#could just be nostalgia but i think it holds up pretty well

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Red Carpet

synopsis: your final red carpet appearance with fred for gladiator ii. (your first public appearance as a couple?)

wc: 4k+

warnings: rpf! reader is specified to be inexperienced!

a/n: same general vibes as the last one but more introspective ig, but we go into more specifics here as well as some backstory.

italics are supposed to be comments under tiktok clips of the premiere. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

<<previous part

The screams and chaos of the premiere crashed over you as you stepped out of the car, a security guard’s hand reached for yours to steady you. This was it, the final big event. Even though it wasn’t over just yet, the nostalgia was creeping in, soft but persistent.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Fred’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He stood only a few steps ahead of you, having just arrived himself. Your gaze softened, lingering on Fred, oblivious to the cameras snapping away. “You look…” His gaze dipped once—then again—tracing your figure. A soft, unguarded smile tugged at his lips, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. As if he was completely enraptured by you. “You’re stunning, you know that?”

The ability to speak escaped you for only a moment, the words caught in your throat. “...Fred, you can’t-”

“No, I’m serious.” He shook his head, eyebrows raised. He walked forward and placed his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place to continue studying you, as if he was in awe. “Look at you.” His eyes finally found yours again. “You’re gorgeous, y/n.”

“Thank you.” The words felt stronger than your voice. You weren’t insecure—you knew you looked good tonight. But having someone say it like that—having Fred say it like that, like he couldn’t even keep the thought to himself—it nearly brought you to tears.

A deafening roar of cameras and voices dragged you back to reality. The glow of flashing lights blurred at the corners of your vision, and distant shouts of your name cut through the haze. You straightened your posture instinctively, smoothing invisible creases in your dress. But Fred could see it. He could see that small moment you tried to keep to yourself.

“Hey, come here.” He spoke softly, less of a request and more of a warning of the oncoming embrace. He pressed his hands between your shoulders blades once you settled into him, chin hooked against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head vehemently, the silky smooth finish of his suit rubbing against your neck. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I made you emotional.”

“You always make me emotional.” You chuckled, voice light to keep the tears at bay, unsure why they even came in the first place. “You look incredibly handsome tonight.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, his smile and excitement clear in his voice.

“Of course.” You pulled away and jerked your chin at his outfit. “We’re almost matching.”

With a quick second look at the color scheme of your outfit compared to his, Fred’s eyes lit up. “We are!”

“I think Grant and Leslie set us up.” You squinted your eyes conspiratorially. “I heard them talking about ‘all black looks’ yesterday.”

“Really?” He raised his brows at the information. “Come to think of it, Leslie refused to even entertain any of my suggestions today.” Fred laughed it off and reached down to hold you. His hands smoothly slid down your arms until they arrived at your hands, interlacing your fingers together. “Come on.” He tilted his head toward the carpet behind him. “Walk with me.”

“Down the carpet?” You gawked, frozen in place as he gently pulled you in the direction of the flashing lights.

“Yeah pretty, down the carpet.” Fred chuckled like you were joking. “It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“You wanna take pictures with me? Like us- together?” You whispered to Fred, not fully paying attention to the cameras already catching every moment. As Fred’s hand tightened around yours, you realized.

You weren’t exactly hiding this—not entirely. Your blossoming relationship, that is. Keeping things personal and quiet felt right for both of you. But this—walking a red carpet together—had never been part of the plan.

“‘Course I wanna take pictures with you.” Fred answered, eyes soft but certain. “We worked super closely on this movie, y/n. I don’t think people will over analyze if we take pictures together on the carpet.” He shrugged. His words meant more than that, though. You knew he meant that you could do whatever you wanted. That you shouldn’t limit yourself in your relationship just because you wanted boundaries. Keeping it private didn’t mean keeping it a secret, like you were doing something wrong. 

“Besides, you’re my Lovie.” His voice softened, almost shy, like he wasn’t sure if you’d still claim the title in front of all these people.

Your neck grew warm at his words.

Lovie.

That was the name you and Fred called your deliberately unnamed character throughout filming. Caracalla called her ‘my love’ almost exclusively in the script. So it became your quick shorthand between each other. And soon after, the rest of the cast and crew called your character that as well. But it was different with Fred. After a while, it stopped being her name for him. It was you. You were his Lovie.

“Oh- Okay, yeah.” You nodded at Fred, accepting the idea of walking the carpet together, though still slightly apprehensive. 

“Yeah?” He asked again, just to make sure. And with another nod from you, Fred’s victorious smile lingered as his hand settled on the small of your back, sending sparks up your spine. “Gotta show off my girl,” he murmured, his hand pressing a little firmer into you. You weren’t sure if he wanted you to hear that or not, but you did. The way Fred could unravel you, seemingly without even trying, felt wildly unfair—like every tender gesture was second nature to him. 

He led you up the crimson steps, where the carpet shimmered beneath camera flashes and distant voices blurred into a roar. Your name and Fred’s were being called from every which way. Before you could stand still and face a specific group of photographers, Fred moved away from your side all of a sudden, his steps quick and fluid. 

“Fred?” you asked, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

“One second.” His voice was low, nearly lost in the noise. When you turned, you saw Fred at your other side by your feet. He crouched smoothly to get closer to what he was after. The train of your dress. It wasn’t that long, but the small trek up the stairs had it all misshapen. With precise movements, he tugged at the fabric to position it into place. After he straightened it out sufficiently, he stood back up and stepped around his handiwork to come back at your side, arm looping around your waist to pull you back into him.

“You didn’t have to do all that.” You looked up at him through your lashes as your hands came up to rest against his chest. You adjusted his lapels in a subconscious attempt to return the favor, brushing away the imaginary lint on his chest and shoulders. Fred visibly blushed at your words, your hands on him, the way that you were looking at him, all of it. You displayed your emotions in a way that even he couldn’t dismiss. Not that he would want to. He loved it. Every moment. Being cared for so openly made his heart flutter and his ears turn red, it was exhilarating.

“I wanted to.” He reassured you, head nodding down softly, a subtle attempt at getting closer to you.

A piercing shout of your name followed by a burst of blinding light shattered the quiet moment.

The soft bubble you and Fred had built around yourselves burst, replaced by the harsh glare of cameras and the relentless hum of the crowd.

You dropped your hands from Fred’s chest, suddenly aware of how close you were.

But Fred’s hand stayed where it was, anchoring you in the thrashing waves of it all.

You turned this way and that, following the voices of photographers as they shouted out different poses they wanted to see.

“I could get used to this.” Fred spoke quietly, leaning down to whisper into your ear. 

You frowned in confusion and turned to look at him. “Which part exactly?” You asked. 

“Having the prettiest girl in the world on my arm.”

“Was this your plan tonight?” You couldn’t hide your grin no matter how hard you tried. “To kill me with compliments?”

“Not a bad way to die, no?” Fred furrowed his brows in faux seriousness, his mouth twitching in that way it did, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes with a giggle. “You’re a horrible man, Fred Hechinger.”

‘idk if they’re together or not and i want to be respectful but theyre literally the cutest people ever and if its true then theyre perfect for each other 🥺 truly wish them the best’

‘the mouth thing he does is actually the cutest thing ive ever seen’ ↳ ‘hottest. i think you mean hottest.’

‘look at the matching outfits!! i can’t! theyre too frickin cute!!!’ ↳ ‘its just all black lol y’all read into things too much 🙄’

‘we need a lip reader up in here 🗣️🗣️’

‘we love a man who knows the importance of the dress’

‘how does she just look better and better at each public appearance?!’

‘this is flirting one million percent’

‘either theyre together or theyre idiots, because this just might be true love’

‘we can’t assume that every interaction in hollywood means something more than it is, give them the privacy they deserve!’

‘what are they SAYINGGGG?!!?!’ ↳ ‘it definitely looks like he said ‘prettiest girl in the world’ there at the end, right?? call me crazy, but i can see his mouth moving so clearly it has to be it!’ ↳ ‘you’re definitely crazy, but also you’re definitely right’ ↳ ‘you’re right!!!! isn't that so relationship goals??’

Towards the end of the carpet, the rest of the cast were gathered to take a group photo. Paul saw the two of you approaching and his eyes lit up. 

“Took your sweet time, didn’t you?” He teased the two of you. “Been waiting all night!”

“Sorry,” you ducked your head as you confessed, smiling sheepishly. “Entirely my fault. I came late.”

“Ah, come here.” Paul laughed as he brushed it off and pulled you into a hug. “You look stunning.”

“And you’re handsome as ever.” You returned the compliment.

Paul pulled Fred into his side once you withdrew. You saw him whisper something into Fred’s ear, and Fred laughed and whispered something back, but you couldn’t quite make any of it out. 

When Fred pulled away, you shook your head at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. A small way of asking ‘What was that about?’ Fred smiled and shook his head, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

“Alright, you two!” Paul clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Picture time!”

“Do I look okay?” You turned to Fred, hand coming up to make sure your hair was in place. You were facing him now, your colleagues to one side of you and the expanse of the carpet on the other side. 

“You always look perfect.” He answered, eyes struggling to stay on yours. Always dipping down to your neck, your shoulders, your waist. He had to get a hold of himself, he thought. 

As you raised your arm to make sure your earrings were on properly, one of your bracelets snagged at the neckline of your dress. Nothing had happened yet, but if you moved in the wrong way, you’d have a horrible wardrobe malfunction on your hands. A soft ‘Oh!’ escaped you as you realized what was happening. Fred’s eyes darted from yours to your hand, where your eyes were fixated on something.

“What happened?” He mumbled as he quickly moved you with his hands on your elbows and simultaneously stood in front of you, making sure the scene was as difficult as possible for the cameras to capture.

“My bracelet’s stuck,” you explained, eyebrows furrowed and eyes zoned in on the tangle. 

His hands quickly covered yours, gently moving your fingers out of the way. “Here, let me.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You’re like my own personal assistant today.”

“Yeah?” He asked with a small smile, still working on your bracelet, glad that you seemed to be enjoying yourself even now.

He was a bit worried about you today, especially after he initially saw you at the entrance to the carpet. He knew the high of working on this project was coming down for you and he wanted to be there to support you through it all. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, “first the train of my dress, now this. What next? You’re gonna pull out a powder puff and take care of the shine on my forehead?”

“If this suit had big enough pockets, I’d pull out a plane and fly us out of here.”

“Where would we go?” You laughed.

“I don’t know, the Maldives? Russia? The moon?” Fred laughed with you as he pulled your hand back down, your bracelet and your dress back to their previous intact positions.

“Well, I already told you two that I want to go take pictures.” Paul’s voice broke the bubble that seemed to continuously form around the two of you. He stood next to you and placed a hand on your and Fred’s shoulders. “Hate to ruin the moment, lovebirds, but there’s only so much time before the movie starts inside.”

Paul pushed the two of you towards the spot prepared for the photos. Ahead of you was the rest of the cast, all lined up. Pedro Pascal, Connie Neilsen, Joseph Quinn, and Denzel Washington all stood together chatting and laughing. Paul went and stood next to Pedro, and Joseph made room for Fred between him and Denzel. You slid up next to Paul, feeling like it was the best fit for you between the group of people without causing another shuffle. 

Paul scanned the lineup, eyes flicking between you and Fred when his eyes narrowed slightly. “This won’t do.”

Without another word, he began casually nudging people aside, muttering something to Pedro, giving Joseph a knowing look. Slowly but deliberately, he carved out a space beside Fred.

A space for you.

“There. Much better,” he smirked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder and pulled you into place.

Your cheeks burned as Fred grinned and tugged you closer into his side. Joseph smiled knowingly at you and draped an arm across your shoulders.

Paul darted back to his place and in turn the cameras flashing intensified.

‘paul fred and y/n seem like such good friends i could cry 😢’

‘we all know paul has tiktok and hes in the loop, this man knows exactly what hes doing to us fred x y/n shippers’

‘HIM FIXING HER DRESS LIKE THAT? TOMDAYA 2.0! THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS 😩’

‘guys! a lip reader figured this one out! paul: ‘you’re smitten and you’re not being subtle about it’ and FRED SAID ‘who said i wanna be subtle?’ IS HE NOT THE CUTEST BOYFRIEND IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD?’ ↳‘paul ships it, he’s on our team’ ↳ ‘and he was telling her how good she looks at the other end of the carpet, did you see?’ ↳ ‘at one point he even says ‘you’re my love’ and i just about melted’ ↳ ‘no he said ‘lovie’! that’s what caracalla calls her in that one scene! NO SPOILERS GUYS!!!’

‘FRED THE MAN THAT YOU ARE!!!’

‘i can’t tell if i want y/n or if i want to be her’

‘paul making sure y/n is next to fred during the group photo’ ↳ ‘did you see how joseph looked at them!! everyone ships these two!’ ↳ ‘goes to show how literally everyone is rooting for these two’ ↳ ‘so true! they’re the cutest couple ive ever seen i feel like a proud mom’

‘first he fixes the train of her dress, next he helps her when her bracelet gets stuck, then what? huh? i die? is that what these two want from me?’

‘never getting over the cast making sure theyre next to each other in the group pic, theyre so loved’ ↳ ‘you mean paul specifically lol’

After a few pictures were snapped, a coordinator in charge of the media coverage told you to reshuffle. They wanted a few photos of Fred with Joseph and Denzel, and some of just the two of them. Some of Connie and Pedro, and some with Paul as well. A mixture of photos that represented their work together on screen. And of course they wanted some of you and Fred, and some with Joseph. And the last group on the list was you, Fred, and Paul.

When Paul came to join you, he placed his arm across Fred's on your lower back, both of their hands now landing on either side of your waist. “Hey,” He smiled warmly at you. “You alright?” 

You hummed in confirmation. “Thank you for that, back there.” You tilted your head to the side, knowing Paul would understand that you meant how he made sure to put you next to Fred in the group photo.

“I have no clue what you're talking about.” He smirked, eyes fixed forwards on the cameras. But his hand squeezing lightly at your waist told you otherwise. He was so perceptive when it came to you, making you feel like you were an open book. It brought you back to a day on set. A long time ago. When the concept of you and Fred was something you were too afraid to talk about out loud in fear of ruining the magic of it. Your relationship was on the precipice, the very edge of friendship before the ocean of something more.

The day, you had confided in Paul about the very thing that led him to do what he did only moments ago.

~

“You guys are cute.” He had said, catching you admiring your lock screen. It was a picture of you and Fred on a picnic blanket. Paul had taken it the day before. Everyone on set thought it was a nice idea to have lunch outside. The weather was perfect, the grass was green, and there were butterflies everywhere. You and Fred took a blanket for yourselves, to no one’s surprise. 

It was the next day that you were sitting with Paul on the set of the Colosseum and he showed you the picture he took of you. You quickly changed your phone wallpaper after he sent you the photo at your request. It wasn’t anything fancy, his film was still getting developed, though he promised you loads of pictures from that once it was done. This picture was just taken on his phone camera, but it was just as beautiful to you. He was so talented with cameras, capturing each moment beautifully you could almost hear it.

“Thanks.” You replied, avoiding his eyes. It felt strange—this fragile stage of something new unfolding under so many watchful eyes. But you knew that would be a sacrifice that you’d have to make. Especially with how slow you were going with Fred.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Paul asked. You hummed in response, asking for elaboration. “Us watching?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, needing further explanation. He couldn’t read your mind, could he? Was he really asking about the same thing you were thinking of? Were you that easy to read? Maybe to Paul, you were.

“I know you guys are taking it slow,” Paul said softly, like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. Your eyes lifted to meet his. “Fred told me.”

“He talks to you about me?” You asked, your smile evident in the tone of your voice.

“Always.” He replied, smiling just as wide as you unknowingly were. You and Fred were some of his closest friends on set. You all had the same sense of humor and attitude towards life, it was easy to find companionship with the two of you. And he wasn’t surprised that you two found love within each other. But he worried about it at times. “He always talks about you.”

“All good things, I hope.” You chuckled quietly, the smile ever growing on your face as you thought of what Fred might tell Paul in your absence. Maybe he mentioned your weird obsession with stuffed animals, or how you clung to his arm whenever the two of you went for a walk.

After a beat of silence, you remembered his question and your brows knitted in thought. “Why would it make me uncomfortable?”

Paul inhaled through his nose and looked out onto the bleachers ahead of you. “I don’t know… It’s just that- I don’t think I would be comfortable in your position, is all.”

“Why is that?” You knew how you felt about it all, but you always explained away your emotions. A bad habit, you knew. But you were genuinely curious and wanted to hear a somewhat objective opinion on this whole situation. 

“Just feels so-” He looked back at you now, studying you. Hoping, even, to see something telling in your expression at his confession. “Exposed, in a way. Raw. Like these feelings that really only one person should know about are on display to everyone around me.”

“Says the guy who had a first date on a live stream.” You retorted, the playful jab coming quick to mind.

Paul shook his head with a chuckle. “You know what I mean, dickhead.”

Your head cocked to the side as you thought of his words, truly taking them in. “I guess it does kind of make me feel strange.”

“Yeah?” Paul’s brows raised, appraising your face once more.

You nodded with a hum. “I’ve never- I mean, I’ve never really had a proper relationship. I don’t think I can even call this one a proper relationship. Not yet, anyways. And when I really think of it, it does feel a little unfair that what I always thought would be intimate and private is on display like this.”

“I’m sorry.” Paul spoke morosely.

“It’s not your fault.” You smiled softly, placing your hand on his. 

“Feels like it is sometimes.” He admitted. You shot him a questioning look. “‘Cause of the pictures.” He explained. “I just want to capture the moment. For you guys, not for anyone else. But whenever I point a camera your way, it’s like I’m pulling everyone’s attention to you with it. I feel guilty whenever you two are having a moment and everyone’s staring. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I think we’re asking for it a little.” You huffed out a laugh, squinting in the sun. The underlying bitterness in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Paul. “It’s a bit dumb to try and start a relationship in an environment like this. Months on end on one set with the same group of people. It’s annoying to have everyone’s attention like that, but everyone else probably thinks we’re annoying too.”

“No, don’t say that.” Paul shook his head, his eyes sharp as he shot down your self-blame. “You don’t plan out relationships in advance, that’s not how things work. We’re not like normal people, we don’t get to clock out and go home when time’s up. We’ve moved to fuckin’ Malta, we film day and night. We eat, sleep, and breathe on this set. And if something like that does happen, where would you even hide it? You can’t! Not that well anyways… You guys are doing this well. Better than most.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded with certainty. “And I… I didn’t know this was your first relationship. I’m sorry. It’s not fair to you.” He apologized again and your heart squeezed. 

“Yeah.” Your lips pressed together in a combination of agreement and embarrassment. “But it’s okay. To answer your question, I mean. I don’t think- I don’t feel uncomfortable.”

“No?”

“No.” You shook your head. “He makes me feel safe—like I’m home. Like we’re in a bubble where nothing bad can happen.”

~

Tucked into Fred’s side, surrounded by the cameras and the noise of the final premiere, you felt that same comfort—like you were in your own bubble with him. There were still interviews, panels, and endless appearances ahead, but this moment felt like the end of something special. And you were grateful that Fred was here, anchoring you through it all.

[videosloth]

me when it gets above 75°F

[girlkisser13]

clara bow

"you look like percy jackson" "in this light, we're loving it" "you've got edge he never did" "the future's bright, dazzling"

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. purely fluff. dad percy.

summary: your daughter looks just like her father.

the sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the sandy shores of montauk beach. percy jackson, now in his mid-twenties, stretched out on a towel, enjoying the peaceful sound of the waves crashing against the shore. you lay beside him, watching your four-year-old daughter as she ran along the water's edge, her laughter mingling with the sea breeze.

"she's got your energy," you remarked with a smile, glancing at percy. his dark hair, tousled by the wind, and his sea-green eyes were mirrored in your daughter. her curls bounced as she chased after the foam, her excitement palpable.

"yeah," percy replied, his voice filled with pride. "and your curiosity. look at her go. she's like a little explorer."

you watched your daughter with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. the way she fearlessly dove into the waves, her little feet leaving imprints in the wet sand, reminded you so much of percy when the two of you first met. he had the same fearless nature, the same insatiable curiosity about the world around him.

"do you remember the first time we came here together?" you asked, your voice softening as you looked at percy. "you were so determined to show me how to surf, even though the waves were huge."

he chuckled, recalling the memory. "i remember. you wiped out spectacularly, but you got right back up. that’s one of the things i love about you, y/n. you're as stubborn as i am."

you laughed, leaning your head against percy's shoulder. "and now our daughter has inherited that stubbornness. but you know, she has something else, too."

he raised an eyebrow, curious. "oh? what's that?"

"an edge," you said, your eyes twinkling. "she's got this… determination, this drive, that goes beyond what either of us had at her age. she's not just fearless; she's fearless and focused. it’s like she knows exactly what she wants and won't stop until she gets it."

percy watched as his daughter stood on a small sand dune, her eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something only she could see. "yeah, i see it too," he admitted. "she's got this fire in her. It's amazing."

you smiled, feeling a swell of pride. "that's your influence, percy. but she also has my patience, my ability to think things through. she’s a perfect blend of us both, with her own unique spark."

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "we make a pretty great team, don’t we?"

you nodded, resting your head on his chest. "we do. and we’re raising an incredible daughter. she's going to do amazing things."

as the two of you watched your daughter build a sandcastle with unwavering determination, you felt a deep sense of contentment. your journey together had been filled with challenges and triumphs, and now, watching your daughter thrive, you knew that every moment had been worth it.

"hey, y/d/n!" percy called out. "come show us your castle!"

she turned, her face lighting up with a bright smile. she ran towards the both of you, her small hands covered in sand. "look, mommy! daddy! it's a castle for the mermaids!"

as your daughter continued to describe the intricate details of her mermaid castle, you and percy exchanged a tender glance, your hearts swelling with love and pride. the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the beach and turning the waves into sparkling gems.

percy, still holding you close, leaned in and whispered, "so, what do you think? want to make another one?"

you looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and amusement. "another castle?" you teased, knowing full well what he meant.

percy laughed, shaking his head. "you know what i mean. another little jackson running around, making sandcastles and chasing waves."

you pretended to ponder the idea, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, well, y/d/n is pretty amazing... maybe another one wouldn’t be so bad."

percy grinned, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to your lips. "i think we’d make another pretty great team project."

you swatted him lightly on the shoulder, "you did not just call our daughter a project!"

you both laughed as your daughter came running back to the two of you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "what’s so funny?"

"nothing, sweetheart," you said, scooping her up into your arms. "just talking about how much we love you."

she giggled, wrapping her arms around your neck. "i love you too, mommy. and you, daddy."

as the three of you made your way back to your beach blanket, the sun setting behind you, you and percy knew that whatever the future held, the both of you would face it together, your hearts forever intertwined by the love of your little family.

"maybe one day," percy murmured to you as you watched your daughter settle down with her favorite blanket, the waves lulling her to sleep.

"maybe," you agreed, squeezing his hand. "but for now, this is perfect."

and with that, the two of you sat together, watching the stars emerge in the night sky, your hearts full of love and gratitude for the life you had built together.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part one - scott street

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 

“I’m up!” 

You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 

—

You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 

“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 

Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 

“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 

You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 

“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 

Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  

“We can’t do that, can we?” 

You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 

“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 

You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.

“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 

She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 

“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 

He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 

“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 

Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 

“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 

The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 

You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 

“What did I say?”

Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 

Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 

After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

You asked – voice shaky. 

“We’re fine, Y/N.”

Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 

“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”

JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 

“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 

Rafe growled. 

“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 

He laughs in response. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

Rafe questioned confusedly. 

“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 

JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 

“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 

Rafe snarled. 

“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”

The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 

“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 

He questioned softly. 

“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 

You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”

Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 

“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 

You mumbled. 

“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He replied, stroking your hair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey

[moonstruckme]

need more shy remus. please. begging. hands and knees. ANYTHING. i loved it so much genuinely.

Ask and you shall receieve. Thanks gorgeous! <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 794 words

You open the door to find Remus with a handful of what look to be carnations. 

“Well,” you say, smiling as you hold up your small bunch of dandelions, “this is awkward.” 

Remus blinks. You love to fluster him, amusement mingling with fondness in your chest until you can’t tell which is which, they’re both so big and happy. It’s your three-month anniversary, and despite your agreement just last week that neither of you would make a big deal, he’s clearly put extra effort into his appearance. There’s evidence of comb marks in his hair though it seems to have gotten tousled on the way to your flat (even better, in your opinion), he’s wearing that mossy green shirt you’d once told him makes his eyes look especially handsome, and you’re willing to bet that if you crossed the couple feet of air between you, you’d be able to smell the faintest whiff of his cologne. 

“Remus Lupin,” you tease, “have you put on chapstick just for me?” 

He blushes, rubbing his moisturized lips together self-consciously. “What,” he says quietly, “too presumptuous?” 

You laugh, taking him by his free hand to encourage him inside. You let him get close before stepping back, and there it is—a whiff of what he swears up and down is cedar cologne but has always smelt to you like frankincense and orange. Maybe by six months, you’ll be brave enough to stay right by his collar and take a big sniff, but for now you inhale as subtly as you can before moving out of his space. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of what you’d do with yours if you were picking me up,” you say, trying not to skip as you go into the kitchen, grabbing a vase from under the sink. “Do you want me to put them in water and you can grab them before you go home, or would you rather take them with us now?”

Remus looks at you, expression wavering between befuddlement and awe. “Those are for me?” 

You laugh again. You can never seem to stop doing that around him, it just comes spooling out of you like a pulled thread. “Course they are. You like dandelions, right? Or did I get that wrong?” 

“I do.” His voice is soft, tentative. “How’d you know?” 

“You mentioned it once.” You shrug, arranging your carnations in the vase. It doesn’t take much work to make them pretty, all fresh and upbeat and still undoubtedly invigorated from Remus’ touch. They look like you feel. “You said there used to be a ton in the courtyard of your school, so I assumed they have some nostalgia value. So, vase?”

“I’ll take them,” he says, wrapping his hand around the stems tenderly. His forefinger touches your pinkie, and you both let the contact linger a moment longer than necessary before pulling away. The scar on his cheek stands out starkly against his blush, pushed up by a bashful smile. “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

Warmth comes to your face in tandem with your chest, and you beam at him. “No problem.” The carnations look lovely in the center of your table, which reminds you that you’ve forgotten to tell Remus how lovely he looks. “You look really nice, by the way.” You give the words just long enough to find their mark, his flush worsening, before moving on so he doesn’t go mute on you like he has on a couple of occasions when you’ve laid on the affection too heavily. “Where is it we’re going again?”

Even with the subject change, it takes him a second to get his wits about him. “Um, I was thinking the cafe a couple of streets over,” he all but murmurs, doing that adorable thing where he seems to turn his eyes up to yours despite being taller than you. You’d kiss him on his pinkened cheek if you thought he’d ever recover. “We could go somewhere else, though. They have this chocolate torte I thought you might like, but if—”

“You like it there?” you ask, grabbing your keys from off the counter. 

Remus does a funny shrug-nod thing, as if to say Well, yeah, but what good is that?

“Then I’m sure it’ll be great,” you promise him, grabbing his hand to pull him out the door with you. “Chocolate torte sounds amazing, actually. How’d you know I was craving chocolate today?” 

“Figured it was the same as any day,” Remus mumbles, giving your hand a light squeeze. 

Another laugh startles out of you, and you can’t help yourself, going up on tiptoe to dot a kiss just beside his scar. 

Remus doesn’t speak again until you sit down at the cafe, but he never lets go of your hand. 

[savkirschtein]

AOT character & their personal fashion styles

characters : Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirschtein, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Marco Bodt

warning: all of these are just purely based off of my personal insight and views of the characters and how i think they’d dress today

🪩🥡🪐🎸🎧

Eren Jaeger: 🎱🌪️🩻⛓️

based off of season 4 Eren

i picture Eren in todays world really rocking with a minimalist street style

he’s all for comfort and breathability in his clothing and his style reflects that

a closet full of loose fitting boxy t-shirts

LOVES the cold months so he can layer his hoodies and leather jackets

while also sporting the slutty tightly fitted black shirt grey sweat pant combo every now and then

maybe even just walking out his apartment with a wife pleaser and baggy jeans on as a fit alone

all paired with sneakers, small silver hoops, and a chain of some sort

Mikasa Ackerman: 🍒💿📷🃏

we all know for a fact that Mikasa can DRESS

she just has an eye for fashion and has a unique style of her own

one that isn’t over the top, in terms of being a spectacle, but just well put together and tailored to HER. a girl you 110% give a second glance

she is a girlie who LOVES wearing any skirt whether it be long, midi, mini or knee length she LOVES them

most of her pieces are pretty free flowing with lots of different silhouettes

absolutely loves a good leather boot, pair of mary janes, or platform loafers

she literally could wear a trash bag and make it look like it’s the next trend

and has a huge collection of baggus

Armin Arlert: 🎧📘🍵☁️

Armin will literally never be free of the soft light academia aesthetic

the cable knit sweaters, soft cardigans, and sweater vests will forever have a hold on him

but what college boy Armin loves more than anything is a good quarter zip or quarter button up

or a nice casual white and blue striped button up

almost all of his clothing is soft and warm materials

definitely withholds the cute boy in the library title

Jean Kirschtein: 🪐👁️‍🗨️⚡️🌉

will live and die on the hill that Jean is a Carthartt guy

his look is a casual-relaxed but clean one

he’s all for clothing that is durable and will last him forever

Jean’s style is honestly super basic but NOT boring

although Jean’s style isn’t one that is made to make it hard to look away from its one that really just compliments him well

loves a good hefty Dickies or Carthartt jacket, basic white t-shirt, or a loose button up over a tank top

while wearing a variety of rings, with small hoops and a chain

his clothes compliment his strongly built and lengthy body well, which is why although they are basic, it isn’t boring

Connie Springer: 🎧💽☄️🩻

Connie is a literal fashionista

he probably is tiktok famous for his fit check videos and adventures at the thrift stores

the street style aesthetic was MADE for Connie

knows how to put pieces that may not look ideal together into a cohesive fit

LOVES JORTS and swears he made them trendy again

and wearing jerseys of teams he has no clue of , but it’s for the fit so who cares

Sasha Braus: 🍰🪩🗽🧸

the DEFINITION of downtown girl or coming of age movie in a city aesthetic

Sasha lives for the nostalgia of 90s pieces and it shows in her clothing

comfort is also a huge factor that plays into Sasha’s outfits

color is another component that makes Sasha’s outfits HER outfits

LOVES a good brown leather jacket

Sasha honestly though has a hard time sticking to just ONE specific style and will wear whatever feels good for her

Marco Bodt: 🍙🪴♠️🍊

Marco is a soft boy at heart but he’s traded in the traditional sweaters vests for hardy collared jackets

he absolutely LOVES PLAID

and loves layering his button ups with his worn out thrifted jackets

has a more warm palette in terms of colors and leans more towards earthy tones

super casual in his shoes though sticking to good tried and true high top converse, sambas, or loafers if he's feeling fancy

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Toad's Turnpike Debut: Mario Kart 64

Ah, Mario Kart 64, an iconic game for many reasons. It was the first 3D Mario Kart game, the first game to feature the Spiny Shell, the first Mario Kart where you could select Wario, and also the first good Mario Kart game! Or maybe it also sucks, and I'm just blinded by nostalgia. It is the first game I ever played.

While Mario Kart 64 featured many of the same course themes as Super Mario Kart, it also introduced a handful of new ones into the fold, like "busy highway!" Toad's Turnpike is the first course in the Mario Kart series where you have to dodge traffic. Now, holding a go-kart race on an active road might seem dangerous, but thankfully, having gotten my license earlier this year, I learned that driving on a road is what you're supposed to do, so it's probably fine.

What's NOT fine however, is driving against the flow of traffic! In Mario Kart 64, Toad's Turnpike is infamous for its Mirror Mode layout, where not only is the layout of the course mirrored, but the cars will move in the opposite direction as well! The penalty for crashing into a car is pretty severe in this game, and combined with the brutal CPUs who love to cheat, Mirror Mode Toad's Turnpike ends up being a very difficult race.

The Mirror Mode variant ties into a mechanic in Mario Kart 64 where the speed of cars will change depending on the cc. Are you late on the commute to work? Too bad! Toad has declared that he's doing a 50cc race today, and as the owner of this turnpike, you BETTER abide by his speed limit...!

But why are you commuting on Toad's Turnpike in the first place?! This road just loops back in on itself, with nowhere to get off! Heck, there's nowhere to get on, really, either. I have no idea how you or anyone else got into such a precarious situation. This is true of nearly every traffic course (besides Mushroom City), but this post isn't about any of those.

But what if I told you the cars may not be real cars at all...? You see, in Mario Kart 64, the cars on this course have no hit detection with anything besides the player. Items will pass straight through them, and so will any racer that's currently in a star. Is it possible these cars... are GHOSTS...? Jeepers! It would seem that after being trapped on this road for so long, that all the cars died off, and now nothing but phantoms remain...

You can still crash into phantom cars though, so be careful while driving.

It would seem that Mayor Toad of Toad City thought that something had to be done about his turnpike's ghost problem, so in the time between Mario Kart 64 and Mario Kart 8, he had a service station built on the side of the road. This must have worked out big time, as the cars have proper hit detection now! Hooray for necromancy!

Mayor Toad did not, however, pour any funds into building roads in and out of Toad's Turnpike. In fact, he turned the starting line into a toll gate, meaning not only are you trapped on Toad's Turnpike, but you have to pay for every lap you drive! The course was also scaled down quite a bit, meaning you'll be passing the starting line much more often. Clearly, the government of Toad City is very corrupt.

I guess this is my segue into talking about the Mario Kart 8 version of this course, huh? If I'm being honest, I don't like this version of the course nearly as much! But it's not really for anything that has to do with the gameplay...

Sure, it's disappointing that Mirror Mode no longer reverses the flow of traffic. Sure, the anti-gravity walls feel shoehorned in and kind of defeat the purpose of the course. Sure, the road being widened and the track being scaled down makes the cars much easier to dodge, and getting hit is much less impactful than before.

But none of those things really bother me. I mean, they added cars with glider ramps and whatnot! It's definitely easier than the N64 version, but I do think it gains some from its more dynamic elements. But you see, the reason I don't like the Mario Kart 8 version of Toad's Turnpike is because of a much more egrigious sin:

The vibes are off.

You see, the thing I love the most about Toad's Turnpike in Mario Kart 64 is the atmosphere. You know I'm a sucker for good atmosphere! It affected a few placements in those Galaxy rankings I haven't touched in like a year! But yeah, between the late sunset skybox, the excellent music, and the remote feeling of it all, Toad's Turnpike in Mario Kart 64 is a course with A+ vibes. Between that and its unique obstacles, it becomes a highlight of the game for me despite a pretty bland layout.

With Mario Kart 8's version, the time of day was shifted from the late evening to the middle of the night, the music was given a new arrangement that's much more energetic, and the course was reimagined as being in the middle of a big city. I definitely get what they were going for—the big city theming fits the highway environment, and it definitely feels more fitting for a fast-paced racing game. But to me at least, the relaxing evening drive feeling of Toad's Turnpike is a lot of what I loved about the original, and I feel like that was ultimately lost in the remake.

Despite my complaining, I find it important to emphasize that change is not an inherently bad thing! It's good to appreciate the things in our past, sure, but nostalgia can be a prison of our own making! People who refuse to accept change often end up like the Old Norm, grumbling about pronouns and rainbow beer. Heck, Rainbow Road is another course with great vibes from Mario Kart 64 that got a massive aesthetic overhaul in Mario Kart 8, and I love how they handled that remake! Sometimes you just gotta learn to appreciate the new and the old on their own merits.

With that out of the way, the changes made to Toad's Turnpike were bad and I don't like them. They totally should've kept the sunset.

[b1adie]

im better at explaining my thoughts verbally but like. here is my thoughts for some au w/ sparkle x robin.

(sparkle isnt AS deep into the elation in this cuz i feel like canon sparkle cannot hold any serious relationship at all. its impossible. shes just kind of an anthropomorphic rickroll) (and she wants black swan so bad it makes her look stupid)

so like this is assuming that the backstory we saw in sparkle’s animation is true, that she was a stage actress that started losing her sense of self before becoming a fool

and like, robin’s kind of an actress in a way. she’s a singer but the Perfect Facade she has to constantly put on is kind of close! but regardless of that, they’re both performers, so like. could have met at an event or something perhaps before robin got REALLY famous and they could have been friends and found it nice to have someone who understood what it’s like having to keep up an act all the time

but then ofc robin’s career takes off and she can’t be around as much even though she wants to make time to see her friend, their schedules never allow it and before you know it it’s been years since they’ve seen each other. in person, at least! sparkle sees robin everywhere she goes, on posters and merchandise and playing on the radio constantly.

this is around the time the elation starts creeping in and she starts struggling to know what parts of her are Real and what parts are the act. with no other close friends, she doesn’t feel safe letting her guard down around anyone, so she’s constantly playing this role… along with the meddling of the aeons, she pretty much loses it around this point. devolves into something akin to canon sparkle.

AND THEN! she gets that job to go to penacony. and she knows robin is going to be there. she wonders if the fame has changed her, or if she’s somehow really managed to stay that kind person she once was. but then she realizes that doesn’t really matter, because the sparkle that robin knew is long gone... right?

she tries not to think about their past. it’s useless now. it’s hardly even her past. she hears everyone talk about her, but never sees her in person until she watches her fall victim to Something Unto Death.

then, like the mentally stable and well adjusted person she is, she shapeshifts into her and starts pretending to be her. she isn’t sparkle. she isn’t the person robin knew. she’s less than a stranger. robin is dead. sparkle is a mask. she creeps up to a mirror, checking out her reflection. this is the closest she’s seen robin in years. and robin is dead. she clasps her hands together. it’s almost like they used to do. she runs her hand through her hair, greets herself in her voice… the nostalgia turns to vitriol, though, and she can’t help but laugh at how stupid and unfortunate it’s all become.

she goes off to mock robin’s brother about her death. in a way, she’s mocking herself, too. but then again, how can she mock what doesn’t exist? there is no self for her. she is whatever mask she wears, whatever role she plays. this makes it all the more frustrating that those sappy genuine emotions are insistently vying for her attention at the back of her thoughts. memories of the face that once wore these thousands of masks, the voice that wanted to scream, the arms that wanted to catch robin when she fell. those are all gone.

so why won’t they stop haunting her?

she’s close to the mirror again, hands pressed to it, forehead too, lips hovering over the glass…

she laughs and shatters it.

[raainberry]

Trainer Sana

« Silly Series - 15 »

Sana x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - who would have thought you could include your girlfriend in that beloved Pokémon collection of yours

wordcount - 1.2K

A/N - a genius requested this combo, everyone say thank you🗣️

“Do you have this one?”

“No.”

“And this one?”

“No.”

“What about this one?”

You looked up yet again from the deck of cards in your hands to look at the one Sana was showing you. It was pretty, like all the ones she showed you before. It seemed to be the only criteria for a card to get her attention ever since you walked in the small game store you liked to go to every once in a while.

They have a fair Pokémon card collection you buy from to grow your own, and it’s Sana’s first time there since you started dating.

She didn’t get any of those collections, series, hidden cards you rambled to her about, but she loved listening to you and looking at them whenever you showed it to her. So much so it somehow made her fall for you somewhere along the way.

Your collection is humble in number, but in her eyes its an impressive one. You only purchase the ones you truly care about, like a Pokémon you used to train religiously as a kid, or ones that looked cool or cute enough and you grew attached to for some reason.

The nostalgia of it all is your favorite part, and Sana understands that. Though it didn’t keep her from asking you about every single one she found pretty and remotely old school looking.

The latest was an old Ditto from way back when. You giggled at the sight, its clueless and carefree expression never failed to put a smile on your face.

“I do have that one actually.” You said and she smiled, looking back at the card.

“I had a feeling” She nodded to herself before putting it back to where it came from.

“Are you gonna ask me everyt—” You started only to get cut off (and startled) by a pretty dramatic sigh on her part. “What?” You wondered, slightly nervous until she showed you the new card she held. It was a Trainer card, one of the popular yet uncommon ones from its Series, and when you laid eyes on it, her reaction made all the sense in the world.

It was none other than Trainer Sana.

“We have the same name!” She said excitedly, making you smile as you reached for it.

“And you look alike too.” You pointed out, holding it side by side with her face. The melodious giggles you fell for suddenly resonated in the small shop when she realized what you were doing.

“Stop it,” She whined and you could only laugh with her as she pulled the card out of your hands. “Do you have it already?” She asked, curious, and you shook your head in response.

“No. I didn’t even know about it.” You admitted. As much as you liked Pokémon, you weren’t exactly as incollable as she thought.

“How dare you.” She gasped. “You know everything there is to know about these, how come you don’t know about a Sana one?”

“I don’t know everything, Sana, who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, you just sound so smart and passionate, it just seems logical for you to know about a card with your girlfriend’s name on it.” She shrugged innocently.

You couldn’t help but smile at her behavior; the one where she showed you how much she liked you and wanted you to think about her the same way she does you. It’s always so unsubtly subtle, and her charm somehow made it ever so endearing.

“Well, I did know about her character if that makes you feel better.” You teased. “Besides there’s only one Sana in my eyes and you’re her. Thinking of any other Sana would just be crazy.”

You watched with a playful smile on your face as she rolled her eyes at you. “Hmmm, nice save.” she nodded as her fingers fiddled with the card “So are you gonna get it?”

“I am.” You said, your smile persistent until she scoffed, nearly slamming the card down on the counter.

“Wrong!”

“What?” You chuckled, and she gave you an annoyed look that made it very hard not to burts out laughing.

“I thought I was the only one for you?” She questioned.

“Well yeah, but it reminds me of you.” You argued as you grabbed the card from her hand.

“You’ve known about it for like five minutes.”

“Are you getting jealous of a card right now?” You teased again, making her pout.

Sana’s jealousy wasn’t news to you, and although you teased her for it, you secretly liked it. That’s why you found it easy to deal with, especially when it manifested in such harmless conditions.

“I’m not.” She mumbled and you put down the card before grabbing the small card binder she’d found it in. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t collect this series, Sana. If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t.” You smiled at her, and she almost teared up. She suddenly felt bad about playing around with you like that.

“Don’t put it back, I’ll get it for you.” She said, making you look at her.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to, Y/n.” She cut off and closed the binder. Nearly missed your fingers, but that was only a detail. “Do you really think I’d get upset over a card?” She giggled, her grin easing one out of you.

“I mean, it did seem a little surreal. But yeah, I kind of did.” You admitted.

“Then you don’t know me at all.” She accused, causing a gasp to escape your lungs.

Sure, it’s only been a few months since you started dating, but how dare she even insinuate that idea after all those years of friendship beforehand.

“Yeah, well I’m trying!” You pouted, and the effect of your words caught her off guard, melting the heart you’d slowly been filling with that sweet love of yours.

“Apparently not hard enough.” She teased through the blush creeping on her cheeks. “Is there any card named after you? That way we could match.”

You snickered at her question, “You want a Pokémon couple item?”

“I mean, it could be fun and cute. Don’t you think?” She said, lifting her eyes from the deck she’d stole from you in order to cool down the heat in her face. “Or do you not want that?”

“No, yeah totally. I’d love that.” You grinned and she smiled before focusing back on the cards.

It was cute, and truthfully it rocked that she looked on this silly hobby of yours with such a kind and open heart. It wasn’t necessarily the case in your previous relationships…

One of your arms found her waist, pulling her closer in order to push your lips against her temple before speaking up.

“There isn’t any character named after me, but there is a Pokémon my friends tease me about because we look alike.”

“Which one?” Her eyes lit up and you kind of regretted that sudden confession. You just knew she was going to tease you too.

“I don’t know if they have the card.” You tried to get away from the hole you’d dug yourself, but it was too late.

“Who cares about the card, look it up and show me.” She urged with a smile you didn’t like the aura of one bit.

“Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh.” You pleaded, taking your phone out.

She did laugh. For a long while. And she probably won’t ever stop until either of you gets old enough to forget about it.

Thankfully the shop really didn’t have the card, but you had no doubt she’d get her hands on it.

You wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow got it under the next christmas tree. If not, you’d probably gift it to her for her birthday after eventually getting over yourself.

The idea of walking around with matching Pokémon cards in the back of your phones was enough to outweigh the endless teasing.

[sparetheninja]

Can I request that the reader has a snort laugh and the turtles find out by tickling them and the reader gets embarrassed by it and hides there face but they turtles reassure them that it’s cute and tickle them more please and thank you

WAHHH THAT SOUNDS ADORABLE !!! I genuinely loved writing this (as a lee) aaahhehehehe ….. sorry if this didn’t turn out the way you expected cause tbh ….. it didnt turn out the way i expected. But i TRIED. And izTs like 3 am rn.

« Give me that remote ! »

The turtles find out you snort and, oh boy, do they love it.

Includes: Tickling !!

Lee: (gender neutral) Reader ,

Ler’s : Leo , Raph , Donnie & Mikey

Itteration: written as 2003 but it can be imagined as any itteration <3

Words: 1,014

“I’m telling you, the origional star trek series is way better than the next generation !!” Mikey attempted to grab the remote from your hand, yet you managed to lift it just out of place for him to not be able to reach it.

“You’re only saying that because its nostalgic.” You fought back.

Everyone in the lair loved watching movies and old shows. Especialy on saturday when you had no school/work. Its become a tradition where you would buy the best candy in New York City and you and your strange little green friends would choose a show or a movie to watch (and eventually fall asleep to).

You had, for good reason, chosen to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, but the orange masked turtle himself was begging to watch the origional series.

“If we are gonna watch something Star Trek related, we have to watch the origional!” Mikey tried to jump to the controler but you managed to slip past him with the remote.

“Geez, Mikey. Can’t we just watch the origional series next saturday?” Donnie, who was sitting next to both of you and had to deal with most of the pushing and play fighting, spoke up with a sigh.

“Pshh, kids.” Raph, who was next to Donnie again, rolled his eyes.

Leo was standing behind the couch, standing over all of them with a small smile on his face. It was always humerous with you around. “I don’t have a say in this, but the nostalgia of the origional series hits hard.”

“Exactly!” Mikey cheered before looking back at you with a threatening look. “Now, give me that remote…”

You decided to see just how far he would go to get this remote. “You gonna fight me for it?” You said, knowing full well the youngest turtle wouldn’t even think of hurting a hair on your body.

“Oh, you asked for it…” Mikey slowly crawled himself towards you.

There was no way Mikey would actually hit you… right? Over a remote? Over a joke?

Thats when you saw that grin. That cheeky little grin on his face. A grin that basically told itself what would happen.

But before you could react any further, Mikey jumped on top of you, holding your right hand above your head, the hand that held the remote, and sitting on your legs.

Instead of grabbing the remote, which he could’ve easily grabbed by now, he pinched your sides.

No way. No how. You had never told the turtles about your ticklishness before because you were horrified they would discover your snort…

“Nohoho- snort Wahahait!!”

Shit. It had only been a second and you were already snorting.

You felt Mikeys hand thankfully pull away in an instant, but when you opened your eyes, you saw all four of the turtles. Staring at you.

No way this was happening.

Donnie seemed intrigued, you could basically see how much he wanted to smile just by looking into his eyes. Raph had raised an eyebrow whilst grinning at you. He thought it was hilarious how embarrassed you seemed. Leo just stood right over you holding back a chuckle from just how adorable your snort was, whilst Mikey; oh, this guy was glowing.

His smile seemed to grow ten times its size and he had a new glimmer in his eyes.

Your face quickly turned into a crimson red, pretty much resembling Raph’s mask, as you covered your face with your hands. “Oh god…” you muttered.

“Whahat was that?” Mikey held back his excitement whilst asking a question he already knew the answer to.

“If you-” you huffed, not knowing what to say. “That- you- you didn’t hear that. That was… wh- that was your imagination.” You felt your face glowing red. Even though you tried to cover it, it seemed like he redness was glowing through your hands.

“That was ADORABLE !!” Mikey squealed.

Wait… what?

“I didn’t know you were capable of doing that.” Donnie grinned, finding your snorting fascinating (as Spock would say).

“Wh- no its not cute, its embarrassing!” You managed to sit up, still partly covering your face.

Leo placed a hand on your sholder, causing you to flinch a bit. “Embarrassing? You haven’t even heard Raph yet.”

“Hey…” Raph grunted in a low tone.

“Besides, i wanna hear that cute laugh again.” Leo said as he wiggled his fingers across your side.

Did they really find your laughter cute? “Whahat?”

“Yeah, that was adorable!” Donnie added, sitting next to you and smiling.

Mikey nodded excitedly. “Yeah, you shouldnt be embarrassed of your laugh. Especially since its so cute!!”

Raph cracked his knuckles. “Oh, we’re totally doin’ this.” He spoke, still in a low tone, but more teasing this time. “Get ‘em!” Raph shouted as Mikey held your legs to stop you from kicking around whilst repeatedly squeezing your thigh, causing you to scream out laughing and snorting. Raph was sitting on the floor, digging one of his hands into your hips and the other into your stomach.

Donnie and Leo didn’t hold back either. Leo held both your hands above your head with one hand and ised the other one to scribble along your side whilst Donnie attacked your ribs.

“WAHAHA- snort WHAHAIT!! I CAHAHA- snort snort CAHAHANT!!” As much as you wanted to die from the embarrassment, knowing that the turtles found it cute made you less insicure about it and it actually made you feel happy as well. It was a tickle session you actually enjoyed.

“You can’t?” Mikey asked the question that wasn’t a question. “Too bad!”

“Yeah, thats right!” Donnie cheered on, loving the sound of your snorting and laughing. “You’re not going anywhere!”

“This might just be better than binge watching old shows,” Raph said. “We should do this every Saturday instead.”

“NE- snort NEHEHEVER!!”

You knew you couldn’t get out. I mean, they have been training since they were pretty much babies! No way you would ever get out of this.

In your mind you sighed cause you knew you were going to be here for a while.

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 1: nostalgia

ao3 link for additional author's notes | playlist | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye.'--- ' It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I'm thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name]

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)'

word count: ~5k; tws: none for now

2-4-2015

Dear Fushiguro Tsumiki, 

How are you today? I’m so sorry that we haven’t talked in so long. 

Forgive me for asking so many questions in this letter— I know too little about writing them; my mother is the one who asked me to write this saying that it would help me keep in touch with my friends or write better (either of the two, I can’t quite remember). 

Between an urban area or a rural area, which would you prefer? I’ve had to go all around the place because of my mother and I’m still all the way in Tanegashima now. If you were to go from Tokyo to where I am, you’d have to either go for a drive lasting more than 20 hours or book a three hour flight. 

I’ve only stayed in the city once— that was when we were still in the same school, and we could all fit in my aunt’s apartment since my father was outstationed for the whole year. But I digress. Personally I prefer the city. It all feels so modern, and so much less empty than how it’s like here on this little island. I mean, we have the space centre, so I can always visit that, but after the third or fourth time you’d probably get a little bored of it too. 

I wish I could go to Tokyo again one day, though. I’d definitely take the time to visit you, too. I read on a pamphlet once of how pretty everything gets in Tokyo during winter time, especially during Christmas. We don’t really celebrate Christmas here but the pamphlet reminded me of that one December when we spent it at my aunt’s, we ate lots of KFC and had a little party while my aunt sang songs and drank enough alcohol to prove she had a liver of steel a million times over. 

It’s nice to reminisce on these things, and it’s nice to reminisce on when we were still there too. I know I never told you this enough, but I was so happy when you walked up to me on the playground that day and asked if you wanted to be friends. I really, really liked your hair and wanted to ask you the same. I was just too shy to do it, and thought that if I would I’d end up messing things up and mortifying myself. I miss that and you and I miss 2010 and I miss Tokyo, and walking back from school with you and Megumi (you were like my cool older sister), and I really, really miss doing each other’s hair. It was the most joyful I’d ever been in my then 8 years of life and every day was a new fragment of happiness to keep in my heart like a picture in a locket. 

Now I really want to go there again, and maybe go to the Shinjuku-Gyoen, or see the lights at night. I wish I could stay for a whole year and see how the trees can change from being highlighted cherry blossom pinks, to lush greens with summer dew on them, to golden ginkgo leaves. I’d keep them with me, too. I hope you can take me there one day and we can see everything together again. My apologies if I’m asking too much of you. 

Also, how is Megumi? I miss him too. Is he the way he was, still? Is everything okay between you and him, still? Unlike elementary school, the boys in junior high are all taller than the girls, so since we’re the same age do you think he’d be taller than me too? Is he taller than you, or are you still one of the tallest girls in junior high like how you were in elementary school? 

It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I’m thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name] 

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?) 

28-2-2011 

The train to the airport is arriving in a minute, and you’re sure your mother won’t let you just wait for the next one, so you’re stuck clutching your little luggage bag as you look at Tsumiki and Megumi, that inseparable pair, and their snowy-haired “benefactor” (whatever that means. You think he’s more like their father sometimes, though). 

Even if you knew it was inevitable and that this day would eventually come, especially with your leaving Tokyo being pulled even earlier than you thought it would, a part of you pretended that you’d still get to stay with them for a little while longer. In Tokyo you’d solidified your place and built your roots— you had friends, were doing alright in school and had even begun to be less anxious about everything. Now you’d be uprooted again, you thought as your fists trembled, Now you’d be back to square one. 

2011 had started as a busy year— your father had begun preparations to move somewhere else where you and your mother could follow him and the three of you would be together again. It was busy for Tsumiki, too, who had more school matters to tend to due to her being one of the best, most well-rounded students in her year (you didn’t know much of the details). 

…it had also begun with you seeing a dog when you were alone with Megumi once. It had these unique markings on its head, with alabaster fur and jaundice-hued eyes. And Megumi then had a panicked look in his eye, asked how and why you could see them as well as whether you’d seen them before, which you suppose caused him to be busier after that, too. Tsumiki and Megumi’s benefactor visited you and your mother the night after, asking to speak with your mother and your mother alone. He paused before you, almost shocked, you supposed, but you couldn’t see through his pitch black sunglasses (he was one weird guy, seriously— pitch black sunglasses? Really?). To which she frowned, as the man uttered that you could be a “window”, but that you could still be able to use “cursed energy”, or something. You’d heard of neither of those, and weren’t able to eavesdrop or discern anything else they’d said. 

Then nobody else mentioned the dog anymore. 

If you questioned any of them, you’d only be told that the dog was a stray, and that those markings must have been a particularly special birthmark. Yet you knew it was all a lie, but after multiple tries you gave up on wondering. 

When you’d first learned you’d be moving yet again, you cried and screamed for your mother to let you stay, and for what felt like hours. After relaying this to Tsumiki, she just put her hand on yours before hugging you— always wise, always kind, always smiling, you can’t say this enough about her. Megumi patted your back before she pulled him in as well, and for once he didn’t shove her hand away. You couldn’t even bother to be confused at that— you just continued to weep as Tsumiki comforted you, whispering, “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to talk to you, but I’ll try my best to keep in touch when I can. And even if we don’t, we’ll always be friends, okay? So we’ll meet again someday, don’t forget that, okay, [Name]?” 

A day after that Megumi told you to stay safe. Nearly ordered you to swear you’d stay safe and protected, always. He said that the world was dangerous since it was full of dangerous creatures and people who could kill you at any moment, but as long as you were on an island like the one you were moving to, you’d be fine. You furrowed your brow at that as he held your hand and felt him squeeze it— subconsciously, most likely. 

“Well,” Tsumiki starts, a tinge of sadness in her tone, her eyes slightly swollen. Megumi’s expression is unreadable but his fists are balling the fabric of his shirt and his leg is shaking. It makes you want to sob and cling to both of them and you know if you did they wouldn’t ever let go, “I guess this is goodbye, [Name]…” 

Before you realise it, tears start pooling in your eyes and soon they’re trickling down your face uncontrollably, just like the day when you’d first met her. “We’ll still be friends, right?” You won’t leave me, right? 

“Mhm!” Tsumiki smiles— she was always smiling, always, even when she was about to cry along with you. Her lip was trembling and for a second you swore you could detect that in the ever-stoic Megumi, too. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. We’ll be friends forever, so we’ll surely see each other soon enough,” Tsumiki assures you, close to sniffling, “We made a promise to always be friends, right? So you’ll see the two of us again in just a few years’ time no matter what.” 

“Okay,” you sniff, “I’ll see the two of you when we’re all grown up, and… and I’ll be taller, too! I promise I’ll visit Tokyo next time!” 

“...that’s good,” Megumi says, his leg still shaking discreetly, joining you and Tsumiki’s conversations in a way he’d rarely done. 

Tsumiki nods, “Yeah. That sounds really, really good, [Name]. Wait—! Let me give you something. You can call it a gift!” 

She takes it off, and her hair unfurls like flowers from bouquets after they’re untied, placing the red-ribbon hair tie securely in your palm. 

“Your hair tie?” you ask, “No, it’s okay—!” 

“Please, just… just keep it, okay? It’s a gift from Megumi and I to you, [Name]!”

Then you’re in her embrace again as you clutch the hair tie, while after a little hesitation Megumi joins in and you swear you can see their benefactor smiling— not just the smile he had when you first saw him, this one in particular seemed proud, fatherly, the same way your father did when you told him about how you were able to read through a whole book with beginners’ kanji in it. 

“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. 

The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye. 

15-3-2011

The phone continues to vibrate in your hands as you anxiously tap your foot on the ground. You’re sure it’s going to end up sore. Frantically, you press it almost forcefully to your ear when it stops ringing. “Tsumiki, Megumi!” 

“[Name]!” 

“Are you alright? I saw the footage of the earthquake on the news, are you safe? Were you and Megumi evacuated, are you all safe? Please tell me whether you’re safe—!” 

“Megumi, it’s [Name]!— Don’t worry, we’re safe now.” 

Relieved, you sigh, “That’s good, that’s good,” you say, “It must’ve been really scary…” 

“Mhm— everything started shaking as if we were on some boat in the middle of the sea and the waves started getting wilder, and it was like the ground was rumbling.” 

You shiver. “That sounds so scary…— I’m glad you’re safe, though. I don’t know why stuff like that has to happen so quickly sometimes, and so suddenly, too. And it takes so many people along with it. I thought I could’ve lost the two of you.” 

“Well, we made a promise,” she tells you, “So don’t worry. —Oh! Megumi wants to talk to you. Here, Megumi.” 

“Are you alright?” he inquires, “Have you seen anything scary in the countryside?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t seen anything. Why?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted to know.” Now that sounds like a bold-faced lie. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” 

-20-5-2011-

“Hello? Is this Tsumiki? I need to ask if she’s alright—” 

“Oh, little [Name]?” a man says over the phone— the benefactor, you remember, “So sorry, she’s pretty busy right now… call next time, okay?”

-21-5-2011-

“Hello? This is the Fushiguro house contact, right?” 

“Sorry, Tsumiki’s busy at the moment. Me too, actually.” 

“Megumi!” you smile, bringing the phone closer to your cheek in excitement, “How is everything?” 

“Good, to say the least,” he replies, “We’re just a bit busy. Sorry, but I’ve to hang up soon.” 

“Oh, oh-okay! Bye bye, Megumi!” 

“Bye.” 

-13-7-2011-

“Hi, [Name] speaking. I called twice last month and a few days ago. Are you still busy?” 

“A little— well, Tsumiki is,” the voice on the other side says. You know it’s not Tsumiki, not yet at least. “She’s really sorry, [Name].” 

“No, no, it’s okay! I don’t want to bother any of you either, so thank you for telling me!” 

“Well, if you want I can try to get Tsumiki right now,” the voice offers. 

“Really? Thank you so much!”

The pause that ensues after is followed by the fifteen happiest minutes of your life since February this year. 

“[Name]? Is that you?” 

“Yeah! Hi, Tsumiki!” 

She gasps slightly in the way that children do when in awe or when someone finds out they’ll be eating their favourites for lunch. “Hello!” 

“How are you?” you ask.

“I’m good! Really busy, though, so I’m really sorry if I can’t call you as often… but everything’s been alright. You?” 

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head even if she can’t see it, “I’m good, too!” 

-18-8-2011- 

You don’t know when you started heading to the phone and keying in the number, doing everything but ringing it. You’re busy, too— you’ve less time now to ring them up, and the last time you did, Tsumiki still apologised but sounded a little distant, just that one bit too busy to be able to tend to you. One step farther away from you. And Megumi was seldom ever the one by the phone. Still, you could understand why. You supposed they always had something going on that you never understood or never asked about. That would explain the incident with the unusually marked dog. No, they weren’t sketchy, but there was definitely something they must have known about the world that you didn’t. 

Now you don’t know if you can even muster the courage to talk to you or write to you. The distance between you has widened exponentially and you hesitate just a bit more every time you hold the phone and press its buttons. 

Then the phone rings, and after you hesitate once more, you put it down. 

9-2-2016

If there’s one thing you remember from about half of your life ago, it’s that your first crush was probably Fushiguro Megumi. 

You’re honestly surprised it wasn’t actually his sister. That over Tsumiki and her abundant compassion and beautiful soul, you’d feel your heart leaping and overflowing with warmth because of him instead. Constantly angry, never for once not irascible, always serious and aloof. You’re sure that if you’d met him now instead of back then you’d find him some asshole who you just wouldn’t be able to understand— why’d he always have to seem so angry? 

Yet it was a struggle, trying to understand him. It really was. Maybe you didn’t really have to understand anyone, much less Megumi. He never ceased being so serious and easily angered but you could tell from his eyes that he must have not intended to hurt anyone; half of the time you understood him: like when you could see that glint in your eyes that replaced what would have been a ghost of a smile on his lips, the other half of the time you didn’t: like whenever he shoved Tsumiki’s hand off his shoulder, and Tsumiki just continued to smile. Now, that really confused you. You’d thought about that for days before coming to the conclusion that you’d probably never find an answer. 

Conversely, Tsumiki was kind and patient. If you’d met her now you’d have fallen in love with her immediately and she probably wouldn’t even notice in that terribly goodhearted, unknowingly innocent way of hers. 

In retrospect it should have been more obvious: he scowled at you and if it were anyone else who did so to you back then you would have merely cried and closed in on yourself, yet you never did when it came to him. You just continued to stick to him like those kind of glue residuals left behind after you take a sticker off a table or a price tag from the back cover of a book. You were probably annoying like that. And to some degree you suppose he’d given you his own form of special treatment by letting you do so anyway. 

If you’d known what you were feeling back then you probably wouldn’t have admitted anything, anyway. Probably you would’ve kept it all within you, quiet and unnoticed, trying to drown yourself into life’s backdrop like an insect engulfed in resin. 

But you’re older now, more mature and slightly more outspoken; you’re going to try to be confident and meet someone, this one person alone who you can only meet now without his sister there just because you used to have a crush on him and— 

You don’t think you’d be able to admit anything either. Yet to yourself he’s the first. He always will be, and you’re not sure whether that sounds pathetic, miserable or disgustingly, hopelessly delusional, considering you don’t even want to pursue anything yourself. 

It’s going to be Valentine's Day soon and you’re quite sure that most of your school friends are making Valentine’s chocolates for their boyfriends or their crushes. In all truthfulness, you might as well not feel blue about it— you’re 14, that’s still pretty young, you don’t have to rush things like relationships or confessions through and you’ve been told to focus on your studies instead— but the thought that you’re going to be alone is still kind of depressing. 

10-4-2015

Dear [Name], 

Don’t apologise— it’s partially my fault. I ended up being really busy that year due to something we had to deal with. 

But anyway, it’s been so long! I miss you every day as well! 

Megumi and I’ve been great, and I hope you’ve been too. It’s been a long four years since we last talked (it’s already 2015, how time flies!), but you still sound the same. It’s like you’ve got better handwriting now, though! 

Aside from the fact that I’ve been swarmed with stuff to do (I joined the student council, yay!), junior high has been okay, to say the least— and hey, I’m still pretty tall, you know? Plus, a lot of the teachers say I’m surprisingly tall for my age, heheh. Things are going the same as always. I’ve got accustomed to the loads of homework we have now too. But it’s like Megumi’s been having a problem lately— he’s getting into fights, beating people up, things like that. I wouldn’t call him a delinquent, though: moreso someone who beats the delinquents up instead. I know what he wants to do and why he does it, but I don’t want him to fight other people and get himself or others hurt. 

I’ve tried to tell him this before, to be honest. I’ve tried it many times but each time I must sound more annoying to him than the last— I don’t want to force him to do anything, though, and I understand that part of why he does this is because of his own ideals. I just want him to not raise his hand against others. So I have to resort to this. 

Sorry for spilling it all on paper like this… I just wanted someone to talk about this to, and I thought you would listen to me, I suppose. Sometimes it’s hard— sometimes I really do feel like his parent instead of his sister and it makes me feel so lonely, really. 

Oh dear, what do I do to make him hear me, seriously… 

Anyway, I totally get what you mean— I’ve stayed in Tokyo all my life, but I’m sure that if I was uprooted and had to live somewhere else I’d have lots of trouble. Tokyo to me is my home, and my whole life is here. Moving somewhere else would probably shatter it completely, I think. 

And please visit when you can! Maybe if your mother allows it, we can come to us instead, one day! And it’s not like we can’t visit you either. Our door’s always open. Once this school year ends, perhaps we could stay with you for a night or two! (If you would have us, of course). 

Besides that, I don’t really have much to say. I did have a good day today, though. I went out with some of my friends from school after our classes ended and we ate some donuts. They were so tasty!!! Honestly, whenever you have the time, I really recommend going there with some of your friends after school!! 

Regardless, I think this is all I have to say in this letter. I promise I’ll try my utmost best to always set aside time to write to you!!! Get some good rest whenever you can, okay? Miss you always! 

Sincerely, 

Tsumiki 

(P.S.: Do you have an email or a phone number of your own yet? If so, please shoot me an email or give me a call! I can reply more there since I have those now and can use those instead of always relying on our house contact.  You can keep the hair tie, too, by the way! It can be like a memoir (*^▽^*). And it’s for you, after all!) 

13-3-2015 

You remember seeing a little dog one time back in your hometown when you were around six or seven years old. 

It was a tiny little thing, with the fluffiest black fur you’d ever stroked, and though every second it was barking louder than your mother could ever handle, it was adorable and seldom threatened to bite anyone. And it liked you— it never barked at you and let you shower it with pets despite how much it had frightened you initially. 

He was irritable but calm, someone who frowned and scolded but never raised his hand against anyone— not even that “benefactor” of his who you’d never heard him talk about without mentioning how much he’d like to punch him someday. You genuinely don’t think he’s ever done so, either. He doesn’t seem like the type: from what you remember, if he were to think he’d hurt someone he knew or evidently cared about— as much as he’d like to deny this, however— he would blame everything on himself, you think. He’d feel the guilt rake through his body and lacerate his skin, piercing through his ribs. Yet he’d keep living, and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it; he’d be so quietly miserable. 

That’s what he was like: quietly miserable. There’s a certain sorrow in the way he does things; you could tell this from the start despite how young and inept at articulating yourself you were at that age. But you’d always known and sensed that there was a sadness running through him, coursing through his veins, one that you could feel like heat from the warm blood beneath one’s skin. 

Today you wonder if he’s the same, if he still seems like the saddest person you’ve ever met, if he still seems like he would have been the saddest and most doleful had he not always tried to act as if otherwise, living defiantly against it. If he hadn’t always been able to keep living while suffering quietly like a child with nothing but muffled sobs in the desolate corner of an empty classroom. 

But at eight you thought maybe you could liken Megumi to a puppy. Or something like that. He certainly reminded you of that all-bark-no-bite puppy from the past. You wondered how it was now, whether it was still being fed and taken care of. 

Tsumiki was vastly different, though— the kindest girl you ever knew, with neat, soft hair and the type of handwriting all the girls in her class wanted to have. She was always smiling, always kind— you thought she was immensely wise for a girl around your age; you always wanted to be as amazing of a person as she was: always hardworking, always clever, always kind and forgiving, no matter what. 

…you don’t even know why you’re thinking about some kids you met once who you’ll probably never see again. Just two kids who you never kept in touch with. Or at least never tried to. You had their contact— you tried talking to Tsumiki a few times, but for some reason she could only ever reply once or twice (she apologised profusely for not being available any time she picked up as well), and as time passed the way the distance between the two of you grew, by the summer of 2011 you’d begun holding a telephone close to your ear without keying any number in it, as if clinging onto it would provide you with any sort of closure. 

You miss them, though: smiley Tsumiki and frowny Megumi. 

Leaning back into the mattress, you trace your fingers over the hair tie on your wrist, fingers rubbing against each thread of fabric in its red ribbon. 

Could you even talk to them or face them anymore after ceasing contact with them for years, though? Heck, you don’t even know whether they’re alive or not. Would they be angry at you? Disappointed? Feeling as if they’d been wronged or left behind? 

Still, you miss them. You really do. 

Your mother’s calls bring you downstairs, and you eat until your stomach is full before washing your plate. The only other step in your routine now is to head up and retreat to your room again. 

“Come down, [Name], could you?” your mother says, interrupting your trip back up, “I just want to talk to you for a second.” 

Now, that… that was a bit strange. Your mother rarely ever asked you to talk to her. You spent enough time with each other as is, doing almost everything else besides being in school or at work in the same house, even if it never meant asking about each others’ day. It just was never part of the conversations you had with each other. You’d ask where she wanted you to throw things or how you could cook something, but she’d never go out of her own way to learn about your own day since you were about nine or ten, and it wasn’t like you ever did either. Perhaps she was trying to make the effort to? 

“What is it?” 

“You like writing, honey?” 

“I mean, I guess so?” you reply hesitantly, “As long as it’s not for school or my grades don’t rely that heavily on a task, writing can be pretty fun.” 

“Good, good,” she remarks, nodding her head, “Actually, I recently found something you may be interested in online. You still have your friend and her brother’s house contact, right?” she questioned. Instantly you know which friend she’s referring to and say yes— how could you not, after all? “Ever heard of pen pals, darling?” 

Which brings you to where you are now: your mother leaning by the door frame of your room as you’re hunched over the table writing the letter. Surprisingly, she really seemed to care about this, even preparing the prettiest paper you’d ever seen, with pastel pink patterns printed on the paper’s edges, and though you struggled with what to say it first the words have begun spilling out of you despite how late it’s started to get. 

You wonder whether she’ll reply. She probably will, though, but a fragile part of yourself surmises that she may not, and although you’d like to talk to her again you fear that because of the time that’s passed things may just not be the same anymore. You wonder if the years have made the three of you infinitely different than your eight and nine year old selves. 

But that was growth, right? So you had to grow and learn how to talk to her, learn how to face her without thinking that she’d be angered or frustrated, or anything like that. And even if she did, even if it would hurt you, you’d be able to live. The world would keep spinning and all that would be lost were two friends who you lived without for about four years, ceteris paribus. Who could claim that the seventy or so years after those four would be any different? 

That’s why you took the pen and paper and started to write, telling yourself you’d face it and finish the letter no matter what. Even if it was short. Even if it wouldn’t be enough to express four years’ worth of unspoken words, from funny things that had happened in school, or what you thought of whatever was on the news, or how your parents had gotten you a new phone. 

As your eyelids gradually grow heavier, you watch how you fill two whole pages in the handwriting you have— you wish it could have been at least a tad bit more similar to Tsumiki’s, who never needed any boxes or lines to write completely straight and uniform for each character as if copying excerpts from finely printed books to the letter. 

Soon, you’re reaching the end of the letter, determined to keep the handwriting legible even if you feel like plopping your head on the table and falling asleep— to some degree you still need it to look presentable, after all. 

“(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)” 

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you’d like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[pearlesscentt]

love in the little things : svt vocal unit

── alternatively: the times when actions whisper softly, but the love speaks volumes.

svt (vocal unit) x reader, established relationship, fluff , 883 words

hiphop unit | performance unit

꒰ 🌸 ꒱ — you entered the room with hesitant steps, feeling like there was a weight of a hundred pairs of eyes watching you. as expected, the class reunion was already in full swing when you arrived. you weren't even looking forward to coming tonight but your friends insisted that you all come. JEONGHAN must've felt your hesitation as you felt his hand on your back, you let out a sigh of relief.

with his hand there, you felt your confidence bloom. it was as though the warmth of his palm released all the tension in your spine and all the knots in your stomach unraveled.

as the night unfolded, laughter and music filled the air and you found yourself more at ease, able to savor the nostalgia with your friends and enjoy the moment. his touch on your skin was like an oath, whispering, "i've got your back." in that promise you found strength and certainty that he, both literally and figuratively, will always be there for you.

꒰ 🌸 ꒱ — it all began one evening when frustration started to bubble up inside of you after another failed attempt at painting your nails with your non-dominant hand.

"hey, can i help?" JOSHUA's gentle voice cut through your frustration, accompanied by a soft smile.

you looked at him skeptically. "do you know how?"

he shook his head, his eyes filled with determination. "no, but I can try."

with a shrug and a chuckle, you handed him the nail polish bottle. the brush looked almost comically small in his hand, but with a surprising level of precision, he began to paint your nails.

since that day, it had become a cherished ritual for the two of you. you found yourselves sitting on your bedroom floor, surrounded by scattered nail polish bottles, talking about your days in between every soft stroke of color. joshua insisted that you call him whenever you wanted your nails painted, a promise you initially rolled your eyes at, but soon enough, you found yourself dialing his number the next time around.

after that evening, painting your nails wasn't just about a pretty set anymore. it meant precious time spent with your boyfriend. it was in these simple acts of love that you found solace in, transforming mundane tasks into cherished memories.

꒰ 🌸 ꒱ — truthfully, you were too intimidated by WOOZI's music ingenuity; that's why it took you so long to admit how it's a lifelong goal of yours to be able to play guitar. actually, you weren't even planning to tell him at all, but you slipped up and accidentally did on one drunken night.

now, here you were in the soft glow of your dimly lit living room, fingers fumbling over the frets and strings of your boyfriend's guitar. you were frankly embarrassed with how little you knew about it — you probably looked more like a toddler learning how to hold a crayon — but woozi's eyes were filled with unwavering patience and determination to help you learn.

he guided your inexperienced fingers to the right positions, his touch reassuring your every move. "you're doing so well," he'd tell you. it was a soft but sure reminder that he will be with you through every chord and unpolished strum.

꒰ 🌸 ꒱ — as you were grabbing a drink from the fridge, a metaphorical lightbulb appeared on your head. "love," you called out. "how many chickens do you think it would take to bring you down?"

DOKYEOM paused the TV show he was engrossed in, pondering your question. it was like you could almost see the gears turning in his head. after a brief moment, he responded with a smile, "honestly, just five, i think."

"seriously, just five?"

"love, have you seen how aggressive they can get? they're seriously scary," he shuddered at the mere thought of being chased around by chickens.

with a chuckle, you walked over to join him on the couch. he had a delighted look on his face. he loved your questions, and you cherished his willingness to engage with them; whether they were as lighthearted as, "would you rather shoot water from your armpits or fire from your butt?" or as profound as, "where would you be right now if nothing else mattered?"

seokmin's thoughtfulness came naturally to him, further proof to his genuine and kind-hearted nature. it was just one of the many reasons you loved him so much.

꒰ 🌸 ꒱ — a thing about SEUNGKWAN is that he's always armed with a colorful assortment of band-aids, each of varying sizes. he insists that he had learned to come prepared because of your perpetual clumsiness, often with a shake of his head while muttering, "you should really be more careful." but the whole truth is that he absolutely adores taking care of you; his teasing complains were merely a cover for the affection he feels.

you didn't even realize how often it happened, but tender moments like that had become a treasured routine for the both of you. from having a pink band-aid for a paper cut on your index finger to a star-shaped oversized bandage when you scraped your knee, seungkwan was always ready to swoop in and make you feel better.

in those band-aids, you had found a unique love language; one that combines nurturing and steadfast attentiveness ��� a love you hold very close to your heart.

svt masterlist | navigation ── reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated !

© 2023 PEARLESSCENTT. please do not steal my works.

[project-sekai-facts]

the way i only JUST realized that in An's "The Overflowing Feelings" card behind her isn't An's reflection no that is NAGI.....

and im pretty sure there is a bunch more symbolism in it because like. i think nagi is wearing a hospital gown in that card instead of her regular clothes but it is kinda hard to tell

sometimes i see an ask and think "i could make this so much worse" and this is one of those times.

that's not a reflection, that is straight up ghost Nagi. if you notice the grunge texture is actually overlaid over the entire illustration, not just behind the fence. it's not a mirror, it's a fence that separates the living (an) and the dead (nagi). i also like how everything except Nagi on the dead side is blurry even the plants that are right next to her. i can't give an actual explanation because annoyingly this set didn't get a blog post, but my personal interpretation of this is that it's meant to show how Nagi is still close to An even after she's gone (personally I like to connect it to An carrying her memory of Nagi in her heart becase she's clutching her shirt over her heart, but i think you could interpret it as Nagi watching over An from the spirit world too if you want).

i think it could be a hospital gown based on general appearance and the way it ties at the back, but as you said it's hard to tell. it would make some sense though since she died in hospital. but it could just be a generic black dress, since it doesn't look like the hospital clothes she wore in the story. also if you look closely you'll notice her lineart is in a white-grey color which makes her look more ghostly than An.

Also notice how all the other pillars have the red flowers on them (the ones from the gekokujo jacket). I believe these are gerberas, which are sometimes used as funeral flowers. i.e the flowers placed on the other pillars are to say goodbye, but she's actually right there with An.

i think i can still make this worse.

contrast with An's card from Vivid Old Tale. y'know, the one all about her relationship with Nagi and the first time they actually implied that Nagi's dead (they subtly hint at it in BFBY but it was far more obvious in VOT).

This set actually did get a blog post so I can go on about the symbolism. The cards in this set were based on the theme of "warmth and nostalgia", which heavily connects to the event being about An looking back at her childhood and time spent with Nagi, and how much she loves her home.

Sunflowers obviously tie in to that warmth, but they also symbolise positivity, happiness, and hope (the color yellow does as well). These connect with both her dreams in the present and memories of the past.

Also this part of the interview:

The people she loves have seen her grow up and smile compared to when she was a kid and crying after running away. Now while people she loves who have watched her grow up could be her mom or dad, or even Taiga, considering the untrained card...

The person she's smiling at is Nagi.

And that's what makes the LUTF set so fucked up because just LOOK there's so much contrast between them. Sunflowers representing VBS' hope compared to the despair in the LUTF set caused by their defeat to Taiga. The bright colors next to greyscale (and red, which has several different connotations multiple of which are applicable here), how cold the LUTF set is next to the VOT set. An holding flowers in both but in one they're flowers symbolising joy and in one they're flowers symbolising grief. The VOT set is youthful and lively but in the LUTF set everyone is angry, despairing and grieving a life lost.

The fact that the POV in An's VOT card is probably Nagi watching her all grown up (which she never got to do in reality) vs Nagi being dead and separated from An in her LUTF card, not to mention that Nagi is not watching her anymore but instead facing away because she's left An behind (but was she ever really with An in the VOT card in the first place?). An crying in both untraineds but in one she's being comforted by Nagi and in one she's crying because Nagi is gone.

In some ways it's like the VOT set is An's idealistic look at what life will be like when Nagi gets home and the LUTF set is An coming to terms with the reality.

this card fucks me up.

[haechanhues]

Is This Goodbye? (II)

pairing : brother’s best friend!hyunjin x fem!reader (mentions of other members x reader) 

genre : smut. fluff. angst. 

warnings : switch!reader x switch!hyunjin!!! toxic relationship vibes. fwb. jealousy. jealous sex. oral sex. choking/pain/sadistic tendencies. degradation. praise/body worship. don't know if i mention protection or not but you know the drill :) swearing, of course. i think that's all the basics but still, there may be warnings i missed.

summary : he’s your brother’s best friend but he knows just as much as you do that that’s not all he is to you. // where your history is the reason you won’t work out. 

word count : 11k

taglist : @jisungsdaydreamer

@k-labels​​

AU masterlist

playlist : contradicting - hwang hyunjin, try - bright ft matcha, artificial love - exo, rush - william singe, vicious - tate mcrae, bad decisions - bobi andonov, backseat - daniel di angelo, drive you insane - daniel di angelo, half of my heart - josh musaka, numb to the feeling - chase atlantic.

Hyunjin wants to say he expected this. He wants to say he was stronger for it. But his heart makes a liar out of him. The bones in his body feel like breaking and the flesh on his skin sags as the blood from his heart droops out into a pathetic mess of whatever the fuck this is. 

He has seen the monster that creates a brewery out of your innocent eyes and Felix’s kindness. He has seen it sink its claws into every single one of his friends. Felt it latch onto him like a parasite and squeeze out all logical thinking. 

Yet hope is like a little deviant spirit that refuses to be stamped out. 

The house had smelled of Sunday laundry tumbling in the dryer when you had stepped through the path made by sheets and clothes that had yet to be folded. It was like a dreamscape and Hyunjin couldn’t believe how sweet the moment was. 

“Could you do mine as well?” You asked, awkwardness seeping into your fingers. Hyunjin nodded silently. Your lips smack together in passing thought before handing him your washing. A silent movie. 

“I thought you were allergic to laundry detergent?” You wonder, your eyebrows furrowing in thought. 

Hyunjin scoffs, “No.” 

“I’m sure you are.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure I know my own-“ He pauses, at a slight glimpse of your smile, “you’re pulling my leg.”

You let a playful smile climb to the corners of your lips, lifting over the wall of tension that had hardened in the months he had been gone, “Sorry.” 

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow before he presses his index finger into the skin of your forehead, pushing your leaning face away from him. Lazily you follow after his finger, enjoying the good kind of nostalgia that smells of marmalade. 

It had been him that had leaned in to you, and him that had kissed you with a trick that sweet lovers do. With your chin in his hold and a short yet loaded amount of eye contact. Enough to see how life has been treating him and you in your time of separation. 

It all came back to him then. The anger. The pictures of you and him. The pictures of Hyunjin fucking you. The thoughts of the torrential rain of sensations that had him more than a little fucked up.

He kisses you harder, the air bleeding a dark red as memories and realisation catches up to him. Your mouth opens and he deepens the kiss, sucking in the oxygen for himself. Your grip pinches at his torso, and his mouth turns to the skin of your neck and collarbone, a map of his kisses and possibilities. 

You inhale the air greedily as your eyes roll back at his attention, you hum a moan which earns a little warning bite to your throat. A hush to be quiet. 

Hyunjin cups the back of your neck and pulls you into him, practically devouring you as you steady yourself by grabbing his upper arms. The noises that escape your kiss are your swallowed moans and Hyunjin’s hisses of dominance, urged on by the way he grinds his hips into the opening of your legs, the pleasure scratching down your arched back. 

You can feel him harden every time his hips surge forward and your arousal is sure to make a mark on the front of his pants. He pants, sweat collecting in the warmest parts of his hair. More than anything you want to wrap your knuckle into the thickest part to expose the way his eyes are fluttering at the pressure of your clothed sex against his. How weak he is to you. The effect you have on him. 

You want to marvel at it, an unhealthy amount. 

You don’t know why you’re so attracted to it, or even have an idea why you like seeing the boy of yours crumble the way he does. 

Hyunjin blames the monster. 

Ignoring your sheep like eyes, Hyunjin’s hand marks the heart of your throat, biting the words out, “How hard do I have to fuck you for you to be satisfied? How often?” 

Your head drops from the mosaic of Red Light District worthy images that soar behind your eyelids. Lewd images of the types of positions, the tempo in which the body moves, the friction. Time made a servant by pure lust. All with his name on it. 

“All the time,” You mumble, tired and already fucked out with a mere dry humping session on top of your dryer, “I want you all the time.” 

He pauses his rutting against you, smirking at you with a snarl he practised with all that came before, during and after you. He basks in the way your expression drops, “Hadn’t noticed.”

Your mouth opens and closes many times. The thoughts in your head leave your body in disarray. Hyunjin doesn’t miss a single second of it. Doesn’t forget to enjoy it to the fullest. But because you’re you and you seem to know exactly how to get under his skin, your hand cups the back of his neck and cuffs the front of his throat like a turtleneck. 

He swallows and attempts to hide his front into the wall of the dryer. Your eyes glint dangerously as your leg curls around his waist to bring his pelvis into its previous position against the fabric of your clit. 

“I’ve got a favour to ask you,” You grin, your tongue resting behind your front teeth and the thrum of his heartbeat on your fingertips, “Though… I feel like it can benefit the both of us.” 

You watch him. He watches you. A cycle with every new addition but the same fucking process. 

“Sex,” You tell him, looking for signs of refusal. Expecting a sign of refusal. You maintain eye contact hoping he picks up on how serious you are about this, “Consistent sex.” 

Unconsciously, your fingers start to twist at the hair on the back of his neck and Hyunjin’s eyes grow darker in response, “Weren’t you telling me all about the boys you have? Pick one, make this deal. I don’t doubt they’ll agree.” 

Fuck did his tone have to be dripping in jealousy when he hisses out the venom he curated for you?

A wick of displeasure worms its way into your eyebrow and you can’t help the arch that comes out of it, “Don’t be so fucking stupid, Hyun. Nobody makes me feel the way you do. Nobody fucks the way you do.”

Hyunjin frowns, his lips twisting upwards in an attempt to keep his growing frustration at bay and he whips his head to the side, letting your hold on him drop. The heated atmosphere between you is dissipating but not completely. God forbid - not completely. 

“There’s always Minho,” Hyunjin grins. 

The world is sick and twisted, and this relationship is no different. He loves the way your body stills at the mention of his name and yet he hates it. Because another weakness that he can’t bear to use against you is Lee Minho. 

Minho isn’t like what Felix is to you or Hyunjin. A shared and mutual No-Man’s land in amongst the perpetuated torture that you and Hyunjin inflict on each other. Minho is solely yours. An unpredictable weapon to use against you. One of mass destruction. One that every villain could only dream to get their hands on. One that could completely destroy you. And yet, a weapon that seems to always backfire onto Hyunjin. 

So when you pull Hyunjin in for another kiss, one that is hard and unyielding, he is relieved. Relieved, because he doesn’t have to face the fact that the monster he can't rid himself of and the girl he loves is in love with Lee Minho. He doesn’t have to sit in the puddle of hurt. 

Not when your hands slip down to the front of his pants and not when you free him from the constrictions of his underwear. He watches as you spit into your hand before wrapping a palm around his shaft and his stomach tenses at the shot of pleasure that has his heart rate spiking. 

You let your hand slide up and down his shaft, feeling the control winding up Hyunjin’s joints. His breathing is heavy and the unruly grunts make you feel like royalty. A crown and all. He’s trying so hard to keep his composure. Putting in so much effort to make it seem like his release is something you have to work hard for. 

With a quick quirk of your lip, your pace quickens and the tug-of-war game of who is in charge of his pleasure reaches new heights. His full lips, bitten raw have come into contact with the skin on your forehead, exhales nearly breathless. Teasingly, your thumb swipes along the pink mushroom tip and he can’t help but cage you in by his frame. Lithe muscle flexing with your touch. The room is hot and heavy and you can’t help but watch his face for the changes. 

With furrowed eyebrows and a tight mouth, he comes. Thick spurts of cum paint your palm and the blood in his body still runs hot. He breathes heavily into your hair, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. Unable to help yourself, you drag a nail down the side of his body enjoying the ripple of sensation. The goosebumps on his skin. The shiver. The way his waist instinctively reaches to meet yours. 

His skin is glowing when he kisses you again, a sure one. One that isn’t sweet. Or intended to make one come. He eyes the cum in your palm before he nods again. An affirmative to your deal earlier. You try not to show that the distance he rushes to create doesn’t affect you, but truthfully you think you failed. 

Hyunjin rolls his tongue in his mouth frustratedly as he leaves the crime scene. There was no formal agreement. There never is. To the you who used him, you who ripped his soul from the inside, who made him wary of the vulnerability of drunken truths and Felix’s kind golden eyes. He agreed. Hyunjin has agreed to be used by you once again.

Hyunjin had expected fucking, only when it had come down to it - nothing had happened between the two of you. It was a waiting game. One where Hyunjin waited for you like a sitting duck and you were a huntress with a hefty gun of your desires and your wants and so forth. 

He wishes he could film the way tension coils within your body, crumpling a written piece of paper in your grasp with a ferocity that didn’t suit you. Hyunjin sucks in his lip, his tongue swirling around his slowly dissolving strawberry lollipop and his eyes regarding the sight in front of him. 

A sight to behold, some may say. 

Like a flame blown out from a candle, your eyes meet his. The fire burns and Hyunjin straightens his posture. Your stride is heavy and forward and his bones feel like lead when his body smashes into the metal of the lockers of an empty closet. He winces slightly but has no time to process the sharp shot of pain as your kiss silences him. Hyunjin can taste your anger, your greed and he’s painted in it. 

Your shirt lifts upwards and Hyunjin’s hands travel to meet the warm skin of your back, a pavement of goosebumps and tingles littering along your spine. He brings you closer, feeling your obedience and taking advantage instantaneously. By the way your nails claw into his shoulders, he can tell you’ve made a mess in your underwear that Hyunjin has every intention to worsen. 

You mutually hate and love the way Hyunjin is gentle with you. Every bit of it is a lie and you know it. You both do. He grabs at your hips, drawing your pelvis into his, feeding off your pathetic little noises. The more you make, the more likely you are to be fucked in this very closet. 

You try all your tricks, teasing him with ideas of the two of you fucking. Of him in control. Of you. You kiss down his neck and across his collarbone. A trickling finger slowly descending down to the ridges of his stomach and waist. The crudest of whines directly into the shell of his ear. 

You try all your tricks and yet none of them work. All it seems to do is backfire. Your kiss down his neck and across his collarbone is met with payback. His own kisses lighting a fuse within you that you had seemingly failed to ignite in him. Your admiring finger and eyes, no longer able to defend against his own unmarked  gaze and touch. His finger stroking behind your ear and down your neck. Leaving your flirtatious finger useless. 

It angers you, really. 

The whines, well, they worked. To an extent. His arm wraps completely around your waist, your positions exchanging so he’s directly above you. However, you find yourself a bit more vulnerable than he ever was. Your arms are holding your weight and Hyunjin’s gaze is sadistic. 

“You’re angry,” Hyunjin muses, enamoured by the glint in your eye. He knows how you can be and yet this isn’t quite an anger he’s used to. This anger is crumbling bits of brick and rubble. 

The frown on your face. 

He fucking loves it. 

“Are you-” You’re bewildered and you can feel your annoyance return to you tenth fold. Is he joking? Is he actually fucking serious? Men. Hyunjin. The fucking audacity,  “Did we not have a deal?” 

He grins, wolfish and mischievous, you want nothing more than to see it swiped completely from his face, “You said it was beneficial for the both of us, darling and I want to see how an angry girl comes.” 

You sneer, “You’re not seeing it anytime soon.” 

The grin, although it does eventually fall, it does nothing for your ego nor your pride. Instead, it seems to play right into his favour. His hand collars your neck, tight enough for your breath to be slightly restricted and the look in his eye will forever be remembered, “No?” 

You want to say you were strong enough, that you didn’t feel arousal stick to the fabric of your underwear, so messily you fear it drips down your thigh. That your eyes didn’t flutter at the thought of him wrecking you. The ways in which he could make your head run blank. 

However, that’d be a lie. 

“With you, it’s all in the foreplay.” 

A goddamn lie.

With his hands down your underwear, he lightly brushes to tease at the wetness. Lips quirking at how wet you are and how right he is. Loving the way his fingers create naughty dimples in the fabric. Crooning at the way your eyes hold his. This control is his crown and he wears it in the way he believes he should. The thought makes your heart drop. 

As he presses into the heart of your arousal, your hand wraps around his wrist hastily, “We need rules.”

He wants to roll his eyes. Impeccable timing. But his curiosity has piqued, making note of the way your expression had slightly changed in that moment of eye contact. Hating himself for catching it. 

“When has rules ever been a good idea?” 

It hasn’t. 

“It gives a blueprint,” You say confidently. You don’t believe that the rules would last or even be worthwhile. Definitely not on your end. But it’s a scope. An idea. You’re not even sure why you’re so tempted by the thin layer of protection ‘rules’ would provide you. 

He chortles, “A blueprint?” 

He shifts and all of a sudden, all the power has come back to you. Like a villain who knows her way out of the fog. You reach for an out-of-place strand of his long hair tucking it behind his ear and practically melting at the wince on his face as you drag your nails down the length of his neck. 

“Mmm.” 

His laugh is fake but his kiss is not. It’s rough and hard, but the sensation alone has your eyes rolling back. He presses you deeper into the lockers, hiking your thigh around his waist and teasing his hardening length into the location you want him. 

“This feels familiar,” You mumble, breathless. 

He smiles as if he’s disinterested, removing his cock from his pants and running it down your covered slit. Your teeth grit, the sensation heightened with the way his kisses trail from the corner of your mouth to the softness of your jaw. He murmurs, “Only this time, I’ll have the both of us cumming. As promised..” 

His tongue touches the roof of his mouth as his fingers remove your underwear from your pussy, grinning naughtily at the newfound stickiness of his digits. He slowly sinks into your wetness, smouldering at how full you feel. . A challenge presents itself to him when you hold back your initial sounds of pleasure with tightly pressed lips and all he can  return it with is a barely-there kiss against your cheek to coax you. 

He grinds into you, his own eyes falling shut at how your walls lock his cock inside of you. At a particularly sharp thrust, he’s delighted to hear your strangled moan. Powerful enough for his hips to drive away into you, hoping that the angle change will tempt more and louder sounds. 

“Fu- First rule,” You huff, your mouth heavy with pants. 

Hyunjin finds it annoying. But a challenge nonetheless. He fucks you harder, preferring the way in which you stutter out your sentences with him inside of you. 

“You- oh, sex ca-can be initiated by either…party with consent.” 

Open mouthed kisses dot across your jawbone before lining his lips over yours, your chin in his hold as he thrusts into you. You whine into his mouth as he deepens the kiss until your whole body is tingling and your brain short circuits. You grasp at his shoulders as he allows the oxygen to fill your lungs. 

A plea, “Hyunjin-” 

“I heard you,” Hyunjin mumbles half-heartedly, his eyes greedily soaking up your swollen lips and the mess of your hair. A crime with no chance of escape, a life sentence with no parole - people will know about today if they saw you. He pauses in his movement completely, letting you come into terms who’s inside of you and who you belong to. 

Your leg hikes up further around his torso as you lean more into his space, enjoying the way his grip on your waist feels and the way in which his cock twitches inside you. Unknowing of the train of thought running rampant in the handsome man’s head. 

“The second rule?” Hyunjin cocks his head, his hand finding your ankle with a mischievous glint in his eye. With a feather like touch, his fingers ascend up your leg, ripples of sensation bubbling underneath. 

You swallow, entranced by the way his eyes implore into yours, “Felix and….Minho. Leave them out of this. Whatever this is.” 

His fingers still. Annoyance and irritation flood through him and he smirks in an attempt to keep his cool,  “All of them.” 

“Huh?” 

“Not just Felix. Not just Minho. All of them,” He warns, his stare burning straight through you. You pause. Just for a moment. But it was enough. He opens your legs wider and slides deeper into you. The added inches do nothing for your faux pact of silence and every cell in your body needs to scream in pleasure, “Don’t fuck my friends. Not while you’re fucking me, understood?” 

Your thighs burn, and everything in you is tunnel visioned into Hyunjin. Hyunjin with his stare. His lips. His hair. His fucking skin. His cock. Sensations like no other rocking into you. 

Like a pastor, you swear by the book at that moment. Absolutely. 

Your walls tighten around him and his tight grip falters and it takes everything in him to remember to breathe and enough for your resolve to return. 

“The third,” You state, your throat clear despite the profanity that wants to crawl out of it, “Know what we are. Don’t get into your feelings.” 

Hyunjin understands. 

Don’t lose. 

He fake laughs as his grip tightens, “Same rules apply then.” 

Hyunjin thrusts into you and the answer that had been preconceived on your lips is gone and forgotten with the oxygen stolen from your lungs. Your breaths are quick and heaving, your leg muscles tensing around his body. 

He’s not any better than you, his skin flushes pink and your desperate grips on his skin have left marks sure to bruise in the near future. His fist is planted underneath your body, a makeshift pillar to balance your bodies wrapped together in this shitty furniture closet. He grunts into your throat, the sensation blooming across your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck,” Hyunjin’s hips stutter with his curse, his movements becoming jerky, “I’m going to come.” 

Feeling your own orgasm approach, your whole body becomes taut and you rock into his pelvis, your high approaching with one last thrust. The tension between your bodies is a sticky residue as thick spurts of his cum paints the navel of your stomach. His tightened fists slacken and you fall slightly back, saved by his hold on your throat. 

His kiss this time is soft as it is heavy. There’s no finish line you’re aspiring to nor is it a result of pent up rage and anger. Your lips suck onto his full bottom lip, enjoying the way his forehead meets yours and his mouth opens wider, allowing for your tongues to meet in the middle. 

With a competitive grasp of your jaw, he navigates his total attention to your upper lip, sending your eyes rolling back and your hands weakly threading themselves onto the end of his shirt. 

When he pulls away, his eyes stare at you with a look that tells you he may not hate you. But that can’t be true. Neither could it be false. 

It’s such a morally grey area that it’s better it’s left behind. 

With a deep intake of breath, his fingers thread through his hair and he straightens out his clothes. He makes a quick once over of your naked body and his cum that remains on your stomach. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d believe that you’re saving that for later,” Hyunjin comments, smiling genuinely when you raise your middle finger in good jest and sneer. His laugh is a hum as he exits the room and your face immediately drops. 

You exhale, getting dressed and trying not to think of the ways in which Hyunjin got under your skin (and in your pussy), truly writing his signature on your lack of morality. 

It’s a familiar feeling, the need to remove yourself from him. Remove anything Hwang Hyunjin from your body, your mind, your soul. Remind yourself that he doesn’t belong there. 

But, of course, as you make your way to Felix’s car full of past hookups and past relationships that you’ve mostly kept quiet from your brother, save for Minho, Changbin and Chan. All bred for less than stellar reasons. Hyunjin who stands tall, with his hair pristine and his lips bitten. You know you can’t do that. Remove him. Chastise yourself for thinking you could. 

He’s a part of you and has been even before you marked each other. 

And when Hyunjin sees the way your face lightens the slightest bit, he doesn’t make the mistake of assuming that it’s because of him. Swears not to make the mistake of forgetting that the only man you’ve only looked at with that kind of beauty isn’t him. 

But, he gets hurt anyway. 

And he does so quietly. 

It’s a sort of Cat and Mouse game that neither of you know how to play. This agreement isn’t formal, not quite casual. You don’t desire sex more than the normal person and Hyunjin is socially scheduled out. So he’s not exactly bored. 

Yet…you can’t help but feel- that it kind of irks you. 

It’s like he’s made a habit of waiting for you to seek him out. To cut through his apparent disregard and indifference of you, one that he wears a little too well. He’s reverted back to ivory black hair, long enough for your fingers to lay their claim into his scalp. He wears a suit that is clean cut and sharp, the ‘before’ to the sin you plan to seduce him into tonight. Coincidentally, the colour of purity. Light. Peace. 

A woman, gorgeous and tall with sparkly heels and a sparkly dress that scratches at the fabric of his suit. Her nails play at his suit clad forearm and you’re completely entranced by her games, your hand cupping your chin as you watch. You’re pleased to see that, in contrast, it has seldom impact on the man you plan to fuck within the hour. 

She hooks her fingers into his shirt, pulling him into her, hoping to seduce him with her eyes or her words. He looks down at her, a slight smile on his face. A kind one. It makes you jealous somewhat, you had once been very accustomed to a smile like that. 

Now, it was practically non-existent. 

She leans in to whisper something and you wish a vampire could sink his teeth into you. If not purely for the reason to spy on Hyunjin and the people he attracts. His eyebrows raise in interest, regarding her with a new look in his eye. She grins before moving away from him and strutting towards another room. Purposeful in her parting eye contact. 

Hmm. Noted. 

He sips at his drink, letting his interest melt like ice cubes, though those few seconds of interest he withheld has ruined something in you. Something you don’t ever want to investigate, in fear that it will ruin the infrastructure of the soul you have created. 

He scans the rest of the room with little to no interest, before he walks towards the empty whiskey room, footsteps quiet but assured in a hallway that echoes. He wears a frown as he turns at the clack of your own shoes, before he’s pushed into the room with unexpected force. 

You push until he falls. The black sleek couch catching his body before his breath escapes him. 

It’s intriguing how much your anger makes him hungry. How it darkens his eyes. How it makes his fingers twitch in a way a junkie would. How his body becomes so in tune with yours unlike any other person he’s ever met. 

The sneer on your face is cruel as you observe how patronising the look on his face is. In your peripheral, an expensive bottle of red wine sings an enticing song of revenge and seduction. 

You’re hooked by the very first chorus. 

As Hyunjin is momentarily distracted by his own conclusions, you’ve already grabbed the bottle by the neck, ripping the cork with a quick pop. He watches you without caution, the glint in your eyes going straight to his growing erection. You stop in front of him, angry, jealous and so fucking hot while you’re doing it. 

The smile on your face is pleasant, your cheeks rounding, “I guess a congratulations is in order.” 

Then, that smile drops. Hyunjin’s mouth falls as his lower body is engulfed by the wine, the white sure to stain red immediately. Your lips smack together, considering his outfit fakely, “Oh no, I really hope that wasn’t expensive.” 

A frown overtakes Hyunjin’s features at your purposeful disregard, drawn with a growing smirk across your lips. Provoking the vengeful spirit that has been starving since Hyunjin vowed to create some distance between the two of you. 

He observes the way your gaze zeroes into the way his tongue hooks itself into the corner of his mouth and the way your chest is heaving with desire. 

“Clean it up,” Hyunjin orders, “Now.” 

A rush of heat blooms in your underwear at his dominant tone, your feet backing away to find a piece of cloth or paper towels locked away in a cabinet…

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hyunjin snarls from his position on the couch, his legs wide apart and practically calling for you. 

He loves the innocence on your face as it screws up in a way to defend yourself, stuttering at the onslaught of excuses. His fingers dance along the arm of the couch, the tapping only seeming to trap you further. 

He smirks, “I think you’re more than capable of cleaning after yourself… unless you need to be told what to do?” 

God he loves when you’re so soft and compliant like this. Like putty. 

He clicks his tongue decisively before ordering, “Come here.” 

It's as if the sea parts for you, the audience clearing as Cinderella makes her way into the place in which she will fall in love. Your Prince at the ready; tall, decadent and handsome. As much of a Prince as you are Cinderella. 

In retrospect, the wine staining the material of his pants should make him more uncomfortable, but his attention is completely stolen by you. You stand before him, close enough for his hands to grip you by the hips and take you into his lap. 

“So obedient…even after acting like a fucking spoilt brat because..what? I wasn’t interested in giving you my attention? What makes you think you’re worth it, darling?” 

Holy fuck. 

Your mouth waters at the way his mouth has hardened and the way his sentences are the colour of lead. 

“You’re a little pathetic, don’t you think?” Hyujin scoffs, addressing your obvious show of misplaced possessiveness and arousal, “You’re a big girl, Y/N, clean up after yourself.” 

Your legs are frozen and any comeback you would’ve, should’ve, could’ve thought of has been whisked away by a phantom spirit, leaving behind prey for the hungry beast to eat away at you. 

Hyunjin nods, considering you for a condescending second, his large hand enveloping one side of your hip, the feeling warm against the fabric. A contrast to the cold snake of possibilities that whisper in his ears. 

Try it, Hyunjin. 

“Get on your knees,” He commands and with a shaky sort of stumble you kneel in front of him, hyper aware of the hand that remains in place, travelling up your body as your knees meet the black marble floor. Goosebumps paralyse your collarbones as his thumb brushes over the raised nipple of your dress, sending more volts of electricity to your core. Where you need him most. 

Where you will beg for him. 

He preens inside as he can feel the hold his control has on your body. Temptation is definitely not always a bad thing, he can attest. Because…where, when, why, how would this happen without it? 

Hyunjin leans forward slightly, drunk on this power that you have seemingly given him, his hand no longer on the swell of your tits but now on your cheek, “Clean.” 

Your body falls forward as he removes his hand with a snap, softness completely disappearing and your body cold on auto-pilot. Regaining your balance, your hands move to undo his belt, his stare regarding you with a look that sends you further into your own head. 

A hiss escapes his mouth as you remove him from his slacks, thumbing slightly at the tip to test his sensitivity and spread a thin layer of his precum across the surface. You bring him into your mouth slowly, enjoying the low growl that makes his adam’s apple throb with a grumbling need. 

Hyunjin bites his lip at the sensation of his cock in your warm and wet mouth, and his head falls back as he reaches deeper into the confines of your throat, finding morbid pleasure in the way you gag around his length. With a satisfied grunt, he clutches at the thick of your hair to gain some of the control he lost when you start to moan and fuck him with your throat. 

Curious, he wraps a hand around your throat, thumb pressing at the skin and feeling his cock steadily drag back and forth paired with your speedy heartbeat that grinds against his fingertips sensually. His hand drops but is stopped by your own hand intertwining with his, laying it flat and pressing so much  further into your skin, so much so, fears he may kill you. 

There are tears in your eyes with how deep inside he reaches but it only fuels the heat that makes a furnace of your aching core. At a particular movement of your tongue along the underside of his cock, he twitches and thrusts himself deeper in your mouth, a groan escaping you. A groan that makes his situation even more dire. 

“Fuck-” 

He expects you to pull away so he can fuck you into next Tuesday and ruin these couches for anyone else. But instead, you suck and lick and do everything in your power to make him come. He comes inside your mouth, and you swallow his load with a blink, wiping at your lips as if you had only smudged your lipgloss at a lunch meeting. 

You’re endeared by the quick frown on his face, an expression that could translate to pouty, if it had not been the way he looks satisfied. A fucked out glow softening his features and sweat sticking to the edges, evidence of his rendezvous with heaven. 

“Why did you do that?” He says, in an almost accusing voice. 

You smile sweetly at him, “I just did what you asked of me.” 

Always having to have the last word, you walk away from him once again. He remains on the couch for a further few minutes, his position unchanging. The planes of his handsome face brightening as he recalls what had just happened. 

For once, he had the upper hand and you did not make much of an effort to fight against it and neither did he even attempt to appease you. 

You were the one that was jealous. 

You were the one on her knees. 

You were the one doing the listening as he held the cards. 

You were the sole one to be punished and he inflicted it. 

He had the control. For once and it was fucking delicious. He feels something in him reawaken and he fucking prays that he does not have to stab and rip down hope before its flagpole can be cut down by its enemies. 

With that bit of control he had reclaimed, he had handed himself to you on a silver platter. Ready to feast upon. Ready to go through this toxic cycle, all over again. More so than ever. 

It seemed that the events in which he had complete and utter control over you had a profound impact on the man, because he constantly made an effort to make sure you were constantly watching after him. The way his fingers raced after stray water drops that had cascaded down his face and neck after a dip in the pool. 

He didn’t seem at all disappointed when you dropped the news that you were on your period, instead he seemed to become playful in his teasing. 

At the early hours of the morning when Felix had raced to get you some chocolate and canned peaches at your incessant pleading, he had caught you with your head in the fridge,  said chocolate smeared along your bottom lip. 

The chuckle released from his mouth was sweet and loving in a way. It made your heart soar to unbelievable heights. Uncaring on whether or not it would drop and smash across the concrete below. 

He thumbs at your bottom lip, secretive in the way his lips press together purposefully, his voice clear and deep, “Always so messy.” 

You didn’t say anything, your eyes do all the talking for you. How enamoured you were by him. The secrets you tried to bury are completely blatant to the naked eye. 

His smile deepens at your lack of reply and he leans forward to bring you into a kiss. One that isn’t necessarily innocent nor is it worth a confession to a pastor. But your eyes are closed and your hands are within a single fist as your weight leans onto his lithe frame. His lips press further onto yours, lifting upwards at the feeling of you returning his kiss before he deepens it. 

When he pulls away, his own lips are swollen and he looks proud of what he sees when he looks at you. He smirks, tapping slightly at the skin where your lips and your chin meet, “I’ll leave you to clean this up, yeah?” 

He backs away with his eyebrows raised and a secretive smile written across his lips. It’s one that you will remember forever, returning to the room that Felix and the rest of the boys were chilling in. 

Midday, when you thought you were finally free to leave the house without one of your brother’s questions about your wellbeing or another one of his friends making sure you were fed and hydrated, unable to tell them that Hwang Hyunjin left your brain feeling muddled and your core feeling all sorts of needy. 

Midday when you were caught off guard by the step of the door that almost sent you sprawling face first in concrete had it not been for the man steadying you. Muscles in his arm pulsing as his hand stretches over your torso, the warmth of his chest pressed against your back. 

“Leaving?” Hyunjin asks, no qualms about your current position. 

“Yes,” You answer, because you’re stupid and you’re too flustered to think about what you’re saying, “With Minho.” 

Hyunjin only hums, disinterested in your game of jealousy that you’re reeling in place. He leans forward slightly so that his words tickle against the skin of your neck, “Make sure to stay hydrated, everyone’s quite worried.” 

A small purposeful squeeze of your waist is all he leaves as a statement of farewell before he wanders through the doors of your house. 

Bastard. 

Hot bastard. 

At the feeling of your thighs squeezing together with new hunger you curse yourself for being irrevocably horny and chastise yourself for initially thinking you could treat yourself to a quick session of self love before meeting with your friends in the city. 

A warm fire greets you as you melt into the corridor. Your exhaustion painting the walls as your heavy feet shakes the decor. 

“Y/N!” Felix’s bright demeanour has your own face lifting into a beam as he embraces you in a hug you’re pretty sure you needed, “Here’s a plate.” 

You take the plate gratefully from him, shuffling behind into the dining room and halting at the candlelit atmosphere and three well dressed men at the table, scoffing down food more like a boy than a man. 

“It was supposed to be just us, but apparently they couldn’t wait fifteen minutes for the next bus,” Felix grumbles. 

“We said sorry,” Seungmin comments, mouth full of garlic bread as he wanders into the living room, wanting to get to the TV before anyone else could complain, “Hi Y/N.” 

“Hey Minnie,” You greet nonchalantly, actively aware of the man sitting across from you, coy eyes and whispers in his hair. Hyunjin twirls his fork and sips his water and yet your focus zeroes in on the way his tie is loose and his dress shirt is slightly crumpled at the forearms. Han waves at you, his cheeks full of food, as he piles a bundle of spicy vongole pasta onto your plate. To which you smile at him in thanks. 

Felix sits next to you, a welcome distraction from the shit you’ve been trying to get over. 

“This looks really good, Yongbok, thank you,” You beam at him, to which he pats the top of your head and watches fondly as you scoop a heap of pasta into your mouth. 

Your eyes almost roll back with how good it is. 

Yummy. 

“YASS,” Seungmin’s uncharacteristic yell in the living room has both Felix and Han’s attention. The latter almost a glitch with how fast he runs and Felix lets out a short curse before he cleans himself up and totters to join them, yelling at the two to pause it. 

Then, there were two. 

Hyunjin doesn’t look at you, he focuses on his meal and on the decorations in front of him. You almost envy how much candlelight loves him, his skin smooth and his eyelashes long. You try your best to match his efforts, but you just can’t compare. You put your fork down and stare at him. 

Almost in slow motion he looks into your eyes, holding them as he lifts more pasta to his mouth. His tongue reaches into his cheek for a brief moment, before he stands. Your body is so in tune with his, that it leans forward to almost mirror his actions when he cradles your cheek in his hand and kisses you. 

It’s sweet, but hungry. You almost have the audacity to offer yourself to him with open legs on the kitchen table. But he pulls away before you can lose all self esteem and all that’s important to you. 

He pulls away, looking decadent and not as if he just partook in a making out session whilst your brother and friends were in the next room. Your still body remains to stare after him, feeling all sorts of wrong. 

However, when a flicker of a smirk appears on his face, it almost feels like it’s meant to be. 

How fucking stupid. 

Your fists clench and you wait for the anger to burn straight through you and let it grow and grow. The lack of control over the situation finally catching up to you and settling into your feet. 

Hyunjin hadn’t seen you since the day he saw your resolve build back up. He knew his complete control over you was fleeting and temporary but he still missed it. He loved the way in which the skin on your cheeks heated and the way your eyes held his own with this look of fear and excitement. 

He finds it gets to him more when he’s having a shit day. 

One so much like today. 

First, this asshole at work was hacking up his lungs and shitting over Hyunjin’s ideas before taking full credit for something he could barely explain. Then, some dude scratched his car and offered McDonald’s as compensation. Then, he spilled coffee all over his white dress shirt. Then, he had to ring his mother to pay for his pain medication because paying for the homeless child’s dinner actually had slapped shit karma onto his ass with a tattoo gun. 

Yet when you called him, he felt he could finally breathe again. 

Your giddiness whilst talking to him made his affection for you so noticeable. He could feel his smile and he could feel his warmth. He could feel his soul and his heart and it scared the shit out of him. 

Because he knew what the feeling was. 

Deep down, he knew. He knows. 

But when he follows your instructions and sees this try-hard in front of him, flirting and attempting to touch you and you, acting so fucking oblivious. Flirting back, even. It has him fuming. His tongue is fuzzy and his eyebrows drawn tight. 

His feet drag forwards and his fingers part lines into his hair as he pulls it away from his face, hoping to memorise the sure change in your expression as you notice him. But he doesn’t see it through, because he finds when he’s in front of you the only thing that he wants to do is to lean down and kiss you. Hoping you’ll kiss him in a way that shows people you want him, that you ache for him. That he is…more. 

As you return his kiss and thread your arms around his neck, he presses further into you so his body is touching you all over. The boy from before is thoroughly forgotten as Hyunjin moulds into all you are, palm at the small of your back as your hands wander down his arms and lay claim at the nape of his neck. 

Hyunjin’s eyes are wide-the-fuck open, staring down the idiot trying to complain with murderous intentions, daring him to cross the line. 

You pull away from him breathless as fuck, “Your house?” 

Hyunjin smirks and only answers with an affirmative hum, smug as you lead him out of the party and feeling his pants tighten with need when you pass him a slutty look, confident as you pass on his address to the taxi driver with your manicured finger running along the creases of his elbow. 

You lead him inside. 

You lead him to his bed. 

One item of clothing, one after another, falling to the floor, until you are both only in undergarments. 

Everything in this moment is led by you, and all his problems fall away with every kiss you initiate. 

Your mouth opens as you deepen the kiss, smiling at the way he moans at the feeling of your tongue brushing against his. He falls further into your mannerisms that he feels everything and nothing at the same time. 

He can’t feel the way you grasp his chin in an assertive grasp but he can feel your dominance and your possessiveness. He is briefly aware of the way your breasts rub against him, fuelling his sexual hunger. 

“Ready for you,” He mumbles, tone throaty with his admission, “Please.” 

“Ready for me? To do what?” You tease and his eyes fall shut dreamily. 

“Anything,” Hyunjin pleads, “Just need you to touch me. Just need you.” 

You press a short satisfied kiss against his Adam's apple and you let your fingers run across every line and crevice on his body. Taken by every shiver and hiss that escapes his full mouth. 

“Like this?” 

He swallows heavily, “More.” 

“Beg, baby.” 

He shook his head to which you tutted before you clamped down on both of his shoulders and squeezed. 

“Why won’t you beg? Do you think it makes you less of a man?” 

He shook his head, “You’ll ruin me.” 

You can’t help the grin that transforms your whole face maniacally, “That’s the best part.” 

He’s quiet for a second, the tension building as he speaks with his eyes. A liquid glow that manages to hold a whole conversation without the need of his mouth. 

“…Please,” Hyunjin croaks weakly, unable to withstand for a second longer, “Please fuck me, Y/N…please.”

You love a man who’s hungry. 

The next second, his head hits the soft material of the pillow and your hand is pressing on his throat. Your face has changed again. One full of anticipation and a tension that electrifies. You hook your leg over his own, straddling his frame as you claim the throne that is his body, his abdomen filling the space your lower body couldn’t. 

With a naughty type of grin, you lean forward, applying more pressure onto his throat as you slide your mouth over his own. Feeling lightheaded from both the pleasure and the pain, his fingers grab at the skin of your thigh, your body falling forward. 

He welcomes the fresh oxygen into his lungs and you let his desperation feed your ego and your sadistic tendencies, fingers brushing an apology over his slightly marked throat. His own fingers dig dents into the skin of your ass, head falling back as you grind relentlessly against his growing erection. 

“You’re so fucking evil,” Hyunjin murmurs, breathless and flushed as he struggles to keep a persistent moan at bay. 

“Evil seems to do a great job at getting you off,” You scoff, pressing against his chest to lift yourself up. You study each other, breathing hard. The two of you are already glowing at the promise of good sex. 

Your body calls to be touched in the way he wants to touch you. He wants to be the one to unclasp your bra and let his hands drag across your skin. He wants to be the one to grab at your hips and flip you both around so he could fuck you into the mattress. 

But he doesn’t. Like a good boy, he doesn’t do what his body tells him to do. 

Though his hands are obedient, his eyes toe on the line of unruly and diabolical. They’re wild in their path of imagined destruction and control, propaganda sent to the lesser parts of the body that are easy to win over. 

They flit to the wetness making a mess in between your thighs and along the fabric of his waistband, and his tongue licks at his bottom lip hungrily, “Fuck-” 

You frown, fist pressing down on his pelvis, punishingly close enough to wrap your hand around his cock and have your way with him.

“Where is my good little sub that I know you can be?” The rhetorical question hangs heavy in the air and Hyunjin is finding it a little harder to breathe. 

“I’m here.” 

“I don’t see him,” Your voice is firm as you stare him down, stomping down on that wild gaze of his. 

“Here,” Hyunjin pleads, his eyes glazing with unshed tears, “I promise. I’ll prove it to you if you let me, just please.” 

Gotcha. 

“Prove it to me? How are you going to do that?” Your head cocks slightly in challenge. 

“That,” His eyes brush against his innermost desires, “Let me taste you.” 

“How exactly does that prove you’re my little sub?” You mock, ignoring the way your whole body tingles at the thought of it. 

“Because I need it,” Hyunjin swallows, “All of me calls to pleasure you, to be your toy, your whatever…I just need you to sit on my face until I can’t breathe. I’m begging-” 

Your giggle cuts him off, it’s a dangerous tinkering sort of giggle that is pulled directly from the throat. Hyunjin inhales a sharp intake of breath, a warmth spreading across his chest as your fingers circle the skin of his abdomen. 

“Cute…” You coo, tracing his tattoo, “You want to help me out?” 

“Yes.” 

“If that’s what you need…” You trail off, pulling your underwear from your body, subtly wincing at how sensitive you are. Hyunjin watches over you patiently, drinking in the way the material sticks to your sex and how your naked body climbs on top of him, ready to be feasted on in the way you deserved. 

“Oh,” You moan, your muscles relaxing until you’re completely seated on his face as he licks an initial stripe up and down your pussy.

Your composure is all but lost as your hips begin to ride his movements, his nose bridge against your clit and his mouth sucking, kissing and licking at all he wants to devour. 

You’re still the same. 

Soft sweet kisses have you gasping. Sucking at your pussy causes your legs to shake and clamp around his head. Circling his tongue on the bud of your clit has your nails in his hair, the divide between pleasure and pain blurring together. 

His favourite is when he dips his tongue inside you and you use him to take your pleasure for all he’s worth. He moans uncontrollably as you ground yourself further onto his face, parroting his warbled pants and groans. 

“You’re doing so well, baby. Making me feel so fucking good,” You whine, grinding harder as your joints start to ache. 

As you reach your orgasm, letters become numbers and your body taut as lead. An array of colours crosses your mind and he tries not to come like a virgin when his face becomes coated in your come and his spit. 

After a moment's rest you collapse off of him, steadying your breathing as Hyunjin sits up, pressing his lips together at every naughty thought that crosses his mind. 

He looks like a girl’s wet dream - wet lips, neck littered in bites and kisses, tongue perched in the corner of his open mouth, smirk threatening to appear at any second. 

You lean towards the tissues on his beside table, giving him a view of what Hyunjin wants to bury himself in. His eyes flicker upwards in a weird attempt at chivalry before they stare into yours. 

Wiping at his face, you can’t help but muse, “You’re a bit pink.” 

He pretends to roll his eyes, “Wonder why.” 

You’re giggling as you send a swift and sharp whack into his exposed shoulder and the brief shot of pain is too drenched in lovers haze to notice. 

The tension is so high, it doesn’t take much for Hyunjin to feed off it. His smile melts off his face first and yours follows after. 

Yet, you’re the one that kisses him first with your hand cradling his face. Your mouth opening and him deepening the kiss. You can’t help but realise how much you love his mouth. His lips. His tongue. 

Except he’s the one that really sends the nail into the coffin, his hand laying claim on the meat of your thigh and kissing you harder until both your lips swell. 

He kisses under your ear and you lick a long stripe at the juncture of his neck and across his prominent jaw. 

“Let me fuck you,” He murmurs, bliss capturing your whole body and you’re floating. He kisses along your neck and at the point of your cupid’s bow, waiting for your answer. 

But it's like bliss has well and truly made you her bitch. 

“-Just please.” 

Her favourite bitch. 

At your affirmative nod, your head crashes against the pillow as Hyunjin eagerly brushes his lips over your skin, the both of you enjoying the way your skin reacts to his worship. 

With his eyes imploring naughtily into yours, he plunges two fingers in his mouth, sucking on his digits and releasing them with a lewd pop. 

Slowly, he lets his wet fingers draw an S down your pubic bone, just above where you need him most before he lets his digits sink into your warm, wet pussy. 

Hyunjin’s eyes fall shut and his mouth gapes due to an unfinished groan that he chokes to hear the sounds you let pass your lips. You mewl, pressing your lips together in attempt to keep quiet. 

He draws his fingers back, eyeing the way in which your pussy grips them before drilling his fingers forward. You clasp his wrist harshly, his skin turning white, “Fuck- wait.”

He chokes, his fingers coming to a stop. Taking the time to watch your chest heave with battered breath and your eyes fluttering in an attempt to regain self control. 

“Ask if you can have your way with me.” 

“I want more than that,” Hyunjin shook his head, desperate whines escaping his mouth, “I want to fucking devour you, baby. Let me in, I’m begging you.” 

You grin, “Then fucking devour me.” 

Your kiss is tongue and lips and too rushed to care. He runs the tip of his cock along your sex, sinking into what feels like heaven on Earth. Finally sinking into heaven. 

“I’d fucking commit crimes for this pussy, oh fuck-“ He slurs, sad attempts to return your kisses but losing himself instead. 

You whimper into his skin as he drives his hips forward, and it drives him so crazy he can’t help but moan in reply. 

He tries to hear it, again and again. 

He succeeds. 

Expect it’s not just your little kitten whimpers you make when you’re submissive. No. It’s your moans that sound like they’re thick with tears. It’s your held groans and the way your body writhes against his thrusts. It’s the way your kisses start to bruise and blur. The way your nails drag along his back. 

When he said he wanted to devour you..he promised it. 

As your walls clench around him, swallowing him in this warm and wet cocoon of pleasure and torment. His hips begin to stutter, his body aiming to follow after your orgasm with his own. 

“Come?” Hyunjin murmurs, “Where?” 

At his question and how pleased you are, you open your mouth. 

Hyunjin almost whimpers as he follows through, watching his come eject onto your tongue. Hissing when you make a point of sucking at the swollen mushroom tip and maintaining eye contact as you swallow. 

He almost says it. 

But as soon as his head hits the pillow and you tuck yourself in next to him…the exhaustion of the weeks past drags him under. 

You wake with a start, the sun is crisp and pours into the room. You check the time, widening your eyes at the time. You search for your phone hurriedly as you dress, even though you have nowhere to be and no one to see.

“Hyunjin,” You murmur, voice a little groggy from oversleeping. 

“Mm?” He questions groggily, sniffing a little. 

“Have you seen my phone?” You ask, eyes searching for your phone to check the time and to make your exit back home. 

He pauses for a second, trying to remember, before he reaches for his bedside table, “Yeah. I put it on charge.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief, pocketing your phone before you notice how feverish Hyunjin looks and how croaky he sounds. Concern makes its way to your eyebrows before you brush his hair from his forehead, frowning at the collection of sweat. 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

“I think I’m just tired,” He mutters. 

You wet a handcloth anyway. Patting him down and smiling lightly at the relief that crosses his face. You retrieve your phone from your pocket, ordering him a big bowl of stew and a Gatorade to boost his electrolytes. 

You help yourself to his kitchen, snooping around his over the counter medicines thrown haphazardly in the cabinet above his fridge. One Paracetamol. Two ibuprofen. Prescription saline nasal spray. Expired cough medicine. You tutter, digging into your purse for your own stash and finding three lozenges. 

You peer at the mess around him, before you put a shirt into his laundry basket. Then another. Then his pants. Then his jumpers. His work clothes. Everything.

Then you put it in his washing machine. Then his dryer. You wipe a wet cloth down his surfaces. The smell of Hyunjin’s house then, a chemical citrus. You light a candle that smells better. Like jasmine and vanilla. 

You meet the delivery man and remember to thank him. You put the stew into a ceramic bowl and give him a proper spoon that won’t bend in half. You put the Ibuprofen next to his Gatorade that you hope he fucking drinks. 

Kneeling next to him, you tap him on the shoulder, “Hyunjin.” 

His eyes flutter open with sick induced questions, “Yeah?” 

“Come eat,” You order and without strength to fight against you, he obeys. He waddles cutely into the hallway, shoulder bumping into walls and blinking at his new clean house. He sits on the table where you’ve set him up and digs in. 

You watch him like a hawk at first, ready to yell at him if he so much as decides not to take the medicine, or at least three sips of Gatorade and leaves more than half the bowl full. But when he does it all without complaint, you begin to relax. 

“Thanks,” Hyunjin croaks. You only smile in reply, walking him back to his bed and tucking him in. He falls back into a sick induced sleep and you can only watch as he inhales and exhales. 

So peaceful and gentle. 

“I’m going to leave now,” You confess. 

“Thank you,” He says again. 

“Have another ibuprofen in three hours,” You direct, “That should be at about 2 o’clock.” 

“Okay.” 

Once again, he almost says it, right after he almost asks you to stay.  But his fever and the hypnosis of his sleep saves him once again. 

The events of that night had him soft on you. Too soft. It reminded him of the you before the poison and the him before the hurt. It was too much to ignore, too much to return to the pretence. He refused to believe that you were soft on him just as much as he was you. 

He had to get weight and fast. 

Before he got further and further down this trepid path that would only lead to further injury. 

It comes to him in the form of a girl he vaguely remembers dated Felix, who smells good and looks amazing. But for the life of him, he can’t remember her name. Only the one time she had a complete meltdown. 

But you, you remember it all too well. 

How kind she was, how sweet. How she directed you. How she always told you you were so much prettier than people gave you credit for. How good of a couple you and Minho were. The switch up. The undermining, the little digs at the fragile relationship you had with your brother at the time. The pining and the complete lack of respect for him. The Hyunjin thing. It infuriated you. Infuriates you, still. 

Felix, only observes her with polite indifference, one which is returned. He even winks at Hyunjin as she begins to lean into him with her hand draped over his shoulder. Hyunjin can’t help but notice the way your eyebrows furrow as you take in her position within the group, astounded. 

Has that look always been there? 

You look so unsure of yourself as you approach him, pulling at the ends of his shirt when everyone is otherwise preoccupied. All except her, who you keep an eye on as you drag your boy out of her proximity. 

Hyunjin stares down with a look of complete wonder, wondering and realising. At the change of his eyes, you change yours. Half-lidded, sexy. Fingers circling its naughty rings around the freckles on his abdomen. 

“You look good,” You flirt, licking your lips as you start to imagine all he could commit with his apparel. 

He feels his heart flutter, and yet he says, “Am I hotter to you when you’re jealous?” 

Your sultry expression drops and you lightly push him away from you by the chest, “I wasn’t jealous.” 

He snorts. 

Yeah, right. 

“You were,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, becoming frustrated by the sheer audacity of whatever is happening and the heat that surrounds you, “She was literally just talking…not even to me.” 

“You have a really great imagination,” You’re seething through your teeth as you say it, “I’m not jealous.”  

He laughs, but he isn’t finding it funny. 

Right now, he’s found the perfect tool in which to wreck your sanity. But instead, he feels like it’s a double edged sword, cutting him down. What the fuck is happening? What is with you?

He doesn’t understand and now he can’t stop spitting all the shit he’s wanted to say. 

“Was that little show in there just marking your territory?” He jeers, “We’re exclusive, I won’t fuck your friends.” 

Your mouth gapes as you look in bewilderment. 

“We agreed,” Hyunjin’s eyes feel like twitching, “We agreed that whatever this is..it wasn’t-” 

“This isn’t fucking jealousy, Hyunjin and if you really feel that way then let’s end it here. In fact, I heard Hanji is in the bathroom with some bitch, do you think he’ll dog me if I ask?” You shout, causing bystanders to look at the two in shock. Hyunjin sucks in his lip in frustration before gripping you at the wrist and yanking you into the next room. A quiet office where the only sounds you can hear are limited to the harsh inhales and exhales of your anger and the base speaker. 

He scowls, before grabbing your face with one hand, fingers denting your cheeks, “Shut up.” 

Your back straightens with your hackles raised and Hyunjin’s own frame relaxes, picking on the tell tale signs of your impending arousal. Your fire licks against his flames. 

“You’re so fucking nasty I want to come all over you,” He grits his teeth and sucks at his lips as he chastises you.

“You don’t need to ask for permission,” You sneer, lip curling in disdain. 

He raises an eyebrow in disbelief, his eyes narrowing in warning. To which you stare back, just as unrelenting and bitter as before. 

He casts a dark chuckle, looming over you until your ass plants against the desk. He wraps his hand around your throat, caught by the true vulnerability of your eyes. Glinting at him like the reflection of the moon on the ocean. Within reach. 

He shakes his head, surprisingly reluctant to find comfort in the feeling. Nor can he find comfort in your demise. No matter how much he wants to and how much his body is tempted to. 

Instead, he exhales a calculated breath, his eyes hovering over your exposed skin and the heaving of your chest. You lick your lips in an attempt to reign in your desire, but the way his palm fits across the whole of your thigh, pushing your dress up to expose yourself to him.  

“I’m going to fuck you,” Hyunjin tells you, dark eyes pitting against yours, “Then, you’re going to tell me what I want to know.” 

You’re a but a weak girl, unable and completely at his mercy. 

You nod, your eyes still big and round and too fucking demure. So much that when he kisses you roughly, he closes his eyes. His fingers are quick to lift your dress, skilled in the study of your body and what you like. He kisses down your neck, your sounds the obvious tell of how horny you are. The way you grip at his shoulders and his arms, the other. 

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker open to remove your underwear, fully intending to avoid your possible stare but is so surprised by how wet you are already. You whine as the cool air kisses the sensitive skin of your pussy and Hyunjin can feel his hardening length and his mouth watering. 

Nonchalantly he wets the skin of his thumb, before brushing down your sex, testing your sensitivity as your head rolls. 

Fuck. 

He pulls his pants down, freeing himself from the confines of fabric before lining himself against your pussy and Hyunjin basks in the moment he sinks into you, your walls clenching and swallowing him whole. Warm. Wet. Driving him to the brink of insanity, he fists at the hard surface of the wooden desk, the sound only adding to the pleasure you both feel. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” Hyunjin swears, watching the way your lidded eyes are open but hooded, “You fucking know it, too. I know you do.” 

You whimper an affirmative, the sound of pleasure picking up when Hyunjin begins to thrust into you. Uncaring of being gentle or vengeful. Caring only about fucking you. Fucking you how many fucking times you want to. 

Your eyes roll back as a particular harsh thrust, the desk shaking from the movement. Your hands grapple for leverage around his shoulder blade, your face falling into his exposed throat. You lick and suck along his collarbones and his throat, his collar. Ripping at his buttoned shirt to lick along his chest but pathetically falling short.. 

He pants as his position changes, angling his hips better, faster, harder. His face and hair, knocking against yours and his teeth clenching at the force. You let out an utmost wanton moan, pressing your lips against his in a desperate attempt to muffle your screams against his mouth. 

He drills harder, wanting nothing else but to hear the sound again and again, until your voice is hoarse and croaky and the memories blur into your cries of pleasure. His mouth falls open in an attempt to return the kiss, but how can he when you can barely do the same? 

He manages to lick against your top lip and your lips make contact with the skin of his chin. His eyelids drunk as they fall and rise. Your walls clenching around him tighter as your orgasm approaches. 

He sees colours, hears them, as he fucks you through your orgasm and through his. His hips staggering at the slow decrease of adrenaline and at the pinnacle of his relaxation, he opens his big mouth and he says it. 

“I love you,” He means it when he kisses you, heavy and wet and beautiful. 

He regrets it, because he sees the way it breaks you as he says it. You pull away harshly, like you had been zapped with electricity and as if you suddenly developed a conscience. But he can see you feel something for him too. 

He can see it, but he won’t get the reassurance. 

You would never admit it, it seems. 

“You broke the rules,” You’re heaving, eyes panic stricken as you assess him. 

“Those rules were bullshit as soon as we fucking made them,” Hyunjin shouts, hurt slithering its path around his heart like a no good snake. 

They were. 

“I’ve got to go,” You gasp out, air not finding you easily. 

Hyunjin scoffs a humourless laugh, “To Minho, I bet. Like you always do.” 

Your face crumples, and he finds it even more laughable. What the fuck were you doing? What the fuck was he doing? What even was this? 

“We can’t do this anymore,” Your voice is gluggy with unshed tears. 

Seriously? 

“You’re right,” Hyunjin sneers, “What was I thinking? I love you? I must have lost it. Go- Go to Minho, leave- at least you got one last fuck out of me, right? Just like we agreed?” 

Hyunjin lifts his pants, frame facing away from you so you won’t be able to spot the way his pain fills him so obviously, his weakness completely on show for you to gawk at. Missing the way you attempt to explain yourself, to finally answer all he wants to ask. 

But only catching when you leave the room, leaving him hollow and scrubbed raw with an ache that has surpassed years of fucking other people to get over you. Years of trying to one up you and get revenge. Of being unable to let you go. Years of torture. 

Scrubbed raw again and again. 

He is Hyunjin, still pathetically not over you. 

author's note : oh my god, finally finished after months of writing and months of just not getting anywhere. i tried editing as i went but there still might be mistakes. HOPEFULLY you like the second part of their story and it's not disappointing..

[sangwooooh]

Why won’t you speak?

“Even dead they ignore you, huh?”

This is the second part. If you want to read the first part, the link is at the end. Sorry, it took me a while :,)

Warnings: character death, mental issues, grief, child neglect (?), disability (m/n is using crutches because of the injury he got from an accident in his younger years). Canon divergence … ? Regardless, I’ve changed things. also, the addition of Roy Harper ;)

“Close your eyes for a second, won’t you?”

M/n chuckles, “What do you want, Roy? Don’t we have anything better to do?” He closes his eyes nonetheless. Wouldn’t hear him say it out loud, but M/n will probably do anything if it was Roy who asked. That’s how the two of them are.

“Just…,” there is some shuffling. What is that man doing? “Just bear with me for a sec.”

“Fine, I’ll indulge you. But it better be worth it.” M/n added as more of a joke at the end. It wouldn’t even matter if it was worth it or not, if Roy considered it so.

Roy sighs and touches M/n’s shoulder, slides his fingers down to his hand and holds it, squeezing it softly. Then the touch is no more and M/n is left feeling cold.

“You can open your eyes now.”

“I’m married now, by the way.”

“What?!” Jason stands up in shock. He clears his throat because some heads turn his way. They are in a public place, after all. A dingy bar, but still public.

“Yeah. Who would’ve thought, huh?” Roy plays with a small lock of his hair as Jason sits back down. 

“It’s… something.” Jason coughs.

Roy pushes his friend slightly, no ill intention there. Jason laughs that laugh of his that leaves Roy stunned. An almost fragile smile graces the redhead’s lips and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

Jason swirls his drink, a low quality beer that doesn’t even get the job done, but it’s cheap and it’s alcohol so whatever, “She’s one lucky girl.” He looks straight at the queasy liquid and feels a lump forming in his throat. A tiny one, the one he gets from time to time, at the thought of what his life could have been. He can’t even comfort himself with the idea of another Jason in another world living happily in his stead. He doesn’t believe he is that lucky. Entertaining the thought only brings something close to nostalgia for what has never happened and… well, how would he even begin to explain?

He gets another push from Roy, one that pulls him out of his thoughts. “Hey!” Jason exclaims.

“Look at you assuming!” Roy ruffles Jason’s hair.

Jason pushes Roy’s hands away from his freshly washed hair.

“Who ever said they were a girl? I’ll let you know that I’m the lucky one to have my hubby.” Roy is presenting the most disgustingly precious heart eyes, almost making Jason visibly shudder.

Once Jason gets Roy off him he fixes his hair (not really doing much, but whatever) and downs the rest of his drink. He leaves some money on the table, nodding to the bartender (poor guy was trying to wipe away some stain that was probably never gonna leave that sorry excuse of a bar), who nods back.

“Let’s get out of this shithole.”

“Uh-Uh, okay.” Roy quickly downs his apple juice, cringes, then leaves his own payment on the greasy table.

As they walk down the dark streets of Gotham, Jason looks at the smogged up sky, can almost see the clear moon if he squints.

“How’s he like?”

Roy sighs dreamily, “My life’s been pretty shitty after you ‘died’, but he helped me get better. He is… I wouldn’t know how to explain it, but there is no need for you to worry, Jason. I’m finally at peace, I would say.” Jason’s friend ends on a sadder note and Jason thinks that, perhaps, he thinks of it too, what could have been.

Jason clasps a hand on Roy’s strong arm, “You’re good. That’s what I need to know.” He smiles at the redhead who looks close to genuinely crying. Tears gather in the no longer child’s eyes too, but Jason doesn’t let them fall. Memories are blurred, but some spring up now that he looks Roy in the eyes. If they hug it out and some tears slip, it’s for only them to know.

M/n cooks breakfast for Bruce, Tim and Alfred, as he does every now and again, whenever he stops by the manor. Roy doesn’t complain and, of course, he joins, aiding his hubby with the help he needs. When Bruce tries to keep him at the door, Roy can always use the I’m part of the family now argument.

Speaking of Roy, he’s been behaving strange as of lately. He comes in late and he leaves at the first sign of daylight. If he were anybody else, M/n would suspect cheating or growing back into old habits, but that simply isn’t his Roy. M/n is pretty sure his husband will say something pretty soon. He always slips up. Can’t keep a secret from M/n to save his life.

M/n picks up the plates, balancing them on one hand, the other holding onto his crutch for dear life, and takes six instead of five. He stares for the longest time at the extra plate, then places it back. With the five plates in hand, he heads towards the enormous table (it always seemed bigger than the world when he was younger, just like Bruce), stumbling here and there on the carpet (it’s not that the carpet isn’t neatly placed every time, courtesy of Alfred, but handling everything with one hand is harder than you’d think), and sets it nicely. He has developed a sense of dexterity around the house, even with the setbacks. Alfred smiles proudly at him as the older man brings the pancakes from the kitchen.

“I’ll go get the honey.” Dick and Alfred used to look at M/n with concern when he first started eating honey with his pancakes. After all, Jason expressly used to talk about how it was ‘ultimately the only way he likes pancakes’.

“It’s alright, I got it.” Bruce appears from the kitchen as well, making M/n jump.

“Don’t just sneak up on people, dad!”

Bruce scratches the back of his head, “Sorry, can’t really turn the stealth mode off.” Tim snorts from his spot at the table. The brooding bat is trying to be better, M/n knows this. He can’t help, however, the lingering loneliness he feels whenever he looks at his father too long. It’s not something he can control, really. But dark thoughts must be kept at bay.

Roy makes his way into the room, hands wet from washing them. He walks to M/n and places a kiss on his husband’s cheek, using the diversion as a chance to wipe his wet hands on M/n’s hoodie (that, actually, belongs to Roy). M/n gasps in faux shock, but Roy only laughs and pecks him on the lips.

“Love you.” Roy says cheerily, loud enough for the whole room to hear. Bruce clears his throat, eyes narrowed, hand squeezing on the honey jar.

“Careful not to break that, Master Bruce.” Alfred speaks with an amused glint in his eyes. “How about we all get to the table? Master M/n has made us quite the nice breakfast.” Alfred ushers all of them in their respective places. All on one side of the big table. Bruce at the head, to his right Tim, to his left M/n. Roy is to the left of M/n, and Alfred to the right of Tim. M/n doesn’t escape the images flashing before his mind’s eye: a boy in front of him, not Tim, and he talks like he has the whole world to fill with words and not nearly enough time. Right after, M/n couldn’t bare to see the spot empty and when, two years later, Tim came and filled it himself, M/n couldn’t bear to see it filled by somebody else. M/n swallows hard, yet the lump is still there, pressure in his chest growing steadily. It happens from time to time, the feeling of the world falling around him, the feeling of helplessness from within in regards to the falling. Tears sting his eyes, yet he doesn’t let them fall. He tries to take a bite of his pancakes, oozed in honey, but they get stuck in his throat, choking him. He bends forward for the water glass in front of him. The cold liquid clears his throat and eases the constricted passage.

“Do you ever think of going back?”

Jason stares at the resting figure belonging to a life so far away. The sun is too bright and the flowers pale in comparison to the now man laying in the grass. The manor is as imposing as Jason remembers it — as if through a dream. It’s unreal. And so is the sight of his brother. He looks almost… peaceful. It makes Jason’s stomach churn and twist with he doesn’t know what. Maybe it’s pain or some itch he can’t scratch that goes as deep as his soul. Or maybe it’s longing? His hands shake (they always do, like what the fuck? can’t he just do something without thinking he’s going to fucking burst? get destroyed more than he already is? what even is his fucking life. it’s not even a question anymore. there is no life left. there is nothing. he is nothing. just a pile of bones covered in flesh that should’ve long rotten to dust) and he feels too little on the outside, too much on the inside. He wants to fucking scream! He wants to yell to RAGE AT THE WORLD AND AT THE NEANT and he wants to whisper about everything (about nothing at all) and he wants to have a vanishing act, finally catch up with his end. That is his brother! His brother? Ever since he was able to remember anything at all about his old life, M/n has been there, nagging and pocking and there always there (GOD IF YOU ARE REAL make his un-life make some sort of sense), being the brother he had never been seen as. Conversations that could have been. Conversations that never will be. Jason’s mind is a scrambled mess of scorched and festered brain. He can’t make up half the things he thinks. But, somehow, M/n shines through and it hurts.

He hasn’t seen his home in what feels like an eternity. He has been, in fact, putting it off. It doesn’t even feel like home, just a memory slowly melting into a void in his mind. It’s no lie that Jason half expect his brain to drip out of his ears in his sleep at some point.

“It’s useless, pathetic even, to think of something I can never have. So, yes. I do. I am, in fact, quite useless and pathetic.”

M/n doesn’t notice anything wrong at first, nothing out of common or eye catching. In fact, he would say he doesn’t feel as much of the pressure as he usually does. The world is so big and, really, today it feels like he might be in it too. And it doesn’t occur to him in this moment (perhaps it is that M/n stops it from occurring) that he hasn’t been in it for far too long for that to be true.

Tears don’t—tears don’t exist. They are not real as they fall down his cheeks and he moves his arm to try and stop them. He tries to keep the raptures of his soul from reaping further, he really tries. You have to believe him. M/n really tries to see the world as it is. He just can’t stop himself from seeing it as it should be.

Because he should be here too, seeing the flowers bloom and the sun shining just right, happy and God without those lifeless eyes he sees in his dreams every night (yet in some of his dreams they are so full of life it’s overwhelming; in those dreams Jason is back and he is laughing again and M/n apologizes for everything and things are good; reality often disappoints).

He doesn’t notice the figure creeping up on him, not with his trembling fingers rubbing at his eyes as he slowly and rustily sits up on the grass.

“Get it together, M/n. It’s been over for too long, there is no going back.” M/n sighs his tears away, eventually wiping them with his shirt.

It’s too quite in the garden, even with the occasional chirping of the birds or the buzzing of the busy bees, thus he hears the voice well enough to know it’s not the wind.

“What’s been over?”

M/n’ head snaps up so fast he gets a bit dizzy. The sun casts the man in front of his eyes in a gentle light, and he is so tall as he approaches that he casts M/n in a slight shadow. M/n stares at the man, confused. How did he get here?

“E-Excuse me…?” M/n squints up at the man and can barely distinguish some of his features. Dark hair with a white streak that softens his face. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

The man… smiles?

“Yeah… I’m not.” There is a certain nuance to his voice, a note of… sadness.

M/n doesn’t no why, but he feels warm in the presence of this person, and it’s not just the sun, “Do I know you?” M/n asks before he can stop himself.

M/n have the chance to say anything more as the man slowly crouches to his eye level, a cace illuminated in the sun, blue eyes with specs of green.

It’s immediate, instant and shattering— the recognition. It doesn’t take anything more than looking into those eyes, the eyes he sees in his sleep, the eyes that haunt the corners of his mind and hide in the shadow of every memory.

M/n makes a sharp intake of breath, involuntary and too sudden. He doesn’t what he is doing, his actions uncontrolled. He raises his hands to the cheeks of the man in front of him, the man who seems as stuck in place as M/n. M/n rubs softly at the skin, not sure if it belongs to the physical world.

“…Jason?” His voice barely reaches a whisper, quite to his own ears. He smiles through the stinging in his eyes, then shakes his head, “No… this is my dream… always my dream.”

There is conflict in his Jason’s eyes, something M/n can’t figure out, something he’ll never know.

It is a dream because reality is never this kind. He spends moments staring at his Jason’s features, taking them in, admiring the handsome face that could have been if the little boy from back then had been give a chance. When M/n speaks again, he’s already lived a thousand realities in his mind.

“Why do I wake up every time? It’s always better here, with you, than back there where everybody expects me to be real…” A lone tear drips down M/n’s cheek. “You are always quiet in my dreams. So strange…”

“What’s been over?” His Jason repeats, slightly startling him, and he looks at M/n with the same lack of resolve M/n feels. His Jason looks as close to the end as M/n feels. His Jason looks like a requiem to M/n’s final dream of life.

“I always try to tell you, but I never quite get the chance… How,” He looks deep into the apparition’s eyes, the windows to his Jason’s soul, “How much I regret not listening to you.”

His Jason tenses under his hands. His eyes look conflicted again, shadowed by feelings M/n can hardly recognize as a reflection of his own soul. The man brings his hands up to M/n’s own and takes them away from his cheeks, envelops them in the soft skin that feels too real.

“You just wanted me to listen to you, to hear you, right?” M/n tries to keep his smile on his face, but his muscles are heavy with grief and it’s too hard, “I couldn’t see beyond the thought that you were there to replace me because I was defected.” He slips one of his hands from his Jason’s. M/n place it at the back of the man’s neck, running his fingers through the fluffy hair there. His Jason latches his now free hand to M/n’s forearm, holding it tight.

“I miss you.”

Tears gather in Jason’s eyes and his lower lip trembles. He hasn’t cried in so long and, so sudden, he cries twice in a week. He tries to keep it in by biting his lower lip, but the sob, however muffled, still escapes the confines of his soul.

He wants to scream ‘I’m real! I’m here, stop crying, please! You are my brother, even though I thought you’ve hated me when I was alive!’ But he can’t bring himself to talk, he can’t bring himself to say anything as more quiet sobs escape his bitten lips.

“You feels so real…” M/n looks up at him with bigger eyes than the world, with an inner peace one would only have in the happiest of dreams, pain seeping in at the edges. Is this a dream? It might be a dream. Jason always thinks he’ll wake up to stare at the inside of a coffin, six feet under. “But you always feel real. You always feel so real, and I always wish I weren’t. Maybe if I weren’t, you’d still be here.” A sob finally escapes his brother’s lips as well, pain winning over. “Maybe, then, everything would be alright again… You know, for the longest time dad couldn’t even look me in the eyes. You meant the world to him, you still do.”

Jason lets go of his lower lip and lets the sobs free, not able to hold back anymore. He feels like a child again. He didn’t get to be a child, didn’t get to cry and to be held and he feels rage because he wants it, he wants it so bad.

Jason wants to have the warmth of his childhood, not just some half assed memories of good for nothing parents who left him and closer memories—a big brother who has the biggest smile, another brother who looks at him like his world is smaller just for Jason’s existence (not knowing that, to Jason, M/n was the one who made the world bigger), a butler who always knows what to say and a father who gives him something his real parents could never.

All the rage he felt, all the rage he kept inside himself for years after being brought back to a world that he no longer belonged in was being brought forth and he felt like a child. His dad never avenged him, his killer is still out there, but how can he hate the man that loved him so much Jason felt like the whole world was his? How can he possibly understand what that man thought and felt? His brother, whom Jason always thought hated him with everything in his soul, is here in front of him, talking about Jason like Jason is M/n’s entire world, like he wishes he was dead instead.

Why did Jason die? Why did Jason have to die?

The little boy in him, the little boy that cries and cries and hasn’t stopped crying, needs Jason to let go of his rage. But how can he do that? How could he ever do that?

Jason looks down towards M/n’s hand that is still in his grasp and squeezes it to his cheek as Jason leans forward to M/n’s chest. He falls to the ground and, even with his body being larger than his brother’s, he feels so small and on the verge breaking.

“Why did I die?” M/n frees his arms and wraps them around Jason’s shivering form. “Why did I have to die?” Jason closes his eyes and feels the warmth of his brother’s body. His body is rotting around him and the world doesn’t feel real, but the brother who had never wanted him feels the realest anyone ever has.

Jason realizes M/n is shaking as well. “I don’t know. I’m sorry it had to be you,” M/n squeezes Jason tighter, leaning into him as if wanting to keep him away from the world. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it was you.”

Why is M/n talking like Jason isn’t real? This is real life, right? If this is a dream and Jason has to wake up again after this, he doesn’t think he’ll live. He won’t make it.

“I’m real, M/n, please believe me, I’m real” Jason rubs his face into M/n’s shirt, staining it even more with his tears, “I’m real, I’m real, please I’m real” Jason repeats it like a prayer, he is praying to the God that has abandoned him, praying because he wants it so badly to be real. Because he doesn’t feel real. Not anymore.

“I’m scared that soon there might be nothing left for you to miss.”

@tkiesai

Part 1:

[luvfy0dor]

Henlo! I saw that requests for Fyodor are open! And I was wondering if you could write something about Fyodor as a parent if you’re comfortable with that. For some reason I can’t find enough of those and I really wanna see how you’d do it!

(Not as the reader’s parent btw, maybe having a child/children with the reader. But I just wanna see how you think he’d behave in that situation and how you think it would all go down)

"Come on, papa!" Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN!Reader ｡˚♡₊

╰┈➤ Dad!Fyodor ���‧₊˚✧

Description ; How Fyodor acts towards his child/children!

Warnings ; None

A/N; IVE BEEN LOWKEY WAITING FOR THIS REQUEST BRO IM SO EXCITED OVER THIS YOU DONT EVEN GET IT ALSO P/T STANDS FOR PARENTAL TITLE BC IDK WHAT YALL WANNA BE CALLED YKYK AND D/N IS DAUGHTERS NAME OBVI

Headcannons !! ༊*·˚

→ Dad!Fyodor who lets his kid/s play with his hair, too, messing it up and laughing at their fathers disheveled appearance.

→ Dad!Fyodor who quietly reads your kids bed time stories, letting them sit on his lap while he holds the book in front of them, pointing to the pictures with a smile.

→ Dad!Fyodor who picks out the most whack ass outfits for your kid, proudly displaying it out to you and frowning at your hesitant smile.

→ Dad!Fyodor who discouraged your children from cutting their hair and braids it or puts it up for them every morning before school.

→ Dad!Fyodor who (very frequently) helps your kid/s with their homework or projects for school, not quite giving them answers but shoving nudging them in the right direction.

→ Dad!Fyodor who teaches his kid(s) the basics of playing the cello, letting them get a feel for the strings. He would teach them how to hold the bow and would let them stand beside him and watch him play.

→ Dad!Fyodor who cooks recipes that he learned in Russia for you and your children, encouraging all of you to try foreign dishes. They give him a feeling of nostalgia and wanting to pass those special foods on to his kid(s).

→ Dad!Fyodor who absolutely tries passing on happy group counseling hour to his kid/s when they seem sad or upset.

Scenarios !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Your keys jingled in the keyhole of your front door as you pushed it open, revealing the living room that you had longed to sit down in all day. Work sucked, you weren't going to lie, but there was something that was allegedly important going on, so you had no choice but to attend.

Your husband volunteered to watch your daughter on her day off of school, which wasn't a totally uncommon occurrence due to Fyodors line of work. He didn't mind watching d/n, he likes it a lot, actually. Fyodor values the quality time he can spend with his kid just as much as the quality time he gets to spend with you.

The pitter patter of your daughters feet got louder the closer she got to the living room, rounding the corner and smiling. "P/t!"

"Hey, what'd I tell you about running?" You say with a quiet and amused giggle as she throws herself onto you, hugging your waist. You run your fingers over the pretty braids weaved into her hair with a smile. "Papa did your hair?" The little girl nods excitedly.

"Well, you look very, very pretty." Another set of footsteps can be heard, this time softer. Fyodor rounds the corner with a smile, pulling you into a hug.

"Mm, my dear." He says, resting his head on you shoulder for a moment before pulling away, starting back towards the kitchen. He waves at d/n to follow him. "Come on, sweetheart, come help me finish dinner." She excitedly runs after her father, earning a soft and faint giggle from him.

Upon following the two of them into the kitchen, you can smell the beef stroganoff cooking, watching your daughter step up onto the little stool she dragged in next to Fyodor. They stand at the counter, Fyodor making sure she's nowhere near anything dangerous or hot. He gently pushes over a measuring cup filled with beef broth.

"Alright, Malyshka. Just pour this into the pan, and be very careful, alright?" He says softly, his voice gentle as he measures out the whipping cream. The beef broth can be heard being poured into the pan from the spot you're standing in, smiling at your husband and daughter making dinner together. Within a couple of seconds, Fyodor is handing d/n measurements of other ingredients, such as Worcestershire sauce and dijon mustard. He lets her stir it all in, guiding her whenever he sees fit.

"Alright, we're all done. Here, why don't you go sit down, I'll bring you and P/t your dinners, yeah?" He smiles at the young girl, rubbing her back before patting it. She nods and skitters off to join you at the dinner table. She blabbers on to you about everything she did that day, even running off to bring proof of her activities.

She comes back out, proudly showing off a coloring page filled with scribbles in numerous different hues. One of them was only slightly better than the other, the lesser messy one was labeled with Fyodor's name in his sloppy handwriting to match the coloring. You grinned at both of them, taking the thin sheets of paper and studying them intently.

"Wow, they're both wonderful!" Your daughter wears a proud smile at the praise from you, excitedly placing her hands on her hips. "Are ya gonna hang them up on the fridge?" You nod and ruffle her hair a bit, just in time for Fyodor to bring the food in for all three of you. He sets the plates down on the table, listening to the conversation still taking place between you and your daughter.

"Ofcourse I will, I love them both very much." Your daughter smiles, blowing on the small piece of meat impaled by her fork. "Maybe me and papa can have a coloring contest, you can be the judge!" She says to you excitedly. Fyodor smiles. "How about another night, Malyshka? It's getting close to your bedtime." He says, continuing eating his food. "Aw, but papa-" she sadly whines, Fyodor shaking his head. "No 'but''s, d/n. We can tomorrow night though, I promise." Fyodor smiles at her while she extends her outstretched pinky to her dad.

"Pinky promise?" She quietly mumbles. He grins and interlocks his pinky with hers, reaching across the table to do so. "I promise. You know i never break my promises, Malyshka." She smiles and nods in agreement. "Yeah, right. Tomorrow night then!" She says with a grin.

"Tomorrow night. Alright, d/n, time to go get ready for bed. Go put on pajamas and we'll come say goodnight in five minutes." You say to the small girl with a smile. She nods in compliance and quickly walks back to her room to change into sleep clothing. You look over at Fyodor, who is already looking back at you with a loving gaze.

"Ah, I forgot to apologize for the late dinner earlier, dear. I was quite busy being dressed up in tiaras and what not." Your heart warms at the thought of your husband bonding with your daughter. "It's alright, don't worry about it." You gently caress his shoulders before taking all the plates away from the dining table, washing them in the kitchen and sticking them in the dishwasher. Placing your hands on your hips, you nod in approval of your quick work. Fyodor waits for you in the doorway, nodding in the direction of d/n's room with a gentle smile.

You both approach the room, knocking to make sure she was finished getting ready for bed before you both entered. You said goodnight to her and kissed her cheek while Fyodor said goodnight and kissed her forehead. Before Fyodor could stand straight up again, d/n giggled and whispered to him.

"I'm gonna beat you tomorrow, so prepare yourself, papa. It's gonna be the best coloring you've ever seen!" She proudly claims, clearly confident in her coloring skills. Fyodor chuckles. "I believe it whole heartedly. Get some sleep, or you may wake up without that skill." He says, making sure she's 100% tucked in. She nods in understanding and snuggles into her blanket.

"Goodnight, Malyshka." Fyodor whispers, gently pulling her door closed a bit, leaving a crack between the door and the frame.

A/N (#2); I'm super sorry if any mistakes were made, I didn't proofread because I'm suuuuper tired lol, but I just wanna put it out there that I am absolutely willing to do more dad!Fyodor. Dad!Fyodor and soft!Fyodor literally give me life u don't even get it (recipe I referenced was from Natasha Kitchen)