#but I don’t have my laptop with me and it was easier to pay with my online bank account from my phone

[betterhomesandhozie]

the other day I reblogged that post about how big purchases have to be made on the laptop because the phone is too small and I was agreeing with it but I just contradicted myself by buying a plane ticket on my phone

[uhohdad]

EXPERIMENTAL

it’s been awhile since i’ve written please mind the rust

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

AO3 Link: X

PART TWO: X

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, reader’s gender/sex is incomprehensible, cause I do for the girls the gays and the theys.

NSFW UNDER CUT

You never thought you’d end up working for the government, but the opportunity was too good. Where else would you find a grant to experiment if not for the generous funding of the military industrial complex? You should have known. Research is research, you told yourself, and the pay is too good to pass up on.

Most of your time was spent in the lab. For the most part, you had worked alone, spending up to 14 hours a day working on your project. It had been months, but you’re sure your developments will forever change warfare.

How many deaths will your creations be responsible for? How much blood on your hands?

No. It’s just a job.

You let out a deep sigh. Usually you have background noise - music, a show, a podcast - something to help ward off the obsessive thoughts. But today you had visitors coming.

You had requested a test subject for a beta version of your project. A soldier to help work out the bugs before the final version gets sent on the battlefield.

Battlefield.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about-

A knock interrupted your internal conflict. You looked up, your eyes meeting the visitor through the circular glass pane of the swinging door. Just his eyes, as the visitor wore a black mask that draped from underneath a helmet, flowing over his shoulders and down his chest. You couldn’t help the concerned look that crossed your face as you hesitantly waved him in.

The door creaked as it opened and the man stepped in. You shoulders eased a bit when you noticed the uniform previously obscured by the door, confirming he was a soldier from the base and not an intruder in a mask. You couldn’t help but tense again once you noticed his stature. Even from across the room you could tell he was well over 6’5. You’re sure he could reach his hand up and touch the ceiling with ease. Muscles with enough mass and definition to be seen even under the uniform.

What are they feeding these boys?

“Hi! I mean- hi. Uh,” Your introduction was shaky, but it was on par for your typical social interactions. After giving him your name, you asked for his.

“Konig,” He responded, his deep voice and coarse accent catching you off guard once again.

“Ha, yes. Nice to meet you.” You took a deep breath in hopes to conceal your fluster before continuing, “You’re here to help me test the new tech, right?”

Konig shifts in his spot a few paces from the door, not daring to step any closer to you. You’re wonder if you were coming off as too cold. “Uh, yes.” He clears his throat, “Just let me know what you need from me.”

Okay, straight to the point. You can do that. You’re happy to move on from the unsteady introduction. “Right,” You turn your attention from him to your laptop and the project in front of you. You hold up your device for him to see. He takes this as his invitation to move closer to get a better look, his black boots making their presence known as they stepped across the tile. The device resembled an earpiece - a small black strip attached to a coiled wire that ends with a sensible black base. “It doesn’t have a name. Yet.” You find yourself struggling to make eye contact with Konig, “Uh, here, it might be easier to just show you.” You flip the laptop around so he can see the screen. He’s standing right next to you now, and it’s hard not to notice how small you feel standing next to this giant of a man.

His bicep is the width of my head.

Stop it.

You try to smother your distracted thoughts as you put the device behind your ear and turn it on. A transparent projection in the shape of a curved rectangle covers your eyes, overlaying your view of the lab.

Konig watched silently as the screen on your laptop changed, now displaying your view through the lens. “This device is powered by AI.” You felt more confident now. You weren’t great at small talk but your work was your comfort zone.

“The possibilities are endless. Without being fed blueprints or GPS - it’s able to scan & provide a map of a building before you even set foot in it, and give you the safest path trajectories.” You make some adjustments from the laptop, and the projection overlays filters on your vision. Directional arrows appear, showing the easiest exit from the lab with coordinates and distance countdown to destination.

You continue, “Target identification.” You look at Konig from behind the transparent projection. He meets your eyes before quickly shifting his gaze back to the laptop, where he could see himself outlined in a bright red overlay.

“Scanning capabilities, even through solid objects. It can identify any object you want. Not just objects, either.” You turn your gaze toward the lab wall. Konig watches carefully as the faded outlines of workers on the base from rooms away appear, their heart rates and heat map registering from beyond the cold tile walls.

Konig stares, impossible to read.

“And uhm,” you pick up an additional device from the table, a thin square chip, “This is an attachment for your, er, weapon.” You cringe a bit at this feature, “The AI has aim assist, too. You know self driving cars? Ah, well, it hasn’t been fully tested yet, but in addition to auto aim it- uhm,” You can’t help but let out a nervous laugh, trailing off.

“It shoots for you.” Konig finishes so you don’t have to.

You wonder if the guilt is obvious.

It might as well be you out there in the field, taking lives. He’s probably disgusted with you under that hood, you think.

You purse your lips for a moment, “Yes. But we’re just scratching the surface. This technology is capable of-“

“It’s brilliant,”

Konig is skilled in the art of catching you off guard. He tilts his head, curiously eyeing in your direction. You wonder if he’s looking at your features or the projection,

“You made this yourself?”

You study him back, trying to figure out if he was mocking you, but unable to decipher his expression from under his hood. The AI continued to monitor him on your vision, and you felt as if you were violating his privacy by watching his heart rate slightly spike as he looked you over.

He must be lying.

You turned the device off and set it on the table, “Yes. It’s not perfect, but I’m hoping you can help me work out all the flaws.”

His stared quietly for a moment and you felt dread pool in your stomach, wishing you could see his expression under his hood. “I’d be honored to.”

A shaky smile formed on your face. You could no longer read his heart rate, but you found yourself wanting to believe the sincerity of his voice. “Let’s get started.”

You pick up another matching set of devices, two thin c-shaped bands, before continuing, “Obviously you can’t take a laptop out in the field. These are portable remotes.” Konig watches attentively as you place one of the bracelet shaped device on your wrist, tapping on it to summon another projection. “I tried to make it as user-friendly as possible. We can make adjustments if needed before launch.” You hold out the device toward him. “For you.”

He looks hesitantly at the device. Instead of taking it from you, he places his arm out on the table in front of you.

You’re distracted by your own remote and a moment passes before you register he hasn’t taken it from you. You glance over at his outstretched arm before meeting his eyes.

He sees your confused look and explains, “I just- I don’t want to break it.” Konig knows his own strength and he knows the worth of your project. He doesn’t want to accidentally apply too much pressure and ruin your work.

A nervous laugh escapes you, but you oblige him. You made this device for the battlefield, it’s meant to withstand more than a man. Even an extra large, muscular-

Stop it.

You’re not going to push. You carefully take his forearm in your hand, adjusting the device to his wrist. You try not think about how muscular and hard his forearms are, and try even harder not to think about how hard his biceps would be. And you definitively try not to think about how hard his-

Stop it.

“That comfortable?”

His voice is low, “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course,” leaves your mouth, a little breathier than you intended.

Your face burns and you’re sure he’s got you pinned. You wish you could ask to borrow his mask.

It’s been a long time since you’ve experienced intimacy, okay? You’ve been confined to these four walls for months now, devoid of human touch. You’d be frothing at the mouth for anything bipedal at this point, let alone the mysterious superhuman sitting across from you.

You’re at a disadvantage, to say the least.

You can’t even look at him.

Konig carefully taps on the device on his wrist, activating his remote. The projection appears and he moves his arm to get a closer look. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

If he didn’t notice your blush before he was sure to now. “Oh! I don’t-“ Another nervous laugh, “It’s nothing. Let’s get you calibrated.”

You pick up the earpiece and hand it to him, still avoiding his gaze. You’re forced to meet his eyes again when he doesn’t take it. There’s no way you could handle putting this one on for him. This time you reassure him, “It’s okay. I know it’s small, but it’s durable. I promise.”

He carefully takes it from you, and you try not to notice the electricity you feel when his fingers graze yours. He reaches under his hood, the fabric warping as he places the device behind his ear and turned it on, the same way he watched you do it. He then waited patiently for your guidance.

You put your earpiece on before making a few adjustments on your bracelets projection. “Okay! We should be synced now. Go ahead and pull up your settings.”

You take him through the customizations, telling him how to switch between visual overlays, how to use multiple at once. Display adjustments, how to use the intercom. He watches intently, never interrupting.

“I hope I’m not boring you.”

“Boring me?” Konig stares at you, eyes saturated with disbelief at your doubt. “It’s incredible.”

You feel the warmth creep up on your cheeks again. All of the doubts and moral dilemmas you’ve been mulling over the past few years seem to melt away when Konig compliments you.

“Want to take it for a drive?”

“Absolutely.”

—————————————————-

It’s been awhile since you’ve been out on the field. The passed months have been spent under the florescent lights of the lab, hunched over your laptop as you fought with code. Feeling accomplished when you made a step forward in progress, followed quickly by a sinking feeling as you tried not to think of the consequences of each development.

It was nice to feel the sun for a change.

Konig followed a few steps behind you, both sets of boots crunching on the gravel beneath you. Few words had been exchanged. There was something about unreadable people made you nervous, but you tried not to let it show.

You stopped once in front of the empty shoot house, looking up to the soldier that towered over you.

“I had weapons development make us a prototype gun to pair with the AI. It’s for testing purposes only, so it doesn’t shoot real bullets.” You pointed at the faux shotgun propped up against the outer wall of the shoot house. “The auto aim chip is already attached. It’s going to be something to get used to.”

You continue, “I’ve placed the AI on test. It will simulate the conditions of a mission in a way that adjusts to your learning speed. Obviously once you get used the system we’ll have test runs with real people, but for now I just want you to get used to the overlays. If you get stumped, just let me know. I’ll be able to hear and see what you can from out here. I’m synced in to your device, too, so if you can’t figure out the adjustments, or can’t access your device, I can take care of that for you remotely.”

“Understood.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way he spoke to you like you had seniority, with the utmost respect. It made you feel important. Really it should be the other way around - a nerdy weakling in the presence of an experienced and powerful soldier. You briefly wonder what exactly a man of his stature is capable of. He looks like he could pick up a grown man and snap him in half like a toothpick. Let alone what he could do to you…

You force yourself to stay on topic, but your smile lingers, “Any questions for me?”

You still can’t decipher what’s going on under the mask, but his voice is soft, as soft as it can be under his rigid accent, “Negative.” He walks over to the prop gun and picks it up, handling it expertly. Even though it’s a replica, he still opens the chamber and curiously peaks inside. Watching his big hands run over the realistic firearm caused an intoxicating mixture of fear and arousal to wash over you, manifesting as a tightness in your lower gut. You can’t remember the last time someone made you feel this way. Dizzy and excited and nervous.

It didn’t help that you’ve spent the last few months practically isolated and without intimacy.

He’s going to be the death of me.

Stop it. We’re just excited about testing the project. It’s a long time coming.

He would make me come a long time.

Stop. It.

After you watch him disappear into the shoot house, you turn on the intercom, “Konig? Can you hear me?”

“Affirmative.”

His gravely voice flooding your intercom is not helping your dirty thoughts. You pull up his view on your projection. “Okay, I have your video feed. Are you ready for the simulation?”

He cocks the prop gun so loud you could hear it from inside the building in addition to the comm. “Affirmative.”

Oh, fuck.

The knot in your stomach doubles and you think your knees might just buckle. You shift in your spot in the dirt to steady yourself, gravel scraping under your shoe.

You hear your name over the comm. “You still there?” Your attention is brought back to his view. You can see the world from his eye level and get taken aback at how different it looks compared to yours.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, raising your arm equipped with the wrist remote, “Okay, in 3… 2… 1…” You press the button to start his test simulation.

You watch as Konig looks around. He’s got target scan activated, and the AI has overlaid fake targets onto his projection for him to hunt and eliminate.

You watch carefully, scanning the screen for any imperfections in your coding. The guide seems to be working smoothly, directing Konig through the maze-like hallways of the shoot house with ease. The placement of targets are generated randomly and you’ll have to crunch the numbers later to verify, but it seems to have accurately calculated the most efficient route, directing him accordingly. You try to ignore the sound of Konigs hitched breathing over your receiver and try even harder to ignore the way it’s making you feel. Instead you make sure the auto aim function is activated.

“Approaching first target.” He says over the comm and you can help but smile at how serious he is taking it. You remember your first time in the range, testing out the auto aim on the simulations. How silly you felt. Like a child playing with a toy gun. You think it’s sweet he’s indulging you.

His steps become quieter as he rounds the corner and his breathing slows. He pauses briefly before quickly jumping out at the target. You can tell the auto aim takes over and the shotgun pulls against his grip with the force of a strong magnet. It’s alarming at first, you remember, the gun taking control from you.

It’s not like that, of course. You designed it to be a teammate. Able to identify and terminate a threat before the user had even registered it was there. It was meant to protect the user, to defend their life.

That’s what you tried to tell yourself anyway. It was easier to swallow than thinking of it as the automatic killing robot it really was.

You kept the auto-fire function off for now. Partially because you wanted to slowly transition him into the AI features. Partially because you were ashamed.

You watch as Konig takes back control of the gun. He’ll learn how to work with it instead of against it soon, you remember the same struggle you had yourself in early testing. He fires at the target, a projection of an enemy soldier the AI had slowed for training purposes. Konig pulls the trigger and you hear the sound of gunshots. In real life, of course, nothing had fired. But the AI simulation was designed to immerse the player, imitating the feel of the battlefield. From Konig’s perspective he may as well just shot through a human heart. Other than the learning curve of your designs- it seems natural for him.

It was not natural for you when you had experienced the simulation. If anything it was just a fully immersible prediction of the consequences to your actions. Fuck Around and Find Out™️ now coming to an VR headset near you.

You watched his target drop & fade away in a dust of pixels, a design change you made after being unable to bear the look of replicated dead soldiers lying limp on the floor.

It’s just a job.

“Konig? How did that feel?” You wished you could see his face on the screen before remembering you wouldn’t have been able to see anything behind his hood anyway. You briefly consider a self-facing camera, but wonder if it would be for the improvement of the design or for self-serving reasons. You’d have to think of another good purpose to add it to the final product later.

“It’s a lot faster than I am.” He stuck with the facts, not wanting to cause a misunderstanding if it was strange for him to get used to.

“That’s the idea. Weird, right?” You offered, your smile lifting the tone of your voice.

“Very.” You could tell he was smiling too. “I want to try a few more - I’ll get used to it.”

He continues through the shoot house, approaching the next simulated targets. He’s slowing learning to work with the AI, letting it guide him as he controls the trigger. You watch as your program learns his skill, escalating the challenge first by increasing enemy speed and difficulty, then by adding multiple targets at a time.

You can tell this man is a trained killer, even just from watching a trial. It’s clear he’d easily be able to handle a real mission with ease - your advancements or no. Watching his gloved hands grip the gun, his quickened breathing, made the tightness in your lower half hard to ignore. It felt wrong how his rugged demeanor turned you on.

He continued without faltering, navigating the shoot house’s maze-like layout with the help of your guidance program. Despite your reservations, you decide it’s time to add an additional integration. “Konig, the gun you’re using is fully compatible with the weapon chip. As in, trigger capabilities. If you’d like, you can turn on auto fire.”

There’s a slight pause, and you’re worried he’s realized the full implications of such a technology. You’re relieved when he finally speaks over the intercom, “I think I turned it on.”

You verify on his feed before responding, “You got it. Let me know if you need anything.”

Holding your breath, you observe your AI work. He rounds another corner and approaches two more targets. Your code was capable of identifying each target’s imminent threat level, eliminating them in order of danger to the user. You hear Konig’s breath hitch when the gun operates with a mind of its own, mowing down the simulated targets without hesitation. Each shot effectively tearing through the most vulnerable areas of the targets.

“Meine güte…” He mutters, taking a moment to register what had just happened. You watch his feed pan down to his gun, his hands turning it over to examine it in disbelief.

You wonder what he’s thinking as you watch those strong hands work. If he thinks you’re a monster for creating such a brutal and mindless killing machine.

“Konig?” Your voice is dripping with uncertainty, but it’s your job to collect his feedback, “All good?”

You watch his thumb stroke the forend before his gaze shifts up, “I think I might be out of a job.”

You let out a laugh, words pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Well, I don’t think we’d be able to replace you.”

Ah, shit.

You’re hoping you didn’t lay all your cards on the table, but you don’t dare let the silence hang, forging on, “Human supervision is still needed when it comes to technology like this. You know, wouldn’t want it to turn evil and try to take over the population.”

You’re hoping you saved it, but the few seconds before he responds seem like a lifetime.

“Well if it was made by you, I don’t think it would be capable of turning evil.”

Your brain short circuits and your mouth parts as you ready to respond, but find that you’re unable.

What did he mean by that? If he was implying that you weren’t evil enough to negatively influence a code, then he didn’t know you. Of course he didn’t, he just met you.

Was he implying you were too smart of a programmer to let a technology go faulty? Then he REALLY didn’t know you. You think briefly to your failed prototypes. How long it took to work out the bug of the AI mistakenly registering civilian children as threats.

Ugh.

Whatever the implications, you understand that Konig just complemented you. Something you were not still not equipped to handle, demonstrated by your slack jaw and wide eyes you’re thankful he can’t see. All accompanied by a warm feeling that spreads across your chest.

He’s just being nice.

Sexual attraction, that you could handle.

Not a crush.

This is a no-crushing zone, you decide.

The warm feeling needs to stay below the belt, thank you very much.

It’s obvious you’re joking, but your voice has a different tone when you finally gather yourself. Softer, bordering on dispirited, “Well, I don’t know about that. Y’know, I once programmed a toaster to cook my toast the perfect amount every time. I wanted it to spring out at exactly the right speed & distance to land square on my plate. Like you see in cartoons, y’know? It worked for a little… but one day it starting burning all my toast to char and shooting it max speed at my ceiling. I think it got mad it’s life purpose was making my breakfast.”

You hear Konig laugh for the first time. A raspy, hearty laugh that floods your comm and fuels that warm feeling in your chest, much to your dismay. You nose scrunches as you watch the shake of his feed slow. “There are worse purposes.”

You didn’t even give yourself the space to dissect the implications on that one. The smile is apparent in your voice, “I’ll let the toaster know.”

Konig finished out the trial after getting used to a few more overlays. You confirmed you had everything you needed for the day before letting Konig know you could wrap up.

He met you at the entrance of the shoot house, handing over the gun to you. It took you a moment to get readjusted to his size. He was tall enough to block the entire sun, casting you in his shadow.

You hold the barrel of the gun with one hand, resting the butt on the dirt. With your other hand you remove your earpiece, “Thank you for your help today. Really.” You say, forced to tilt your head back to look up at him. “If you’re interested, I’d love to continue trials with you.”

“It was my pleasure. I’d be happy to help.”

He tried to take off his wrist remote before you stopped him, “You can hang on to that. I have all your data on mine. It would be good for my research if you got used to the overlays outside of here. I don’t want to assume your time, but I think it may be helpful in assisting you with your duties.”

Konig shifts in his spot, “I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

You smile at him, pleased he’s being so respectful of your work. “Don’t worry. If you manage to damage it, then it’s not good enough for launch. Even breaking it will be valuable research.”

He considers this before hesitantly dropping his arm.

You continue, “Just promise you’ll share your thoughts with me. I don’t know what the life of a soldier is like, I don’t always know what’s best for you guys. Your feedback will be important in tailoring the design to fit your needs. It’s just a prototype, so you can be honest.”

His eyes stare down at you from under his hood and you can’t help but avoid his intimidating gaze by looking at the black paint around his eyes.

“I promise,” He says definitively and it’s obvious he means it.

You have his word.

——————————————————————

Back in the lab, you take a deep breath as you set your prototypes down. You had parted ways with Konig at the shoot house and haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

You take the ear piece and remove the chip from the prototype gun in order to transfer the data to your laptop. You had a long night ahead of you reviewing footage and analyzing the AI results, but you knew your focus was going to be elsewhere.

You hoped your distracted thoughts would subside after eating an early dinner and watching an episode of your most recent show binge, but it doesn’t help.

You can’t stop thinking about the soldier with a laugh so wonderful you’d do about anything to hear it again.

You did your best to stay on task and turned your attention to your laptop, opening the software you designed to store its data.

It finally loads and what displays makes you gasp, your hand instinctively shooting up to cover your mouth.

Konig’s feed is still live.

Your eyes dart over to your ear piece, confirming it’s turned off. He couldn’t hear you on the comm. His overlay projection is turned off, but he must not have powered the unit completely down, and you neglected to end the feed.

You still don’t dare make a sound. You sit frozen, staring down at the screen with wide eyes.

He’s not wearing the headset, no. You can tell the camera is sitting on something at hip-height, maybe a table or a bed. Definitely not Konig-height. You can’t see much, your view is facing the wall of what you can tell is a modest-sized room.

It’s five-thirty now, you guess he’s clocked out and went back to his quarters for the evening.

This is so wrong.

You were violating his privacy. You should just disconnect the feed now, and forget about it.

You should.

But you don’t.

Instead you slowly lower your hands, lips pursed. It’s not long before Konig comes in to view.

The only thing he has on is a towel wrapped around his waist. His head was cropped out of view, but you can see his chest and his pecs are as chiseled as you had imaged them. Abs you hadn’t previously considered begging for your attention. The towel is dangerously low and goddamnit he’s got V lines, of course he does, and you can feel the warmth pool in your lower abdomen again.

This is so so wrong.

You should end it. End the feed, end the software, end the project. You’ve already crossed so many lines and if anyone found out about this you’d be discharged so fast it would make your head spin.

You’re seriously considering if it’s worth being outed as a pervert and forfeiting your grant just to ogle at the ultimate beefcake while Konig gets comfortable on his cot, face still out of frame. You’ve got a view of his side now, showcasing the middle of his chest down. You can see the definition on his abdominal muscles and you silently thank yourself for opting for choosing the higher resolution camera for your project.

He moves his arms out of frame once he gets the towel adjusted, you’re assuming to prop them behind his head.

He lays still for a few minutes, and you wish you could see his face. You were almost done talking yourself into closing the feed when his arm comes back in to view. Strong hands and forearms followed by massive biceps.

Your breath hitches again when you realize he’s reaching down for the towel. He unwraps it delicately, letting each end hang off the side of the bed.

He’s fully naked now, and it’s official-

You’re a pervert.

His cock sits at half attention and he wraps his hands around it, stroking it absentmindedly.

Oh, fuck.

Your mouth hangs slack and you can’t help but let out a squeak. You double check to make sure you’re still in your software and didn’t somehow accidentally open PornHub. But no, you were definitely watching Konig rut into his hand, teasing himself to arousal.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to reach full attention, leaking precum from the swollen tip. Even scaled next to his oversized hands you can tell it’s huge.

He reaches down to cup his balls briefly before returning to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and stroking gently.

You can’t stop watching now- you’re locked in, eyes glued to the screen and you don’t think you’ve so much as blinked this entire time.

You watch as he picks up the pace, biceps flexing as he fucks his hand faster.

A low moan comes through the speakers of your laptop. You scramble for the volume controls, reducing it until you were sure no one passing by in the hall could hear.

It’s addicting, his moans. Deep and gravely and you can’t help but close your eyes and imagine what it would be like for him to be moaning in your ear instead of over a screen. For him to be fucking you instead of his hand. Moaning like he’s approaching a release he hasn’t felt in decades.

When you open your eyes again he’s stroking faster, his whole body tensing, a glossy shine forming on his defined muscles. You can’t help but stare at his bicep as it flexes to jerk his cock.

Even without seeing his face, you can tell he’s getting close.

His cock is a blur as he pumps vigorously. His breath quickens before suddenly hitching, muscles fully clenched as he comes, the first few drops landing on his stomach and thighs.

His whole body constricts as the waves of the pleasure wash over him. You can tell it’s intense.

His pumping slows and his seed spills over his knuckles and down his shaft as he squeezes out the last of it, quivering at the sensitivity.

His muscles relax and he sinks back into his cot, wiping his hand on the towel. He lays still for a few moments, the sound of him catching his breath and his rising and falling chest takes stage. Until he removes the towel from underneath him, wiping away his mess.

You’re staring, eyes wider than when you started. Your knuckles lighten as you grip the stool beneath you. It wasn’t the finish that shocked you, no.

Not the size of the load that spilled from his huge cock.

Not the way he had bucked his hips, desperate for the touch.

Not the way his muscles had rippled through the phases of orgasm.

You were shocked because as he finished;

Konig had moaned your name.

Part two

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: My dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your shoulder hurts. Your ribs too. You keep your arm across your middle as you drag your feet down the pavement. The impact of the bed frame continues to throb tenderly in your flesh. 

The embarrassment is worse than the pain. You barely hold back the hot tears behind your eyes. You can still hear Professor Smith’s voice. He was mortified, just as much as you. How can you ever face him again?  

You’re not going to. You give up. Lee is right. You’re too stupid. You’re useless. You’re destined to end up just like your mom. Not quite. You doubt there will ever be a man who would waste his time. 

You dab away the moisture along the brims of your eyes before you enter the convenience store. You nod at the cashier and duck down the middle aisle. You find a canister of your usual brand and linger before the shelf. You don’t want to go back yet, but you know the longer you take, the more reason there is for Lee to complain. 

You pay and head back out into the street. The sky is grey and clouds dampen the air. There’s a rainstorm coming. It’s a perfect setting for today. 

The apartment rises before you and you sigh in resignation. This is it. The rest of your life. Well... 

One day your mother will cast you out. It might be sooner than later with how Lee hangs around, how he commands her. He doesn’t see a place for you there. You don’t see one for you anywhere. What will you do then?  

As it is, all you have to your name is your laptop, your ratty clothes, and the debt you won’t be able to pay back when you fail this course and drop out. You’re defeated by the time you get to the top of the stairs. You keep your head down as you enter the apartment and slide the chain into place. 

You’re met with thick grunts and the slap of flesh. Your mom’s whimpers are muffled but Lee’s carnal noises are untethered. Your breath traps in your chest and your skin razes hotly. You try to ignore it as you enter the kitchen and set the canister on the counter, leaving the change on the lid. 

As you back up, there’s a glimmer of movement from your left. The bathroom door opens, revealing the back of Lee’s rutting body. You cover your eyes in horror as he huffs and puffs, your mother’s strangled cries trickling out as she’s hidden behind the door, between him and the sink. 

“Put a pot on,” he demands as he grips the door and bites his lip, putting more into his thrust, “we’re almost done.” 

He smirks and winks before he snaps the door shut. Your stomach stirs with nausea and you quickly spin away. You shake as you near the counter. You have no other choice. You know if you ignore him, he’ll make sure it all gets worse for you. He’s already ruined so much. 

You put the change aside and uncap the canister. You peel back the freshness seal, your bandaged hand making it all the more tedious. The coffee grounds catch on the gauze. You fill the tank of the machine and set the pot in place. You measure out the coffee and flip the lid down, hitting the red button before you walk away. 

You can still hear them. Even as you shut your bedroom door. You face your room and turn on the light. It’s worse than when you left. 

Your bed is half off the frame, your bookshelf’s been cleared onto the floor, your laundry basket is overturned, and your laptop... It’s under the chair. You cross the room and bend to pick it up. You examine it; loose hinges and the frame is peeling away from the monitor. Your heart plummets and you drop into the chair. 

You have to prop the screen up against the wall to keep it open. Awkwardly, you reach across the desk to reach the keyboard and hit the power button. To your surprise, it boots and the screen lights up. The colours are all off; the dark is now light and the reverse. The mouse pad doesn’t work, or half the keys. 

It takes you twenty minutes to sign in. Aside from your burnt hand, the state of the laptop is more than enough to deter you. You watch the desktop load helplessly and several notifications pop up along the right side of the screen. You don’t read any of them as you see the name; Dr. Raymond Smith. 

You know what they are. Just like before. He's repulsed by you. By the way you live. He saw the truth and you can't hide it any longer. It's not worth it to deny it any longer. 

It was all a stupid idea. As stupid as you. It's easier to just give up. You don't know why you tried in the first place. 

You'll put in a request to drop the course. If you can. You can't do much given the state of your laptop. You can't do much at all in life. That's the way it will always be. 

📓

The last... however many days you've been awake. Waiting. Dreading. Expecting Lee to burst in and humiliate you again. 

Every time you try to close your eyes, you swear you hear the door knob. You put the chair under the knob. You're so tired. Exhausted to the bone. You need sleep badly. 

You lay down, head swimming with agony, and your eyes close without another thought. You can't resist the heavy blanket of fatigue that drapes over you. There is nothing. A void of sheer desolation that wraps around your body, submerging you like dark water. 

You wake with a start. The vision of blue eyes fade in an instant. Eyes you know. Not the vivid irises of the sinister man in your mother's room, no a pair of almost crystalline orbs, soft and diligent. You shake of the thought and rub the stitch from your forehead. 

You smell. You've been wearing the same clothes since that day. How long ago was that? You can't count. You haven't showered, the room is the same mess he made of it, your life too. 

You don't move. You don't want to. Not until the gentle tap comes at the door. You groan as the handle turns but the chair keeps the door lodged in place.  

"Sweetie," your mom calls through, "will you let me in?" 

You stare at the door. Your limbs refuse to move. You can't lift even a finger. You close your eyes and listen to her beg. You hate that. You hear it constantly, the way she begs him to stop, to listen, or just to be kind. 

Go away. 

When you open your eyes next, there's a banging on the door. The chair lurches and the legs scrape on the floor, but the door stays shut. You hide again, pulling a pillow over your head. 

Time flows into vague droning and shades of grey. Your head is foggy and thick. Suddenly, you're awake and staring up at an angry face. You're torn out of the bed and dragged to sit at the edge. Only Lee's unbreakable grip keeps you from flopping onto your back. 

You stare up at him dumbly then your eyes search past him. The chair is broken on the floor. You look back to him, head lolling. You blink as he snarls. 

"What're ya doin'? You're drivin' your ma batty! And I gotta listen to it so you get your ass up." 

You try to swat him away and whimper as your hand pulses and fire course through your skin. You force your spine rigid and try to shrug him off. You shake your head and cradle your hand in your lap, the bandage stained and smelly with puss. 

"Get on you fucking feet," he lifts you as if you weigh nothing. You as good as dangle from his grasp, "cupboards are empty." 

"Sweetie," your mom's birdish cheep comes from the doorway, "we got the credits. I wrote a list for you." 

"Laying in the dark all day, what else you got?" Lee scoffs and lets you go. You waver on your feet and look dully over at your mothers shadow. "Fucking stinks in here." 

You shuffle past him silently. You don't know what to do, you just know you need to be away from him. You feel sick. You're dizzy and drained.  

You put out your uninjured hand to take the list from your mom. Your stench ripples off the hoodie. She smiles through a curled lip. 

"Sweetie, you should get changed first," she slurs and give a doelike flutter of lashes. Drunk, as always. Maybe you should start. Maybe you wouldn't have to feel so much. 

You nod and go to the closet. Lee prowls around your desk but you're too hazy to care. You pull out a new hoodie then go to the dresser to find some loose sweats.  

You stop and stare at the man standing by your bed. The thick silence strangles you as he growls under his breath. Your mom trills with nervous laughter. 

"Lee, come on, she gotta put new clothes on. Honey, can you make sure you grab an extra chop for him?" 

You shrug and you hug the rumpled clothing with one arm and stare at the floor. He can have yours. Your stomach is so empty, the very idea of food makes you want to wretch. 

"Mmm, stop dragging your ass," he snarls as he stomps to the door, "fucking starving." 

You wait until he slams it. You expect that. You don’t even react. You lay the clothing on the desk and peel off the dingy layers. You pull on the sweats and swoop the sweater over your head. If you keep the hood up, you won’t have to worry about your hair or face. 

You take the list and stuff it in your pocket. Each step is a stagger. Your body is stiff and sore. You go out into the hall and brace yourself for another attack. You only hear your mother murmuring in the kitchen. You edge away and sit on the floor as you put your shoes on.  

You stand and fumble with the locks on the door. You can barely get your fingers to co-operate and your burnt hand is in flames. The bandages barely cling to the flesh. You shut the door behind you without using the key and head down the hallway. 

Down the stairs, you can see the yellow sunlight seeping in through the front doors. You emerge, squinting into the shine, and raise your hand as you try to see through it. Your head pounds at the intensity of daylight.  

You trod between the freshly mowed plot of grass before the building and stop by the sidewalk. You sway and try to shake the cobwebs out. You look one way then the other. The heat gathers under your sweater and you hunch down even more. It’s an unusually warm day. 

Your name startles you before you can find your bearings and set off for the store. You must be delirious. Maybe you should’ve found some stale bread to chew on. Rings of colour form in your vision as you turn around to face the echo of your name. 

The figure moves decisively towards you. You have to be hallucinating. It can’t be him. It’s probably that guy who always asks for a light between puffing smoke towards the doors. 

“I’ve been emailing,” Professor Smith says. You lean back on your heel and grimace. He isn’t real. “You... are you well?” 

You stare at him. You try to see through the delusion but can’t. You look down at your trembling hand then turn to peer down the street. 

“I have to go,” you croak over your dry tongue. 

You turn away, feet tangling, and stagger on. You can hear him following. His steps are fleet and light. In a moment, he’s at your side. 

“Please, you look ill, slow down,” he touches your arm and you rip away from him. 

“Leave--” you stumble and throw your arms out to balance yourself, stopping short as you nearly keel over. “I’m okay.” 

“You clearly aren’t. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for over a week. After our last meeting, I’m certain you can understand my concern--” 

You face him and scrunch up your nose, “Professor,” you stammer out, “you don’t have to worry about me. No one does.” 

You quickly veer past him and fall into a clumsy sprint across the street. You barely dodge a car on your way to the other side and you’re out of breath as you meet the curb. You keep your head down as you hurry away, hoping he’s not persistent. He’ll go away. He’s not real, so you just have to stop thinking. 

[kentosbabes]

I was daydreaming about this earlier and just had to blurt it out. need him so bad :(

Eren who sits next to you in Computer Science class. You never really spoke to him only small talk here and there. he didn’t have a pristine reputation, both for messing with girls and also for his constant smoking and drinking. yet when he sat next to you in class he was as quiet as anything he never made any inappropriate comments or glances, he always paid attention to the lecture and handed in his work on time.

Eren who asks you to be his partner for the assignment coming up on building an application. Although you were a little shocked at first you realized he probably picked you as you were not only the easier option as you sit next to him but you were excelling in the subject so he was guaranteed a strong grade. He asks for your number and you gladly type it into his phone saving your name with a heart next to it. you notice the moon in the top left corner of his phone, he’s put his phone on silent, and you can’t help but think about all the notifications he must be getting. you pass his phone back and he chuckles at the name placing his phone in his back pocket.

Eren who messaged you at 6pm one night of the week. ‘hey smarty wanna come round to work on the project.’ you smile at the nickname and type back ‘who is this?’ hoping to tease him and knock back his seemingly big ego. ‘it’s Eren? don’t tell me your cheating on me and got a different partner’ he responds. you finally agree to go over and follow the directions he sent you.

Eren who has a penthouse over three times the size of your own apartment. To your surprise it’s all tidy with a timeless design and floor-to-ceiling windows. ‘wow Yeager not what I was expecting’ you say as you look around ‘And what were you expecting’ he asks leading you to what seemed to be a dining room. ‘i don’t know like a decaying apartment that reeks of weed’ you say scrunching your nose at the thought. he only replies with an ‘ouch’ as he sits down next to you at the table.

Eren who has no idea what to do when you begin to type up a planning document. he gets even more confused as you begin to start coding. ‘yeager are you paying attention’ you say as you try to explain to him what is going on but he just stares at you. ‘huh um yeah something about the structure of the code right?’ he says shaking his head as you bring him back to reality. ‘why did you even pick this subject’ you ask now staring up at him batting your lashes. ‘I like playing games on my laptop’ he shrugs keeping eye contact with you ‘I get all the graphics card and PC talk it’s just the coding that baffles me’. he can only think about how innocent you look as you look up at him.

Eren who continues to meet up with you almost daily to work on the project. You meet up at one of the cafes closer to your apartment and he can’t take his eyes off you. you walked in with your hair down glasses on your nose and wearing flared jeans and a crop top doing all the right things. He waved at you so you can see him and you catch his green eyes and walk up sitting opposite him in the booth. he lets you order your coffee then says his own and puts out his card paying for the both of you ‘Eren you don’t have to do that’ you say looking at him ‘It’s my treat baby, you just worry your pretty brain about the project yeah I’ve got everything covered’ he says pocking your temple.

Eren who surprisingly takes initiative as you stand presenting your application. He says all the right things and also lets you talk about the more detailed elements. it’s no surprise you got a grade A making Eren smile hard and look over at you shaking your shoulders and repeating ‘thank you ma’ over and over. ‘damn smarty you really know your shit’ he says as you begin to pack up your things ‘i’m throwing a party later, you should come’ you shake your head no ‘oh come on mama you’ll be my VIP. I promise you’ll enjoy it' he says throwing his arm around your shoulder. You sigh out a yes and let him lead you to your next class.

Eren who mixes you up a drink and sits with you on his balcony as the apartment is filled with people dancing to loud music. he leans back on the sofa his arm reaching your waist, sipping on his beer as you both admire the view. you look over to him and find him already staring at you. 'your beautiful' he says. 'do you say that to all your girls?' you scoff turning away from him. his hand reaches up caressing your jaw and turning your face so his eyes can meet your own. his emerald eyes burning into yours as he stares at you. before you can think his lips are on yours in a soft kiss, his lips are soft and you can taste the beer on his tongue. your leg moves so you straddle him his hands still cup your cheeks as your hang around his neck. your the first to pull away looking down at him, 'speechless for once Yeager?' you tease. he only hums in response before bringing your lips back to his.

Eren who now messages you non-stop from as soon as he opens his eyes to when he sleeps sleep. he gets you to come round to his on a regular basis. He uses the excuse of needing help with a topic but just wants to have you sit on his lap cockwarming him as you attempt to explain the topic. He becomes obsessed with you needing to feel your touch at all times, from having to hold you as you do your makeup to holding your hand under the table during class. Not because he's ashamed because all he does is talk about you to his friends to the point they're sick of him. He walks with pride with his arm around your waist as you walk through the corridors.

Eren who turns up at your place drunk after a party. As soon as you open the door his head is nudged into your shoulder as he mumbles gibberish. 'Hey what are you doing here it's only 8pm shouldn't you be partying?' you question dragging him into your dorm. 'I missed you, was no fun without you mama' he says stumbling onto the couch and dragging you with him into his lap. 'you're drunk.' you say rolling your eyes. 'god baby you make me crazy.' he groans kissing your neck 'wanna make you mine'. 'okay Yeager don't go saying things you don't mean' you simply state dragging him to your bedroom. 'i mean it.' he states flopping down on the bed. 'then ask me when you sober and maybe you'll get a yes'.

Eren who's arms are still wrapped around you when you wake up. 'Morning baby' he mumbles into your neck. You turn so you can face him 'Morning handsome' you say tucking his strands of hair behind his ears. 'I believe I have something to ask you' he says now pecking kisses all over your face. 'hmm and what is that' You giggle at his affection. 'Would you like to be my girlfriend?' you both can't stop smiling as he asks. 'let me think about it' you say looking up at the ceiling Eren rolls on top of you trapping you between his arms the motion making you squeal. he raises his eyebrow as a sign to continue 'yes, yes I would'.

Masterlist

[em1e]

ᶻz feat. toge + itadori + megumi !!

jjk && college tropes

☓ silly little college au's // insp from @k9wa my spinkle spoingle pumpkin pie's tr version

ᶻz・toge inumaki

⠀ ⬤ as the best damn tutor you’ve ever had

inumaki almost snickers when you all but throw your forehead against the table in the library, practically defeated by your ‘intro to anatomy and physiology' assignments. despite your clear distress, he taps the top of your head for your attention. with a huff, you barely sit up, chin resting on the polished wood with an angry red mark forming on your forehead. 

he points to the work again, typing out on his laptop to make it easier to explain. 

‘It’s easy once you realize the nervous system can be broken down to two different parts - the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system.’

reading that makes you want to puke. 

“the way you typed that makes you sound like a dictionary.” you grimace. 

he smiles, one that has you flushing and looking away when he taps the hardcover textbook sitting open in front of him. you can hardly see it from the way you’re sitting, but just barely you’re able to make out highlighted text. the definition of nervous systems screaming at you in bright blue ink. 

“that feels like cheating when you explain it in just a slightly different way than the book.” you kick at his chair leg, but there’s no real intent to harm him in any way. he only hums, typing. 

‘It’s not cheating. I’m just using my resources.’

“using ‘em to make me look stupid,” you grumble, sitting up only to slump forward again with your head in your hands, “i’m hopeless, inumaki! i’m never gonna pass this stupid class and get my stupid degree.” 

you’re complaining just to complain at this point, too overwhelmed with too many classes and assignments and other things in life to do to really be so stressed over something you could easily have done in half an hour if you just stopped whining. 

if inumaki cares to unbox all that stress, he makes no move to show it, only typing away and nudging your foot when you don’t look up to read what he’s said. 

‘Let’s take a break and go to that cafe you like, then we can work through every assignment together.’ 

okay, maybe he does show it a little. 

“what about your assignments? i promised i’d help you make that diorama for your psychology class-” 

he’s waving you off while packing his bag, waiting to put his laptop away so you can still communicate. 

‘We’ll do it tomorrow. It’s not due for another two weeks.’ 

you puff out your cheeks, eyeing him. “you sure?” 

he sends you a thumbs up and that smile that leaves you practically melting in your chair, and that’s enough to encourage you to pack your stuff with a small grumble. 

“fine, but i’m buying.” 

you pull your wallet from your bag just to have it on hand, but he snatches it with a swiftness you never knew he had, sticking his tongue out at you and keeping it out of your reach when you swipe for it again. he shakes his head when you pout, shoving it into his jacket pocket and taking out his own to wave in front of you. like he’s taunting you, despite him being the only real loser for having to spend money on the both of you. 

“you’re no fair inumaki, how am i supposed to pay you back for tutoring me and buying me coffee?” 

he pulls out his phone to his notes app, typing for a second before facing it towards you. 

‘Maybe going on a date with me would be enough?’

you feel yourself flush, shoving his phone away as if that’d get rid of it, “o-okay, yeah, that sounds good. that sounds nice.” 

he smiles, offering you his hand to carry your bag for you, but takes it for himself when you don’t pass it over. then he’s grabbing your own hand, bold in his own way, to pull you out of the library when you’re still too surprised by his declaration to do any of it yourself.

ᶻz・yuji itadori 

⠀ ⬤ as the worst classmate to work on a project with

you felt doomed the second the words left your professors lips. 

“itadori and (y/n), you’ll be paired for the end of the semester presentation. what you’ll be graded on is in the syllabus, and . . . that should be it for pairings. class is dismissed.” 

your professor closes the book in his hand and everyone in the class begins to disperse, but you feel frozen at your desk with your head in your hands. 

fifty percent of your grade sits woven into this presentation, and you’ve been  paired with the one person in class you didn’t want. even megumi would’ve been better! at least you know he’d do his part! 

someone taps your desk, and you jump, looking at whoever saw it fit to disrupt your clear mental breakdown. 

“hi!” your presentation partner smiles down at you, cheerful and happy and god you hate to say attractive, “looks like we’re partners!” 

“yeah!” you force a smile, shoving your notebook into your bag with a little more hostility than necessary, “let me get your number and we can talk about the details of the assignment-” 

you flinch when he thrusts his phone in front of you, and it leaves him smiling sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry, ‘m not used to doing projects without megumi or nobara. i’ll do my best to help you!” 

the way he says it sounds so genuine, you almost feel bad for judging him so harshly. almost, if not for the warnings your friends in other classes told you about him and his group. that they’d do the barest minimum of work, questioned everything the other wrote, and all but argue over each slide in simple presentations. still, the way he looks at you reminds you of a puppy, cute and nonthreatening. you’ll take his promise with a grain of salt. 

you offer a real smile to match his, “it’s okay, we’ll work on it together.” and take his phone to enter your number, sending yourself a text so you can save it. 

and he does make due on his promise. hell, he’s done more than you when it comes to adding slides, and you only have to fact check him a handful of times! it’s honestly such a shock, practically gaping when you opened the slides for the first time to see it was almost done before you’d even had a chance to add anything yourself. 

still, you do your part, and you have a respectable presentation finished almost two months before it’s even due! 

you invite itadori out for ice cream to celebrate. he joins you only five minutes after you’ve been waiting, and the two of you stroll around campus to find a nice place to relax after you’ve acquired your goods. 

“i have to admit something.” he says when a nice silence washes over the two of you, ice cream long gone. you sit up from your lying position in the grass you’d settled in. itadori has that same sheepish look from when he’d greeted you officially for the first time, hand rubbing the back of his neck and smiling. 

“oh god, what is it.” he winces at your sudden dramatics, afraid you’ll actually be upset for what he’s about to spill to you. 

“i . . . didn’t do the whole presentation on my own.” he looks down, dejected and waiting for your barrage of insults he’s sure you’ll throw his way. 

“well yeah, i helped.” you say as if stating the obvious. which is partly true, he guesses, but not what he’s getting at. 

“no i- oh god, this is embarrassing to admit. i wanted to impress you so i had one of my friends help me put together a super cool presentation so you’d like me.” he flushes at the confession, leaving out the fact that he had to pay maki an embarrassing amount of money to help him. 

and he expects you to berate him, or ask him why he’d do something so stupid, but instead the air is filled with your laughter. 

“you didn’t have to do all that to impress me.” you say when you’re dwindled down to giggles, “you’re a pretty cool guy, i think i would’ve folded if you just asked me out.” 

his blush spreads to his chest, but his smile only grows, “i wish i knew that before i gave away all the credits on my food card.” 

ᶻz・megumi fushigiro

⠀ ⬤ as your favorite person to skip class with

you get the text while walking to your literature course, almost missing it to avoid being late. 

want 2 hang?

you stop dead in your tracks, offering half-hearted apologies when you realize you’re in other people’s way in order to reply. 

i have class. 

he should know you do, given the fact that you shared your schedule with him and even tried to sync some overlapping classes together, with the hopes that you’d get to hang out in between certain times. 

me 2. wanna get lunch?

you almost laugh, shaking your head to no one in particular. you are ahead in the course, and you rarely miss days for this class anyways. what’s the real harm in skipping just once? 

sure, meet u in the cafeteria? 

u know it. 

with a hum, you turn on your heel in the opposite direction, fingers crossed that your dear friend megumi would be willing to pay for your meal using his dad’s credit card. 

you spot him fairly easily once entering the cafeteria, sitting at the table you normally eat at, and greet him with a smile. 

“hey.” you sit down, placing your bag to your side and taking out your wallet with a hum. 

“hi,” he pushes one of the three items he has towards you, and you pause when you realize he’s already gotten you food. your favorite, no less, “how were your other classes today?” 

“you’re too good to me, megumi,” you almost drool, saying a quick thanks before diving into the meal, “they were okay, mostly just reviewing old stuff.” 

you pause for a second, eyeing him, “isn’t the class you’re skipping the only one you have today?” 

he nods, too busy eating his own food to reply. 

“what was the point of even coming today?” you laugh, flicking a packet of silverware at him, “why didn’t you just wait til’ after class? we could’ve eaten then.”

he shrugs, swallowing what’s in his mouth, “cafeteria would’ve been closed by then.” 

he says it like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and you can’t stop the giggles that pass your lips, instead covering your mouth with your hand as if that’d hide them. 

“we could’ve gone somewhere off campus, now both of us are gonna be behind.” 

megumi seems unbothered at this, but you’re sure he has someone in class to grab notes from. probably itadori, if he promises to take him out to eat sometime during the week. still, he takes a moment to reply to instead enjoy the food he’s eating. 

“if i did, we wouldn’t get to hang out for as long.” 

you roll your eyes, deciding to not bring up how the two of you spend literally every other day together, “we still could’ve hung out after class, feels like a waste that you came here for one thing and didn’t even go to it.” 

“‘s’not a waste if i’m hanging out with you.” he says casually, taking another bite. 

you’d almost blush if not for the fact he has ketchup smeared against the side of his lip. it makes you smile, reaching over with a napkin to wipe it off his face and he hums at the familiarity. you’re glad the class you skipped is your last for the day, knowing megumi means knowing he’d easily convince you to forgo any others you might’ve had in favor of spending time with him. 

he must pick up on the idea of you having a soft spot for him, because he takes each minute of your time in stride. deciding the hangout shouldn’t end at just lunch, he persuades you to join him at his dorm - it really didn’t take much from him, the offer of watching a movie with snacks provided leaving prettily from his lips being all you really need to say yes, and the day ends with you curled up beside him on his bed, ignoring the way itadori gushes at the two of you together in favor of watching the movie from megumi’s laptop.

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.6

My mother taught me that sometimes it rains. Sometimes it pours, and you’re soaked through and miserable and it feels like it may never stop. But no matter how heavily the rain falls, no matter how drenched you get, you are not the rain.

Some day you will be dry again.

Things have been easier since I blocked Paul, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache, barely noticeable as long as I don’t dig too deep. I try to keep myself distracted, reading Lucky Girl for what must be the fifth time. It’s my comfort read, Evie reminds me a little of myself. I think we could have been friends, hanging out and agreeing that being in love is the absolute worst, actually, while we yearn for our respective idiots.

The memory of Paul is not the only thing I’m trying to escape. With all my channels inactive, even the haters have gone quiet and my views are dropping every week. I’ve toyed with the idea of simply abandoning everything and starting a new brand, but I don’t want to rebuild my follower count from scratch. I don’t have time for it. My bills are starting to pile up, and while I can still pay them for now, it won’t be long before I have to either crawl back to mom and dad and ask for help, or get one of those real jobs people keep talking about. I’m not even sure which option I would hate the most, so I hide in my book for now.

A sharp knock on the door jerks me away from Evie admiring Jude in an art gallery and back to reality.

I hesitate for a moment. I have no idea who it could be, and I don’t want to see anyone, especially not some smarmy salesperson – or worse, my landlord. With a sigh, I put my book face down on the armrest and shuffle to the door.

Miranda is leaning casually against the doorway, her high heels making her look almost as tall as Samara. At their feet, a couple of large shopping bags are threatening to fall over and spill their contents on my doormat.

“See, Samara? I told you she was still alive.”

“So you did. Then I sure hope she has a very good excuse for refusing to see her best friends for almost two months!“

I feel my cheeks get hot. “Uh, hi. I’m sorry I disappeared, I’ve just had a rough time since, you know. But I promise to call you, maybe we can make plans soon?”

“No need, we’re here now, so you won’t have to worry about that.” Samara’s smile is cheerful, but her tone is resolute. Even so, I try to object.

“Seriously, it’s not a good time, I haven’t even showered for like three days, and the place is a mess.”

“Girl, since when do we care about mess? We’re here because we love you – stinky or not.” She wrinkles her nose, making the freckles on her face dance.

“What is this, some sort of intervention?”

Miranda smirks. “Pretty much. Sorry, but someone’s gotta save you from yourself, and we’re not letting you waste any more time moping over a man who didn’t deserve you. We’ve got snacks and a box of rosé with your name on it, so you might as well get out of the way.”

“Fiiine, but no judging the absolute state of the place.” I roll my eyes and invite them in with a dramatic flourish of my arm, but I can’t help but smile. Samara bounces through the door despite the heavy shopping bags, and Miranda goes straight for my laptop.

“What’s your login?”

“It’s just my birthday, and before you come for me, yes, I know that’s bad.”

Miranda shakes her head as the laptop plays a jaunty tune and lets her in.

“You’ll get the full security lecture another day, right now it’s time to declare inbox bankruptcy. We’re getting rid of all this bullshit so you can get back to business.”

“Miranda, there are literally thousands of messages. It’ll take days to go through, maybe weeks.”

She doesn’t even look up, her perfectly manicured fingers a blur over the keyboard.

“Give me an hour. I’m going to delete anything that contains profanity, and then I’ll sort the rest into folders, so don’t worry, you won’t be losing anything permanently. But I’m going to mark everything as read and archive it so you can get a fresh start. If anyone wants something important from you, they’ll reach out again, trust me.”

I stop myself from protesting further. Miranda knows what she’s doing, and it really would be a relief not to worry about everything.

Behind me, Samara has stopped unpacking the groceries.

“Just let Miranda work her magic and get your smelly butt into a bath. And make it a nice one, soak for a bit and pretend you’re a mermaid or something. We’ll get everything set up in here while you scrub off the sadness.”

I feel a slight pang of embarrassment as I walk into the bathroom. The sunlight is creating little islands of warmth on the black tiles, but it also mercilessly illuminates the limescale in the shower and a couple of cotton swabs that missed the bin. The sink is decorated with a few dried clumps of toothpaste, each of them outlined in red from last time I dyed my hair.

How did I let it get this bad?

I turn on the taps and leave them running while I undress. Then, I lower myself awkwardly into the tub and let the water cascade through my fingers. It would be nice if it was this easy, washing away the sadness and frustration, the longing and the hurt.

The gentle sound of flowing water is mesmerising, and before I know it, the tub is full. I add a small handful of bath salts and swirl it around. A soothing scent of lavender rises with the steam.

When I lie down, the hot water envelops me like a hug. It feels like it’s thawing something in me that I didn’t even know was frozen. I close my eyes and listen to Samara and Miranda laughing about something. It’s almost like being home and hearing my parents talk softly in the other room. It always made me feel safe. Less alone.

As the water begins to cool, I scrub down, slowly, methodically, running soapy hands along every inch of my body. It feels good, like I’m massaging life back into my limbs. Tonight will be fun, I decide. We’re going to stuff our faces with junk food, get absolutely smashed on cheap wine, and pretend that my heart was never broken by some has-been actor from Tartosa.

I watch as the tub empties, imagining that all my sadness is flowing down the drain with the water and the tiny undissolved purple specks from the bath salt. Finally, I move to the shower to wash my hair and rinse off.

When I get out, I stop and examine myself in the mirror. I look a little tired and worn, like I’ve been sick. In a way, I guess I have. But the black tiles are radiating warmth under my feet and there are birds singing outside my window and I’m beginning to feel like everything is going to be fine.

Samara’s blue face glitters in the candlelight. The packaging from the masks we’ve applied is littered with adjectives like “rejuvenating” and “revitalising”, bold statements, but they do actually feel pretty good.

“Sorry, Julia, I know you love this crap, but I just can’t get over the cake tongue. Who decided cake would be the best bait for people? Are we really that obsessed with desserts?”

I look over my nails one last time and put down the file. “I’m actually more disturbed by the whole chin udder situation. I mean, who came up with that?”

Samara makes a disgusted face, but she’s not ready to change the subject. “Seriously though, even if you were absolutely starving and cake was your favourite thing in the whole world, would you really approach a plant shaped like a giant cow head with huge teeth? Really? And then try to grab what is obviously its tongue?”

Miranda giggles tipsily. “No, but can we talk about how Ned’s relationship with the cow plant is super toxic, though? I mean, it always starts out slow, right? Oh, so it eats meat, little bit of a red flag there, but it’s probably fine. And before you know it, you find yourself luring your neighbours to their deaths just to keep it happy.”

“Yeah, it’s classic, the way he keeps making excuses for her? She didn’t mean it, she’s just misunderstood! She only bites me because she loves me! I’m like, Ned, your girlfriend is eating people, you need professional help.”

Samara laughs. “I guess some men would literally rather feed their neighbours to a plant than go to therapy.”

My phone vibrates on the armrest behind me.

“Sorry, it’s Marten again, I better let him know I’ve got company. He’s been super busy with his exams so we haven’t had much time to play lately.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow.

“And he’s still fine just being your friend, is he?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, he was fine being my friend even though I was dating Paul. Besides, I haven’t even seen him in person since GeekCon, it’s been almost a year…”

I stop. Almost a year since I met Paul. It feels like a lifetime ago. I wonder what would have happened if I’d cosplayed as someone else, or if Paul hadn’t been there that day. Maybe I could have been dating Marten instead of having my heart trampled by some fickle celebrity. Nice, normal Marten with his mousy hair and his robot facts. I smile.

“Anyway, there’s nothing between me and Marten. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Miranda sends me a mischievous grin. “That reminds me, you know that hot bartender from The Rooftop? Super flirty, cheekbones that could cut glass?”

“The one who gave us free refills on Samara’s birthday? Shane or something?”

“Yeah, him! He asked about you last time, wondered why you hadn’t come with us for like three weeks in a row.”

“How does he even know my name?”

“He didn’t, he just asked about our red-haired friend but you’ve clearly made an impression.” Miranda winks. “Maybe he’d be willing to help you get over Paul.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m pretty sure he’s slept with like half the regulars. And I’m not looking for hook-ups, not now. I need to get my so-called career back on track, but I want to do something… different.”

I think of Paul, of late nights in hotel rooms, laughing at the most ridiculous b-movies before having amazing sex and falling asleep with his arms around me. “I don’t want to do cosplay again, absolutely nothing with movies or comics or superheroes.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “What about just fashion stuff? I started out with just my shoe reviews and now it’s more general style advice and outfits to match your heels, but you have an eye for it and you know a lot about cuts and materials and design.”

“I guess? I don’t really know a lot about classic fashion, though, like couture and such. And it’s a really tough business to get into, plus I’d kinda like to keep the expenses down for now.”

“You could always just jump on one of the big trends. I bet you’d make bank as one of those clean girl aesthetic influencers or something.”

“That’s actually a good idea. I mean, I can probably get pretty far with just the makeup and clothes I already have. And I could move my sewing machine and rearrange the room, set up my camera and the lights…”

Miranda laughs. “We can start right now as long as it means we don’t have to watch any more terrible movies tonight.”

I reach for the remote. “Not a chance.”

beginning / previous / next

[gay-wh0re-slut]

Heyy, I just wanted to know if you could write a story with rhea x Fem! reader where the reader is ashamed of her body hair and Rhea comforts her,ending with a big smut✨️

Sorry for this request but my body hair makes me very uncomfortable and I need to read something like this🥺

don’t be sorry! body hair is normal and everyone has it! society has told us (women esp) that body hair is bad but it’s not, it’s natural! you can do whatever you want with it, shave it, don’t shave it, hell braid it if it gets long enough lol, i know it’s easier said than done but never be ashamed for things that happen naturally as a human being but don’t worry friend, i got you.

Ever, Ever

rhea x fem!reader

content: talks of body hair but then turns to hot sexy times with hot buff goth wrestler gf ooooo (slight choking, praise, oral, fingering, squirting hehe)

You giggle at a funny post you found on instagram, “look!” you turn the phone to Rhea who was sitting beside you on the bed.

She was doing some work on her computer but she turned to look, “oh, that’s a good one,” she laughed with you.

The two of you continue to sit in comfortable silence as she types away and you scroll away. You both loved nights like this, nothing going on, just being together, relaxing and enjoying each other’s presence. It was a good reset for both of you, with your nine to five job and her crazy one, it was good to just be.

She slammed the enter key one last time and closed her laptop, “finally,” she sighed as she placed it on the side table. “Do you want a snack?”

“Ooooh, yes please!” you smile at her.

“I’ll be right back,” and she walked out of the bedroom.

You smile thinking that there’s no where else you’d rather be. You’re with the love of your life, having a night in, doing absolutely nothing, well, now you were. She comes back in with a lot of things.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted or what you wanted so I brought options,” her arms were full with cheez-its, fruit snacks and who knows what else.

“Oh,” you chuckle, “thank you, baby.”

She displayed them all out over the bed, she gestured dramatically over them twinkling her fingers to show you the options.

You decide on the fruit snacks, two bags because one is never enough.

“Good choice,” she said picking up the protein bar.

“C’mon, live a little,” you joke to her.

“Fine, fine,” she throws the bar down and taps her chin thinking. Finally she chooses the potato chips, “better?” she held them up, they were still the healthy ones.

“Yes, thank you,” you laugh.

“I’ll take the rest back,” she gathers up the remaining snacks and heads back to the pantry.

The two of you sit on your phones, enjoying your respective snacks, showing each other funny tiktok’s, memes, and cool drawings people made of her.

Her hand landed on your thigh, but you thought nothing of it, she loved to be touching you whenever she could.

You didn’t notice her put her phone down but you did notice when she moved herself closer to you and started kissing your arm. You kissed her head in a response but she kept going. Gently kissing up your arm until she made it to your neck. Wave after wave of pleasure sent through your body with every kiss. She took your phone out of your hand, that you weren’t really paying attention to anymore, and put it on your side table.

The hand on your thigh moved up to gently caress your hot center, “c’mon baby,” she whispered.

You moaned softly into her touch but suddenly stopped her, “no wait-”

“What’s wrong? You okay?” she immediately pulled her hand away.

“Yeah, it’s just… you’ve been away so I haven’t, uh… shaved,” your face was red from embarrassment.

“Baby,” her face softened, “I love every part of you no matter what. A little hair isn’t gonna hurt me.”

“But I don’t want-”

“Unless you got some crazy thing going on down there, like teeth or something,” she chuckled, “I don’t mind one bit.”

You tried to talk, “But it’s gro-”

She put a finger over your mouth, “It’s not gross, it’s not ugly, it’s normal. Do you care when I don’t shave?”

She didn’t move her finger so you just shook your head.

“Exactly,” she finally removed her finger, “if you don’t want to continue, that’s perfectly fine, but unshaven or not, I’m still gonna love you,” she smiled.

You gave her a weak smile, “are you sure? Because it’s pretty gnarly.”

“Baby…I promise.”

You stared at her for second to make sure she was really sure, “okay.”

“Now, can I get back to what I was doing or…” she said jokingly.

You giggle, “yes, please.”

Giving you a devilish grin, she bows her head to kiss your neck again, leaving soft slow pecks on your skin. She moved herself on top of you straddling your hips. Your hand tangled into her hair keeping it out of her way.

She nibbled at your ear until she whispered, “You’re so…” she kissed your jaw, “hypnotizing…” she kissed down your jawline, “and beautiful…” one of her hands snuck to your neck and gently squeezed, “and…” her hand clutched to your neck hard as she looked you in the eyes, “don’t you ever, ever think otherwise.”

Your eyes were wide but your smile was huge at the sensation, “yes Mami,” you choke out.

“Good,” she barked as she released her hand, “my sweet girl,” she then she dragged her hand over your shirt down to your pajama shorts, sneaking it under the waistband. Her fingers found your dripping center, “look at you,” she gently swiped her fingers against you, “barely even started and you’re already ready for me.” She teased at your entrance, but decided against it. So she settled for teasing your clit instead.

Your back arched as a long moan left you, “mmmmcan’t help it,” you released your breath. One of your hands was behind her neck while the other was on the back of her thigh pushing her in closer, digging your nails into the tattoos as she continued to work her magic. You pull her neck down so that she could kiss you, and that she did.

You didn’t expect it to be, but it was hot and sloppy and you begged for more. Her hand below went faster as the kissing became more intense. You made small whines into her mouth between labored breaths. Her lips finally let go of you as she pulled her hand out.

You huffed at the loss, but she quickly got off of you and yanked your shorts and underwear off and threw them onto the floor. Without hesitation, she spread your legs and immediately began to lap at your wet folds.

“Fuck,” you groan as your hands found their way back to her hair.

Her arms curled around your thighs, “you taste so good, babygirl,” then she began to suck on your clit.

You tightened your grip at her words as your eyes pinched closed but you could feel her smiling against you. You were squirming but she was holding you perfectly still with her insane strength. She finally let go of one of your legs, teasing her fingers at your entrance once more.

“Mhmm…yessss, please!” you whine.

“You know I love when you beg,” and she pushes her way inside.

“Oh fuck,” as your back arched again.

She was pumping in and out of you at a steady pace as she continued to use her tongue on your pulsing bud. You writhed under her grip but she kept your hips still. The pressure in your stomach was quickly building, “harder, mami, please!”

“Oh, you want it rough today, princess?”

“God yes, please,” you beg.

“As you wish,” she grinned.

You barely noticed but in one second she removed her hand, flipped it over, plunged back into you so now the heel of hand was facing up and her two middle fingers were pumping into you at an outrageous pace. She kissed your thigh before she maneuvered herself back on top of you. She kissed you, making sure that you could taste yourself on her tongue.

She trailed her kisses down your neck, then began to bite, rolling your skin in her teeth, “you’re doing so well,” she whispered, she sucked at your skin not caring if she left a mark, “you feel so good on me,” she said in your ear.

You were untangling beneath her, your eyes were in the back of your head, your hands were gripping at anything you could reach, her arms, her back, her hair, the sheets. You barely had any air in your lungs, your hips were riding her hand that was setting the ungodly pace, trying so hard to keep up.

“I know you want to, baby,” she grinned at the noises that were spilling out of you, “I’m not going to stop you,” her voice was calm and sultry, it was driving you insane, more than you already were.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” you screamed.

“C’mon baby!” she yelled over your deafening whines.

You gasped for air as you curled up with your mouth wide open and your eyes rolled back, “FFFUUCKK!!” the pressure inside of you released so violently that you slammed your head onto the pillow beneath.

She immediately pulled her hand out of you as you squirted all over the sheets and her hand that couldn’t move fast enough.

“Holy fuck,” you heard her say over your loud moan. She plunged back into you when you were done and continued her pace smiling from ear to ear, “again,” was all she said. Though this time, her free hand found its way back to your neck and squeezed.

Your hands gripped her arm as you gave her a wicked smile. Just a minute later, the pressure was back and ready to be released again. You groaned, whined and moaned as well as you could under her hand.

“Just one more time, princess, one more for me,” she commanded.

You followed orders and the knot in your stomach untangled again. You couldn’t say anything but a loud scream of pleasure, as she removed her hand, still not fast enough, and you squirted once more.

She released the grip on your neck and you immediately pulled her in for another sloppy kiss. Your lips smacked as she pulled away, “You’re so fucking hot,” she breathed.

You couldn’t fathom saying anything you were so weak so you settled for the wicked smile. You kissed her once more before going completely limp underneath her.

She sat on her heels next to you. She looked the mess you made underneath your bottom half and chuckled, “We gotta wash the sheets.”

[venus-haze]

Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there. 

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial. 

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article. 

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books. 

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders. 

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow. 

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies. 

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand. 

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.” 

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?” 

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim. 

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips. 

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey. 

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process. 

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves. 

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window. 

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent. 

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird. 

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it. 

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you. 

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face. 

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room. 

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out. 

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger. 

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you. 

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation. 

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook. 

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

[vxn3lla]

More success stories

I may have written some of these already

honestly all I did was decide accept and persist some of these were instant

Books and not having to pay for them (found gift cards right before I was about to use my own money)

Good friends

Being talented at my hobbies

Foods i want or getting to cook things I want

Losing weight with out exercise or diet (I barely eat anyways so I eat whatever I want and as much as I can without stomach pains so far I lost around 11 pounds/ 4.99 kilograms

Fixing bangs (wanted curtain bangs, got thick chunky bangs instead nearly instantly i manifested them thinner and that they look good on me)

no more social media/ electronic addiction (only use Pinterest, Spotify, YouTube, notion, and tumblr and my screentime is 3hrs or less average)

Getting back into reading

My fish living a long time and being easy to care for (her tank is crystal clear and clean and I only cleaned it once had her for around a year now sometimes I wake up late so she doesn’t eat but shes still very energetic vibrant and cute she swims around in little circles alot and even though she sometimes misses her meal shes kinda chubby, but not too much that its a concern to her health)

My phone and laptop never breaking (i don’t like using a phone case, and while I don’t drop them a lot accidents involving other people happen and I have dropped them a few times before

My parents planning to move to another country after my brother graduates

Opportunities to learn more about computer science

Having a more hourglass figure (before it was a mix of two and was slightly more hourglass, figured it would be easier to dress based on body type if I actually had one so I just picked the one I was already more similar too)

Money

Getting to get out of the house when I’m bored to go eat or do things

seeing “angel numbers” (not really educated on what these are or anything but I see 5+ a day)

back when i was 9 i manifested getting perfect grades to get a dog (didn’t know i was manifesting but i was constantly affirming that i would get perfect grades and a dog and was even looking at dogs. He’s 10 years old now)

a “sign” if i am unconsciously manifesting an sp (pic of _ showed then blank loading screen but an emoji correlated with _ showed) (gotta manifest i wont be a housewife who had to give up her dreams lol)

Laptop battery going up from 3 to 10 percent for last few minutes before bed (1 am charger was in another room)

[anotheroceanid]

I wrote this sleepy, directly on my laptop and barely revised it, please have it in mind!!!

Your treat. @perseabeth @orchardsong

For context to everyone else, this is a unfinished one shot I was writing for the WTHB series, but I literally just made two scenes and called it a day and went back to the main story lol

Her eyes are only slightly closed as she enjoys the sun kisses on her skin. Percy tries not too look flushed while she help one of the new campers on how to hold a sword properly.

‘Are you alright, Miss Jackson?’ The little girl asks. ‘You’re red.’

Percy is obviously failing.

‘It’s never this hot in Atlantis. I think I got used to weather there.’

‘Oh, there must be nice. I don’t like when it’s hot.’

      It would be a surprise if she did. The was Boreas’ daughter. And Canadian.

‘It is. But I like warmth, too.’

For a second, Percy was silently judged by a seven-year-old girl, ‘Well, guess even the Hero of Olympus can have poor taste. If the barrier controls the weather, couldn’t someone turn on it’s AC?’

Percy wheezed as she heard an indignant "Hum!" near her ear. The sun tickled her cheeks, and Percy smiled softly.

‘Hey, do not wave the sword so… fast…’ She mumbled as one of Hermes’ boy threw his weapon a few metres away. Thank gods it was a wooden sword, because it hit right in the head of one of Demeter’s children, who immediately started screaming.

‘Keep going, Anne, you’re doing fine.’ Percy praised the daughter of Boreas as she ran the other way, where the six-year-old boy cried. ‘Chill, chill. It’s alright!’ She bent down to be at the child's height, so she could verify it’s head. ‘It’s alright, right?’ She whispered as low as possible, so the young campers that reunited around her wouldn’t listen.

‘Yup. Just good old drama.’ Apollo answered. Only her could hear him.

‘Great! I mean, hey it’s not bad, you know? You’re tough!’ Percy cheered, and the six-year-old seemed sceptical. ‘It’s just a little ouchie, isn’t it?’

‘No!’ He claimed loudly, hand dramatically placed on his head. ‘It’s a big ouchie! Kiss it!’

Percy blinked for a moment. Oh, this is cute. ‘Of course, of course.’ She said, as she kissed his forehead. ‘Is it better now or do you think you need to go to the infirmary get some syrup!’

‘I’m fine!’ He cheered. ‘No syrup, it’s disgusting.’

‘Okay, no syrup then.’ Percy laughed, and she heard Apollo giggling too. ‘Now get your sword and go back to practice, okay? Nico, would you assist me, please?’

On a distant corner, wearing a black hiking jacket that would make Percy melt in that heat, Nico Di Angelo frowned. ‘Am I not, already?’

‘The idea is to, for example, not let people accidentally throw swords on each other.’ Percy mouthed.

‘I don’t like kids.’

‘Then why did you offer help, Mr Retiree?’

‘Technically, I could be.’ Nico said.

‘Technically, he could be.’ Apollo muttered, at the exact same moment.

‘… and it was either that or helping with the strawberries. The dryads say I’m terrible with plants.’ The dryads are correct, Percy silently agreed, but said nothing. ‘But I’m terrible with kids too, so…’

‘You’re not terrible with kids. They are very welcoming if you try.’ Percy encouraged, though Nico didn’t seem convinced. ‘For cookies, then?’

Nico seemed to ponder for a moment. ‘Don’t draw skulls on them this time.’ He turned, moving toward the same son of Hermes, who looked at Nico like he was the coolest guy alive.

‘That’s a low blow, love.’ Apollo whispered, and she felt his fingertips stroking her neck. She felt a shiver down her spine. ‘Can I get cookies too?’

‘Stop that!’ She mumbled, trying to move her lips as little as possible. She had gotten pretty good at it recently; though it was particularly easier when she was surrounded by little kids she towered over. But poor Nico… Well, he was too overwhelmed by the speed the son of Hermes talked to pay attention to her. If his eyes grow any bigger, they’d fall out of his face.

Apollo chuckled. ‘Took me a lot of effort to get here. If anything, it’s your fault I turned touchy.’

Percy knew she was red like a tomato. ‘You’ve always been touchy.’

‘Unfortunately, I tend to get worse with time.’ He kissed one of Percy’s shoulders. ‘Will you come to Delos with me for the weekend?’

She bit her lip, knowing she should say no. However, it was not like Percy had anything to do at camp in the weekend. The friends that’d be at camp would be engaging in activities Percy had been avoiding and the other friends… Well, not her age. Percy didn’t see herself spending the entire weekend playing UNO with Cabin 7 and Nico, either.

Technically, she could go to Atlantis. There was no downside to that, even if sometimes Triton could be a bit overwhelming as an older brother. Then, father allowed Triton to be overwhelming, so she blamed it on him. Besides that, it was always fun in Atlantis…

‘Or…’ Percy started, ignoring completely her previous line of thoughts. ‘You could come to my mother’s apartment.’ Apollo got silent. Percy blushed. ‘Unless it’s something terribly offensive to invite a god to your mother’s apartment for a weekend. In this case, ignore what I just said.’

‘Do you want me to meet your mom?’ He whispered softly, and Percy felt his breath near her neck.

‘You know my mom.’ She answered, exasperated at the closeness. ‘Dude, I really need to focus on not letting a kid not pluck an eye from another.’

He ignored what she just said and kept going. ‘I saw your mom. Once. That didn’t count.’

‘You talked to her.’

‘Artemis talked to her. I just stood there and nodded trying to not look stupid.’

This was Percy’s time to chuckle. ‘Artemis would argue you failed.’

‘I would argue I failed that day! I’m pretty sure I was smiling a little too much. Didn’t she spoke to you about me?’

‘Nope. Not a word.’ Mostly because Percy blackout-ed a few hours after the Laurel Wreath Ceremony and didn’t remember most of it, because no one thought about telling her the free drinks weren’t alcohol free. Bless Rhode for helping her and keeping it a secret.

‘See? I caused a bad impression.’ He professed dramatically. ‘You cannot ask me to just show up in your door one random weekend and then meet your mom, I need planning time. I need to gather gifts, and maybe write a poem or a music to her.’

Percy pictured Apollo showing up at their door with a millionaire collection of jewellery and the next Billboard Hot 100 number one hit. That wasn’t the way Percy wanted her mom and Paul to meet her boyfriend. Boyfriend? Can she call him that? Secret boyfriend? Friend-with-Benefits who walk holding hands in Paris? Friends’ brother who she kissed indiscriminately when they were left alone? Friends’ dad she got cosy with? Percy never brought up the topic, and sincerely she was a bit nervous to do so, but she wondered what she should call it.

Not that she would be announcing it to anyone any time soon. Or ever. Well, ever was a long time to count with, but she’s not spilling the tea the next girls’ night.

‘My mom won’t be there.’ Percy revealed, licking her lips timidly. ‘She and Paul are visiting his family, so… We would be alone.’

Which wasn’t the case in Delos.

His mom was there. Leto was amazing, but that all knowing grin she would give them made her feel scandalous. Additionally, Percy would like to have a moment with her Call-It-What-You-Want without Thalia, Artemis and Hermes playing UNO on the living room. It was not as if she intended doing anything, Percy simply didn’t want that feeling of being watched.

‘Oh…’ Apollo sang devilishly. ‘This won’t help me cause a good first impression.’ He laughed, obviously finding fun in it all. ‘Which isn’t fair, considering my whole family adores you. And don’t dare arguing with me, you know it’s true. I’m talking about the side of the family that matters, by the way.’

They remained quiet for a second, then Percy spoke. ‘So, is it no?’

‘It’s an absolute "I’ll be there!", I’m just thinking how I’ll make it up for your mom… Any idea?’

‘My mom is chill; she won’t hate you for coming over when she’s out. Mom always says I can bring in, hm… ‘Boys, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘…friends.’

Silence, again. ‘Her favourite singer is definitely getting a Grammy next year.’

‘Her favourite singer is Freddie Mercury.’

‘Your family definitely hates me, my love…’

Mr D almost cries when she tells him and Chiron that she is leaving to spend the weekend "with her mom". Well, he didn’t cry. But he cried out a ‘You’re leaving me alone with them?!’ As he pointed his finger to a group of toddler demigods who played in the carpet. Apparently, they invaded Big House and refused to get out without a fight.

Chiron also gave her a pleading look as one of the toddlers pulled his tail. ‘Is it urgent?’ He asks, silently agreeing with Mr D.

‘I mean, she’s happy that I improved with the whole thing with the war, so we wanted to spend some time together, you know? Like the old times. Words like "gatekeeper" and "fight" were used against my father.’ Being around Hermes made lie much easier for her. Percy wondered it was some sort of blessing or if she was just learning it by familiarity.

‘Can’t you go next week?’ Mr D asked, as he moved his hands to flout a pointy pen out of one of the toddlers’ hands. The poor kid started to cry. ‘Or next month? Your mom won’t run away, Penny Johnson!’

She held a laughter as she watched Mr D pick up the child and try desperately to stop the monstrous tantrum over a pen. ‘They won’t grow in a week.’ She retorted, smiling devilishly.

‘Maybe we should get a permission on Olympus to age every kid to twelve as soon as they cross the barrier for the first time.’ Mr D suggested, looking rather serious.

‘You’re not doing that!’ She and Chiron rushed to suppress that absurd idea before the other gods heard it.

‘Oh, as if I didn’t suffer enough…’ Dionysus sighed. ‘How people do it without drinking?’

‘Preferably, everyone should do it without drinking.’ Percy frowned. ‘Give me the child, would you?’ She stepped in and stole away the toddler from his arms. He didn’t even fret from releasing them.

Percy rocked the toddler cheerfully, and they quickly forget why they were crying.

‘Just take them with you! Actually, why don’t you keep them?’ He suggested, as if it was the most brilliant thought someone could ever come out with.

‘I’m seventeen!’ She remembered to him.

‘Back on my days, you’d have a litter of your own already… Your mother will be there, won’t she?’ Oh, yeah, that… ‘A souvenir from Camp Half-Blood, isn’t it nice?’

Without even thinking twice, Percy come up with an answer. ‘It’s not her job to take care of other people’s kids.’

‘And is it mine?’ Dionysus pointed out to himself, and as Chiron and Percy opened their mouths to answer, with a finger raised, he added, ‘It’s a rhetoric question.’

‘So, here’s my rhetoric answer: tire them until they sleep and pray it last for a few hours. That was what mom did to me when I was this age.’

She put the toddler on the ground, and it ran to hug Mr D legs, who shrieked like he had just been electrocuted.

Percy grinned and left the Big House.

It’s almost night. She needs a bath. Camp got so crowded ever since the end of the war that the days felt longer with all the additional classes, they needed to encompass all different age ranges; not that the veterans would use it as an excuse to skip the underground parties. They were more frequent when Pollux was around. However, he had been pre-emptively sent to a spiritual retreat with the Maenads. A fancy way to say he’s temporary exiled from Camp, because apparently some gods (Athena) didn’t like the "bad influence" he had on their children (Annabeth). The Gods weren’t thinking straight if they thought teenagers would let his legacy go to waste.

The Stolls were getting a lot of money with the parties. With the brilliant mind of Leo Valdez, one of the campers that arrived last winter, they were literally keep the Underground alive. Percy suspected that Mr D knew but kept quiet about it because he didn’t want to spoil everyone’s fun—especially when this fun kept his domain so close to him.

Percy watched as some nymphs giggled as they whispered to each other. The nature spirits were having the time of their lives. Good for them. Still, she had other plans.

From the Aphrodite Cabin, Drew waved to her, moving her lips asking if she was coming. Percy mouthed a "No, visiting mom", to what the daughter of Aphrodite made a pout. "Next one, then?" Percy read on her lips, to what Percy laughed and shrugged.

[offbrandkyoya]

45 angel from heaven

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Luck is on your side since that photo has been taken down. You’ve heard a few people talk about it but when asked for proof, there’s no proof to show. You let out a sigh of relief and laid your head down on your desk. You took out your phone and played around on it.

You frowned, staring at Scaramouche’s contact. Your conversation felt short and sweet but you still wanted to talk to him. You love him so much it’s crazy. Though, you didn’t know what to say. You sat up, opened your notebook, and started to sketch your boyfriend. That reminds you that you have that art contest to work on. The lecture started and everyone takes out their laptops, including you. Though, you worked on your project instead of paying attention.

You know what you want to do but you still searched for some inspiration. Something that can help amp your vision. You went back to your sketchbook once more and began a rough draft. The draft is due in a few days but you wanted to submit early since you probably won’t have time to paint. Painting takes a while, for you at least. You want this to be perfect.

The lesson ends and everyone goes to leave. You stare at your draft and smile proudly. It’s messy but you can see what you were thinking. You put your stuff away and pop in your earbuds. You begin to head out and go to the cafe since it’s break. However, you feel someone tap your shoulder, causing you to stop. You turn around and was surprised to see Thoma. You put away your earbuds and had your full attention on him.

“Thoma, hi! Whats up?” He smiled, “I called for you but it seems you didn’t hear me.” You scratched your head. “Sorry.” “It’s okay. I was wondering if you wanted to eat together?” You blink, surprised. “Me?” He nodded. “Just you and me. You seem cool so I want to get to know you.” You blushed at that then nodded. “Sounds good.”

You guys make your way to the lunch hall and ordered what you wanted. “I’ll pay.” Thoma says and you shake your head. “N-No, I’ll do it.” He laughs, “It’s fine, seriously.” You let out a sigh and let him pay for the meal. You guys sit down somewhere at the back. You never ate at the lunch hall since you didn’t have many friends. Thoma seems nice so you hoped you guys can be friends. The guys always encouraged you to make some outside the friend group. They worry that when they’re somewhere, you’d be all alone. You tell them that’s nonsense.

“If it’s okay to ask, why can’t you tell people your actual boyfriend?” Thoma speaks up. You froze and looked down warily. This caused him to panic. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable! Forget what I said!” You wave your hands and look at him. “N-No, it’s alright.” You cleared your throat. “Well, it’s cause he’s pretty famous.” Your cheeks turn red at how crazy you sound.

“P-Please don’t tell anyone this but the guy I’m dating is Scaramouche…” You whispered and awaited a crazy gasp or scream. Instead, Thoma didn’t have a wild reaction. He stares at you for a while before tilting his head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry but I don’t know who that is.” Your eyes widen. “Wait, for real?” He nods. “He’s from 5WIRL. You know, the new member?” Thoma shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Huh.” You crossed your arms. “Do you at least know who 5WIRL are?” He shook his head again. “Damn.” You took out your phone and showed him a picture of scaramouche. “Him.” Thoma squinted, trying to think but nothing. “Sorry, I don’t know.” You’re shocked by this. Putting your phone away, you lean towards him, trying not to get your clothes dirty. “Wow, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t know 5WIRL.” He blushed, feeling embarrassed.

“I know. I’m pretty much living under a rock. I dont even use my social media that much.” You gasped. “Holy shit!” Thoma’s face turned red causing you to giggle. “It’s okay, Thoma. You just made things easier for me.” “I did?” You nod, “Dont worry. Hopefully you don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend for a long time.” He chuckled. “Right.”

You continued to eat until Thoma asked, “Can I see him again?” You perked up. “Hm?” “Ah, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “No, it’s okay.” You take out your phone again and showed him Scaramouche once more. He stared at him longer than before. “His face,” He starts. “It’s familiar.” You look at Scaramouche. “Does it?” He nods. “Yeah. For some reason, he reminds me of someone.” He sighs, “Unfortunately, I don’t remember who.” “Huh.”

It was your turn to stare. ‘I wonder who he’s talking about.’ Scaramouche has a slight feminine feature but it’s hardly noticeable at first. Then, you thought about the conversation you guys had on your last date. His mom was a singer. Perhaps that’s who Thoma is thinking about. You shake your head. ‘That’s dumb. Maybe it’s someone else.’

You put your phone away again. “Do you at least know who DCKZ are?” Thoma froze. “DCKZ?” “Yeah, they’re like really popular now.” Thoma shifted in his seat. “Oh, really?” “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy since 5WIRL were the popular ones before.” “I-I never knew that.” Thoma’s voice cracked and you noticed his face turn red. “Thoma, are you okay?” You asked, worryingly. “I’m fine. Sorry, you can continue.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure.” You were hesitant but obliged, “I’m not really close to them but Scaramouche is friends with them.” “Oh wow.” Thoma relaxed a little.

“Yeah but that’s cause he’s friends with Childe.” You laughed to yourself. “Actually, Childe was the one who sent me your picture. I wonder why he had you.” Thoma drank his water as he laughed nervously, “I wonder too…” You didn’t want to be nosy. Childe told you it was private and that made you curious. You sigh, resisting the urge to ask. You notice people getting up and realized it’s time to go. “I’ll see you later then Thoma.” You said with a smile.

Thoma smiled too. “See you, Yn.” You guys were about to head in different directions but someone interfered, “Shouldn’t you guys be walking to class together?” You two stopped dead in your tracks and looked at each other in a panic. “Uh, Thoma and I have different classes.” “Still.” They started to hover around you. “At least do a goodbye kiss!” Thoma spoke up, “I’m not comfortable with public affection.”

They started questioning you both and it was getting on your nerves. You have to stand up for yourself. Suddenly, you placed your hands on your hips, saying, “If you guys aren’t convinced then that’s not our problem. I don’t know what you guys want us to do. If we say we’re a couple then we are! Our relationship is not some drama show you guys can watch!” You took a step forward and that made the rest take a step back. “Thoma is clearly uncomfortable with certain things and I don’t mind it. What matters is that we’re in love so go leech on another couple instead of us!”

You grabbed Thomas arm and pushed yourselves into the crowd to leave. You ignored the looks and whispers. You were just proud that you finally stood up for yourself from those dorks. Once at a good distance, you let go, and bowed in front of Thoma. “I’m so sorry about that.” “N-No, it’s okay! Please don’t blame yourself.” He forces you to face him. “Thank you for getting us out of there.” You laughed, “Hey, I couldn’t take them any longer.”

You smiled at each other. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to kiss you.” You say but then covered your mouth. “Not that I don’t think you’re a bad kisser! It’s because i have a boyfriend and I don’t want him to get the wrong idea plus it’s wrong to do either way and-“ He bursts out laughing causing you to shut up.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Thoma pats your shoulder. “A kiss should be reserved for your one true love” You blushed. “Thanks. Talking about this is making nervous.” He tilts his head, “How come? Kissing him makes you anxious still?” You shake your head as you turn fifty shades redder. “N-No, it’s because…” You began to whisper, “We haven’t had our first kiss yet…” Its Thoma turn to become red in the face. “Oh!”

You covered your face in embarrassment. “I know! I mean, it makes sense because we just started dating and stuff but imagining it makes my heart explode!” You cling onto Thomas arm. “THOMA WHAT IF IM A BAD KISSER?!” He panics, “I’m sure you’re not!” You let go and slap yourself causing Thoma to jump. “Yn!” “If it turns out he hates it then I’ll give up on everything.” “PLEASE DONT SAY THAT!”

You face him with curiosity, “Actually, Thoma, have you ever had your first kiss?” Thoma freezes up and you notice his whole body turn red. You gasp, “You have?! With who?!” He stutters, “U-Um, with a friend.” “Omg!” He nods and covers his face. “Please, let’s not talk about it.” You smile pitifully. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He slowly uncovers his face. “It’s fine. It was so long ago. I didn’t even remember it till now.” You hummed. “Are you guys still friends?”

Thoma frowned and you decided to stop there. “Sorry.” He smiles warmly. “It’s alright. You didn’t mean any harm.” You smiled too. “You know, Thoma, you’re a really good person. I’m sure you’ll find someone.” He chuckled. “Thank you, yn.” You then pat his arm. “It’s their loss they had to miss out on a hunk like you.” Thoma turns red. “P-Please. I’m not that good looking.” “Uh, yes, you are. You’re the embodiment of a perfect man.” He turned his back to you. “Enough, I think I’m on fire.” You laugh. “I’m sorry!”

You pat his back, “Now I have to go. See you later, Thoma.” He faces you with a smile. “See you, Yn.” As you headed to class, you were happy that you finally made a friend.

- i 🩷 thoma

- such a shame i have to ruin his life

- i think thomas the type to get get flustered easily so sorry if he’s ooc

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist @scarletttcroww @samyayaya @crucnhice @monaypo1 @feiherp @myaaones @warcelia @hangecanweholdhands @yuminako @valiryyz @screechingxiaolover @tiddieshakeshownu @ilovechuuyaa @d4y-dr3am3r @dazaisfavgf @swivy123 @ganyusbrideee @sagegreenthinks @the-left-glove @wonderland-fan @kylexzz @kaoyamamegami @whycantscarabereal @rvoulte @eunchaeluvr @lxkeeeee @silvermah @baby-bread-in @yelleloww @magica-ren

[loversj0y]

Cornelia street for your 200 event? Congratulations by the way!!

event masterlist

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

TWS: lots of drinking, anxiety as well

notes: this one was tough to write solely bc... toe breakup. sigh. makes it hurt to use this song tbh. also i just couldnt focus writing this one so if it seems a bit off, thats probably why

wordcount: 1.6k

taglist: @l0veb0mb1ng / @core-queen / @zooone / @lillylvjy / @ghostsacrosslndnfields / @melunnek

The first time you officially met Wilbur was at a random party. It was a summer party one of your classmates had set up, and she told you it would be a small ordeal. The opposite occurred, which truthfully, you should’ve expected given that it was a party to celebrate the classmates moving into their final year of Uni. You didn’t hate the party atmosphere, it was a nice party even if it was more crowded and louder than you’d expected. You had a few drinks and a few good conversations before stumbling into Wilbur. 

You did literally stumble into him, tripping over someone’s shoe and landing against him. His drink knocked into you as well, spilling all over the front of your shirt.

“Oh, holy shit, are you alright?” He asked quickly, holding onto your arms.

“I’m alright, yeah, sorry. Are you?”

He smiled, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Let me help clean you up.” He pulled you to the bathroom, closing the door and muting most of the party droning out with it. 

“We had english together, last semester, didn’t we?” He grabbed a towel, drying your shirt off. 

“Uh,” you flushed, “I’ll be honest, I barely payed attention to that class. I was playing Minecraft on my laptop in the back most days.” 

“Oh?” He laughed, “Good to know I wasn’t alone then. I’m Wilbur.” “Y/N. If you can’t tell, I’m not great at first impressions.”

He smiled, “Well, if you want, we could always have a redo.”

“A redo?” You chuckled, “How so?”

“Hm,” he thought, “How about we act like we were too drunk to remember meeting tonight? And then, I know a good, quiet bar downtown where we can show up separately and pretend we don’t know each other until one of us gets the courage to go up to the other?” He grinned up at you.

You laughed loudly, and he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “Okay, yeah. That sounds great.”

You and Wilbur did go to that bar. In fact, it became a common thing for the two of you to go that little dive bar every weekend. It was a bit further from campus, a good thirty minute walk, but it made up for it in the almost secretive energy the bar had, making it easier to hide your growing anxieties and embarrassment about just how close to Wilbur you’d gotten. What started as the fleeting thought about how attractive he was had manifested into a strong crush, one that toustled you like a wave everytime you saw him. It got harder to keep your composure around him. And the best way to combat the shaking hands and stuttering words?

Shots, obviously. As the two of you joked, you both got progressively drunker. To the point where neither of you were able to safely get home. So a cab it was.

When you got in the cab, drunkenly stumbling in, the cabbie asked where he was taking you both.

It occurred to both of you that neither of you wanted to be alone right now, it was only a matter of boldness now.

You looked at Wilbur, “I rent a place on Cornelia Street.”

Wilbur nodded, leaning into your side a bit, “Okay.”

You told the cab driver your address, and he drove quickly, probably not wanting to risk the two drunk college kids puking in his cab. The drunkenness started lightening up on the drive, Wilbur only left tipsy, while you were on the comedown of your drunkenness.

You and Wilbur split the cost once you’d gotten there, and you held onto his arm as you pulled him upstairs. It felt like a stepping stone, a new era of your relationship, to have him come over to your apartment, even if you were still drunk. 

Stumbling in, he looked around, “Your place is really nice.”

“Thanks,” you smiled softly, walking over to the couch with him. You both sat down, probably far closer than you would’ve been if either of you had any sense of personal space or decency left in you.

“You sure you’re good with me staying here tonight?” You snorted softly, “Of course, Wilbur. I’d rather you stay here than try to walk home alone.”

“Aww, someone cares about me,” You flushed a bit, leaning your head against him, “Maybe I do. What about it, hm?”

He wrapped his lanky arms around you, squeezing you, “You sap,” he placed his chin on top of your head, “God, everything you do makes me just want to kiss you more,” he admitted.

“Wait- what?” You asked, suddenly feeling incredibly sober. 

“Yeah,” he hummed, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

You pulled out of his grasp, sighing, “You’re drunk.”

He chuckled, “You’re the drunk one here, your tolerance is far worse than mine.” You hated admitting that was true.

“Then, were you serious?”

He looked down at you, quiet while he looked over your face and coming to terms with the fact that you were not drunk enough to forget what he’d said, “Yes.”

You reached forward, taking his hands, “Can I… kiss you?”

He nodded quickly, pulling one hand free to rest on your cheek. You pulled him in the rest of the way, kissing him slowly. He tasted sweet, like strawberry liquor and smoke, and it felt like a consequence you’d gladly pay for.

Months went by. Wilbur was always with you, even if you and him hadn’t set an official title to your relationship. You went from autumn air, dancing in the moonlight on your room, wearing his jacket to classes, playing games, the rains of spring, opening windows for the summer air, all to end up here. Graduation had passed a few weeks ago. Wilbur was staying in town, he’d already found a job. You were between two. There was one in town and one pretty far away.

The only thing keeping you from choosing the one where you’d get to stay here, where you’ve lived and loved, was that you didn’t know where you stood with Wilbur. With everything that you two have been through, you still didn’t have an official label. And you kept meaning to talk about it, but you kept putting it off out of worries and concerns. You thought he was leading you on. You knew why you hadn’t talked about it, but why hadn’t he.

It felt selfish to think that, communication was a two-way street after all, but you just could’nt help your own anxieties sometimes. 

So instead of jumping into his arms, you jumped to conclusions. That he was leading you on, that he wasn’t serious about this. So, you planned on leaving. 

You packed a bunch of your things, getting in your car and starting to drive off, without a goodbye. You hadn’t even made a decision on the jobs either, but you were just going to head home for now.

You were about ten minutes out when Wilbur called. You almost didn’t answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, love, where are you? I just showed up to your place and you’re gone.”

“I’m leaving, Wilbur.”

He laughed, at first, “Yeah, yeah.” When you didn’t joke with him, he’d gotten far more serious, “What do you mean?”

“I’m just leaving.” “Without saying goodbye?” You never would’ve left if you had. You aimed for bitterness in your words, some part of you almost wanting to start a fight. “Like you’d care much.”

“Darling, why wouldn’t I care?”

“Why did you never say we were dating?”

He was silent, “Wait, is that what this is about? I- I wanted to talk to you about it, but I just panicked, darling. I-”

He paused, seriously considering what he was going to say next, “Darling, I love you. And if you come back now, I promise you, you will never wonder again, because it is within my full intentions to make sure the entire world knows exactly how you are mine.”

“I-I love you too,” you responded quickly. You’d never turned around faster.

That night, you and him sat on the roof, and finally solidified everything you were. You finally selected your job in town, and you couldn’t help but see Wilbur in the city you looked at from that rooftop.

“Look at that,” Wilbur hummed, staring up at your apartment building.

You held his hand tightly, looking up, “Oh, yeah. It’s almost weird to look at.” You smiled. 

He stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You had moved out a year ago now. You and Wilbur found a nice place to live together, and you had been living together since. It was a worthy move, but it still felt weird to look up at your old apartment. 

He nodded, “God, do you remember the first time I cooked for you?”

You laughed, “Yeah, it was our first official date. I had to open all the windows to get the smell of burning out.”

“It was a cleansing fire, I think.” “You would think that,” you laughed louder, leaning into him, “It was good though. A new beginning of sorts.”

“Especially for several of your pans,” he snickered, kissing your cheek softly. 

You chuckled, nodding, “Some of them definitely needed it.” You smiled, sighing softly.

You couldn’t say it outloud, you didn’t want to make Wilbur worried. You just knew that if any residual fears you had about Wilbur leaving you proved true, you’d never be able to walk here again, the entire apartment a reflection of your relationship.

[khaleesiofalicante]

My Type - A TLND Mavid Ficlet

“You’re trending again.”

Max doesn’t even bother looking up from his laptop. “What else is new?”

“I mean you’re trending properly,” his secretary hums, leaning against his office door. “Across all platforms.”

“Yuri, I started trending the day I was born,” Max chuckles. “My family is made of celebrities. This is not news. And I should be trending. London Fashion Week is coming up and some of our latest pieces are the best ones we’ve created yet.”

“Right,” she says slowly. “This is not really about Edom.”

Max looks up from his laptop then. 

Maybe it’s about David - or even the boys. People are always making fan edits of his family. 

It’s cute. Sometimes. 

“It’s about Ms. Jung, sir,” his secretary informs him. “The PR team wants to issue a statement for damage control.”

PR teams and statements and damage control. 

The words sound too familiar as Max picks up his phone and types his own name on Twitter. 

Oh. 

“Maybe if you could post a picture of your family,” Yuri suggests carefully. “A selfie of you and your husband.”

“I don’t need to post shit. This is not real!” Max points at the image on his phone. “Why would I kiss Shinyun?”

“It’s AI, sir,” Yuri informs him. “But it looks real, doesn’t it?”

Max sighs. 

His phone pings again. A message from bapak asking him to ignore it. 

Max knows bapak and dad had their fair share of struggles with social media. God knows they still do. Max had been naive enough to hope that things will be easier in the future. But sometimes, it feels like the future only gets worse. 

He stares at the photo of him and Shinyun kissing. It makes him want to throw up. But he is too stunned by the authenticity of it to do anything else. 

He dismisses Yuri and calls Shinyun. “You saw?”

“Yes,” she replies calmly. “Makes you look like a terrible kisser. Just like your bapak.”

“Gross,” he replies. “Look. Yuri says we need to issue a statement-”

“We don’t have to do anything,” she interrupts. “Fashion Week is coming up. All eyes are on Edom, Max. This is good.”

“How are you not bothered by this?” he demands angrily. 

“Not my first time being falsely romantically linked to a Lightwood-Bane,” she replies coolly. “Does it bother you?”

Max doesn’t respond to that. “Can we find out who made this?”

“Is it really worth the time and effort?” she counters. “Probably just some kid looking for followers.”

“It’s not fair,” he sighs tiredly. 

“Hey, listen to me,” she says, her voice firm. “Do not let them get to you. I know it’s hard. But you should pay them no mind.”

“I know,” Max sighs. “I just-No. Never mind.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Max manages a smile. “I’ll see you in London soon?”

“Bring the boys.”

“They’ve already packed their bags,” Max chuckles. “Although David is not thrilled about attending another fashion show.”

“How is he feeling about the photo?” Shinyun asks him. 

Ah fuck. 

He didn’t even think about that. David must be freaking out. 

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Shinyun asks out loud. “You know what? Maybe it would help to post a picture of the two of you.”

“That’s what Yuri said.”

“Best hiring decision you made,” she chuckles. “It’s not a bad idea, Max. God knows the two of you are always attached at the hip.”

“You sound jealous,” Max points out. “Is this because I only kissed you through artificial intelligence?”

“Kindly go fuck yourself.”

Max chuckles as he puts the phone down. He sighs. “Yuri. I’m going home.”

“You should buy flowers on your way home,” Yuri suggests. “Just in case he is mad.”

“Good idea,” Max grins at her. “You’re the best.”

By the time he leaves office and goes back home, he has already scrolled through countless tweets about the situation. 

They are all “I knew it” and “bisexuals be like” and “David deserves better” and a bunch of freudian jokes Max doesn’t really care about. 

But he keeps scrolling. He keeps looking for the tweets that support him and believe in him. 

He knows it doesn’t matter because the photo isn’t real. But he seeks the validation of these strangers anyway. 

Tell me you know this isn’t me. Tell me you know I’m good. Tell me you know I would never. Tell me you know David is my everything. 

Old habits die hard, huh?

“Daddy!” his little one yells when he arrives home. He is running towards Max all the way from their estate, all barefoot and big smiles. “Look what Lelyaas found!”

“What did Lelyaas find?” Max smiles and kneels down next to the toddler. 

“A grasshopper,” Arthur says in a low voice, like it’s a secret. “I named him Bunny.”

“You named the grasshopper Bunny?” Max chuckles. “Why?”

“Because it hops!” Arthur says simply. “Like a bunny.”

Max chuckles again. “Did you eat?”

The boy nods. 

“Did you have dessert?” Max asks. 

“Not yet,” the child replies. “Papa is in a bad mood. Lelyaas said we should leave him alone. He’s in the library.”

Ah. Fuck. 

David has a habit of reading everywhere but in the library. 

He reads in bed. He reads in the kitchen. He reads in the bath. He reads in the garden. He even reads inside the car. 

He only reads in the library when he wants to be left alone. 

But surely these silly rules don’t apply to Max…Right?

“Okay. You play with Bunny. I’ll check on papa,” Max presses a kiss to the boy’s curls. He walks into the château and unbuttons his shirt as he enters library carefully. “Babe?”

David is sitting on the sofa, his legs crossed over each other, as he is glaring at the newspaper. 

Why is he even reading that shit? Nothing good ever comes out of it!

“Can you believe this?” David waves the paper around. 

“It’s already on the newspaper?” Max winces. 

“Of course it’s on the bloody newspaper,” David rolls his eyes. “But why does it have to be on the front page? Do these people not care about my feelings at all?”

“I’m sorry,” Max says gently as he sits down next to him. “Babe. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault,” David sighs and puts the paper away. “It was bound to happen anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Max frowns. “David, I know we are used to this, but this is not normal. We should never expect this as normal.”

David frowns too. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Max asks in confusion and grabs the newspaper, turning to the front page. “The fuck is this?”

“Taylor Swift lost best album at the Grammys,” David grumbles. 

“That’s what you’re mad about?” Max laughs. 

“Is there something else for me to mad about?” David raises an eyebrow. 

“Um. There is a picture,” Max swallows. “On Twitter. It’s-”

“You and Shinyun,” David finishes. “Oh, yes. I did see that.”

“You’re not mad about that then?”

“Max, there are pictures of you kissing a different woman every other week,” David rolls his eyes. “If I started to care about those, I would be in a perpetual state of fury.”

Max chuckles tiredly. “This one is weird though.”

“It is,” David admits. “Is there something we should do? Post a picture together?”

Max shakes his head. “I hate that. I hate that I have to my prove my love for you.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” David says gently. “We could just ignore it, love. You know it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know,” Max says quietly. 

“Hey,” David whispers as he takes Max’s hand in his and gives it a kiss. “What is it?”

“I’m trending,” Max explains. 

“Aren’t you always?” David smiles.

“Not for the right things,” Max shakes his head. “David, I worked so hard for our displays at the London Fashion Week. We worked with the best designers and we found the right people and it was just so beautiful and diverse and original and it’s just…I’m so fucking proud of it. But no one’s talking about that. No one ever cares about how hard I work and the difference I’m making in the world.”

“Max. The internet doesn’t care about our values. It only cares about our actions,” David tells him. “I know no one is talking about it. But that doesn’t mean people don’t care. You hired really young designers from diverse backgrounds. You hired people who are unlikely to get a chance like this. They know what you did. And trust me, they care.”

“I know, babe,” Max manages a smile. “I just…Sometimes I feel like things haven’t changed all that much, you know.”

He’ll always just be Max. The boy who is only known for causing drama. And they will only ever care about who he is kissing and who he is fighting. 

Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Things have changed a lot actually,” David hums and stands up. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

Max is tired. But he follows after the other man anyway. 

“We’re not going to the bedroom?” Max pouts as they walk past the staircase. 

“Making out with Shinyun wasn’t enough for you?” David asks over his shoulder. 

“Ugh! Gross!” Max groans and slaps David on the shoulder. 

David laughs as he drags Max further into the house, right towards the left wing. 

Oh.

“Darling,” David knocks on the door gently. “I’m coming in.”

They walk into Lance’s room together. Their oldest is lying on the bed, still wearing his school uniform, and bopping his head to music with his Batman headphones on.

Max carefully taps him on the shoulder, so not as to startle him. “Lance.”

“Dad?” the boy removes his headphones immediately. “You’re home early.”

“Hm-hm,” Max smiles and gives him a hug. “Why are you still in your uniform?”

“I’ll take it off in a little bit,” the boy replies. “Is papa here too?”

“I am,” David replies and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Lance. Will you tell daddy what you told me when we drove home from school?”

“What did I say?” Lance frowns. 

“You said something about daddy and Edom,” David elaborates. 

“Oh,” Lance says. “Daddy. Papa thinks you work too much and you should quit and be a house husband.”

“I did not say that!” David blanches. “Although, yes, you do work too much.”

Max sticks out his tongue at the man and looks at the boy. “I would make an awful house husband, buddy. Then your papa will divorce me and get married to a music producer who will buy him tickets to Taylor Swift concerts.”

“That does sound appealing,” David hums and earns a glare from Max. “Lance. I meant what you said about Fashion Week.”

“Oh,” Lance says again. “Papa told me your inspiration for London Fashion Week is Egyptian fashion?”

“That’s correct,” Max nods. “I met this really cool lady called Samar who lives in Egypt and she designs beautiful clothes inspired by her culture. So, I told her to design our pieces for Fashion Week.”

David looks at him proudly. 

It’s not a big deal. Giving people opportunities shouldn’t be a big deal. We should do it more often really. 

“That’s really cool,” Lance tells him. “Good job, dad!”

“Oh,” Max whispers. “Really?”

“We learned about Egyptian Civilization in school. Did you know they wore really cool jewellery but didn’t wear shoes?” Lance asks him curiously. 

“I do know that,” Max nods with a smile. “That’s why none of our models will be wearing shoes during the runway at London Fashion Week.”

“That’s amazing!” Lance gasps. “Will they shave their heads too?”

Max chuckles. “Not all of them. But there is one guy from Cairo who shaved his head, except for like a plait at the side of the head.”

“Can I pull it?” Lance whispers. 

“No,” David says firmly. “But you can talk to him and ask him more about his culture.”

“Cool,” Lance shrugs. “Can we have dessert now?”

“Yes,” Max presses a kiss to his face. “Change out of your uniform and come to the kitchen, okay?”

David leads him back to the kitchen with a soft smile and pushes him against the counter. “I told you. People do care. You just need to look for it in the right place.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” Max murmurs and kisses his husband on the jaw. “Sorry I got overwhelmed by my constant need for external validation. It makes me overlook the support systems that are actually accessible.”

David pinches his side. “What did I tell you about memorising what your therapist tells you?”

“It’s very sexy of me?” Max grins. 

“I’m sorry about the awful people in the internet,” David tells him and cups his face gently. “But I see you. I see how hard you work and how much you care. And I too think you’re very cool.”

“Yeah?” Max whispers and leans into the touch. “I love you.”

“I love-Arthur! Why are you carrying three cups of ice cream?” David yells. 

“One for me. One for Lelyaas. One for my grasshopper,” Arthur replies as he carefully balances three cups of ice cream. 

Max laughs at that. 

David glares at him. “Elyaas doesn’t eat ice cream. Put it back.”

“Really?” Max chuckles. “You’re okay with the grasshopper?”

“I don’t know if grasshoppers actually eat ice cream,” David whispers to him. 

“Fair point,” Max nods. “Also Arthur is already gone.”

David groans tries to run after the child. But Max pulls him back by his arm. “You’re sure you’re not mad about the photo, right?”

“No,” David shakes his head. 

“Didn’t even suspect me for a second?” Max grins. 

“I know how you kiss,” David whispers against his lips. “What I saw in the paper was nowhere close to that.”

“How do I kiss?” Max smiles. 

“With your heart,” David replies and Max rolls his eyes fondly. “Besides, she isn’t your type.”

“Really?” Max asks. “And what’s my type?”

“Me.”

“Blonde hair and blue eyes?”

“No,” David corrects and pulls him in for a kiss. “Me. David. I’m your type. No one else stands a chance.”

“No, they don’t,” Max agrees and kisses him back. 

[traumasurvivors]

hi april! I just wanted to pop in and let you know that what you’re doing is something special: running all these resources and just communicating and offering help to other trauma survivors is just incredible really and I just hope you’re having a lovely day wherever you are. I reached out to your blog last year and have made sure to stay up to date on any posts or advice you share and it led me to realize I actually would like to pursue a career in psychology. I just started classes and while I’m excited to be here, I realize I’m having difficulty focusing and paying attention despite wanting to do the work. would you have any tips or other sources that might be helpful for me right now? I plan to remove most social media since it seems to be a big contributing factor in my lack of focus, but what else could work? thank you!

Hi anon!

I really struggled with staying focused in school as a result of my ADHD.

Some things that helped me were:

Finding study buddies. Finding people to do work with and study with was super motivating and helpful! Even if it was an online friend and we did our work at the same time so we felt together.

Making my study space welcoming and nice. I put pretty decor on it and made it feel mine. I put little treats in the top drawer so that I could have them as I studied. I put scented candles in I could light and just overall made it a nice aesthetic. Some people find gentle music helps them focus. (Not me personally, but I’ve heard from some people it really does!)

I’d also buy myself some stickers I loved and as I finished things, I’d get to “place” my sticker either on my notebook, binder or even laptop.

Found a routine. I don’t just mean a daily routine but a study routine. I’d make myself a nice warm cup of tea as I was about to settle in and it was the sort of thing that made homework seem relaxing and nice.

Keep track of my progress. I created an excel spreadsheet where I input all my assignments, readings, etc. and I’d mark the percentage I’d completed. I set it to be colour coded so that I felt motivated to make it get to 100% and go green.

Here’s an example.

This isn’t my own, but one I made for a friend when she saw my idea and really liked it. She also found it motivating. This was the end of semester so things were mostly 0% or 100% at this point. During the semester, she’d do things like mark 1% for completing a title page even because it felt super motivating and made it feel like progress. And then also increasing the progress percentage with each step/page/etc in an assignment. (Like if she wrote 4 pages of a 5 page essay, she might label it as 75% to keep in mind that she had one more page but also a final edit to do.) Seeing it climb really helped as she updated it along the way. She also really loved the “stars” I added every time it hit 100% in progress on something. A basic one might just have the assignment, due date and progress.

I found visually seeing my progress made me want to keep making it.

Set a timer. I recommend this for cleaning stuff but telling myself I’m only going to do work for ten minutes makes it easier to start and sometimes once I’m going, I end up on a roll and don’t want to stop.

Colour code notes. I loved getting to use different coloured pens or highlighters when I took notes. It made me more excited about it.

I’m super drained today, so I don’t have much else to add but I kind of want to write a post on this soon and compile more ideas. If anyone has sources they can add to this ask, please do!

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Chapter 3

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Slow burn/ Slow build/ canon divergence/ d-day tour / soulmate- ish

Pairing: Idol! Min Yoongi x Reader

Ongoing

Masterlist

Author’s note: You are the kindest readers! Really! My phone kept lighting up with notifications of your likes and even some comments! Thank you so much! I am currently writing chapter 6, I wanted it to be ready before the 13th, but it may take longer than that. Chapters 1-5 are already posted on AO3. Thank you for the love and I hope you like this one! See you soon!

“You’ll never see, you sing me to sleep every night from the radio”

March 1st, 2023

Your hands were tied now. You got waitlisted, Cami got waitlisted, the other coworkers without a membership didn’t stand a chance. You are sure a code isn’t a guarantee that the tickets would be yours. The only hope was a friend of one of the teachers at the school, that was the only person you knew that had the code, and well, maybe you have a new ARMY friend now.

Just the fact that someone got the code was a relief. The downside was that there’s nothing you can do, and, considering you were a control freak, having no other option but wait was enough to make you freak out.

To be honest, everybody was freaking out, from your roommate to your co-workers and even the principal, everyone knew how important this was to you because you were acting crazy and anxious, everyone signed for the pre-sale (even if you knew that people without memberships wouldn’t stand a chance). Today, of all days, you felt cared for by everyone around, who made a point to check if you were okay.

So, when the afternoon came, and the bell rang announcing the end of the school day, you bid your students farewell and immediately opened twitter on your laptop, just to check how things were going. There was nothing you could do on the Ticketmaster website, your account wasn’t linked to a code anyways.

“You know, refreshing twitter 1000 times per minute won’t make it any easier. I’d say it will make it worse.” Camila’s voice echoed behind you.

“I know, I know. I just need to know. It’s my first time doing this, and I’m not actually doing this and it’s driving me insane!” You retorted standing up and pacing.

“Woah, have you thought about calling her? I’m sure she’s nervous too”

“Don’t you think that’s too controlling of me to do that? We kind of talked about the seats we want and the other options in case they sell out. I’m so obsessed with this man it’s probably not healthy.”

“ I mean, you are a fan and it means something to you and it’s obvious you have a connection of some kind with him because you keep dreaming about him which is weird and interesting at the same time” she rambled “But, you are also paying and you are a fan, so, I know this is important to you, and not too much at all, just facetime her!”

You stared at your friend and smiled. Then, grabbed you phone in your bag and called Natalie, your newest ARMY friend.

“Hi, ________! I was about to call you”

“No way!”

Cami looks at you with arched eyebrows, amused.

“ Yes! You know, we both want the Saturday show, but I was thinking that maybe I should try the queue for Wednesday or Thursday too. Just in case. Many people will want to go on Saturday cause it’s the weekend, I want to make sure I can get us tickets”

“Uh, sure, I mean, Saturday is ideal, but I also don’t want to risk it” You answer.

“Alright, any minute now. Floor as close as possible or any of the side lower bowls right? I don’t know why I am asking, we talked about it. I’m so nervous” she lets out a nervous laugh and you laugh as well. At least you’re not the only one.

“ It’s gonna be okay, I’m sure we’ll get great seats” You don’t know if you’re telling this to her or to yourself, still, you try to believe it.

“We will. It 's time! Wish me luck”

“Good luck, Natalie!”

“_________, the page is refreshing! Oh God! I hope the school’s wifi is good enough” At exactly 3 p.m Natalie's nervous face gives space to focused features. You held your phone tighter and sat on your desk, shaking your legs while silently watching the woman’s face through the screen.

“ More than 2000 people in front of me, what the fuck” Your heart stops at the same minute, even if you could get to the map page, the chances of getting a great seat seemed far away now.

“More than 2000 for the one on Thursday too… Come on!” She paused and then screamed “Oh my God, 200 people before us for Wednesday”

“God, Natalie! I was about to cry here”

“Don’t fail on me, Ticketmaster.”

Your free hand runs through your hair, making a mess of the long curls. You wonder how many of your students are probably going through this same process right now, and you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“It’s my turn… let me see. We want the floor… _________, floor is general admission, are you okay with that? It’s the soundcheck too.”

“Yes. I’m good with that, yes”

“Okay, selecting… Your credit card number is on my account, right, let’s get it, please ticketmaster work for once in your life, let me get it”

At this point, you didn’t even want to look at the screen, you knew how this website was tricky on pre-sale days, especially after the whole fiasco with the Taylor Swift Tour. You hoped the website wouldn't break down on Natalie’s turn. It felt like time was passing slower than it should, your legs hanging from the desk couldn’t move more, and you were scared of having the chance just so to have it taken away from you.

“Yougottheticketslettheanticipationbegin, __________!!!!! We are seeing him”

“Did it work?” You look at the screen and she’s showing you the confirmation page.

“It worked! Oh my God! I can’t believe it actually worked. Oh fuck it’s on a Wednesday, my poor students. Oh God, we are seeing him”

“Are we truly seeing him?!” Excitement was an understatement, you squeaked and jumped from the desk and smiled so big your cheeks hurt.

“____________, I’ll talk to you later, maybe I can still talk to the HR and tell them I’ll need the day off, make sure to do that too, okay?”

“Natalie, I can’t thank you enough. Thank you so, so, so much!”

“No worries, I can’t wait to scream with you during the show”

You put your phone away and look at Camila, who was watching the whole scene silently with a smirk on her face.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream”

“It’s not a dream, amiga. You’re seeing the guy from your dreams so soon now”

“This does not feel real. It was so fast.”

“It was meant to be. I feel it.” You cover you tearing eyes with both hands and and giggle as you hear your best friend saying that.

“I'm seeing Yoongi”

“About that, now that you got a ticket for the concert here, I should give you this” She took a folded sheet of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to you.

“And that is?”

“Just unfold it and see”

And so you did, and looking at the paper, you couldn’t help but shed some tears.

“Is this what I think it is?

“If you think it is a confirmation email for a ticket of one of the shows in Korea, then yes, yes it is”

“Cami, how did you do this?”

“You forget that you made me get a fan club membership, so I wanted to make sure you saw him.”

“In Korea?” You say in a high-pitched voice.

“It’s not that difficult to stay up and buy tickets in the middle of the night, when you have a real purpose. I mean, I got a nosebleed, I hope you don’t mind, I guess the time difference and lack of practice count when doing this, but I got it and it’s during Summer and you don’t have school as an excuse for not going, so you better get your savings for your Korea trip and actually buy flight tickets to go to Korea and see your dream man there.”

“You are the craziest person I’ve ever met” You hug your friend tight, not knowing what to do with the tsunami of information that came in your direction in the last 15 minutes.

“Besides, I think that your dreaming about this guy is weird but I also feel there’s something there and I know you won’t do anything about it if there’s no push. So here’s your push, consider this an early birthday gift.”

“I don’t know what kind of ideas you have about this, but they are just dreams.Thank you. Hell, I’ll see him twice”

“Yes, _________, yes, you will”

🪷🪷🪷

April 21st, 2023

The first thing you did when your alarm went off was to grab your phone and open the Youtube app. Thankfully, the miniature for the music video was already on your home page, so you lost no time and just played the video.

To say you were mesmerized and entranced by the music video and the song playing was an understatement, you were so impressed by the lyrics and the two versions of Yoongi you were seeing, everything looked so perfect, and that was enough to make you excited to listen to the entire album. But it was when Yoongi pulled a cigarette out of the box with his teeth that you let out a loud squeal, that made your roommate come check on you.

“Are you thirsting for the BTS guy at this time in the morning?”

“He just smoked a cigarette in the MV”

“You hate those things!"

“He made it look really hot”

Cami rolled her eyes and dragged herself to your bed.

“Come on, I wanna see it”

You both get comfortable on your bed and you restart the video. Your roommate watches attentively, and teases you, elbowing you slightly everytime a cigarette appears. You end up watching the rest of the video together and you barely have words when it comes to an end.

“He is really an artist” that’s all you can say.

“I saw what you meant with the smoking thing, nice song, he’s just not really my type”

“And what’s your type?”

“A tall brunette with a buzzcut and very, very handsome, but also nice and kind and good with his words. He could also be a doctor, maybe, I don’t know”

“That’s oddly specific”

“Well, maybe you get to meet him soon”

“I get to WHAT?”

“We need to get ready, we are teachers and we can’t really be late, come on”

“Camila, get your ass right here” you scream as she runs through the door. “This is not over!”

You laugh as you get ready to work. You decide to listen to the album after you get home, to actually pay attention to the lyrics. As you walk to the subway station, you make sure to run your lesson plans for the day through your mind, taking the time to also plan the Friday night ahead of you.

Your work day goes by slowly, like every other Friday. At this point of the school year, with Summer Vacation approaching, your students don’t want to have classes anymore and, if you’re being honest, as much as you love your job, you weren’t fond of teaching at this time of the year either. So you did your best to make your lessons light and fun, for them and for you, eventually taking some time to talk about topics that were interesting for all of them.

When the bell rings, you wish a great weekend for everyone and pack your things as quickly as you can to walk to the subway station. As usual, you stop at Times Square, but instead of changing trains, you decide to walk around the small Bryant Park. You buy yourself the sweetest and creamiest cold brew. The cold coffee was not the best idea, considering the city was still chilly, but it was your favorite, and it was your way of treating yourself after a long hard week of work. You people watch for a while, taking in the groups of tourists walking on 42nd street, from where you assume was Grand Central, in the direction of the outdoors on Times Square. You see people talking, sitting around the tiny green tables, you observe the empty carousel, and the outfits of the women walking around (those were always nice to watch). You observe the mix of trees and the buildings all together and the food trucks around and although this area of the city was incredibly chaotic and not your favorite to walk around, you were glad you could sit and appreciate the beauty in this chaos.

After taking the Q train and arriving in your apartment, you take a long relaxing shower and wear your most comfortable set of PJs. You feel inspired to cook a nice dinner to watch the documentary with. As you get the ingredients to make your favorite pasta dish, you hear the door open.

“I beat you home today” you sing from the kitchen.

“I had some papers to grade and decided to follow your steps and not bring work home. I hated it. My bed is a much more comfortable grading spot” your roommate answers.

“Are you having dinner here?”

“Yes, give me a minute to shower and I’ll help you out”

But dinner was so easy to make that, by the time Camila was back, you’re already done. You put the creamy pasta on plates and take them to the living room, opening the Disney + app to find Yoongi’s documentary.

“I’ll only watch it with you because I’m a great friend” you hear your best friend say and you look at her with an amused smile, knowing well she wouldn’t watch anything she was not interested in.

And so you watch the documentary and see how this album started. You are washed with a sense of deja vu when you see a scene of 2020. Differently from the In The Soop cuts, this time, what you see is exactly like your first dream and you pay attention to all of the details to make sure you’re actually watching it. How could you forget your first dream with him? This time, thanks to the subtitles, you could actually understand what they were talking about and your heart skips a beat when Yoongi tells Jimin about the amygdala, explaining how this is a part of the brain that processes trauma, and telling his friend about the song. You vaguely remember thinking about how you wanted your brain to process your trauma better and wishing for it to just work right before dreaming of Yoongi for the first time. And as the performance of the song goes, you take in the lyrics.

It's no news that you identify yourself with BTS songs. But this one felt different. As he raps and unfolds each of his traumas you can't help but think about your own traumas and how you did that too three years ago.

You can feel Camila’s eyes on you. And you know she knows what you are feeling and she knows that you dreamed about this. You feel like you should comment on it, but saying it out loud sounds like madness, because this time, you actually know that it happened in real life too.

The movie continues with his trips and his writing process and you try to let your deep thoughts go to watch it properly. It is your first time listening to the songs of the new album, and you can see that all of the effort shown in the documentary was worth it, the songs and the performances were more than anything you were expecting and you couldn't wait for the tour.

"You and this guy are so similar." Camila says when the documentary is over.

"I guess I can relate to him a little bit" you say. "Now, I need to start practicing these songs for Wednesday"

"You cooked, I do the dishes" your roommate announces when you both stand up.

"I won't argue you with that"

You say goodnight before walking to your room, where you get your airpods and get ready to listen to the D-DAY album, in sequence, of course. With the lights out and cell phone in hand, you search for the translation of each song as you listen to them. You observe every figure of speech, every rhyme, all the story telling, and you repeat, inside your head, the scene from your dream, the one you just watched on the TV. How could someone on the other side of the planet think in the same frequency as you and describe your feelings so well? You didn’t want to get obsessed with the idea of it, because it gets crazier with time, but you can’t help but feel like, somehow, the universe brought you Min Yoongi because it knew you needed someone to relate to.

You listen to AMYGDALA once again, and another time, wishing you could take the pain away from someone that didn’t even know you, and with Yoongi’s voice singing in your ears, you fall into deep sleep.

🪷🪷🪷

When you gain consciousness again, it’s dark and pouring. You find yourself in front of a beautiful house that looks like it just came out of a movie set. Its light colored bricks (you couldn't possibly identify the color in the dark) were covered in vines, the only illumination surrounding you is the warm yellow light that comes through the windows.

You run to the porch to avoid getting even more wet. The hiss of the wind is loud and the cold early spring air embraces you as tiny droplets of water touch your skin, making you shiver uncomfortably.

You look at the imponent maroon door and entering the welcoming house sounds like the perfect plan right now. It’s obvious you are dreaming, there are no houses like this in New York City, so worst case scenario, it’s a nightmare and you’ll wake up regretting your decisions. This, or you’ll freeze to death and then wake up. Either way, you’ll end up in your tiny apartment anyway, might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The door opens at the same time you raise your hand to give it a knock. You take a step back and take in the scene. Nobody is on the other side. Weird.

A mass of warm air touches your face gently when you step into the living room. The smell of coffee, cinnamon and vanilla flies around and makes you look straight to the kitchen and dining room to your left, but they are empty, so you walk to the fireplace in front of you, taking a moment to appreciate its coziness while getting warm.

You decide to walk around and explore the other levels of the building, which, from what you saw until now, has no furniture except for the old blue Victorian couch.

Holding the rail, you go up the stairs, and see that the walls are filled with beautiful, but empty frames. At this point, you don’t even bother finding it weird anymore, after all, it’s a dream, but you wonder why there are no pictures and why your mind decided that the only pieces of decoration you see in this house of stone are simply not serving their purpose.

As you walk down the aisle of the first floor, you see 4 doors. Slowly, you try to open the first one to your left, just to find out it is locked. You try the one to your right and the two other doors after that. All locked. You huff.

“Why is this too boring?” you say out loud, as you turn around and direct yourself to the stairs to go to the second floor, only to hear a muffled female voice upstairs. Curious as you are, you run up in the direction of the voice, just to find the same set up of the floor below you, with the exception of a pulled down ladder at the end of the corridor, that led to what you can only assume is an attic, where the sound and the voices come from.

You walk with caution to the ladder and the sound is louder, but not clearer. It takes climbing the steps to realize that the female voice that is now screaming, is actually your own. You stop midway, your upper body just past the attic door,and search for the source of your own voice, just to realize a video is being projected on one of the ceiling walls. You recognize the scene of that dreadful day so many years ago when you got home after an early dismissal day, just to find your ex boyfriend with your best friend. This time though, you could see it through a different point of view, the exact moment when you started packing your bags to leave your old apartment.

“Where do you think you are going? Hey! Stop! We can talk through this” your ex said, while dressing himself up. You hear your old self let out an ironic laugh after that. You look at her, the shorter curly hair was a mess, the red eyes burning with anger and disappointment.

“Talk through this?” Past you screams, opening another drawer and just throwing clothes in a suitcase. “You must think I’m really that stupid to give you the time of the day after this. I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want to see you. I wanna pack my things and go to the farthest place from you”.

“_________, this is your home. Calm down.”

“My home? My home? You should’ve thought about that before cheating on me at my fucking home on my fucking bed. I’ll come back to get the rest of my things when you’re not here.” You close your suitcase, and direct yourself to the front door. You turned, just in time to catch a sight of him and your so-called best friend getting dressed as well. "Please, don’t even bother, just keep doing whatever you were doing before. I’ll make sure I won’t interrupt you ever again.” And you walked out.

The video stopped after that and you were stunned. Talk about a dramatic event. You don’t understand why your subconscious wants you to remember that, especially now that you are actually healing. Maybe this is in fact a nightmare, and you were supposed to keep rewatching that infernal scene until you wake up.

You decide to go up the rest of the steps either way, whatever comes next, can’t be more painful than what you just watched. As you step into the room at the same time someone stands up and comes in your direction.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim.

“Hm, this never happened before” The one and only Min Yoongi mumbles, staring at you.

Right, you have never had a conscious dream about him where you could actually talk to him. But, considering that his documentary was the last thing you saw, it seems like his presence in your dream this time is not that weird. You stare back at him, his dark messy hair, puffy cat eyes and black hoodie. Your heart jumps through your shirt and that unexplainable feeling comes again.

“Hi”

“Hi”

“Did you watch all of it?” You ask.

“I did. I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped when I saw what it was”

“I mean, it’s not actually your fault. It’s my subconscious.”

“Still…”

“It 's fine.” You look around, finding the film projector and another film reel on the side. “Interesting. What’s in the other film?”

“I don’t know. I only set the one we just watched.”

“We should watch the other one”

“I don’t know, I’ve already seen too much”

“It’s not like you are real”

“Not real?”

“Besides, I don’t think there was any other moment of my life more traumatic than that one. I’ll be fine” You say while taking the other film reel out of the projector and putting the new one. Yoongi doesn’t look too sure, but he directs himself to the pile of pillows on the floor and waits for the projection. As it starts, you sit by his side and focus on the wall in front of you.

It is a cloudy day and the dirty atmosphere of the city makes the scene look even grayer. You try to recognize the place, but it takes seeing a tall black haired boy to see that this wasn’t about you.

“I shouldn’t be seeing this” You say and make the mention of standing up before dream Yoongi holds your wrist gently and pulls you back.

“It’s only fair.” he says.

So you sit down and watch it with him.

A younger version of Min Yoongi leaves the door of a restaurant with bags of food on his hands, then proceeds to put the bags inside of a delivery box on a motorcycle. He wears his helmet, jumps on his bike and rides it around the city. He stops once. He stops another time. And you know what is coming, because you remember when Yoongi had the surgery, you remember seeing videos of him dancing in pain and you remember the lyrics of Amygdala, even if you only listened to that song a couple of times since the documentary release. You know the feeling of wanting your brain to erase the memories you so want to forget in order to move on. And even if it’s all in your head, it hurts to think of what happened to a human you love so much.

You stare at the dream version of Yoongi sitting by your side who has his glistening eyes fixed on the scene projected on the wall. With his lips closed in a line, he swallows thickly and you turn your attention to the movie again. And that’s when the scene unravels: The rain starts to pour and, as he is turning, a car hits young Min Yoongi, who falls on the road. You can’t help but feel your heart breaking into pieces as you watch the rain touching his face, it feels even worse when the scene is cut just to be substituted by flashes of Yoongi crying, in pain, and taking what seemed like an unhealthy amount of pills. If only you could change the past to comfort him. You’d do anything so he wouldn’t have to go through this kind of pain again.

“Was that what really happened?” You question, almost whispering.

“Exactly like that” the man by your side responds, then proceeds “What I saw... Did it really happen to you too?”

“Yes, but, for what is worth, you really helped me through it, it doesn’t hurt anymore” you look at the version of Min Yoongi in front of you, and think of everything you’ve learned about him through his songs and through the documentary of the day before. You are conscious this is not real, even if it feels like it, but you also know you will never have a chance to say to the real Yoongi what you wish to say, so you take a chance in this parallel dream reality, or whatever this is.

“ I know this is all in my head, and there are so many things I’d like to say, but, I just want you to know that if I could go back in time and help you through all of the pain you felt, I would. I know it doesn’t change it, but I really wish you’d know that. I wish I could’ve saved you, too, Yoongi” you stop and see the corner of his lips curve slightly. “I guess this was a weird thing to say out loud” cover your face with your two hands and a muffled groan leaves your lips.

“No, no, no… it’s not weird” He turns his body completely to you. “I don’t know if you’d believe me, or if anyone would believe me, but you did.”

“I did?!”

“You saved me in so many ways”

Your head turns in the direction of his voice immediately. And all you can see is a kind smile and bright eyes. You can’t help but feel that old familiar warmth all over your body, and as much as you wouldn’t like to indulge in delusion, at that moment, you pretended it was all real.

And just like it started, you’re pulled from deep inside your subconscious to you tiny apartment in New York City, where the ringing of your alarm clock announced the start of a new spring day.

To be continued…

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[kellyscabin]

Hey I love ur amvs!! I was wondering if you had advice for someone that's interested in making their own? I'm not sure what the best programs are for editing or getting clips. Ty! :)

this is so flattering thank you so much!!!!! I LOVE making amvs…… favourite thing in the world to do so this is gonna be probably longer than you wanted…..

I’ve bounced around just about everything in the last couple years so I can give you a few different ideas!!

For clip sourcing:

initially, I used episodes that I had downloaded as supernatural was airing so the quality was iffy and there were logos on a lot of them… THEN I went the screen recording route (for when I was on my phone, I’ve never tried this on desktop but I know this works well for others!!) but I found that the quality still bugged me AND I ended up with nearly 2000 supernatural clips on my phone…… which was a nightmare to sort through… NOW I use this which is very fabulous and easy to use… you can select which eps to download if you don’t need all of them!! (and no vpn needed)

For editing:

I’ve used a lot of different programmes til I found one that worked well for me so definitely shop around…. youtube tutorials are your friend…. when I started, I was using sony vegas pro…. which worked fine even though my laptop was the first one ever made… but I didn’t want to pay for it and it got blocked on my laptop forever and windows would notttt let me get it back…….. SO, as I mentioned, for a while I was editing on my phone which I would personally nottt recommend for full length amvs… smaller edits would be completely fine!! I used splice which was very basic but it got the job done!! actually. looking through my videos- everything from mr perfectly fine to dean movies was made on my phone which is about 30 videos- so this works!! it’s just much more difficult and harder to polish up…. I personally make amvs much quicker and cleaner on my laptop.. and noticed a big big difference in my own quality since I switched….. NOW I use capcut since it’s free and my laptop can run it without any issues. I’m genuinely very impressed with it as a free software- lots of really good tools and effects, I find it so easy to alter colours and subtitle as well!! which I struggled with on other platforms!! very user friendly too!!! would be very beginner friendly!!

fun stuff :)

PLANNING is my absolute favourite part of making an amv…… normally I hear a song and can very easily picture shot by shot how I would amv it - once I’ve got the song and general theme I’m going for- I normally print out the lyrics and annotate them - jotting down timings, voiceovers, season, arcs and clips.. I can sometimes skip this if it’s just a simple video but if it’s anything complicated I HAVE to write it down. I also find it’s easier to make a video have a ‘point’ if I do this??? idk.. I think it helps but idk if this is something everybody does :)

there’s the spn transcript searcher which is very useful as well if there’s a line you’re looking for but can’t remember where it’s from!!

and of course homeofthenutty which is great for thumbnail stuff!!

editing things:

honestly… I don’t think there’s a wrong way to do this if you’ve got a really fabulous idea….. timings are the trickiest thing to get the hang of- I do dashes on my printed plan to kind of show where I need cuts and if it’s fast cuts I write down how long each clip should be so it looks cleaner. I find that my videos don’t really look finished until they’re subtitled either- so that always helps!! everybody kind of does that differently so definitely play around until you find a style you like!!

I wouldn’t worry too much about colouring when you’re just starting out- sometimes I find that filters can be distracting but I know others who swear by them so that’s just personal preference!! I really just tweak certain clips to make them less saturated or green-looking….

for posting:

I really recommend posting simultaneously on tumblr and youtube!! I have videos with basically no notes on tumblr but did really well on yt and vice versa!! the yt algorithm can be funny- I find that as long as it has a custom thumbnail and a few comments it does alright!! on tumblr- I always link the yt video since the tumblr player doesn’t always work for everybody…. also don’t be afraid to use taglists!!! I’m sure your mutuals would love to be tagged and please definitely tag me in anything you make!!! genuinely owe so much to my mutuals for their support 🫶🫶 and also don’t be afraid to self-reblog!! chronological dashboard means people WILL miss things if they aren’t online!!!

but genuinely the most important thing is to have fun…… I seriously love amvs…. I think they’re the best thing in the world and spend probably at least half an hour minimum a day watching amvs…….. and we need more of them!!!!! so thank you!!! and please please tag me when you make one!!! and feel free to dm me if you need anything at all!!! like all technical aspects aside… an amv made with so much love and to a fabulous song is a gift to the world…… 🫶🫶