#but a lot of authors have been driven away from AO3

[therhythmafterthesummer]

It’s Cold Out (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader Themes: Supernatural/Fantasy AU | Smut | Fluff | Roomies to Lovers Warnings: curvy/chubby reader · swearing · pet names · possessiveness · possibly inaccurate descriptions of birth control (this is a work of fiction, after all) · good ol’ rut driven intercourse (smut warnings under the cut). Word Count: ~8k | AO3 Summary: Your roommate had been acting weird lately, weirder than usual. It was because of his condition, you thought, and in a way, you had been right, just not in the way you had expected. [This story is an instalment of my WereRoomies series].

Author’s note: Happy Halloween month to all of us! If there’s a God up there, only she can judge me for this. [31/03/23: this story has been re-edited as of this date. special thanks to @straylightdream​​ for reading this new edition before anyone else and sharing her thoughts with me].

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Chris’ WereRoomies Instalments:  It’s Cold Out · Rut · Alpha Dog · It’s Warm In · Love is Easy · Afraid to Lose You. For extra drabbles, check out the series masterlist.

Smut Warnings: intercrural sex · unprotected penetration [piv] · oral [F.Rec] · lots of praising (LOTS) · breeding kink (kind of) · copious amount of fluids · knotting

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

To say Chris had been acting weird this week would be an understatement.

You were sure it all started over the weekend, since you noticed his odd behaviour that Friday night when you were about to leave your shared flat to go hang out with one of your friends. Chris had come out of his room to get something from the kitchen, and he had stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw you there applying your makeup by the bureau in the entrance.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t caught him looking at you before, you were pretty confident that he’d often look at you–whether it was for instinctual reasons or what you weren’t really sure–but he genuinely looked like a deer in the headlights while he stood there completely paralysed. The worst part was that you weren’t wearing anything particularly revealing, just a crop top–that wasn’t even that short, it barely even exposed your belly–and some leggings.

“You okay there?” You asked Chris as you returned your eyes to the mirror, adding the finishing touches to your makeup.

“Uhh… Are you… Are you going out?” You didn’t look back at him while he talked to you, deciding that, since he was being awkward, it would be easier for him to speak without you looking at him.

“Yeah, babes. I’ve been talking about it all week, remember?” Dropping the eyeliner pen back on your makeup bag you looked at yourself one last time. ‘This will do’ was all you could think, satisfied with your face as you turned to look at your roommate. 

Chris wasn’t there anymore, but he emerged from his room seconds after with one of his black hoodies in hand. “Take this, pretty. It’s cold out”, pet names were a constant in the household, even among Chris’ friends, so you never thought much of it whenever he said them to you, or whenever you said them to him.

You chuckled, oddly amused by the sudden request. “I already have a jacket, Chris. But thank you”.

“No, no. You need to take it. Seriously”, Chris moved, getting into your space, going as far as to try to put the garment over your head.

“Woa, Chris–” You tried to push him away, but he ignored your protests.

“It won’t be any good if you catch a cold!”

“Chris!” You took a hold of the garment and jumped back away from him, keeping the hoodie in your hands.

Chris whined your name, he really whined. “Please, just… Take it. And wear it…”

He looked genuinely concerned, and it made you sigh immediately. You examined the item in your hands for a second, it was one of his oversized hoodies–oversized even on him. As you looked between the garment in your hands and Chris’ worried face, you couldn’t help but sigh. It was always hard for you to not give in to your roommate’s requests. “Fine, fine. I’ll take it, jeez”.

A bright smile settled on his lips as he watched you put on the hoodie, his eyes disappeared into crescents and his dimples were now on full display. The sight almost made you scream, he was just too damn cute and you felt your heart thump a bit faster against your ribcage as soon as your eyes landed on his form. 

“Happy now?” You huffed out, dragging your hands down your front, trying to help the fabric settle over your body. The thing was huge, the hem reached the middle of your thighs, and the sleeves pooled around your limbs, effectively engulfing your frame.

“Very”, Chris moved back into your space, bringing his hands up to fiddle with the hood of the hoodie, almost like he was trying to put it around your neck as a makeshift scarf. “Need a lift?” Satisfied with the position of the hood, his hands moved to your shoulders, dragging them over the fabric like he was trying to iron creases out.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, it’s fine”.

Chris’ gaze moved to look you in the eyes. The movement of his hands on your shoulders stopped, but he didn’t remove them.

Ever since you met him around a year ago, there had always been something about Chris’ eyes that made you feel oddly giddy. It was almost as if his gaze was trying to intimidate you. Your brain always urged you to look away whenever you looked him in the eyes for too long–which was silly, considering Chris was one of the most welcoming, caring people you’d ever met.

You never gave into that fight or flight instinct. On the contrary, subconsciously–and sometimes, even consciously, you’d admit–you made it a point to keep staring right back at him, almost like you were challenging him. Which was probably very stupid on your part, since you knew really well who he was–what he was.

Clearing your throat, you mustered the most confident tone you could to speak. “I have to… Have to go now”.

Chris blinked slightly, as if your voice had brought him back from a place deep within his thoughts. “Right…” 

His hands moved from your shoulders to cradle your face, and he took one step closer to press a kiss on your forehead. Chris did this often, especially before you left the house, you had seen him do it to his younger friends, too. The gesture always brought heat to your face, and you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get used to it.

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. Have fun, love!” was the last thing he told you before he turned around and returned to his room.

You left shortly after that, feeling actually thankful for the hoodie once you stepped out of the building, since it truly was cold out, and the garment surely helped you retain heat much better than the jacket you were planning on wearing.

That day, you had decided to stay at your friend’s place for an impromptu sleepover, and the entire thing triggered the second weird interaction with Chris that weekend, just that this time it was over text.

< You: heyyyyy darrliinnng,,,,  < just so you know i’m staying here today < dont forget to lock the door tonight < AGAIN

> Xtopher 🐺: i never forget to lock the door pretty girl > lier > liiiieeeerrr

You scoffed at the message, but you also couldn’t help but chuckle after. The nerve of this man, as if you hadn’t arrived home late at night or even the next day after going out to find that he didn’t lock the door. After a couple of minutes, Chris texted again.

> Xtopher 🐺: u guys on ur own?

< You: no < my friend’s older brothers are here < we’re playing mario kart

Chris had read your message. You could see he was online, and you saw the ‘typing…’ message appear and disappear for five whole minutes before he finally replied.

> Xtopher 🐺: u wearing the hoodie > ?

< You: yes?

> Xtopher 🐺: show me

You rolled your eyes, just slightly annoyed–or you tried to tell yourself you were annoyed, in reality you had a smile on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit amused by Chris’ antics. You decided to humour him. After all, you hadn’t taken the hoodie off since you left your flat. If anyone asked, you’d just tell them the thing was comfortable–which wasn’t entirely a lie–but the truth was you continued wearing it just because you enjoyed the way you could smell him on it. It was almost like he was there, hugging you.

< You: [sent a photo]

> Xtopher 🐺: good > u should sleep in it cutie > its cold today

He’d mentioned this ‘it’s cold, you’ll catch a cold’ thing twice already. Chris could be overly protective of his friends, you’d seen it time and time again with your neighbours–his friends–and you’d even been on the receiving end of his worries many times in the past, so you decided not to think too much of it.

The moment you opened your flat’s door the next day, Chris was already pulling you into his arms, hugging you tightly and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You let him hug you, because of course you did. It wasn’t like you never hugged, but it was honestly never like this–never had he held you this close, this tightly. Even if his behaviour had been slightly out of the ordinary you couldn’t bring yourself to not let him hug you, selfishly deciding that you would let yourself indulge.

What you had not been prepared for that day, though, was feeling Chris press his face to your neck, nor feeling his nose lightly brush the area right under your jaw. You tensed at the foreign feeling, and Chris tensed immediately after. He scrambled to pull himself away from you, mumbling a ‘sorry, welcome back. There’s food on the stove’ before he promptly disappeared into his room.

Things got weirder as days went by, Chris would simultaneously get close to you and try to keep himself as far away as possible. It got especially weird one night when his friend Seungmin came by. You’d hugged Seungmin to greet him–just like you always did–and you were both suddenly startled by a low growl. Seungmin’s eyes snapped in Chris’ direction, looking at him sitting on the sofa, glaring at you two. Seungmin had moved faster than you could even register the movement, walking as far away from you as possible and rambling on to his friend about something you honestly couldn’t even remember now.

You knew what Chris and his friends were. You knew what this entire building was–although you didn’t know it when you first moved here.

Your mother and Chris’ worked at the same company, so when he started to look for a roommate because ‘godforsaken bills are expensive as shit’, his mother had asked around the office for any possible candidate, and your mother had given her your contact details since you had been looking to move out for a few months by that point.

The building wasn’t particularly big, only four floors without counting the ground floor. You learnt after moving in that the building belonged to Changbin’s parents. Changbin was one of Chris’ closest friends, and that arrangement with his parents made it so the both of them and six other friends of theirs could move into this building.

At first, you had been hesitant to move in with a man, but on your first visit Chris had made you feel so comfortable and welcomed there was no doubt in your mind when you finally decided to move in.

You learnt of their… Condition four months after moving in. You had a date and the guys thought you wouldn’t be coming back that day. Chris was clearly not counting on your date being an absolute asshole and you running back to your flat that same night, because as soon as you stepped through the door you found three large ‘dogs’ in the middle of your living room with Chris and a handful of his friends surrounding them. They all gave you panicked looks, and after a lot of screaming and prying and questioning, Chris confessed to you that they were werewolves.

It had taken you a full week to accept the truth, but once you did every single odd behaviour you had noticed in Chris and his friends made a lot of sense. Their monthly ‘camping trip’ that would always conveniently happen when there was a full moon, how touchy and affectionate he and his friends were, ‘cuddles are a must!’ he would say often when holding onto someone, or how hot their skin was… The list could go on and on. Interestingly enough, they never made you feel threatened or in danger, on the contrary, they had welcomed you into their lives–into their den–and they even became your friends, too.

You had done a lot of reading on werewolves since then. Sometimes you asked Chris for details when you felt specially curious, other times you just went on the internet and dug out whatever you could find, but this odd behaviour of Chris’ lately was something you hadn’t inquired further into yet. You’d been too busy trying to study for your upcoming exams while balancing work, and that left no room for your mind to wander. Hell, you hadn’t even had time to fold your laundry, the pile of clothes being moved back and forth from the chair to your bed every morning and every night.

You were sitting on your chair, leaning over the desk in your room to scribble on the countless sheets of papers scattered around, trying to cram even more information into your brain. You certainly needed to take a break, but it was hard to bring yourself to. The universe, however, clearly had other plans for you.

The sudden knock on your door startled you, but you still turned around and mustered a soft ‘come in’, only to see Chris open your door shortly after, making his way into your room.

“Hey, you wanna eat–” His movements stopped and his eyes opened wide as his gaze moved from the pile of clothes on your bed, to you, back to the clothes, and back to you.

“Ah, sorry for the mess. I haven’t had time to fold my clothes”, you shrugged, pulling the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing–his hoodie–down your arm again, since you usually had to roll it up to your elbow when you wanted to write to avoid shuffling the papers around.

Chris’ eyes followed your movement, and the doorknob he still held in his hand rattled slightly as his grip around it tightened–tight enough to make his fist tremble.

“Shit…” He mumbled, only to turn around and bolt out of your room. “Shit, shit, shit…” You could hear him swearing even as he walked away, and alarm bells started to ring in your head instantly.

Your body moved almost on its own, following him down the hall. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” He fumbled with his bag that had been discarded this morning by the sofa, pushing his laptop inside. “Gotta go…” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or not, but you pressed him further.

“Christopher, what’s wrong?”

“You… Shit… Go, go, go…” Chris made a beeline towards the front door, picking up his keys from their designated bowl on the bureau as soon as he made it to the entryway.

You couldn’t let him leave, not when he looked this… Well, you weren’t sure what he was feeling, but he was certainly frantic, and that couldn’t be a good sign. So you moved quickly, getting close to him so you could pull on his arm. “Chris–”

At that moment you were reminded that Chris and his friends were, in fact, otherworldly. You couldn’t even register the movement, one instant you were standing in the middle of the hall and the next you had your back against the wall, with Chris’ hands at either side of you and his body pressing you to it as his nose brushed against your neck, inhaling deeply.

“So fucking good…” His voice was barely a whisper, but there was absolutely no space between you, so you heard him. You heard him loud and clear. You should’ve felt intimidated, scared even. But right then, as you felt his warmth seep into you, and hearing the low tone of his voice, you couldn’t help but come to the realisation that you liked it.

“C–Chris”, your hands came up, your fingers barely brushed his sides, but then he moved away, rather abruptly.

“Fuck, I’m… I’m so sorry”, he brought his hands to his head, burying his fingers in his hair, and pulling the strands as he started to pace around the hall. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry”.

“Are you… Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but ask, he was clearly extremely worried, and now that you got to look at him better, he almost looked in pain. It was starting to worry you.

Chris’ eyes snapped up to meet yours, and an incredulous look settled on his face. “Am I okay? I just pushed you against the wall and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

You simply held his gaze, just like you always did. You didn’t know how long the stare-off lasted, probably a few seconds, but it felt eternal. You would’ve continued staring back at him had a growl not resonated from deep within his chest, making the fine hairs at your nape stand on end and your eyes go wide in surprise, while his shut tightly. “Stop looking me in the eyes, God. Do you have any idea what that does to my head?”

“What does it do?” You could guess what it did. You could guess because you had thought about it before. 

Chris was an alpha werewolf, he was the leader of his pack, and you knew that eye contact could potentially mean you were challenging his role in the group. And maybe you were. Maybe you were just trying to get him to react.

“Makes me want to–” Chris cut himself short, gritting his teeth and grimacing slightly. When he opened his eyes again, they were almost pleading. “God, I’m so sorry. I’ve been… Been trying really hard to not make you uncomfortable, but here I am being a total creep”.

You finally detached yourself from the wall, walking a few steps closer to him, and his body tensed at the proximity. “I don’t think you’re a creep, I’m actually really worried about you. You’ve been acting weird all week, what’s going on?”

“Shit, you… You really have no idea, do you?” Chris’ entire body was taut as he stared you up and down, and the motion made you gulp, almost audibly.

“About what?” You took another tentative step closer. Your brain did register the danger, it urged you to run away, but there was something in you that wouldn’t let you, that wanted you to move as close to him as you could.

Chris’ gaze moved back up to look at your face briefly, only to dip lower slightly, looking at your neck. His tongue peeked from within his mouth, licking his lips almost absentmindedly as he looked at you. “How fucking good you smell”, he inhaled sharply. The action somehow brought heat to your face, it made you blush. “Fuck, it’s been driving me nuts all week. It’s been driving me nuts for months, but especially this week…”

He took a step closer, only to stop his movements as soon as they started, clenching his fists tightly at his sides. You stayed silent, rooted on the spot right where you were, which he clearly noticed. “You need to get away from me. I’m… Dangerous, fuck. The things roaming in my head right now… Shit…”

You knew he was right. You needed to leave. But you really couldn’t bring yourself to. “What are you thinking about? Tell me”.

Shaking his head, Chris shut his eyes tightly, and a faint blush settled on his cheeks. Against your better judgement, you walked another step closer, just as your eyes roamed his form. You had failed to notice before, but now it was very obvious to you what was going on. Your eyes went wide in surprise, and you just couldn’t stop your tongue from leaving your mouth to lick your lips as you noticed the tent in his joggers. He was… He was huge, and you would lie if you said you were not affected by the sight.

Chris’ eyes snapped open, and yours snapped back up to look him in the eyes again. Shit, he’d caught looking, and something was starting to change in his eyes as he looked back at you. Gulping the saliva that had collected in your mouth, you found the courage to ask. “Are you… Are you going through your rut already?”

“So it seems”, he took a step closer towards you.

“Is this why you’ve been lending me one of your hoodies every day? To leave your scent on me?” 

His ears grew red, but he kept his mouth tightly shut. His eyes scanned your face for a bit only to finally settle on your neck once again, giving you a minute nod of his head.

“Be honest with me, Christopher. Why are you doing it? Is this something you do with our friends, too, to keep them safe or something?” You needed to know. You needed to know what he thought of you. Did he think of you in the same ways that you had thought of him all these months?

Chris inhaled deeply once again, and he took another step closer. “No, this is not something I do to my friends. I just can’t bear thinking there might be anyone out there that could smell you and get any ideas, especially not when you’re fucking ovulating”.

Your breath hitched in your throat, just as you felt wetness pool in your core, and Chris growled. He literally growled, like an animal, and the sound made you a bit lightheaded, but probably not for the reasons it should have. “Fuck, why are you… Why are you getting turned on by this? You know full well what I am. Go lock yourself in your fucking room while I can still think and hold back”.

“What if… What if I don’t want to lock myself in my room?” You licked your lips, and Chris’ eyes followed the movement, just as another low growl resonated from deep within him. “What if I don’t want you to hold back?”

You felt your back hit the wall again, but it was hard to register it when you could also feel Chris’ lips on yours, when you could feel him kissing you so eagerly. A small whimper escaped your mouth as soon as he kissed you, and you immediately kissed him back, grabbing his shirt tightly in your fists to pull him as close to you as you could while his hands found their way to your lower back. 

You could feel his hardened length press against your belly, and it made you whine. One of his hands dipped lower from your back to grope one of your buttocks while the other dragged up your front, finding one of your breasts and squeezing it. His grip was strong, firm and you couldn’t help but moan against his mouth, eliciting a grunt from his lips.

When Chris separated his mouth from yours, he diverted his attention to your neck, pressing his nose under your jaw and inhaling deeply once again. “Fuck, you smell so fucking good. So sweet and fertile”, the hand on your breast shuffled, and his fingers found your nipple, pinching it over the fabric of your hoodie–his hoodie. “I want you to be mine, fuck. Mine and only mine. I’ve wanted it for so long”.

Your inner walls clenched around nothing, and you felt more wetness pool at your core as soon as his words registered in your brain. Chris noticed, because of course he did, how could he not when his enhanced senses seemed to be able to pick up even the smallest changes in your body. He rolled his hips to grind his cock against you, grunting, letting you feel him. “You want that, too, yeah? Wanna be mine? Just say it, love, and I’ll make you mine. All mine”, he emphasised his words with another squeeze to your breast, making you whine.

“Wanna–Wanna be yours… Wanted to for so long, too”.

“Fuck…” He moved his hand from your breast, dragging all the way up for him to take a hold of the back of your neck while his lips returned to yours.

He kissed you with force, with need, his tongue made its way into your mouth to find yours eagerly waiting for him, ready to dance against his. You felt dizzy, completely overcome by his presence around you–his hands, his tongue, his mouth, the sounds he made, how warm he felt under your hands… All combined was steadily clouding your reason–not like you had much of it left since you had moved into this place.

Chris scooped you into his arms, the action was so sudden it made you yelp as your legs wrapped around his middle on instinct and your arms looped around his neck for stability. No one had ever been able to pick you up like this, this… Easily. 

You weren’t exactly light, you’d always been on the curvier, chubbier side–which you’d always liked about yourself, you did feel pretty, but you had never let anyone even remotely try to carry you. Yet, Chris didn’t seem to struggle one bit, as if you weighed nothing. Moving with purpose, he started to whisper in your ear. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. So good. I’ll treat you so well, just like you deserve”.

Your hands trembled slightly as you held onto his shoulders. “Chris…”

“God…” Chris reached your room, pushing the door closed with his foot as soon as he was inside. “Say my name again”.

“Chris”, your voice was barely a whisper, with your lips almost pressed to his ear as you spoke.

“Again” He dropped you on your bed, right on top of your unfolded clothes. Taking a hold of the back of his vest top, he pulled it over his head, and your mouth immediately watered at the sight. He was so incredibly handsome, you could almost feel your hands tremble with excitement at the prospect of finally getting to touch him just how you’d been wanting to

“Chris”, you repeated, looking up at him as he kneeled between your legs. He was so broad, you just couldn’t stop your hands from reaching out to palm his shoulders while his fingers hooked on the waistband of your leggings, and you gasped when he pulled them roughly down your legs.

“Fuck… Look at you”, his hands found your inner thighs, rubbing them up and down, dragging them over your skin for a bit to warm up, only to grip them tightly after, making you squeal. 

He pushed your legs apart, roughly, all so he could shove his face between your legs. His nose prodded your clothed entrance, making you moan softly, and a low growl seemed to have started to rumble deep within him. Never had you felt this affected by anyone, every single one of his movements had your skin on fire, your senses alert, and especially now, as his tongue dragged over the wet spot on your underwear, making you swear under your breath.

By the time you registered the movement, Chris had already torn your underwear apart, the thing reduced to shredded scraps that he simply threw on the floor, looking almost offended that the garment had been on you in the first place. His gaze fixed on your core, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips as two of his fingers came to collect your essence, spreading it all over your slit.

“So fucking wet”, his fingers moved from your entrance to your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that had you whimpering under his touch. “Who made you this wet?”

“You did–” Your words caught in your throat when his fingers moved down again.

“Who?” He shoved two of his digits into you, the wetness between your legs letting them enter you with ease. The sudden intrusion had you throwing your head back, curling your toes, and you couldn’t help but moan at the feel of his fingers moving in and out of you, deliciously dragging against your walls.

“You, Chris!” His tongue swiped over your clit, and as soon as he tasted you, an almost animalistic groan escaped his throat. 

His mouth was relentless, kissing and licking your clit while his fingers fucked you open. Time and space slipped between your fingers, all thoughts in your brain disappeared as your mind filled only with Chris and his fingers and his tongue and the sounds he made. If him eating you out and fingering you felt like this, you couldn’t even fathom how it’d be like when he fucked you, but you were certainly more than ready to find out.

Two fingers turned into three, that later turned into four, stretching you open to your limits while his tongue on your clit coaxed the lewdest sounds to come out of your lips. The most alluring part of it all, though, was his eyes, staring deep into yours. It was almost as if he was finally getting his payback for all the times you had stared back at him in the past, like he was trying to remind you, to shove in your face, just who was the predator and who was the prey.

And it made you feel warm, really warm. Sweat collected on the back of your neck as his fingers stretched you open and his tongue worked you up. A low, constant growl rumbled from him, you could feel the vibrations on your thigh that rested on his shoulder, and you could’ve sworn it had your whole bed vibrating with it. All you could do under his touch was moan and pant and whine, completely unable to form any coherent sentences when he had his mouth on you.

Your orgasm hit you hard, your walls spasmed repeatedly around his fingers, and your whole body shook with your release. The onslaught of sensations had tears pricking your eyes, had you struggling to get air into your lungs. The fact that your upper body was still covered by his hoodie probably added to that slight feeling of suffocation as warmth continued to spread all over your body.

Chris finally pulled his fingers out of you, and he brought them to his mouth to lick them clean, savouring the taste of you on his tongue with a deep growl. Attaching his lips to your thighs, he peppered them with kisses, licks, and bites, leaving purple splotches on your skin, mumbling to himself–the words falling against your skin, vaguely sounding like ‘so pretty, so, so pretty, so pretty, my pretty girl, gonna make you feel so good, gonna stuff you full, pretty, pretty’.

When he was satisfied with the art he left on your thighs he shuffled so he could kneel between your legs again. “Off”, Chris tugged on the hem of your hoodie, pulling it off of you in one swift motion, making your body bounce a bit when you fell back onto the bed as soon as the garment was off. “Fuck… Have you been wearing my clothes like this all the time?” His hands dragged all the way from your neck, down your breasts, your belly, and you could see his eyes taking you in, roaming all over your naked form as you laid under him.

“Only when–” Your words caught in your throat when his fingers started to tease your nipples, when you noticed his eyes were absolutely fixed on your chest. Chris seemed to be completely enthralled by the sight in front of him, by your sensitive skin under his fingertips, by the sounds he was coaxing out of your mouth with his fingers working your chest. 

Swallowing, and after taking a deep breath, you got enough clarity in your mind to speak again. “Only when I want to feel like you’re the one warming me up”, there was a permanent blush on your face, it had made its home there as soon as his mouth connected to your heat earlier, so letting out one of your deepest secrets hardly changed your outer state.

Chris’ gaze snapped up from your chest to lock eyes with you, and you felt your breath catching in your throat again. You had never seen his eyes looking this dark. He had the prettiest brown eyes you’d ever seen, but right now his pupils almost completely engulfed that warm brown of his, leaving only black behind. With one final lick of his lips, his mouth found yours, kissing you deeply, hungrily. You’d admit that during your time living here, you had wondered many times how his lips would feel, how’d it be if he kissed you. They looked soft, plump, and now that you finally got a taste you were sure you wanted to have them on you as many times as possible, for as long as possible.

Taking your lower lip between his teeth, Chris moved away from you, eliciting a whimper to escape from your mouth once he released you. He got rid of his joggers, and his cock stood tall and proud between his legs. Fluid leaked from his tip–a lot of fluid–clear and thick. He collected some of it in his palm, coating himself thoroughly before he finally wrapped his fingers around his length, pumping it. 

You propped yourself on your elbows, trying to get a better view, and you were completely captivated by the sight of his head popping out of his fist as he jerked himself, subconsciously licking your lips while you stared. He was bigger, girthier, than any regular human you’d seen, much less fucked. Quite honestly, it was slightly intimidating, but you weren’t one to back down from a challenge, especially not when the only thoughts in your mind right now were Chris and his fucking werewolf cock.

In one swift movement, Chris took a hold of your hips and pulled you further down on the bed, making you yelp. Your upper body fell back on the mattress with the motion, and he pushed your thighs together, moving them towards your chest. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he spread saliva over his palm before he wrapped his fingers around his length and coated himself in it–not like he needed it, since clear fluid continued to constantly leak from his tip.

“You look so good like this… You’re so fucking gorgeous”, bringing your legs towards him, he let them rest on his chest. His tip brushed your thighs, right where your supple flesh met, close to your core but not making contact with it, making you shudder as you felt his slick on your skin. “So soft, too”, Chris eased himself between your thighs with a satisfied groan, and your walls clenched around nothing while he held your legs in place and his hips started to thrust back and forth. “Even here, especially here. All mine to enjoy…”

Even if he was not actively stimulating you, this was quite possibly one of the most arousing things someone had ever done to you. The sight of his tip poking between your legs, the feel of his hips against your skin, all added to the look on his face as he looked down at you like you were his meal had you moaning softly, and even whining a bit.

“Fuck, I can almost taste how horny you are… Your scent’s everywhere. So fucking delicious”, his pace picked up, his hips collided against you with force as he fucked your thighs. Not only was it the sound of wet skin against wet skin, but also the feel of him hitting the back of your thighs that had you grabbing handfuls of the bedsheets, that had your whole body feeling tingling with need.

“Chris, please…” You weren’t even sure yourself what you were begging for, but as you stared back into his eyes you felt the urge to beg, so you did.

He pushed your thighs apart with force, and one of his hands took a hold of your hip, angling you just how he needed you to be, just how he wanted you to be, while the other took a hold of his cock, bringing close to your heat to tease your clit with his tip. The contact of his bare skin against yours had your breath catching in your throat, and Chris had a similar reaction as he stared at his cock brushing over your folds.

You knew he was clean, you two had gone to one of those pop-up clinics with Changbin around a month ago since he wanted some moral support after a scare. You’d gotten tested for the heck of it, just as did Chris, both coming up negative, and neither of you had been with anyone after–not like you could think too much about it anyway, you were so far gone you would’ve probably let him do anything to you without any second thought, because you wanted him to do those things, at this point, you felt like you needed him. Badly.

When his length started to make its way into your core, slowly stretching your walls, you truly got to feel his size. You were dripping, as was he–his cock still covered in the mix of his saliva and his slick–and he had prepped you with his fingers, but it was almost nothing compared to this. Bringing a hand to your core, you started to rub circles on your clit, trying to get yourself to relax.

“You’re doing well, baby. So good for me…” He was half way in, and you could hardly breathe. One of his hands moved to tweak your nipple, the stimulation coupled with the one of your fingers on your clit helped ease some of that sting you could feel between your legs.

“C–Chris”, you whimpered softly, looking him in the eyes. 

Chris was an alpha, you knew that already, but as you your eyes found his you were able to understand part of his nature. Not because he looked dominant, or lustful, or borderline animalistic, but because he looked at you like he wanted to protect you, to comfort you. Even if he surely wanted to fuck you into oblivion, the need to provide comfort to you was clearly overpowering that need to mount you.

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re a brave girl, I know you can take what’s yours”, with one final push of his hips he finally bottomed out.

Your fingers moved away from your clit as you exhaled–shit, you hadn’t even realised you had been holding your breath. Chris’ hands came to rest on your thighs, dragging them up and down in soothing motions. You felt impossibly full, completely stretched to your limits–had he been any bigger you doubt you would’ve been able to take him in at all.

“Fuck, so tight and warm…” His fingers came to toy with your clit, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. A low growl resonated in his chest, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he licked his lips while he threw his head back to enjoy the feeling of your walls wrapped snugly around him. “I’ll fuck you so good, pretty. I’ll make you all mine”.

You took a deep breath, and your eyes found his once he finally opened them to look at you again. You were still slightly breathless, but that didn’t seem to overpower the determination in your voice. “Do it, then. Fuck me good, Christopher”.

As soon as the words left your mouth, it was as if something snapped within him. The comforting, caring look left his eyes completely, replaced by an animalistic, dark look. When his thumb found your clit, rubbing precise circles on it, and his hips pulled back, only to snap back into you almost immediately, starting a fast, hard pace, you couldn’t help but cry out. It was a lot, a lot but somehow not enough at the same time. 

Your walls adjusted quickly, the harsh sound of his hips hitting your skin made you dizzy, and it was almost like you could feel him in your throat whenever he thrusted all the way in. If you ever thought you had been fucked hard in your life, that had been nothing compared to the way Chris was fucking you now. 

His fingers dug on the skin of your thigh, you could already feel bruises forming under his hold, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was having his hands on you, having his body over you, and having his cock fuck you open.

His thumb never left your clit, and before you could even register it building, your release hit you, making him growl at the feeling of your walls pulsating around him as he kept pounding into you. “So good for me, love. You’re taking me so fucking well. Can’t wait to fill you to the brim”.

Barely giving you time to catch your breath, Chris pulled out of you to take a hold of your waist, swiftly flipping you on your stomach, so he could pull your hips up for your lower body’s weight to rest on your knees. “Look at these hips, fuck…”

He pushed his cock into you again, taking the air away from your lungs as he resumed his relentless pace. “So fucking perfect… So breedable and ready for me”.

The hold his hands had on your hips was firm, strong, his fingers dug on your skin, and the fullness of your flesh gave him plenty of leverage to grip you tightly and push you back to meet his thrusts. “You’ll carry my pups so well, love. So fucking well. You’re so fucking perfect”.

You could barely keep your upper body propped up on your elbows, grabbing handfuls of the sheets to keep yourself mildly grounded. You honestly couldn’t do anything other than moan and whine and whimper his name. His hand sneaked around your hip to rub circles on your clit. You were sensitive from your previous orgasms still, added to the stretch of his monster cock, his fingers on that bundle of nerves between your legs had you almost seeing stars as soon as he started to stimulate it.

The sudden sting between your legs brought your senses back to reality, only enough to remember what alpha males experienced when they were going through their rut, something you had read once, and when you’d asked Chris about it he had blushed profusely and walked away from you, leaving you hanging.

“Chris!” You whimpered, feeling the extra stretch steadily growing within your walls.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. You can take it, I know you can”, his fingers on your clit sped up impossibly faster, rubbing you for a while, building your release once again only for you to finally come crashing down.

His hips stuttered with the feel of your walls spasming around him, and by the way your walls stretched around his length, by the way his knot kept catching at your entrance as it grew, you figured he was getting close to his own climax. Chris leaned over you, with his chest against your back and his hand pressed your lower belly, lightly gripping your soft skin, he whispered in your ear. “Take my knot, baby. I know you can take it in your perfect little cunt. I’m gonna stuff you full of my pups soon and you’ll take it all, yeah?”

“Y–yes…” Your voice was hoarse, barely even loud enough for yourself to hear, but Chris heard you. There was no way he wouldn’t hear you when he was so close to you, when you might as well had been one and the same at this very moment. A low, drawn out growl reverberated against your back when he finally came, when he finally shoved his knot as deep as he could within your walls for his seed to fill you up.

It felt like he was coming for an eternity, his cum spurted endlessly from his cock while he rubbed his face on your shoulder, your neck, your back, mumbling ‘mine, all mine, my pretty girl, all for me…’ nonstop, mumbling the words like he didn’t even need to think about them, like it was all he could focus on while he filled you to the brim. A ringing broke free in your ears, your whole body ached and you felt truly stuffed completely full by the time Chris finally stopped coming.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he manoeuvred your bodies, taking special care to not let his knot pull too much while you moved. He laid you both on your side, this position allowed you to feel less of that pulling sensation between your legs, leaving only a dull ache that seemed to ease the longer you spent laying there in his arms. Even if you were achy and in a bit of pain, you couldn’t help but feel immensely satisfied, oddly proud of yourself after taking this much.

Chris pressed pecks on your shoulder, just as he caressed the soft skin of your lower belly while he whispered words of encouragement on your skin–‘you took me so well, baby. So, so well, I’m so lucky, you’re so good to me…’ He did this for a while, a while of his lips trailing kisses from your shoulder to your neck and back again, a while of goosebumps rising on your skin wherever he touched. His soothing, caring motions made your eyelids heavy, almost lulling you to sleep.

“I’m sorry, baby…” Chris mumbled against the skin of your shoulder, pulling you back from that semi-asleep state you were falling into.

You sought his arm, gently caressing him, and you felt goosebumps of his own raise under your touch. “Why are you apologising?” 

“For… For having you go through this”, he sounded apologetic, ashamed, even, and you didn’t like it one bit.

You scoffed, almost offended. “Don’t let it get to your head, babe, but this is probably the hottest sex I’ve ever had”.

Chris laughed, incredulous. “Fuck, I don’t know who’s crazier here, me or you”, he was starting to sound more like his every day self, and it made you smile. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy, just how you always felt whenever you spent time with him.

“Clearly me. I’m the one who begged a fucking werewolf to fuck me”, you chuckled, as did Chris.

A comfortable silence settled between you two, you took his hand in yours, bringing it close to your mouth so you could press kisses on his palm, his fingers, all while he kept kissing your shoulders, your neck… A comfortable silence spent just cuddling each other, enjoying each other’s warmth and each other’s company.

You were silent for a while, until a question popped in your head suddenly, and curiosity wouldn’t let you just keep it to yourself. “Isn’t it too soon for you to start your rut? I remember you telling me about the previous one, it wasn’t that long ago, only a handful of months, no?”

“It was supposed to start later this month, which is why I was still in the house…” During his last rut, Chris had left the flat for a few days to stay at one of the vacant flats in the building–something he and the rest could do thanks to an arrangement Changbin had with his parents–that was actually how you came to know about ruts in the first place. 

Burying his face in your neck, Chris inhaled deeply, letting out a content sigh right after. “Since my rut was so close, I guess your ovulation triggered it”, he chuckled, but his body suddenly tensed. He removed his hand from your hold so he could lay his palm flat on your lower belly, and when he spoke he sounded slightly panicked. “Shit… Fuck, I’ll get you the morning after pill”.

That made you laugh, loudly. “Are you for real? After all that talk about breeding me and me carrying your pups?”

“That’s… It’s a biological thing, okay?” Embarrassment clung to his voice, and it made you chuckle softly. “I’m on my rut, of course all the wolf wants is to breed you. I mean, I can’t blame him, look at these hips, fuck…” He took a hold of your hip, the soft flesh dipped under his hold when he gripped it tightly. When he finally released it, he caressed the area.

“But I… Uh… I haven’t even taken you on a date yet! We can’t have children like this”, he tapped his fingers on your hip, just as his lips resumed their motions, pressing soft pecks on your shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea either”, sure, it was hot while you fucked, but now that you can actually think like a person you knew he was right, and you decided to come clean. “Anyway, just so you know, I’m on birth control. The one that makes you ovulate still apparently”, you chuckled softly, and you felt Chris’ body relax behind you.

Chris hummed against your skin. “Lucky me… You do smell so good. You always do, but fuck, this week… Unbearable. Had me hard most of the time, could barely hide it. Can’t believe you didn’t even notice, it’s not exactly easy to hide…”

“I can’t believe you’ve been fucking scenting me all week”, you chuckled.

“Babe, don’t think ill of me, but I started scenting you a month after you moved in…” 

You blinked a few times, and you wished you could look him in the eyes right now. “What? Why?”

He mumbled something against your skin, something you couldnʼt quite catch. “What was that?”

Chris sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing you further into him. “I said… I couldn’t stand when you came home smelling of other men… I couldn’t stand thinking of them doing things with you, to you, that I wished I could do…”

A blush spread over your cheeks, and you were honestly unable to say anything other than a barely audible ‘oh…ʼ

“So, yeah. I’ve, uh… I’ve liked you for a long time, if you couldn’t tell…”

Slowly, you noticed how his knot started to deflate, and his seed started to pour out of you and onto the mess of clothes under you. “Shit… My laundry”, you chuckled, honestly not caring much about having to wash another load. “I like you, too, Chris. A lot”.

He hummed, further burying his face in the back of your neck as his knot deflated completely, allowing you to move freely again. “I can’t believe you had your clothes here on your bed like this, fuck… Almost gave me a heart attack”.

“Why?” 

Chris propped himself on an elbow, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before he moved over you and off of the bed. “Because, pretty baby”, he stretched his limbs, groaning a bit, giving your eyes the opportunity to roam every single defined muscle on his body. A sight that you really appreciated. “With your scent as sweet as it was, and you wearing my hoodie, it was almost like you had prepared a pretty little nest for me to fuck your brains out in”.

You had completely forgotten about nests and what they meant to wolves, and you felt heat immediately come to your face, blushing profusely. “Oh…”

“Subconsciously, it’s almost like you did”, Chris chuckled, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “Stay here in your pretty nest, little one. I’ll prepare something for you while I can still think like a man. I don’t think I’ll be able to when my rut hits me fully. Need to keep hydrated and well fed so you can take me this well each time”.

Author’s notex2: so, as i added in the note at the beginning, as of 31/03/2023 this work was re-edited to better reflect my current writing style. i decided to update this post instead of posting it again because i just didn’t want the old version still around lol, but if you want it back, let me know. i saved it and might consider posting it separately for nostalgic value.

Chris’ WereRoomies Instalments:  It’s Cold Out · Rut · Alpha Dog · It’s Warm In · Love is Easy · Afraid to Lose You. For extra drabbles, check out the series masterlist.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2022-2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

Constructive feedback is always welcome :)

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

I'll be so for real right now, I am absolutely talking about the hotd fandom (via this meme that @emilykaldwen made and I had a giggle fit over).

It's not burnout that's driving people away from this fandom (and fandom in general). It's not even strictly the lack of engagement. Recently, the people most vocal about the lack of engagement are the ones who go out of their way to alienate other writers, who dm authors who don't reblog their fics and harass them in their private messages while never engaging with anyone's work. People have actually come into my dm's demanding I reblog their fic/asking why I haven't, and they had never engaged with me past a few "hi how are you" dms. In what universe is this acceptable? In what universe if this community building?

You wanna know why I don't reblog a lot of fic on tumblr? Why I'm mostly just on ao3 and commenting over there? Because tumblr fic, especially in the hotd fandom, has become a circle jerk. The care for the craft is mostly gone, there's little desire to write something well, only something that performs well. It's becoming just ooc porn with a character name slapped on so that people can imagine fucking certain actors without saying they write/read rpf. So many people bought into the tiktok driven need to reduce ourselves to content farms instead of making actual friendships and building a community and taking pride in our art/trying to improve on our craft.

I will be so for real right now, I have come to a point where I mostly just engage with my friends and their work on tumblr. And this is because some of the utter insanity I've seen since I waded into this fandom. The anons I've received in the last two years in this fandom rival even those I got when I was running an active Reylo sideblog that has since been deleted because of the "go kill yourself" messages I got (no, I don't care about your opinion on Reylo). Aside from the mine field of psychological warfare that fandom and fic is becoming, it also seems like there are so few people who want to craft actual stories. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the porn - x reader smut is where I got my start, and I have read some x reader fic that was incredible, that reduced me to tears. And yet, those fics, those authors, were never allowed to flourish because the author didn't live up the ass of a select few people on this site. This is why I've stopped promoting my work on this site. This is why I stay in my little corner.

y'all, i am exhausted. we have to do better than this.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Brigerton Round-Up

Ok, so I have read all of the Bridgerton books I care to at this point, but my reviews are spread across this blog and possibly like a year of time??? So I thought it would be fun to bring them all together in a single post!

All of these reviews were written between S2 and S3 of Netflix's Bridgerton Series, so bear that in mind when you're wondering why I haven't talked about all the seasons!

Content warning for some misogyny and discussion of sexual assault.

Also...THERE ARE SPOILERS HERE.

The Viscount Who Loved Me

There comes a point where a girl can't deny she has engaged in a fandom. It probably is well before you start writing fic (you can find The Polin Fic on Ao3), but y'know, here we are. Let's talk Bridgerton.

Ok, couple things right off the top.

We are not dealing with either The Duke and I or S1 of Bridgerton on Netflix. We are not dealing with *THAT* scene and it's complete disregard for consent. Find that somewhere else on the internet, it's a big place.

We are literally only talking about The Viscount Who Loved Me and Romancing Mr. Bridgerton. They're the only books I've read, and at this point they're the only books in this series I care to read. That means we'll also chat about S2 of Netflix's Bridgerton.

Ok, with the ground rules established, let's jump on in!

I think the reasonable place to start here is with Kate. I watched Bridgerton the Netflix series before reading The Viscount Who Loved Me, and Kates Sheffield and Sharma are objectively not the same woman. They wouldn't even LIKE each other. Kate Sharma is self-assured, confident, driven, and quite frankly, a force of nature when she wants to be. Kate Sharma understands that not only is she a grown ass woman but also that if she does not get in gear and go for her goals, they ain't happening. You guys, I freaking love Kate Sharma.

By contrast, Kate Sheffield is a blond, blue-eyed, infantilized debutante with some serious unresolved PTSD. I was not at all sorry to see that Shondaland did away with THAT library scene and THAT bee sting scene. I think that the show did both of them way better, and I will never be mad when an adaptation takes an adult female character and lets her ACT like an adult. I also appreciated the shift from creepy Anthony trying to *checks notes* suck the venom out of the bee sting to a full-blown panic attack. It subverted a highly gendered trope and put both Kate and Anthony on a much more even and human footing. It was also--and I cannot stress this enough--so much LESS CREEPY than the book scene. Anthony describing what he was doing in detail while the reader is told but not shown that he's panicky left several different flavors of bad taste in my mouth. Kate Sharma showing actual dimensionality in her strength in the show in this scene as Anthony goes fully nonverbal is objectively a stronger scene that does far more to develop the characters.

Generally speaking, Anthony Bridgerton is Anthony Bridgerton in both the show and the book, with maybe some of the high-and-mighty, self-righteous edges sanded off for the show. He's a regency era Viscount, there's not a whole lot you can do with him in adaptation. Show Anthony is my preference because he has some of the high-handedness sanded off, and because Jonathan Bailey is extremely nice to look at. I don't even hate the S1 (*gasp* she mentioned Bruno!) sideburns and hair, they had a very 1995 Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy vibe that I was willing to lean into. I honestly don't have a whole lot else to say about Anthony, so let's move on and hope that maybe we get an S3 release date before I get to the end of this post. (Spoiler Alert: We did not)

An Offer From a Gentleman

Dearest Gentle Reader, I suppose if you play with fire, you do eventually get burned. This Author has finally been burned by a Bridgerton novel. --Lady Bookshelf's Society Papers, 7 June 2023

So uhh...yeah. We gotta talk about Benedict Bridgerton. And we gotta talk about what the actual hell happened between book and Netflix series, because I found the series before the book, and even knowing that the characterizations were different, this book was JARRINGLY different, and not gonna lie, I absolutely cannot stand book Benedict and I fully do not understand the Benophie appeal. Now that I've finished painting a target on my back, let's talk An Offer from a Gentleman.

Ok y'all, I have recipts for this one, because book Benedict was basically a "too aloof and edgelordy to give a damn" and he really, REALLY needed to stop telling Sophie she was stupid or thinking too much. He also was hideously high-handed about blackmailing, coercing, and passive aggressively manipulating Sophie into doing the closest possible thing he can make happen to what he wants. He can't hear the word "no." His art seems somehow less important to him than the bowl of rocks at the cottage.

Show Benedict is a sweetheart artist with a wicked sense of humor and a real damn good sense for his siblings' moods and needs. I like show Benedict. I was prepared to yeet book Benedict off a cliff.

So real quick before this descends into incoherent screeching, I just need to point out the section where Sophie leaves the Cavendar's house during a party that is SUPER not safe for her. The "male lead saves the female lead from getting raped" is not my favorite trope in the world, but I'm not here to shame anyone for rescue fantasies. What I am here to do is explainin why Benedict is the WORST POSSIBLE EXAMPLE of this trope. I'm just gonna go ahead and put the passage up here, for ease. This is Benedict's reaction to seeing Sophie is an objectively scary situation:

Cavender was standing under a stately old elm with two other gentlemen. They appeared to be having a bit of fun with a housemaid, pushing her back and forth between them. Benedict Groaned. He was too far away to determine whether the housemaid was enjoying their attentions, and if she was not, then he was going to have to save her, which was not how he'd planned to spend his evening. He'd never been particularly enamored of playing the hero, but he had far too many younger sisters--four, to be precise--to ignore any female in distress.

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS REACTION??? What is this "ugh, I guess I HAVE to step in, what a pain in the ass FOR ME" nonsense??? This is not allyship, this isn't even--as Benedict tepidly says--"having sisters," this is just "ugh, I guess I have to be a hero, how annoying."

If you're going to do the rescue trope, it kind of works better if your leading man gives a rat's ass. Like, give him a strong position on rape being bad. Give him a motivation. Give him something other than an eye roll and vague irritation that he has to do the thing! He's not even particularly T-ed off with the guys in this situation, it's just...and event. That he has to deal with. Like going to the DMV or something.

Can we PLEASE not do this. This is gross, it is bare minimum, and frankly? It's the least interesting version of this trope. I wasn't a Twilight girl, but the scene where Edward rescues Bella from implied gang rape was done better than this moist tissue of a scene purely because HE GIVES A RAT'S ASS ABOUT BELLA.

Bare freaking minimum, your romantic leads have to have strong feelings for each other. Those feelings can be positive or negative, depending on whether or not you're doing enemies to lovers, but the feelings have to EXIST. And when you're dealing with limited third omninscient narration, the character in who's head you are should probably have stronger emotions than *eye roll* to keep it interesting for the reader!! We know Sophie is already in love with Benedict at this point in the novel, but we aren't in Sophie's HEAD just now.

I'm basically out of coherent things to say about this book, so let's just go over key examples of other things in this book that made me rage. It's not every instance, but it's a selection of demonstrative examples.

Let's check the receipts:

She shot him an arch look. "Horse races are almost always silly." "Spoken just like a woman," he muttered.

And just WHAT is wrong with speaking like a woman, Benedict??? Is it maybe because you think they're somehow LESSER than men???

"Sophie," he said, "I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears. Stop taxing your brain with useless mathematical computations and do as I asked."

TAXING HER BRAIN, BENEDICT??? Let the woman think for her own damn self for five seconds!

"His chin jutted out belligerently. "You're not supposed to be thinking. That's the point of of it."

LET. HER. THINK. FOR. HER. OWN. DAMN. SELF.

"You bloody fool," he swore. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is in the world for a woman alone?" "Er, yes," she managed. "Actually I do. If he heard her, he gave no indication, just went on about "men who take advantage" and "helpless women" and "fates worse than death." [...] About halfway through his tirade, she lost all ability to focus on his words. She just kept watching his mouth and hearing the tone of his voice, all the while trying to comprehend the fact that he seemed remarkably concerned for her welfare... "Are you even listening to a word I'm saying?" Benedict demanded.

YOU SPENT THE WHOLE BOOK TELLING HER NOT TO THINK AND NOW YOU'RE MANSPLAINING CLASS TO HER??? SERIOUSLY???

"Don't you ever call me stupid," she hissed. " Benedict blinked, trying to get his eyesight back to the point where he only saw one of her. "I wasn't--" "Yes you were," she replied in a low, angry voice."

Oh, yes, call her stupid. That's a GREAT way to get in any woman's skirts, Benedict. (Please excuse me while I scream incoherently into a pillow in rage.) Punch him again, Sophie.

"I didn't save you from Cavender just to let you squander your life away." "That isn't your choice to make." She had a point there, but he wasn't inclined to give it to her. "Perhaps," he allowed, "but I'm going to make it, anyway."

Wow, so you do ONE DECENT THING and suddenly you own her life??? PUNCH HIM AGAIN, SOPHIE. And no, gentlemen, going "oh shit, I am actually being a huge dick here" and then DOING THE THING ANYWAY does not earn you any points.

"I didn't want--" "You don't know what you want," he cut in. It was a cruel statement, condescending in the extreme, but he was beyond caring. She'd wounded him in a way he hadn't even known was possible, with a power he'd never dreamed she possessed.

ACTUALLY SHE DOES KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS, BENEDICT, BECAUSE SHE IS A HUMAN PERSON WITH AGENCY!!!!!! AND SHE HAS SAID NO TO YOU LIKE FIFTEEN TIMES!!! Dear god, someone throw this man back in the lake and hold his head under.

"I didn't think," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I know." He smiled. "I know. I hate it when you think. It always ends badly for me."

FOR FUCKS SAKE-- *screams in impotent rage while channeling Beatrice's "would eat his heart in the marketplace" vibes*

So...I actually don't recommend this book. Don't read this one. Just enjoy show Benedict and we can all collectively pretend that the book didn't happen.

Romancing Mr. Bridgerton

I actually thoroughly enjoyed the fluffy confection that is Romancing Mr. Bridgerton, which makes it much harder to talk about than The Viscount Who Loved Me. I suppose the biggest difference between the book and what the show is setting up for Polin is in the stakes. The book stakes are arguably extremely low; the consequences for being Lady Whistledown in the book are essentially a round of polite applause and some deep-seated rage that Cressida freaking Cowper would dare to take credit for Penelope's work. And frankly, I was 100% with Penelope on that one. The show cannot possibly roll with that ending (or if they do, they're going to disappoint everyone) because Penelope has pissed off a reigning monarch, and that has, historically, gone poorly. So I think the show is setting up to give Colin real, concrete reasons to be pissed as hell when it comes out that Penelope is Whistledown, and to actually make the pair work for their romance. And for all I enjoyed the fluff in the book, I am a sucker for multiple layers of increasingly high stakes and I hope the show really goes ham on the payoff for this setup. Frankly, I want Colin to be absolutely furious with Penelope and still ready to sneak her out of England if the Queen decides that Lady Whistledown is too dangerous to leave at liberty.

In terms of how Colin himself changes in the show, I'm fairly cool with the "I am a bottomless pit where is the food" aspect of Colin's character being quietly left behind. I think we can do more interesting things with our male characters than that. However, like many of the people who have both read the book and kept up with the show, I am WORRIED about how much Colin's writing has been downplayed. Yes, he and Penelope have a correspondence, and clearly they mean a lot to each other, but writing letters does not necissarily set up Colin's journals and the writing relationship that the two develop in the book. It's so, so wildly uncommon for game to recognize game and form a partnership of equals in skill in regency romance novels, and that was one of the things I loved about Romancing Mr. Bridgerton. I also loved that Colin, not Penelope, was the less experienced newbie of the writing partnership.

Not that the book didn't complicate this issue, because Julia Quinn didn't hesitate for a millisecond to slot Penelope into the historical role of "uncredited, unpaid, and historically unknown editor and 80% of the reason that history remembers the husband who's name is on the cover of the book." And that SUCKS for Penelope.

That takes me really smoothly into the thing that I love most about what Nicola Coughlan brings to Penelope in the show. She has an edge, a little more willingness to take risks, and that really makes me believe that the Penelope of the show could be behind the edgier, sharper, WAY riskier Whistledown. I am excited to see what they do with Polin in S3!

When He Was Wicked

Ok, as a Bridgerton book, When He Was Wicked was UNUSUAL. Given how tightly knit and very much there for each other the Bridgertons are (although I admit, this might be show bias affecting my reading), the fact that Francesca was, for the most part, isolated up in Scotland and very separate from the rest of the family was odd. It really allowed us to see what a Bridgerton-raised person would do when their back was to the wall and they were more or less alone.

Add to that the fact that most of this book is Francesca's second season and second love and that she gets to have actual EXPERIENCE and CONFIDENCE and not be your bog standard romance ingenue meant that this was a refreshing change of pace. I also would be absolutely remiss to point out that this novel went unapologetic on the fact that Francesca knows a little something about sex and her own body and that she has zero doubt that her needs, wants, and pleasure are important and that she can (and does) ask for what she wants with Michael. That's something that contemporary 2023 still really struggles with, so props to Julia Quinn for making it clear that Francesca can, should and DOES have a voice that matters during sex.

I also want to say that while Francesca wanting to be a mother so badly that she goes for a second season often gets side-eyed or openly pooh-poohed for being anti-feminist, breeding kinky, or somehow lesser, I would say that while the "All I want in the world is to be a mother" is complicated by the regency setting and the gender roles and expectations imposed on women whether they wanted them or not, Francesca is a widow for most of this novel, and widows historically had more (not complete, this isn't perfect) choice about their remarriage, and had Francesca not wanted to, she didn't have to remarry. So I'm willing to give this book the benefit of the doubt that Francesca actually DOES want to be a mother, actually DOES want children, and making the choice to remarry to have kids is an active, intentional choice on her part. Motherhood isn't for everyone, and that's 100% fine. But we shouldn't shame people who do want it, and I think a generous read of this book puts Francesca in that camp without some of the weird vibes and setting complications that you get with Daphne.

Again, none of this is wholly unproblematic, and there are arguments to be made that social conditioning overrode any choice Francesca could make. However, that's a deeply cynical read of a fun, fluffy romance novel, and I'm not here to shame people who can get pregnant for their reproductive choices, whatever those may be.

Michael is, in the grand tradition of non-Bridgerton love interests, fairly bland. His whole thing is being the merry rake, which, like, whatever. That's fine. I'm not like, terribly enamored of his full-on BAILING on Francesca for like three years after her first husband unceremoniously drops dead. I'm also not super enamored of his whole "did I secretly cause my cousin's death because I was coveting his wife and now I can never be with Francesca because I don't deserve her for killing my cousin" schtick, but this is Bridgerton so the absurd drama is pretty par for the course.

The reason to read this book really is Francesca, and Francesca finding her feet as a more mature heroine than we typically see in these books. I was very very much here for Francesca, and I hope that if the show gets this far, we really do get to see how Frannie is different from Daphne, Eloise, Penelope, and Hyacinth.

It's In His Kiss

This is now the fifth Bridgerton book I've read, and I actually have to say that while it's not my favorite of the series, it was a nice change of pace. Hyacinth and Gareth feel like they spend more time together as a couple really getting to know one another, which honestly was not really the vibe of previous couples. Anthony was too wrapped up in waiting to die, Benedict was too busy being shitty Prince Eric and generally devaluing all women everywhere, and Francesca and Colin were working through dead spouse trauma and a variation on professional jealousy, respectively. Hyacinth and Gareth just like each other, and Gareth was refreshingly brief in his daddy issues in favor of seducing Hyacinth and realizing that whoops, he actually meant it. So frankly, Gareth and Hyacinth feel more like they are actually good friends. And as a Polin Stan, that is a little heartbreaking to say, since Polin was supposed to be the friends to lovers storyline and as far as the books go, I actually think Hyacinth and Gareth feel more friends to lovers. Polin is more she fell first, he fell harder, which is a great trope but it's not really friends to lovers.

I swear I'm not going to be low-key disappointed about Polin for this whole post though, because in addition to Hyacinth being genuinely good friends with Gareth, we get her friendship with Lady Danbury. And THAT friendship is an absolute delight, although Jukia Quinn might be flying just a TAD close to the sun by spoofing bad romance books that we read to mock in her series of borderline read-to-mock romance books. This is very akin to my feelings about Penelope getting weak-kneed over Colin's writing talent because he described the temperature of the Agean Sea as half-hour old bathwater. Like, I get what you were going for emotionally, but on a very realistic level, you fell flat on your face and your skirt rode all the way up so you flashed your panties at people by accident, and not in a kinky way. Not that that makes Hyacinth and Lady D's dynamics any less wonderful, it's just one of those "my eyebrows were raised while I was smiling" things. We cannot help but love Lady Danbury.

I also just want to call out the objectively hilarious scene where Gareth goes to ask Anthony for permission to marry Hyacinth and Anthony completely blows the tone with his combination "YES ALL MY SISTERS ARE MARRIED OFF I AM KING" and "hurt her and I won't kill you, I will make your long life a living hell" reactions. I enjoyed this Anthony.

Now, having noted what I enjoyed about this book, it wouldn't be a Bridgerton novel if there weren't also a couple of things that I feel the need to call out as WILDLY WTAF. We're gonna go ahead and start with the prologue, because we need to take a minute and ask ourselves why the actual hell the girl Lord St. Clair was trying to force Gareth to marry had to have a mental disability, and why the hell we needed Lord St. Clair's "kick the dog" moment to be telling his son to rape a vulnerable woman. And that's before we even get into the issues with the rampant asexual objectification and infantilization of disabled people, and how that plays into wildly ableist tropes throughout literature. And the worst part is, this adds literally nothing to the story. We do not even see this character on the page, she is just briefly mentioned twice in the novel and is literally not even an obstacle. This didn't have to be casually thrown in and frankly I saw ten different shades of red when I was reading it. Honestly, it's one of hose thoughtlessly, pointlessly ableist things that causes real harm in the world and I am not here for it.

The other WTAF thing about this book is the fact that Gareth plans to "ruin" Hyacinth. I'm not gonna go do ar as to say there are consent issues here, because to say that would be to wildly and willfully misrepresent their relationship and I'm not going to do that. But I'm not wild about the perpetuation of the idea of virginity as some magical thing that can be taken from a woman and tbat devalues her. And yes, I know, it's it's regency romance. But I can understand scenes-a-faire and still not like it. Which I do not, because it says more about the level to which Gareth initially values Hyacinth than anything else, and you shouldn't have to devalue your SO to feel worthy of them. That is some toxic bullshit, do not do it.

Overall, though, this book was pretty cute and it was heisty, and I am a bit of a sucker for a good heist. Insofar as I recommend any Bridgerton novel, this one was pretty fun.

On The Way To The Wedding

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a hot romantic regency male lead must be in want of a more intelligent heroine. But even given that, Gregory flippin' Bridgerton strains credibility about how obtuse he is throughout this book. Anthony might have been lying to himself and deeply traumatized, Benedict might have been a chauvinist dickhead, and Colin might have been a golden retriever, but none of them were so vacuously vague as Gregory managed to be. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy this book; there were chunks of it I found thoroughly amusing. So let's talk On the Way to the Wedding.

I guess we might as well start with Gregory, because holy cow there was no critical thought in this man's head. He literally did not hear a thing Lucy said to him the night before her wedding to Haselby, because AS COLIN POINTED OUT while he and Gregory were *checks notes* SITTING IN A TREE SPYING ON LUCY'S HOUSE, she did not actually ever at any point say that she wasn't going to marry Haselby, she just made bland statements and let Gregory hear what he wanted to. Like, Greg. Sweetie, honey, friend, she did not explicitly say she was calling off the wedding, and you KNOW she would have if she really intended to. You were thinking with the wrong head, my dude, and frankly it's on your own dang head for being so shocked the next morning.

But on top of having cloth ears when it comes to hearing "no," Gregory managed to talk himself into being in love with Hermione and out of being in live with Lucy. And this is AFTER separate sit downs with Anthony, Kate, and Violet that collectively tell the reader (and should have told Gregory, except he has cotton wool instead of a brain inside his skull) that Gregory has exactly zero connection with reality, no drive or ambition, and has had so much handed to him in life that he won't extend effort to get something that isn't handed to him. Quite literally, my reaction was, "Aww, Lucy gets the second-worst brother. She and Sophie should get together and start a support group." So Gregory and Benedict are super not my favorite Bridgerton Brothers.

One thing about Gregory that was well set up and paid off and used fairly humorously throughout though, is his complete inability to hit anything he aims at with a firearm. I was impressed that he was not toxically masculine about that, and the fact that he nonfatally shot Uncle Richard at the end was well executed, and Lucy telling her Uncle that he is lucky Gregory can't aim for shit actually got a laugh from me. It was very good. AND it established that all four Bridgerton girls can shoot as well, so at some point I want a pall mall game settled via target shooting. My bet is that Eloise thinks she's the best shot, Francesca actually is, Hyacinth does trick shots just to piss off Eloise, and Daphne is scarily efficient as a markswoman.

However, what really kept this book interesting were Lucy and the CW drama-esque plot, because I did not see "oopsie poopsie, did a treason, and now my neice has to marry my blackmailer's gay son" coming in the Bridgertonverse, but here we are, I guess.

Lucy falls into line with Penelope and Sophie in terms of women who are head and shoulders more competent than the Bridgerton man they married, although admittedly Lucy has less personality than either Penelope or Sophie. Lucy is a people manager and pleaser, and she is extremely organized. She also has some excellent one-liners and is more than smart enough to wrap Gregory around her little finger when she needs to.

Unfortunately, she couldn't talk Gregory's stubborn streak out of tying her to a water closet (seriously, what is this, a regency Criminal Minds episode???), which is how we get the big reveal that it's her Uncle, not her father, who committed treason. It's also how we somehow end up with Uncle Richard holding a gun to Sophie in a random bedroom before her marriage to Haselby was consummated, which... Richard. Honey. What was the plan here??? You needed that girl legally and permanently married before Davenport gave up the blackmail. Why are you holding a gun on her right now??? What the hell was the way out of this room of you hadn't been interrupted by the husband squad and their two guns? Weird time for a power trip, is all I can say. You might as well have gotten caught monologuing for all the sense this scene setup made.

And Gregory once again proves that he is a COMPLETE IMBECILE because if you spend an entire book announcing repeatedly that you can't hit the broad side of a barn, why on God's little green earth do you take the shot at a man holding a gun to your love's head? You're as likely to hit her as him! He got lucky because plot armor, but he wasn't the only man in the room with a gun, Lucy's very angry brother ALSO had one, and he was almost certainly a better shot than Gregory. Nobody is exercising critical thought in this scene, is all I'm saying.

Now, for all my criticisms, if you suspend your disbelief, this whole scene is VERY fun, and in principle I quite enjoyed it. Sometimes you have to meet a book where it's at, and in this case it was at CW-esque dramatic farce. So this book was very fun for what it was.

OOH and before I wrap.up and forget: Hyacinth gets to be totally furious in this book, and holy cow I wish we got Hyacinth in a decade st some point, because she would have been show Lady Danbury's equal but more spitfire, and I love that so much for all of us.

This is definitely the last Bridgerton book I'm reading because I have no desire to deal with Daphne or Eloise's books. That said though, the books I have read I was largely either pleasantly surprised by or thoroughly entertained, and really you can't ask more of these books than that. Book Benedict still sucks though.

[aemondtargaryensfire]

A Ravenous Desire- Masterlist

NOTE: ON HIATUS The writer's block has been BAD for this fic and I've realized that this is because I'm honestly not very happy with what I have written so far and where it's going. I may have rushed my outlining process a little bit. I have thought a lot about it, and I'm going to be revising what I have written from the beginning in an effort to get it to where I'd like it to be and mend the months-long gap that really threw me off of my creative process. There are a lot of things that I would like to add or edit to enrich the overall story, mostly having to do with the background Targaryen lore and general themes. What I have already posted will stay up for the foreseeable future while I work, and I plan to replace those parts with the revised chapters here on Tumblr once I have the entire story at least 90-95% complete. I will also be cross-posting on AO3. This should hopefully put less pressure on me and allow me to follow a posting schedule of updating AT LEAST once a week. This update was posted on 5/25/24.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

General Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, cannibalism/descriptions of cannibalistic acts (i.e. eating flesh and other body parts), mentions of inbreeding and incest, violence, gore, blood, murder, death of major character (s), angst, ANGST, soooo much trauma, self-harm

To avoid spoilers, more detailed warnings will be added to each individual chapter. Please pay attention to these!

Summary: When Aemond Targaryen was only ten years old, he ate his own eye. And ten years later, driven by rage and pain, Aemond commits an act that confirms a truth he’d always known: that he was a monster. Desperate to flee the wrath of his family, Aemond runs away from home, only to meet you, someone more similar to him than he ever thought possible.

Author's Note: Cannibalism as a metaphor, my beloved <3 In all seriousness, this is a dark one. I'm taking some inspiration from Bones and All, so this is intended to take place in the late 80s to early 90s and there may be some narrative similarities.

Prologue

Chapter One, Part I

Chapter One, Part II

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

[stealthily--nobody]

Even Villains Deserve a Moment of Reprieve

Summary: Of all their brothers, Curufin and Celegorm alone have returned to life. Most don't take kindly to their return. Curufin is not sure where Finrod stands but he's willing to take on all of Finrod's anger so Celegorm doesn't have to.

Prompt: Contrasts

Also on AO3

In his youth, Curufin had held Tirion on a pedestal, because of course, he did. His grandfather was the king of Tirion and his father was the crown prince. Of course, he thought Tirion was the pinnacle of elven ingenuity. As he grew older, he began to feel the confines of the city. It was hard not to notice how he passed the same elves each day and exchanged the same platitudes day after day. When his father left Tirion, Curufin was grateful to follow him despite the shame that came with banishment. 

Still, Curufin had been grateful. The city was suffocating, each and every citizen commenting how much he looked like his father and in turn like his grandfather. There was sort of a reverence in their voices that always made him uneasy as if they were seeing his grandfather through his visage. Their words felt like it wasn’t really for him but for his predecessors. 

“Curufinwe,” He could hear over and over. At times he wasn’t sure if they meant to speak to him or his father. Worse still was the ‘Finwe’ always said to the back of his head in the ancient accent. Often, before he could say a word, his assailant would mention something that Curufin felt unadept to answer or speak to. If they wanted politics, they should seek out his grandfather or his eldest brother. If they wanted to discuss anything else, they should consult his father. 

Curufin was different. He was not as intelligent as his grandfather or father. He did not want the pressure of answering incorrectly and having to answer to his betters. He would rather they just ignore him! 

Things were only marginally better in Beleriand. His father and grandfather were dead and he and his brothers clutch tightly to the fraying string that was their authority on those shores. Even Maedhros had only a few deeply devoted followers and the rest of them were just as poorly staffed. There simply wasn’t anyone asking him questions in Beleriand.

In those days, few people asked anything of Curufin and he had only answer to Maedhros. 

Not that he did any better playing at leader in Beleriand than he did shrinking from leadership in Tirion. Time and his death revealed plainly how terrible the decisions he’d made were. How much of that was the Oath pushing him and how much was his own incompetence? Curufin could not say. It all blurred together in a sort of never-ending rage long before it had been cut away. 

A rage that dissipated quickly when Nimloth pierced him with a blade and he realized how foolish everything really was - how meaningless it was. 

Leaving only shame in its wake. 

The Halls of Mandos were certainly eye-opening. For one, Namo forced Curufin to scrutinize his actions throughout his time in Beleriand and separate them into good times and bad times. There were a lot more bad times than good. (Not that Curufin was buying into Namo’s subtle ‘You Should Have Stayed Here’ propaganda.)

Was he regretful of the hurt he caused people? Yes. 

Would he have changed anything? That- was a harder question to answer. Curufin didn’t believe in do-overs. Not like what Namo was asking. What was done was done and nothing Curufin could say would change it. Because at the end of the day, Curufin was aware of how tightly historical events were wound. Would changing something bad also change the good that happened? 

If Curufin never drove his son away, would Celebrimbor have reached the heights he did in Ost-in-Edhil? If Curufin had never driven his son away, would Celebrimbor have been tortured to death by Sauron? 

So no, Curufin would not have changed anything. He couldn’t afford to consider changing anything even as his heart shattered and his soul crumbled watching his son’s end. Even now, Celebrimbor lingered in the halls of Mandos, scared of everything around him. Curufin couldn’t even approach Celebrimbor without his son’s fea shaking so badly it fractured at the edges. 

So Curufin had left and thought for a very long time. There was only one solution he came upon and he set about accomplishing it with his favourite brother. Celegorm was only too gleeful to participate, especially in the part Curufin had relegated to his brother. 

In no time, Namos was practically begging them to leave his halls and walk into Aman once more. Curufin could only grin. There was no one better than he and Celegorm at stirring unrest and it worked brilliantly even amongst the dead. 

However, Tirion was not the place he remembered. Certainly, the buildings were the same and most of the people (those who had not crossed the sea either with his father or Fingolfin). The language was just as butchered as ever, but not illegible. 

Or perhaps it was wrong to say Tirion changed when the more correct answer was that he and his brothers had changed. 

No longer was he the naive prince who looked eerily like the king. Curufin looked nothing like Arafinwe, the golden king, who was praised by Tirion’s remaining residence as the saviour of the Finwe bloodline. However, his appearance was still noticed. Only no longer was it quite so favourably. 

There was no grandfather to be mistaken for. Only he and his father and no one had any nice things to say about either of them. His father was called the scourge of the Noldar and he was the villain of Luthien’s tragedy. 

Walking through Tirion was once again an exercise in restraint and not a particularly pleasant experience. Only, instead of people stopping him with kind words or messages for his father and grandfather, people would stare with hands over their mouths as they whispered to one another. They spoke as if Curufin had lost his ears in Beleriand and nothing they said was pleasant. 

Celegorm avoided the worst of it, having returned to the forests of his youth and his place at Orome’s side. Curufin wasn’t entirely sure how his brother had managed such a thing, but he was happy for Celegorm. His brother had been so miserable in Beleriand (they all had, really, but Celegorm most of all) and if nothing else came of their return, Curufin would consider it an afterlife well spent. 

But Curufin had no such luxury as to hide away in the forests. He had his own plans that were still in their infancy and an indeterminate amount of time to accomplish them. Worst of all, they required his presence in Tirion and in particular his correspondence with Arafinwe. 

A correspondence that resulted in a commanded visit to the palace. 

The palace itself was a strange place for Curufin. He remembered so many better days when he and his brothers would run and play in the sprawling courtyards as his father spoke with their grandfather. He remembered playing happily with his half-cousins before age and their fathers’ grudges split them apart. 

The gardens still existed with the same foot trails and managed flower beds. But Curufin felt ill at ease in the nostalgia of his childhood. He had become the antithesis of his childhood aspirations and it was a reminder that continued to hurt his still thriving ego. 

He hastened his pace with the intention of leaving quickly. His business with Arafinwe was concluded and he wanted nothing more to do with this forgotten childhood innocence. 

Unfortunately, before he could make his escape, a voice from both his childhood fondness and adult nightmares called out, “Curufinwe?” 

Odd. When was the last time that voice called him with that name? How long had it been since Finrod - Findarato - spoke the language of their shared childhood when Curufin was present? 

Curufin half-turned so he could catch a glimpse of his golden-haired cousin out of the corner of his eye. Findarato looked well. Just as glittery and ephemeral as he always had. Except, gone from his face was his usual smile, replaced by a look of concentration (or perhaps contained rage). 

Curufin internally sighed but greeted his cousin with the reverence expected for the crown prince, “Findarato.” 

“My father told me you were here,” Findarato spoke, his face looked haunted. Despite how healthy his face was, evident of much better and higher amounts of food than they’d ever had access to in Beleriand, there was a shadow in his eyes that Curufin was much too familiar with. It was that shadow that marked him as Finrod and not the brilliant Findarato that Curufin remembered from his youth. At least in this, they were the same: both too changed from who they were to be their childhood selves once more. 

“And so you thought the best course of action was to seek me out?” Curufin couldn’t help his tongue. He may not want to hurt anyone with his hands again, but he had never been kind with his words. Not even in the days of tree light. 

Something that might have been a smile tugged at the corner of Finrod’s mouth. He evidently also recalled when Curufin’s acidic personality was a part of his personality and not a mark against him. 

But Finrod refused to indulge Curufin with a smile. Instead, he nodded his head toward the garden sitting area where their parents used to watch over their hyperactive elflings. Curufin found himself following his cousin and sitting across from Finrod. 

It was the least he could do after everything. 

“I was surprised when you and Celegorm were returned to us,” Finrod commented as he stared at Curufin with that same unreadable expression. “I was certain Maedhros would return before I would hear even a whisper of your names.” 

“What? You think we deserve life less than our brothers?” Curufin kept his voice flat and suffocated his emotions. He would not let anyone find his weaknesses, not even Finrod - especially not Finrod. 

But Finrod only flipped the question on its head. “Do you believe that?” 

“What does it matter what I believe? We’re back. End of story.” And it was the end of the story. Curufin would not give anything else away. He would not reveal his weaknesses. He could not let anyone, even Finrod, realize that his two fracturing points were his brother and his son. He could let anyone know how to exploit him. 

“Apologies, but I doubt that,” Finrod leaned forward, his eyes searching for something that Curufin would never admit, “Why you and Celegorm? I never forgot what you said to me the last time we saw each other. I wondered if the solution was hiding in plain sight.” 

Curufin glowered. Of course, Finrod would bring up those words he said in desperation and anger. He could still recall the moment with perfect clarity. It had been early in the morning, so early that the city rested and only Finrod and his few loyal were awake as they prepared to leave the city for the very last time - as they prepared to walk to their doom. 

“You’re a fool. You’ve always been a fool,” Curufin had spat at his cousin. 

Finrod had looked up with a much-subdued smile, “It is nice to see you too, cousin. Are you here to see us off?” 

“I’m here to gloat!” Curufin had sneered, lifting his chin as Finrod wandered closer, towering over him. To his great disappointment, he was the shortest of all the cousins. “You have lost spectacularly.” 

“I fail to see your victory,” Finrod had shot back, “My nephew inherits my city and I would have left regardless.” 

But Curufin would not allow Finrod to say such things. “You think Orodreth has any power here? One word from me and he too would be gone. Without you, this city is mine.” 

“I would not be so confident,” Finrod countered, his voice firm. “You and your brother are not as beloved as you would like to believe.” 

“Really?” Curufin had snorted, his breath harsh and his eyebrow raised sardonically. “We must agree to disagree unless you would rather I show you.” 

But Curufin had spoken too brashly as Finrod only laughed and pushed Curufin lightly. “Unfortunately, cousin, I have prior engagements. But know that I will laugh when your actions come to haunt you.

This is farewell. I don’t suppose we’ll ever see each other again.” 

“Good riddance,” Curufin tried to sneer but failed just enough that Finrod’s eyes lightened. However, Curufin would not allow for some mushy parting as if they were lovers in the night. He had more pride than that and most importantly he was right. “You won’t be missed. I have other priorities than crying over your massacred corpse”

“What were those other priorities?” Finrod pressed. “Since my re-embodiment, I thought you referred to the Oath. But if you held the Oath so closely, you would not be returned. What is so important to you that even your father’s legacy and your Oath was lesser in importance?” 

Finrod was an airhead. This was the truth known by their family. Unfortunately, it was not always true. And at this particular moment, Finrod was displaying an odd amount of tact and situational understanding. 

Curufin sniffed and tried to hide his unease. “My priorities changed.” 

“But did they,” Finrod practically snapped in his haste to reply, “You forget that I know you, Curvo. I knew you before the Oath and during it. What if you never changed, but just got better at hiding things.” 

“And just what would I need to hide? I was a lord, respected and powerful,” Curufin threw his head back and laughed. He would continue to play the villain. He was good at playing the villain. “If I never changed then I must have been awful from the start.” 

Now Curufin was the one leaning forward with his eyes lit up and maniacal. “Did you ever think that maybe I was simply better at hiding it before the Oath? That the prince everyone adored in those days was the fake?”

“Then why have you returned?” Finrod refused to let Curufin cower him. “Why return to a place where everyone hates you? Why denounce the Oath so heavily that part of your fea was torn away? No, I think there is something more driving you.” 

“You are as arrogant as ever, Findarato,” Curufin humphed as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You think this is about you? I haven’t thought of you since you left. Why should I have? You were so forgettable.” 

“No, I am not so arrogant to think I played any part in your decision to return,” Finrod returned even as his hands shook. He was not as composed as he was before. Did he genuinely think that Curufin’s return had anything to do with him? Curufin had greater loves than their flings and he would never admit to the tears shed when tales of his demise spread through Beleriand. “You are deflecting. What drives you, Curufin? Why are you and Celegorm back?” 

But Curufin was done with this. He owed Finrod a conversation, not his innermost secrets. “You think I would tell you? Why? What importance are you to me? How could you possibly compare to-” 

Curufin had said too much. He cut himself off and glared at Finrod. Unfortunately, his cousin was smart enough to extrapolate from his outburst. 

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Finrod’s eyes lit up. “Celegorm and Celeb-”

“Don’t say his name,” Curufin snapped. “You don’t get to name my son. Not after what happened.” Not after Finrod’s actions indirectly caused Celebrimbor’s tragedy. 

“Curvo,” Finrod’s voice was instantly quieted and a blanket of sorrow fell over their conversation. “I am so sorry. What happened to your son shouldn’t have happened to anyone.” 

“No,” Curufin agreed, jerking his head away to hide the moisture building in his eyes. If he had to have this conversation, he wasn’t about to let Finrod see him so vulnerable. “Even at our worst, we were never so cruel. What he did - I don’t know if it's possible to recover from such scarring.” 

“Only Este would know,” Finrod’s eyes widened as he no doubt started to realize what Curufin wasn’t saying. “Curvo, you would shatter yourself so for your son?” 

“I would do so much more,” Curufin said even as he refused to admit to Finrod’s words. He felt very wisp-like as if he had shed his hroa and returned to Mandos. 

Agreeing had been so easy. Celegorm had been fading. He needed to leave and Curufin was willing to try anything if there was even a chance of helping his son. Agreeing to Namos’ stipulations was easy. He would do much worse for them. He had done so much worse for them. Those two: Celebrimbor and Celegorm were his whole world. He became a villain for them and he would happily become a monster (a freak) for them. 

He couldn’t even remember if the procedure hurt, having the Oath cut away from him, amputated like Maedhros’s ensnared arm. Nor could he recall what the Oath had felt like. Everything that had been warped with the swearing of the Oath was gone and so too was part of his understanding of events and reasoning behind his actions. Only the feelings remained.

And yet, if he really did the things he was accused of, how could he be anything other than a villain? Once he’d figured that out, it was easy really to play the part and take the brunt of public perception, allowing his brother to return to his passion with the hunt.  

“I hated you then.” Curufin whipped his head up to stare at Finrod in shock. He hadn’t thought his cousin had the capacity for hatred, not shining darling Finrod. But Finrod continued, his lips curling into an unkind grin that was halfway to a snarl, “When I lay, dying before Sauron, I blamed you and your brother for everything going wrong.” 

“That’s good,” Curufin kept his voice from shaking. Just what was Finrod trying to say and why did those words hurt so much? He had resolved to play the villain. He was supposed to be hated. He remembered that moment so clearly when he chased Finrod away and smeared his victory in Finrod’s face. Of course, Finrod should have hated him. 

Finrod’s eyes searched his face and seemed to see something he liked as continued, “But after my death and rebirth, I’ve been thinking. You were acting odd in those last few moments. You and Celegorm both were more argumentative and furious than even when Maedhros was captured and we first arrived across the ice.” 

Curufin looked away. He had no idea what Finrod was talking about and he had no desire to hear Finrod try to find a reason for his actions. He was a villain. He would play his part. 

“Were you trying to goad me into staying?” Finrod asked, his voice frank but his eyes searching. He reached out a hand and gently pressed the tips of his fingers to Curufin’s. 

Curufin jerked back and glared. “Of course not.” He was no saviour. He hadn’t been kind even before Beleriand. 

Finrod didn’t force any more of a confession from Curufin. Instead, he flipped his outreached hand so that it was palm up and smiled, blisteringly bright. “I always thought you were too hard on yourself and much too argumentative.” 

“Only one of which has changed,” Curufin returned but in the silence that followed, Curufin found himself gingerly reaching out and resting his fingertips on Finrod’s. 

Finrod didn’t push for anything more than Curufin was willing to give but his smile somehow increased by another thousand watts. “I don’t think either has. And I am perfectly content with that.” 

Curufin wasn’t sure he agreed, but he curled his fingers into Finrod’s and let the tension ease from his shoulders. 

He would continue to be the villain. But even villains deserve a moment of reprieve.

[dayseternal-blog]

Hi Days! Hope you're doing well. I asked this to bornonthebreakofdawn too, but which NH fic writers do you really like and what do you like about their fics? (I'm not asking for fic recs, I just mean, like what do you appreciate about their writing styles, like characterization, plot, humor, angst, etc.). Thanks and I hope this finds you well!

Hello :)

Thank you for being sensitive to my request when you sent this! I didn't answer right away because to me, recommending fics or recommending authors is the same thing. If I'm recommending a fic, I'm basically trying to get people to check everything out that the writer has written. I'm not thinking about the fic so much as I am thinking about the writer behind the fic. I am a fan of fandom more than I am of the characters at this point... I am a fan of storytelling and using fandom for expression and connection, and NaruHina is our common choice of medium, if that makes sense. That's why it's important to me that I'm recommending authors, not just fics. Anyway, with all that said, I think I'm ready to try to get back into this.

I've answered an ask like this before, but I do want to answer this again!! Here we go.

Nevermind, I'm going to cry.

No, I'll be fine.

Characterization

My favorite Hinata characterizations are -

Szajnie AO3 Here. Szajnie's Hinata stands out because it feels the closest to canon to me. Szajnie's Hinata is strong, vulnerable, and determined. Inner strength is not easy to write. I think a lot of people write strong!Hinata as someone who always wins. Someone who is "badass" and can fight or can be sexy and that's all fine! That's fine. I think Szajnie goes a step further, creating a depth of character that I don't often see.

@peppercornpress AO3 Here. Peppercorn's Hinata stands out to me because it feels the closest to the epitome of Japanese femininity. Within canon, the Hyuuga demonstrate the most classy Japanese culture. Their house, the way they dress, the way they speak to each other. Hinata is that girl. She is the old-fashioned Japanese It Girl, all while never being egocentric. She has hobbies like flower-pressing, knitting, and cooking. Fandom calls her a princess not just because she's the Byakugan Princess but because I think even us cultural outsiders can tell that Hinata has been raised to be different from the rabble. Peppercorn is able to capture that Japanese elegance in Hinata that is missing in most fanfics.

My favorite Naruto characterizations are -

Katarinahime AO3 Here. I've said it before and I'll say it again. No one writes a sexier Naruto than Katarinahime. Try. Just try. Look around. Read as many fics as I have and try to build a case against my opinion. Katarina's Naruto is strong. He's funny. He's flawed. He matures. It's all written words, so how exactly does she manage to make him sound like a dream guy? Katarina's Naruto has a character development I wish I could write.

Peppercornpress. Peppercorn's Naruto also feels the closest to canon to me. He's just the silliest. Headstrong and kind of weird, like no one actually knows what's going on in his rationale, and that unpredictability, that spontaneity is not easy to write in terms of being truly, convincingly character-driven. Peppercorn's Naruto has a temperament I don't even know how to approach? And I have tried, re: In Between Drinks NH. Notice that I didn't give Naruto hardly any original lines in my version of the fic because I was afraid I would stray off of Pep's characterization.

My favorite character studies -

@bunny-hoodlum / Missachua AO3 Here. It's no secret to anyone who's been following my blog and stories for awhile that I am bunny's self-proclaimed Biggest Fan. You think you're a bigger fan than me? We will fight to the death. Bunny writes such complex, deeply-flawed characters. That takes bravery. I can list very few writers who have their characters just literally screw themselves over CONVINCINGLY. Anyone can write angst. But to write angst so that it makes complete sense for the characters to make the mistakes they did? That takes skill. I have never felt like Bunny forces a situation to happen. She takes the necessary time to create the background, the world that has formed her Naruto and Hinata. Bunny draws out aspects of their characters and amplifies them under a magnifying glass. Yes, they are still Kishimoto's characters. But now they are also Bunny's. Her approach to characterization is liberating.

Story Structure

Katarinahime. If anyone actually reads everything I write, well, you knew this already. At this point, I've said this so many times. I have based my story structuring off of Katarina's writing. Her deep approach to Limited 3rd Person Point of View makes a huge difference in reader immersion and setting up some serious angst. The unreliability of one character's pov keeps the reader in suspense because you never know the whole story. Second, her use of present tense instead of the traditional past tense in storytelling makes the story feel much more immediate, much more urgent and present, perfect for angst. Third, her scene transitions are the smoothest I have ever seen. Katarina makes everyone else using line breaks to change scenes (me) look inept. It is so hard. My first long-fic "It's No Secret" uses none of Katarina's techniques, but after reading her "Serenity Prayer," my fic "Nightdreams" uses all of these techniques. You can compare "It's No Secret" and "Nightdreams" and notice quite easily my technical growth.

BunnyHoodlum. Bunny uses flashbacks strategically. Not just to explain what happened in the past, but to draw parallels and symbolism to the present and to fortify character development. I used flashbacks in my fic "White Lilies" to strengthen Naruto's and Hinata's relationship, and honestly, without Bunny's technique, "White Lilies" would not be nearly as effective of a fic since the first half is basically them avoiding each other lol.

@sessakag AO3 Here. Sentence breaks. Fragments. Using sentence structure to create emphasis and rhythm. To speed a scene up or to slow a scene down. Sessakag has fantastic use of sentence structuring to create urgency when she wants, which is a technique I picked up from her while studying her fics. A non-native English speaker commented on one of my fics that this strategy of having shorter lines also makes it much easier for them to read and engage in the fic.

Language / Voice

Sessakag. I've mentioned this before, too, but I learned how to write by focusing on smut, and one of those writers who basically taught me how to write is Sessakag. Sessakag has an emphasis on descriptive, physical sensation that takes smut from basic "insert body part into other body part" into a Whole Body, Whole Mind, Immersive Experience. The smut is not about the doing. It's about the feeling. Phew. Hot stuff. Her technique of using physical description in response to emotions can be applied to all parts of the story, making an angst scene especially charged or a fluff scene especially heartwarming. Her language immerses the reader's body into the story. You'll see me using Sessakag's voice in practically any smut I've written since "Nightdreams," and in emotionally-charged scenes in "White Lilies" and "Friend of Mine."

BunnyHoodlum. Did I mention I'm Bunny's biggest fan? She uses imagery to create a sense of awe that the characters have for each other. It's difficult for me to explain...I think her imagery is sometimes metaphorical and sometimes it's just this sense of once-in-a-lifetime. You'll see me trying to channel Bunny's descriptive voice most obviously in my fic "That was the plan."

@utsus AO3 Here. Utsu is the GOAL. Folks, I am striving for utsu's level. Utsu's use of language is so high tier, I privately dubbed her the Queen of Capturing the Moment. Every description has a magnetic pull. The reader feels just as observant as Hinata, as though we were all given the Byakugan and can see beyond appearances. When I first starting writing fanfiction, I have to admit that out of all the writers I admired, I couldn't study utsus as an example because her voice is way too natural to try to imitate. Grab some tea, bundle up in a blanket, and sink into the vibrancy of utsu's world.

Worlds / Plots

There are so many writers who have written amazing fics, and I can think of many that had me reading nonstop. But there are just certain writers who wrote THE FIC for me. A fic that I would reread again and again or wrote the fic that would inspire me to write my own. Including the writers I already talked about above, the following writers gave me this sense of this is why I love fandom, this is why I love fanfiction.

@magmawrites AO3 Here. Magmawrites's stories are so imaginative and daring. Have you read a NaruHina zombie au before? Or a NaruHina dystopian scientific experiments on children au before? And they're...still romance? What always gets me about Magmawrites's stories is just the simple fact that I could never write fics like that. Never. Nope. And Magmawrites did not just write one or two original, interesting fics, but that nearly every fic has some crazy plotline of drama, action, or suspense. Like, how did Magmawrites manage to think up all of that? Oh, you know the real kicker? They're all ✨complete✨.

@chloelapomme AO3 Here. Chloe has the closest energy I have seen to magmawrites in terms of writing a ton of imaginative, unique AUs. Let's never forget her Bourne AU and Akatsuki!Naruto AU. But Chloe's energy is a bit more 😳🙈 hehe there is no one else out there who writes as wide a variety of tropes as Chloe. Sunshine family fluff to Soulmate au to Age difference and Threesomes??? I'm just wondering if there's any trope that Chloe wouldn't write.

@badluckbrebis / Imanga AO3 Here. Imanga consistently allows her fics to have a personal shine. What I love about fanfiction is the platform to tell stories that only you can tell and no one else. Imanga writes fics that are culturally personal or contain niche background knowledge from her own life. Things that she has seen or personally experienced, and that real-life stamp makes her fics so much more special to me. I would totally love it if more writers set NaruHina in their home country/city or just with a different heritage, which Chloelapomme also does! Let NaruHina be multicultural!!!!!!!!

@mmmbuttery / emmykay AO3 Here. Emmykay's NaruHina fics are....NarutoDays's origin story lol. I was absolutely blown away by emmykay's fics, like "Lady Usagi" and "Tsutsudori," and especially "Torch Song." You mean NaruHina can look and sound exactly like...my family, like me? "Torch Song" changed the game, turned fanfiction on its head, made me realize that I am my most important audience, that fanfiction can be made for me, and that such a story is worth telling and sharing even if I think no one else will read it, understand it, or care about it. Fanfiction can be minority representation, fanfiction can be historical yet written entirely for entertainment, fanfiction can be educational yet imagined, fanfiction can be all these things and anything else I want it to be, I just have to write it.

agitosgirl FFN Here. Another fic writer who inspired me to write my own fics is agitosgirl. Newer writers recently have been very daring like her, but back in 2017, agitosgirl was one of the few I saw writing just several very taboo tropes and with zero self-consciousness. She wrote fics and started new fics like changing clothes, following wherever the inspiration took her, and what I got out from her style is a strong sense of fun, as if she was never taking anything too seriously. Fanfiction is fun. And it's absolutely best when the writer is having fun. Agitosgirl's world is simply very fun.

BunnyHoodlum also inspired me to write my own fics because of her commitment to making Naruto and Hinata distinctly and convincingly Japanese, literally set in Japan, which back then, no one seemed to be doing...well. I'm serious. Read fics from just 5-10+ years ago, and it's BunnyHoodlum, Peppercorn, and Emmykay holding down the fort of "culturally Japanese NaruHina" without sounding...uh...weird... This was important to me because my heritage is Japanese.

Katarina, Szajnie, and Sessakag seem to approach fanfiction at times with a goal beyond entertainment, perhaps a stance on educating readers, or at least for the reader to come out of the fic with a new understanding of people's differences. That's how it is for me. When I read their fics, I feel like I matured or learned something new.

There are several other writers who I love!!!! SEVERAL. I could seriously go on and on about every single writer in this fandom that I have read and tell you exactly what I love about their writing. Send me another ask, and maybe I'll make a part II 🌺. It's just that these folks listed here were either formative to my own "voice" or have qualities in their writing that I particularly admire and prioritize.

[unforth]

I started to write this as a reply to @vex-verlain but realized it should be it's own post.

To be clear, this is about @end-otw-racism and why I support this movement (even if I don't agree with all their proposals).

I am profoundly anti-censorship. It has been one of my biggest personal issues my entire adult life. I will absolutely defend the speech rights even of people I think are utterly reprehensible, even the rights of people who want me and my family dead. I think their speech has a right to exist, full stop.

But.

Being anti-censorship in no way means being anti-moderation. I often see people who are pro-ship, anti-anti, or "too old to use a name for telling yall you're clowning" say that AO3 is supposed to be a safe space for WRITERS, not READERS, and that to me is one of the big ways that the current harassment and moderation policies are badly failing writers of color. There's no way to 100% protect all writers, period, on AO3, and to me it seems like a no-brainer that if the goal is "protect all speech, avoid all censorship, minimize harm to real people," the only way to accomplish all those goals it to have a really robust, well-moderated system that prioritizes reducing harassment - ALL harassment - without looking the other way on certain topics just because they're harder and thornier to sort through. A way to section the groups that are oil and water away from each other, through blocking, powerful filters, comment options, etc (some strategies we do have now, btw! They HAVE been adding functionality in this direction, but it's clearly not enough.)

Currently, protecting people who write bigoted shit is causing active harm to fans of color. We see the impacts of this harm constantly; I personally have seen many, many Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans driven out of white danmei fandom circles for all sorts of reasons, and if yall are in fandoms that often have bipoc in them I'm sure you've seen the same (and if you are in a fandom that doesn't have many bipoc it might be wise to take a moment and consider why it doesn't.)

I just really want more people to take a step back and ask themselves why they think an anti-censorship position necessitates an anti-moderation stance, and also why they think being pro-moderation is the same as being pro-censorship.

I defend the rights of bigoted shit to exist.

What I don't defend is the right of the people who create that stuff to weaponize it against vulnerable people.

Regarding AO3, I personally support a solution that involves some way of sectioning off the bigoted shit. I'm not sure exactly how that would work but I think some kind of major archive warning is a solid start. Also maybe a way of flagging authors who are frequent offenders. And to be clear...it's not my job or responsibility to know exactly how to accomplish this. I'm no expert. That's why I'm supporting a movement that explicitly says AO3/OTW SHOULD HIRE AN EXPERT. And I know it would be expensive...and I know many, many of us would donate to a funds drive to raise the money to cover that expense.

I've seen too many friends get profoundly hurt, and I'm so tired of (overwhelmingly white) fandom circles pearl clutching over this not being an issue, that the real problem is that this will lead to censorship of (checks notes) Nazi shit, spitefic, and the other dregs of fanfiction (which, again, has a right to exist! But God why are so many of y'all favoring IT over ALL THE FIC THAT WILL NOW NEVER EXIST BECAUSE BIPOC GET BULLIED OUT OF WRITING IT.)

It's clearly an issue.

And we have to speak up and demand better or it will continue to be an issue.

Please, please listen to the bipoc who've managed to not be driven out of fandom and understand that *things need to change,* which means, for us white folks:

1. A lot of listening to the people who've been harmed

2. Using our voices to amplify theirs

3. Standing up to bigotry we see in our fandom communities

4. Shutting up when they ask us to shut up

5. Checking our own behavior and doing our best not to be part of the problem, and, if and when we go awry, owning it with maturity and apologizing and doing our best to make amends and not repeat our mistakes

...and probably more but those are the first things to come to mind.

Please stop siding with people who've decided they are entitled to spew vile shit, stop prioritizing their writerly protection over the safety of equally valid writers who also deserve protection and are being targeted and hurt. All you do by siding with the assholes is amplify their voices while silencing bipoc and create a space that protects bigots. Is that REALLY the hill you want to fight on?

None of us know it all. We can all learn to do better. I'm personally here to learn, and listen, and improve.

And I'm here to shout from the rooftops that we can be anti-censorship and pro-moderation.

I am, and you should be too.

[chanelslibrary]

Perceiving You - Prologue

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Word Count: 4,576

Warning: Mention of weed, mention of alcohol [rating will go up with later chapters!]

Summary: You had always been overlooked and labeled an Outcast. That didn’t stop you from being hyperaware of the Popular Jock Chris Evans, and secretly harboring a crush on him while navigating high school with your best friends Pete and Crystal. Seventeen years later, you have to wonder is it coincidence that Pete, Crystal and Chris show up in your life again around the exact same time?

You’re older, wiser, and definitely more stubborn nowadays, so is it just another twist of fate when you suddenly start getting mysterious and threatening letters in the mail, or will your headstrong nature push away the Hollywood heartthrob that is back in your life and finally noticing you.

Authors Note: This is my first fanfic (sorry its so rough!), but I am looking for betas if anyone is interested. Please message me, and thanks for reading. Hitting like and reblog means a lot!  AO3  Chapter 1

Credits: dividers @firefly-graphics​

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・

Flashback

September 1998, Senior Year

“TOUCHDOWN FOR EVANS!!! THE WARRIORS WIN!”

The crowd in the stands next to you erupts, and the shadows from the bleachers fall over Crystal’s austere face. All you can see is the orange tip of what could be, but isn’t, a cigarette in her mouth. You can hardly hear Pete’s sigh and defeated words. 

“Guess that’s it folks.”

Crystal whines and and offers you a hit off the joint her and Pete have been passing back and forth the entire game. You decline with a shake of your head as the band and cheerleaders ramp up their end of the game celebration on the football field. Crystal stomps out the joint before a passersby could see your illicit activity. 

“Oh, come on guys! It’s not like you were enjoying the game anyway,” You say, trying to cheer them up. 

“Yeah, but I was just getting my high going!” Crystal fires back with glazed eyes that contradict her words.

“Hey, Schlozinger!”

Pete, you and Crystal, turn to see a tall boy with brown skin, white teeth, and a blue and red letterman jacket yelling from the main entrance into the stadium. Swarms of students are walking past him cheering and heading towards the parking lot, but he stands tall–like a pebble caught in a rushing stream. Pete nods to the boy as acknowledgement.

“You coming to Parker’s party?!”

“Eh…?” Pete looks at you, clueless. You had driven everyone to the game tonight. 

The boy continues… “Everyone’s celebrating man! Come to Parker’s crib!”

“Uh, can I bring friends?” Pete asks.

“Yeah, man!” The boy smiles then turns to his friends, two other boys who have joined him in the crowd wearing basketball jerseys and they walk off together.

Pete turns back to your and Crystal’s expectant gazes with a sheepish smile.

“So, want to go to Parkers?”

Crystal beats you to the punch.

“Who is Parker? And why did Cory Jameson invite you to a party?!”

Cory Jameson. That’s who Letterman Jacket was. You knew you recognized the starting basketball player, not from going to the games or anything, but from seeing him and all the other Jocks in the hallways. 

“Parker. Justin Parker?! The starting quarterback!! How do you not know who he is? Doesn’t matter. We’ve just been invited to a football party. It’s gonna be all that and a bag of chips!” Pete exclaimed, looking so excited.

“Correction: YOU were invited. WE weren’t. Also please, stop with the chips comment,” Crystal implored.

“Pete, how do you know Cory Jameson enough that he invited you to a party?” You asked. 

You were so confused. The reason your little group worked so well was because Pete, Crystal and you were similar, all loners and outcasts within your high school. This is what made you all bond. Pete making friends with Jocks like Cory Jameson and Justin Parker changed things. You didn’t want to begrudge him friendship—that is how you guys ended up forming your own group, by not having friends in the first place—but what would happen to your group if one of you became popular? This was a question you constantly thought about, not in any real capacity, more in an abstract way. Because one of the deepest secrets that you had not told anyone, not even your two best friends, was that you had the biggest crush on Certified Jock, star of the football team, and most popular guy in the school, Chris Evans. 

“Well, I’ve been helping to tutor some of the guys on the basketball team after school.” After seeing Crystal’s confused look he elaborated.“Mr. Moore asked me if I could help a few guys because they were struggling in their science classes, and I said yes. And it turns out they are pretty cool,” He finished with a shrug. “I know you guys would like them if you hung out with them. Can we go? Please!” He begged looking at Crystal.

“Why are you begging me?! She’s the one with the car,” Crystal pointed at you.

Pete turned his pleading eyes to you. You felt trapped, and pressured. 

Did you want to go to a loud, chaotic party with Jocks, Cheerleaders, and Popular People? No. Did you want to let down one of your best friends? No. Did you want a chance to see Chris Evans? No. (Yes.) Did you need alcohol to make it through the night? Yes.

You swallowed. “Okay, let’s go.”

“YES!” Pete fist pumped, and we moved toward the claustrophobic crowd of students headed towards the stadium gates. 

Justin Parker was rich. Like we-have-tons-of-ugly-but-expensive-art rich. By the time you pulled up to the modern mansion that bordered West Concord the party was in full swing. Pete led the way past the glass front door which was unlocked, and you were instantly assaulted with the opening beat of “Too Close” by Next. Pete started looking around, past the gyrating bodies in the foyer, for friendly faces. Crystal’s face screwed up in detest.

“I need alcohol! My high is wearing off!” She yelled in your ear over the beat. You nodded, and motioned to Pete that you were headed to the kitchen in search of drinks. He had just spotted what you assumed was a Jock based on the bright red Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School jersey they were wearing, and took off towards him. Crystal and you navigated through clusters of classmates in the once roomy, now stuffy living room, towards where you thought the kitchen would be. You passed through an archway into a formal dining room, where the table was being used for beer pong, and dodged flying ping pong balls as you exited through a side entryway. 

“Finally!” Crystal yelled when you made it into the spacious kitchen. People were scattered throughout the kitchen, taking shots on the large island, digging through the pantry in the back, and in the center of the room, near the sink was Mr. Quarterback, Justin Parker, surrounded by Popular People holding court. He had a red solo cup in one hand and his arm around a Blonde Cheerleader. You had never bothered to learn most of the Popular People’s names, Chris excluded, and the girl hanging on Justin cackling at his jokes, overly make upped face screwed up in glee, just further proved why you never would. Crystal and you shared an annoyed look as you headed toward the counter where all the liquor bottles and cups were. While she mixed a concoction together you discreetly looked around the room for a familiar face. Possibly trying to see another Popular Person that happened to play on the football team. Crystal nudged your elbow. Your drink was ready.

“What is it?” You looked into the dark liquid in the cup.

“Just try it!” Crystal pushes the cup towards your mouth, while she takes a sip from her own cup. You take a sip. It’s strong! But the coke flavor helps to drown out the burning of the liquor. 

Did she give you rum? 

You take another swig and smile at Crystal. She smiles back.

“Let’s go find Pete!”

Fifteen minutes later, you guys find Pete in the fully furnished, walk out basement playing air hockey with some of the football team. He doesn’t see you past the large crowd surrounding the table. When you walk up and crane over heads to see the action, Pete assists Big Popular Jock–a burly guy with shaggy brown hair that keeps falling into his face, and a few pimples on his forehead—with a goal, and all the Jocks and Popular Girls surrounding the table explode into cheers, clapping Pete on the back. 

“Well, that isn’t a sight you see everyday!” Crystal murmurs with a shake of her head. She’s not used to seeing Pete surrounded by Popular People either. He’s the 6 '4, slightly pudgy guy with glasses who always tries to make himself smaller by curling his shoulders inward to avoid scaring people with his height and stature. Or the guy who lights up when he sits at the abandoned lunch table in the back of the cafeteria with you, talking your ears off about the latest computer software he downloaded. No one would let you guys sit at their tables the first week of classes freshman year, so somehow you all found yourselves at what you call “The Slab”. It’s just a lopsided lunch table around the corner from the rest of the cafeteria, but it gives you the illusion of privacy and superiority. 

“Let’s just go get another drink and wait until he’s finished. It looks like he’s having fun,” You say while tugging her arm. You pulled Crystal further into the basement seeing the familiar faces of classmates, but even with the effects of the rum starting to flow through your system the feeling of Other still followed you around. You were used to it at school, that was part of why Crystal, Pete and you became such fast friends that first day freshman year at that lunch table. You guys spotted that you were all Others in the Jungle of Jocks, Cheerleaders, Populars, Goths, Druggies, Band Geeks, Theater Kids, Anime Club, Nerds, Artsy Kids, and Floaters. But it was bizarre that the imprint of that identity was still on you in the world outside of Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High. You needed another drink.

The two of you weaved in between bodies towards a bar/kitchen where more alcohol was being passed around. Crystal pushed her way past a Goth couple standing in the entrance to the bar area playing a game of hockey of their own, but with tongues. You followed, while she headed straight for the refrigerator. 2Pac started singing about California, and you nodded your head to the beat as you turned to look at the rest of the room over the bar, and immediately noticed him. You stiffened. Chris was in the family room leaning against the back of a couch talking to a Jock. He looked cute? relaxed? happy? like he belonged. He had a lazy smile on his face while he listened to Jock gesture and ramble–probably about the final seconds of the game–and in his right hand was a Solo cup he periodically took sips out of. You would have been content to just stare at him like that if it wasn’t for the Brunette Cheerleader on his left who was clinging to him figuratively and literally. The front of his red LSR Football shirt was clutched in her bright pink manicured hand, and she kept trying, unsuccessfully, to get Chris’ attention by interrupting Jock’s story to bring the spotlight back on her. Your face must have shown your disgust because Crystal's face popped into your line of sight.

“What’s got you looking so sour?” She says as she hands you a Bud Light can. You take it and shake your head. She turns her head to look at where you were staring. “Oh! The Populars?! Forget about them. Come on, I thought I saw a game room back this way.” Crystal grabs your hand and heads toward the other entry of the kitchen. You follow, but not without a backwards glance. Jock is gone, and Brunette Cheerleader is standing in front of Chris trying to talk to him, but he’s ignoring her looking around. His blue eyes catch yours for one second, then Crystal grabs your arm and pulls you around a corner. 

Justin Parker’s game room was the size of your bedroom. After you both walked in and closed the door to a blaring Semi-Charmed Life, Crystal looked around in amazement. To be honest, you were impressed too. The Parker’s had two televisions with what looked like multiple gaming systems–those were not your forte– a modern IKEA desk and chair in one corner of the room, on top of the desk was a state-of-the-art blue IMac computer, a black leather couch and matching recliner sat in front of the T.V.s, and a gray bean bag chair was positioned in another corner of the room. Crystal darted towards the gaming systems calling out names which would probably mean more to Pete. “Nintendo 64! Sega Dreamcast! AND PLAYSTATION!”

You went and plopped down on the bean bag, replaying the last minute in your mind, while Crystal booted up a game. As you steadily sipped on your beer, you wondered what would have happened if Crystal hadn't dragged you away. Would you have turned around? Talked to him? Punched Brunette Cheerleader in her big nose? Who's to say. It wasn’t like you had a chance with Chris—him being Mr. Popular, Captain and Wide Receiver on the football team, boy-next-door handsome, charming, and the lead in almost all the school plays! The guy could be a Jock and crossover into Theater Kid and not get bullied. He defied high school laws. But that’s probably why all the girls wanted him. He was “sensitive” or “passionate” or whatever bullshit he spewed to get girls to sleep with him. 

Had you mentioned you weren’t happy you had a crush on him?

Your stupid heart and brain just had to have a soft spot for the Chris Evans. The first incident that made you start to look at Chris differently happened in the fall of Sophomore year. By that point Pete, Crystal and you had already bonded over your uneven table and knew your place in the high school Jungle. A new kid had moved in next door to you named Collin, a Nerd if you ever saw one. He was short, red headed, with acne covering his whole face, and you felt for the guy. You tried being nice and made some small talk with him on the bus to school, but he was so shy it felt like pulling teeth. You vowed then to look out for him as much as you could, and spread the word to Crystal and Pete for them to do the same. Pete earnestly agreed, and Crystal rolled her heavily charcoaled eyes and begrudgingly accepted. They both knew there was only so much you guys, as Others, could do in the Jungle. One day in late October, it had just snowed—which wasn’t uncommon in Boston in fall—but this day it was warmer, slowly melting the last few patches of ice and snow that lingered on the high school parking lot. You were walking across campus leaving European History, your last class of the day, being swallowed up by the student body exiting Building B–the middle of the three buildings that make up LSR high—when you saw Collin alone 20 yards ahead in the parking lot, walking towards your bus stop at the end of the lot. Before you could try to catch up with him, a group of Jocks walked out of Building C, the southernmost building, heading towards the football field and they caught up with Collin first. The group of four guys yelling startled Collin and he must have slipped on a patch of ice that was along the edge of the lot, because next thing you know Collin was flat on the ground, and books were sprawled everywhere. Jock #1, who you found out later was another Wide Receiver named Anthony Fieldstone, led the group in laughing at Collin and saying what you could only assume were mean remarks (you were still too far away, fighting your way through students walking across campus, to hear). Jock #2 and Jock #3 laughed along and even pointed when Collin tried getting up and slipped again. But it was Jock #4 (later identified as Chris Evans) who had laughed at first, but after seeing Collin continue to struggle turned to his friends and said something. Anthony ignored Chris, and went over to Collin and pushed him down and kicked one of his textbooks into a puddle, turning to Jocks #2 and #3 for reactions. By this point you were within 10 feet of them, and heard Chris this time. 

“Guys, stop! Just leave him alone,” He muttered, while their laughs increased. Then you saw Chris turn his head, look at the ground with his brows furrowed, and a look of determination came onto his face. By now, you were within 5 feet of Collin, who had gathered all of his books and was sporting what looked like two bloody knees through his jeans, and fresh tear tracks down his pale face. Chris took a step towards his friends and made a comical, slip-on-a-banana-peel fall on his back. This immediately got the Jock’s attention. They started roaring with laughs.

“Evans, you’re just as clumsy as Red here!”

“Oh snap!”

“Yeah, yeah. You guys gonna help me up here?” Chris gave a sheepish smile and held out his hands. You had arrived at the scene and caught Collin’s eye. 

“Collin! Are you okay?” You asked, as you gave him a once over and looked around for any books he might have missed on the ground. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He sniffled. You put your arm around him while he clutched what seemed like at least five textbooks. 

Does he always walk around with his entire locker?! 

By the time you turned to walk away, Chris had been helped up by the Jocks, and now they were distracted with teasing him and each other, and were headed towards the football field. You turned Collin toward the direction of the bus stop, but not before taking another look at where Chris had fallen. There was no ice there, no snow, nothing. Being on the Varsity Football team as a Sophomore meant he definitely wasn’t clumsy enough to trip over his own feet, which meant he had faked his fall. 

Why? To take the spotlight off of Collin? To stop his asshole friends from bullying another kid? To be nice? Why would Popular Chris Evans need to be kind to Nerd Collin Peery? 

You didn’t find the answers to those questions that day, but for the rest of that school year you started observing Chris Evans. Discreetly of course, Crystal and Pete would have wondered why you suddenly had an obsession with a Popular Person. You noticed that although at first glance he seemed like a regular Jock, (he made the Varsity Football team his Sophomore year and would later become Captain his Junior and Senior years), he actually defied stereotypes when Sophomore year he tried out for the spring production of Run for Your Wife and got the lead part of John Smith over most of the upper class guys. The charming, British accent he put on for that role, and how he effortlessly hit his every cue and jokes endeared him to the audience—at least that's what you assumed happened on opening night since you didn’t actually go and see him—but you were certainly captivated listening, hidden in the upper rafters of Kirshner Auditorium Tuesdays and Thursdays that spring while you waited for your older brother to finish Track practice. 

 He also volunteered. And not just the forced community volunteering all the Jocks had to do for their team, but he did it in his spare time. You found out at the start of summer between Sophomore and Junior year. Crystal’s family dog, Lester, had just died and she was extremely devastated. Her mom told her getting a new one might help ease her pain, so you suggested she look at the Pound. That is how the two of you found yourselves leaving the Buddy Dog Humane Society on a Saturday, with a black Lab/Border Collie mix named Mabel, and as you were checking out, and getting final forms for Mabel, you noticed from the corner of your eye a teenage boy hauling a couple of trash bags down a long hallway toward an exit. Your parents had been hounding you to get a job the past few months, and the idea of extra work didn’t sound too terrible if you were able to hang out with cute dogs. So you asked gray haired Sharon, the nice lady helping you, if you could apply for a job there even if you hadn’t turned 16 yet. She told you the Shelter didn’t hire anyone under 21, and she must have seen the confusion on your face when you glanced at where the teenage boy had just exited. “Oh! That’s Chris. He volunteers here on the weekends. You’re more than welcome to volunteer! We could always use an extra hand around here. Let me get you a form,” She stated as she walked away. It didn’t click in your head that she meant Chris Evans until you and Crystal were walking down the sidewalk a couple minutes later—Crystal cooing at Mabel while she steered her toward the backseat of her black 1990 Acura Legend—when you saw him dumping more trash bags into a giant industrial trash bin on the side of the building. His dark blue t-shirt had ridden up, and you must have been staring too long because Crystal called your name through the window of her car to get in, and Chris looked up to lock eyes with you. He gave you a slight smile as he pulled down his Humane Society shirt over his khaki shorts. Your eyes widened as if you had been caught in a salacious act (was checking out a Jock salacious?), and your heart started racing, so you did the most logical thing and abruptly turned and dove into the front seat of Crystal’s car. On the drive back to Crystal’s place you made a mental note: Chris Evans volunteers to help puppies and has nice abs. 

There were also other small things you noted about him throughout your Sophomore and into your Junior and Senior years, such as how he would treat people in the classes you shared with him. Instead of ignoring or outright bullying kids who were overweight, gay, or nerdy he would talk to them when he was sitting next to them in class or if they were doing a project together, and after play practice he would socialize with the crew working behind the scenes, and the actors who were stand ins and extras.

So…what? He’s not an asshole, unlike the rest of his Jock friends. That doesn’t mean he’s an amazing guy—it just means he’s not an asshole—and now you have gone and developed a stupid crush on the guy! 

Why does your inner cynic sound eerily like Crystal? 

This is why you had to keep your crush a secret. Because Crystal, or even Pete, couldn’t fathom why you would like a Popular guy like Chris. Although maybe Pete wouldn’t be so judgmental based on how comfortable he looked with the Jocks earlier…

“What are you daydreaming about over there?” Crystal’s voice snaps you back to reality. 

“I wasn’t daydreaming!” You protest, as you notice you had emptied your beer can while you sat reminiscing. Your head feels light and fuzzy. “Sure, you weren’t. Come over here and play Smash Bros with me!” She insists while her fingers fly over the controller. 

“Nah, I’m good over here,” you stated and slumped further into the bean bag and closed your eyes, trying to get comfy. Your limbs start to feel loose the longer you sit, and apparently so does your mouth as you say, “What do you think of Chris Evans?”

Crystal doesn’t stop playing as she asks absentmindedly, “The star of the football team?” 

“Yeah,” You confirm. 

“He’s a meathead Jock. What of it?” She responds over the sound of her game.

“Doesn’t he have pretty blue eyes?” you asked dreamily, thinking about your eye lock with him minutes before. It took you a minute or two to realize that the sound of buttons clicking had stopped, and Crystal was being extremely quiet. You slowly blinked your eyes open to see her looking at you with an inscrutable look on her face, and you replayed your question in your mind. Crystal reacted before you had a chance to, with an eyebrow raise and the question, “You like Chris Evans?”

Yes. No. Kind of.

 “No!”

“But you like his eyes?”

“I mean…”

“So, you like him?” She was looking at you. Why did it feel like your answer was so pivotal?

“I just want to kiss him!” 

Where the hell did that come from?! We were talking about his eyes! 

You swore you were never drinking again after tonight. Crystal’s hazel eyes shuttered and her mouth pursed. 

“You want to kiss him?! Why? He’s just an idiot with good hair and an over inflated ego, who can catch a ball!” She blurted as she stood up from the floor and walked towards you. “You and him aren’t even on the same level! You are too good for him. You're smart, sweet and so unbelievably beautiful,” She pressed while looking in your eyes, and placed her hands on the bean bag close enough to your legs you could feel their heat, while she knelt on the floor. You gave her a drunk, bashful smile, and she returned a heartfelt one. 

“Crystal, thank you. But it's nothing, really! Plus it’s not like anything is going to happen anyway!” You chuckle, trying to convince her and yourself. She only gives a strained smile and a huff of a laugh as she moves to stand, then quickly changes the topic.

“It’s getting late. Let's go find Pete and get out of here!” You wobble as you try to maneuver out of the bean bag, but Crystal helps you find your feet. “I’m driving,” She adds as you leave the room. The two of you find Pete sitting on a couch in the upstairs family room chatting with a random collection of people. He doesn’t protest when Crystal tells him you guys are leaving and if he wants a ride he better say good-bye to his new friends. As the three of you head towards the front door Cory Jameson flags down Pete in the foyer, and breaks away from a group of Jocks in the corner.

“Hey Schlozinger, glad you stopped by man…”

You tune out their conversation because past Cory’s shoulder you see garish pink nails card through the back of short, brown hair that you would be able to recognize anywhere. The guy the brown hair belonged to, was pressing Brunette Cheerleader into the foyer wall and kissing her like his life depended on it, and solidifying his identity was his last name printed on the back of his shirt: Evans #13. You turn before you see them do anything more. Crystal had seen it too. Pete is done with his good-bye, and you can’t get out of that house fast enough. You can slowly feel your buzz wearing off as your mind spins. 

Crystal was right. You and Chris are not on the same level—he is so out of reach it’s laughable! So, maybe it was a good thing to see that little display. You and Chris Evans may go to the same school, but you are from two completely different worlds, and you needed to remember that and forget your stupid crush.

Pete follows your lead to the car, humming a 2Pac song, and Crystal is behind him smiling to herself, suddenly in a good mood. 

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 20

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You have to drink that weird potion from the game that makes you trip out and stuff lol have fun with that sucker

Author’s Note: I know a lot of you are here for Seb, which makes me nervous to say this: For the next few chapters, Seb will be around, but not the main focus like he has kinda been.

I really hope I don’t disappoint, and that y’all enjoy this anyway ^^"

(Also, here is your reminder to see chapter 18 for a visual reference of Ras if you need a refresher, since he's visually based off of a mod in my story!)

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

My dumb ass feels guilty about sorta kinda going behind Seb and Sam’s backs and visiting the tower in the woods on my own. The fact that I’ll be going back again at some point is gnawing away at me.

I knocked out pretty soon after hitting my pillow last night, but I’ve spent the whole day after meeting Magnus moping around. Using snacks and cozy Ghibli movies in bed to cope. Couldn’t be productive even if I wanted to.

It’s just like… I have trust issues, whether it’s not trusting enough or over-trusting. What gives me the right to betray someone else’s trust, y’know?

I’m a monster.

Or, I’m totally making this a bigger deal than it needs to be… Maybe. Ugh.

Maybeee if I just come out and tell them I went there – or at least tell Seb – it won’t be too bad? Yeah? 

I sigh for the upteenth time today, very dramatically. Pausing Howl’s Moving Castle (y’know, maybe watching a movie about a wizard isn’t helping…), I flop my head back down to the pillow, accidentally causing Cannoli to stir next to my feet. Then, I crack my knuckles, and grab my phone from beside me.

< hello 🕺

Sebastian > hello yourself

Sebastian > what’s up

< are you busy rn?

Sebastian > not particularly

Sebastian > miss me already? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

< shut up

< i just wanna talk about something i guess

< it’s not like

< serious or anything

< i don’t think

Sebastian> that’s not at all comforting

Sebastian > wanna come over?

< sure, i’ll head there in a sec

< love u 🖤

Sebastian> gross (love you too 🖤)

_______________

Head fuzzy and pits sweaty from my nerves and the heat, I slog my way over to Seb’s house. I should get, like, a bike or something. Or a car, once I finally have a steady income from crops. I haven’t driven in a while — used to love it, for the small amount of time I was able to.

Then again, there’s like, no roads I could even take to get around town without ruining shit. I wonder how Robin manages to get around with that big ol’ truck of her’s.

“You look like a mess,” Robin immediately points out as I enter the workshop. Rude… but understandable.

I groan, shuffling over to the counter and leaning atop it. “I was up later than usual and now I’m grumpy.” That’ll be my excuse, sure!

She stands up from her custom-made, fancy-ass wooden chair and leans across from me, lowering herself to eye level.

“Everything alright?” she asks, seeing right through me. Reaching out to put a comforting hand on my shoulder, she gives me a soft, lopsided smile. I tend to forget how quickly Robin’s motherly instincts can flick on, considering how much of a little shit she typically is.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, I think,” I nod, “I’m just a big dummy.” “You’re not wrong,” she teases with a cheeky smile.

I laugh in response with a snort. “I’m outta here.”

“Be safe down there,” she sings out as I start my descent to the basement.

“Ughhhhhh–” 

“Is mom being a creep again?” a muffled Seb calls out behind the door, having heard my pained groans.

As I enter, I answer, “When isn’t she at this point?”

“Fuck,” he mutters. 

He was playing something – dunno what – but I’m assuming that was a response to whatever just happened. He clicks a bunch and leans back in his chair, takes off the headphones that were only half-on anyway, and brings his eyes up to me, indicating that he’s quit out of the game. I notice as he gets up that I’m still just awkwardly standing at the door, so I promptly make my way to the sofa, where he joins me.

“So?” he prompts. Shit, right to business.

“So, er…” I fiddle with some of the callus on my hands. Why am I so nervous?

“You went to that tower, yeah?”

I meet his eyes in shock. How the fuck did he know? Unless this new theory, that he can read minds, is true. “Y-yeah.”

“I had a feeling you would,” he smugly grins. This fizzles away my previous worries, but introduces the fear that he’s actually so goddamn perfect because he’s had a backstage pass to my motherfucking brain for the past several months that I’ve known him. 

“And you’re not, like, mad?” I question, trying to push my paranoia aside.

He shakes his head. “I trust that you wouldn’t do anything that you think is unsafe.” I sigh, and lean on his shoulder. He wraps me into a warm cuddle. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

I nod shyly. “I felt so bad for lying to you guys.”

“There are worse things to lie about, kid,” he laughs.

“‘Kid?’ We’re basically the same age,” I protest. As if I’ve never called him “kid” before.

He lightly noogies me, and I frantically flap my hands against his tummy until he stops.

“I had a feeling you were gonna go there yourself,” he claims. “You’re normally too stubborn to give up on something so quickly.” I whine, not liking how easy I am to read, but I don’t defend myself. Because he’s right. 

Only further supporting my theory. 

“Find anything cool?”

“Yeah, actually.” I wonder if I should tell him about all the magic stuff for a sec, before opting out. “The man who lives there is really nice, and his house is gorgeous. Suuuper talented plant-dad,” I enthuse. “He agreed to let me bring Abby over sometime, too. We have plans to meet up again beforehand. Ya know, so we can really win her over without it seeming like some predisposed thing.” 

And so that I can, like, learn magic or about magic or have something to do with magic. 

I look up to check Seb for a reaction, and he’s frowning. “What’s up?”

“Why ‘we’? What does he want with her?” “Long story. It’s nothing creepy,” I promise, “but I’m not sure if he wants me just… telling people his business. So I’d rather not get into it, if that’s okay with you.”

Seb nods, but his features don’t falter as he looks blankly across the room. 

“What’s up?”

He seems to shake away a thought before placing a kiss on my forehead. “It’s nothing, baby,” he tries to assure me.

I don’t believe him.

I groan under my breath, “Sebastiannn.”

“Hm?”

“Seriously,” I pry, “I can tell you’re bothered by something I said. If you are, I wanna fix it, or help, or something.”

“No. Um…” he thinks for a sec, as my eyes scan his face for answers. If there was anything I thought he’d be upset about, it would have been me going to the tower alone. “Fuck, whatever. Yeah.”

I sigh. I’m about to ask him what I said or did, when—

“So you know about all that arcane shit now, yeah?”

My eyes widen again. “Oh my god you are a telepath, aren’t you?”

“What? No,” he shakes his head. “Well… I mean. Yeah, I am, actually.” !!! “But I don’t use it, like, ever.”

My stomach drops.

What if he’s lying to make me feel better?

I push my insecurities aside again. “Then how’d you know?”

Seb leans his head against the top of mine and sighs, playing with the ends of my hair as he speaks. “I went there once when I was younger – had to have been, like, 20 or somethin’ – and met Magnus. Haven’t seen him in ages… it was all too weird for me.” Wow. The last thing I expected to hear was that he actually knows the wizard himself.

He continues, “I didn’t want anyone finding out about it exploiting him somehow, and it also just, like…” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I figured all that fantasy sorta shit is best kept as a genre, and nothing else, ya know? I’ve been into it in games, manga, everything, as an escape from real life for as long as I can remember. The idea of living and experiencing all that stuff firsthand freaked me out. So,” he shrugs slightly, lightly jostling my head. “I just kinda kept it to myself, eventually deciding to abandon it all together. Ghosted Magnus, which obviously was a dick move, but I’d figured if I was needed or anything, he’d reach out. Aaand he never did. So… yeah.”

He puts a big hand on mine, bringing awareness to the fact that I’m clutching onto his black t-shirt so hard. Whoops. I ease up my grip.

“I’m sorry if this, like, triggered anything for you,” I say, looking up to meet the rich indigo of his eyes. “I had no idea anyone knew about him and what he does, really.”

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault,” he reassures me with a dry laugh, “I didn’t think I’d still feel this bitter about that stuff.”

“Do you have bad blood with Magnus or something?” “No, not at all,” Seb rejects. I notice a tiny smile forming on his features – one that I don’t think even he knows is there. “He was a really great friend for the few months that we knew each other.” “Just mourning a loss, then?”

“Yeah,” he sighs with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Something like that.”

A few beats pass before I softly offer, “I can give him your regards when I see him again, if you want. Just for closure if nothing else, y’know?”

He shakes his head as he replies. “Nah, no thanks. I’d rather do it myself if I ever feel like it.”

I slowly nod. “So… would you be against me learning magic?”

Seb doesn’t answer for a little, but I don’t prod. I want to give him time to think. I consider the question, too. I really, really want to get involved in this stuff, if it’s actually, like… in my blood or whatever the fuck. I want to respect Seb’s past, but I haven’t been this eager to learn something new in forever.

He breaks the silence, finally. “Kinda, honestly.” I can feel myself deflate. Fuck me. “But I wouldn’t stop you from trying it.” …Oh?

I raise my eyebrows, a little surprised that he’s so chill about this, given what he’d just told me. “You sure? ‘Cause I’m pretty stoked to do it, honestly,” I confess, not able to keep a grin from forming as I think of what’s to come. “But you’re more important than becoming a wizard or witch or whatever the fuck.”

“I think so,” he responds, scruffing my hair a bit. “If it’s something you want, you should go for it, as long as I don’t have to be directly involved or anything.”

“Of course not. I’d never want to put you in a situation that could hurt you.”

Seb kisses my forehead, muttering something about me being a big sap, then wraps his thumb and forefinger around my chin, bringing my mouth up to his. I ignored his cheeky remark in our texts earlier, but god, I really do miss these lips when I’m not around them. I deepen our kiss and reach up to take his face in my hands, thankful that this went relatively well.

_______________

About a week and a half has passed since I’ve really left the farm. My most recent ~off-campus~ excursion was when I visited the wizard again for a small overview of what I’ll need to do in order to start this weird, magical journey of mine. That was a few days after I met with Seb to apologize for being a sneaky lil’ rascal.

I’ve been balls deep in preparing my farm, hoping I can get some more land ready for crop-growing by autumn. I knew that it would be in my best interest to use the sudden hyperfixation as fuel to work. I can only live off of Grandpa’s inheritance for so long.

A few mobile Discord calls with Seb, Sam, and Victor, with strict instructions not to come over until further notice, have been keeping me motivated as well. I always find it easier to get things done when someone other than myself is there to hold me accountable, but get distracted too easily to have someone else physically present.

The downside to this, though, is that I missed a supposedly important town event: some beachy potluck luau… thing. It sounds like it was boring, but I kind of wish I got to experience it for my first year here. I had no idea it even existed until Seb and Sam called me from the party itself, and at that point, I didn’t want to show up covered in soil and empty-handed.

After that, I realized I should touch some grass that isn’t mine, deciding to leave the house at my next possible opportunity.

This morning I received a letter from Magnus, telling me to go see him in his tower at my earliest convenience. I wonder if he could read my mind from all the way over there… 

Coincidence or not, my excitement about all this fancy magic stuff hasn’t fizzled away whatsoever — unfortunately taking precedence in my mind over what I’m now calling Mission: Abominable (Heh, get it? Like, Mission: Impossib– sorry.) — so I made his task my duty for the day. 

Going to Magnus’ house this time is a lot… friendlier on my body than the past two. I still feel that weird connection to it, but it seems like it’s eased up. As if the spirits know I’m mentally locked-in on fulfilling some weird destiny of mine, and decided to cool it with the obnoxious straining. 

I jog up the stairs, my favorite skirt swishing around with each step I take. Noticing his lack of telepathic intrusion as I slowly waltz up to the door, I knock. 

“You home, Magnus?” I call out.

“Yes,” he shouts, verbally, from what sounds like a far room. “One moment, please!’

Upon his confirmation, butterflies float around my tummy. I promptly start fidgeting with the sleeves of my tucked-in henley. 

The flutters are probably just there because I’m excited to learn more about myself, and magic, and whatever.

The door opens in front of me, and Magnus looks a little disheveled. “Apologies for the wait,” he grins, “Please, come in.”

“Everything alright?” I ask, eyes trained on his messy tresses. Noticing this, he reaches up to flatten it all back into place.

“Yes, I was just struggling to find something I’ll be needing today. I’ve acquired it, though!”

“Cool,” I respond. I wonder if that “something” even has anything to do with me… I hope I didn’t interrupt his original plans for the day. “By the way, is it okay that I just sorta… showed up?” I begin to stim with my sleeves again as I speak. "I can give you a call or we can set a date next time, or something.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he reassures, guiding me over to the cauldron. “I foresaw your arrival.”

“So you can predict the future, too, huh?”

What sorta shit can’t this guy do? I mean, I guess if he’s powerful enough to constantly maintain a magical barrier around the valley, he’s gotta be a strong and talented wizard. But still.

“To a certain degree, yes.” 

“For how long did you know that I’d be coming here the night we met, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he muses with his back turned.

He’s setting up a bunch of ingredients on the counter. I peek around him from my place on the opposite side of the pot and see a few crushed leaves of some sort, some flowers that I dunno the name of, mushrooms, bearberries… ooo, I wonder if he’s making a potion today! Excitement brews (Really, I am so sorry for all these puns) within me as I realize that this is all real.

I muffle a laugh. “No shit, that’s why I asked.” 

“Ah, of course. That makes perfect sense.” 

“...So you’re not gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

Fucker, I think, rolling my eyes despite the big dumb smile plastered on me. 

“Language, miss,” he exclaims as he turns to face me, his amusement closely mirroring my own. 

So “shit” is fine, but you draw a line at “fuck?”

“Sure,” Magnus replies. I palm my face, shaking my head, as my body shakes from giggling so hard. “I’m kidding, of course,” he confirms.

“Respectfully, get out of my head,” I sigh. “Seriously, how many of my thoughts have you heard?” 

“No matter!" Ah, great. More ambiguity. “I’m brewing for you today a potion that will help you hone your potential skills,” he explains, mixing his ingredients into the cauldron. It smells funky… hopefully it at least tastes okay.

“It won’t hurt, will it?” I worry out loud, moving closer to his side now.

He peers down at me and shrugs. “Well, no, but you may feel a little nauseous. That’s more of a byproduct of the taste, than the properties of the mixture itself.”

“Ugh. So it’s gonna taste as, like… musky as it smells?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he grins apologetically. “Fear not, I have a solution!” Magnus leans his stirrer – I haven’t seen the bottom, so I’ve got no idea whether it’s a spoon or not – in my direction. “If you’ll be so kind as to take over, for a moment.”

I take the device from him and continue to mix the elixir. It’s not as… pretty as the one I saw a few nights ago. Just as green, but more bubbly and sloppy than it is shimmery. I wince, trying to imagine what the texture is going to be like.

Magnus rummages through a drawer underneath the surface he was working on before. “Ah-hah!” he whispers.

He spins around, and is now holding a sealed stick of rock candy in his hand. The full display of his ever so slightly crooked teeth, and the way his little mole scrunches underneath his eye crinkles as he beams at me, is just as sweet as the treat he’s holding. This man is precious.

“T-this should make it more bearable,” he prompts. 

His eyes flashed pink for a quick second, and he stuttered for the first time since I’ve met him. Please tell me he didn’t hear me calling him precious. Or… thinking of him as precious? Agh. 

He holds out the treat for me, and we swap places again. I grin down at the candy, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. It feels a little juvenile… like, if you eat your veggies, you’ll get to have some dessert!! I don’t think it’s intended by any means – Magnus has been nothing but pleasant to me, and apparently to Sebastian too. 

And it’s not that I don’t like it... I fucking love rewarding myself with snacks.

Why am I so self-conscious about this? Get it together, lady.

I shyly thank him, fumbling around with the white ribbon that’s neatly tying the candy’s plastic wrapping in place. “Is this gonna be as… chunky as it looks?” I question, scrutinizing the liquid.

“Indeed it is.”

“Gross.”

I look up and see him nodding, a pained look on his face. “Luckily, it should go down quickly, so long as you don’t gag.” 

He smiles again, this time more lopsided and not-so comfortingly. He knows it’s gonna suck. He knows that I know it’s gonna suck. I think he’s slowly realizing that his attempts to dilute my worries are pointless.

I groan, prompting a chuckle from him. “Just think of the candy, (y/n),” he softly encourages. As if he isn’t laughing at my pain right now. 

I nod curtly. “Think of the candy,” I quietly repeat, soothing myself. Glaring at the dumb, bubbly goop in front of me.

Magnus lifts his stirring device – it’s just a long-ass ladle – and pours some of the contents back into the mixture. “It looks like it’s ready!” 

…Good lord. I really don’t do well with big textures. This is going to be a nightmare, if that sludgyness is anything to judge by.

“It looks like it’s disgusting, you mean?”

“If sweets aren’t enough comfort for your psyche, think of the results!” he says while scooping the potion into a small, glass vial. Looks to be about a shot glass or two worth of liquid. 

He hands it over, and while I inspect it, he continues, “Regardless of whether or not you have the capability to create magic, you will be more in tune with nature, which will help in your profession. You should feel less fatigued from hereon as well, and–”

“Ah, that’s right! We don’t even know if I can be a wizard or whatever, yet.” I complain, nose scrunched.

A moment of uncertainty passes, before he breaks the brief silence. “...Think of the candy?” He winces, smiles, and shrugs, his eyebrows upturned.

I take a deep breath in and out. “Think of the candy.”

_______________

“Fucki’g shit, Magnush!”

“I’m sorry, (y/n)! I promise you that I have never heard of a reaction quite like this!”

From the ground beneath him I moan in pain, rock candy hanging out of my mouth, my arms around my stomach and knees tucked to my chest. My eyes are pouring with tears – not of sadness, but of pure agony. 

“It hurtsh sho bad, oh my fucki’g god!” I slowly lean forward, resting my forehead on the surprisingly cool iron of the cauldron.

The potion was just as disgusting as I’d imagined it would be, but that shouldn’t have been my main concern, apparently. I’ve never felt so bloated or crampy in my life. 

Think: worst period cramps you’ve ever had, perhaps with endometriosis, but then cranked up, and also it’s in your stomach too. I have no idea what childbirth feels like, but I can’t imagine this being far off. This is fucking awful.

I’m almost positive that I’m allergic to one of the ingredients he’d used, because neither of us know why else I’d be reacting like this... Unless my body is just that resistant to the arcane.

Magnus, blue-eyed with guilt, hastily drained out his cauldron and began crafting a new tonic upon the realization that I wasn’t just super icked by his concoction. This new one should (hopefully!!) have healing properties. He’s anxiously mixing new ingredients above me with one hand, partially leaned over so that he can keep his left palm comfortingly atop my head.

“I’m sorry, my dear, truly! I’m working as quickly as I can.”

I know he didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but in my pained delirium, I feel so betrayed. I whine out in response, letting the rock candy fall from my mouth and onto the floor where it shatters.

“I’ll clean that up later, I’m sorry,” I sob. 

“That is the absolute least of my worries, (y/n)!”

He murmurs a quiet spell of sorts, gives the mixture one last stir, and softly rubs my head, before going to grab a vial for the new potion.

Wiping away the tears that obstructed my vision, I lean back slightly, swivel to the side, and look up, watching him pour the new elixir. This one is pretty, which hopefully is a good sign: cerulean, thin liquid with specks that resemble a prismatic glitter floating through it.

Magnus kneels in front of me, ready for me to receive the potion. But noticing the self-soothing death-grip I have on the fabric of my no-longer-tucked shirt, he instead takes matters into his own hands.

His blue eyes become rosy as he focuses on my pout, bringing the vial to meet it. I sniffle and open my mouth slightly to wrap my lips around the glass tube, craning my neck as he puts a large hand partially on my face and partially on the side of my head for support.

This potion is a lot colder than the last, and feels slightly fizzy going down. It’s soothing. I’d say it’s almost as sweet as the rock candy I’d destroyed earlier, too. And luckily, the instant it hits my stomach, I feel better…

But now I’m painfully aware of his thumb softly brushing my jawline, the blush on his cheeks, the blush on my cheeks, the faint warmth of his breath, his fingers in my hair, the— 

He pulls his hand and the vial away, smiling. His eyes are their base shade again.

“Better?”

Heat grows up to my ears and down my neck, as I nod. “Much,” I squeak out. 

An uncomfortable pit forms in my stomach as I notice that the ghost of his touch is still lingering on my skin like static.

[limetameta]

For the author ask: 4, 22, 24, 46, 73 ☕✨

Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

I go to plays! I interact with new art and the ideas just keep on flooding :)

Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I would SUCK ASS at mystery novels I think. So I tend to stay away from that genre. 1st POV is my NUMBER 1 ENEMY. WE FIGHT. I WROTE AN ENTIRE BOOK IN 1ST POV AND I WANT IT TO DIE

Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

Don't publish anything before thirty lmao.

You won't like your writing in ten years, but if you don't try to put your voice out there how will you ever strengthen it?

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Character driven is what bestie said. I trust bestie more than I trust myself on this because I don't actually have the self-awareness to characterize my style. Many people online have come out to me in reviews when I'd be doing those secret santa gift things on ao3 and my work would be hidden that to them this FELT like a limeta story, only to be proven correct at the unveiling. I ask what makes something a limeta story and they just say that my way of words is very distinct, so I guess it's because I'm Balkan and life has been unkind to me *smokes cigarette* *drinks coffee as breakfast* *puts grey filter over any image of me to truly give that eastern European feel*

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I got a fresh take on everything. Lmao, I doubt that tbh. But I just don't like most of the things I read online so I set out to satisfy my own needs and I wind up making a lot of other people happy and intrigued. It's a tale as old as time. Write what you love - not what you know - and then you'll wind up learning so much about it on the way while researching that it will transform into 'writing what you know'.

But again, I think that my sense of humour is very strange. It also helps that I grew up in the theater not as an actor, but a goer, a seat-sitter, a child meant to enjoy. So I LOVE writing the kind of stuff that feels like you can just reach out and GRAB IT. But you don't do that, though, because the characters on the scene are to be seen. And you're doomed to watch them go through with the scene, unable to stop them, unable to shout to them - or if you do shout they can't hear you :D but the worst part is knowing that they might even hear you, but they're unable to go against the script.

[lilyvandersteen]

Home Away From Home Chapter 2: Charming

Chapter summary:

Blaine arrives in Ohio and starts to tackle the disaster zone that is Cooper's hotel. But after he's been there for just a week, inspectors arrive at the hotel. Can he convince them to give him extra time to fix things?

Many thanks to my beta @hkvoyage!

You can also read this story on AO3.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Charming

 It didn’t take long for Monique to call Blaine back, and the news she had for him wasn’t all bad. The property’s title was in Cooper’s name. There would be no problems on that score.

“And it’s quite a bit bigger than just the hotel. The sale also involved 500 acres of land. That’s a lot. Not around the hotel, it’s further away. It used to be an industrial area. Factory buildings that haven’t been used since the eighties or nineties at the latest. Might have squatters in them, though. Lot of poverty and crime in that area. Not really the ideal place to buy a hotel. I don’t know what Cooper was thinking.”

Blaine snorted. “I doubt he was thinking at all. Anyway, thanks a bunch, Monique!”

“Are you sure you want to go to the trouble of doing up the place?”

Monique sounded worried.

“Well, Cooper put a lot of money into this, so we’ll have to make the most of it. It’s right next to Interstate 75, so I’m sure there will always be travellers needing a place to sleep. Right?”

Monique tut-tutted. “Don’t throw good money after bad, Blaine. I doubt you’d be able to make the place profitable. I’d advise to sell it again, for the best price you can get for it, and cut your losses. Mind you, it won’t be easy to sell, what with the neighbourhood it’s in. My hubby and I passed through Lima on a road trip a few years back. I’d rather have driven on for another eight hours than sleep there. You should have seen the trailer park we drove through, and all the boarded-up buildings – it looked eerie.”

“Maybe things have improved since then,” Blaine said. “But here’s what I’ll do: I’ll ask Cooper if he wants to sell or not. It would help if you could e-mail me an estimate of what the renovations would cost. If he decides not to sell, I’ll tell him to make you an authorized signatory on his bank account, so that you can buy stuff for the hotel in his name, and pay the renovation bills and the staff’s salaries, including my own if I’m to spend my whole summer running Coop’s hotel. Is that okay with you, Monique?”

Monique sighed. “There’s no talking you out of it anymore, is there? All right, lovey, I’ll send you that estimate for the renovations, and if you decide to go through with this, I’ll help you as much as I can. I already have my eye on a lot of beds and mattresses. If I can get a nice price for them, I’ll send them to Lima asap.”

“You won’t get into trouble over this with Father, will you?”

“Nah, he trusts me blindly, after all these years. And you’re his sons, so when I’m working for you, it all stays in the family.”

“I’m not sure he considers me family anymore,” Blaine muttered, but that made Monique scoff.

“You’re his child, Blaine, and you always will be, and I’m as loyal to you as I am to Mr. Anderson himself.”

Blaine wiped away a tear and thanked Monique again. “Anyway, my roommate grew up there, and she’ll help me out, she says. I will contact Cooper, and I’ll let you know what he’s decided. Okay?”

“Okay. Talk to you soon!”

K&B

The day after, Blaine and Tina flew to Columbus, Ohio.

Cooper didn’t want to sell and had given green light to renovate the hotel.

Thankfully, however stupid Cooper was where money matters were concerned, his entourage was not. His agent and manager were competent and shrewd, and made sure he got paid well for every project he did. He’d spent the bulk of his money on the property he’d bought, yes, but there was still enough left to get started on the renovations, and more money was on the way for several ads he’d done, as well as some voice-over work.

“You tell Monique she can use it all. I trust her, and I trust you.”

As soon as Blaine had gotten the okay, he’d contacted the pest control firm as well as an electrician and a plumber recommended by Monique. Then he booked his flight and started packing.

Tina remained determined to come along, and she’d called all her high school friends to see who was in the area and who would be willing to help out. Two girls called Marley and Unique promised to drop in and help as soon as the weekend rolled around, and a guy called Puck said they could count on him for handyman jobs.

A good thing, too, for as soon as they walked into the hotel, they found out they might not be able to count on the existing staff.

A group of uniformed people were surrounding a guy in a suit, yelling at him about months of wages he owed him, about horrid work conditions, about being understaffed and having to work double shifts, and about being harassed by unhappy guests.

“And if you think I’m going to stick around to see if this new owner is gonna treat us better than you, think again! I’m out of here, and I’m gonna ask if I can have my old job at the Lima Bean back.”

There were a lot of yeahs in response to that, and muttering that they could do better, and then everyone took off their name badges, threw them at the guy in the suit and walked off, straight past Blaine and Tina.

The guy in the suit just shrugged and walked in the other direction, without so much as looking at the stuff his former staff had chucked at him.

“I know some of them, I’ll smooth things over,” Tina whispered to Blaine. ”You go talk to the manager guy.”

Blaine hurried after the guy in the suit, guessing that this had to be the one Cooper had bought the property from.

“Mr. Smythe?”

“What now?” said the guy in the suit, turning around and scowling.

“I’m Blaine Anderson, sir. I’m here on behalf of my brother, Cooper Anderson…”

“Ah, Cooper’s little brother! Yeah, he told me you’d come and sort things out here for him.”

Smythe smirked at Blaine, giving him a lingering once-over. “Guess he got the looks and you got the brains in your family. Not everyone can have it all, like me. Looks and brains and money. But don’t worry. I’m sure some people are into the bashful schoolboy vibe you give off. Plus, you’ve got a great ass. Very nice. I wouldn’t say no to a quickie, if you’re game.”

Charming. Not.

Blaine felt his ears redden, but kept his response formal and to the point. “I’d like the keys to this establishment, please, as well as to the factory buildings you also sold to my brother. The insurance information would be welcome, too. And I need to know who’s been managing this hotel until now. I’ve been informed the factory buildings are not in use, is that correct?”

“That is correct, killer,” Smythe drawled. “Come with me and I’ll give you the keys.”

Blaine shot a desperate look behind him, but Tina had caught up with the hotel staff and was talking to them, so he wouldn’t be able to use her as a buffer from this sleaze. Ugh.

It took a quarter of an hour and plenty more innuendoes before Blaine got the keys and the information he’d requested, and Smythe made Blaine very uncomfortable, touching Blaine any chance he got and staring at his lips, crotch and ass without even being subtle about it.

Finally, with one last smirk and a “Good luck”, Smythe departed.

Blaine let out a deep sigh and got up to find Tina and get an update on the staff situation.

He heard someone laugh, and looked up to see Tina in the doorway with the Latina staff member who’d been yelling at Smythe when they came in.

“Smythe takes the word eye-fucking to a new level, doesn’t he?” she drawled.

Blaine shuddered, and she laughed some more, Tina joining in too.

“He’s good-looking, though. You sure you don’t want to tap that?” Tina teased him.

“I’m sure,” Blaine gritted out, taking his laptop to send the insurance information to Monique.

Tina introduced the staff member to Blaine. Her name was Santana, and she’d been in high school with Tina.

“I sounded her out on what staff members to keep; and what others we need to recruit. And I promised you’d pay them the back wages Smythe owes them.”

Blaine nodded. “Of course.”

Santana took him to see the rest of the staff and told him their names and what each of them did to keep the hotel running.

When they heard Blaine was willing to make up their back pay and hire extra staff, all of them readily agreed to stay on, and they even suggested family members of theirs who could come and work at the hotel.

That was one worry down.

“So what’s next?” Tina asked.

What was next was the electrician and plumber showing up to tour the whole building with Blaine, and give their professional assessment of what had to be done.

Blaine followed in their wake, jotting down everything they mentioned to compile a to do list and starting to panic the longer the list got.

“This is going to take longer than our summer break,” Tina whispered.

“I know. We’ll do what we can, and the rest will be Cooper’s responsibility.”

Fat chance of that, Blaine thought sourly. It was way more likely that Cooper would wait for Blaine to finish the work he started once his next school break rolled around. No, Blaine had better hire a manager for the hotel before he left, so that he could leave the place in good hands.

While touring the place, Blaine also found out there was a family of five, the Evanses, living in a hotel room permanently, for now, because they’d lost their jobs and consequently their house, too.

“The previous manager gave us a hefty discount,” said Mrs. Evans, wringing her hands.

Mr. Smythe hadn’t mentioned anything about this, but Blaine nodded. “No problem. No problem at all. We will be renovating the hotel, though, so it’s possible you will have to move to another room at some point. But we will honour the agreement you had with Mr. Smythe, absolutely, please don’t worry about that.”

“Maybe we can help with the renovations?” said Mr. Evans. “My eldest son Sam has a job as a bike courier, but that’s mostly in the evening. During the day, he and I can help you spruce up this place.”

Blaine smiled at the man. “That would be a tremendous help.”

“I could help with the cleaning,” Mrs. Evans offered, “and I’ll make sure Stevie and Stacey stay out of your way.”

When they went on to the next room, the plumber whispered to Blaine that it was sad, really, that the Evanses had come to this. “They worked at that chemical plant that closed down. They’re such great, stand-up people. And now because they both got laid off, they’ve lost everything, and they need to rely on charity to get by. Most people who get laid off here are taken in by family, but the Evanses are from Kentucky. They don’t have any family here. And the children want to stay here in Ohio because all their friends are here, but the parents are struggling to find a decent job. It’s so sad.”

After the tradesmen had left, Blaine let out a deep sigh.

Apart from technical stuff, he’d also noticed lots of trash, dust, grime and filth.

“This place needs a deep clean,” he sighed.

“True, that, and we need to do something about the smell, too,” said Tina, wrinkling her nose.

She was right about that. The hotel smelled stale and musty because none of the air conditioning units seemed to work.

The HVAC specialist Blaine had contacted hadn’t been able to come straight away, so they’d have to have some patience.

In the meantime, all Blaine could do was keep as many doors open as possible, including the outside doors, to get some fresh air circulating.

“Cleaning party?” Tina asked, waving her phone at him, which was showing her dance playlist.

Blaine grinned and nodded.

“I’ll go fetch Santana and the other housekeepers,” Tina said. “There’s only three of them, can you imagine? For a hotel this big! How many rooms are there exactly?”

“114 rooms and suites. Yes, no wonder the rooms aren’t clean, they must have been rushed off their feet doing the bare minimum. Let me get Mrs. Evans, too. She promised to help us out with the cleaning.”

The six of them teamed up and managed to give about a dozen rooms a thorough cleaning.

Then Santana looked at her watch and said her shift was over. She and her colleagues Zoey and Kaylee went home, promising to come back the next day.

“Let’s continue cleaning for a bit longer,” Mrs. Evans said. “We won’t be able to get all the rooms done, but the more we can do the better.”

Blaine kept the receptionist updated on which rooms they’d tackled so far, so that when a new guest was sent up, Blaine could show them to a sparkling clean room.

When Blaine’s stomach began to growl, he ended the cleaning party and announced that it was dinner time.

“What do you usually do for dinner?” he asked Mrs. Evans, and she said they normally had Sam pick up some take-out.

“Would you and your family have dinner with Tina and me?” Blaine asked. “We’ll make something quick here in the kitchen. Maybe stir-fry?”

She smiled at him and said that would be lovely.

“Let’s check what’s in stock in the kitchen and then go grocery-shopping,” Tina said to Blaine. “Santana said the cook had walked out before we arrived, and that he wasn’t any good anyway, so we’ll have to hire a new one. Until we’ve found a cook, we’ll need to prepare the breakfast buffet for our guests ourselves. Nothing too fancy. Orange juice, coffee, rolls and scrambled eggs and bacon, that sort of thing. I’ve asked Santana what we need to serve, and where it’s normally bought. And we can buy supplies to make ourselves dinner. Thank heavens the electrical appliances in the kitchen all seem okay, according to Jim. I can’t live without an oven and a refrigerator.”

Blaine checked the provisions and drew up a shopping list.

“Let’s also bake some cookies to get a better smell circulating here,” Tina suggested. “Chocolate chip!”

“Chocolate chip it is!”

As they went out, Blaine told Jayden, the front desk clerk, that he’d be gone for a while, and would Jayden hold the fort in the meantime? The guy scowled. No doubt he’d been hoping to go home. It was getting late, and he had to be hungry too. But Jayden was the only front desk clerk Blaine had at the moment, so he’d have to stick it out a little longer.

Blaine resolved to be as quick as possible with the shopping.

When he and Tina came back, both carrying overflowing grocery bags, a loud voice berated them as soon as they came near.

“This hotel is the WORST I’ve ever been to! I’ve got a reservation for tonight, and I can’t even check in! There’s nobody at the desk and when I ring the bell, nobody comes. And don’t think I’m the only one! You’ve missed out on at least five customers while you were away!”

And yes, there was no-one behind the front desk. It seemed Jayden had not waited for Blaine to return and had left his post and gone home. Probably seconds after Blaine’s car left the parking lot. Ah well.

Blaine hurried to get behind the desk and check the girl in. She looked no older than he was, but stylish and sophisticated, and he wondered why on earth she’d be staying in this run-down hotel in the middle of nowhere.

He checked the reservations spreadsheet on his laptop, and yes, her name was on it. Harmony Brentwood.

“I apologise, Miss Brentwood,” Blaine told the girl. “My brother has only just bought this hotel, and we’re short-staffed. I hope you don’t mind waiting in the lounge area while we prepare a room for you, and I hope you will join us for dinner, on the house, to make up for any inconvenience.”

Miss Brentwood’s chin went up. “No, thank you. I’m going to eat at my grandma’s. I just want to leave my luggage here and get the key to my room. You can expect me back around eight thirty. Make sure my room is ready by then.”

“Certainly, Ma’am.”

Blaine handed Miss Brentwood a key, jotting down the room number in his spreadsheet, and grimaced as she left the hotel, still clearly displeased.

“We’re not making a good impression on our customers.”

Tina shrugged. “We’ll have a grand re-opening once the renovations are complete, and invite the local press. That should help.”

A while later, they were eating stir fry with the Evanses. The chocolate chip cookies were just out of the oven, and Stevie and Stacey were sniffing the cookie smell appreciatively.

“Much better, huh?” said Tina. “We’ve made good progress already. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Evans. I’m sure you’re just as glad as I am that your room has been cleaned thoroughly for a change. And we managed to do enough rooms from top to bottom to offer each of our guests a clean place to stay. Plus one extra for Blaine and I to sleep in. Thank heavens we bought those towels and sheets that were on sale at Walmart. The ones that were in the rooms were dingy, ugh. And we’ve gotten the trash out of all the rooms and put some cleaner in every toilet, sink and shower to let it soak. That’s a good start.”

Blaine hummed in agreement, too exhausted to speak. They’d not only cleaned rooms, but also the reception and the lounge.

While making the stir-fry, he’d resolved to get started on the kitchen the following day.

The state of the kitchen was horrendous – no wonder the guests had mentioned mice!

It needed a good scrubbing until all the stickiness was gone from the counters and the floors. They would also have to clean out the grubby fridge and oven and wash all the cooking utensils thoroughly, until they were spotless.

Recruiting more staff was on the agenda for the next day too. He needed more staff, and that really couldn’t wait if he wanted the hotel to run like clockwork.

After finishing the stir fry and having two cookies each, they put the rest of the cookies in a plastic container, washed up their plates and cutlery and wished each other good night.

Blaine and Tina headed to the room they’d assigned for their own personal use.

“Do you think Harmony has arrived yet?” Tina asked.

As they approached their room, the question was answered by loud singing further down the hall.

“I think Miss Brentwood’s in her room, yes,” said Blaine. “I really hope she doesn’t plan on singing long. My head aches enough as it is.”

“So what’s your plan for tomorrow?” Tina wanted to know.

“Recruiting staff. Apart from that, it’s going to be cleaning again. This place needs it.”

K & B

The next morning, Blaine woke up early, slipped into his clothes without waking Tina and went downstairs to prepare the breakfast buffet for the hotel guests plus Tina and himself.

Most guests that turned up in the dining room ate the breakfast he provided happily enough, but Miss Brentwood turned up her nose again for his cooking, requesting only hot water with lemon.

She thawed out, though, when she inquired at check-out who the new owner was, and Blaine told her it was his brother, Cooper Anderson.

“Cooper Anderson? The actor?”

“Yes, Miss Brentwood.”

“So he might show up here any moment?”

“Well, not any moment,” Blaine hedged, “seeing as he’s in New Zealand right now, for…”

“Oh, yes, I know! I so look forward to seeing him play in Dragons and Rings!” Miss Brentwood squealed, all smiles now, and she winked at Blaine. “Tell you what, if you give me a heads-up when Cooper arrives here, I’ll give you a good Yelp review.”

Blaine, who knew Cooper enjoyed being fawned over, readily agreed to that, and added her e-mail address to his spreadsheet.

Blaine spent most of the day interviewing job candidates, sent his way by the existing staff and by all the temporary employment agencies he’d contacted in the area. The very first people he recruited were Mrs. Evans as the head of housekeeping and Mr. Evans as the maintenance manager.

Mrs. Evans teamed up with the housekeepers and Tina again to give the kitchen and the rest of the rooms a thorough scrubbing.

Though Blaine had been afraid Jayden would not show up anymore after having to work such long hours the day before, the clerk was back at the front desk by nine a.m.

Blaine made sure to recruit more hospitality staff so that they could work in shifts from now on.

In the afternoon, Tina’s friends Marley and Unique showed up. Marley was accompanied by her mother, who wished to apply for the job of hotel cook.

“My name’s Millie, sir, Millie Rose. I can’t do any fancy cooking, but I gather it’s just breakfast you need here. I can do breakfast.”

“The hours are early, though,” Blaine warned Mrs. Rose. “You will be expected here at five o’clock in the morning, seeing as breakfast is served from six until ten.”

“Those hours are perfect! I’m an early riser anyway, and I work as a lunch lady at the McKinley High School, where I’m expected at eleven.”

Blaine pursed his lips. “The kitchen staff will be expected to tidy and clean the dining room and the kitchen as soon as the breakfast buffet is closed. You will have help, of course, I’ll hire a few bussers, but…”

“Oh, no worries, sir, I won’t leave before everything’s sparkling clean. I’ve got time enough. The school is only five minutes from here, so even if the last guests don’t finish their breakfast ‘till after ten, I’ll still have enough time to clean up after them.”

Millie smiled at Blaine with hope in her eyes, and Blaine nodded. “Welcome to the team, Mrs. Rose!”

K&B

After a week, the first shipment arrived of what Monique had managed to buy for the hotel: beds and mattresses. The entire hotel team helped unpacking the shipment, and after that some of the male staff, supervised by Mr. Evans, started taking apart the old beds and assembling the new ones.

Monique had called ahead and apologised that the lot she’d bought wouldn’t be enough for all the rooms, but Blaine was very pleased nonetheless, and thanked her with a lot of gushing.

He’d been sleeping on one of the old mattresses, and now his back was aching worse than it ever had. So even one new mattress would have been welcome, and she’d sent enough of them for at least half the rooms. Seeing as the hotel wasn’t exactly overflowing with guests, that would be enough for the moment being.

Mrs. Evans was happy as well, telling Blaine that even Stevie and Stacey had complained about back pain. “And these new beds look so comfy, and they don’t creak at all. I think we’ll all sleep a lot better tonight!”

While having a quick lunch, Blaine went over his checklist.

All the rooms were clean now – check!

The rooms that were in use had new beds, new mattresses, new bedding and new towels -check!

The reception and lounge were tidy and clean – check!

The kitchen and everything in it was clean – check!

The pantry, fridge and freezer were stocked – check!

He halted at the next item. “Provide ramps for wheelchairs and strollers.”

Right. That was definitely something he needed to do as soon as possible. And he needed to look into making some of the rooms on the ground floor accessible for people with mobility issues.

He spent the rest of his lunch break researching and then called Monique for advice on where to get ramps, automatic door and blinds openers as well as grab bars for the toilet and the shower.

She promised to order all of those for him with next-day delivery. “No skimping on that, it’s too important. Are you doing all right otherwise?”

“So far, we are, yes. Thanks for all your help, Monique!”

A bit later, the pest control firm arrived, and Blaine had to warn the Evanses that they would have to leave their room for a bit so that it could be fumigated.

Blaine was replacing a lightbulb in the lounge, humming along with Sam, who was playing the guitar and singing to entertain his younger siblings, when he saw a van arrive in the parking lot. Minutes later, two men headed towards the hotel. One of them was in a wheelchair.

“Sam, go find a few sturdy planks from the old beds please, we need a wheelchair ramp!” Blaine yelled.

Sam was back in a jiffy, carrying the planks with his dad, and Blaine helped them create a makeshift ramp.

It did the job, though the man in a wheelchair told them they needed a permanent ramp.

Blaine was so glad he could tell the guy they would have a real ramp the next day.

He forgot all about that, though, when he asked if they had made a reservation, and the answer was that they were inspectors. The one in the wheelchair was called Inspector Abrams, and the other, who was tall, stunning and sharply dressed, introduced himself as Inspector Hummel.

Wow. We’ve only been here a week and we’re already being inspected? That’s not good. There’s still so much to be done!

Inspector Hummel asked after Smythe. Clearly, no-one had informed them the hotel had changed ownership, so Blaine hastened to tell them his brother owned it now, and that they were in full renovation mode, sending the inspector his most charming smile, and hurrying to fetch the documents he requested.

The charm offensive did not work. Inspector Hummel frowned at him, a frown that only deepened when Tina turned up and happened to know Inspector Abrams from high school.

She spent some time chatting with him, which led to Inspector Abrams offering them more time to fix up the place.

Inspector Hummel looked like thunder by now. His jaw was set, and Blaine couldn’t help but admire the classic beauty of his profile – like a marble statue.

The two inspectors argued, and Blaine was quick to point out issues he’d already solved so as to tilt the scale in favour of him getting extra time.

The stakes were high, that much was clear.

From the argument between the inspectors, Blaine learned that they’d come to inspect this hotel several times, and that Smythe had made promises he’d never delivered on so as to get them off his back. And this was supposed to have been the final inspection, and if anything wasn’t in order, the hotel licence would be revoked.

Wow. No wonder Smythe wanted to offload the hotel. Bastard.

Inspector Hummel didn’t want to grant them any more time, fearing that Blaine was going to back out of his promises too.

Tina was quick to defend Blaine, and in the end, that must have helped.

Inspector Hummel agreed to give them more time. There were two conditions, though. Blaine would receive a list of issues from the inspectors, and had to solve each and every one. And the inspectors would come back every fortnight to check up on his progress.

Well, that was no more than Blaine had expected, and that list would be handy to have, so he readily agreed to those terms, and gave the inspectors his contact information, promising to keep them in the loop.

He was thankful to have averted the crisis of losing the hotel licence.

For now, yes, but Inspector Abrams was friendly enough, and Inspector Hummel, well… He’d win him over too, Blaine vowed to himself. He would put the inspector’s fears to rest by improving the hotel in every way he could.

He watched the inspectors leave, enjoying the back view Inspector Hummel provided, and looking forward to seeing the gorgeous man again.

However handsome the inspector looked when he was angry, Blaine was determined to get into his good graces.

I bet with a smile he looks even more stunning!

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Dog Unleashed (M) ~Lee Know

Pairing: Werewolf!Minho x Human!F.Reader Themes: Supernatural/Fantasy AU | Smut | Fluff | Mild Angst? | Established Relationship Word Count: ~11k | AO3 Synopsis: Starting a relationship with the man that had been your best friend since you were a kid was and wasn’t easy in equal parts. It was, because there wasn’t anyone in this world you trusted more than Minho, there wasn’t anyone that made you feel this safe. But sometimes, it just wasn’t. Not only because of the physical distance, but also because of the challenges that posed having a supernatural boyfriend who didn’t like to talk about his equally supernatural problems. [This story is a sort of pt. 2 to Camping with Wolves, and it’s an instalment of my WereRoomies series]. Warnings: pet names (baby, kitten, etc) · a bit of miscommunication (it’ll be fine, i promise) · graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut). please let me know if i missed anything !

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Author’s Note: i dedicate this one to my fellow monsterfuckers. this had been sitting in my WIPs for a while, but i finally got some inspo to write about Minho and his kitten, so here it is 🥰 kudos to the anon from this ask for cementing in my brain the idea that minho would text his kitten every morning like he does here. as usual, don’t hesitate to let me know if anything’s phrased weirdly, or to leave your thoughts in the tags/captions/send an ask/etc. y’all know i really appreciate them💜

for those that might not know, a queen is an adult female cat that hasn’t been spayed.

Minho’s WereRoomies Instalments: Camping With Wolves · Dog Unleashed · Are You There, Wolf?

Smut Warnings: sexting? (nudes are sent) · an anal plug is used · oral [M&F.Rec] · mouth fucking · fingering [F.Rec] · forced orgasm [F.Rec] · unprotected penetration [piv] · good ol’ rut driven intercourse · creampie · knotting · a barely present breeding kink.

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

You’d always known you were in love with your best friend, although you weren’t quite sure when you fell for him exactly, much less when you realised it.

Maybe it had been the moment you saw him on the brink of death, attached to all those life support devices after he’d been attacked by a werewolf… Or maybe before that, when he started to become the most reliable person in your life… Or, maybe, it was the very first day you met him, when he was placing injured stray kittens in a box to get them to a vet as soon as possible so they wouldn’t die.

Regardless, it didn’t really matter to you when it happened or when you noticed it, all that mattered to you right now was the fact that, after one fateful camping trip to the woods, you had finally been able to confess your feelings. That, even though you had never even entertained the possibility of him wanting you, he actually did. And not only did he want you, he wanted you a lot–for a long time, too.

Minho was your favourite person in this world, and starting a relationship with him seemed to have only heightened that feeling tenfold. He was your biggest supporter, he was always there for you. Even if you lived almost an hour away, you knew that, at any given moment, you’d be able to call him and he’d be there for you. Either on the phone or he’d drive to your place as fast as he legally could. 

The distance hardly ever seemed to matter. Of course you missed him every day–you’d always done so, even when you were just friends–Of course you wished you could go to bed with him next to you every night, but that wasn’t a possibility at this time, so you both made do however you could. 

Your previously monthly schedule to hang out had turned into a weekly one. You both tried to meet up every weekend. Most of the time it was you who drove to his place–to his den–since being surrounded by him and his family was always incredibly comforting to you. It was always much, much better than your cold, borderline sterile flat.

He’d asked you to move in with him several times throughout the years, and you had never really entertained that offer, mostly because of your job–and maybe also because, at the time, your feelings for him were too hard to ignore even with the distance, so living with your best friend who you had deep feelings for simply would’ve made it all so much more difficult.

Now that you were officially A Thing, the offer hung in the air. Minho hadn’t asked again after you got together, but you knew it was on the tip of his tongue every time you both became tangled limbs on his bed. And even though he had not asked yet, you were still thinking about it, wondering what you would answer, and how you’d handle the aftermath of that answer.

If you said yes, you’d have to drop your job and try to find one closer to his place, and honestly, at this time, you weren’t sure you were ready to face the levels of anxiety job hunting always brought you to. But then, saying no wouldn’t have felt right at all, because, ultimately, you wanted to be as close to Minho as you could. You supposed it was for the best that he hadn’t talked to you about it yet, it’d give you more time to figure things out, to mentally prepare yourself.

The sound of your phone vibrating on your nightstand brought you back from your thoughts. You’d been waking up earlier than usual these days, probably because you had a lot of things on your mind, so you had been lying there for around an hour already, waiting for your alarm to go off. 

The vibration wasn’t produced by your alarm, though. It was produced by an incoming message, so you stretched your arm, taking your phone from where it had been charging all night. A smile made its way to your face as you read the preview of a message you already expected to receive, and as you read the contact name your dear boyfriend had decided to add to his number no more than two days after you got together.

You wasted no more time and unlocked your phone to read the whole thread.

> MinhoTheBestBoyfriendEver: good morning kitten > did you sleep well? > was i in your dreams?

Minho had always had his own way of being clingy when you were friends. He’d sent messages throughout the day with any and every thought that he wanted to share with you, he’d try to hang out for as long as possible, or he would hug and cuddle you for hours when possible. Now, as your boyfriend, that clinginess had doubled, and you were honestly enjoying the extra attention he was giving you, just as much as you were enjoying his extra need for attention.

< You: Of course you were. < You’re the man of my dreams, after all.

> MinhoTheBestBoyfriendEver: 🙀🙀🙀🙀🙀 > 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 > cmon > tell me everything > dont you dare leave any details out

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you moved to your notes app, copying the text you’d written on this morning’s note and pasting it in the conversation with your boyfriend. It was a habit you’d picked up throughout the years, to write your dreams in a journal or your phone as soon as you woke up, so you wouldn’t forget. Minho knew, of course. So if he found out you dreamt something, he wanted to have every single detail.

Once you finally got out of bed that morning–at the protests of Sir Percival, your elderly cat that loved to cuddle you to sleep, a cat Minho himself had rescued when you were little–you started getting ready for your day. It was Thursday, but you were already excited for the weekend since you had taken a compensation day tomorrow, so you’d have three whole days you could potentially spend with your boyfriend. He didn’t know yet, though. Your plan was to surprise him tonight, and you hoped everything worked in your favour.

With a fresh face of makeup, dressed in your most professional outfit, you took the bag you kept ready in your closet, full with clean changes of clothes, pyjamas, underwear, toiletries, and anything you could need for your weekend out of the house. The bag was a bit more stuffed than usual today, all thanks to the other part of the surprise you had prepared.

Shooting your friend–and neighbour–a quick text to confirm she’d be able to take care of Sir Percival during your absence, you finally took your belongings and made your way out of your home, into the elevator, and finally to the basement, where your car was parked. Once you had placed the extra bag in the boot of your car, you opened your messaging app again, searching your conversation with one of Minho’s closest friends, and the alpha of his pack, Chris, so you could send him a text, too. 

Thankfully, it seemed like Chris was awake already, because he replied almost immediately.

< You: Hellooooo, Mr Alpha of the Pack.

> Chris (Minho): hey mrs kitten of my left hand > hows it going

< You: All good, all good.  < I was wondering if it was okay for me to stay over tonight? < And, subsequently, the entire weekend? < I wanna surprise Minho. Please don’t tell him.

> Chris (Minho): of course u can stay over > u dont even need to ask at this point tbh > also consider my mouth sealed shut > welcome back (:

As soon as you knew you could carry out your surprise the day seemed to slow down immensely. Work was just taking too long to be over, the minutes seemed to be lasting a hundred and twenty seconds instead of sixty, and by the time five o’clock rolled in you were already coming out of the office and practically sprinting to your car.

As soon as you sat down on the driver’s seat and secured your seat belt, you checked your phone to see if your boyfriend had answered the message you had sent him earlier in the day. Thankfully, he had just replied.

< You: How’re you doing, baby? < How’s work?

> MinhoTheBestBoyfriendEver: hi kitten > on a break rn > but im pissed > people are just so bad at taking care of their furry friends > cuz theres this like huge ass dog that swallowed a ball > a whole ball baby can you believe? > all cuz these people just werent paying attention to him > hes done this before you know? > im gonna have to stay back for a few hours > he needs surgery > and im the only one that can carry him around > so im pissed > sorry for rambling ☹

You did feel bad for Minho, you knew these things usually got to him, especially since he could quite literally understand his furry patients. However, you also felt relieved, because his overtime meant you would be able to sneak into his flat no problem.

< You: Aw, baby, I’m sorry 🙁 < That sucks. < I hope the big baby makes it just fine. < Do you need a pick-me-up?

You had this habit with Minho even before when you were just friends. When your day was rough either of you two would offer a pick-me-up, which previously consisted of sending cute pictures of Sir Percival, or memes, or just videos of cute animals in general. Lately, though, your pick-me-ups had turned a bit more… Intimate.

> MinhoTheBestBoyfriendEver: god yea > i could use a pickmeup > you can send whatever you want > anything really > but if it influences your decision > know that im alone in the break room > and that i miss you a lot > a whole lot

You chuckled, amused at just how Minho would take every chance you presented to him. So you went into that private folder in your gallery, searching for the most recent pictures you’d taken, the ones with the new lingerie set that you had yet to use.

< You: [sent a photo] < [sent a photo] < [sent a photo] < [sent a photo]

> MinhoTheBestBoyfriendEver: ffffuck me > thats a pickmeup alright > look at you > is that new? > that bras so fucking sheer tf > barely covering your tits > you should bring that tomorrow > so i can rip it off of you

< You: I’ll see what I can do 😇 < Going to start driving now. < Let’s talk later, yeah?

> MinhoTheBestBoyfriendEver: alright kitten > drive safe > lmk when youre home

You didn’t have that particular set in your bag today, but you were sure that what you did have would be even better.

Recently, Minho and his pack had added these digital door locks to the doors of their den. You’d always had a spare key to Minho’s flat for emergencies, but now whenever you came here and tapped the exact date of the day you and Minho met made you feel incredibly special, maybe embarrassingly so.

You still remember when Minho told you that was the number combination he had decided to use. He’d presented his cheek to you and asked ‘aren’t I the best boyfriend ever?’ to which you couldn’t help but laugh, kissing his cheek and replying ‘you’re the cutest boyfriend ever’. 

You gave him amazing head an uncountable amount of times that weekend.

As soon as you were inside you settled your belongings in his room, and took your time to freshen up. After around thirty minutes of you being in his flat, Minho had sent you a message whining that he had finally been able to leave work and that he was dying to be home already. So you quickly got yourself ready, after all, the surprise you’d prepared today wasn’t just your presence.

You’d honestly been wanting to try this for a while; you’d been eyeing this entire lingerie set and its added accessories for months, and a couple of weeks ago you finally got the courage to get it. Was it a bit corny? Perhaps. But you knew Minho, and you were certain that the combination of the black top with the cat-shaped cutout in the middle showing where your breasts met, the flimsy panties that could very well be called lacy straps more than anything else, the black stockings with squishy paw pads, the choker with a dangling bell around your neck, the cat ears clipped to your hair, and the plug with the attached black tail inside your ass would make him lose it. Which was exactly what you wanted.

A riled up Minho meant a riled up werewolf boyfriend that’d fuck you silly, and after spending days without seeing him, that was exactly what you were craving tonight.

Your heart almost leaped out of your chest when you heard the characteristic beep, beep, beeps of the front door’s keypad. They were obnoxiously loud and they seemed to bounce off the walls and shoot right inside of you, making you all giddy. So you got comfortable on Minho’s bed, laying on your stomach, adjusting your tail so it’d rest over your back, and propping your chin on your hands.

Very quickly, the sound of the door closing shut was replaced with the sound of your boyfriend sighing, coupled with an ungraceful thud as you figured Minho dropped his bag by the entrance. And suddenly, everything was quiet.

“No fucking way!” You couldn’t help but smile as you heard your boyfriend’s footsteps grow closer. “Please tell me I’m not fucking hallucinating your scent in my house right now, that’d be so mean…”

As soon as he reached the open bedroom door, he brought a hand to his chest and gasped. The surprise lasted a second, because he immediately crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. “Well, well, well… What do we have here?”

“Welcome home, Minho”, you gave him a smile, just as you kicked your stocking clad feet in the air.

“Well…” Minho walked to the bed, stopping by the end of it and reaching for one of the cat ears clipped to your hair to flick it softly. “It seems like a kitten has truly made her way into my house, hm?”

You–very shamelessly if you might add–moved your gaze from his eyes to his crotch, seeing the bulge in his trousers grow with every second he looked at you, and it sent a rush of excitement down your spine. Returning your eyes to his, you simply smiled at him again before you rolled onto your back, exposing your stomach to him.

The motion had the plug in your ass moving a bit, and immediately you felt yourself heat up with arousal, especially so as you took notice of Minho’s blown pupils, and his borderline predatory stare.

“I was just missing my wolf boyfriend so bad. Figured I’d pay him a visit. Give him a little surprise”, you dragged your hands down your torso, from your chest, all the way down to squeeze them right between your bent legs.

“Mmm…” Tipping his head to the side a bit, Minho’s eyes fixed for a moment on the exposed skin of your breasts, only to move along to your exposed stomach. “I’d say it’s more than a little surprise”.

“Do you like it, though?”

“Kitten”, Minho’s eyes snapped back to yours. He moved his hand to his crotch, effectively diverting your attention to the movement just as he cupped himself over his trousers. “Look how fucking hard I am. I’m absolutely fucking delighted”.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, reaching for his crotch, too, slipping your hand between his and the denim, giving him a hefty squeeze.

“Baby, wait. I have to take a shower”, despite his words, his hips bucked, chasing the warmth of your palm as you pressed it a bit more firmly against his erection. “I’m serious. I’m probably covered in all sorts of animal fluids”.

“You could be covered in my fluids, though”.

“God”, Minho dragged his hands over his face, pulling himself away from you entirely and walking towards the door, making you pout. You knew he was right, he surely needed his shower, but the ache that had steadily been building between your legs as soon as he stepped into the room was just too strong to ignore.

Before he disappeared into the hall, he turned to you again. “Wait for me right there, okay? Just like that. Won’t be long, promise”.

So you giggled, reaching for your phone as soon as he was out of your sight to keep yourself entertained while he was in the bathroom.

The sight of your boyfriend, all flushed from his hot shower, with droplets still travelling down his torso that got caught on the towel he had wrapped around his hips, was, quite honestly, mouth watering. As soon as he was standing at the end of the bed, with a smirk plastered on his pretty face, you just reached for the towel, letting it fall on the floor to find his already hard length.

“And I haven’t even touched you, baby”, you chuckled, licking your lips, looking up at him from where you were lying on the bed, still on your back, right where he left you. Even upside down, you still found Minho to be one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen, and you honestly felt incredibly happy you could be here with him right now.

“You didn’t need to”, he walked closer, placing a hand on your cheek as he looked down at you. “I got so fucking hard just thinking about you being out here while I was in the shower. Now, kitten, come a bit closer to the edge and open up. Hm?”

You just did as asked, letting your head fall over the edge of the bed as your boyfriend took a hold of his length and guided it to your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan as soon as he eased himself inside, just like it didn’t seem like he could hold back the groan that left his lips as soon as your lips wrapped around his cock.

“Mmm… Fuck”, with a deep inhale, Minho threw his head back, starting to rock his hips, fucking your mouth, and the sounds coming out of his mouth, coupled with the feel of him slowly easing into in and out of our throat had you pressing your thighs together.

Minho took his time with you from then on, teasing you, bringing you to the brink of insanity numerous times. He played and toyed with you however he pleased, getting you close to your high with his hands before he slowed down his motions to let it dwindle down, only to do it all over again with his mouth. He did this several times, for a while, until you were desperately begging to be fucked. 

‘Hands and knees, kitten. Ass in the air, just like the queen you are. I’ll fuck you just how you want’, and how could you not comply when your body felt tingly all over? From Minho’s words to the way he held your hips as he plunged his cock into your aching heat, all combined had your senses on overdrive, all thoughts finally flying out the window as soon as he started to pound you to the bed, reducing you to a moaning, borderline pathetic mess.

The force of his thrusts had the bell around your neck tinkling with every harsh smack of his hips against your rear, barely even audible over the sound of your desperate pleas and his blissed grunts. His pace didn’t relent until you were shaking with your release, until he pushed you to the brink of overstimulation chasing his own, until the results of his high painted your back as a drawn out groan came from his lips.

The soaked washcloth on your back made your body jolt. ‘Shh, you scaredy cat. It’s okay’, Minho mumbled as he cleaned you up, offering words of encouragement while he helped you get out of your soiled outfit, removing each item one by one–taking special care with the tail plug to avoid any discomfort, wiping away any remnants of lube or cum off of your body.

As soon as you were completely nude and clean enough, you finally plopped on the bed with a satisfied sigh, feeling incredibly light and content. Minho pulled you into his arms, placing a kiss on your forehead as he hugged you tightly. “Mmm… That was so good, baby. Best girlfriend ever. My dearest kitten, I missed you so much”.

You chuckled, feeling your heart swell in your chest as you cuddled closer to him. “Missed you, too, baby”, you pressed a brief kiss on his chest before you rested your head over his heart, listening to its slightly accelerated pace. “How was your day? How was it with the big baby?”

So Minho started talking, recounting any and every detail he could remember of his work day. You could listen to him speak for hours, honestly. Especially at times like these, when his volume was this low, when his words came out slowly, when he looked this peaceful.

He asked about your day, too, of course. He always did. So you told him, only the details worth telling, not really feeling like thinking about your boring job right now. Minho knew that anyway, he’d always known you hardly ever felt like talking about it, so he never pressed for any extra details unless he got particularly intrigued by something–meaning, unless any possible office gossip was mildly interesting. 

These days, though, there had been something on your mind, so you figured now was as good a time as any to talk about it. “Just out of curiosity…” You mumbled, playing with Minho’s fingers. “When is your rut starting?”

You knew about ruts. You’ve known since Minho’s very first rut when you were still teens, but he never really liked to talk about them. He always seemed to avoid the topic completely whenever you tried to ask him about it before. Most of the knowledge you had on the topic was given to you by Jisung or the other girls at the den, but you wanted to know about your boyfriend’s experience specifically.

“How do you feel about hot dogs for dinner?” Was all Minho replied, immediately untangling his limbs from yours and getting up from the bed. 

You blinked a few times, confused at the sudden question, watching him put on the joggers he kept folded on his nightstand and leave the bedroom entirely. Was he… Was Minho ignoring your question? Why? It was a normal thing to ask, wasn’t it? You were his partner, you assumed you had to know these things.

So you stood up from the bed, making your way to the dresser to fish a fresh pair of panties from your bag to cover yourself, and one of Minho’s oversized t-shirts to pull it over your head. If Minho thought he was going to avoid the subject like he had done all these years he was certainly in for a surprise.

You found your boyfriend walking around his kitchen, getting pots from the oven and ingredients from the fridge. Leaning on the kitchen island, you crossed your arms over your chest, focusing your gaze on him. 

“Do you want one or tw–”

“Why are you changing the subject?” You interrupted him, voice level, looking him right in the eyes. “I know you’ve never liked talking about your ruts, but now that I’m your girlfriend I figured I should be prepared, so I’d like to–”

“Prepared?” Minho was looking at you like you had three heads, like what you were saying made no sense. “You don’t need to be prepared for anything, kitten. Don’t worry about it”, he returned to his task, dismissing you entirely–or at least, you felt like he was dismissing you.

Walking his way, you got between him and the sink, where he was about to place a pot–to fill it with water, you presume. You saw Minho’s Adam’s apple bob, looking anywhere but your eyes.

“Minho. Look at me”.

He sighed, placing the pot next to you on the counter. Turning away from you, Minho brought his hands to his hair, ruffling it and tugging at it.

“Minho–”

“I’m not spending my rut with you”, Minho cut you off, and your eyes widened immediately. “So you don’t have to worry about that”.

You knew from Jisung and the girls that werewolves, especially alphas, preferred to have a companion to get through their rut, and also that, whenever they found themselves going into rut and they had a significant other, they craved said significant other the entire time, which was why his words stung. They pierced your heart, more than you ever thought they would.

“You don’t… Want to spend your rut with me?” You could feel your hands tremble, just as you felt your heart sink to your stomach.

“No”, Minho replied firmly.

You scoffed. The tremble in your hands seemed to increase, not only because you were hurt, but also because, all of a sudden, you were absolutely pissed. “So you don’t want me”, your voice was way too level, cold, scarily so.

“It’s not… It’s not like that”, Minho looked slightly alarmed, shaking his head, and with his eyes wide open. Still, he took a step closer to you, but you moved away.

“What is it, then?”

“I just… Don’t want to”, he swallowed, once again avoiding your eyes. “Can we–Maybe we can talk about this some other time, right now’s not–”

“I want to talk about this now, though. That’s why I asked”, you could feel the lump form in your throat the longer you looked at Minho, the longer he stayed quiet. It went on for a while, a thick, uncomfortable aura settled between you two. You’d never had such an unnerving exchange with Minho, so this was a completely unfamiliar territory. 

Eventually, you just couldn’t take it anymore. “Fine, then. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. I can’t stay here, though”, you walked past him and made your way towards the front door.

“Wait–!” was the last thing you heard Minho say before you slammed the door closed.

You were barefoot, still wearing only his shirt and your underwear. And as soon as you stepped out into the building’s corridor, you felt tears prick your eyes. The trembling in your hands seemed to have doubled, so you decided to go to the closest place you knew you’d be able to find comfort.

“It’s okay… It’s probably not what you’re thinking”, Jisung mumbled, caressing your hair, hugging you tightly against his chest while you cried.

“What else could it be, though?” You said between hiccups. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve probably felt embarrassed to be this emotional over something like this. But this was Jisung, your biggest confidant–second only to Minho in that regard.

Pulling yourself away from his chest, you rubbed the tears away with the back of your hand, feeling furious again. “Don’t you crave your partner when you’re in heat?”

“Yes, of course, but–”

“See?!”

“Listen to me”, Jisung held you by the shoulders, tightly, trying to ground you. “First of all, I’m an omega. The way I feel during my heat is different from the way he might feel during his rut. We’re instinctually different, yeah?”, you nodded, so he continued. “Second of all… Minho, he… He wasn’t born like this, remember? He’s a bit… Peculiar”.

“How so?”

“I can’t really explain it well, you know me… But he just… He’s really good at ignoring his instincts. So maybe… It’s something like that?” Jisung sighed, pulling you back into his chest. “I don’t know, babes. Minho’s a weird wolf”.

“He was a weird human, too”, you mumbled, rubbing your face on his top. “My weirdo…”

“I don’t doubt it”, Jisung chuckled as he kept caressing your hair, and honestly, it was helping you a lot. Even if you were still crying, at least you felt heard.

You both stayed in silence, until eventually Jisung fell back on the sofa with you in his arms, caressing your back or your hair, still trying to soothe you. You appreciated it. It wasn’t really in Jisung’s nature to care for people, but he often did, anyway. Or, at least, he tried his very best. He loved being on the receiving end of cuddles, but he also loved giving them, and he was great at it, too.

After a while, you pulled yourself from his chest, wiping your face with the back of your hand again. “You mind if I stay here tonight?”

“‘Course not. Minho wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I denied you shelter. Even when you’re asking for it because you’re mad at him”, Jisung chuckled, and it made you smile a bit.

You couldn’t help but pinch one of his adorably round cheeks. “You’re like the little brother I never had, you know?”

“I know”, he was positively beaming, and it warmed you up from the inside out. But then you thought about your boyfriend again, and you felt your lower lip wobble. Jisung looked at you, alarmed. You only saw him for a second, because you were burying your face in his chest again, crying again. He just held you tighter, sighing.

It was going to be a long night and you both knew it.

The gentle light filtering through the drapes was hitting your face, warming you up. You stirred awake, turning under the covers to lay on your other side. Even though your mind was still hazy, you still registered the presence in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. You assumed it was Jisung, so you got your hand out of the covers, blindly trying to find him.

“Morning”, you mumbled, finally making contact with his warm upper arm, and you patted him a few times.

“Morning”.

It wasn’t Jisung’s voice that greeted you. It was your boyfriend’s.

Your eyes snapped open. Minho was wearing just some washed out vest top and his grey joggers–the ones that were already too old and thin to wear out, the ones that he just used around the house, and his hair was tousled. Had he just gotten out of bed?

“Here you go. Drink up”, he handed you a glass of water. As soon as you saw the vessel filled almost to the top with liquid you realised just how much your head was throbbing, and how parched your mouth felt. You must’ve cried way more last night than you’d realised.

Sitting up, you stretched your limbs, and a small squeak left your lips with the motion. You took the glass from him, dawning it in one go, all as he just looked at you.

You were both silent for a moment, a long moment of you just looking at the glass in your hand and him looking at you. You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, but you didn’t dare speak first. You honestly didn’t even know what to say.

“It’s not that I don’t want you”, Minho broke the silence first, and he turned his gaze to his lap, where he linked his fingers together, playing with his thumbs. “Please, don’t ever think I don’t want you. You’re the most important person in my life, in this entire world, you know that, right?”

You looked at him for a moment. You still felt hurt, but after your crying session with Jisung last night, and after hydrating some, you realised you might have jumped to conclusions. You knew, of course. You knew you were Minho’s favourite person in this world. Because he always showed that to you.

All these years, Minho had not only told you that, but he had also always shown you how important you were to him. Just as he was to you. So you sighed, placing the glass on the nightstand and shuffling closer to him. “I do know that”.

Taking his hand in yours, you caressed his knuckles with your thumb. “But you do understand where I’m coming from with what I asked you last night, right?”

Minho sighed. “I do…”

He squeezed your hand briefly, only to bring it to his mouth to place a small kiss on the back of it.

“I’m… Scared”, out of all the things Minho could’ve said, those weren’t exactly the words you were expecting to hear, and they really took you by surprise, especially when he said them so quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed by them.

“Scared of what?”

Minho finally looked at your face, cupping your cheek with his free hand, dragging his thumb over the dried tears on your skin. “Baby, when I’m going through my rut not wanting you is exactly the opposite of what actually happens. All these years, every single rut, every single one, all I ever wanted was you”.

You felt yourself flush. “You did?”

“Mm… I’ve always wanted you, but twice a year, for as long as we’ve been friends, it’s heightened tenfold. Why do you think I never wanted to talk to you about my ruts? Do you not remember how I couldn’t look at your face for a month after I got the first one? The thoughts that roam in my head when I’m going through it are just… Filthy”.

“Minho… I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you already say and do filthy things when we have sex?”

Minho chuckled at that, shaking his head a bit. “I mean, it’s not just what goes through my head… It’s what happens when those thoughts cross my mind”, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he continued talking. “I get so… Violent when I’m going through my rut… I… I’m really scared I’ll hurt you”.

Oh.

That was something you certainly hadn’t considered. But, Minho being violent for real didn’t seem to match him at all. He loved to pretend that he was mean and murderous, but, in reality, that wasn’t your Minho. “How… How violent?”

“I’ve broken beds before”, Minho shrugged. “And dressers. Doors… Many appliances… All by accident, but I did. Kitten, baby, you know I’m also an animal… I really don’t know how I’d react to your presence when I’m seriously feral. I… Don’t want to hurt you. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I did”.

He looked genuinely concerned, like he’d been hurting with this for a long time, and it made your heart feel heavy in your chest. So you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, nodding in understanding. That was when Minho finally leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead, then one on the tip of your nose, one on each cheek, and finally, one on your lips.

“I’m sorry I made you feel unwanted, baby. I should’ve… Communicated it better”, he mumbled the words on your cheek, placing a kiss on your skin again for good measure.

“You should’ve”, you mumbled back, finally looping your arms around his neck to pull him close, just as he hugged your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “But I’m sorry, too. You didn’t want to talk about it, and I pushed it”.

“I forgive you”, he pressed kisses on your neck, slow, tender kisses that had your heart fluttering in your chest and heat settling on your face.

“Me too…” You hugged him tighter, getting lost in his body heat and the feeling of his lips on your skin.

Minho shuffled around, getting under the duvet, and pulling you into his chest. “Let’s not go to bed without settling an argument ever again. Please?”

“Okay”, you mumbled against his chest, enjoying the smell of his fabric softener when you took a deep breath. “I’m sorry…”

“Me too”, he repeated, holding you a bit tighter, pressing a brief kiss to the top of your head.

After a maximum of ten seconds of silence, a couple of loud knocks made you jolt in Minho’s hold.

“You guys want pancakes?”

“Jisung! Were you eavesdropping?!” Minho shouted, making you laugh because of course Jisung was eavesdropping. It was Jisung.

“I won’t answer any accusatory questions without our Pack Mum here!”

You intercepted as you saw Minho was about to engage in possibly the pettiest discussion to ever happen in this flat. “Yes, Jisung! Yes, we want pancakes! Thank you, sweetie, you’re a great friend!”

The sound of Jisung’s footsteps got quieter the further down the hall he went, going towards the kitchen, you presumed. Just as you heard his shout of ‘of course I am!’ 

Minho scoffed, but he pulled you back into his chest. “You’re spoiling him rotten”.

“Technically, he’s yours to care for, Mr Left Hand of the Pack. I’m just the cool step-mum”, you chuckled, angling your head a bit to press kisses on his jaw. “Besides, don’t you want pancakes?”

“I do want pancakes”, Minho grumbled, rubbing his cheek on the top of your head, probably tangling your hair a bit in the process.

You both went silent after that, simply cuddling under the covers and sharing your warmth until Jisung called you to the kitchen for breakfast. You’d admit his pancakes were to die for, and after the rollercoaster of emotions you’d gone through the last handful of hours, you were grateful for the familiarity of a breakfast with Minho and Jisung. They always made you laugh with their antics, something that didn’t seem to change as the years went by–if anything, both of them just seemed to get funnier and weirder with age, and you loved to see it. You just loved them both with your whole heart.

With a stomach full of both sweet and savoury pancakes, with your boyfriend’s warm hand in yours, and a heart full of love, you just made your way back into Minho’s flat. The second you stepped into the threshold he just scooped you in his arms, making you giggle as he pressed kisses on your cheeks, taking you with him to the bathroom.

‘Need to get ready for work, want to shower with me?’ were the last coherent words coming out of Minho’s mouth before you found yourself drenched in lukewarm water, with your back against the cold tiles and his head between your legs, mumbling reassuring words against the skin of your inner thighs as he moved towards his destination.

‘Me not wanting you? Absurd. That’s absurd, kitten. I’ll show you just how much I want you’.

He might’ve been running late after that, but he still placed you on the kitchen counter once you were both dressed and squeaky clean, slotting himself between your legs and kissing you one last time. ‘Later, after work… Wanna take you to the park, to that ice-cream parlour you like. What do you think, kitten? Wanna go on a date with me?’ and, honestly, how could you refuse.

The girls of the pack had become good friends to you, which was quite refreshing. When it came to close friendships, you’d only ever had Minho and Jisung, which, even if you loved them to death, wasn’t the same as having friends that had gone through similar experiences in life–after all, the experience of being A Girl surrounded by supernatural creatures was a whole thing. Sure, you had one close female friend–your neighbour that usually took care of Sir Percival when you were gone–but even if you were comfortable when she was with you, there were things you just couldn’t talk about with her, so having these two girls in your life now was quite comforting.

Getting to sit on Chris’ sofa, with his girlfriend on one side, and Changbin’s girlfriend on the other while drinking a cup of relaxing tea was one of your favourite activities lately. Whenever you dropped by, you’d always try to make some time to hang out with them, and sometimes, like now, you liked to hear their opinions on certain things.

So, as soon as they were both available, and while you waited for Minho to get back from work, you seeked their advice.

The topic of discussion today was your boyfriend’s rut. Since Minho had always been very reserved when it came to giving you details about it, you honestly felt a bit lost, so you hoped the girls could help you understand the situation better. The conversation started after they swore they’d keep the details of what you talked about between you three, just like you always did whenever any of you needed some advice on a very private topic.

“Minho doesn’t really peg me as the violet type”, Chris’ girlfriend said as soon as you finished explaining the situation, looking thoughtful while her fingers tapped the mug in her hand.

“I agree”, Changbin’s girlfriend placed her empty mug on the coffee table, proceeding to turn to you and cross her legs on the sofa. “I’ve dealt with violent alphas before, and I don’t think Minho fits the criteria, to be honest…”

You grimaced a little at her words. You knew her story, how she had run away from an abusive pack with an equally abusive alpha, so you didn’t doubt her judgement, but it all only made you more confused. “Then? Why do you think he’d get violent during his ruts?”

She looked at you for a moment, pondering. After a few more moments, she finally spoke again. “Alphas… When they go through their ruts it’s hard for them to deal with their needs. Do you know if he gets violent when there’s another person involved?”

You shook your head. “As far as I’m aware, there’s never been another person involved”.

“Huh… Maybe that’s his problem”.

“Makes sense to me”, Chris’ girlfriend placed her mug on the coffee table and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the backrest, looking at the ceiling. “When Chris is going through his rut he’s so… Needy. In his own way, of course… I wonder how he dealt with it before we got together”.

As if on cue, the obnoxious beeps of the door’s keypad started to resonate in the flat. The door opened seconds later, followed by a tired groan and a thud–probably produced by Chris dropping his bag on the floor.

Chris came into the living room looking tired as ever, but still with a smile on his face. “Didn’t realise you were having a girl’s night. I would’ve gone straight to Changbin’s”.

As soon as he made it to the sofa he bent at the waist to peck his girlfriend’s lips, making her giggle a bit as she offered him a ‘welcome home’ and a ‘it’s alright, baby. It was an impromptu thing’. 

“Actually, now that you’re here…” You said when Chris finally pulled himself away from his girl and started to take things out of his pockets to place them on the kitchen counter. “Can I ask you a question? A very personal one?”

“Sure”, Chris replied simply, focusing on the items in his hands.

“What’s it like when you’re going through your rut?”

Chris’ face snapped in your direction, looking at you for a second only to turn to his girlfriend right after as a blush started to settle on his cheeks. “Wow, that’s… That’s certainly a personal question…”

“God, you can’t just ask that”, Changbin’s girlfriend laughed next to you. “Let me rephrase what our dear kitten here is curious about… Being more specific, if you went through your rut, and you didn’t have someone to spend it with, how’d you feel?”

“I don’t even want to ask what you guys were talking about before I came here, God…” Chris rounded the kitchen counter, going straight for the sink and opening the tap to wash his hands. “Guess it depends”.

“On?” His girlfriend urged, watching him return from the kitchen after he wiped his hands on a rag.

Chris sat next to his girlfriend, on the armrest of the sofa. “Well… Before I met you, it was okay-ish if I had to spend it on my own. I mean, it still hurt like hell, and I’d be incredibly frustrated the entire time, but I managed just fine”.

“And after?” You asked, although based on what Chris just said, you had a hunch as to what his answer would be.

“If I recall correctly, I went into rut only once after you moved in”, even if he was answering your question, Chris had his full attention on his girl as he said it, but after taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze he finally turned to look at you. “It was probably one of the worst ruts I’ve ever gone through in my life. It just… Hurt so bad. Everything hurt, and nothing I did made it better”.

“Baby, you never told me this”, Chris’ girlfriend placed her free hand on his thigh, pouting and giving him a squeeze, making him chuckle.

“It never came up”, Chris shrugged. “But, yeah… I think I almost broke the bathtub at some point because I was beyond frustrated… I think I could say I was borderline enraged. I honestly don’t know if I would’ve been able to stand another rut like that”.

Chris changed the topic after that. He stayed for a handful of minutes more, until he finally excused himself and made his way to the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, Changbin’s girlfriend placed a hand on your shoulder, whispering a ‘I think you’ve got your answer, then’.

And you also thought you did. After all, if Minho only ever wanted you during his ruts, the most logical conclusion to you was that the reason he got violent was because he simply couldn’t have you, and the rest seemed to agree.

The girls gave you their experience when it came to being with their partner’s while they went into their rut. They gave you pointers, advice, how to prep, all valuable information you were immensely glad to have. And after all that, you honestly didn’t feel as clueless anymore.

After that long weekend at Minho’s den, you never spoke about his rut again. You tried to bring up the topic a couple of times, but Minho still wasn’t ready to talk about it just yet, which you realised was something you simply had to accept. You couldn’t push him to tell you things when he didn’t feel comfortable doing so, and you honestly didn’t want to push him to talk about things that made him uncomfortable, so you offered one last ‘it’s okay, then. Whenever you feel like talking, I’ll be here. Hm?’ which he seemed to be immensely grateful for.

Minho still hadn’t asked you to move in with him again, but, after a couple of months, you realised he’d started to free up some space for you, or he’d add things to his flat for when you came over. All of a sudden, there were two bathrobes in his bathroom, two different sets of towels, all articles of clothing you’d forgotten over the weekend started to appear neatly folded inside a suspiciously empty drawer in his closet, to the point where sometimes you couldn’t find in your flat something you wanted to wear, only to find it that weekend in Minho’s closet or his dresser.

Which was why, at this point, whenever you went to visit you hardly ever took any extra baggage with you. Everything you could possibly ever need was already at his place, so sometimes, whenever you felt like it, you found yourself driving to his den to visit him, just like you were doing today.

You had the day off, so you just made sure Sir Percival had enough food, checked with your neighbour that she could check on him throughout the day, and you went on your way. You wanted to be there before Minho left for work, so you left very early in the morning to surprise him.

However, it seemed like the one that was in for a surprise was you.

As soon as the door of Minho’s flat closed behind you, you were almost winded by how fast everything happened.

Logically, you knew Minho was a supernatural being. He had enhanced senses, as well as enhanced abilities. You didn’t even see him coming, you just felt your back hit the door, the warmth of his body pressed flush against yours, and his panting in your ear.

“What… What are you doing here?” Minho rasped. His entire form was taut, he had his hands planted firmly against the door at either side of you, caging you in place. Immediately, you just knew something wasn’t quite right. How much warmer he felt against your body, the thin sheen of sweat covering his skin…

His rut.

Minho’s rut had started.

And you were here. Probably severely unprepared.

“I’m… I…” You gulped, suddenly feeling light-headed. The girls had told you you could be affected by his pheromones, but until now you hadn’t fully understood just how much. Your heart was racing, your hands trembled slightly at your sides, and heat was quickly pooling in the pit of your stomach.

Minho pressed his nose against your pulse point, inhaling deeply, and the sigh that came out of his lips after had you blushing immediately. “Answer me, kitten”.

“I just… Missed you, and…” You heard his fingers drag by your sides, producing an almost squeak-like sound with the movement because of how sweaty his palms were. 

“Leave”, Minho all but choked on the word. Fuck, you wanted to touch him… You wanted him to touch you, and that need had you pressing your thighs together to try and ease some of the ache that was quickly building between your legs. “Shit, you smell so fucking good, kitten… So–” He moved closer to your neck–if that was even possible–and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you there, but then he was shaking his head, pulling back just the tiniest bit. “Leave now. I won’t… Be able to stay coherent and hold myself back for much longer”.

You licked your lips, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply. “No”.

“Kitten–”

“I won’t leave”, you said firmly.

“Baby… Please–”

“I trust you, Minho”, you turned your head slightly, enough so you were almost whispering in his ear. “I trust you. I want you. Take me–”

In an instant, his mouth was on yours and his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against his body as your arms looped around his neck. Your whole body seemed to be alight, and the growl that resonated from deep inside of him as soon as his lips were on yours completely drowned your own moan of delight. With a hand holding the back of your head Minho angled you however he pleased, pushing his tongue inside your mouth, kissing you as if he were a starved man, as if the moment he stopped you’d vanish.

“You fucking…”

Minho detached himself from you enough to pull your shirt over your head. 

“Come in here…”

Shoving his hands down your joggers, he dropped to his knees and pushed them down along with your underwear. 

“Smelling like…”

Yanking your shoes off and finally pulling your bottoms fully off of you. 

“A proper queen in heat…”

With a tight hold on your hips, he flipped you around, the motion eliciting a moan from your lips. 

“Driving me fucking insane…”

He pulled your hips back, and you pressed your chest to the door, arching your back to give him better access once his hands found your buttcheeks, gripping you tightly and spreading you open. Cold air hit your centre, but that rush of cold was quickly replaced by the warmth of Minho’s tongue licking a fat stripe from your clit all the way up to your ass, making him groan in absolute ecstasy, making you groan in absolute ecstasy.

“My sweet, sweet kitten. All drenched and ready for me, huh?”

You desperately nodded, moaning as soon as his tongue was back on your heat, deliciously licking your clit as his hold on your buttocks tightened ever so slightly. “Just for you–”

“Fuck…” In a second, Minho was back on his feet, pressing his chest to your back, bringing his hands to your front to immediately dip two fingers into your dripping hole, just as he pressed two fingers on your clit with the other, making you tremble in his hold. “Gotta stretch you out, hm? Get you ready for your alpha, yeah?”

“Ye–yeah”, you could barely recognise the sound of your own voice, all your senses were focused on Minho, Minho, Minho, and his fingers inside of you, and his rumbling chest against your back, and his fingers on your clit, and the sound of his voice so incredibly low next to your ear.

Minho was working you up increasingly fast. Your high was approaching at an alarming pace, he shoved another finger into you, pushing them in and out, and the squelching sound was loud enough for you to hear among his rumble and his heavy breathing. You could feel him, hard, leaking fluids all over your ass as he kept working you up, as he kept rubbing your clit faster, thrusting his fingers harder, making your legs tremble.

“Gonna stuff you so full, fuck… I want you so, so bad…” As he eased his fourth finger into you, all you could do was pathetically whine, getting lost in the feel of him in you, around you, and all you wanted was for him to shove his monster cock inside of you, uncaring if he ripped you in half in the process.

“Want you, baby… Need you”, you panted, rolling your hips to stimulate his length where it squished between your bodies.

Minho just pressed himself further against you, snarling in that utterly animalistic fashion a wolf would to stop your movements. He shook his head, speeding his fingers on your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips. “Need to stretch you first, kitten. Need it, hm?”

You just whined in response, pressing your cheek against the cool door, finally submitting completely to your boyfriend. For a brief moment you were reminded of how physically different Minho was to you. He was able to produce sounds no human could, sounds you hardly ever heard from him when he was in his human form, and, coupled with his digits working you up, it was, quite honestly, getting you so incredibly close to your release you started to feel tears prick your eyes.

“Minho, baby–”

Minho’s fingers moved impossibly faster as soon as his name left your lips, and you could feel your essence start to drip between your legs. “Come on, kitten. Give it to me, yeah? Come for me, my love”.

With a few more flicks of his fingers on your already sensitive nub, you finally tipped over the edge, just as a mix of swear words and your boyfriend’s name and many pet names escaped your mouth. Blinding-hot pleasure raked your entire body, making you shake in Minho’s hold.

“That’s it, baby. Good, good kitten. God, you’re just a perfect little thing, aren’t you?”

You could hardly hear Minho over the ringing in your ears. You felt your legs jolt as he kept stimulating your clit, and, very quickly, you realised he had no plans to stop the movement of his hands.

“Min–Minho–”

“Shh, it’s okay. I know you can give me another. Please, please give me another, hm? Need it…”

“Oh, fuck–Minho, fuck–”

His pace didn’t relent until you were coming again, until tears collected in your lower lash line only to finally fall and paint roads on your cheeks. That consecutive high turned your limbs into jelly, it made you slump completely in your boyfriend’s hold once he finally removed his fingers from your core.

“So good, baby. You did well, kitten. So well for me…” He mumbled the words against your hair, letting you catch your breath just for a moment, just until you were able to stand on your feet unaided.

In a swift movement, he turned you around and scooped you into his arms, making you yelp when he pressed you hard against the door. Your legs wrapped around his waist for stability, just as your arms looped around his neck to keep yourself secure–not like Minho seemed to have any plans to let you fall, considering how hard he was holding onto you, how he was practically squishing you against the door as he ravished your mouth.

“Minho… Minho, baby, want you inside”, you whimpered as soon as his lips attached to your neck, sucking harshly on your skin to leave love bites all over. You had just had two earth-shattering orgasms, but you needed more. The desperation you felt to have your boyfriend’s cock inside of you was clinging to you like never before, and as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt his tip at your entrance, drenching you in his slick, mixing it with your own juices.

“Inside, huh? Here? Right here, kitten?” He eased fully into you in one swift motion, deliciously filling you up to your limits, making you throw your head back against the door and moan a string of noises that were akin to his name. “Fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

Minho immediately started to ram into you. No build up, just straight up pounding you to his flat’s door as if he’d die otherwise, making it rattle with each thrust. Had you not been so incredibly cock-drunk, you would’ve probably felt slightly embarrassed at the possibility of anyone walking by the corridor and hearing you, but instead, that brief thought only made you clench around your boyfriend’s length, aroused at the idea that everyone would know how good he was making you feel, that everyone knew just who you belonged to.

“So fucking good, shit. Almost feels… As if this cunt… Was made for me”.

You swallowed, feeling yourself clench harder around his length, feeling your tits rub against his chest and your clit against his pubic bone every time he moved. “It was–”

“Yeah, it fucking was”, he was fucking you impossibly harder now, and you were already past the speaking point, your mouth only able to produce unintelligible noises of pleasure as he kept ramming his cock into that sweet spot inside your walls, as he kept stretching you time and time again.

After a while, you started to feel the sting between your legs, and you vaguely registered the whimper that came out of your mouth.

Minho started to lick your cheeks, an oddly tender gesture compared to the way he was borderline rearranging your insides with his supernatural cock. “Shh… Kitten, it’s okay. You’ll take it just fine. I just know it. I’m gonna fill you to the brim, mark your delicious cunt as mine, hm?”

You just nodded in response, unable to say anything else, whimpering and whining and moaning as you quickly felt another release edge close.

Minho seemed absolutely determined to get you to come on his cock, his unrelenting pace seemingly unchanging despite the steady swelling of his knot at the base of his length. It kept catching at your entrance with each thrust, giving you a sensation of pleasurable pain quite like nothing you’d ever felt before.

“C’mon, baby… My precious queen in heat, aren’t you gonna come for your alpha again? Milk my cock so I can stuff you full of my pups?”

With a few more thrusts, you felt heat rushing all throughout your body, dragging an incomparable feeling of ecstasy from your centre to every single one of your limbs, just as Minho’s knot lodged deep inside of you and his lips found yours. The kiss was messy, all uncoordinated movements and bumps of noses as his warmth started to fill you up.

The blissed out noises coming out of his mouth had you holding him even tighter, making him hold you tighter in response. You knew Minho produced more fluids than a human male, but you’d never quite felt this amount coming out of him, it seemed like he was coming for at least a couple of minutes, and his kisses eventually became softer, more tender with every second that passed, almost as if that desperation he had when you came into his flat was finally diminishing.

You felt so impossibly full. Full of his cock, full of his cum, full of his love… Once he stopped coming Minho finally separated his lips from yours, slowly opening his eyes to look at your face. He was panting a bit, but the blinding, satisfied smile that made its way to his lips had your heart almost bursting in your chest.

“Holy… Fuck…” He panted, making you giggle a bit just as you tried to catch your breath as well.

“I agree”, was all you said, pressing a lingering kiss on each of his cheeks.

“Hold on…”

Minho made sure his hold on you was secure before he pulled you both away from the door a bit, enough to find your discarded clothes and push them towards the door with his foot. Slowly, and with admittedly a bit of discomfort, he lowered himself to sit on your clothes and rest his back against the door. You whimpered a bit once he fully lowered your ass to sit on your clothes as well, with your legs slightly bent at either side of him, and your knees against the door, the tug of his knot was a bit sharper than when he was moving before, but it seemed to ease as soon as you were finally settled.

“I’m sorry, baby. This is a horrible position to get tied in”, he caressed your lower back, keeping you as flush to him as he could without having his knot pull on your entrance. You just hummed in response, closing your eyes as you inhaled deeply.

You both were silent for a while, just holding onto each other, catching your breaths. Until you finally had regained enough of your strength to speak.

“Minho, that was…”

“A lot–”

“Hot as fuck”, you spoke at the same time, making you both chuckle. “Was that you being violent? ‘Cause… Damn…”

Minho laughed, a breathy laugh just as he leaned his head back against the door, shaking it from side to side in disbelief. “No, fuck. I was violent when you came in. I was close to breaking the bed in half… Then the smell of your scent hit me and I lost my mind”.

“You held back more than I imagined, I’d admit”, you chuckled, pushing his fringe off of his sweaty forehead.

“I don’t even know how I did it, to be honest”, Minho pecked your lips, and you hummed in content. “Now that I’ve finally had you like this… I see it so clearly. I’ve needed you so bad this entire time. Years, kitten! It’s been years of pure torture…”

You gave him an apologetic smile. “I figured as much”.

Minho blinked. “How come?”

“I did some digging”, you shrugged. “And after I just… Connected the dots. But you wouldn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t press you further”.

Minho just scoffed at that. “Alright, smarty pants”.

You squeezed his shoulders in protest. “Hey! Don’t call me smarty pants when I’m stuffed full of your cum while your supernatural cock keeps it all trapped in!”

Minho just laughed at your comment, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest at the sight of his eyes almost disappearing when he smiled.

“Which, by the way, is it always this much? I feel so… Full. Can’t believe it’s all in”.

“Yup”, Minho brought a hand to your cheek, stroking shapes with his thumb. “It’ll diminish eventually, but the first couple of days is a lot. But then again, your cunt was made for me, so of course it can fit it all in”.

You felt heat spread on your face at his words, and suddenly you felt a bit shy under his sparkly eyes. The ache in your legs was lessening a bit, and you realised his knot was starting to deflate, and his seed started to pour out. “Oh, crap. My joggers…”

Minho snorted at that. “Your joggers were ruined the second you stepped into this flat, baby. Don’t worry about them now”.

When your boyfriend’s length finally slipped out of you, he took you in his arms again and carried you to his bedroom, dropping you on his bed for you to rest while he got you some water.

“How many days do your ruts usually last?” You asked Minho once he was back, downing in record time the glass of water he’d handed you.

“Four to five days”, Minho huffed as he dropped himself on his bed next to you. “I’ll warn you now, just based on how I’m feeling right now, I’m confident it’ll be at least five”.

“At least?” Your eyes widened, and Minho chuckled at your expression.

“Didn’t you want to spend my rut with me? Fuck around and find out, babe”.

You scoffed in disbelief, ignoring the urge you suddenly had to rub in his face how you were right, and that you should’ve talked about this earlier. But, instead, you just rolled on top of your boyfriend, planting your lips on his. “Well… Guess I’ll just have to let my alpha take care of me for those five days. Hm?”

Minho licked his lips, and a blush settled on his cheeks. “Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll make sure to take good care of you”. With how deeply he was kissing you, there was just no room for doubt, he certainly was going to take good care of you, and you were absolutely ready for it.

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© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

Constructive feedback (or even keysmashes, really) is always welcome :)

Minho’s WereRoomies Instalments: Camping With Wolves · Dog Unleashed · Are You There, Wolf?

[squireofgeekdom]

okay FINE here's the role reversal au?

SO

before I watched Echo I went and rewatched s1 of Daredevil. which then proceeded to take over my brain in a grand throwback to 2015.

and my brain absolutely latched on to the many layers of parallels and foiling between the protagonist and antagonist trios and just how well that season does 'the villain absolutely believes they are the reasonable one here and that the hero is getting in the way of the good they're going to do' and just does a really really compelling antagonist in general

and then it started to generate 'okay, but how do you plausibly do the reversal of those two trios as protagonist/antagonists' and it Would Not Stop until I finally gave in and opened yet another google doc and started jotting down my notes. thus the specific exasperated tone to that google doc titling XD

(i also tried to check ao3, like 'surely this specific role reversal au has been done a bunch of different ways a dozen times, this season has been out for nine years' WRONG. searching multiple possible role reversal/hero villain swap tags got me like, one fic of this specific role reversal which was wrapped up with a bunch of other stuff I wasn't looking for, though godspeed to that author for being the One person I could find getting something down for this concept. if someone knows of a fic along these lines please send it my way i am being totally honest. 'i searched ao3 assuming this had been done a dozen times and there was zilch' is also part of how cisco & harry in a pacific rim au happened XD)

i'm fairly certain i am not going to write this out as a full fic and instead keep it to some snippets in the setting that i'm really driven to write. (but that's what i said about the believe au and, well, that's one fic away from being a finished series & finished story)

anyway, the thing that i really couldn't stop thinking about is the idea that instead of going the Spider-Gwen comics route with Earth 65 Matt 'Murderdock' Murdock having been trained by the Hand, have it be a case where Stick continues his training past the point he kicked Matt out in the show, because I would fight Stick in an Arby's parking lot and the idea of him being responsible for Matt being the antagonist amuses me, and also because it fits the 'antagonist thinks he's really the best case scenario here no matter what he has to do' framing, and so Matt is full zealous general of the Chaste - but still having ended up with a different perspective from Stick, which I kind of get into here, with a flashback to Matt and Foggy in college, starting off talking about Elektra:

Matt laughs, “No, she just … knows my mentor. He was talking to her about getting me to come back and do a job.” “Huh. Okay.” Foggy says. “You and your mentor - don’t get along?” “He’s the most important person in my life.” Matt says, with a kind of fervor that makes Foggy sit back. “Definitely the most important person I know,” he adds, with a forced chuckle. “That’s… a lot.” Foggy says. “So…” “You know anyone who’s just like… not getting their head around the twenty-first century?” “Sounds like my dad, I keep having to help him with his phone - what?” Matt lets out the snort of laughter he’d clearly been holding in. “Just thinking about St - my mentor’s face if someone ever compared him to a dad.” Foggy does not say yikes, but it shows on his face. “Anyway,” Matt says. “It’s not just the tech stuff, you know. Like… it’s how things work.” “Oh, like when you tell your uncle you’re job searching and he says you should just be showing initiative and walking in to real brick and mortar stores and asking if they’re hiring -” “A lot like that.” Matt chuckles. “My mentor is a real … well, more of a sticks and stones kind of guy than even a brick and mortar kind of guy, but … that sort of thing. You want a building, you make it one brick at a time, you want a building down you knock it down wall by wall.” Foggy imitates smashing noises. “But that’s such a tiny part of the picture. The decisions - what gets built where, what gets torn down - that’s where the real power to change things is. And that’s where you need to know what the zoning laws are, who writes the laws, who is in charge of the permits and the land rights.” “The things we know.” “Exactly. You need to live in that world, if you’re going to get things done.” Foggy claps Matt on the shoulder. “We’ll be in that world soon, and we’ll get things done. And,” he adds, “make enough money to forget all about that Greek girl, am I right?” Matt laughs. “Already forgotten.”

send me a wip title and i'll tell you something about it!

[beatrixacs]

For the Wrap up :D

10, 26 and 30 please :))

Thank you 💖

10. What work was the quickest to write?

Well, I have been writing four stories this year from which I have published so far just two so… Crash My Lips on You. It took month and half to get it to the state I published it in

26. What’s your most common category?

If we talk about category on AO3, then F/M.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Biggest surprise in positive sense = the ideas I have in my head won’t go away until I write them. I guess I haven’t realized that until now because most of the ideas I’ve ever had concerns a couple I no longer write for so they stopped occupy my mind. But it’s true I keep recycling some ideas to use them for someone else so… I now know they will go away if I write them and make room for more ideas.

I was also surprised that I was able to write during evenings after coming home from work totally exhausted.

Biggest surprise in negative sense = how little readers share their thoughts. I think I’ve received the least amount of reviews/comments in my whole fanfiction writing career since 2013. I know that I’m not a stellar writer or quick writer or that my writing, stories, plots appeal to everyone. Plus, the fandom is big.

But back in the day, I used to get quite a lot of feedback on stories that I now consider total shit. I don't even think some of these even deserved so much love. But they drove me forward, made me become a better writer, challenge myself and MAINLY, share the joy of writing and publishing with the others.

Now… All joy, all excitement leading to the publishing of the chapter is gone. I’m not driven forward because the response is zero. I have no one to thank in the author’s note at the beginning of the chapter.

And it’s not about the kudos. I get the kudos, I think that the amount of kudos is actually pretty decent. But why none of these people came forward to say something nice… I have no idea.

But in the end, I'm grateful to those who do comment.

[not-poignant]

I've stumbled on the now deleted comments thread. So... What are your thoughts about rude commentators and over protective fans?

Oh, ha, yeah.

My personal policy with trolls (which I believe the instigator was, even if they don’t think of themselves that way, or even if it didn’t start that way) is to ignore them once I’ve said all I need to say. Even if that means they get the ‘satisfaction’ of getting the last word etc.

However, after that, I think a few people read the thread that was there and had their own feelings on the matter. I’ve actually been asleep and woke up to the thread kind of having exploded? In the end, since the OP was obviously someone who wanted to engage with a lot of people in a toxic manner, and since things were getting more and more heated, I decided to make the call to screencap the whole thing, and then delete everything barring the original comment and my original response. (I’ll delete the whole thing if I have to). I’ve done this once before, though a long long time ago now. Maybe during ISWF.

It’s actually not my first line of response when things like this happen. In the past, I’ve left threads up where someone has been (knowingly or unknowingly) toxic, or where my comment has provoked something without me realising (I’m not perfect, I make communication gaffes all the time, autism + not being able to read tone practically ensures it), mostly because a) people don’t get involved and b) I don’t really like censoring things to the degree of deleting threads. But after a few more years on Tumblr, and a few more years of knowing how  some sorts of people are likely to behave, I’ve come to realise that sometimes the reason I’m on AO3 is to write fic, and not host emotional crapfests where one person brings out a lot of anger in others.

Re: over-protective fans: I don’t like dogpiling. Sorry folks, I’ve never really liked it. I didn’t think last night when I went to bed that dogpiling was happening (I could’ve been wrong on that call), but this morning I think it was headed in that direction - I mean I think of it this way: the instigator possibly - initially - meant well despite being entitled and rude in their original comment (I’m unsure how well they meant tbh based on all of their responses afterwards), they weren’t going to alter how they were interacting with people after reason, compassion, or being yelled at. Therefore, it was just going to become a completely emotional clusterfuck (or more of one). You either got two kinds of responses from them: defensiveness and insult, or condescension and...insult. Glen looked over the whole thread and just said: ‘is it still gaslighting if they don’t know they’re doing it to you?’ -> though his view was that I probably shouldn’t have responded to them in the first place, lol. Which is why I should wait until he comes home before replying to things like that.

The only thing to get out of that thread at that point, was the satisfaction of yelling at each other, venting anger, and mutual insult. I mean I agree with one thing they said: ‘this whole thing has been blown out of whack’ (it’s just you know, they kept coming back to encourage that too). And while I can understand how these things happen (look, I grew up on pagan forums, boy howdy have I been in some vicious thread/flame wars), I don’t really support it. I’m not like angry or ‘disappointed’ or whatever, I guess I’m just... ‘ack this situation has become poisonous I’m going to try and neutralise it’ about it.

I have been an over-protective fan on another author’s story. A couple of times now. Both times it’s happened because the person wasn’t just critiquing but had become truly underhanded and entitled to the story and was being rude to the author, and I was genuinely mad and upset on the author’s behalf (I think it’s more likely if you either know the author, or have an understanding of them through social media.) But both of those times, the rude OP never came back to constantly get the last word, the threads never exploded, etc. It was more like ‘hey it’s not okay to talk to an author (or anyone) this way, so cut it out.’ And they appeared to cut it out, lol.

Maybe I’ve been wrong to do that. Maybe I’ve been wrong to delete the thread too. I don’t believe that all social critique of how a person is responding in comments is wrong or misplaced. (In the same way that I don’t believe social critique of authors putting down readers for not giving comments etc. is wrong or misplaced). Some people genuinely don’t know how to talk to authors, or their fellow fans. Some people also genuinely don’t want to change how they talk to others; and that’s what I was seeing (and what other people were seeing).

So I’m not against someone coming into another thread between two people to share their thoughts. If things had stayed where they were at last night when I’d gone to sleep, I may have left the thread up, though I was already toying with the idea of deleting most of it. And I’d probably prefer if people didn’t keep responding to the OP, because I can guarantee it will just devolve into being insulted and condescended to, and probably getting pretty damn angry in response, and then I’ll be there with my delete button again. I mean we’re hopefully here to read fic and have a (mostly) good time, and I’m sorry if my behaviour let down anyone who expected differently or better.

[minty-mumbles]

True Colors

Summary: Monsters are stupid, but they do have excellent color vision, and can recognize patterns almost as well as Hylians. This leads to some misunderstandings.

Or:

Monsters assume that Hylians operate under the same color system as they do.

Content Warning: Not much to note. A few Bokoblins die.

Author's Note: I wrote this to fill this prompt from @linkeduniverse-prompts. It got way out of hand and ended up being about 3k words longer than I expected. I have a cheat sheet about color meanings at the end.

(Read on AO3 Here)

~~~

Greg wasn’t stupid. Well, he had been told plenty of times by his sisters that he was. He was a Red Bokoblin, and Reds weren't known for being very smart. (Not that any kind of Bokoblins were, but that was irrelevant to Greg.)

But personally, he felt he was a lot smarter than many of the others in his clan. Like Jeff.

Jeff was an idiot, even by Bokoblin standards.

It was because he was so intelligent, Greg thought, that he was able to devise a plan to sneak up on this group of travelers. (Truthfully, he wasn't being very sneaky. The group he was tracking was just being particularly unobservant at the moment.)

Greg had seen the perils of attacking first and asking questions later first hand. His brother, Derek, had done so, and picked a fight with the wrong group of travelers. Derek had paid the price for that mistake with his life. And then Derek II did the same... And then Derek III. And then there was Derek IV, who truthfully hadn’t made that poor of a choice in target. It was just plain unfortunate that that Hylian hero had shown up and lit him on fire. (Honestly, maybe his parents should stop naming their kids Derek.)

Not that picking a fight with the wrong Hylians was particularly hard to do for them. Their clan was mostly Reds, the lowliest and weakest of their kind. Only his eldest sisters were lucky enough to be born as Blues. If they went up against any Hylian but the weakest, they were in trouble.

So, yeah. Greg had seen many of his fellow clanmates fall to stupidity. He wasn’t going to be one of them.

At least he hoped so. Jeff might get him killed anyway. Greg didn't know why his sisters always put the two of them together for patrol duty.

Greg crept relatively silently through the bush towards the loudly chattering group of Hylians, letting out only an occasional squeal. Jeff, however, was moving as if he were a Hinox, and he was going to get them caught. Never mind Greg’s brilliant plan of sneaking up on the group of Hylians and seeing what they were up against first.

He turned to Jeff and tried to mime that he should stay here, while Greg got closer to check things out. Unfortunately, it just looked like flailing, with the occasional slap thrown in, and Jeff didn’t seem to understand. Thankfully, he seemed content to stay put. He had gotten distracted by a strange glowing blue ball halfway through Greg’s attempt at communication. Greg really didn't care, as long as Jeff shut up and didn’t move.

Greg crept further forward on his own. When he finally reached the treeline, he hid behind a fallen log, and set about observing the group.

Immediately, his malice-filled veins ran cold.

This was not an ordinary group of travelers.

The intricacies of the Hylians’ marking system were somewhat lost on Monsters as a whole, and although he prided himself on his above-average intelligence, Greg was no exception. The Bokoblin marking system was very straightforward. Those who were Red, like Greg, were the weakest. Then came the Blues, then the Blacks, the Whites, the Silvers, and then the mightiest of all Bokoblins, the Golds. It was quite simple. It telegraphed their ranks and battle prowess nicely, both to other Bokoblins, and to their enemies. Greg thought it was rather thoughtful to give their enemies a heads up on what they were going to be fighting.

Hylians were not in the habit of returning that favor. No Bokoblin had managed to really make heads or tails of their marking system. There were only a few accepted truths that all young Bokoblins are taught.

Brown was the most common coloration, and was pretty much assumed to be similar to Red Bokoblins. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the Browns, except that they were good at running away. A couple Reds could take down a Brown with no trouble.

Then there were the Whites. They were only really found near central Hyrule, near one of the Great Hylian Camps. They were much faster than the Browns and actually seemed to know what they were doing with weapons. They were also very good at sneaking. Greg knew that many camps had been wiped out by White Hylians.

Then there were the Reds. These were possibly the strangest of all the colors. Greg’s sire had told him that they were to be treated, cautiously, as allies. They never attacked Bokoblins without provocation, and they even occasionally teamed up with Bokoblins to take down the Hylians, especially the Whites.

Next up on the Hylian totem pole were the Blues. Personally, Greg thought it was weird that Hylians placed Blue above White, but Hylians as a whole were very strange. Except for a few sightings recently, Blues hadn’t been seen for many, many generations. Their legend persisted though, as they were perhaps the most consistent of all the Hylian colorations. If a Hylian had a bright blue coloring, you could assume that they would have high quality weapons, and would know what to do with them. Browns would even run towards them for protection, or so Greg was told.

They had been known for working together in large groups to bring down entire camps of Bokoblins. Greg had once been told that Bokoblins learned how to band together, and how to find safety in numbers from observing these Hylians.

And then.

And then there were the Greens.

If Blues were legendary, Greens were mythical. Sightings of them were few and very far between, which might have to do with the fact that the Bokoblins who saw them didn’t live to tell the tale. The destruction they wrought was so absolute that even if they hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years, their legend lived on.

(Greg himself had seen one, once. He had only lived because he had run away before the Green had spotted him. He usually tried not to think about it.)

So, yeah. Greg had been expecting a small group of Browns, perhaps some Whites or a Blue thrown in.

That was not what he had gotten.

This was an entire goddamn clan of Greens.

A loud yell from the pair closest to Greg covered up his shocked squeal, as his brain tried to process exactly how much danger he was in.

He could count seven Hylians in front of him, huddled around a campfire. The pair closest to him were wrestling on the ground. Distantly, Greg was reminded of how his sisters wrestled to assert dominance, but these Greens seemed to be much friendlier about it than his sisters were. They weren’t even drawing any blood. The one who currently seemed to be winning wore armor around his shoulder, and a stripe of bright blue around his neck.

That made Greg pause for a moment. Was this a Blue instead of a Green?

But no, the Hylian’s torso was covered in undeniable green.

Similarly, the one pinned under the Blue-Green wore a Red tunic, but under that, a dark Green gave him away. Perhaps the two were some sort of hybrid? The concept of hybrid Bokoblins was foreign. Bokoblins were always one color, but who knew with Hylians.

Most Hylians did not accept Reds into their groups, as they were hostile towards others of their own kind. Maybe that was why Blue-Green was wrestling with Red-Green?

A few yards away, another pair sat on a log watching the pair fight, with a third tending to a fire nearby. The two sitting on the log were the biggest Hylians Greg had seen in this group. If he had to pinpoint any of them as the leaders of this clan, it would be these two. One was covered in armor, which Greg had only seen on the most skilled Hylians, and only in small amounts. The fact that this Hylian was covered in the stuff was intimidating. Greg couldn’t really tell what color this Hylian was, as the armor covered him, but this must be the leader. He was big enough for it, and the one next to him seemed to be showing him a good amount of respect.

The Hylian sitting next to the Leader seemed more like the run-of-the-mill Green. (Not that any Green was run-of-the-mill, but whatever.) The most notable thing about him was the wolf pelt he wore around his shoulders, which did give Greg pause.

His sisters wore the skins of large animals they hunted, as a symbol of their higher status. Neither of them had a wolf pelt, though. Wolves were strong creatures, and best left alone. It could take an entire clan to take down a fully grown wolf, let alone a whole pack. The fact that this Hylian, who wasn’t even the leader of this clan, was wearing the wolf pelt so openly was clearly a warning.

The third was crouched over the fire, moving the logs around with a stick for some reason. This one was a White-Green, a long white covering over his shoulders. He was listening to the conversation between the Leader and Wolf-Pelt, occasionally adding his own thoughts.

Once Greg was able to get over his shock of seeing so many Greens in one place, he was able to see that they weren’t actually all Greens. Two of them, huddled closely together, were just wearing pale Blue. Not quite as concerning as the others, but still strong.

One of them was smaller than any of the others in the clearing. He wore a pale blue covering. Greg paused in confusion. In a group of powerful Greens, why would they tolerate a small, weak Blue? Clans could become stronger, as Greg’s was, as stronger Bokoblins were born. But if his clan was made up of Blues, and a Red was born, they would be killed or driven out. There was no room for weakness.

But then again, Hylians were very strange. Perhaps, since this Blue was obviously a youngling, they had simply not matured into their adult Green coloration? It was possible.

The youngling was crouched over a strange flat rock, held by the other Blue. Now, this one was the same size as the others in the group, and obviously an adult. The excuse of being a youngling did not apply to him.

So why….?

The Blue shifted, lifting the strange rock, and handing it off to the Youngling, joined the White-Green near the fire. As he did, Greg caught sight of a familiar symbol on the rock.

An eye.

The symbol was not strange to him. It was scattered all over the land on large black rocks. However, to see it on a smaller rock like this… seemed familiar, and not in a good way.

Greg strained his memory to try to remember when he had seen this before, and then it hit him.

He had seen this strange rock before, when Derek IV was killed. He had gone after a pair of Brown Hylians who had unwisely traveled off the road. Greg, still being quite young at that point, had hung back to see how it was done. It had gone well for a while. Derek IV chased the pair, swinging a club at them, while the Hylians screeched in fear and scrambled away.

Then, swooping down from the sky like a bird of prey, a Blue Hyalin descended. True to legend, Greg had watched the Browns scramble toward the newcomer for protection. Derek IV, likely having fallen asleep during their sire’s lessons, did not register the danger of this Hylian’s color, and ran straight towards the group.

Greg had watched in horror as his brother was cut down with graceful ease. He hadn’t even had time to squeal a battle cry before he was falling to the earth with a flaming sword buried in his side.

He continued to stare in mounting terror as the Blue bent down and harvested his brother's teeth. The Blue had even taken Derek IV’s weapon for his own before his brother finally took enough fire damage, and broke down into smoke, disappearing.

The Blue had approached the Browns, who hadn’t even looked disgusted at the looting of a body, and had instead gifted the Blue food as a token of appreciation for his protection.

Greg came to a sudden realization. This was no Blue. He was colored like one, but he was alone. According to legends, Blues came in packs, ruthlessly efficient in working together. Besides that, Greg could imagine only one color that was that efficient at killing.

Greens.

Greg didn’t know why this Green was disguised as a Blue, But he didn’t stick around to find out. The last thing he caught sight of was a strange rock on the Green’s hip, with an ominous eye on the front of it. He had booked back to the safety of his clan’s camp. Not that he harbored any delusions that anyone in his clan would survive if the Green-in-Disguise found them.

Thankfully, he hadn’t, and Greg had grown up trying desperately not to fall into the same trap of attacking first and finding out the consequences later as Derek IV had.

Now, the same strange eye symbol was back, on the same strange rock, in the possession of the same Green-in-Disguise. Well, the same clan, at least. The Youngling was still fiddling with the rock, occasionally calling out to the Green-in-Disguise. Greg could only assume it must be some type of weapon, if a Green was in possession of it.

Greg stumbled back, turning to flee. He had saved himself once by fleeing in the face of one Green, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to take on seven Greens at once.

Wait- hold that thought. A rustle in the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing caught his eye. Against his better judgment, he crept back to look. If that was Jeff coming to look for him, and he stumbled into the encampment of a clan of Greens in the process, Greg was not going to be helping him.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, Greg thought privately,) it wasn’t Jeff. It was two more Greens.

Greg felt faint, and nearly swooned on the spot as Wolf-Pelt called out in greeting to the two new arrivals.

These two new arrivals were underwhelming. They were both small. In fact, one of them was even smaller than the youngling already in the camp. His coloring was a strange mash-up of Blue, Red, and, oddly, Purple, which was a color that Greg had never heard of Hylians being. But he also had Green, plain as day. Greg had to wonder if this Four-Color was even younger than the Youngling. Maybe it wasn’t certain yet what his strength level was going to be?

The other was of a more reasonable height for a Hylian, although not as big as many of the others. He had brown coloration peeking out from underneath his green. Perhaps this was the weakest of them all? But again, if he was tolerated in this, frankly overpowered, clan of Greens, then there must be more to him than meets the eye.

But these two new arrivals, no matter how unthreatening they looked, meant the clan now numbered nine. Greg had never seen a Bokoblin clan this large, let alone a Hylian one, at least outside of the Great Hylian Camps. Normally, Hylians only traveled in small groups.

This was bad. If an entire clan of Greens had appeared in Hyrule, then the Hylians were getting stronger. He had to report this to his sisters.

With a determined grunt, Greg turned back to where he had left Jeff. He needed to collect him, and then head back. Under the circumstances, he didn’t think his sisters would care about them not finishing their patrol route.

When he arrived back to the place he left Jeff, his brother was still absorbed with kicking around that strange glowing blue ball from before. Greg didn't know what it was, but at this point he didn’t particularly care. He just wanted to get back to the slight safety of their camp.

Just as he was about to squeal at his brother that it was time to go, he heard a shout from behind him. It was one of the Greens, calling out. For a moment, Greg was worried that they had been discovered.

Then, he didn’t have to wonder anymore.

The weird glowy ball that Jeff had been playing with exploded in blue light. Before Greg could even shield his eyes against the light, it was over. The explosion had taken Jeff out in one hit. His brother's body was already disappearing into smoke, leaving nothing behind.

Greg knew they had been discovered. Somehow, this whole situation must have been a trap, and it had been set up by the Greens. They must have known that Greg was there the entire time.

These Greens were terrifying. Greg could hear Hylian footsteps moving in his direction, and booked it out of the clearing. He wasn't sticking around for them to find him. He was leaving.

At least his sisters couldn't put him with Jeff on patrol anymore.

~~~

It was a rather chilly night. The seasons were just changing in his Hyrule, splashes of reds and golds dotted here and there as some trees started to shed their leaves, and the autumn air wasn’t exactly warm or balmy.

The group usually waited until Wild was ready to make dinner to start a fire, but not tonight. Sky volunteered to collect firewood, and only stopped to set down his pack before leaving to search for kindling. Four and Hyrule also left to scout the area, and make sure there weren't any threats lingering nearby.

Wild helped Time and Twilight move some fallen logs into the clearing for makeshift benches, and then collapsed onto the nearest one. He sighed, and pulled his boots off, shaking a pebble out of the left one that had been bothering him for hours. He didn’t immediately put the boots back on, letting his feet relax after a long day of walking.

Wind settled next to him, Time and Twilight not far off. Legend and Warriors were already bickering about something or another, snarking at each other for where they were perched across the empty fire ring.

Wind sniffed next to him. “Goddess, Wild, your feet stink! Why did you take your shoes off?”

Wild very maturely stuck out his tongue at the younger hero, pointedly ignoring Time’s muttered: “Don’t encourage him, we already have one squabbling pair, we don’t need another.” Wild stuck his dirty boots back in his slate, pulling out one of his cleaner pairs. Wind, forgetting the apparent stench, shifted closer in interest.

“So, how many different sets of clothing do you keep in there?” Wild shifted to show Wind his slate, swiping through the armor and clothing he accumulated on his journey.

“So, this is the Sheikah stealth set. It’s the first set of clothes I bought after waking up from my shrine. I got it in Kakariko. Before that, I was basically wearing a set of rags I found in my Shrine.”

A rustle from across the clearing drew Wild’s attention as Wind continued to poke at the slate. It was just Sky, carrying an armful of wood. Before the Skyloftian could start to set up the fire, Warriors took things one jeer too far, causing Legend to leap across the pit, tackling him off his log. Sky didn’t even do a double-take, ignoring the two wrestling near the side of the clearing, and started to get the fire going.

Next to Wild, Time and Twilight were watching the fight with interest. Twilight turned to Time. “Should we stop them?”

Time shrugged. “They’re not actually hurting each other, are they? Think of it as hand-to-hand combat training.” Twilight stared at Time as Legend got pinned underneath Warriors, and screeched, biting his hand in retaliation.

Time stared back. There was a moment of silence, before Time spoke again. “Fifty rupees that Legend wins.”

Twilight sighed, returning his gaze to the fighting pair. “You’re just as bad as the others sometimes, you know that?” Time just raised an eyebrow in question. Twilight groaned, defeated. “I’ll take that bet.”

Wild snorted. Twilight liked to pretend that he was less of a gremlin than the rest of them, but really, he just hid it better.

“Hey, isn’t that what the Warriors was teasing you about the other day?” Wind’s question brought Wild’s attention back to his slate. Showing on the screen was the Gerudo set, displayed on the digital form of Wild himself. “Wait, it’s yours?”

Wild’s hand darted out, covering the younger boy's mouth. “You will tell no one about this.” He hissed, eyes darting around the clearing, checking to see if anyone had heard. It looked like he was in the clear. It wasn’t that he was particularly ashamed of wearing those clothes, but he would rather spare himself the teasing he knew would be imminent if the group found out.

Wind batted his hand away from his mouth, grinning at him mischievously. “Okay, I won’t.” Wild waited, not believing that it would be that easy. “You have to make seafood curry for dinner though.” Wild hummed, considering. It wasn’t as bad as he thought Wind was going to demand.

“Alright,” He acquiesced. He was planning on making Creamy Vegetable Soup tonight, but he thought seafood curry was just as good. It was no trouble for him to switch up the menu. He had a couple of nice Progys in his slate they needed to eat anyways. He would have done this even if Wind just asked him, though, so he wasn’t sure why-

“But you have to make it spicy.” Wind insisted. Ah, there it was.

“Sure.” He shrugged. Most of the others wouldn’t be pleased. Seafood Curry had a lot of goron spice in it, at least it did the way Wild liked to make it. Wind, Legend, Four, and himself were the only ones in the group who could handle spice. He and Wind had grown up eating spicy food, and Legend traveled to very distant lands, building up a tolerance to all sorts of spices. Four could only tolerate spice occasionally. (It varied. Sometimes he couldn’t even handle a spiced meat skewer, and sometimes he inhaled the spiciest food Wild could make. It was very strange.) Most of the others in the group had low spice tolerance.

Usually, Wild acknowledged that fact in his cooking, and cut back on the spice, but since Wind was asking…

Well, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

He handed the slate off to Wind, rising to join Sky next to the fire, to make sure it was at the right temperature for seafood curry.

Another rustle from the bushes around the clearing drew his attention to the returning Hyrule and Four.

“Anything to report, boys?” It was Twilight who called out, as Time was still snickering at the sulking Warriors and his own purse, now fifty rupees heavier.

“Nothing of importance,” It was Four who answered, coming to sit next to Time. “There’s a stream a few minutes away, and we found a set of Bokoblins footprints, but they were days old.”

“Good, now we should-“ Wild’s attention was drawn away from both the fire and Twilight’s response by a call from Wind.

“Hey, Wild! What does this button do?” That sentence made dread well up in Wild’s stomach. There were only so many buttons to push on the slate, and Wild’s mind flashed back to a very crucial detail that he had forgotten.

He spun around, nearly hitting Sky with the stick he had been using to poke the fire. He could barely get out a shrieked “Wait!” Before there was an ominous click, a moment of tense silence, then-

BOOM.

Right. The bomb he had dropped earlier, and had forgotten to dissipate.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling all the world like he was every one of his one hundred and seventeen years. He let out a slow breath, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. Was this what Twilight felt like all the time? He needed to go easier on his mentor.

“That button explodes things, Wind.”

A silent, judgmental stare from Time told him to fix the mess he’d created. With a huff, he heaved himself to his feet, and motioned for Wind to follow him. “Come on, kid. Let’s go do damage control.”

~~~

A/N: You know, writing this made me headcanon that Bokoblins have truly excellent color vision.

Anyways, here's what all the colors mean;

Brown: Average Traveler // White: Sheikah // Red: Yiga // Blue: Hyrule’s Military // Green: Heroes

Blue-Green: Warriors // Red-Green: Legend // White-Green: Sky // The Leader: Time // Wolf-Pelt: Twilight // Youngling: Wind // Green-in-Disguise: Wild // Brown-Green: Hyrule // Four-Color: Four