#but also because I'm just plain cracked

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 5, day 31, more color! Now he's all pretty up until the mug is a whole-ass circle on his face XD

Stopping art early tonight because I think I've finally cracked

...

...how I want to start the drop-my-SI-into-Athia fic :3

[crossdressingdeath]

People blindly ascribing every as-yet-unexplained lore hint to Mythal my beloathed.

[genderqueerdykes]

as an intersex trans wo/man, i've noticed that unfortunately it has become painfully obvious that not only do radfems and terfs try to abuse trans men into falling in line with their beliefs, but unfortunately, this happens to trans women and transfemmes as well. i've unfortunately seen several trans women fall down the the "men evil, women innocent, trans men have cis male privilege, trans men don't struggle, trans men aren't men or trans they're just confused butches," pipeline really quickly after transitioning or their eggs cracking, and it's not necessarily that transfem's fault, but rather an abusive person sweeping in to take advantage of someone who needs and wants validation in feeling like a woman. the person who put the terf ideals in their head during this crucial stage in development is to blame, it is not inherently the trans woman's fault.

vulnerable transfems and trans women become indoctrinated into these things. trans women and fems are not inherently bitter, shitty, hateful people. it's a select few who become groomed by radfems who push this belief, and push it hard, because that's what you do when youve been indoctrinated into a cult. it's not an issue inherent to trans women and transfeminism at all- it's vulnerable people being groomed. this is a serious issue of trans women and fems being groomed and brainwashed.

this is a huge deal and we have to stand up for each other, because the transfems getting groomed into this need support and help to get out of this cult. it is not okay for women who are just trying to find their footing to almost instantly get sucked up into a literal hate group. we have to help trans people who become indoctrinated into gender essentialism, antimasculism, and transandrophobia just as much as we help other trans people unlearn transmisogyny. these issues are both damaging our community on the whole.

radfems are aggressive and will try to indoctrinate anyone they can into antimasculism, transandrophobia, and gender essentialism. a lot of trans women in the early stages of transition really want to be validated as women and such, will become groomed by these groups of cis women who will gladly feed them toxic ideals like women can never be wrong, women are always innocent, men are always harmful and evil, it just benefits the radfems, not the trans woman. this behavior grooms yet another person into spreading radfeminism without realizing it. when one espouses these beliefs they become a spokesperson for radfeminism and terfism

i'm plain tired of seeing this argument, because it is nothing but gender essentialist binarist bullshit:

"transphobia is worse for trans women than trans men because of x, y, z."

its not worse. its different. but equal.

i understand that many folks have not lived the life a trans man leads, but whenever you try to speculate on what it's like, you will always be wrong, no matter what, because you weren't in that person's shoes. it's impossible to see the nitty gritty of how a specific group of people are treated unless you are that person or spend lots of time around large groups of those types of people. trans men face homelessness at a disproportionately high rate compared to other groups of queer folk. we also deal with forced detransition. we deal with being dehumanized by she/her pronouns. we deal with having lesbianism and butchness weaponized against us. we also deal with sexual violence. we also deal with physical, mental, and emotional abuse. we deal with gaslighting, lying, being robbed, abandoned, injured and killed. its virtually impossible to find support if you're a pregnant trans man.

trans men have a lot of unique struggles. this is not a comprehensive list, but rather to show you that ALL trans people struggle. we are united under the same banner of transphobic treatment. we are struggling, but we are struggling together, and we can uplift each other without tearing each other down. punching down on another trans person hurts us all.

belittling the trauma of other trans people is a form of queer infighting that terfs want you to do in order to fracture our community further. queer infighting doesn't help anyone whatsoever. trans men do not have it harder than trans women. trans women do not have it harder than trans men. amab and afab and intersex enbies don't have it worse than each other. these are all completely different and unique struggles that deserve to be acknowledged for what they are. you cannot use the same scale of severity for a totally different problem.

people love to completely gloss over the issues trans men face for the sake of believing that all men benefit from patriarchy. saying that trans men are not affected by specific kinds of transphobia is spreading the radfem belief that only women struggle under patriarchy. queer men, men of color, intersex men, gay men, bisexual men, trans men, polyamorous men, genderfluid men, bigender men, gender non conforming men, feminine men, men who crossdress, disabled men, neurodivergent men, mentally ill men, and other marginalized men suffer under patriarchy as well.

i'm not tolerating radfem gender essentialism being woven into queer ideals anymore. this behavior has to go. when you genuinely believe these things, we all lose.

[meo-eiru]

*cracks knuckles* here I am again. this time with Micah as my victim

so at first,

you definitely should add some more story to him. so far, if I'm being honest, he feels a bit too plain to me. but oh boy, what a potential I see here!

alright lets begin

omg look at him! such a hypocrite! how smart it is, to put all blame on MC while being just as (actually even more) sinful. and he sure hides well; it's your fault, isn't it? oh you and your sinful mind.

buut despite him not really being my cup of tea, I still do like a good old concept of ugly insides, hidden behind a beautiful shell (if that's the vibe you were going for).

Micah seems so pure, so holy, almost like an angel (you played smart by adding a lot of white in his design) – but behind that pristine facade? he's ugly. and that shell eventually starts to crack, because no matter how pure he may seem, Micah is just as human as we are, and definitely not a good one. and what are we, if not a bunch of cruel, egotistical animals? and deep inside he's exactly that, sickeningly human. with that in mind the very first comic you did abt him is actually pretty hilarious to me. your desires? what about his desires, which are strong enough to ruin your whole life?

I kinda feel like he's also a little pathetic in his own way; if he can't make you fall for him, he will break you. isn't it like a very cowardly move? he wants you badly enough to use whatever method it may require to have you, but will never admit it.

but let's talk about that strange desire to destroy MC's purity. why? to make you just as dirty as he is? cute, but doesn't seem like a full explanation to me. he's a priest, right? and even despite those dark insides of his, I feel like Micah still kept at least some of the priest mindset. I mean, they're raised and taught with a very strict discipline. so I feel like deep down, he feels bad (not ashamed, but in a "how dare they" way) for his attraction to you, and punishes you for that attraction. it's not your fault, of course, but who cares? you managed to destroy his perfect, clean facade, which he was methodically building for his whole life with simply your existence. isn't that unfair? so now you must fall into the depths of hell with him.

I like how we can't justify him. Micah is perfectly aware of what he is doing. and of twisted nature of his feelings too, I think, yet still chooses to indulge in his desires, even if it hurts you, the person he was supposed to love and cherish. he makes me feel an absolute, poetic rage, and I love a character I can hate. (don't get me wrong, it meant to be a praise)

and I absolutely adore his design. also if I was on point with the idea you meant for him, that is wonderful too. if a character makes me feel something, I like that character. but girl, you really should add more details about him. because everything I've written here is, basically, just my own brainstorming and bare theories. Micah needs to have more meat on him for a full character analysis >_>

but anyway, I actually have a question.

what if MC wasn't in any way pure? what if they're a complete opposite of that word? count it on my love for hunchback of notre dame

unlike the nun MC, I suggest a MC who fully embraces their sins. like an evil succubus, they enjoy the joys of being tainted. they know what influence they have on their dear Father Micah, and isn't ashamed of that. I feel like that would make a pretty interesting story

(cough cough draw him blushing and moaning and my life is yours darling)

Another absolutely incredible ask I'll have a field day answering.

I do agree with him being a bit under developed at the moment. Micah was a bit unfortunate as in he was never meant to be an actual character. He was just a momentary creation who existed for me to study color theory. A beautiful man of flowers who didn't have an identity.

Then he joined the cast when I was busy with working on commissions and the 5k celebration comic so I didn't have the time to draw his introduction comic with the things I had planned for him, though I've been trying my best to explore him a bit more thru asks like this one. The fact that I don't want to spoil the stuff I'll draw in his comic is also holding me back a little.

I think Micah is evil, but not completely bad. A man who was born twisted, who was raised into goodness, and even with all the love he received never truly got rid of his inner darkness, but just once, just for one moment, I think he had good in his heart. And that is when he first saw you.

With all his twistedness, all his evilness, all his darkness, I think that love he felt for you was truly pure. Because in his eyes you appeared truly beautiful, like a pure lily.

But Micah isn't a pure man, neither does he want to be. So he prefers to pull you down to his level, so that you two can be sinful together. A truly impure way of feeling that pure and innocent love.

I have gotten asks about him with a more rowdy darling, one who isn't a nun or one who is more sinful. I've been really brainstorming about it but I don't think it would work. Not because I personally can't force the story into being like that but because I think it was just not meant to be like that.

You see I do come up with the characters, but I don't control their actions. If the character is unwilling I can't shape the story to my will. Because that story is their life and they control it. The best I can do is to try to fill the gaps I can.

I might prefer submissive yanderes, I might want Micah to have a more sinful darling instead but it wouldn't be Micah's story anymore. That's one of the reasons why he's so different from the rest of the boys. I'm not super into very dominant guys, I could probably count the ones I have with one hand, it wasn't my intention for Micah to be the way he is, but I don't think he could've been any other way.

Micah was just meant to be manipulative, a gaslighter, a dirty man who'll pull anything to push you below him.

I guess me looking at my stories from an actual novel or manga perspective also contributes to this. Father Micah exists to shine with a darling who he can soil.

Now the darling can maybe go against him in the future, she might rebel or give in to his sinful ways, but that's a different story.

[c0smoshit]

hi! i have a request (obviosuly you can choose to do it or not, im not forcing you ^^) with a cloud x fem reader story.

y/n and cloud were togheter for a year now, and cloud returns home after a long time (1 month) and he was really clingy because he missed y/n so much but he was kinda shy doing all these things and let this side of him go out that much. (i'll leave to you adding details or something to the story) basically just a cute fluff story with shy kisses,cuddles and things like that :3

bye and thank you! i LITERALLY LOVE your story "Shy Kisses", and i love the way you write! i would be happy if you did this story for me❤️

Far Road ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ last fic of the year and it had to be a Cloud one, hope you enjoy it and thanks for this adorable request!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 2.233

A knock at your door kept you from washing your dishes.

God how you missed him.

Everytime someone knocked, you would run to the door, only to be dissapointed with a plain looking hair and eyes, not your spiky blonde hair mixed with some astonishing mako infused eyes.

It had been such long, lonely and cold nights without his arms warming you up from under the bed, his body so close to you, you could feel his own heartbeat.

You even tried to replace him with some big chocobo plushie he had gifted you a few months ago.

And although they might look alike, no big, fluffy chick could replace your grumpy one.

"I'm coming"

You announced, the glint of hope on your eyes completely vanished now as you placed your plate down the sink. Drying your hands on a towel, you began walking towards the door.

. . .

"Please don't be out there for too long"

Your words caused a crack inside his chest, when he had finally became comfortable with you, with your home, your smell. He had to help his friends once again.

He hadn't even stepped outside the door on that quiet, dark twilight he already was missing you so much. He couldn't bear the fact that he was going to be without you for such a long time, what if something happened to you?

He wouldn't be able to protect you and he did not want to go over that feeling again.

Your shivering hands held your door as your blanket was still wrapped around you, too cold not to hold it close against your body. He hated seeing you shivering, you should be heading back to the bed with him, you even didn't have to work next day so he could've stayed with you.

You also were supposed to be sleeping, it was definitely too early for your puffy eyes to be staring at his own ones in such a melancholic way. He felt guilty, your poor, tired body had been awaken by him shuffling around the appartment, soon coming to see him depart.

"I'll be back soon, promise"

He whispered into the thin air before wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you close to his chest for the last time before a long while. Getting a whiff of your syrupy shampoo, memorizing it's smell.

But on top of it all, he hated saying goodbye after all the times he hadn't got the proper time to verbalize it.

. . .

Opening it up you didn't even see the face of the person that was standing in front of you at first, your eyes peeking at your kitchen for a brief moment to see if you has closed the sink. But when you took a glance at the very man that was standing in front of you, you almost fell down.

Eyes wide as you recognized his almost hollow scent, you quickly searched his eyes, hoping that they had been exposed to a, now familiar, substance.

"Hey"

Oh god.

It was really him.

His eyes quickly closed tight as your arms suddenly enveloped his neck like a scarf, a homemade one. You smelled good, really good. He had been craving that sweet aroma of yours, how it would linger on his pillows for a while after you had gotten off the bed.

And your soft skin finally embracing his own one, tender as he had imagined so many nights out there without you. Your nose hitting his shirt in such a perfect way as you pressed closer into his chest, your short breaths and your tight squeezes against him.

He finally was home.

He got so deep into his thoughts he didn't notice you dragging him into your home, back to the place you had both shared everything. Your socks dragging along his boots as you happily guided him to the living room, not once spliting appart.

"Can't believe you're finally back"

He huffed, rubbing your right arm soothingly as you both sat on the sofa, getting lost in the softness of the couch, you really had done a great job in choosing the pillows.

. . .

"Hey"

He said with half a chuckle as your hands worked on his belt, eager to get inside the bathtub you had made with so much love for both of you.

He first sat down, letting you do the same as you rested in front of him, a relieved sigh coming from your mouth as you leant your head back slightly, careful not to soak your hair up with the blueberry foam.

Both of you getting lost in the feeling of the lukewarm water, a bit too cold for your liking but you knew he liked it just this way. When he opened his eyes briefly he saw you already smiling like a dork at him, almost seeing hearts in your eyes.

"You really did miss me huh?"

You chuckled, of course you had, buying groceries without him by your side and his nonexisent advices over which fruit would taste better or the clothes that would fit you the best.

His afternoon dates of offering you rides around Midgar, the warm afternoon breeze vanishing through your hair as you stared at the dying sun, mind in blank and finally at peace. Listening to the loud roar of the engine, you would always place your hands underneath his jacket, trying to keep them warm as your cheek pressed against his back.

Your homemade meals, god he missed them, nothing could even come closer to the taste of your food, your own personal chocolate smiling faces on your desserts whenever you had the chance.

"Mmmhm"

You nodded in agreement before getting outside the tub, at first he would've asked you where were you going but the feeling of your hands on his wet hair and the smell of his shampoo quickly shut him up.

"Missed you so so much"

You said in a soft tone, rubbing the liquid on his scalp, slowly massaging it around his golden strands, careful not to make knots.

He was in heaven right now.

He desired to wash himself up on his bath once again, the strong scent of his few soaps and some deserved intimacy. But your hands working on his hair was definitely something else.

"Feels good?"

A nod slowly answered your question, smiling as you admired his state: tightly closed eyes, limbs falling over the bath and the sluggish pace of his chest.

You continued rubbing his scalp, your movements soon growing more and more tender and sweet. You had missed him so much you wanted to express your feelings through your touch, your honeyed words and maybe a tasty meal.

When you had finished cleaning up his hair, you motioned him to wash the soap off with some water, giggling as you saw him sliding down the tub, shaking a bit his head under the water. You finally got up, knees feeling slightly numb as you stretched yourself, slowly getting inside the tub again with him.

But this time you had layed on top of him, his eyes shooting wide as he took in the feeling of your body, too blissed out to even notice you getting back up. But he soon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as he spread his legs, letting you rest in between them.

There wasn't anything sexual about this, the feeling of your wet skin touching his underneath the water didn't make him feel aroused.

It made him feel loved, warm.

The way your cheek would brush into his before your head lowered down below his chin, your red face thanks to the closiness and the temperature of the room. It was all too much for him to handle so he opted to just admire you as you closed your eyes with a sigh on top of him.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist, sitting upright before his limbs decided to copy your own, relaxing and softening under your body.

Oh how he wishes to do this every day, to hold you until his last breath.

The feeling of your skin wouldn't go away even if the tried to file it down his own skin.

He kissed your forehead, and after you were both satisfied and soaked up enough until your fingers were all wrinkled up. You kissed him on the lips slowly, smiling like a dork and laughing lowly, your breath hitting his mouth as you whispered.

"I love you"

"I'm here with you now"

His deep voice made you giggle like a little girl, you loved his low tone, the first thing you would hear in the mornings and the last thing you would hear before falling asleep. For things like that you loved his quiet self, after a long while of not talking, his voice would naturally lower some tones.

. . .

Wrapped with a towel you looked at him, his hair all ruffled and soaked up just as his body. His towel hung lowly on his hips and you couldn't help but admire your boyfriend's chiseled physique.

How did you get so lucky??

Your mind always gets back to that question, he wasn't only caring, honest and cute but he was ripped off too?!?

And his absolutely angelic face, his gorgerous eyes and his small and cute nose were too much for you to handle. Since the day you had first seen him, you had always thought that his absolutely adorable features didn't match his body. He was just too cute to be that buff!

"Seen enough already?"

He asked with a hidden smirk, he also loved the way you drooled over him, teasing you just to see your blushy cheeks as you had been caught. But he couln't really laugh that loud because, hell, you looked absolutely astonishing too.

"Nah, not yet"

You teased back, walking until you met him as you wrapped your arms around his back, pecking his shoulder as you heard his breath hitching, earning a sly smirk from you.

But as much as you wanted to tease him further, the roles were quickly exchanged as he picked you up suddenly, throwing you over his shoulder as he started to walk off the steamy bathroom. He often did this, picking you up or manhandling you around, trying to avoid your teasing kisses or touches. And you should be already accustomed to it, but you couldn't help the yelp escaping from your lips.

He was the one smirking now.

Playfully kicking his back you told him to put you down, laughing as you felt his shoulder poking your stomach through your towel, your hair fell down and your face was starting to heat up again thanks to your blood travelling downwards.

But soon your giggles were cut off as you landed on the bed, jumping off slightly as you stared at him with fake disbelief.

"Did you loose your maners on that trip?"

You said as you stared at him, resting on your elbows, his back was facing you as he searched some clothes on your closet. His back moved swiftly as his muscles flexed under his skin, huffing out he answered.

"Maybe"

You laid your head on the bed, closing your eyes as you breathed out, taking all the space with your extremities. The bed felt extra-soft today and the lavender scent you always sprayed on on top of the mattress seemed to have became stronger.

"But maybe you shouldn't tease me like that"

You almost didn't pick up his words but your pride was much more bigger than just accepting them, so you sat upright, looking at the oversized shirt he was holding on his arms.

"Oh, you love it"

You said in a ludic tone, quickly taking away the piece of clothing as you smiled mischeviously.

"Hey, that was my shirt"

You dropped your towel before putting on the shirt, smelling it like crazy before your head poked out of it. He naturally retrieved his eyes from your back, as if he didn't see you naked just a few minutes ago.

"Well, it smelt too good for you to wear it"

He huffed out, reaching out to grab another shirt before placing it over himself finally and he actually noticed it smelling a bit too much like him. Did you spray his perfume over it?

Well, he couldn't blame you, he was the first one to take a long breath of your hair the moment you hugged him. Press his face on your pillow as he woke up, hell he did even smell your shirts once in a while.

"mmmhmm"

You mumbled, sighing out for a long while as you finally nuzzled into his neck once again. You had really, really missed his arms around you, well, his everything around you. From his soft skin to his steady heartbeat, soothing you slowly into nirvana.

"I love you"

You lifted your head just so you could kiss him once again, lips you couldn't understand how they were perfectly hydrated always. And it wasn't an exception tonight, moving slowly against yours as his hot breath hit your cheeks.

But you felt yourself slowly falling asleep on him, so he took your face off him, pecking your cheek before his right hand guided you back to his neck. His hand then lifted the mattress, carefully covering both of your entwined bodies.

[yuri-is-online]

Right there's still time, everyone drop your crack theories about what the next Halloween will be:

Nightmare Before Christmas (potentially confirming the existence of Sandy Claws, next year's SSR is anime Jack Skellington)

Peter Pan (we get a bunch of fae fucking shit up in a way not remotely mirroring the current plot, next year's SSR is either captain hook or Peter pan) I sort of like this idea because Hook is a children's book character in the twst universe so we could use the same/a similar set up as Lost in the Book with Stitch. Also the last two Halloween events have borrowed designs from the Disney Japan Villian recruiters. We're missing Hook so that makes a lot of sense to me.

The Great Mouse Detective (crack pure crack but I love Sherlock Holmes so much please please please gimme this in twst please thank you so much)

Princess and the Frog (Sam SSR to round out the staff, would just be plain fun and maybe explain some stuff about how spirits work in twst.)

I'm sure there's maybe some more but these are the ones I could think of as being most appropriately themed.

[mktskii]

—Burnt Pancakes and a Loser in Denial

—Synopsis: As a newcomer in a busy restaurant kitchen, you’re a disaster waiting to happen, and Bakugou Katsuki isn’t shy about making that clear. The hot-headed line cook has no time for incompetence, and yet he finds himself begrudgingly stuck with you—his clumsy, relentlessly upbeat coworker who can barely crack an egg. Frustrated with your lack of skill, Bakugou can't explain the nagging urge to keep an eye on you or why your laugh sticks in his mind long after you’ve clocked out. Somewhere between burnt pancakes and late-night cleanups, Bakugou is forced to confront the unsettling truth: he just might be falling for the one person he insists he can’t stand.

—Pairing: Line Cook!Bakugou Katsuki x AFAB!Newbie Line Cook!Reader

—Genre: Slice-of-life, comedy, romance

—Tags: unrequited love (sort of), slow burn, workplace, oblivious crush, enemies to (one-sided) lovers, Bakugou Katsuki x reader, harsh Bakugou, denial, quirkless AU

—Notes: ..uh...hi everyone. soooo exuse my insanly long absence. i could use my excuse that I had lined up but would it really matter?? MOVING ON! i got this idea from @/tokenirainanfriend on tiktok soo go follow him ! THE SERIES WILL BE ON HOLD soly because..well..i need ideas. if you all have any, PLEASE message me! i would like to keep it going for a while. also, apologies to people who can actually cook, I'm taking away your skills for this one. ENJOY!!

Bakugou didn’t understand how anyone could be this goddamn dense. Not in a million years would he have guessed that someone who managed to survive in the world, breathe in and out each day, would lack the most basic ability to crack an egg without turning it into a massacre. And yet, here you were, assigned as his new coworker in the bustling, chaotic depths of the kitchen—his kingdom.

As the restaurant’s most efficient line cook, he’d established a meticulous routine to keep things running at the rapid pace they needed to. No time for nonsense. But now? With you around, it was as if the world itself had taken a nosedive into hellfire. He couldn’t go two seconds without hearing you calling his name over the clattering sounds of spatulas, saucepans, and the relentless sizzle of grills.

“Hey, Bakugou..uh,” you called timidly from behind him, holding a spatula in a death grip.

“What?” He turned, already bracing for whatever catastrophe you were brewing.

You offered him a plate of burnt, vaguely pancake-like shapes. “Do these look…right?”

He took one look. Actually— one GLANCE, and he felt two emotions. Disbelief and pure anger.

“Do they look right?" He scoffed "They look like somethin’ crawled out of a dumpster and got hit by a truck. What the hell do you call that?” He didn’t wait for you to respond, grabbing the plate and practically throwing it into the trash. “You don’t call it food, that’s for sure.”

The embarrassment on your face was plain as day, but you bit your lip, nodded, and set to remaking the pancakes with an exhausted sigh. Bakugou had half a mind to scream—honestly, just to get it out of his system. Why the hell did it bug him that you looked so damn disappointed? It was your own fault for taking a job you clearly had no skills for. And yet…

Goddammit, it pissed him off.

It shouldn’t have, but every time you tripped over your own feet trying to get out of his way, or when you muttered a soft “sorry” as if your very presence was an inconvenience, it lit some unidentifiable fuse in him. Not the usual, angry fuse—something else, something gnawing and ridiculous that had his stomach tying up in impossible knots.

And he wasn’t about to let that feeling win.

A few weeks in, the irritation only intensified. The kitchen was a battleground, and you were making him lose his mind. Bakugou was convinced you were planted there to make him suffer—some sort of karmic punishment for every curse he’d ever muttered and every rude remark he’d thrown.

But something was wrong.

Because somewhere between your second attempt at pancakes and your third night shift, Bakugou found himself…observing you. Watching out of the corner of his eye as you focused, cheeks red with effort, brow furrowed as you strained to not mess up. If someone so much as raised their voice at you (and he was well aware, he’d done more than his fair share), he felt his blood boil with some twisted, misguided desire to tell them to back off.

And he despised that feeling.

Every time he caught himself, Bakugou wanted to smash his head against the freezer door.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered under his breath, scrubbing a pan with more aggression than necessary. But when you glanced his way, offering that usual tentative smile, it was like the damn pan wasn’t even in his hand anymore. For all he knew, it had slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor—but it wouldn’t have mattered, not with the way his pulse thrummed a little harder, just because of you.

“Did you need any…uh, any help, Bakugou?” you asked quietly, probably hoping not to set off his temper.

It was so ridiculous, he almost laughed—almost.

“Pfft, as if I’d need your help. Just don’t get in my way, alright?” he shot back, trying to ignore the weird pang in his chest at the dejection on your face. But before he could stop himself, he added, “But, uh…I mean, maybe later, if you’re still here, you could work on, I dunno, keeping up with me. No sense in dragging everyone down.”

There was that smile again, softer this time. “I’ll do my best, then.”

Bakugou glared at the pan, willing his pulse to slow down, all the while knowing this was some cosmic joke at his expense.

It wasn’t until one night—one particularly quiet closing shift—that the reality hit him like a two-ton truck.

You were cleaning up the kitchen, humming softly under your breath, and Bakugou was stuck restocking supplies, fuming at the sight of you so…comfortable, so at home in the space you’d once fumbled around in.

And for reasons he could barely understand, he just…watched you. Not out of annoyance or critique, not out of irritation, but just because.

For once, you weren’t trying to make conversation, and he wasn’t telling you off. You looked…content. And when you laughed softly to yourself—at some thought he’d never know—his chest squeezed so tight he was damn sure he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Hey, idiot,” he muttered, so low he wasn’t sure if you’d even heard him.

You turned, eyebrows raised, that smile making his stomach churn. “Yeah?”

For a moment, he lost track of every insult, every complaint he’d been about to throw at you. Instead, he felt his cheeks burn, and he cursed under his breath, forcing himself to look away.

“Forget it,” he said gruffly, busily organizing the shelf with furious precision. But his mind was already spiraling into the depths of horror: Oh, no. Hell no. No way. This is not happening.

Bakugou Katsuki, a guy who’d barely thought twice about anyone, was…interested? Him? In you?

The thought was absurd. Impossible. But it sat there in his mind, solid as a rock, completely unmoving and irritatingly present. He wanted to punch something—or better yet, punch the feeling itself out of his gut.

For the next hour, he did everything he could to avoid looking your way, stomping around the kitchen like he was gearing up for war, trying to deny this…this idiotic pull. He wasn’t some clueless fool—he’d seen people fall over themselves, getting all mushy and soft around others. But that wasn’t him, dammit.

Yet the feeling sat there, mocking him.

And when you called out, “Goodnight, Bakugou. See you tomorrow!” as you walked out the door, he barely managed a stiff nod. He had an insane urge to follow after you, to make sure you got home safe. Stupid. You can take care of yourself. And it’s not like you’d want him hovering around, anyway.

He slumped against the counter, rubbing his face, silently willing this “crush” or whatever it was to just burn out like a candle in the wind. But he knew it wouldn’t. Not as long as he saw you, talked to you, heard that laugh and saw that damn smile.

Bakugou Katsuki, now a loser in love, was stuck. He’d be damned before he ever admitted it out loud.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[r-eatyourfriends-n]

SMOKED | l.hs 이희승 | Collide pt. 2

bestfriend!heesung x bestfriend!reader

READ PT 1 HERE.

warnings: smut (mdni), pwp (plot's there if you look hard enough), unprotected sex, overstimulation (sort of?), no use of "y/n", light switch!dynamics from both reader and heesung, car sex, unsafe driving lowkey, dryhumping, minor argument, heesung is down bad honestly.

wc: 3.8k

synopsis: days have passed after your first hook up with Heesung, though neither of you have said anything about it. Instead, you continue your search for a good one night stand somewhere else, but your mind and body know where you should be.

a/n: wow! the moral obligation I had to finish this before posting anything else was crazy, but after a huge block it's finally here. If you think this is better than pt1 it's because it is, but it's also because it has been approved by the one and only @molloygendered !!!!! my bestfriend and editor. he wanted to review this again before posting it but I'm a kid on sugar so I held him at gunpoint to approve this. any feedback is appreciated !!! hope you enjoy.

4 unread messages.

sorry to bother u so late

can u pick m up? pls

[Address]

idk if ure awake sorry

Heesung's screen lit up on his desk, breaking his focus from the heated game in front of him. He unlocked his phone, the other hand still gripping the controller tightly. His eyes moved quickly from the texts popping up and then back to the screen, which nearly got him killed. 

The team won eventually, but just barely. Heesung logged out as soon as it was over. He spent the whole time wanting to check his phone.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”Jake yelled at him through the call. “We almost lost."

“My bad. Gotta go,” he said in a monotone voice, showing no remorse as he hung up the call despite Jake's groans.

He looked back down at his phone and texted back a short "omw" before getting up from his chair, stretching his arms. His bones cracked, so loud it made him wince at the sound.

With quick steps, he changed into something a bit more decent, just a plain white t-shirt on top of his cargo pants, which had been slowly losing their black tone after each wash. The chains on his thick belt dangled as he walked out of his room and began to head out of his apartment, taking his keys from the cat-shaped key holder you had put on his wall. He had been surprised the first time he hung his keys and a white cat popped up. It was supposed to be a prank, but Heesung never found it in him to take it off despite the fact that it didn't match with the overall vibe of his room one bit. The kitten disappeared inside the box as he left.

The distance to your location was short, or perhaps Heesung was driving a little too fast. Either way, he arrived about fifteen minutes after telling you that he was on his way to pick you up. He parked in front of a small, black gate which led to some stairs. The complex seemed fairly little, but somewhat cozy, with small balconies filled with pots and all kinds of houseplants. Although it was past midnight and dark, he could still make out the colors of the flowers that were placed by the edges of the windows, leaves moving along with the wind.

Leaving the car on, he hopped out, leaning back against  the driver's door to wait for you. Admittedly, it was ill-intended. He hoped your date would see him and would be thrown off. 

The wait felt like eternity. When the door opened, your figure finally appeared in a white dress with black dots, just a bit above the knee. The cleavage allowed for the black choker to stand out, your name's initial dangling softly. Heesung had always wished it was an H instead.

You smiled at Heesung when you saw him, tilting your head in confusion because why was he out of the car? Heesung smiled back at you, a soft beam on his lips. Then looked to your side when a boy appeared next to you.

He eyed your guy up and down as he said goodbye to you. He was tall like you liked them, with flawlessly tan skin and a face that was nothing short of charming, with a sort of boyish appeal to him, and it was obvious why you had said yes to a date in the first place. Heesung swallowed hard, his own jealousy burning down his throat.

You didn't seem too enchanted by the guy, though, looking almost uncomfortable as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You fake-giggled (at least, he thought you did) and grinned at him politely before making your way to Heesung. The guy appeared to be a little turned off by you getting picked up by another man, for he did not take his eyes off of Heesung as he walked to the passenger's seat to open the door for you, a gesture that you were used to. Before hopping back in, Heesung winked at him, a smug grin forming. After that, you two were off speeding down the road. He'll take the long way home, he decided.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you broke the silence after a few minutes of driving. “You didn't have to wait outside though, it's freezing.” 

"I was trying to scare him off,” Heesung chuckled, a half joke that managed to pass as just something playful, making you laugh and hit his arm.

“I don't think he liked that,” you said after your laugh subsided.

“I think it was you who didn't like him.” 

You went silent for a bit, sulking on your seat.

“So, how was it?” 

“I liked him,” you mumbled, biting your lip in thought. “It was good, yeah.”

“But?” Heesung inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess I was hoping for something more... intense?”

Heesung turned his face, pretending to check something on the rearview mirror so that you wouldn't notice him biting his lip. He hoped you were referring to him, about the intimate moment you two had shared a few nights before, about the bite that was still decorating your shoulder so beautifully. A purple light enough to resemble a bruise; poor clumsy you, tripped and hit yourself with his mouth.

“Intense how?” he asked.

“To hell if I know,” you shrugged.

He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing your way quickly. 

“You clearly do know.” 

“I don't. If I did I would tell you, Hee,” you said, confused.

“Like how you told me you were off to see another douchebag?” Heesung spat. 

His words made you quickly turn your head. And although he wasn't looking at you, you knew he could feel your glare burning through his skin. The sudden change in attitude had been nothing short of baffling. He seemed to keep his eyes on the road to avoid your stare rather than for safety. You couldn't tell if bouncing his leg was anger, anxiety, both, or something entirely different.

“How do you know he was a douchebag?! I told you it was fine!” you whined.

“Did he even make you come?” he asked. 

You opened your mouth to fight back, but the only sound that came out was your breath hitching. It had been such a simple question, but it ignited the memories of your one time affair with him. The soft promises, the surpassed expectations, the sweet, sweet release. Your body began to tingle in the places where his hands had lingered, and you found yourself shuddering on the seat. Of course Heesung had asked that, while knowing your answer, too.

“Sex is not all about that.” you said finally, voice low with uncertainty. 

“Oh, so that's why you fuck every idiot with a mushroom cut.” Heesung mumbled.

“What the hell is your problem? You don't even know him!” your ears rang as your voice raised in pitch.

“Oh I know him; clerk job moron who thinks sticking it in is enough.”

You tried to ignore the fact that he was a receptionist at your esthetician’s clinic who you happened to make conversation with during a long wait. He had been bold enough to ask you to grab dinner and two days later you were kissing in the elevator of his one-bedroom apartment. 

That kiss had set your expectations through the roof, hoping that you had landed your perfect match. And it had been nice, sort of, but not like you had wished for, or had imagined. The way you had envisioned things and the way said things happened were complete opposites. Maybe it had been your fault for already having something in mind.

The conflict his words caused reflected in your face, a turmoil evident as you stumbled out your next words.

“I still don't understand why it bothers you so much. I know I'm sleeping with a bunch of idiots.” 

“You're hellbent on letting these assholes touch you.” he grunted.“ I can't stand it, I don't get it. It's pointless, it's…”

You were barely able to make out the words; he was just rambling, or so you concluded.

“How is that your problem?” you cut him off, bringing him back from his thoughts.

Only then, Heesung realized the slip up. Yes, you were right, and regardless of how close the two of you were, it was ultimately your call who you slept with, which bothered Heesung to no end. Why were you so against calling him again? Why didn't you ask to have sex again? Why did he finally have you, only for you to slip through his fingers? 

He hoped you hadn't caught onto it, but you knew him too well not to. Everything made sense after; his seemingly sudden offer, waiting for you outside of the car, this angry fit.

“I said, how's that your problem? What about it?” you pushed, in response to Heesung's answer, which had been silence.

“You can do so much better than that.” he finally said.

“So,” you smiled at him. “Think you can be my better?”

Heesung pulled the car over, so quickly your body flew towards the door, and he almost hit his chest with the steering wheel. His grip on it was tight, and he began panting. You thanked god about the empty, dark road, otherwise it could've ended in a nasty crash.

Both of your eyes meet, his pupils blown out with a hint of a gleam in them. There was hope, a tad bit of anger, and an undeniable desire. His hands were twitching, itching to touch you, and you didn't remember ever feeling so wanted.

Heesung's gaze slowly drifted to your lips, almost involuntarily. Your mouth fell open to breath, uneven and quick. The car was cold, but your temperature went up like a fever.

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

His gaze met yours once more. “Can I?”

You nodded. It was all he needed to pull you in, holding your face with both hands as gently but firmly as he could. Afraid, in a weird way, that you would disappear if he let go. That this was all a sick dream from his hungry mind and that he was soon to wake up alone, in bed, with you far away from his grasp.

Despite how much he wanted to keep it slow, the kiss was just plainly instinctual. It had started soft, as if he wanted it to last forever, which he did. Then it was relentless, like nothing was enough, with your faces pressed so tightly together that you almost felt you couldn't breathe properly. Heesung allowed you a few seconds of air before he was onto you again.

It was hard to keep up with him, but you managed, because this was what you wanted anyway. It was hard to tell if you would ever get to feel something like this again; the desperation, your blood pounding in your ears from the anticipation before he made the move, and your whole body shaking in excitement as if it had a memory of its own, and could recognize the touch. 

“Backseat,” you muttered between kisses. 

He heard you, loud and clear, he just couldn't stop himself. He wanted more. Heesung wanted to do so much with you, and to you, that he was unable to do anything at all. He couldn't bring himself to separate his mouth from yours despite needing the air, and his hands roamed mindlessly and only for the sake of getting a feel. The once deliberate and calculated Heesung was now a wreck in your hands, melting in the heat like a popsicle. Sweet.

But you really had to pull him off, otherwise you'd turn blue. Your nails scratched his scalp as you yanked him back, making him whimper in the process. The way he looked burned in your memory; eyes half-lidded, lips pink and swollen, parted, panting. Even with his eyes nearly closed, you could see his darkened eyes.

“I said backseat, Heesung,” you repeated, letting go of his hair. “Do you want to fuck me or not?” 

In every single position there was. Fingers, tongue, cock, he wanted to give you everything and more, so he scrambled to the backseat as you had ordered. 

This is who you were; demanding and controlling. That one time he manhandled you? Only that, a one time thing, now you wouldn't give in so easily. Not after the little jealousy number he pulled, at least. You weren't all that resilient yourself, but you would drag it as far as you could.

Heesung thought that he had chosen the worst type of clothing possible. Had he kept the sweatpants instead of changing into something else, then maybe the friction would've been more bearable. The rough material of his pants brushing against his cock made him groan whenever he slightly shifted. And when he finally found comfort, you seated yourself on his lap and grinded, hard. 

“Ohfuck,” he whined, his hands flying to your hips to find some leverage. His nails dug into your sides. “You're gonna— I'm not gonna last.” 

You grinded down again. And again, until you set your pace, ignoring his cries. The nails trying to claw at your skin drove you further despite the sting. As much as he tried to slow you down in the name of ‘lasting longer', he still thrusted his hips up to meet you halfway, though his eyes were tightly shut, and lips pressed in a straight line.

“Please, please baby, I don't wanna come yet, please.” 

“Did I just hear The Lee Heesung begging?” 

He looked up at you, teary eyed. His bangs were stuck to his forehead, as sweat had already begun to drip from his hair. That had been enough of an answer.

Yes, you had. It had been about the hottest thing you had ever heard as well. Usually confident Lee Heesung, always took the lead Lee Heesung, would rather die than humiliate himself Lee Heesung, whining and whimpering about coming too fast after some kissing and humping. That same Heesung that had been able to get not one, but three orgasms out of you before even getting close. It was a sight to see.

You stopped, and Heesung sighed in relief, although the calm didn't last long. As a smirk formed on your lips, his eyes grew panicked. 

“If you come, I'll leave this car,” you said, rolling your hips again.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut again, the shape of his fingers imprinting onto your skin. Back then, when the two of you first had sex, this was the reality of what Heesung felt, even when he did a good job at not letting himself seem so desperate. 

He'd be damned if he looked like a loser in front of you, or so he thought. Because now that your wet underwear was soaking his pants, he was a mess. A hard, pathetic mess, desperately trying not to burst in his jeans from having you on top of him.

You yourself didn't believe you could keep torturing him, only because you were also torturing yourself in the process. His hard length along with the rough fabric of his pants brushed against your clit in a way that sent jolts through your body. It was harsh and uncomfortable while still feeling good enough not to stop.

Heesung's hips twitched with a mind of their own, searching for release against his wishes. You halted, leaning your body back to unbuckle his belt. He groaned at the loss of contact though didn't complain any further, and instead helped you get rid of his restraintments quicker. His breath ghosted over your skin as he sighed in relief, which made you shudder. 

His fingers went down to tease you under your dress, rubbing over the wetness seeping through your panties, and even with the layer in between, he could feel his fingers dampen. Heesung continued until you were left whining and attempting to grind your hips harder onto his hand. Only then did you feel him push the fabric to the side, and the tip of his cock pressed against your cunt.

After Heesung had you the first time, he knew that he couldn't let you go. Days went by where he would still feel your lips against his; the skin of your thighs, hot and sweaty, burning his cheeks as you closed your legs around his head while you came on his tongue. Not one day went by where he didn't fantasize about pushing himself inside you, and in some dreams, he would just stay there. 

But nothing was able to prepare him for when it actually happened. He thought the desperate way in which you lowered yourself on his cock might be too much for you. In reality, it was almost too much for him, as it forced a deep moan from his throat.

It was a little painful, walls tightening and loosening around him to accommodate the quick stretch, though the sting was worth Heesung's debauched expression. You wondered why,despite the uncomfortable, small space, it felt so much better than the first time. Maybe it was how much both of you had seemed to crave it, or the car forcing even more proximity between you two, as the things you could do were limited. Regardless, you could feel your lower region sticky and warm with the slick that had, apparently, dripped out of you and spread around your thighs and ass. 

You could barely hear your over breathing over Heesung's heavy one. His hands massaged the skin of your waist where he held himself, mostly to ground himself to earth, or so you guessed, because he looked completely gone. His cheeks cherry red and his lips a peach pink, and you succumbed to the urge to kiss him. 

This time, it was slow and calculated. He took the time to feel the rest of you, from threading his fingers in your hair, to ghosting his fingers over your spine from under the dress. You didn't fall behind, though, raising his shirt as much as you could to run your nails over your stomach, stopping to feel his muscles tense beneath your hands as you began to move your hips.

“Slow, baby, please,” he breathed out, it came out way more high pitched than he intended to. 

As much as you wanted to keep messing with him, the world had seemed to fade away, leaving you two alone with the car and the small piece of road that you were parked in, and you didn't feel like breaking the moment just yet. You placed your hands on his shoulders for better stability, and rested your forehead on the crook of his neck.

Whispers of praises poured from his lips. You're beautiful, you're amazing, could stay here forever, and another handful that got lost between all the shit's and fuck’s that also came nonstop. He followed all of his words and phrases by kissing your neck, sometimes even biting. You might find a mark when you look in the mirror, but you cared little about that. Instead, you decided to leave a mark of your own, sucking and biting on the most visible place that you could think of. That's when he began to meet your movements, thrusting up messily in an attempt to pick up a pace. 

“Say you're—,” he gulped, interrupting himself. “You're mine.”

“Always have been,” you smiled against the light red bite mark. 

Your voice as you rode his cock kept driving him closer to the edge. Every moan and whine just made him go faster, having already been close to his orgasm from the grinding before. And as you grew tired, it felt as if he was regaining some form of control. Heesung smirked when you laid, practically limp, against him, allowing him to set the speed that he wanted. He remembered that he loved being in control as much as he had loved giving it to you.

“F-faster,” you pleaded lowly.

Heesung pouted, even when you couldn't see him. “No manners, sweetheart?” 

Most likely, you were about to pay a small price for threatening him to leave. 

You swallowed, so loud you were sure he had heard. “Please.” 

“What? I didn't hear you.” 

“Go faster, Hee, please!” you nearly yelled. It had been hard to get the words out after getting him where you wanted.

“There we go!” 

Were you being pushed down on his cock or was he pushing up into you? By this point, you weren't really sure. What you were certain about, though, was that he reached wherever you needed him to, and the squelching sounds were at its loudest.

“Was he good like me?” Heesung asked, grunting through his teeth. “Were you thinking about me while he fucked you?”

He wasn't expecting to get answers, and he didn't. You were too focused on the feeling of your body overheating from the inside out, and all of your muscles tensing. Your walls clamped around him involuntarily as pushed you closer to the orgasm that you had been chasing since the beginning of your date a few hours ago.

Heesung wanted you to finish first, he truly tried, but there was no way to stop the waves of pure pleasure that hit as he came, and the fact that he got to come inside of you just made it hit harder, and you had to help him ride out his climax because he really couldn't move, just kept himself there with his brows furrowed.

You were close as well, so you didn't really stop despite Heesung reaching his orgasm first. Even through his over sensitivity, he helped you reach your own high. He sneaked his hand between your bodies to rub messy circles on your clit. You kept it slow on him, but he went fast. 

It didn't take long for you after that. Feeling you on his cock as you orgasmed almost made him hard again, if it wasn't so late and you hadn't been going at it for what felt like forever—not that he was complaining—. He got to watch your face contort into pure pleasure, better than any daydreams.

Heesung pressed his forehead against yours, unable to do anything other than show you something, whatever that something was. It lingered in the air, in the way he looked at you through his teary gaze. He kissed you, slower than ever before.

Whatever was going through his mind was deeper than lust, you could feel it in the way his lips moved so softly against yours, holding your face with both hands. You wondered if he knew that you didn't plan on slipping away again.

[wolvesofinnistrad]

Now Expanded on AO3 here

The bed is hard and cold, not anything he isn't used to, but uncomfortable all the same. Especially with the way his body aches right now.

He wasn't even supposed to be on the ground, running into burning buildings wasn't really his main job description anymore. It was just...

The woman was screaming for her cat. And Tommy loves cats, he has his own, Missy. She's probably wondering where daddy is right now.

Who is he kidding, she probably didn't even notice he left for work.

No one is probably noticing he's missing. He likes the people at harbor, his coworkers, but they aren't family like the 118, Evan has told him how half the station will be sitting bedside vigil when any of them get injured. It must be nice to have that. After his childhood, shipped from one foster home to another, kicked out at 18, a family like that is something he's always wanted; fuck he acted like an absolute asshole just to try to get the old 118 to like him.

He's just mulling over whether calling Eddie and asking him to pick him up whenever they discharge him is too much when he hears the squeak of sneakers on the hospital floor and glances towards the door.

In stumbles Evan, looking scared and adorable and making Tommy's heart beat so fast the monitor actually beeps a few times in warning.

"Tommy, hey, are you okay?" He says, scrambling towards him, dragging a chair over with a loud scrape that has Tommy wincing at the sound.

For a moment all he can do is stare over at this human ball of sunshine, something in his chest unknotting. Fuck he really didn't think anyone would come, how did he...

"I, I'm okay," he says, trying to put on a brave face for Evan. He's older, more experienced, he should try to be calm and not get emotional.

"You look like shit," Evan says in that earnest way he has, sitting there and taking Tommy's hand in his own. His thumb brushes over Tommy's bruised knuckles, his concerned expression staring straight into Tommy's soul.

"Oh..." he says as he feels something crack open in him. Because Evan is here, he's holding his hand, he's worried for him he... He wants to take care of him, its written all over that adorable face. And well, that's, its not really something Tommy ever has anymore. "I'll be okay," he amends, and his hand squeezes Evan's even if it hurts a little. "How did you even?"

"The hospital called me. Apparently I'm your emergency contact?" Evan asks, and there's confusion there, but also something that looks like that same giddy contentment that Evan gets whenever Tommy does something to make him happy.

Fuck. He forgot he'd done that. That looked crazy and desperate, they'd only been dating a couple months.

"Uh, yeah it was either you or Chimney," he said, and fuck if that didn't sound pathetic. It wasn't like he didn't have friends. He had a lot actually, but none that he trusted implicitly like that. To see him weak and vulnerable. Chimney had saved his life though, and Evan well...

Evan leans in and kisses him. "Well I'm glad you did because I might not have known otherwise. Chim is at work right now so."

They sit for a while, Him recounting how he saved the cat but got blasted out a first floor window by the explosion. There wasn't any serious damage but he hurt like shit and had a lot of bruises and scrapes.

"Would you want to, y'know, come home with me and I can take care of you? Or I can stay at your place," Evan asks and fuck, fuck he is Not going to cry, he is not that kind of guy. But then, before he can answer.

Eddie rounds the corner, followed closely by Chim and Hen. Eddie's in plain clothes but Hen and Chim look like they came directly from the station.

"Tommy, shit, you okay?" Eddie asks, and Hen and Chim are looking at his chart by the bed and this is. Its too much. Its exactly what he wanted but wasn't at all expecting.

"I'm," he starts, looking at Evan for a moment before deciding, "I feel about as bad as I look, yeah." Evan squeezes his hand and his heart starts racing again and the monitor is beeping a little and he feels a tear going down his cheek. Evan wipes the tear away and then they're all talking. About what happened as Evan explains it for him, about a call where Hen saved a dog a few months back, about whatever. And fuck if Tommy doesn't feel safe, feel like he belongs.

Later that night, laying in his own bed, Evan having dragged him onto his broad chest in the same way Tommy usually does to him, he starts to think he could get used to this. He really hopes he can keep Evan, keep all of this for himself. Missy curls at the foot of the bed and purrs and he thinks, yeah, I feel like purring in contentment too.

[escapedaudios]

God I need to bullshit another reason to get Scythe Audio to do heavy metal screams and growls in one of my audios again. If he wasn't already playing the Grimest Reaper in My True Love is Dead I'd invent a metal-themed slasher for him to play. Slash's gallery of rivals is already full of quirky villains with themes and gimmicks. A heavy metal slasher would actually rule.

Maybe I could just ressurect the lead singer of Bruderhof Death Machine as a ghoul and upgrade him from a side character that died after two minutes to a full character.

Uhhh ok I'm entering a stream of consciousness now. I'm gonna yap about My True Love is Dead. So far I have a few official character estsblishesd.

Killer Ride (aka the Route 66 Killer)

Motorcycle themed villain. She rides a ghoulish motorbike with a frame of bones called The Murdercycle. It's gas tank is filled with the tormented souls of her victims, and it's powered by their eternal screams. When the revs up her engine, you hear them wailing alongside the roaring sound of the engine. Her main weapon is a whip made from an oversized motorcycle chain with a dagger at the end, when she cracks her whip it moves faster than a bullet and makes sonic booms as it strikes. Her biker jscket has shoulder pads made from human skulls. She's campy and outrageous and larger than life cool and I love her even though she only exists in my outlines right now.

The Ace of Blades (aka the Great Plains Killer)

A rebellious slasher that defies the mandates of the Grimest Reaper. He's unspeakably evil. He spent 100 years in hell before his first ressurection as a ghoul. He spent so long in hell that hell itself follows him wherever he goes. Cracks bursting with flames and magma open in the ground where he steps. His weapons are two flaming sabers and his deceased victims follow him around as possesed skeletons and zombies bound to his vile will. They rise from the ground where his feet split the earth, and beg for death as they carry out his orders. He's the final boss and so unbelievably evil that even slashers find him despicable. Killer of virgins, killer of killers, and killer of all witnesses. There are no legends about him among mortals, because no one has ever survived him.

Demon Candy Undead (aka the Underground Killer)

Demon Candy, returned to life as a ghoul and servant of the Reaper. Enthusiastically obedient to the mandates of the Grimest Reaper, even more deranged and cruel than she was in life. Enamored by spectacle and flair, she records and disseminates her murders through VHS tapes that she leaves around for people to find. Dazzling and darkly glamorous, she's a charismatic showman that turns her cruelty into entertainment for the sick and twisted. Believers in her legend idolize her in a cult-like fashion, and capture living victims that they leave as offerings for her to collect and trap in her cruel games.

The Grimest Reaper

The master of Slash and The Basher. He never breaks a promise or a deal, but always makes sure that deals are in his favor. One of the only characters that is aware of worlds outside of his own. All universes have a Reaper. Some are kind ferrymen between life and death, others are cruel forces of terror. He is the most cruel one of them all. All who serve him must obey his mandates, or else be hunted down by his other servants with their souls devoured by him.

Some other reapers exist in my other universes! You've already seen one. Father Ernst from Der Wolfsjäger is an Angel of Death, though he'll never admit it to a mortal. It's only ever implied shortly before he appears, when Jäger explains that you can hear a holy choir of the dead singing when Death is near. Swan Song from Neon Memoriam is also a Reaper. She hasn't appeared directly yet, but she's been around. When Raven was dying in Neon Wings, she was there. The only reason Raven didn't die was because Crow was keeping her from taking Raven's soul, even though he didn't know it yet.

[beargyu313]

burning desire

wonbin x f!reader warnings: cheating, dubcon, slight noona kink maybe? she's 01 liner but it's never specifically mentioned, creampie, biting wk: 1862 This is a work of fiction and it is not meant to represent riize in any way !

The first time it happened, I was none the wiser. Me and my boyfriend had just came home from, having been celebrating his work promotion.

We stumble into his shared apartment, Sungchan completely wasted, leaning on me. I kick of my heels as I unsuccessfully try to help Sungchan further into the spacious apartment.

»Bin,« I subtly raise my voice, »can you come help, please?«

Sungchan grimaces as my raised voice is right next to his ear. Just as he shifts away from me, I hear the soft pads of Wonbins footsteps.

»Wha-,« he starts before swiftly moving to the other side of Sungchan, helping me hold him up.

»Oh, shit« he notes, »he really got wasted this time.«

»I know,« I sigh, »it's all because of Eunseok, he wouldn't stop taunting him about being a lightweight.«

With Wonbin's help we manage to lay Sungchan wasted ass onto the couch.

»Thanks for helping me,« I say, glancing anywhere but at Wonbin, as I note we were alone fort he first time ever. It is also this moment that I realize the lack of clothing I was wearing. Clad in a sinful black dress that did nothing to hide all of my curves. It ended dangerously low, just below my ass.

»It's uh, no problem,« Wonbin says, equally as awkward as I was being, »Although, next time you could've called me to pick you guys up.«

»No, don't worry about it, I won't let him get this drunk next time,« I chuckle. I look at Wonbin for the first time tonight, really look at him. Cheeks tinged with slight blush and disheveled hair. I also note the plain white tee and loose gray sweatpants. Gulping I turn towards the hallway.

»Well, I'll let you to it, thanks again.«

He calls me by my name, »wait,« he starts, walking behind me, »why don't you stay over, it's late already and I'm sure Sungchan would be pissed if he knew I let you leave in the middle of the night.«

His words come stumbling out of him, sounding rushed as if he - nevermind, thoughts like this would leave to dangerous outcomes. Still, he had a point. It indeed would be reckless to walk alone by myself, plus my apartment wasn’t close either.

As if sensing my hesitation Wonbin nods, stepping into my personal space. I gulp as he nods down at my shorter frame. “It’s okay really,” he smiles reassuringly.

“Okay.”

I’ve stayed over at Sungchan and Wonbin’s apartment before, but never without Sungchan’s presence. It felt a bit weird, especially being in their shared bedroom bathroom. One side connecting to Sungchan’s room and the other to Wonbin’s.

Having just taken off my makeup and brushed my hair I try to slip out of my dress, realizing I can’t take it off without help, as the zipper ran down my back. I try to reach it, but to no avail.

Fuck, this is just like one of those cliché pornos I think to myself. Only I already have a boyfriend, and his hot roommate is definitely not interested in me. Still I feel my heartbeat in my throat as I try to calm my breathing down.

I crack the door open and softly call out to Wonbin. He’s in front of the door immediately. Covering my view of his room.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, annoyingly attractively looking down at me. Fuck, he was shirtless. I take a step back as Wonbin pushes his way into the bathroom, leaning onto the door frame.

“Uhm, sorry but could you just help me unzip my dress?” I ask, turning around. I look over my shoulder just in time to see Wonbin bite his lips, letting his eyes rake down my body.

I shiver, feeling my cunt clench around nothing, I whip my head in front of me. Because no way is this happening.

I feel Wonbin’s warmth behind me, his melodic voice sounding so close to my neck I’m left  wondering if I’m imaging his breath on my neck.

“Of course noona,” he says.

I shiver when his hand grazes my shoulder. I hear him unzip my dress. My hands coming to my chest, holding the small dress up. The dress so tight on me I wasn’t wearing a bra underneath.

“Thanks,” I say, but before I could turn around, Wonbin holds me in place. His hands on my hips.  

“Wha-“

“You can let go, you know” Wonbin whispers seductively to me. His face almost nuzzling into my neck. I feel his hands move from my hips to my waist, as he lets himself hold me in a hug.

In a daze, I feel my mind has left this planet. Has thinking always been this hard? Still, this is wrong, I have a boyfriend. I have to put a stop to this.

Wonbin with a grace of dancer moves both of our bodies slightly to the left. Positioning us smack in front of the mirror.

With shallow breaths I stare at our bodies together. My hands still holding the front of my dress up with flushed face. Fuck, I already look so fucked out, with eyes glazed over and messy hair.

Wonbin was looking delicious as ever, his hands still wrapped around me, his lips are caressing my neck as he speaks.

“Noona,” he says in a low hoarse voice, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Fuck, I feel myself clench around nothing, I’ve never heard him speak in this tone.

His hands are covering mine and I struggle against his grip as he lowers them down. Not even pretending my strength can stop him. His gaze is piercing through the mirror, his eyes solely focused on my body and so, so dark.

I whine when he pulls the dress down my waist, my boobs on display.

“Stop,” I say, my chest heaving up and down. My pussy has practically developed her own heartbeat at this point.

“It’s okay Noona,” he says, “he won’t know,” Wonbin groans, his palms on my breasts. He squeezes them, pinching the nipples slightly.

A moan escapes me and I try to squirm away from his touch. As a result he grabs me impossibly tighter against his body. His hard bulge pressing onto my ass.

“Wonbin,” I try to say with warning, but it comes out as a whine. I lean into his touch, moaning yet again as he peppers light kisses down my neck.

“Mmmm, you smell so good,” he tells me, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching, you know.”

“I know you want this as much as I do, let me please you just once, Noona, I promise I’ll be good to you,” Wonbin says looking me directly into my eyes, so sincerely and seriously.

I turn around so we’re face to face to each other. I can feel my resolve breaking.

“Okay,” I say and Wonbin smiles so brightly one would think I plucked a star out of the sky for him, “but this is the only time it can happen.”

Wonbin only nods, already leading me into his room. His room is just like I imagined it would, furnished with dark pieces with guitar in one corner leaning against the wall. He had a mood light on and it only let the basic shapes peak out, the whole room lit in a blue light.

I try to shimmy out of my dress, but Wonbin stops me.

“Leave it on,” he says. I oblige laying down on his bed. Immediately Wonbin is on me, his soft lips on mine. I moan into his mouth my hands in his dark locks.

“Wonbin,” I whine, pressing my hips against his. He understands my want, chuckling at my neediness. My hands slide to the waistband of his sweatpants, trying to pull them down. Wonbin helps me, breaking our kiss to fully take them off.

I bite my lip as I see his stiff cock, bouncing slightly with the speed Wonbin pulled his sweatpants off. There’s a slight trail leading down from his belly button and I feel my mouth water with the ideas running through my head.

Wonbin only smirks at me before he’s on me again.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he tells me, “but Sungchan is always trailing you like a fucking bodyguard,” he groans.

My heart aches, “don’t mention him right now,” I say.

At that Wonbin prods his cock at my entrance, teasingly running it up and down my slit.

“And don’t tease either,” I gasp.

“So bossy,” Wonbin says, his head in my neck again, “you’re lucky you’re cute noona.”

I gasp, when he pushes the head of his cock into my aching cunt, whining at the stretch.

Wonbin lets out a deep groan, “fuck noona, he must not fuck you good if you’re already so wet.”

“Tight too,” he says, voice strained as he pushes further. I moan at the feeling of his cock moving deeper into my cunt, squeezing him inside of me even further. I wrap my legs around his hips once he’s fully inside, my arms around his neck.

“Oh my god Wonbin,” I whine, “you feel so fucking good.” I smirk when I feel him twitch inside of me.

Wonbin buries his neck into me, voice whinier too, “you’re so fucking tight, I feel like I’m gonna bust any second.”

“Wonbin please move,” I tell him, shimmying my own hips slightly. He moans as he slowly pushes out my wet cunt starting the frustratingly slow rhythm that does little to relieve my ache. I whine, squeezing my cunt around his length.

“I can feel you so well like this noona,” he says, he bites me gently where my neck and shoulders meet, pushing into me a bit harsher this time.

“If this is the only time I can have you, I’m gonna take it slow, relish in your body properly,” he tells.

“N-no go faster please, please and maybe I will allow you to fuck me one more time. But only if you do good this time, Binnie,” I say, the words enough to send him into a wilder pace.

His cock is ramming into me in and out, my sopping to the point there’s squelching noises each time he enters me.

Wonbin’s pace is getting wilder and more irregular.

“Call me Binnie one more time,” he gasps out.

“Binnie,” I moan, the moan turning into a half scream when he sinks his teeth deep into my skin. He groans into the bite and I feel his cum spill into me. Wonbin pushes his cock deep into me, enough that I feel his balls spazm the cum. The feeling enough to set me over too.

I hug Wonbin to me, our sweaty bodies tense as we let the pleasure take over.

After we’ve calmed down Wonbin slips out of me, helping me to the bathroom. He lets the shower flow, setting the water temperature as he helps me get inside.

None of us spoke as we shampooed each other’s bodies and then rinsed. The air between us comfortable, words not needed.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Bellowing Bull Calling Home

Please forgive me for not posting any stories in a hot minute! I've just been super busy and tired. I had a whole issue with my meds (thankfully it's been sorted out) and since I'm so angry I wrote something about König getting mad. I really like the idea of being yelled at by this man, so once I get to 500 followers, I might post some snippets of smut.

Also, I'm thinking about opening a Kofi soon. I don't make much money, but it would be a good place to post some more... Interesting drawings, so to speak. I could also take some comissions if anyone is interested. However, I'm not sure yet. I'm just floating the idea.

Anyways, enough about me! Time to read König getting mad because that's super hot.

TWs: König yelling and insulting recruits, slight allusions to degradation kink, allusions to a horrible government secret contained in a suitcase (you never learn what it is)

Wordcount: 4.1K

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Bellowing Bull Calling Home

 Normally, visiting König at work was a laughable concept. A PMC base was no place for a simple civilian such as yourself, yet here you were with König’s (supposedly) very important briefcase that he’d been directed to hold close to his chest for the foreseeable future. You’d begged König to let you read them, but he had simply laughed you off and changed the locks on the briefcase again. He then politely hid it out of view to keep you from trying to break into it. You had no intentions of doing so, but apparently whatever was in there was important enough for König to go to such lengths to protect it.

Unfortunately, by hiding the suitcase to keep it out of sight and out of mind from your curious fingers, König had forgotten about it entirely when he left that morning. You wouldn’t have known were the suitcase not sat proud and regal on your humble dining room table.

Sipping your drink and leaning against the counter, you realized you had the perfect opportunity to try and hack the damned thing open. Whatever was in there had König muttering darkly under his breath and leaning away from your touch. Those accursed documents were driving a wedge into your relationship the size and depth of a canyon. Of course, you knew the case was tamper-proof. You knew that if you so much as cracked it open as much as a millimeter, it would most likely set off some sort of alarm if a proper code wasn’t punched in the top. You had the strange feeling, based on the hefty weight in your hands, that the case wouldn’t even so much as dent if you took a simple butterknife to it.

You swung it back and forth as you left the home, the weight of your relationship hanging with the suitcase in your hand. Making your way to the main gates of the base.

A soldier checked your ID before waving you through, getting another soldier to help make your way to your husband.

“So, I don’t know if he’ll be in his office right now, but we can swing by there first,” Horangi chirped as he followed behind you to a long, grey building that sat close to the entrance.

You passed through a series of doors under the judgemental stares of low-ranking officers as Horangi brought you down the linoleum floors to come to a plain wood door, its only decor being a brown and white plaque reading ‘LEICHENBERG’ in big block letters. Horangi flicked the back of his knuckles against the doors twice before rolling back onto the balls of his heels. He looked at the door expectantly, then to you, then knocked again.

“Sometimes I knock and he thinks he’s going crazy,” Horangi explained before turning back to the door, “what he doesn't know is that sometimes I’m walking by and I’ll knock on the door and leave before he can answer it. I don’t think he’s caught on yet.”

You shook your head tiredly. That would at least explain some of König’s strange tendencies as of late, at least. Friends like Horangi tended to shorten lifespans, so if König dropped dead on his next mission, at least you knew who to blame now.

Horangi pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door to step through into the minimalist office. You balked at his gall, but the way the soldier swaggered through the doorway had you thinking that Horangi was far too comfortable with pushing his way into your husband’s office.

You barely got a chance to see your wedding picture on König's desk before Horangi cleared his throat.

“Whelp, looks like he’s not here,” Horangi sighed as he turned to face you, “guess I can just hand that over to him myself, if you’d like.”

You sighed, “I was really hoping to hand this over to him personally…”

“Why?” Horangi snorted, “so you can go fuck in a closet or something?”

“No!” you gasped, “I just… I wanted to see him. I never get to see him at work so, you know... I thought this might be a good chance to see what he's like at work.”

“Well who am I to deny such a fine and noble venture?” you could hear Horangi’s shit-eating grin through his mask, “if we’re gonna track down König, we gotta use plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked warily.

“Plan B!” Horangi cheered before sauntering over and slinging an arm over your shoulder, “looks like we’re going on a goose chase today.”

“Please not a wild one.”

“It’s gonna be a wild one.”

You groaned as Horangi’s laughter echoed off the empty walls of König’s office. It figured that the one day you had to go to König’s work he’d be squirreled away into the farthest corner of the base. He had a habit of being in the wrong spot at the wrong time, which made you all the more anxious every time he was sent on deployment. It also had a tendency to haunt you in your daily life when he returned home to your awaiting arms.

Horangi trotted down the halls, conveniently pushing you past anything he considered a bit too explicit for civilian eyes and ensuring you were in front of him to prevent you from skiving off to some derelict corner of the base.

“König usually likes to go to the gym when he’s frustrated about something,” Horangi explained as he brought you from the main building to a separate section of the base. Once inside, Horangi rounded on the help desk like a tiger on a deer.

“So, Matrice,” Horangi drawled as he leaned his chin on the heel of his hand, somehow exuding smugness through his mask and sunglasses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where ol’ Col. Leichenberg is, would you?”

“Uh…” Matrice darted her dark eyes between Horangi and you, then down to the suitcase fearfully.

“König’s my husband,” you offered.

“König has a wife?” Matrice shook her dark curls as she tapped away on her archaic keyboard, “nobody ever tells me anything around here...”

“Well maybe if you actually came to the staff parties, you might get to know us a bit better,” Horangi slyly slid the dig into the conversation with serpentine ease.

“Horangi, last time I attended a KorTac hoedown you threw up in my car,” Matrice grumbled, “I’m never gonna be your DD again.”

“I don’t remember it being that bad,” Horangi snorted, then turned and muttered, “not that I remember that much anyways…”

“And that’s why I’m not your DD anymore,” Matrice scrolled through the page a couple of times before shrugging and turning to you, “sorry ma'am, but you’re outta luck here. Maybe try checking the cafeteria? It’s nearly lunch. Big boy's gotta eat."

“König would be the first out to lunch,” you grumbled after you thanked the woman. Horangi paid no mind to your whinging and simply turned you back around to head back to the main building.

“If it makes you feel better,” Horangi offered as he firmly pushed you across the road, “I think I saw him cut down on red meat the other day.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you rolled your eyes. 

Horangi only laughed as he opened the door for you.

“I’m serious! He needs to watch what he eats!” you insisted as Horangi led you into the belly of the PMC.

“You know, sometimes I think about what your grocery budget is like, and then I think I'd rather go back to South Africa than have to pay your bills for a month,” Horangi chirped as he stopped you from missing a right turn, “watch your step.”

“You know it would be easier if you were the one in front,” you huffed as you swung down the bland corridor.

“I don’t like the thought of you being out of sight,” Horangi explained as he guided you around yet another corner, “König’s said some interesting things about you.”

“You guys talk about me?” you cast a glare over your shoulder at the tall Korean man.

“What else are we gonna talk about?” Horangi shrugged, “living on base isn’t exactly exciting. Dunno if you civvies got the memo, but there’s only so many times you can talk about special secret missions before it just gets boring.”

“Special secret missions?” you perked up.

“Cleaning duty assigned to whatever poor fucker got the shit end of the stick,” Horangi clarified.

You groaned, then complained, “Please tell me he doesn’t say bad things.”

“Not really,” Horangi replied, “but he tells me a little bit. Just the juicy bits.”

“Really?” you scoffed, “like what?”

“Did you actually forget your own birthday this year?”

You flushed, which seemed to be enough proof for Horangi to laugh at your humiliation.

“He told me you nearly had a heart attack when he told you,” Horangi snickered.

“Oh really?” the cafeteria came into view, “well has he told you he eats other people’s lunches as snacks?”

Horangi sighed, “I figured it was him. It’s not hard to guess that one.”

“Has he told you that he ate Stilleto’s cake?”

Horangi paused, “I thought he was a better man.”

“We both did,” you shook your head morosely, “but I guess she stole his evening snack or something?”

“Oh my God he didn’t try to justify it, did he?” Horangi groaned.

“I tried to explain it to him but he wouldn’t have it,” you pushed the door to the cafeteria open.

The massive room was empty save for a table of sergeants playing poker and a couple of officers sharing a coffee. The room was notably absent of any giant men with a propensity for malicious snacking. The warm and inviting smell of the room made you want to grab one of those dishwater coffees they served and kick up your feet, get a taste of the military experience, but the suitcase felt hot in your hands.

“Looks like he’s not here,” Horangi pointed out the obvious, “so maybe he’s outside training one of his teams? I hope not…”

“Why don’t we check?” you offered.

“But it’s so far…” Horangi trailed off weakly as you marched past him, “hey! Where are you going!?”

“To see König!” you called back.

Horangi rolled his eyes, but followed behind you regardless.

The outdoor training area had been split into three squads of men, each squad being led by a different officer. The first leader Horangi brought you to had looked you up and down suspiciously before promptly turning a shade of milk white when he spotted the suitcase in your arms.

“What the hell are you doing with that!?” the portly man squawked as he jabbed a finger at the offending black pleather suitcase.

“My husband forgot it before going to work,” you spoke softly, taken aback by the man’s animated reaction.

“Wh-König just left it at home?” the man’s pale skin was steadily flushing to a beet red the longer you let him sit with your answer.

“Can you show me where he is? I need to get this back to him,” you tried to calm him but he only grew steadily more upset.

“You’re telling me König left that suitcase in the hands of a damn civilian?” the man scoffed, “König’s an idiot, but he can’t be that stupid!”

“She’s probably telling the truth, Baker,” Horangi interjected.

Baker steamrolled over him with the grace of a bulldog chasing a rat, “So where the hell did you get that?”

“It was just on my kitchen ta-”

“It was on your what!?” Baker howled.

“Baker!” Horangi barked, finally making the man pause to let you breathe, “this is König’s wife.”

Baker’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped into a perfect ‘o’. He turned to you with a sheepish smile, “Sorry, ma’am, I… I should’ve put two and two together but just seeing a random civilian with that in their hands and… Well… You gotta understand, right?”

You tried to steel your nerves as you replied, “It’s alright! Don’t worry about it.”

“I really should apologize though,”  Baker blundered on, “I mean if I’d only known you were König’s wife I never would’ve-”

“Baker please,” Horangi pinched his nose bridge, “cut the shit. I’m really not in the mood to listen to you kiss ass for an hour straight.”

“Understood sir,” Baker snapped his jaw shut before subtly turning to you, “please don’t mention anything to König.”

“I won’t,” you assured him kindly.

“Thank God,” Baker quietly made the sign of a cross before returning back to his platoon.

Horangi dragged you along to the next platoon, quietly ignoring Baker’s inability to direct you to König. Instead you were brought before a short man with notably thick dark eyebrows, accentuating his severe browline as he scowled at his soldiers.

“G’day Horangi 'ow are what the hell is she holding,” the man glared at you as though you were but dirt beneath his steel-toed boots.

“This is König’s wife,” Horangi cut you off before you could even start, “she’s here to deliver what he forgot at home.”

The man’s dark eyes darted from you back to Horangi, “You’re tellin’ me big boy over there forgot the damn-”

“Don’t say it,” Horangi interjected harshly, “don’t you dare.”

“She don’t know?” the man whispered.

“Not a word,” Horangi’s threat was nearly lost under the shouts of men and the screams of whistles.

The man looked unnerved, but nodded along begrudgingly.

“Right, well, you’re lookin’ for the big guy?” the man glanced between you both.

“Sure are,” Horangi nodded.

“Well yer in luck!” the man’s face lit up, “big boy’s just over there.” With that, he pointed out into the distance at one big man sitting in a navy blue folding chair whilst commanding the smallest group of soldiers, no more than a squad in number. His back was to them, but it was clear it was none other than König. If nothing else, the mask on his face in the sweltering hot sun was a dead giveaway. It was a miracle you didn’t see him earlier.

“Damn,” Horangi spat, “you really think it would be easier to find him, but he’s damn good at getting lost in a crowd.”

“When ‘e’s in that chair it’s hard to spot ‘im,” the man chuckled, “now get outta my sight with that damned thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just lookin’ at it.”

You glanced down at the suitcase and back at Horangi.

“You don't want to know. Seriously,” Horangi muttered as he urged you onwards.

Instead of taking in the weight of Horangi's ominous utterances, you focussed on making your way to König with a skip in your step, eager to see your beloved husband. You were so eager that you didn’t notice how he tensed up as you drew close. Just as you were about to greet him, he slowly rose from his seat with a blood-curdling howl sent straight from hell itself.

“YOU!” König bellowed like a brazen bull, “JEFFERSON, YOUNG, MANDULU! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. You had never, never, in your life ever heard König yell like that before. Sure he could curse up a wicked storm when he stunned his toe on the corner of your table, but this? This was another beast entirely. The mere thought of König yelling like this had been completely foreign to you.

“YOU USELESS ANIMALS,” König raged as he rounded in on the three cowering soldiers, “I have never, in my entire life, seen such incompetence,” König drew himself up to his full height, making even you shiver in your shoes, “and yet here you three are before me. What gives you the right to call yourself soldiers!?”

“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” the middle man’s voice quivered as he stepped forward for the others.

König’s laugh sounded downright demonic, “You’re apologizing for what? I haven’t even told you what you did wrong!”

You looked back at Horangi, who only threw you two thumbs up as he smartly backed away. You glared at his retreating form before König forcefully grabbed your attention.

“All three of you have been nothing but DEAD WEIGHT to the rest of your team. I’ve seen better performances from drunks moping up their own VOMIT!” König snarled as he drew close to the men, circling them like a hyena stalks its prey, “fucking Aziz is doing better than any of you. And Mandulu!” König clucked his tongue as the terracotta skinned man quivered like an aspen tree when König's voice dropped to a lull, “I expected better of you. You’re supposed to be up for promotion, yeah?" König leaned in close to scream, "DOES THIS PERFORMANCE WARRANT A GOD DAMN PROMOTION?” König’s face wasn’t even a foot from the man’s nose, leaning down and coating him with hot breaths from his draconic lungs.

The man, Mandulu, slumped as all fear left his body, totally replaced with encroaching shame. He dropped his head down, before tearfully admitting, “No sir.”

“THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” König screamed.

A part of you wanted to intervene. You felt like you were witnessing a torture session with how König rounded on this poor man, but something held you back. Maybe it was fear, but maybe, just maybe… It was arousal.

You hated to admit it, but something about watching König’s muscles bulge in his neck as his mask swayed forth when he leaned down over men who easily dwarfed you excited you. You almost wished that you were in their shoes, but watching was more than enough. He was a glorious sight, rage burning like the sun as he lorded over his men like a god. He was a mountain of a man with how he held himself up above his victims. You wished to lay before him like Prometheus, let him rip you apart with his talons.

“And you two,” König spat as he turned to the others, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON YOUR PHONES? What are you doing twenty feet off looking at the others while they work like ACTUAL FUCKING SOLDIERS.”

One meekly spluttered, “Sir we were just-”

“Just what? Laughing at Goetz?” you could see König whipping himself up into a frenzy as he hurled his next insults, “GOETZ HAD KNEE SURGERY THREE MONTHS AGO AND IS STILL HAULING YOUR USELESS ASSES ACROSS THE GODDAMN FIELD. AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PLAYING ON YOUR GODDAMN PHONES!!!”

You shuddered. If there was one thing König hated, it was soldiers on their phone during training. You gave a silent prayer for the poor men.

König stalked around them slowly, “I should have you thrown out. What would I be losing? Nothing! Not a single thing! I might actually gain something without you two dragging us down!”

The men cowered miserably. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for them, despite knowing the abuse was more than well deserved. From the sounds of it, it was a miracle König hadn’t beaten them to a pulp. Now that… That would be a sight to witness…

“ALL OF YOU,” König snapped as he finally stood to face the three men directly, “Mandulu! Give me a ten page report on all the reasons you’re still worthy of a promotion today at eighteen-hundred exactly, or you’re up for recycling. For the next half hour, you’re running laps around the yard. Maybe think how you'll structure your points, ja?” he turned to the other two, this time with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. You knew that under his mask, he was grinning from ear to ear through the fury etched into his face. “And you two!” he cackled, “give me your phones. For the next week, you’re going to be putting your phones in lock boxes. You’re going to carry those fucking boxes from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. If you’re good little boys, you’ll get your phone for an hour before lights out. Are we clear?”

“But sir, my wife-”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GOD DAMN ABOUT YOUR WIFE,” König roared.

The man shrunk into himself like he’d been burned by the flames of König’s fury.

“You are to carry your phones in lockboxes for the next two weeks! Are we clear?” König snapped.

“Yes sir,” the two miserable whelps squeaked out before König finally relaxed.

The goliath finally stood straight before them, “All three of you! Dismissed!”

“Yes sir,” the three men saluted and slunk off miserably.

Just as Mandulu looked like he couldn’t be in any worse of a state, König called out, “And Mandulu?" the man raised his dark for eyes, "I’m disappointed.”

The poor man looked like his whole spirit had just been crushed to dust. His face crumpled in just briefly before he quickly turned his face and quietly left.

You watched the poor man leave with his tail tucked between his legs before turning to look at König. He was shaking his head slowly as he turned his back on his soldiers, all of whom were watching him for further instruction. He quietly turned to them, barked a couple of commands that had the soldiers scurrying into actions, then turned back to stare off into the distance. Incidentally, that was right at you.

“Ah!” König stiffened slightly as he locked eyes with you, “meine liebe! What are you doing here?”

“I brought this for you,” you held up the suitcase that had been weighing you down all day.

“Oh mein Gott,” König gasped as he rushed over, “ohhhhh mein Gott meine leibe I can’t believe you found this. I can’t believe I forgot oh mein Gott.”

“I figured you might need it,” you laughed as you handed the suitcase over.

“I knew I was forgetting something, but this? If one of my superiors saw me without this,” König shuddered, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well it’s a good thing I got it for you!” you smiled brightly before scowling, “it was really hard to find you though.”

“Oh?” König put the case down and put his hands on your shoulders, “where did you think I was?”

“Well, first Horangi took me to your office-”

“Please tell me he didn’t take you inside,” König groaned.

“He did,” you chirped, “but he did knock twice at least.”

“Well that’s something,” König grumbled, “so where did you go next?”

“We went to the cafeteria afterwards,” you placed your hands on König’s hips and shifted from side to side.

“You went to the cafeteria? Why didn’t you come here first?” König scoffed in mock offense.

“König,” you cupped his masked face in your hands, “I know you too well to not check the cafeteria second.”

König sniffed indignantly but let you continue your regales of your odyssey.

“So anyways, when you weren’t in the cafeteria, Horangi took me out here to find you! It took us a couple of tries, but we got here in the end!” you lightly kissed the inside of his wrist, making him chuckle sheepishly.

“So you saw all that?” König grimaced.

“All of it,” you told him, “I feel kinda bad for them though…”

“Ach,” König scratched the back of his head, “Jefferson and Young are fucking idiots, but Mandulu is usually one of my best. I don’t know what got into him today…”

“Maybe he’s going through a tough time?” you asked.

“I really hope not,” König winced, “if he is… Well, I can’t apologize. And if he were out on the fields it wouldn’t matter, so this is a good experience. Still,” König paused as he looked off to where Mandulu left, “I hope tomorrow is better.”

“Can't you go easy on him?” you asked hopefully.

“It’s because I like him that I have to be harder,” König patted your head lovingly, “if I’m soft, he’ll never be what he wants to be. If I’m hard on him, he might get to my rank in a couple of years.”

“That fast!” you whistled, “he must really be something special.”

“I was the one who put him up for promotion,” König brought his hands back to his hils, “but… You weren’t upset by any of that, were you?”

“Not really,” you shook your head, “if anything, it was kinda hot.”

“You thought me going red in the face is ‘hot’?” König shook his head in disbelief, “you’re a strange woman.”

“It’s cool to see you when you get all angry and stuff,” you chirped, then quietly added, “it would be hot if you yelled at me like that.”

“I don’t want the neighbors to know about your kinks,” König drawled as you blushed, “but if you really want, we could always try something when we get home.”

“Could we really?” you grinned eagerly.

“Well, not like that,” König pointed over his shoulder at where the three men had stood, “but I’m sure we can figure something out. Now,” he picked up the suitcase, “do you need a lift home?”

“I’ll be alright,” you assured him, “do you need me to go?”

“I'd hate for you to go so soon. If you like, I can meet you back in my office, but as you can see I’m a bit busy just right now,” König gestured over to the soldiers hauling a massive log over their shoulders from one end of the muddy field to the other.

“Can you at least give me a kiss before I go?” you asked.

“Of course,” König laughed.

Without missing a beat, König lifted his mask up to lean down and press a kiss against your lips. He held you tight briefly, then let you step back from his grasp. His eyes shone with an undying warmth as he took in your form once more.

“Colonel König has a face!” a soldier screamed in the distance.

König closed his eyes as he let out an exasperated groan.

“They’ve never seen your face?” you asked.

“They’ve never been on the field with me,” König explained before ruffling your hair, “now go to my office. I’ll be there soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” you blew him a kiss as you walked off back to the main building.

As you did, you could hear König raging and roaring at the soldiers from behind you. You felt bad, but you knew you’d be on the receiving end of König’s rage soon enough. Funnily enough, you looked forward to it.

Story Masterlist

[cowgurrrl]

Keep the Wolves Away

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Dedicated to my real life Andies. Thank you for making me feel easy to love.

Summary: The worst decision [5.2k]

Warnings: platonic threatening, discussions of bad mental health, so much flirting that (spoiler alert) might be real, possible THE shittiest ex I ever could've written, all the southern pet names, alcohol consumption, the resurgence of an old nude of readers, gaslighty behavior, smoking cigarettes (don't smoke kids), Joel talking reader out of a spiral, two (2) kisses

"So, it's a date." Andie declares once you're done explaining everything to her over FaceTime. You pause your blush application to roll your eyes at her. 

"It's not a date!"

"I'm sorry, so I'm just supposed to believe you when you say you're going to be just friends with the hot, sweet single dad who sounds like he's head over heels for you?"

"He is not head over heels for me." You sound a little petulant, and Andie laughs like she did when you were in high school and trying to hide a crush from her. 

"Babe, he willingly went on a high school field trip just so he could see you."

"His daughter was there. I'm sure he wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm sure he did because he's a great dad, but he also wanted to see you in your element. It's sexy watching someone do the thing they love." 

"Yeah, yeah." You brush her off, and she scoffs. You toss your makeup brush back into its bag and check out your outfit in the mirror. It's nothing insane— just a plain black slip dress— but now that Joel's arrival is getting closer and closer, you're rethinking everything. "Do I look okay?"

"You look stunning!" Andie chirps. "I'm sure your not boyfriend will think the same thing."

"I'm going to get a plane ticket to Austria just so I can choke you out with my own two hands." You threaten, but she laughs so hard you can't stop smiling. Once the trans-Atlantic giggling dies down, the line goes quiet, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mascara out. 

"Are you nervous to see him?" She asks gently. Andie came home for the summer dubbed The Dark Days. She stayed over when the one-bedroom apartment felt too big and got you out of the house when you couldn't stand the four walls anymore. She took whatever he left behind to his new apartment so you wouldn't have to (and gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it). She made you believe in love again. Not sticky, frustrating, unpredictable romantic love but pure, easy, all-knowing love that can only come from long-enduring relationships such as yours. 

For a long time after he left, you thought you were hard to love. Too loud, too bright, too much. Until you were out at a bar with her one night, trying to find the remnants of your independence and self-esteem tucked under sweaty beers and cracked leather chairs, when someone pointed out how similar you and Andie were. "Like two sides of the same coin," the woman told you. Andie is one of the easiest people in the world to love with her quick wit, creativity, and smile. And you realized for the first time if you had even a shred of that, even if only by dint of knowing and being loved by her, then you must be easy to love too. You must be worth the mess and heartache and stained fingerprints. 

So, yeah, Andie was less than pleased to hear that all that hard work could be undone by seeing him again, but she was supportive. 

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've had more years without him than I did with him, but it's still scary."

"I know." 

"I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

"He'll probably be too busy with the gallery and everything. Maybe you won't even have to." She says, and you groan at the uncertainty of everything. 

"God, why did I say yes?" You ask as a knock interrupts your whining. You end your call with a quick "I love you, thank you, I'll text you" before throwing your phone down. "Come in!" You yell from the bathroom as you rapidly finish doing your makeup. There's a pause on the other side before he jiggles the knob and finally comes in. "I'm just finishing up in the bathroom. Give me a minute." 

"D'you always leave your door unlocked?" Joel asks. The sound of his unsure footsteps reaches your ears, and you smile at the thought of him looking around your apartment like a lost toddler. 

"Only when I know someone's coming over," you say. "Sorry, it's a mess."

"Oh, this is nothin'. You should see Ellie's room." He says, his feet pacing the floor. You swipe on a cute lipstick you never wear and finally step out into the living room where Joel is waiting. He's wearing a black button-up shirt with nice pants as he stands with his back to you, looking at some of the things on your wall. 

"Well, don't you look nice?" You compliment, making him turn around with a shy smile. His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail or sliver of skin he hasn't seen before. His intense gaze reminds you of how he looked at you in the bar when you were sure his eyes would melt you. He looks dumbstruck, and his Adam's apple bobs when his eyes finally settle on your face. 

"Wow… you look-"

"Choose carefully." You tease to take some of the tension out of the room. 

"Beautiful," he says, thwarting your efforts. "You always look beautiful." 

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself." 

"You like it? Ellie helped me pick it out," he anxiously fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt. "Feels weird." 

"What specifically feels weird?" You ask, stepping closer to him to examine his outfit. He smells like aftershave and the cologne he's prone to wearing. Why the fuck do you have his cologne memorized, you think to yourself. 

"I dunno. I think I just feel outta place." 

"Well, you don't look out of place," you say. "These might be what's doing it, though." You tap the top buttons of his shirt, the ones buttoned all the way up to his chin like a toddler going to Christmas mass. 

"Ellie said I should do all of 'em since it's a fancy art thing."

"Well, you should stop taking fashion advice from a fifteen-year-old," you laugh. "I promise it's not fancy enough to justify being uncomfortable." 

"I'm takin' your word for it." He says as he reaches up to undo his top two buttons, revealing freckles across his chest and collarbones and the tiniest sliver of a gold chain resting against his throat. For some reason, you can't tear your eyes away from the veins in his neck or the delicate necklace stuck to his warm skin. "What, it really looks that bad?" He thankfully breaks through your thoughts, and you try to recover by shaking your head.

"No, no. Not at all. You look really nice," you say, clearing your throat. "Let me get my purse, and we can go." You don't even wait for him to respond. You just turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom. In the security of your bedroom, you let out a long exhale and try to get your mind back on track. 

You're just nervous. He's being nice. You're being nice back. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing, you mentally chant. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost have to laugh at the fierce blush on your cheeks and the distracted look in your eyes. "You better get it together." You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror like it's gonna do anything to make tonight smoother.

The gallery is packed when you get there. Joel curses under his breath as he tries to find a parking spot, and you try to keep your anxiety at bay. All you have to do is show your face, look at the paintings, and leave. Maybe you can manage to steal a bottle of the cheap wine they're undoubtedly serving. It'll be an hour. Two tops. You can do this. 

You're so in your head that you didn't notice that Joel parked the car or that he was looking at you until he bumped your knee with his. 

"You okay?" He asks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Just need a second." You mumble. You fiddle with your earrings, your dress, anything to keep your hands busy as you psyche yourself up. 

"When's the last time you saw this asshole?"

"He wasn't always an asshole," you try to redirect, but he raises his eyebrows at you. "Since I graduated college." 

"We don't have to go in." He offers easily, and you give him a look. 

"Yes, we do. My name's on the list and everything." 

"So?" He shrugs. "The world's not gonna end just cause one person didn't show up."

"But you drove all the way here."

"And I can drive you all the way back. Besides, it's nice having a pretty girl in my truck. It wouldn't hurt to have you here next to me for a little while longer." He says, and you laugh, feeling some weight lift off your shoulders.

"You get many pretty girls sitting in your truck?"

"Just my pretty girls." 

"Right." You say, and he smiles, creating familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They look a little deeper in the moonlight, but his eyes shine differently. Your fingers itch to draw them if only to critique your work and find the answer to why he has such an effect on you. You're aware that you're staring, but you also can't find it in yourself to look away. Not when he's staring back at you so fondly. 

"What can I do to help you?" He asks. You feel like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice. You've talked to Ellie about her anxiety, so you know he has some practice in dealing with it, but he's acting like it's second nature. Like this is what he was meant to do. He bumps you again when you start messing with your purse. "Do you want this to be like at the bar? Do you want me to take you home and pretend like we were never here? Do you want me to go in there and crack some skulls? You say the word— any word— and I'll do it for you, darlin'." 

Darlin’. It's what he called you when you promised revenge for almost kissing you at the bar. Normally, you'd be against any form of pet name. Henry was not openly affectionate in that way, and you learned not to expect it from him. But here's Joel, dropping the term of endearment almost every time he's been alone with you. It could be that cowboy accent or his knee pressed against yours, but the nickname fills your chest with warmth and pushes away your anxiety. 

"Any word, huh?" You ask, and he chuckles. 

"My mama raised me not to make promises I didn't have every intention of followin' through on." He says. "What'll it be?"

"I think��� I just need you to be there with me." 

"Then, that's what I'll do." 

"Okay." You mumble, and he smiles as a new wave of comfort washes over you. 

"Okay." He says.

"Okay." You take a deep breath and look at him in the driver's seat one more time. "Let's do this." Finally, you open the door and step down from his truck. He's quick to come to your side and offer you his arm before he can even finish locking the car. You smile, tuck your hand under his bicep, and let him keep you upright as you walk in. 

The gallery is full of people who look way more qualified than you— art critics, journalists, and other artists who can actually sell a piece. They barely glance at you and Joel when you breach the doorway, which you're silently grateful for. When a waiter walks by with champagne glasses, Joel quickly snatches two glasses from the tray and hands you one. 

"Here's to us." He says, and you cock an eyebrow at him. 

"Us?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not toastin' to that asshole, are we?" 

"I guess not," you laugh as you clink your glasses together. "To us." You each take a sip, and Joel tries to hide his reaction to the champagne, but you see right through it. "Not your speed?"

"Not at all." He groans as he chokes it down. 

"Don't worry, maverick, we'll get you something else later." You promise and tuck your hand back under his arm as you start walking through the gallery. 

A lot of his newer work resembles his work from college— normal portraits of things like fruits, beds, or people but with unexpected lines of colors lining them like they're vibrating. You even recognize some from your college days. You just never expected them to actually be displayed in this way, not even when you were dating and telling him what a good artist you thought he was. Some have vague titles like "$12" and "Jack," while others are untitled. You can see why it would get taken in by a gallery. There's a very clear skill in how he paints and manipulates everyday objects into something new. It would be impressive if it was interesting. 

Maybe you're just used to the way he paints. Maybe this is exactly what you expected of him. Maybe you thought he would've grown, if not in attitude than, at least, in skill. But it's clear that too many people told him good things about his work, and he saw nothing he needed to change or fix. Somehow, it makes you feel better, not worse, about your own art. 

"So, are these supposed to be good or bad?" Joel whispers to you as you get closer to the next section, and you laugh a little too loudly. The people around you give you nasty looks, but you can't find it in yourself to be sorry.

"Like I said at the museum, I can't tell you that, but…" you glance around to make sure nobody's listening to you. "As someone who saw him make a lot of art, this is definitely not his best."

"Okay, that's what I thought," he says before pointing at a specific part of the painting. "The shape is really weird right there, like he ran outta space or somethin'." You let go of his arm and step between him and the painting, smiling knowingly.

"Did you study for this?" You ask, and he nervously plays with the chain around his neck. 

"I may have… snuck a look at Ellie's notes." He admits sheepishly, and your eyes widen. 

"You were actin' like you were gonna have to rely on me this whole time! You don't need me to tell you what good art is!"

"Yeah, but I want you to." 

"Oh, whatever. C'mon, I wanna hear what else you think." You pretty much drag him to the next section of the gallery, but he's pliant and almost giddy at your hold on him. You take more time in the next part, and he ducks so his lips are near your ear to point out little things he notices. He said he was scared of being wrong in front of people "smarter than him," but all the observations he makes are valid and accurate. He lets you add your own analysis to his and watches you with a smile when you start talking with your hands excitedly. Suddenly, you're not nearly as miserable as you thought you would be, and you're even laughing together as you jump from painting to painting. 

"See, this isn't so bad!" You say as you move to the final part, but your smile and enthusiasm die when you step over the threshold. There, staring at you unashamedly is the painting Henry did of you when you were twenty and topless. He told you it was for his own artistic development, and you were more than happy to do it for him. You just never thought he would've kept it after all these years. Thank God your face isn't visible in the painting, but your rigid posture tells Joel everything he needs to know. He politely turns his back to the painting and steps between you and your likeness. 

"You wanna go?" He whispers at the same time someone calls your name. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand for support as you turn around and face Henry. His wavy blonde hair frames his face like it did in college but he's matured. His beard is a little more filled in, and he's gotten a little broader. Other than that, he's still the same person you met freshman year. 

"I'm so glad you could make it!" He says as he approaches. He doesn't try to hug you, and you don't move to let go of Joel's hand. "You look great. I mean, you always looked great, but you know what I meant," he says, looking over you. Only when Joel clears his throat does Henry even look at him. "Oh, sorry, man! We're old friends. I'm Henry." He holds his hand out for Joel to meet halfway, but he doesn't. You think it probably took fighting every single bit of southern hospitality in his veins to stop himself from shaking Henry's hand.

"'M Joel." He says, and Henry awkwardly drops his hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Joel. How are you enjoying the exhibition?" 

"'S alright." Is all Joel offers, not willing to gas up Henry's ego anymore, and you have to stifle a laugh at the expectant look on Henry's face. "Well, I think we were just goin'."

"Oh, so soon? You haven't even seen the last few pieces."

"Are those any better than the thirty identical ones I already saw?"

"Joel," you scold quietly, and his jaw flexes when you look at him.

"It's okay. Not everyone understands art enough to enjoy it." Henry says. 

"Oh, I understand everythin' just fine." You swear Joel would've punched him if he wasn't holding your hand so tight. You step in between them and raise your eyebrows at Joel. His shoulders are squared, and you can feel the molten anger rolling off him, but it softens just a bit when he meets your eyes. You squeeze him twice to let him know you're okay, and he nods. 

"Can you get me a refill on champagne? I think they're still walkin' around with some." You suggest. He gets the hint, but he obviously doesn't like it. He glances between you and Henry like he's trying to make a decision but folds when you mouth, "please," at him. 

"’Course," he says through gritted teeth. "Anythin' else I can get for you, baby?" Baby, that's a new one, you think. 

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, though." You say. Without thinking, you let your other hand rest on his jaw and kiss Joel's cheek. His jaw unclenches when your fingertips graze his stubble, and his shoulders relax when your lips make contact with his skin, but you know he's still upset because you're still upset. Joel smiles and walks away before you can get a good look at the blush creeping up his neck, and you're resigned to watching him disappear into the crowd. 

"He seems nice," Henry says the second Joel is out of earshot, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. 

"He is." 

"How'd you two meet?"

"Through work." You say, knowing that bringing up teaching will make his skin crawl. He sucks his teeth and nods, the champagne in his glass sloshing slightly.

"Ah," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," you agree. An awkward silence falls over the two of you quickly, and you're itching to find Joel in the sea of people. Henry notices your lack of attention on him.

"It's really good to see you," he says. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, that's usually what happens when you leave someone." 

"That's kinda why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way things ended," he acts brokenhearted and torn up about it, but he's years too late for the pity party he's expecting. "I should've talked to you about what was going on. We were just... becoming so different, and it felt like you were always talking to Andie or other people in the program, and there was no way to reach you."

"What are you talking about? I asked you multiple times if we were okay, and you said yes every time. I was talking to Andie so much because I needed someone who would understand me and be able to help." You say, and he waves his hand like he's swatting flies.

"Let's not do this. My therapist says it's not healthy to rehash the past like this. I just wanted to make amends and let you know I'm sorry for how you felt." It's not an apology. Not a real one, anyway. Jesus Christ, what did you ever see in him? Before you can even open your mouth to say something, he gestures to the gallery. "So, what do you think about all this? Crazy, right?"

"It's... something," you say. "Wish you would've given me a heads up about that one before I brought someone with me." You point in the direction of your half-naked body on the wall, and he gives you a confused look.

"I thought I did in the email." 

"Nope, I think I would've remembered if you said something about a half-naked painting of me from college being displayed," you shake your head. "Why do you even still have that? I thought you would've thrown it away or painted over it or something."

"Why would I do that? It's a good piece."

"I know it's good because it's my body. What's weird is you leaving me without a word one day and then keeping a naked picture of me all these years." 

"I didn't even think of it as your body. After a while, it was just a body," he says with no remorse, and you think you might hit him yourself. "Besides, you should take this as a compliment. Not many women get the opportunity to be depicted as art. It's a wonderful thing. You might even thank me one day when you're older." Finally, you see Joel walking toward you with a glass of champagne, and you take refuge in the fact that he's returning for you. "But, from what I can see, they've definitely stayed the same, so you probably don't have anything to worry about." He says like it's a secret or a compliment. You don't even wait for Joel to say or do anything. You just grab the wine from him and throw it in Henry's face. The people in the immediate vicinity gasp as you slap him and shove the empty glass into his hands. 

"Out of all the stupid things I imagined for myself when I was younger, thinking I would marry you was the stupidest," you spit. "Don't you ever try to fucking contact me again."

You feel like a fucking idiot. What did you expect? An apology? Repentance? Regret? He barely apologized when you were together. Why would he start now? God, was he always that bad? How could you have been so blind? How could you have shed so many tears over him? How could you have let yourself be so vulnerable with him and for so many years? It's a miracle he didn't call the cops and try to get the two of you arrested, even though Joel didn't do anything. You think, at least. The second you finished your sentence, you ran to the bathroom to cry and then snuck out through the back to wait outside Joel's truck. For all you know, Joel (rightfully) beat his ass and is on the run from artsy Austin hipsters. 

You put the lit cigarette back in your mouth and take a long drag, the familiar burning in your lungs a sick relief. You quit during The Dark Days because smoking was something he did, and you wanted to rid yourself of any reminder of his impact on your life. Apparently, at the same time you were scrubbing his fingerprints from your bones, he was in possession of and doing God knows what with the visual reminder of your vulnerability and love-sickness and acted like it was nothing. Like it was a compliment. Like it was just an object instead of your body. Andie would be pissed if she were here but especially if she saw you smoking after she braved all those shaky days and nights of nicotine patches and dried fruit and whatever other remedy recommended to help you quit smoking. You half-expect the same anger when you see Joel walking toward you. 

"Before you even start, I know I shouldn't, okay? It's a bad habit from when I was a kid, and I've mostly kicked it. I just... had a lapse. I'll be back on my best behavior tomorrow," you say as he stops in front of you. He doesn't look angry or upset. He just looks concerned and maybe even a little sad. Suddenly, you regret running away from him when all he probably wanted to do was help. You probably wouldn't have bummed a cigarette from a busboy if you let him. "Don't tell Ellie." You plead. His eyes flick over your face before he takes the cigarette from your fingers, puts the lipstick-stained filter in his own mouth, and inhales deeply, making the ember glow in the dark of the night. When he exhales, he blows the smoke away from you and lets the wind carry it in the opposite direction. A considerate smoker. You should've guessed.

"Don't tell Ellie," he says, handing the cigarette back to you. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head and take a long drag. It's quiet between you two for a while, the only sound being the cicadas and the distant chatter of the gallery. They're probably still talking about the psycho bitch who threw her wine in the artist's face. You don't really care. "I'm sorry for tonight. I don't know what I was expecting, and I sure as shit didn't know that painting was gonna be displayed. I swear, if I had any idea how bad this was gonna be, I wouldn't have invited you." 

"Why are you apologizin'? It's not your fault." 

"I shouldn't have roped you into this. I should've just said no, ignored the email, or came by myself. It's not fair that you got put in the middle of all this, especially when you were just trying to be nice. You're the parent of one of my students, and for you to see that side of me is just inappropriate. I just-" he stops your rambling by putting his hands on your shoulders and making you look at him, the cigarette falling to the pavement in the process. 

"Hey, hey. Stop. Take a breath." He says. Your head hurts from crying, and part of you wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until these feelings go away, but his eyes are gentle, and his hands are warm. You think he might be the only reason you're holding it together right now. "None of this is your fault, okay? Not the painting, not the conversation, none of it. We're both adults, and we can handle these things rationally. I'm not scarred for life just 'cause you lost your temper."

"But I-"

"No, buts. You told me the situation, and I didn't care. You warned me bout the art people, and I didn't care. You threw a drink in that asshole's face, and I didn't care," he says. "The only thing I care bout right now is makin' sure you're okay. Fuck everythin' else." You search his face for anything to tell you what he's telling you is going against his inner monologue but find none. He's completely and wholly concerned about you and nothing else. Not how fast he can get out of this. Not how this might look. Not what other people might think about him. Nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Fuck everything else." You agree. 

"Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He jokes, and you roll your eyes at him. He takes it in stride, his smile never fading as he looks down at you. You stop messing with the hem of your dress and let yourself relax for the first time all night.

"Thank you for being here, Joel. I really appreciate it."

"Not our best not-date, but definitely a memorable one." He says, and you laugh. You seem to realize how close you are at the same time because you both fall silent. His curls are beautifully draped over his face, and you can't stop watching his tiny expressions. An eye squint. A purse of the lips. A bite to the inside of his cheek. You want to blame your bad night or the emotions, but you can't. There's something more there. Something that's been brewing beneath the surface since he came into your classroom. Something that will kill you if you don't act on it.

You let your hands come up from your sides and tentatively brush against his waist as you stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares down at your lips, and the hands on your shoulders slowly move across your skin and up your collarbone— leaving goosebumps in his wake— until his hands are on your jaw and your pulse is thrumming against his palm. You pull him closer by his belt loops, and he doesn't hesitate to crowd your space, pushing you into the side of his truck with his body. His lips ghost over yours, just barely touching, and his nose bumps yours. 

"This is a bad idea," you breathe, tightening your hold on him. He nods and presses his forehead against yours. He's still close enough to breathe the same air as him, but the distance feels like miles. You lean forward a fraction as a test, and he doesn't move. If anything, he seems annoyed you didn't kiss him.

"D'you want to stop?" He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel. You shake your head and swallow hard when he brushes the hair off your shoulder, and you can feel his heavy hand holding you. Your hands skate over his ribs, feeling muscles and a crazed heartbeat, and his jaw clenches. "Then you better do somethin' cause you've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy for weeks." 

Finally, you catch his lips with yours. He tastes like nicotine and smoke, and you know it's going to take a lot more than patches to get you to want to stop doing this. It's gentle and sweet, all relieved sighs and shy touches until you pull away for just a second to second-guess yourself or ask him something. You don't even start to form the words before he's back on you with more fervor. Suddenly, it's like he's everywhere but not nearly close enough. He nibbles at your bottom lip and tests a hand on your sternum, long fingers grazing your throat. The metal of the truck digs into your back, but you stop caring when a little moan slips from his lips when you pull him closer.

This is a bad idea. A horrible one. A bad habit you're gonna need to kick. 

But he might just be your favorite bad idea so far.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

[ckret2]

I believe I remember a post you wrote once, as an answer to an ask maybe, where you mentioned that you forgot not everyone has a clear mental map of the Mystery Shack's layout as you do, and some people were confused about what floors existed and how you were writing characters coming from where. I wanted to check the post again since iirc you explained or described some stuff in there, but I can't find it >_< I was mostly wondering, does the Mystery Shack have a basement that isn't connected to the elevator, and is this where Ford's room is, or is it in the ground floor? I feel like I see people treat the shack like it has 3 floors completely separate from everything the elevator leads to but I might also just be confused

i'm not gonna put the effort into digging that post back up but you're in luck because the basements weren't addressed in that post so it wouldn't have helped anyway!!!

Yes, the Mystery Shack DOES have another room that appears to be a basement, separate from THE basement with the elevator where the portal is! We see it in Bottomless Pit:

We never see how this room connects to the rest of the shack so we can't guarantee that it's underground. But the concrete-looking floor, plain cracked walls, bare bulb, exposed pipes, utilitarian hot water heater & washing machine, and very high window all scream "basement."

I personally call this room "the cellar" to distinguish it from THE basement.

We never fully see the wall that would be to Soos's left, so we aren't SURE that there's no additional doors down there, but there's no evidence of any.

As to where Ford's room is, it depends on which of Ford's rooms you mean. If you mean Ford's room as in the one that was revealed in The Last Mabelcorn, it's part of the elevator basement levels:

But you probably don't mean that one since we see them taking the elevator down to it.

If you mean the one revealed in Carpet Diem, it's somewhere in the main house:

Both the room itself and the hallway outside the room have normal large windows, preventing the room from being underground; and the room has a tilted ceiling with sunbeams coming through, indicating it's directly under the roof.

A complication: we don't know where the staircase on the left goes and there's no sensible place to put it based on what we do know about the house's layout. But that's the case with several locations in the house.

Based on the map we have of the house, this room is likely the "study." Notice that the shape of the hall leading to the room (dead ending against an outer wall) and the fact that there's a hall on the side of it lines up with the study's location; even if the staircase doesn't lol.

The reason a lot of people headcanon the shack has three stories is because the first floor's fully accounted for with these blueprints, (the three unlabeled rooms are the entryway, kitchen, and office), there's nothing in the attic but an open floor and the kids' room, and yet there's multiple rooms we have no location for (Stan's bedroom, the storage room the wax figures were found in, ANY of the bathrooms). The doylist explanation is that the showrunners wanted the shack to be a little magical with a confusing layout (up until they dropped these blueprints) so it doesn't always make internal sense; but if you want a watsonian explanation for where those rooms were, "second floor" is the easiest.

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟜

𝐞𝐠𝐨

↳ A risky company decision meant to catapult your new and emerging group into the limelight also has the unique side effect of launching you straight into the crosshairs of something that will change everything.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [7,0k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

"I was there, yeah, and I saw what I saw," Sunwoo interrupts. "We're close, you don't have to lie to me. You're interested."

You meet silence upon walking into the entryway of the apartment.

There are signs of life still; quiet bumping and movement behind closed doors further away from you. An ambiance of questioning and unsureness mingling in the air despite no one being there to grace you with it. A heavy breath escapes you finally now that Sunwoo has left and the door stands between what was once you and him, relieved that this portion of it all has come to a tentative close.

But you know it will be short-lived.

One of the doors to a bedroom eventually cracks open, slowly drawn apart as if the person standing on the other side is carefully checking for safety. Your attention perks up and your eyes find Miyoung's through the sliver she has made, and once the surroundings have been adequately surveyed, she finally steps out and into the living room.

The expression on her face gives you little to ascertain from it, but what you can find is a slight, barely-there frown digging into the corners of her lips.

"He can't come around here like that," Miyoung says.

"I know." Your shoulders slump immediately, and you easily give in to the fact of the matter. "I… didn't know he was coming. It won't happen again."

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if attempting to find something deeply laden within your words and yet completely unspoken. Miyoung is kind but attentive—perfectly capable of picking up on the nuance around her—and right now, that fact frightens you.

She chews on her bottom lip just a bit and then says, "Look, we're going to be in this for a very long time together, at least, that's what I hope. I don't want to pry and I don't expect to know every detail about your personal life but…" Miyoung pauses, and it feels suffocating between you. "But… Is there anything we should know about you and him? I know the history and all that but the way you two act together seems different."

"No! No, of course there's nothing!" you're quick to say.

"If you're like, seeing him, or interested in him or something, I just think it'd be better for all of us to navigate the situation if we know about it."

"I'm not! We're not like, involved, or anything like that! We just… met, and I guess we get along and the fan-idol thing is kind of humorous to him so he has taken a bit of a liking to me but it's not anything like that. We're really just friends." Already, you feel as though you've given away too much by saying that word, despite the lies previously riddled within the explanation. So, you make an effort to correct the stance and go forward with a far more simplistic "Friendly. We're friendly."

"Do you like him?" Miyoung asks, plain and simple and out there in the open, impossible to ignore. 

The question just about bowls you over. It is so firm and left with no room for misinterpretation that your anxiety spikes, especially as it is coming off of the back of a very strange conversation only just had with the exact man in question.

"What I mean is," she adjusts, "is there any chance that whatever is going on between you two now, could eventually turn into something more?"

You tell her no, but for some inexplicable reason, it does not feel good to do so.

Two months down, two more to go.

During what becomes clear to you as the final conceptual meeting between your members and the team directors, the remaining questions that have been hanging in the air in relation to your group's future are finally answered.

Thankfully, it is all good news. You will debut as ten, with no further cuts to the line-up being made. Yourself and the girls all share bright, relieved smiles and caring physical gestures; the fear of more loss no longer dampening the promise of a stage that is soon to come.

The group is called MVNE, and though it is somewhat strange, it fits the current landscape of active and debuting groups in your overall space. It is pronounced as moon, and conceptually, your appearances will match it rather perfectly. A dark and mature concept—and with no underaged members on the team, you're able to breathe a sigh of relief—because the next round of mood board ideas shown to the room certainly does lean into something a bit more edgy and sex. Cutting edge and immensely risky for a newly debuting girl group, but rather fitting of the vibes in relation to your labelmates.

You are promised that it will all start off rather slowly, and that the group will not be pushed into shock-factor choreography and revealing outfits straight away. The directors are honest and upfront about the fact that there will be many risks, and they have every intention of turning away from what is more commonly looked for and accepted in the public currently. This will make your life and job harder, and the comments that are posted online may not be as kind as if you were to debut with a softer, more demure essence. However, you are not looking to take a simple road, and thus, the challenge is more than accepted.

In fact, this is hardly news. The auditions were fairly obvious in what they had been searching for, and though the concept had at the time been very much into its infancy, the casting directors had spoken openly about what it was that at hopeful may or may not have been signing up for. Naturally, anything can change in the journey between then and now; you're thankful that it has not.

Spirits are high by the end of the meeting, and though there is another schedule waiting just after it, all of the girls wear wide smiles as they make their way out into the hallway. Woori finds you immediately as your managers shuffle you down the hall, and slings her arm around your shoulders.

"It's happening," she sing-songs. "I'm so excited! Really glad we didn't get stuck with doing a cute concept after all, I had been hearing rumblings…"

"You know as well as I do that the cute concepts will come, nobody sticks to one thing forever."

"I know, but I think it's promising that the company is willing to take a different path rather than the one of least resistance. I think this will be good for us. Not easy, probably much harder, but good."

You hum at that, agreeing with the thought behind it. "Well, we have a great leader, so no matter what happens, we're gonna be okay."

Woori's eyes narrow, scrutinizing you playfully. "Already buttering me up, are you? Trying to be the favorite? Or are you hopeful that the shippers get a hold of us and run wild."

Laughing, you purse your lips towards her as if with the intention to kiss her and say, "Ooh, now wouldn't that be fun?"

"Aren't you a little wrapped up already?" she replies, a particularly suspicious inkling dripping from her tone. "What's the boy-toy going to think about it all?"

Hearing Sunwoo being passingly referred to as your boy-toy is something of a fascinating development, alongside of him and your relationship to him being discussed with such ease. You reel ever so slightly, though you make an honest attempt to force any reaction back.

"My what now?"

"Oh, come on! You think I didn't hear about him coming by late at night to see you?" Woori says. "I hear about everything now and I will continue to hear about it in the future! Though I will admit, it's a little messy to have a well-established idol coming to the trainee dorms. Who knows who might be following him."

Yes, I agree, but unfortunately trying to tell Sunwoo anything in regards to logic is something of an impossibility. You can't say it, but you think it just as strongly and instead you settle on a simpler response of, "He should know better, but I told him he can't come around like that. It won't happen again."

Woori snorts at that, seemingly disbelieving of your words just as much as you are. "I don't know a lot about him, but based on what I've heard, that sounds incredibly unlikely," she says. "Sunwoo has something of a reputation of… well, just sort of doing whatever he feels like at any given moment, and maybe he'll think about it later."

Spot on, you think.

"Are you excited about the photoshoot?" she asks then, comically rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. Woori will be popular amongst the public, for sure. Impossible not to love. "I think it's going to be really interesting, groups don't really get to do things like this. When the directors said they were going to take risks, they sure meant it."

"Yeah, I don't think I'm going to be surveying the reception online for a few weeks after it's all released," you say.

In fact, you have done your best to put the whole thing out of your mind ever since hearing about it a few days ago. Sunwoo had messaged you with some excitement in relation, and though you feigned matching his intrigue, all you could do was stew in the worry that the thin veil that stands between you and him may quickly come to an end.

Co-ed group engagements are rarely done, for the obvious reasons pertaining to idol-fan relations and the image that idoldom is meant to sell. Idols don't get into relationships with anyone but their fans, and they certainly don't make any efforts to express a romantic or physical interest in someone working within their same space. 

Today, you're going to pretend to do both.

"Sex sells, whether idol fans want to admit it or not, and someone out there is going to be incredibly intrigued by the chemistry between us and them. It's a long shot for sure, but I'm looking forward to it."

You cannot, under any circumstances, be paired up with Sunwoo.

Hilariously (to him,) this outcome is precisely what he is hoping for. You had received paragraph after paragraph on your phone about all of the fun little ideas that he has for the shoot; hands on thighs, lips edging just close enough to the flesh of your neck or face. He had seemed delighted by the whole thing, while you screamed until passing out silently inside of your own head.

Then,  ideas of your own begin to trickle through despite your best efforts to avoid them. Even now as Woori revisits the topic, images of Sunwoo's hand pressed against your hip, or warm breath feathering lightly across your lips has the tiny hairs across your skin prickling and standing at anxiety-ridden attention.

Anyone but Sunwoo.

The room for the shoot is up a few levels where the much larger staging offices are located. Twenty-one bodies are meant to fit in here—not counting staff—and thus the need for space is of the utmost importance. The door is already pried and held open by the time your group arrives, and before you turn inside, you hear voices that are all too familiar to you already in attendance.

Your heart races. His group knows the truth, but yours, does not.

As expected, the staff is friendly and professional, and though it is going to be an incredibly long day stuffed into this studio for shooting, you're very much aware of the fact that it could be far, far worse.

There are beverages and snacks set aside on a long table off to the side, and ahead of that is a massive pile of electronics; lighting and photography equipment litter the vast, open space, and further ahead of that is an incredibly massive and elaborate set.

Make-up is done in the same room and off to another side, but fittings are set into two of the other rooms just next door to this one. MVNE outfits are simple and sexy but far from revealing. A lot is left to the imagination but everything fits just right and frankly; you and the girls look fucking amazing. When Woori, Miyoung and Kaia turn into the hallway from the fitting room you've left not long before, your jaw drops. They all look stunning.

"Wow." The single word is all you can muster up at first, eyes wide in amazement. "You look incredible. Whoever gets paired with you three are going to be the luckiest guys of the day."

"Funny you should mention that," Woori says, her index finger jutting into the air and demanding attention. "I have received information! We're all going to cycle through a few different potential pairings, take a bunch of photos with each based on, I don't know, probably visual vibes or whatever, and then whichever pairing looks best in post is what's going to be going up for the world to see." One eyebrow perks up as she looks at you specifically, and then she says, "Even better odds for you."

Your eyes flicker between Woori, Miyoung and Kaia, but quickly you land back on the first. "Are you all in on this, or something? What am I missing here?"

"No, if I had my way that man would not be coming around, much less having his little delusions fed by you," Miyoung says. "Woori likes it, though. She thinks it's cute, for some reason."

Kaia shrugs. "I'm fairly indifferent so long as you don't blow up the group."

"It's romantic!" Woori whines, seriously displeased by being the only person in attendance not willing to succumb to the whims of the alleged fairytale at hand. "What a cute story! She was his fan and then an idol at the same company and they fall in love? How could the public not love that!"

"Very easily, if history is anything to go by," Miyoung reasons.

"You guys are no fun. No whimsy."

"Right," you interject, hopeful to move the topic away from your personal involvements. "Then do we know any information about what the staff has in store for us?"

Woori shrugs and says, "Beyond me and Sangyeon—on account of both being the leaders of our groups—no, I've not heard anything else."

This is worrying, if the intent is to pair based on potential similarities in group formation. You are a dancer, as is Sunwoo—though his position is perhaps more closely tied to that of a rapper. A coldness rushes down your spine at the thought, your hope in being spared dwindling fast.

"Only one way to find out, I guess," Kaia says, "Shall we meet our fate?"

The girls walk ahead of you, and as you linger just behind you inhale a deep, sharp breath and are left with little more than hoping for the best.

Standing in front of the set, it's only now that you're really able to take in the full display of it.

The vibe is something akin to a sultry, romantic bar. Dim lights sprawling over gold accents on dark wood furniture and deep burgundy upholstery. The kind of place that a man might take a woman that he is not meant to be seen in public with; it's sort of genius, all things about this concept considered.

The shoot director calls for you then, and walks with you to the set and where he specifically wants you to be. Nestled inside of a corner, there is a half-moon shaped booth with a table and faux-alcoholic drinks immaculately placed atop. The seat is not comfortable—hell, it's hardly even real—but it gets the job done and looks good enough to the eye that no one who looks at the photos will be at all aware that you can feel a plank of wood poking painfully at your thigh.

"You might have an easy day," the director says in passing as he begins the finishing touches for the lighting and the cameras. "We're fairly certain of who we want to go with for you."

Oh god.

He steps away to take a spot behind the line of equipment, and you are then surrounded by two stylists sent to add some additional finishes to your own look. Your line of sight to the outside world is cut off by the bodies, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching and the director telling whoever it is that you are already set in place. Your heart pounds so hard inside of your chest that it seems impossible that neither of the women can hear it; echoing inside of your ears and making your stomach churn. It's stiflingly warm under the lights, so hot. Too hot. A waft of dizziness finds you, but you cannot pass out during your first major shoot leading up to your debut, and especially not on account of simply having to take photos with a man. No matter who he ends up being.

The women lean back to get one final look at you, and with a smile and a nod, they send themselves on their way and disperse.

It's the moment of truth, and once your eyes fall upon him, you're not really sure what to think.

There he is. Standing in front of you with his hands shoved into perfectly ironed black slacks. All black everything, in fact; save for the burgundy tie loosely hung around his neck as if it has already been found by the hands of a woman hopeful to undress him.

A small smirk sits perked into one side of his lips, his eyes dark and sharp. Black hair messy with intention, all a part of a detailed look.

He is not Sunwoo, but you have spoken before.

Fansigns have a funny way of ensuring that you have engaged in some form of conversation with all of them at some point in time. You realize only now that during those years, your sights had been so firmly set on Sunwoo that you'd never given yourself time or space to acknowledge any of the rest in the same sort of intricate, specialized way.

Taking slow, thoughtful strides towards you, Juyeon slides into the booth beside you and greets you with a wider, more inviting smile.

"Probably not what you were aiming for," he says, lightly jesting. "Hopefully you're not too disappointed."

"No, not at all!" You don't mean to sound so eager, but truthfully, it is the best case scenario and you find difficulty in masking how absolutely relieved the sight of him makes you feel. "It's nothing like that, really."

"Good then, easy work for us. Make sure you let me know if you're uncomfortable with anything, work like this can get a little…"

"Strange," you say, finishing the thought. Juyeon smiles and hums an agreement.

You knew what the shoot was, and what the creative direction of it had been aiming for, but being in it is a whole different experience, you are soon to discover.

The first handful of poses and motions are simplistic; a closeness to your bodies that might allude to something more being behind it all but moderately expressed to truly drive the point home. With little time, however, Juyeon's body finds further closeness to your own at the direction of the talent on the set. His palm finds your knee; large hands that practically dwarf it in size, a careful lean of his face closer to your own, an arm draped over your shoulders to hold you closer into him.

He smells very faintly of some fragrance, but mostly all you are able to catch is the cleanliness of his hair from being freshly shampooed. Juyeon's touch is so thoughtful; confident but wholly in-tuned to any potential reaction to him that you may have. As his face creeps closer, the feeling of his body near to your own begins to spread an unanticipated warmth through your form. He has always been attractive—impossible not to take notice of such a striking appearance—and now that he is here with you like this, for the express purpose of selling the exact thing that you find yourself to be personally experiencing, your stress in relation to it all but melts away.

You turn to face him, lips only centimeters away from making contact and his eyes fall immediately to look at yours before crawling back up to revisit the lost gaze.

Juyeon's breath is soft but warm against your mouth, and though you are so close to him that your sight is severely impaired, you do see the slow and slight upturn to one corner of his lips.

His hand offers a light squeeze to the top of your knee, and before you have a chance to take proper notice of it, the pressure is gone.

The director howls something from behind the lines of equipment and it practically startles you out of your skin. You realize then, in that moment, that you had completely forgotten that you are in the company of onlookers whilst wrapped in Juyeon's presence.

He creates space between the two of you, and with a smile Juyeon says, "See? Easy stuff. Sort of figured it'd be a quick wrap-up when I found out it was you I'd be shooting with."

Your head cocks to the side inquisitively. "Is that so?"

"Of course. No one better I could have possibly been paired with."

A slow smile edges onto your lips no matter how much you aim to fight it, and as the staff hustle about to ready themselves for the next shoot, your attention begins to wander at the feeling of being watched; and being watched you are.

Tucked into the back of the room, though not so far away that you are unable to ascertain his expression, stands Sunwoo with arms crossed over his chest and eyes fully locked on you.

For a moment the eye contact remains firm, that is, until he rolls his in a rather unimpressed manner and slinks off completely out of sight.

The response is shocking.

Baffling would be your word of choice, though you opt out of saying as much upon being pressed about it. Debut for MVNE is now only a week out and the days are ticking by both painfully slowly and with unfathomable velocity. The photos are out, and though you had previously told yourself you would not succumb to the interest of public perception, you find that knowing of it is going to be utterly impossible.

It's good. Really good.

On the way down to the company cafe, even the regular staff throughout the halls are on their phones and mingling amongst one another to collectively ooh and ahh at the sights to behold. You haven't seen the pictures—not since the day, and not after retouching—so really, you have no idea what it is that everyone seems to be making a fuss about.

Today is dance, like so many other days for you. Good is never good enough, and you severely doubt that there will ever come a time in the future where you are content with the progress you have made. Just like any other art, there is always room for improvement. It never finishes, never finds an end, is never truly completed; this is no different.

Your thighs are a little sore on account of going at the choreography especially hard in the weeks leading up to the final date. Logically, you know that you must take it just a bit easier on yourself so that you can maintain the health required for the amount of schedules that you are soon to be thrown into. Early mornings and late nights will come, and come and come again. You have to be able to weather the storm.

But, your condition is fairly good, all things considered, and with a coffee and a croissant soon to be consumed, you will be ready to take on the day.

You walk through the doors and at a table just to the side, Woori and another one of the members—Nara—are sitting with an ample display of food items and much like everyone else around here today, completely glued to their screens.

Woori's attention pops up at the sudden intrusion of your being there, her expression lights up and a hand rips towards you to tug you down to the chair beside her. "Look!" she says, and nearly demonic she sounds. "Holy shit, this turned out amazingly!"

"People really like them," Nara interjects, and the disbelief in even her tone is evidence of the fact that none of you could have predicted this outcome. "Lucky me getting paired with Younghoon, a fan favorite, that guy is."

"No kidding," Woori says, and though she is in agreement, her head is shaking as if she isn't. "I just can't believe it, I thought for sure we'd be getting eaten alive in the comments."

Your eyes narrow questioningly. "Are we… not?"

"No! Not even a little bit!" Woori tips her screen towards you and scrolls through all of the comments, most with a large amount of upvotes considering the newness of your team, and now the shock catches you as if it is contagious from the others. "I mean sure, there's the stray hating ass bitch here or there, but mostly it's being well-received, and the best part…" She pulls her phone back to her, does some more scrolling, then typing, then scrolling again, before showing you what is there once more.

It's numerous entries about your photos with Juyeon, in particular.

"Seems like your spread is the most popular. Would you look at that."

"What? Seriously?"

You snatch the device from Woori as if it doesn't belong to her at all and take on scrolling for yourself. You said you wouldn't do this, but now that the initial layer of doubt has been shoved aside, it's free range for your viewing pleasure. There's posts—a lot of posts—of people praising your shoot with Juyeon. Comments often talk about how your aesthetics pair well and how the chemistry is through the roof, how good you two look together, and even some stray comments about shipping this moving forward.

You're in a particularly interesting spot where you know more than most of Juyeon's popularity among the fandom, and even outside of it. Easily, being paired with him could have landed you in a precarious and uninviting place, yet somehow; that couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm genuinely shocked," Nara reiterates, words that have likely been said over and over again today already. "Somehow, we all stuck the landing."

"They're really good photos," Woori says, and yanking her phone back, she scrolls to a snapshot taken during that brief, single moment in which Juyeon's eyes fell down to your lips. She turns the screen to face you with your demons and then says, "This one is especially good, maybe Sunwoo is out of the running after all."

"Running for what?"

The words startle you, because the voice is not one you are expecting to hear. You lurch to the side, because it comes from behind and above you, and turning back to look, Sunwoo is standing just above you and seemingly none too amused about whatever it is he has had the misfortune of eavesdropping on.

"Look!" Woori, all too delighted to show off these photos and their reception to any and everyone with a second to spare in appeasing her, shoves the phone up to Sunwoo's face.

Watching him intently, Sunwoo's expression does not change. He does not smile, he does not falter in any evident, explicit way. His eyes linger on the screen in front of him, he blinks a few times, and then with complete, statuesque stillness he simply says: "Cool."

"Oh my god, that's it?" Woori says, beyond disgruntled by the response. "You know, your photos with Serri are getting a lot of love too, if you even care!"

"I saw this morning," Sunwoo says, with no emotion present in his tone. "I don't think she and I had as much fun doing it as some other people might have, though."

That comment grabs Nara's attention, happy to voice her dissatisfaction in any situation, at any time. Her lip twists into something akin to a snarl and looking at Sunwoo she says, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Easy," Woori warns, because they are in no position to be talking down to him regardless of the reason.

"Just glad everyone had a good time," Sunwoo says, and though there is a perkiness to his tone now, you know him well enough to notice the fakeness heavily embedded within it. His attention falls specifically to you then, and with an equally phony smile he continues the thought with, "And hey, Juyeon is single, so feel free to go for it!"

If your surroundings were different, this conversation would not be unfolding the way that it is. Sunwoo is taking full advantage of the fact that because of your current company, you are unable to offer any pushback in relation to the way that he is behaving. While not completely unlike him, you haven't ever been on the receiving end of his expressive and sometimes emotional outbursts, and though you do not feel as though you are deserving of it, the conversation previously had at the dorm all those weeks ago now sits unignorable at the forefront of your mind.

Is he… jealous?

Obviously, and regardless of what he may say when pressed, the answer is emphatically a yes. This fact is foreign to you; something that you are not at all equipped to maneuver given the current state of affairs not only in your own professional life, but in conjunction with his own.

And more than anything else: you thought you were both in agreement.

For a few long moments, you and Sunwoo stare at one another, and once he appears satisfied with your inability to question his motives, he bids your table farewell and makes his way across the room towards where Eric and Changmin are waiting.

You let out a heavy exhale, but you are far from out of the lion's den just yet.

Woori and Nara are both staring at you, something you do not have to confirm by actually looking at them, and thus, your eyes remain closed in thought as you attempt to make sense of anything that appears to have been brewing unbeknownst to you.

"What the hell was that about?" Nara asks, breaking the silence that hangs in the air.

None of this makes any sense without context, you think. If you just tell them about your history, it could be easier. They would understand. 

"He's…" You begin to say it, the rest of the confession sitting on the tip of your tongue, but as your eyes open slowly and the weight of their gaze becomes all too apparent to you, once again you become frightened by the possibilities that could be awaiting you. 

"He's nosy, I've come to find, and a little worried about doing co-ed work, so I think even when this is received well he's concerned about the next time. If there's a next time. I don't really blame him. It's a risky line we're all walking."

Nara rolls her eyes, but seems relatively placated by the explanation. Woori, however, remains fully fixated on you.

"Is he worried about doing co-ed work," Woori asks, "or is he more worried about other people doing co-ed work?"

She presents it as a question, but based on the look on her face when she does and the way her heavy eyes are locked upon your own, you know she isn't really asking one.

Nights where you stay far too late are becoming much too commonplace, but the jittery drive of debut hanging just around the corner often leaves you with a restlessness that nothing can seem to quell. Nothing except more practice.

The rest of the girls have long since left to go home, and though Woori had messaged you about dinner waiting for your return, it's going to be cold now, so there is little reason to hurry back. You're a little sore and covered with a sheen of sweat by the time you call it quits, and carelessly shoving your belongings into your bag, you head out into one of the many empty hallways of the company building.

Not so empty, as you are soon to find out.

You aren't anticipating finding anyone sharing the space, lingering there leaned against the wall next to the doorway and so when you do, you nearly shriek from the start.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

Sunwoo pushes himself to an upright position, arms crossed and an accompanying roll of his eyes as if bored with your theatrics. "Who else would be here?" he asks.

"Well, no one. That's kind of the whole reason that you just scared the shit out of me."

"Ta-da." There is no exuberance behind the expression he gives.

His hood is tugged down—a rare occurrence—and so all of that fluffy hair and sharp features are fully on display. Sunwoo makes no effort in displaying anything but precisely what he is feeling, and what he certainly appears to be feeling is abject annoyance at something. 

"What?" you say, "What is wrong with you? And while we're at it, what was that back there earlier today?"

His eyes narrow as he looks at you, surveying what stands before him in a way that you cannot quite parse through. He doesn't reply immediately, but irritation he harbors is plainly evident without so much as a word.

"So," Sunwoo begins, "Juyeon, huh?"

"Oh, god." Exasperated, your shoulders slump and eyes roll comically exaggerated. Rather than engage in this, you shove past Sunwoo and throw a hand in the air as you walk. "I'm not doing this with you!"

"What? I'm wrong because it raises some interesting questions?"

You wish you could keep walking away from this, let it lie precisely where it is and allow Sunwoo to stew in whatever bizarre jealousy he seems to be wading in. However, you stop, and with your back still turned to him you say, "And what questions are those?"

"Like, what's the difference between him, and me? You've been jumping through all these hoops to make sure nobody ever finds out about us but Juyeon is perfectly up for grabs? He's an idol too, you know, and one exceptionally close to me in ways that wouldn't look as simple as you might think they would." Your head snaps back to look at him, and Sunwoo shrugs as if the gesture is meant to drive the point home. "He might not be me, but he's too close to not have to worry about what people might say, especially since at least some of our history is now common public knowledge," he says.

"It was a photoshoot," you say pointedly, desperate to reason with him and airy exasperation heavily laced through your words. You turn fully, somehow finding your way back towards Sunwoo in firm, serious steps. "A photoshoot. We all did it. You did it, too. I don't know what you think is happening but—"

"I was there, yeah, and I saw what I saw," Sunwoo interrupts. "We're close, you don't have to lie to me. You're interested."

You throw your hands into the air, the only way you can think to expel the excess energy from this conversation bubbling up inside of you.

"I guess! What do you want me to say? It was a photoshoot with a theme and I was paired with someone that I'm attracted to. The chemistry was there—sure—it doesn't mean anything, though. I'm not going after Juyeon." You take a pause to collect your thoughts, and the next thing that comes to you, you blurt out without the kind of consideration that it most certainly requires. "And besides, so what if I was?"

That piques Sunwoo's interest, because his eyes widen in a kind of shock that is less telling of his not expecting it, and more akin to that of someone surprised that a type of truth has finally come out.

"Right," he says, "You can just be honest."

"There's nothing to be honest about, nothing is happening."

"Yet."

The anger that you feel starts to become unbearable, along with the continued dancing around a subject that is obviously, in some way, tormenting the both of you. Somehow, somewhere along the way, something had changed and you'd apparently not had your wits about you in the necessary ways to notice it. You get it, you've been busy, but the lingering sense of you missing a rather large piece of this puzzle that exists between you and Sunwoo has now reached its limitations, and with a deep inhale, you allow all of the acting, all of the shrouded veil that's meant to stand between yours and his relationship and plainly say: "What happened? I thought we were both on the same page about this."

The next couple of moments linger between you two in silence, a matched gaze that never shifts away as if either of you are waiting for the other to break. Eventually, Sunwoo huffs a laugh and shakes his head. You easily recognize it as disbelief.

"Were we on the same page, or did you just write the page?"

Sunwoo isn't a planner, and is hardly even that of a rule-follower. The reply released something of a floodgate of history and conversations shared between the two of you in your months as friends leading up to your trainee period, and you wrack your brain for the moments in which Sunwoo himself laid out the terms and conditions for which the two of you are meant to abide.

But all that comes to memory is them being laid out by you.

"It's always just been about you, and what you want, and what you think is best for the both of us navigating this," Sunwoo says. "And you know, admittedly, that's probably for the best in reality. I accept that, that's why I've always just been happy to go along with it because hell, I'm not really in the market for potentially blowing up my career, either."

Chest tight and heavy, you watch Sunwoo as he gently admits to this fact, as well as the underlying admittance that you are now left to believe lies buried deep underneath it. A rule you decided upon, a conclusion that you had forced yourself to remain held strongly to: Kim Sunwoo is firmly and decisively off the table.

Regardless of how much you may have wanted otherwise.

He gives a noncommittal shrug, lifeless in its effort and then says, "I've seen how women get around Juyeon, I get it. And you know what? He's great. But…" Sunwoo's voice drifts away for a bit, as does his eyes from you before eventually returning and continuing on to say, "It's not that different. It'll be the same kind of headache in the long run. Maybe you think it'll be better—easier—just on account of him not being me, but it won't."

Your heart pounds in your chest, nearly dizzyingly aware of what this means for your future and your past. Everything from then leading up until this very moment now must be viewed through an entirely different hue. All of those meetings; every smile, every shared secret, and every gentle offering of physical affection—though few and far between—now uncovered to be the one thing that…

You had sort of always really hoped for.

But more than anything else, this fucking frightens you, and as a result the only thing you can say in response to it under the warm hallway lights and Sunwoo's expectant, hopeful gaze is: "The history makes it different. You'll look…"

"Like an idol who preys on his fans, I know, I get it," Sunwoo says, though there's little care in his voice for the fact. "I've sat with that for a long time, I've had no other option than to do just that, but what am I supposed to do? Just…"

There's another pass of silence between you.

"Do nothing? Pretend forever? Hope it goes away even though from here on out I'm going to have to see you even more, probably work together even more." He chuckles under his breath, turning his head away as if the next thought is utterly comical to him and says, "Watch you date my bandmate, then pretend I don't care about that, either?"

"You've really got to let this Juyeon thing go," you say, lightly joking in an attempt to bring up the mood.

"What I'm saying is there's no path of least resistance here for me. All of the options are shit, so I figure if they're all shit then…"

Sunwoo's hand finds the sleeve of your jacket, and before your wits are able to find you, your back is pressed into the wall that previously stood right beside you. Your breath catches in your throat, unwilling to release a breath in fear that doing so may break the immersion of this single, brief moment in time. The skin across your arm crawls, the little hairs raising from the light, tantalizing feeling of foreign fingertips ghosting across your jawline. His body boxes you in place, warm breath feathering ragged and stuttering over the flesh of your face, and when you're finally capable of gathering yourself enough to take in the sight of Sunwoo's face so close to your own; his eyes fall from yours, to your mouth. Those fingertips at your jaw smooth down to your neck, the other hand holding firmly at your waist in a way that he has never touched you before—as if unwilling to ever let go—and it feels like fire being pressed against your skin.

His lips take yours, and the kiss is confident and sure in ways you cannot begin to fathom. Sunwoo does not waver, does not shy away from gentle nips of teeth into your bottom lip, or the way that he quickly takes more once your head cocks, your mouth parts, and you invite him to take even more.

This feels right, and yet, it cannot ever happen again.

end of act 1! happy to hear if you're enjoying it thus far 🩵

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

You're Always Going To Mean Something - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 695>

"Not right now Charles, OK?" you said, unable to look at him. You weren't really able to look at him much anymore, even if he was once the only thing you wanted in your line of sight. Well, that was still the case, but the situation was vastly different.

"Please, I just need help with the last few notes, that's it. I wouldn't ask if I thought someone else could do a better job," he said, always having to lace a compliment into his words like a well thought out stitch in a garment.

"Message Sofiane, I'm sure he'd be happy to help," you said, still busying yourself with 'tidying' the papers on your desk back at the factory in Maranello.

"He's busy, and we already-"

"And you don't think I am?" you asked, still shuffling around with the random papers that had no real meaning to you or your work. They were simply something to look at instead of looking at him, and you could feel his eyes as they bore into your side profile.

"That's not what I meant and you know that," he sighed, leaning on the side of your desk as if he were trying to get your full attention instead of the papers. "I'm not asking for it now, but maybe later?" he continued.

"Charles, I can't, OK?" you said, putting the stack of papers that you had in your hands in a random drawer that just happened to be empty. When you had done that, you stood in front of him, actually looking at him instead of avoiding eye contact.

"Why not?" he pressed, crossing his arms.

"I don't have time, sorry," you said, looking down at your hands that you were fidgeting. Charles knew what you were actually saying, and he understood to an extent. But, you'd never actually denied him of your time.

"For old times sake? You started the song, it's only right that you be the one to finish it," he said, still trying to convince you, but not quite succeeding. You stayed silent, unsure of what to tell him, what excuse to make to get him to drop it.

He knew you were concealing what you were feeling, he knew what made you tick. But, he thought you were getting annoyed at his constant badgering. However, he also knew that this song did mean a lot to you.

"Is it not always going to mean something to you? Like you said it would?" he pried, and you were having to bite back what you wanted to say. But that became increasingly harder as the man you loved stood there, still wanting things from you when he had decided he didn't want you.

"You're always going to mean something to me, Charles," you mumbled, and his breath caught in his throat as he heard your words.

"I... see," he responded, unsure of what to say, exactly. "Why... What... What happened to us?" he quietly asked, seemingly already knowing the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you. Well, he knew precisely what happened, because it was all his fault.

"You said you didn't love me anymore..." you whispered so quietly that he couldn't even hear what you said, but he knew because he already knew what you were going to say.

"I did say that, didn't I?" he asked, but the question was completely rhetorical. Expecting an answer but just be plain cruel.

"You sure did," you confirmed with a nod as your voice cracked. You weren't going to stand there and cry in front of him, that was for sure, so you turned and walked away, leaving him leaning against your desk.

To be frank, Charles felt like a complete fool. Not loving you anymore? It was utter bullshit. He thought he must have been a mad man to say that, and he couldn't think of any reason that he would actually want to break up with you, so why did he?

He didn't know that, but he knew you were always going to mean something to him. 

A/N - Oooh your girl is on it! Don't get used to it lovelies... I don't know if this is going to last much longer. Have a wonderful day/evening, love y'all 💖

|masterlist|this made me feel something|