going to give it to him, and you didn’t know how either.

So he disappears.

But only momentarily, much to your chagrin, because seconds later he returns with some fabric and an odd-looking box. Upon noticing your apparent confusion, his almond eyes crinkle into pretty half-crescents, and you hear a mellifluous tinkle resonate all around the empty cave. No, your heart hadn’t thawed just from that; the sea was far too cold.

“Careful, this is going to hurt just a little,” He says, unwinding the gigantic roll of fabric and peering worriedly at your wounds, a small pout atop his plush lips.

And well, he fucking lied, because it hurt more than just a little.

Searing pain stung everywhere, leaving what felt like the hottest of embers setting your clammy skin ablaze in its wake. The striking crimson was slowly fading to a dusty red, before washing off entirely as he worked tirelessly, and soon you were left staring at the multitude of pink and raw open lacerations, your bottom lip almost mangled as you clamped down hard, trying to ease your discomfort. You hadn’t noticed, but your nails had been digging into his forearm hard enough to kill, eliciting a chuckle from the weird dude who had taken it upon himself to dress your cuts.

“How did you even get yourself hurt this badly?” He was asking more out of curiosity than anything, or perhaps he was just trying to fill the void that was the silence resonating in the hollow cave with some semblance of conversation. You take one look at his soft gaze before looking away, lips pursed and the beginnings of tears pooling at your lashline.

All the fear that had been masked by the surge of adrenaline moments prior was catching up to you at that instant, not to mention the sheer pain that was magnified by the lasting traces of seawater glistening on your skin. As much as you hated crying, you couldn’t help but let slip a couple of tears, though it was difficult to discern them from the remainders of seawater staining your cheeks.

“You’re fine now,” Smiling up at you with those innocent human eyes that were without the weight of a million sins, the man looks on proudly at how cleanly he had bandaged you up, and you belatedly realize how ethereal he actually was. Good looks aside (you had seen enough of pretty faces; you were a siren after all), he glowed with a radiance so unadulterated and blinding, the light smile pulling at his lips tugging at your heart, if you had one.

He wasn’t lying; the pain had reduced to a slight throb, and you no longer stunk of the telltale smell of blood. Gratitude was in order, though it wasn’t something you were familiar with.

But even then, your quick whisper ‘thank you’ would not have sufficed for the kindness in the way he had carried you in his arms, tenderly setting you down properly by the shore so that you wouldn’t have a difficult time getting back to the water. That side of the shore was thankfully deserted, and you let your wariness of the man slip out from your mind, instead choosing to let the dim rays of the sun at dusk sink in, watching fascinatedly as the ocean and the pinkish hues assimilated into one in his eyes.

It was then when you had gotten an inkling of that damning feeling—hope.

You had hoped to see him again.

***

Serendipity, providence, happenstance; however those humans liked to call it, were a myth. A myth because opportunity doesn’t come until you seize it, and even then, the choice to embrace it was yours and yours alone.

The second time you see him was far from coincidence; you had sought him out on your own.

A few months have passed since then, but none of that made a difference to you. Life underwater was dark, the light trapped only on the surface, and the ocean was endless; you could have swam all the way over to the Pacific and it would be like time never passed, because everything seemed so still down below.

“Hey,” Calling out daringly, you lingered next to some reefs at the shore where you first met, tail suspended in midair. You may or may not have spent the past few months gathering intellect on the human language, familiarizing yourself with the peculiar sounding vowels and consonants and everything in between. The words still tasted more than a little foreign on your tongue, but sirens had heightened abilities, one of which included being a fast learner.

“Hey to you too,” The boy, whose name you had overheard as Seokjin, responded readily as he jogged over to the shoreline, and you briefly wonder how he could be as fearless as he was. Any other sane human being would have been running for the hills by now, either that or they would have been pulling obstinately at your tail, insisting that it must be a costume or a getup of some sort.

He was donning a pale blue chiffon shirt, the loose fabric draping over his shoulders and the color complementary to the deep blue of the sea. The same smile was sitting pleasantly on his face, and your heart thumped a little louder than the usual, which was a strange phenomenon in itself, but you try not to let it get to you.

“Do you live around here?” You asked, voice easily carried by the breeze. It would be strange if he didn’t, with how much he came by the sea.

“I’ve lived here my entire life,” He nodded, gesturing to the row of beach houses lining the edges of the beach, before cocking his head to the side, “Though I can’t say I’ve seen you around before.”

“You don’t see my kind around often.”

His hair was falling into his eyes with how angled his head was toward yours, the inky strands looking as soft as velvet, “Are you a mermaid?”

“Something like that,” You decide that that was as much as you could give away, flicking up your tail and making droplets rain down on him in succession.

That much was able to leave him in awe, and you catch a twinkle in his orbs as he blurts out a single ‘pretty’. The simplicity of it all had you laughing, and even that left him spellbound.

“Pretty? My tail?” The question departs from your lips in between the bouts of laughter, your tone a little mocking. Your tail was anything but, in fact, you would love for nothing but for it to be replaced by a pair of beautiful legs. Your tail may appear to be unreal; what with being laden with scales that glinted in the light and with luster that looked to be like fairy dust, but it was the very thing that cruelly bound you to the wide expanse of the sea, no matter how desolate and cold you felt every time you went back to the one place essential for your survival.

“I meant you,” Seokjin says simply, dipping his feet into the translucent waves brushing his toes.

Sirens do not blush often, since blood doesn’t circulate very well when you were sixteen feet under an infinite volume of water, so the sensation was new to you, though not entirely unwelcomed. The red was spreading warmth across your cheeks, and you suddenly felt a strong inclination to shower the poor guy with more seawater, so you do exactly that, swishing your tail (your weapon of choice) back and forth in some form of odd and misplaced retaliation.

He didn’t seem to mind, only going further deeper into the water and entertaining your relentless (but harmless) attacks, joking, “I feel like we’re too much of strangers to be having a water fight.”

You smile at that, and you supposed there wouldn’t be many consequences if you were to give him your name, “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Seokjin.”

“I know,” You don’t give any further explanation, instead starting a slow hum under your breath.

It was standard procedure; the basics of being a siren and a creature of the sea: entice the human, and lure them to the depths of their demise.

Yet discomfort was settling in the pits of your stomach, working its way up to the point where you could throw up. Your fingers were numbing, your heart was sinking, and you were sad. Disgusted with yourself, even.

Seokjin doesn’t seem to register your presence any longer, the focus in his pupils gone as he stares dazedly at the horizon, steps steady as he inches even further into the waters that would eventually claim his life and pull him under. Your notes were resounding clearly in the quietude of the beach, and with every breath you took, he sank down further.

The pale blue he was wearing had darkened to an unrecognizable ultramarine, the weight of his clothes making him descend much faster. He was no longer smiling, only looking blankly onwards.

Horrified at how utterly lifeless he was already starting to look, you cease your song immediately, and before you knew what you were doing, your fingers were clasped around his arms, yanking him back towards the safety of the shore.

You were frantic by now, pulse ringing loudly in your ears and skin prickly with trepidation, “Listen to me, please.”

His features were regaining its brilliant color, the life seeping carefully back into his eyes, but he looks visibly shaken, not that it was surprising.

“You can’t ever listen to my song,” Pleadingly, you clutch at his sleeve, “If you ever hear me sing, run away, as far as you can.”

Stupefied, he staggers back, eyebrows drawn in confusion, yet he doesn’t shy away from your touch, “What happens if I listen?”

This time, you look him dead in the eye, “You’d die.”

He got the message loud and clear, but you don’t stay for his reaction, disappearing into the frothy waves with a flip of your tail, wondering if he would come to forget.

You knew for sure that his memories would not vanish overnight, and that made it all the more painful, because you’d fade away eventually, slowly but surely.

***

“Try it.”

“It looks weird.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” The infuriating man supplies, the unknown food item clutched delicately between his two forefingers, all brown and gross-looking, kind of like those sea slugs attached to the seabed, “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“Your promise doesn’t mean anything,” Rolling your eyes, you lean further into your favorite rock, the one with the least jagged edges jabbing into your scales, reclining as far as humanely possible from whatever Seokjin was trying to feed you.

“Aw come on, you don’t give me enough credit,” He protests, a frown embedded upon his handsome features, “I’ve never broken a promise, especially not one to you.”

As begrudging as you were to admit it, that much was more or less true. He always made sure to keep to his word, even if it involved lugging an entire keyboard to the shore just so you could listen to his playing (due to him losing a bet you shall not go into); and that was already more than what could be said for most humans.

“Fine—”

And the sea slug lookalike was melting on your tongue before you could smack Seokjin’s hand away with your tail, its taste saccharine and bitter all at once. It took a couple of seconds before you could make sense of the explosion on your taste buds, but it took slightly less than that for you to realize that whatever you had just eaten was the equivalent of God’s gift to man.

For a good minute, you stare shell-shocked at the smug grin of the man before you, “What was that?”

“What? That weird-looking thing?” Seokjin’s triumphant grin can’t seem to wipe itself off of his stupid face, and butterflies or not, you had to physically restrain yourself from hurling a goddamned clam at him.

“Yes,” You scowl, “That.”

“It’s chocolate,” He replies plainly, finally plopping himself down on the rock next to yours, before skillfully unwrapping a whole bunch of silvery foil from that tiny rectangular box in his hands, “I told you we have decent things on land.”

His words only resound hazily in your clouded head, your attention instead fixated on the little brown squares of ambrosia in that pink box of his, and he soon catches on, laughing as he hands the entire stash of it over with a playful grin. Hesitantly, you lock the chocolate between your fingers the way you had seen him do it, fiddling with it for a bit then realizing that it was going to dissipate into sea foam if you didn’t hurry up.

“It’s a shame,” Voice wistful, you glance up at Seokjin through a veil of lashes, a few droplets still caught on them, “It’ll be nice to see everything else you have on land.”

“Wouldn’t it?” He muses back, thoughtful and suddenly contemplative.

“Those bed things you always talk about—”

“They’re a lot more comfortable than these rocks or any of your reefs, that’s for sure—”

“Oh, please, you don’t know comfort unless you’ve napped with a dolphin—”

“Well, you don’t know comfort unless you’ve napped with me.”

You almost spit out the little brown squares at that, and Seokjin wasn’t completely unaffected either, his ears colored a bright vermillion at its tips. There and then, you decided that he was way more dangerous than you had initially pegged him to be; and your thunderous heart was a testament to that.

“And you always talk about those things you see on that flat thing with colors,” Clearing your throat, you add, in a valiant attempt to spark conversation again.

“The TV?”

“Yeah, that,” Now you were busying yourself with adverting your gaze to land on anywhere but him and his honey gaze.

A slight pause ensues, and you peek back up at him, only to have him smiling that smile again, the smile that made it look as if there was no one else he’d ever look at in the entire world but you.

The same smile that made you feel human, if only for a fleeting moment.

“What if I take you?”

Whenever Seokjin got excited, he forgets everything else, and you snort. He probably forgot you had a tail, of all things he could have forgotten. He may be a top human at that thing they call a school, but even this would prove to be reasonably challenging for him to pull off.

“You can’t.”

“Who said I couldn’t?”

There it was, again, the same glint he had in those hazel irises of his, the very one he had a week ago when he decided going snorkeling with you would be a bright idea.

“Oh no.” Was all that could leave your lips before you were cleanly lifted in one smooth sweep, and he was holding in a chuckle as he sprinted across the deserted shore, with you still in his arms. Too stunned to even shriek like you were dying to, you only try to commit all these images and feelings to memory—the flecks of sand flying up with every step he took, the intoxicating smell of the sea fading into the distance, and the unimaginable felicity you held in your heart in that instant.

“Kim Seokjin,” Once you had the mind to start screaming with the pitch you had been gifted with from birth, you made your apprehension very much known, “Slow down! If you fall flat on your face, I’m the one going down first.”

If he responded, you couldn’t have heard him over the roaring wind in your ears and in your hair even if you tried. It vaguely occurred to you that you were now fully vulnerable, that this may as well be some lame scheme to abduct you and sell you to any of those devious humans sirens always whisper about, or that he could leave you on shore to eventually perish. You were all too aware of the many possibilities, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Not now, at least.

“Trust me,” He says, leaning down to make himself heard.

So you did.

***

“I trusted you!”

That was it, that was as menacing as you could have tried to sound, because Kim Seokjin had the stupidest looking puppy eyes, and he knew it, which annoyed you to no end.

The widest glass doors trailed from the high ceiling all the way down to the floor, accompanied by stark white blinds and giving way to an ocean view that was nothing short of utterly gorgeous. Everything else looked to be neatly in place, the room spacious and roomy with simplistic and beach-themed furniture, like the cushioned tweed couch you had been set down on a couple of minutes ago. Yes, the place was a picture to behold, looking as if it came out from those magazines you see on the see-through coffee table you had your tail propped up on.

But the state of the house was the least of your worries, no, you had a whole mountain of things to be worried about, because for one, you were sitting on a couch.

And cushy sofas and confused sirens don’t make the best of pairs.

“Make yourself at home,” Seokjin calls out, sounding a little far away, “I’ll get you coffee, tea, and some hot chocolate. Let me know which of those you like best after you’ve tried them all.”

Funnily enough, your hair was still dripping wet, and the same could be said for your tail; you were a fish out of water, and quite literally too. Seokjin was long out of sight, probably in the kitchen place you’ve heard him gush about a million times. The buttons protruding from the rectangular disk next to your tail looked to be interesting enough, so you flip your fin a little nonchalantly, prodding at the gigantic red button curiously, then quickly retracting when the screen before you comes to life.

After which you do what sirens do best (aside from luring people to their deaths): you scream. Again.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

The stricken expression on his face did nothing to calm you down, though you do appreciate the speed at which he came running after you had hollered for help, evident in his mussed up strands.

“The guy was,” Your voice was quiet, “About to attack me.”

“A guy?”

“Him. That bastard,” You lift a trembling finger, pupils wavering.

That guy on the wall was talking again, and you reflexively shrink back into the cushions, curling into a ball.

“That’s, uh, the TV.”

The squawking of the same guy was all that’s left in the background, and you only stare mortified at the wooden floor, croaking out a feeble ‘oh’.

“Were you startled?” Seokjin’s face had taken up all the space that’s allowed in your peripheral vision with how close he was, his huge eyes locking with your own, but that wasn’t all that terrified you; the tenderness in the way he spoke had played a major role all by itself.

“I’m, uh, fine,” You lied, “Just slightly surprised.”

“Good,” His voice had taken on a halcyon undertone, before he completely loses it, dissolving into masses of adorably pitched laughter, tears even emerging faster than you could say ‘burgundy’. Scowling, you smother him (lightly, of course) with a stray pillow (of a man with a moustache and the oddest hat), tamping down the corners of your lips that were curling up involuntarily.

The asshole couldn’t even breathe with all that laughing.

A good half hour later (Seokjin had taught you how to read the time not long after your first encounter, but it wasn’t as if you had a watch), you were spent from relentlessly attacking him with all the peculiar pillows lying around, but as always, a grin was hanging delightfully on your lips, without intention of vanishing anytime soon.

And if there’s one new thing you learnt about Kim Seokjin, it was that the physics of time and all it entailed simply does not apply to him as it does others, because the minutes seemed to whiz by scarily fast as long as he was around, even if you were only watching grass grow.

The rest of the (unfairly short-lived) day flew by, with you rolling all around in his bed, wet tail and hair be damned, because that thing was taking comfort to the next level, and frankly, you were almost set on staying in that fort of blankets and lavender-scented duvets for the rest of your years. That came to a screeching halt after being met with Seokjin’s shit-eating I-Told-You-So smirk, to which you had hurriedly scrambled off what you would affectionately term as mankind’s greatest invention to date, not remembering that you were a siren before tumbling ungracefully to his hardwood floor.

You had also discovered that unbeknownst to you, he did have friends aside from you (shocker), and you had found out the hard way.

“Hyung! You’re home? I ordered pizza!” Came the unfamiliar call of a kind-looking human by the name of Park Jimin, accompanied by the gruff entrance of a mint-haired man Seokjin referred to as Yoongi, right as you had just sunk down into the mushy couch, chips in hand and remote control in the other, just about ready to channel hop.

Seokjin.exe had crashed for all of three seconds before reviving, and you had never seen a man move as swiftly as he did when the two of you first heard the front door clicking right open.

“You didn’t say you were coming over,” Panicked, he yelled by means of stalling, gathering you up in his arms for the millionth time in the same day (not great for your heart, but you didn’t think it would be apt for you to declare that as of now) and bounding up the stairs, yet still taking extra care not to hit your tail on the railings lining the steps.

He somehow landed the both of you in the bathroom, treading right into a ceramic tub all whilst still clutching you tightly to his chest. Fingers agile, he drew the shower curtains resolutely, effectively shielding the both of you from plain view; a good thing too, because that Park guy was spilling into the bathroom a beat later, mostly due to Seokjin not having enough time to close the door behind him when he first entered.

"My bad, were you taking a bath?" Park Jimin enquiries, confusion lacing his tone, "I could have sworn I heard you downstairs."

Your heart goes into overdrive, uncertain of whether it should be stilling for fear of being outed by a stranger, or pounding obnoxiously because of your precarious position, huddled together in a tub with none other than Seokjin himself.

His arms were still firmly secured around your waist, and you supposed he was fairly nervous himself, though you couldn't pinpoint the exact cause. He hugged you closer regardless, before tossing out some excuse to fend off his friend.

But Park Jimin wasn't one to give up this easily.

"Is everything okay?" If you leaned back far enough, you could catch a glimpse of his blonde hair bobbing near the sink, and his voice echoed faintly around the bathroom, "I saw water everywhere on the way up."

Breath hitching, you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from making any sort of noise that could alert Jimin to your presence. Sensing your unease, Seokjin starts rubbing circles on your waist with the soft pad of his thumb, his voice even and steady, even to you, "Yeah, everything's fine. I went to the ocean for a bit, so maybe that's why."

Park Jimin seemed to be satisfied with the somewhat feasible explanation, and had retreated back downstairs with a pleasant smile (and with promise of pizza).

Needless to say, you didn't quite have a fun time sneaking out the house with Seokjin later that evening (you were still a siren after all, and you needed the water like he needed air), but it was worth it all the same.

He was worth it.

***

No one knew how sirens came to exist. Some say they were all shells carrying the souls of those who had sinned greatly while human, and had been damned to the deep blue waters, devoid of humanity just as they had been before. They’d roam the sea with the sole purpose of claiming the lives of innocents, and would never be able to love nor forge ties; any knowledge of their existence ephemeral.

Because no human would ever remember, and they couldn’t possibly love if they wouldn’t remember.

For that reason alone, you were pertinacious in your daily meetings with Seokjin, and obsessively so; because it was dark, it was cold, and it was just so unbearably lonely.

“Jinnie,” His name was no longer unfamiliar, and your struggles with the human language were long gone; there were perks of being a siren at times, “You’re late.”

“It was an accident, I swear,” Seokjin joins you on near your usual spot by the reefs, breaking out into the grin you have grown to adore, “I didn’t forget, Y/N, please don’t give me that look.”

You falter.

He hadn’t noticed it himself, but you descried how minute details and small snippets of the conversations you have shared would be omitted from his memory, buried in his subconscious, never to surface again. One day he’d leave you for good, and he would be none the wiser.

But you plaster a smile on anyway; not a difficult task when it comes to him, “I know, you were probably stuck in that thing called traffic, right? Tell me I’m right.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Playing with the ends of your hair, he chuckles, “I wish I could take you to see the city.”

“I wish you could too.”

The two of you have been meeting at the same shore for days on end, right as the sun was about to sink into the aquamarine of the ocean, and every day without fail, Seokjin would bring up the city and its dazzling lights, along with the towering skyscrapers and its busy streets.

He loved the city, and you loved watching him talk about everything and anything under the sun. Well, almost, because the two of you could go on forever and beyond, and he’d usually find himself wandering all the way back home with only a silver of moonshine illuminating his path, the scintillating rays of dusk long gone.

And he had a knack for the lamest jokes, which were only ever funny because he was the one telling them, with the dorkiest grin on his face. You wouldn’t ever laugh though; it just doesn’t work that way. No, you just don’t work that way.

“What do you call a laughing cow?” His attempt at trying to roll out the joke smoothly did not go overlooked, and you stifle the amusement climbing up your throat at the ridiculously straight face he was pulling.

“Jinnie, I don’t even know what’s a cow.”

“Oh,” He coughs out awkwardly, squeaky chortles already making their long-awaited appearance, though muted at first.

Then he pauses, as if some sort of epiphany has just hit him, and he turns to you, eyes wide, “Wait. You don’t know what’s a cow? A cow?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Seokjin, but we don’t have cows underwater,” You retort drily, though you were anything but.

He goes eerily quiet at that, exhaling slowly before saying in a small voice, “I wish we weren’t entire worlds apart.

I wish we could do all sorts of things together, like watch some chick flick at the local cinema, or fall flat on our faces at the nearest skating rink, or go on the simplest coffee dates,” Seokjin wasn’t quite done yet, his words going a thousand miles an hour, “I wish we could do all sorts of things together, without being bound to the ocean and this tiny shore.”

The sky was golden, casting the prettiest of shadows onto the melancholy splayed blatantly on his features, carrying the faintest tinges of longing and despondency in its pinkish hues. Your fingers were moving before you knew it, sweeping aside his velvet locks and landing playfully in that furrow between his eyebrows, trying your utmost best to dispel his frown.

“Well, I could always swim to the Pacific and meet you there,” You joked, shimmying closer, “Stop frowning, we’ll be fine here.”

“I know, I just wished things were different,” His voice was barely audible, only slipping out barely from where his head was buried in the nook of your shoulders, and he was playing with your fingers again, in a way that was so him; his hands brushing lightly over your fingertips.

The two of you don’t talk after that, tranquility and serenity settling slowly in a blanket of lost thought, and you wonder if he would ever forget either you or the sunset he had grown to adore.

***

“I’m leaving,” He says one day, looking hopeful yet disconsolate all the same, “For the city.”

If the seasons were changing, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that the colors all around you were more vivid and more vibrant than ever, and that everything was alive. The sky often lit up with sparks of the prettiest tinctures of every shade of orange imaginable, and with each passing day, the sun was hanging prouder and firmer in the azure of the sky.

The ocean, however, remained as cold as you could remember.

Seokjin was changing as well; he had dyed his previously sable locks a warm shade of chocolate, and he had grown even taller than you were used to, which was astounding because it hasn’t been that long since your daily rendezvous by the sea (at least according to you). If you leaned over the coral reefs and looked just a tad closer, you could see anticipation, excitement and purpose all swimming in those eyes of his, appearing all too human, and all too vulnerable.

Briefly, you wonder if that would have been you, if you had been anything but an eternally unfeeling creature shielded away from the beauty of the outside world, trapped forever in the dark abyss of the sea.

Then you recall that Seokjin had been the one to make you feel, and instantaneously your heart would almost burst at its seams with all the affection you hold close.

“For that building called college?” Your voice had a slight tremor, but it was the best you could do.

He affirms it with a quick nod, “I got the acceptance letter a few weeks ago.”

His elation was obvious, and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hold it in any longer and began blabbing about the million and one things he was looking forward to at college, where it was faraway and deep into the suburban city. Gazed fascinatedly affixed on his earnestness, you listen as he shared about those people gatherings at events termed ‘frat parties’, congregations of young people at those things called ‘lectures’, and about how much fun he’d have in those ‘dorms’ of his.

You listen, you really do, because you loved watching him when he was talking about things that made him happy.

Yet your unspoken question refused to leave your mind, staying only at the tip of your tongue and nothing more.

He gets it anyway.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” His tone was determined; enough to reassure you, if only for a minute, “I’ll come back every chance I get.”

Sirens weren’t exactly notorious for being trusting, so you don’t pretend a second longer; you doubted him, and his words that only resembled a promise waiting to be broken.

“Okay.”

If he had heard the disbelief apparent in your overly saturated voice, he had chosen not to acknowledge it, instead pressing a light kiss to your temple, and then a burning one to your lips.

It wasn’t common for you to feel pain, but you felt it through his lips on yours, the heat and the mingling of salt water and tears proving to be an odd combination.

And then he was gone, and for the ensuing days, you could only stare begrudgingly at your tail, cursing at your unfortunate reality.

The seasons had probably started to change again since then, but once again you don’t feel a thing, the ocean feeling as cold and dark as it usually did.

And so, so unbearably lonely.

Safe to say, you hadn’t been surprised when all the time had been thrown to the wind, breezing by without a hitch, and there was still no sign of the boy with the brightest eyes and the most contagious laughter you’ve ever seen and heard.

Just like that, the days trickled by, endlessly, like a rusty old tap, yet it all felt the same, for all your time spent was in complete and utter solitude.

When twilight descends, you’d rouse from slumber occasionally, dreams haunted by his warm eyes and his lingering touches, and sometimes you’d even feel the ghost of his fingers in yours, or hear his voice ringing loud and clear in the hushed void of the sea.

Recalling his stalwart and undaunted gaze on yours, your heart would waver ever so slightly, because as damning as it had been, you had believed in the off chance that perhaps this time, it wouldn’t be the same old tragedy between a hopelessly hopeful siren and a hopelessly helpless human yet again. That window of hope was far too blissful to ignore, and you’d emerge at the same shore every day, as per your usual routine, searching for an all too familiar silhouette, but to no avail.

You should have known.

You were more than aware of the transitory nature of his memories, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared; that was simply how it was. If anything, you were the foolish one, earnestly yearning for something that could never have been yours.

There were rumors, of course; Seokjin’s town was a small one where everybody knew each other like the back of their hand, and minute news could spread like wildfire, igniting the buzz of the townspeople. A marriage, people were saying, how romantic, for it to be an outdoor wedding, and on the beach too.

“It’s because the groom is extraordinarily fond of the ocean,” A chirpy lady tells her friend, gossiping about the same old things as they sat in the dainty white chairs, baby blue satin bows decorating its spines.

You had been at the usual hideout, eyes wary and heart traitorously expectant, when the masses had first started to gather, the loud chattering a stranger on the usually undisturbed shore. There were balloons, loads of them, all the rich colors of sapphire, and an abundance of flowers adorning each and every corner. Truly, a grand affair unlike any other, and the miles of chairs and dinner tables trailing all the way to the other end of the beach could very well attest to that.

All was well, apart from your heart sinking all the way to the ocean floor upon having your creeping suspicions cruelly affirmed by none other than Kim Seokjin himself, his typical smile still brighter than ever as he milled around with the guests on his special night, the maturity from the several years he had been gone evident on his sharper features, and dashingly so.

Maybe things would have turned out differently, had he not met you in that cave back when he had only been eighteen. You wouldn’t have found yourself oddly drawn to the human, and surely, you wouldn’t have done the one thing your kind was incapable of—falling in love.

But you did, and now he was going to pay the consequences. Dearly.

Sirens weren’t equipped with the biggest of hearts, and were selfish creatures by nature, with emotional detachment being one of the most prized skillsets you had often prided yourselves on. It was imprudent for you to have assumed otherwise, too egoistic to have thought that you could have been an exception to that archaic rule.

Even back in olden times, ashen clouds billowing over the horizon was known to be an ominous sign of the oncoming storm, and the sooty pillows that hung darkly in the overcast sky proved it well. It was when Seokjin had first settled down near the accustomed shoreline in his search for solitude that the first drops of rain had drizzled sparingly down, staining the water with tiny ripples.

And for the first time in a very long while, you sang your song, voice sugary and euphonious; very much like the siren you were.

Only because it was so cold, dark and so incredibly lonely.

Entranced as he would be, Seokjin padded lightly into the waters, eyes blank and reminiscent of the way they had looked the first time he had heard your melody. The people on shore were too caught up in their own conversations to notice his absence, and you had noted that with pleasure, the pace of your singing picking up along with the howling winds; the signs of a brewing tempest.

Strides measured and unhurried, he sinks further down into the pull of the ocean, while you gladly give way.

Except that flicker of recognition in his orbs had not gone unobserved, even as he continued walking into oblivion without ever turning back.

“You can’t ever listen to my song,” You remember saying as you desperately clutched at his sleeve that first time you had sung, “If you ever hear me sing, run away, as far as you can.”

“What happens if I listen?”

And you had looked him dead in the eye, “You’d die.”

Contrary to the beliefs of many, sirens weren’t at all sinners who had been condemned to pay the price for their horrendous crimes.

No, they were all once human, who had once loved so passionately and had been loved so fiercely, and had unfortunately fallen prey to creatures roaming the deep expanse of the sea, with their only sin being that of forgetting those who had held them dear.

a/n note: this had been in the making since all the way back in july (productivity at its finest), but it’s finally finished and i hope you liked it! (and as usual feedback is always welcomed with hugs and cookies:)))

[missandrogyny]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation 2016

so!! @alivingfire tagged me in this thing!! originally i wasn’t planning to do it but i figured that eh i should so i at least have something to refer back to next year yay

1. List of works published this year:

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you

that lace shirt

somethin’ bout you

blind from this sweet, sweet craving

to kill the mess we’ve made

day 3: tossed salad

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

i think i’m most proud of somethin’ bout you?? like, when i got the prompt for the spring exchange i was so excited, but also kind of nervous because it was such a huge idea and i’d never written an idea that huge before. i tend to stick to plots that are fluffier, simpler, and less…plotty, so to speak, so having the spring exchange prompt and spinning it the way i wanted to (with the kidnapping and the d/s, etc.) was daunting. there are definitely still parts that i would want to change in it, parts i would rewrite if i had the chance, parts where you can tell that i just got so sick of my own work, and i still want to give it a sequel, but yeah. to me that feels like a child i sent in to a spelling bee and although he didn’t really win any awards, he was still good enough to be in the spelling bee.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

probably my work for the 30 days of smut. i just…didn’t really know what i was working with. like, i didn’t know what the authors before me were doing, and i was way too shy to actually message them and ask and discuss plot, so i just sat on it until a week before it was supposed to be submitted and thought ‘fuck it, i’m just gonna do whatever’. also it was written in past tense, which i completely forgot how to do rip so i spent a lot of time just…reading it and trying to make sense of the tenses and crying over words

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

i’m always, always going to be proud of this paragraph. i don’t really know what came over me at the time of writing, but when i finished i just had this and i just…loved it so much.

(Later, Louis wakes up to find Harry sound asleep beside him. It’s dusk, and the soft light of the afternoon makes him look unreal, almost ethereal. He looks like a star, or perhaps some shooting thing—a meteor, or a comet, maybe. Louis watches as he breathes, as his chest rises and falls, watches the way the light seems to bend to him, making him look like the most beautiful thing to ever exist.

And Louis wants to save this moment, wants to keep him like this forever, naked and asleep in bed, but he knows better—he knows that Harry is a star, and you cannot keep stars like this to yourself. He knows that stars don’t belong here, don’t belong in dusty bedrooms beside boys with sticky fingers. He knows that stars belong in the sky and boys belong on the ground, and even a boy with the stickiest fingers will never be able to keep a star down.

So he gets dressed—slowly, quietly. Harry doesn’t stir at all, too lost in his dreams, and that’s good, because that makes saying goodbye that much easier. A sleeping Harry won’t draw him in with sea foam green eyes and cherry-red lips. A sleeping Harry won’t entice him to stay.

He takes a mental picture, embeds it into his brain, makes sure he has something to remember this by. Then he presses a feather-light kiss onto Harry’s hair, before he’s making his way out the door, closing it gently.

He doesn’t lock the door behind him anymore.)

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

whew. i get so many nice reviews on my fics, because people are too nice to me and too kind and they give me more credit than i deserve, honestly. some of my favorite ones are the long ones, the ones that ramble on about the parts that they liked. i also like the ones when people said they stayed up to read it because they couldn’t put it down–it’s so, so flattering, because there are a bunch of fics i stayed up for, and i know the feeling, and people having that feeling over my fics are just ❤️ 😫 (although y’all should…really sleep skjdhfkjads sleep is important)

oh!!! also, i absolutely love it when i get reviews from other writers!! like for example dolce has left a review on…two of my fics and i have each review screenshotted and saved on my phone and i look at them when i’m sad jskdhkjhads i scream about dolce reviewing my fic to anyone who’ll listen tbh

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

it’s kind of shallow, but writing became really, really, really hard when i changed my laptop last august. i don’t know why, it’s like i can’t produce anything i like on my laptop. it’s a psychological thing i’m still trying to get over, even until now.

oh, it was also really hard after my uncle died.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you

ummm. i’d say the way i characterized niall in “if i had the chance, the things i would do to you” surprised me at the time i wrote it. i still have no idea how he turned out like that. but i like it hahhaha.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

i think i became a bit more willing to experiment? last year was my first year writing 1d fic so i just mostly stayed in my comfort zone, writing the things i was sure about. this year saw me publishing fics that pushed my boundaries a little bit. somethin’ bout you is one. another is to kill the mess we’ve made, princess’ birthday fic. princess likes things i don’t normally write, so i tried to like, tailor the fic to her interests, which was why it had a bit of angst. my entry for the 30 days of smut was also just one huge experiment, i wanted to see if i could write harry getting rimmed. apparently i could.

also!!! i started actually, properly outlining my work. it’s a messy outline, but it’s an outline, nonetheless and it makes me feel like a proper writer every time i have to refer back to it jsfjkhads

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

i hope that next year (2017) writing comes much easier? of course that’s kind of…like a farfetched ideal, writing will always be difficult but i can always hope, right? i hope that i’ll also be able to write longer fics, maybe even publish a chaptered fic one day with a long plot. i hope to also get a better grasp of harry & louis, and all the rest of the 1d characters, so i can improve the depth of character/write fics with different ships (lirry, anyone? also i want to write an ot5 smut fic that’s my dream). i also want to have a better grasp of angst to be able to spin longer, more complex plots! i have so many hopes why am i so optimistic

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

i, of course, have to mention the person who got me to continue writing 1d fic after the first two i posted in 2015, the person who still consistently makes me write things and every time i give her an idea, she always says “why don’t you write it???” like wow that belief in me. the person who always reads my fics beforehand and screams about the parts she liked/parts she didn’t like (you have no idea how nerve-wracking it was to publish a fic she didn’t read beforehand. because it was a surprise. for her.) princess @britishhusbands always the best and always, always grateful for you.

other writers inspire me too, like rachel @alivingfire honestly rachel you are a huge, huge inspiration and i always tell people you’re the true mvp in the larrie fandom. @crazyupsetter is a huge inspiration as well, whoknows fics are always amazing. um. this year i also read another hazy may for the first time and @/delilah, i just. i think about it a lot. J @latitta are an immensely talented writer, and your words and your works always push me to be the best. @tornorrows i love you and your works, thank you for your words. @haydolce incredibly, incredibly talented, and your fics always make me so happy.  @gloriaandrews and @100percentsassy i love your works, whether you write it together or separately, and they’re always a joy and a pleasure to read.

oh!! j @harrysramonesshirt shares the same love for pretty words and quotes and poetry as i do, and she always sends me stuff to inspire me. it’s actually because of her i started a sideblog where i just reblog all the pretty words/quotes/poems i like, and refer back to it when i need inspiration (if you’re curious, you can find it over at @/stylestiques haha) j, thank you for the poems, the words, the another hazy may playlist you made, which has been the only thing i’ve been listening to for the past few months–you’ve been such an amazing source of inspiration.

other people hm. @louisdarling i love you, you know that, you don’t have to do anything to be an inspiration, you already are. @loveliestlarry all the best, amanda, i’m still a shit replier (will i ever not be haha), but thank you nonetheless. 

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

uhhh. usually the only thing that shows up from my real life in my works is whenever the character works out/boxes/goes to the gym hahaha. mostly, i draw from other people’s experiences–the small things that other people do, stories they recount back to me, or little throw away comments that they make, usually that’s where i get the inspiration. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

i think just. don’t be afraid to try out new things. like if you like an idea/prompt but are afraid you aren’t good enough for it, try your hand at it anyway. you might just surprise yourself. 

also. “fake it till you make it”. a lot of people have an idea but are afraid to write, because they might not be good. i’ll be honest–most of the time i just bullshit my way through fics. so just. bullshit it. don’t be afraid to write shit.

(wow i’m the worst at this)

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

i’m excited to finish my cuddling fic, which has already taken WAY TOO LONG. 😠. i also hope i’ll be able to finish this other fic which has also TAKEN WAY TOO LONG. i’m also looking forward to starting princess’ bday fic this year. AND RACHEL @alivingfire AND I HAVE SOMETHING PLANNED AND I’M SUPER PSYCHED FOR THAT. WE HAVEN’T HAMMERED OUT THE DETAILS YET BUT. IT’S GOING TO BE REALLY, REALLY FUN.

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)

@turtlekz and @backonefish and @tornorrows hiiiii if you haven’t done this yet!!!!

*All answers should be about works published in 2016. Also, you can skip any questions you hate or don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can do them if they want. :)

[dyncstes-a]

i left my heart with you.

a drabble for @sparekilled because idk man i ❤ angst . also because you liked my permanent starter call.

.

they say only the participant of a traumatic event would experience the aftermath of the death that hasn’t yet claimed them — and yet hans has never failed to wake up night after night with sweats cloaking up his body and shivers running down his spine at the sight of a still cedric underneath potter . it’s a repeating tragedy when he’s ripped again to this reality still shaken from a nightmare that seems so real . in his nightmare , dumbledore gives a depressing eulogy that leaves blackness dotting across his eyes at the space where he does not cry . in his nightmare , he does not accept cedric’s death . he watches almost all of everybody mourns , but as he steps to give his apology to a grieving amos , all he does is steals cedric’s tie to hook around his arm . hidden , sacred — his .

the reality is , again and again he will thank fate , that cedric hasn’t died . the curse that’s marred his body is impure , deadly even , but not impossibly lethal . that doesn’t mean the hufflepuff’s comatose state was any better . mcgonagall keeps him on a leash from constantly visiting cedric , which is a pain , but — hans recognises later — a necessary evil . he’s still granted visits , however , when dumbledore seizes him one day as he’s argued up and down to let the bloody school free him so he’s to go to st. mungo’s ——— dumbledore seems understandable enough , in an annoying way as though he’s picked apart hans’ mind when he wasn’t looking and could know of all of these wrestling emotions boiling and curling , and lets hans go . but not without a few promises and rules .

( he’s to help organise any future school event personally and without complaint. )

any other occasion , the rules would look like a special kind of burden . but the thought that something may happen to cedric when he isn’t there to make sure everything runs smoothly ? hans shivers . accepts the terms . a month and fifteen days later , cedric wakes up .

.

he swallows those nightmares like he eats his secrets ——— he keeps it inside , proper and filed , named and dated , but never to anyone . some days , this makes him sick . some days , this makes him stronger . most days , when he does get to visit cedric , he doesn’t truly visit cedric at all . the diggorys are an usual occupant around their youngest’s member’s ward , and while hans’ chest aches and pleas for him to just sit — not much , he just wants to see that the other is breathing — next to cedric’s lying form , he doesn’t . hans is usually good with parents , he knows , and , perhaps , if he asks properly , he may have a time alone with cedric even if it’s just for five minutes , but — how selfish can he be  ?

cedric’s family aren’t like his own . they care , they weep , they mourn and they pray . they deserve all the time they would get with their son , and hans is willing to give it to them . ( it feels like he’s swallowing nails when he sees them there just as he’s about to enter the ward , because he knows he’s not worthy to be among such kind people ; because he knows , compared to them , his own grieve means nothing . ) he doesn’t like it , but he’s willing . so he sits dutifully where mediwizards pass through , and he reads all he can about curses and cures and ‘how to be a good friend’ , and he harasses the staff for cedric’s state and questions and medicines . 

and hans gets into lots of arguments — he’s bitter and sad and manic most of the time , and sometimes when one of the matrons makes his blood boil , he could almost hear cedric’s pleading , soft voice hushing his demons away . it doesn’t command hans to stop , but merely assures hans that cedric is , in fact , okay . one of the evening when he’s bent over a book , mrs. diggory spots him , recognises . “you’re one of cedric’s friend , aren’t you ? hans, right ?” and , for a moment , hans feels like words were a foreign language to him .

he’s given a little more than sufficient access after that , rotating with the diggorys whenever he’s there so that the pair of parents could take a short trip home to bathe and rest . in the end , it works out . this awkward arrangement . there were also other visits . hufflepuffs , mostly . hans doesn’t interrupt those visits too whenever they come and he’s coincidentally there to make sure cedric isn’t decaying away ——— well , all except for cho . he glares most of the time she’s there . she pointedly makes all of her visits appropriately short , and perhaps he’s been with the diggorys too much , but hans thinks he may have experienced just a tinge of guilt . he scrubs them away like another file of his depression ; ready to be ignored and left to dust .

the routine changes a bit when cedric finally wakes up . he does so when hans is in the middle of a class , and it sends hans frantic and unable to focus during advance potions which makes snape glowers , which in return makes hans glowers back — and , perhaps it’s the green-silver bowtie that’s embed around his neck , but thankfully all snape does is roll his eyes and pretends hans doesn’t exist for the remaining time until the class is excused . when he’s finally , finally , allowed to be at st. mungo’s , with dumbledore trailing behind , hans finds himself stopping when he spots the diggorys and harry potter and cho-fucking-chang already crowding the ward.

hans waits and waits and waits at the hall ( he reads the charts and listens to the mediwizards ramble medical terms that he’s come to know over the month cedric wasn’t waking up ) , and he swears he could taste glasses down his tongue when dumbledore emerges requesting all of the hogwarts students returning — visiting hour is over , after all — and hans is there , dumbfounded , because he hadn’t even gotten the chance to see cedric yet ( he hadn’t wanted to share his moments with other people. he can’t. dear lord , please allow him this . ) and — and how could it ? but hans swallows the thick bile at the back of his throat , his shoes ready to follow when mrs. diggory calls . 

“he wants to see you.”

hans tells himself he isn’t crying when he parts the curtain hiding cedric from public view as he steps into the small area of the ward . with a hazy flicker of grey eyes landing on him , it seems like all of the nightmares he’s buried in his hollowed stomach disappears . he breathes , comes forward and track a gloveless finger down the other’s pulse — closing his eyes when they beat . cedric is watching him , smiling maybe . hans can’t really tell . the prince sits , face painful from trying to hide his own grin too much and he croaks ,

❛   thank you.   ❜

i love you.

.

cedric doesn’t take the final exams that year . he could , and hans has been willing to help him without him even asking , but the mediwizard hadn’t advised the youngest of diggory to do so . hans harasses the nurse some more for information , because it’s odd that they’ve denied a student of education and hans isn’t quite himself if he’s not suspicious : only to find out two weeks into cedric’s recovery that the dark-haired man might be suffering more than just physical pain .

hans begins reading more into post traumatic stress disorder . 

the wizarding kind still kindly calls it “battle fatigues” and hans gets books on those too . there were many attempted cures , he’s discovered , both magical and muggle kinds — but ptsd has never been a tangible thing . nothing completely goes away . ( and something in hans knows this , because he might be experiencing it too — been experiencing it his whole life — but he makes note on the herbs and medications and procedures , anyway . he has to . he can’t stand feeling helpless . ) he never tells cedric this . but he talks to the mediwizard often , now being in a much better term once cedric’s civilised their relationship , to ensure the proper treatment’s taken .

a month after cedric wakes up , st. mungo finally grants him a date to be released . summer comes .

.

summer is hard for hans . in order for him to be granted visits to london so he could sneak to the wizarding world requires him exerting extra efforts in obeying father’s commands . but he doesn’t want to complaint . not if it means he gets to see cedric twice in a week . thankfully , brothers weren’t particularly around much , so the abuse has only been limited to jabs and their usual mock and perhaps a pinch or two along hans’ ribs until hans cries .

he still doesn’t tell cedric this . he knows it weighs on the hufflepuff that hans isn’t willing to share his pain when he’s generously welcomed hans to know every bits of him that he could expose . but — it’s harder now . cedric isn’t well , and hans hates dropping burden that he’s well adapted to carry on his own . things still get better however . he tells cedric more — not about the nightmare , not about the jobs that father has him do just to grant him these little time where he could lie down and share the moment with the other boy . but he opens up more about his mother that never truly comes out from her room . about where he’s travelled as a child . about how his family hates the wizarding kind so very much , they tear hans’ first robe when hans keeps wearing it the first time he comes home from hogwarts — which was why hans never wear those much , and he’s owned only three in his life .

cedric is patient and kind through it all : through hans , his own pain , his parents’ fussing and his many friends’ visits . and — slowly — he gets better with time . hans wishes he could say he’s there most of the time when the hufflepuff makes a huge progress , but that would be a lie . cedric still insist the prince does more than he gives himself credit for , and — as they lie on the bed watching the rain drops and hans having just finishes cedric off with his palm covered in the other’s cum — hans tells cedric he loves him . not because he’s just given a handjob rather successfully , or that because he’s felt it’s necessary since it’s something people who were dating tended to confess to one another , but simply because he think he has loved cedric for a while now . 

and , he admits quietly when he’s cleaning the other’s remnants off with a tissue , it’s good to love somebody who loves you back .

cedric doesn’t seem like he’s disagreeing .

.

in the end , with all of hans’ fear of not wanting his heart getting broken by another , he ends up being the one who breaks cedric’s heart . it’s february 12 — two days before valentine’s — and people cowering in fear of things that cannot be stopped any longer , that hans packs his suitcases and shoves them into his trunk . some have already branded him a coward with a glare and cussed words — but what are little jabs compared to father’s order who does not wish to send hans to fight against a kind that once deserts their family ?

blood is thicker than water . right ?

cedric stands there , tall and looming , and the warmth in his grey eyes are fading into this kind of sadness that hans knows will haunt him along with the not-corpse that the other nearly was the year before . ( under potter . unmoving . eyes open . amos screeching . his own lungs , not breathing . ) cedric doesn’t ask him to stay — or maybe he did , hans isn’t sure now — but he certainly doesn’t beg . had hans’ answer changes if he had ? the prince doesn’t know. but certainly , as he leaves , nobody will ever find out .

he still asks cedric to stay alive . ( what’s the point ? would hans be able to see him again ? probably not . but stay alive anyway , my darling. ) because apart of him will , if the other does . and this , hans is okay with .

( his heart has never been his , anyway . )

(( and he rather it being with cedric than anybody else. ))

.

the nightmares get worse after he parts . a month with his health declining , father eventually hires a psychologist for hans to talk to . he tells this doctor — doctor larsen — about his findings of PTSD and how he might have them , might , but he doesn’t like to acknowledge it . it takes months and months before hans is finally willing to work through his problems , and gently , his demons doesn’t suffer twice as bad .

he gets letters from cho here and there , telling him cedric is alive . barely , and consistently fighting — but amazingly alive . when he begins on not writing back ( ‘sometimes it’s better to leave the past behind’ says doctor larsen , again and again and again ) , and brothers drown his owl , cho stops sending more . the year goes on .

hans doesn’t think he’s any better , but the nightmares , he judges , are quieter .

.

hans stops thinking about his lifeless body until he steps back into the wizarding world after the war ends to handle his family’s accounts at gringotts . he doesn’t tell father , but it has been his long-time planning to create a new business that none of his family could touch ; that could be entirely his , and his alone . and he’s been corresponding with mcgonagall about retaking his NEWT’s exam and taking a few names who could very well help him in re-establishing his family’s name here , with him as the head of the house . and he will make his family’s future better . 

(and he will not be father.)

he doesn’t take into account that he might , after all , bump into cedric. but he does anyway . and it’s seemingly like the years lost between them has been regained , and not a moment has passed with hans standing a parallel to the other’s body . hans feels his heart beats , loud and fast and thundering , and all he could think is—

there you are.