#cw: mention of claustrophobia

[3lectricinsomnia]

Adventure gone wrong (more details below cut)

When he was 16, he got trapped after part of a cave collapsed on top of him. He was under there for hours until his family managed to break through and pull him out. He was hospitalized and in a coma for a couple of weeks.

This incident is one of the reasons why Eris’s soul bonds with him so quickly

[minecraftfan11onscratch]

@whumpuary's Whumpuary 2024

Day 1-2: Captivity - Snow - Secret Revealed

Happy New Year! I accidentally made a banger! ^v^'

Anyhow, I'll essentially try to both draw and write for this event. Starting off with a bit of a personal headcanon-driven thingy for into Dreams.

[CWs: Captivity, implied feelings of claustrophobia, implied guilt and self-hatred] (note: feel free to point out if these need changing)

---

They should feel good, knowing that the Visitor with blue hair got his Ideyas back with their help, and had at least one more night to dream. Should feel good that the boy's next Nightopia, a wondrous snowland with a lively train passing by, could peacefully manifest. Feel good with the hope that perhaps, with the aid of this boy and the girl, true freedom could be in sight.

And yet, there was no way.

It was always while no Visitor or Nightopian was in sight, and/or her fellow Nightmarens were not paying attention. It was always then that staving boredom away by sharpening her acrobatic skills wasn't enough.

She knew the boy from the duo of Visitors who were proving themselves to be uniquely fabled was coming. Obviously, he was just taking the free fall to enter his dreams. She just wished he could come much sooner. If only so this... dread, of never being able to escape this prison of a gazebo could leave her alone. The fear of something terrible happening to the duo, with her being helpless to do anything.

Then again... would the duo ever help them again, if both of them knew that they were from the same kind that haunted their dreams?

The girl, on a surface level, took it well. But there was a sense of mistrust in her eyes that made the jester curse their own continued existence. The boy still remained oblivious - he finally arrived, rushing to meet the jester with a wide smile in spite of only his red Ideya remaining unscathed once again.

---

[stinkek]

Despite something I said myself before, I watched videos about

two people climbing into tight caves, getting stuck there and dying a slow and painful death.

And I did it past 1 AM.

Hypocrite me.

[streetlamp-amber]

bad time to be claustrophobic

bruce wayne x gn!reader

word count: 2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: claustrophobia, panic attack NOTES: reader is gender neutral but it is mentioned they wear high heels

It had been two weeks since you started working for Wayne Enterprises and you were finally getting the hang of the job. At first, you felt like some sort of imposter, to be part of the famous company that overlooked the city and felt almost out of reach from every normal Gothamite. You had worked hard to get to where you were now and you deserved the stability this job brought to your life, as your roommate never failed to remind you every time you voiced out your doubts in the last weeks.

Your boss had needed you to bring some documents up to the top floor, where the CEO’s office was, and it was as you waited for an elevator to bring you down that you finally met Bruce Wayne. Of course you knew who he was – who lives in Gotham and doesn't know who Bruce Wayne is? – and you also knew of the playboy reputation he had that the gossip magazines could never get tired of. Although you had never really been interested in him before, one quick glance of the eye up and down his six feet two inches tall body was enough to determine that the media failed to describe how truly mesmerising Bruce Wayne was.

The two of you shared a brief eye contact when he came to a stop next to you in front of the elevator doors. He sent you a polite, tight lipped smile with a shy nod of his head as a form of greeting and you replicated his actions before turning your head forward again, hoping Mr. Wayne hadn’t noticed the beginning of a blush on your cheeks. You were no better than anyone after all, few could resist the natural charm that emanated from him.

The ding! of the elevator broke the silence floating in the air and Mr. Wayne, ever the gentleman, motioned with his right hand for you to step in first. He pressed the button for one of the basement floors as he entered before turning to you.

“Which floor?” He asked, and the sound of his voice caught you by surprise for a second.

“Oh! Um, sixteen,” you answered in what you hoped was a nonchalant way but was probably leaning more towards timid.

Mr. Wayne pressed on the button for your floor and the doors closed, the only noise that could be heard was the faint music of Mozart’s Horn Concerto no. 4 in E-Flat Major playing through the elevator speakers.

You watched with an anxious eye the floor numbers go down as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers, trying all your might to keep your hands down instead of divulging your embarrassing habit of biting off the skin around your nails to Bruce Wayne upon your first meeting. You hated elevators, or any kind of small closed space really, but your claustrophobia was just something you had learned (and still were learning) to live with. You usually avoided elevators, but Wayne Tower had more than thirty floors and you simply were not going to climb up all of those stairs in high heels for a bunch of documents. You could survive a minute long ride in an elevator, what’s the worst that could happen?

Well, the worst that could happen, happened.

The elevator was plunged into darkness as it shook to a stop, making you and Mr. Wayne almost lose your balance. It didn’t take more than five seconds for the lights to turn back on but the elevator wasn’t moving.

“No,” you whispered to yourself when you realised what was happening.

Mr. Wayne didn’t hear you, preoccupied with trying to get in contact with someone on his phone.

“Lucius, tell me what happened,” he spoke in an urgent tone, fearing that he was trapped in an elevator while Gotham needed his alter ego.

You were too busy trying to focus on keeping your breathing at a steady rhythm to listen to what the man on your left was saying. Everything suddenly felt hot and as you pulled on your white dress shirt in quick movements to air your torso, you started to feel like the walls were closing in on you.

“City workers were cutting a dead branch off a tree and it fell on the power lines,” Mr. Wayne explained as he closed his phone and put it back in the pocket of his suit, his eyes yet to see the state you were in. “Apparently there was some problem with the elevator when the generator turned on but a team is already wor–”

Bruce didn’t finish his sentence when he finally noticed that you weren’t listening to a single word he was saying. “Are you okay?” He asked, taking one small step closer to you.

“Yes,” you murmured, trying to sound as normal as possible. How embarrassing was it that the first time you meet the Bruce Wayne, you end up having a panic attack in front of him because of some ridiculous phobia that involves elevators.

“You’re not okay, you’re shaking,” he pointed out the obvious.

“‘S nothing,” you dismissed, clutching your shaking hands to your chest. You had your head hanging down and your eyes closed, unable to see the concerned look on Mr. Wayne’s face.

“Is there any way I can help?”

If your mind wasn't in such a frenzy, you would've heard the almost pleading tone in his voice.

“Not really,” you answered and your breathing quickened.

“Okay, okay,” he passed a hand through his hair as he tried to think about what to do. You were clearly in a state of panic and there was nothing he could do stuck in the elevator. He had to try to distract you while you waited for the team to fix the elevator.

You reached with your right hand to support yourself against the wall, the numbness in your legs making it hard for you to stand upright. Mr. Wayne was at your side in a second, holding your arms to keep you from falling.

“Let’s, let’s sit down, alright?” He suggested and you nodded your head.

He lowered the two of you to the floor and once you were sat up against the wall, he moved to sit in front of you, trying to catch your gaze.

“Hey, hey, there’s a team working on fixing the elevator as we speak, we’ll be out of here soon,” he tried to reassure you but you still wouldn’t meet his eyes. He observed the way your chest kept rising up and down rapidly and clocked that he needed to help you calm down.

“Okay, there’s this thing my… Alfred taught me when I was young. Just cross your arms over your chest and put your hands on your shoulders, can you do that?” He calmly asked you.

You nodded your head and did as he told you.

“Now I’m gonna put my hands on your knees, is that alright?”

You nodded your head once again and his large hands covered your bent knees over your charcoal dress pants.

“Alright, I’m gonna tap my hands to a rhythm, you’ll do the same with your shoulders and try to breathe along with the rhythm. Understood?”

Your distressed, teary eyes finally met his reassuring ones and in this moment, through all of the panic and the fear clouding your head, you were able to see that Bruce Wayne was a caring man under the playboy persona.

After you shook your head ‘yes’, Mr. Wayne started tapping his hands to a relaxed, steady rhythm like he told you he would. It took a minute for you to ground yourself in his eyes that never left yours and you followed his movements, tapping your hands on your shoulders to his tempo. He made a show of exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, for you to eventually fall in step with.

“You know, when I was a kid, I was playing in the garden with my friend and I fell in an old well,” he started telling you when a few minutes passed and your breathing had calmed down a little. The both of you were still continuing tapping a steady rhythm on your knees and shoulders. “I was stuck down there with a broken arm and then a colony of bats flew out of the darkness. Been scared of those creatures ever since.”

“Is that why you’re not Batman’s biggest fan?” You asked in a small voice and Bruce faintly smiled both at the secret he was keeping from all of Gotham and because he was finally hearing your voice not in a panicked state. He always made sure to make his displeasure with the caped crusader known to deter the press from making a connection between the two.

“Amongst other reasons,” he answered, one corner of his lip curling up to show you his tiny crooked grin.

The two of you stared at each other and it surprised you how easy it was to feel safe and comfortable while looking in Bruce Wayne’s eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure to meet you before,” he spoke up after a short moment of comfortable silence.

“I assure you I would’ve made a better first impression in any other circumstance,” you quickly said, eyes going wide like saucers when it sunk in that you almost had a panic attack the first time you met Bruce Wayne.

“I can tell you, this isn't even in the top twenty of the worst first impressions I’ve had,” Mr. Wayne tried to reassure you with a joke. The shy smile on your lips indicated he succeeded. “I’m Bruce, by the way.”

“I know,” you said, a little more at ease. You told him your name, to which he couldn’t help but compliment.

“How long have you been working here? I don't remember ever seeing you, and I try to say hi to all my employees at least once a month,” he asked you.

“A little more than two weeks,” you answered. “I’m in the PR department, specifically overseeing the funding of your charities.”

“You have the most important job in the company then,” Bruce grinned.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” you rolled your eyes and this time there was no way he didn’t catch the beginning of the blush on your cheeks. You could only wish your face was still flushed from your almost panic attack so it wasn’t too noticeable.

The doors of the elevator were finally pulled open, Bruce and you turning your heads in that direction at the new noise. You sighed in relief that you could finally escape this cage of nightmare and both Mr. Wayne and the maintenance guy helped you slide out of the elevator, which only offered a thirty centimetres tall opening since it got stuck before it could reach the floor below.

Once Bruce had also gotten out, he ignored the assistant who had been assigned by her superior to catch him up on what he missed while being stuck in the elevator to instead talk to you.

“You know, if you want to take the rest of the day off, it’ll be no problem,” he told you, lowering his voice so only the two of you could hear. “I’ll vouch for you, make sure you don’t get in any trouble.”

“That’s very kind of you Mr. Wayne–”

“Bruce,” he interrupted you, though his tone was warm and friendly. “Please, call me Bruce.”

“Thank you, Bruce, I really appreciate the concern.” You were still a little unsettled by the events and when you usually would push through whatever sickness or weakness to make it to work, this time you didn’t fight off the chance to relax and recover.

“Gotta make sure my most important employee is well rested and of sound mind to do the job,” he smiled at you and you smiled back at him. “I have to go back to my duties, but I’ll be seeing you around.” Bruce said goodbye to you and you waved at him until his back was turned on you.

The first thing you did when you got back home to your apartment was search for a good pair of affordable running shoes to help you climb the stairs of Wayne Tower comfortably until you were ready to get in an elevator again.

And ever since that day, Bruce made sure that the elevators were inspected once every week.

[charred-angel-ribs]

The brainrot is going to kill me someday /nsrs

anyone else has ever thought about how ctommy MUST HAVE at least once, venture deeper into the cavesystem below pogtopias main ravine?

ive always assumed thye found at least 1 underground waterway to supply technos farm .. wilbur doesnt strike me as a big caving guy, i dont think the confunsigly layed out dark passages really helped the paranoia. tommy himself being claustrofobic also doenst seem like a big cave fan to me. its pretty much canon that he hated pogtopia cus of how stuffy it was

but when they where alone,before techno before anyone else, and wilbur was spiraling and they needed resources tommy would have 100 percent offered himself to go exploring.. just saying

he HATEDDD it for the most part, but he found looking at the odd rock formations mesmerizing and if he ever did find anything usefull thatll surely help him and wilbur get out of here faster right

what im trying to say is: im losing my mind

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Touch Me I'm Going to Scream

Seungcheol and Y/N have never been friends. Never, not even when they started training at their new jobs on the same day. They’re competitive and they love to correct each other’s work in a brutal fashion. That’s what keeps them at work late one Thursday night.

Pairing: Seungcheol x female reader

Genres: enemies to lovers, smut, office au

Word count: 5k

TW/CW: MDNI, this contains explicit smut and no mention of protection. If you have some claustrophobia, this one might not be for you.

Y/N hates Choi Seungcheol. That’s the only explanation for why her head feels like it’s about to burst. She hates him for how massive his ego is. She hates him for how smug he is everytime he can one-up her. And she hates how she can’t read his fucking handwriting. 

That’s the biggest thing right now. The report he’s slapped onto her keyboard is redlined brutally, but she can’t make out a single word of what he’s written in the margins. It’s like he does it on purpose when he’s assigned to proof-reading something for her. His handwriting is perfectly legible on a whiteboard when it’s his turn to lead team meetings.

He’s already plopping back into his chair to continue spinning his pen between his fingers. That’s what he was doing before Y/N had slapped the report draft on his desk thirty minutes ago. While he was bleeding all over this report, she was busy working on another one. For some reason, her workload was more than his this week, as it often is. 

Y/N throws the report back down on her desk tempermentally, glaring at him cross the double cubicle. “You could at least make it legible. I don’t know what the fuck any of this says, Seungcheol.”

“We’ve worked together for four years, Y/N. You should know how to read it by now,” he replies boredly, not even bothering to turn his chair to face her. But she can see the smirk in his profile. Ugh.

Y/N huffs, rubbing her tired eyes. Her makeup is long gone, save few for a few crusts of mascara. It’s nearly 10pm and the two reports that have been cycled between them are due tomorrow, along with a presentation. Which reminds her. She whips around to him. “The least you could do is start the slide deck. The finalized graphics are in the shared folder.”

“Slide deck is pretty much done,” he says, still sounding bored. “Just waiting on you to fix your wording so I can add it to the slides.”

Y/N resists the urge to bang her head against the keyboard. It would do as much good as trying to understand his handwriting. But she refuses to ask him for help. She only asks him to markup and review things for her because it’s part of his job description, same as hers. 

They’re both junior team leads for their department. The company’s structure attracted her initially when she accepted the role. Each department has a senior team lead, but this senior team lead is supposed to hand down assignments for the juniors to deliver. There are two of them because they believe in learning through collaboration here. 

She liked the idea until she met Seungcheol on her first day. His competitiveness killed any sense of teamwork. 

Y/N puts on her glasses and squints at the paper, making the edits that she believes make sense. She knows he’s not dumb, far from it. If he’s marked something up, that means it needs some attention. She just doesn’t always know what kind of attention, so she guesses. 

With some satisfaction, Y/N slaps the report fresh off the printer onto Seungcheol’s desk. She walks away before she smacks him when he grins, “So you can read.”

“But you can’t write. Work on that so I can bleed all over your report next time.” 

“But you’re so good at it. That’s why you get stuck with so many reports and I get stuck with all the slide decks and presentations.” 

The comment burns her up inside. She must not be so good at it if he bleeds all over the pages everytime she hands him something to review. And the slide decks and presenations are a sore spot for her. He’s far better at public speaking than she is, but everytime they step foot in the conference room, it looks like Seungcheol’s done all of the work. She doesn’t reply to him and she hears the pen click behind her. 

When he hands it back to her, there are only a few markups, and those have blessedly legible notes. Maybe he’s in a rush to get out of here. She makes the edits quickly and prints the copies for the meeting tomorrow. She’s done asking him to review it. It’s gone through three editing cyles and it will be never be perfect enough for him, but it’s nearly midnight now. She opens the slide deck as soon as he drops it into the shared folder, and a single flip through has her shrugging. Good enough. This is his part of the job anyway.

Without any announcement, they stand up at the same time, gathering their things. Despite their constant arguing, they do have a system and can read each other after four years. Y/N rushes to the elevator, pressing the button. Seungcheol strolls leisurely behind her. “Hot date or something?” He teases. 

“More like a hot bath,” Y/N huffs. “What the hell kind of date would start at midnight?” Seungcheol gives her a suggestive look and she scoffs. “I see. Go have fun with that.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. They step in and Seungcheol presses the button for the first floor lobby. The doors slide closed and Y/N is so tired that the little vibration of the elevator gliding down nearly puts her to sleep standing up, kind of like a car ride would. 

Until it lurches violently to a stop. Y/N grips the railing and curses, wide awake again. They’re on the 8th floor, not the first. And the doors don’t open. 

“What the fuck?” Seungcheol hisses, stabbing at the button for the first floor. When it does nothing, he stabs at the buttons for any other floor. He sighs, glancing over at Y/N. “Stairs it is.” He peels back the doors and… there’s a wall. They’re stuck somewhere between the 7th and 8th floor.

He’s cursing loudly now and Y/N has put her head in her hands. “Security should still be here,” he mumbles, stabbing at the alarm button a few times. The blaring is short and shrill and when he steps back they wait in silence. But Seungcheol’s impatient. Minutes pass and he periodically presses the button. Nothing.

Next, he presses the emergency call button. A dial tone rings in the small speaker on the panel. It rings, and rings, and rings. When they hear a robotic ‘Disconnected’, they both curse. Y/N pulls out her phone. Their swearing is becoming creative because neither of them have signal. 

“Might as well get comfortable,” Y/N sighs. Seungcheol doesn’t listen, repeatedly trying the alarm and call buttons. 

~

It’s nearly 1am and they’re both sitting on the floor of the elevator, facing each other with their legs stretched out. “This is your fault,” Y/N mutters in the silence. 

Seungcheol’s head snaps up from the metal wall, pinning her with a glare. “My fault? Write a good fucking report and we wouldn’t have been here all night.”

“The report was fine. What kept us here so late was you bleeding all over my pages,” Y/N said, monotone. This is an old argument and she can’t find the usual energy to give to it. Normally, she gets fired up as soon as he opens his mouth, but she’s exhaused.

Seungcheol scoffs. “As if you haven’t ripped apart my slide decks before.”

“That was deserved. You slapped some graphics on it that made no sense. And who leaves the background plain and white? Pick a fucking theme, there are hundreds to choose from,” Y/N finds herself heating, despite her tiredness. 

“I told you, it distracts from the graphics,” Seungcheol cries, standing up to pace the small space. He’s been a pacer since day one. It’s something he can’t help it when they argue.

“It’s lazy. Pick anything but white and move on. Or better yet, use the template the media departement constantly asks us to use,” Y/N is standing too now. She doesn’t like that he can hover over her. She still has to look up at him when she’s standing, but it’s better than the looming he can do if she’s still sitting down.

“Nothing is ever good enough for you,” Seungcheol hisses.

“It isn’t for you either,” Y/N bites, getting into his face to stab a finger into his chest. “How many red fucking pens have you gone through in four years? And then you turn around in the presentation that I gave you the content for and give me no credit.”

“What are you talking about?” Seungcheol raises his voice. “Your name is always right there next to mine. Get up and present it yourself tomorrow if you want all the credit so badly.”

“What? So you can ream me out later for how poorly I did? No thanks.”

He’s closing in on her, crowding her space, fuming. She backs up into the elevator wall only because she has nowhere else to go. But she’s not scared of him, never has been. She’s angry. 

“Try not to stutter in front of the entire board then,” Seungcheol shouts. “You’re supposed to be the fucking expert, so act like it and say literally anything with some confidence.”

“We’re both supposed to be experts, Seungcheol! We have the same title and job description. Yet I’m stuck with all the grunt work so you can waltz into the conference room, throw up a slide deck, and dazzle them with your charm.” She’s stabbing him in the chest again with her finger. 

“Then get some fucking charm, Y/N. Stop blaming me for that,” Seungcheol hisses, face close to hers. 

She glares back at him. “I hate you so much.”

The words seem to make his eyes harder. “The feeling’s mutual.” Then his lips are slamming into her. His hands find her hips roughly and Y/N’s hand find his tie, tugging hard. He folds to her height, hands groping fast. Her waist, her back, her breasts, her ass. His hands fly to the buttons of her shirt and she smacks them away, pushing him back hard. 

“Don’t you dare rip it,” Y/N scolds, her fingers loosening the top buttons. 

His fingers smack hers away this time and he’s quickly unbuttoning them down to her stomach.”You’re too slow,” he scolds back against her lips, hands tugging the material out of her skirt. 

When his hands land on her bare stomach, she hisses and wants to smack him at how satisfied he looks at the sound. “Don’t get cocky yet. I doubt you’ll be able to make me come.”

Something shifts in his eyes. He’s still angry, but he likes the challenge. “I’ll make you eat your words.” He spins her to face the metal wall, but her whole body isn’t there for long. His hands roughly tug out her hips, leaving her upper body against the cool metal. He’s shimmying up her tight skirt and she can barely adjust to the chill before a hard smack lands on one of her ass. A gasp flies out of her mouth and she hates how wet she is already. His hand gropes at the reddened spot, repeating the process a few times. He leans in close to her ear. “Still think I can’t do it?”

Y/N tastes blood from how hard she’s biting her tongue. “Yes,” she hisses. 

He releases a dark chuckle, and his hands are crawling across her body. He pushes her hair to the side, burying his face in her neck. The kisses and love bites are a distraction as he pulls her upperbody away to shove her bra up, roughly groping her breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers. She’s already keening when his other hand slides between her legs. He doesn’t hesitate to pull the string of the thong to the side and bury two fingers in her heat immediately. The intrusion makes her cry out and he’s chuckling into her neck again.

“For someone who hates me, you’re dripping, sweetheart,” he says patronizingly. 

“Still hate you, but your hands and mouth aren’t bad,” Y/N bites but it’s losing any strength she had before. His fingers are pumping fast and the fingers on her nipple have her mind scrambling. She struggles to keep her reactions under control because she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He sucks on her neck, surely leaving a mark, but she doesn’t stop him because the feeling has her clenching on his fingers. “I offer more than my hands and mouth, but you’ll have to be a good girl and come on my fingers first before you can find out.”

Y/N wants to be strong. She’s determined not to let him have so much power of her body, but his hand slides from her breast to her neck, gripping lightly. She clenches hard at the touch and he’s kissing her cheek patronizingly. “Sweetheart, I had no idea you liked it like this. We could have been doing this for the last four years?” His fingers flex against her neck as the ones inside her curl, making her eyes roll back a bit. “All the late nights here over the years that I could have taken you on your desk after everyone left? Or have you on your knees for me? All the missed opportunities.” His lips find hers and it’s shockingly soft compared to what his hands are doing to her body. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come all over my fingers.” 

She hates how everything about him makes her shake, orgasm slamming into her. He’s groaning into her ear, hand tightening around her throat. His fingers keep a brutal pace inside of her until she’s hurtling towards another orgasm before really recovering from the first one. It makes tears prick her eyes when she comes again and he sees them. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry just yet. You haven’t even had my cock yet.” 

He’s pulling away from her and she clings to the railing on unsteady legs. He grabs her hips, hands still rough as he turns her around. He lowers to his knees in front of her and her eyes widen. But she doesn’t have time to think about it because he’s yanking her thong down her legs, helping her out of it. Then he’s throwing one of her legs over his shoulders. “Seungcheol, what are you -“ Her question cuts off with a gasp as his tongue laps at her intently. She’s already so sensitive that it makes her whole body jerk. She grips the railing with one hand and and the other flies to his hair, gripping the locks hard. But she knows he’s doing most of the work holding her up. 

Three fingers are sliding into her and she can barely wrap her head around the stretch before he’s lapping at her clit. The intensity makes her climb fast, coming hard again. He doesn’t pull away and she realizes he’s going for another one. She yanks his head back hard by the hair. “No. Fuck me now.”

He’s smirking hard at the demand as he tosses her leg off his shoulder, standing up. When he kisses her and she can taste herself on him and it makes her clumsily reach for his belt, ripping it open. He lets her, still smirking against her lips. 

Y/N smirks at him instead when her hand wraps around his cock, because he’s gasping softly against her lips. “Sweetheart, for someone who hates me, you’re pretty hard.” The fire in his eyes is back when she throws his words back at him and Y/N is glad to see it. It means she’s getting under his skin just as much he gets under hers. “I thought you said you’d have me crying on your cock. Was that all talk?”

“You drive me insane,” he grates, voice deep and scratchy. His hands are roughly turning her again, pushing her to her previous position, upper body pressed against the cool metal wall and lower body pulled out, back arched. He kicks her legs apart and his cock presses into the plush of her ass. “You talk too fucking much.” He grips his cock, sliding the head of it into her folds repeatedly and it has her sighing. “Dripping like a faucet for some one you hate. Letting someone you hate make you come over and over. All but demanding for someone you hate to fuck you. Make up your mind, sweetheart. Do you really hate me?” The head of his cock notches into her opening and the stretch is teasing.

Y/N glares over her shoulder. “Yes. Now change my mind.”

He slams into her and she cries out loudly. He sits deep inside her and stays there. There’s something sweet about how his hand brushes back her hair and he kisses her cheek, like he’s letting her adjust for a second. But then he opens his mouth. “Beg for it.”

“No way,” Y/N spits in his face. “Your ego is way too big already.”

“We have all night, sweetheart,” he coos. “Security doesn’t show up until 6am. I can stand here all night inside of you if I have to.” His hand creeps up to her her breast, teasing lighly, refusing to give her any of the impact she craves. She squirms in his arms and he’s chuckling again, holding her still. “Come on, Y/N. I’ll give you exactly what you want, but all you have to do is say please.” He presses light kisses to her neck.

Y/N huffs. “Why do you always have to win? Why can’t you ever let me have what I want?” 

“I’m selfish when it comes to you,” he mutters into her ear. “You drive me up the wall. You’re so fucking beautfiul, but you open your mouth and tell me how much you hate me. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to resist you for the last four years?” He’s smirking against her skin because he can feel how she clenches at his words. “Maybe you do. I’ve seen how you squeeze your legs together sometimes and squirm in your seat when I come over to your desk. Tell me, were you wet all of those times, even when I didn’t touch you?”

He’s right and she can taste blood in her mouth again from biting her tongue. The smell of his cologne lingering behind her is enough any day. He keeps going, hand skating around to lay flat across her stomach. “It’s okay if it did. You make me rock hard at the most inconvenient times. I’ve thought about bending you over my desk at least a dozen times.” Another gentle press of his lips to her cheek. “Would you like that? Me pounding your cute little cunt?”

“I don’t know. Try it out and I’ll let you know,” Y/N bites. She feels his fingers flex against her stomach at the dare. “I won’t be begging until you make me.”

“Such a smart mouth,” he tsks. “Have it your way.” He slides out of her and her head falls back at the drag against her walls. Then he’s slamming back into her, the force making her bump back into the wall. His fingers crawl into her hair, tugging her head back. His pace is hard and fast and it has her seeing stars. There’s a bit of an ego boost for her in how he’s groaning into her ear loudly. “Fuck, can’t believe I waited this long. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The words have her clenching hard around him and he hums in her ear. “Like when I talk nicely to you? Not used to it?”

Y/N doesn’t really have an answer for him because she doesn’t know how to take anything he’s doing right now. The feeling of him hitting her cervix is overwhelming and the praise makes her chest warm. “You look sweet when you aren’t mouthing off to me. I'll give you whatever you want as long as you look like this. Just tell me.”

“More,” Y/N mumbles weakly. He doesn’t comment on how that’s dangerously close ot begging, but instead speeds up to a nearly impossible pace. It has her crying out, tears rushing out of her eyes. He cranks her head to face his again, gripping her throat tight. “Fingers.” This one is another plea disguised as a demand, and the hand on her stomach starts sliding down but she shakes her head rapidly, grabbing at the hand on her throat. She takes two of his fingers into her mouth and he’s groaning loudly now, curses echoing against the walls. His fingers press into her mouth roughly and she gags a bit, but it’s exactly what she needs to fall over the edge, coming harder than she ever has. Her mouth falls open and it makes the orgasm drag out even more that he doesn’t remove his fingers right away. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Can I come inside of you, sweetheart? Please?”

She’s coming again at his desparate tone, but not before saying ‘yes’ around his fingers. As abruptly as he started earlier, he halts deep inside of her, fingers popping out of her mouth to grip her shoulder and pressing his face into her neck with a broken moan. They stay like that for a long time, trying to catch their breath. When he finally pulls out, Y/N can’t help a whimper and he gives a soft apology. He gently turns her, redressing her with care. He guides the thong back up her legs into place, and flips her wrinkled skirt back down, doing his best to smooth out the material. Then his fingers deftly button her shirt back up, helping her tuck the edges back in. 

The gentle touches make her eyes leak again and she wipes them away, smoothing down her hair. He’s watching her with an expression that she doesn’t understand because she’s never seen it before. It unnerves her because this is the sobering moment that she realizes what they’ve just done. 

Rather than thinking about it, she reaches out to zip and button his pants, then buckling the belt back up. Then she’s smoothing down the wrinkles in his shirt and tie and straightening his hair up. He lets her. 

~

It’s 4am when they try the alarm and call buttons again. Just like before, there’s no response and they come to terms with the fact that they’ll have to wait until security comes in at 6am. So Seungcheol and Y/N sit next to each other against the metal wall, shoulders touching. She’s been dozing off against him when he speaks up, breaking the silence. “I don’t hate you.”

Y/N feels herself tense, slowly raising her head to look at him. He’s got his eyes closed. “You don’t?”

“No,” he sighs. “You seemed to hate me right off the bat when we started here. We were already fighting on our second day. I didn’t know what I did, and eventually it just made me mad. But I don’t hate you. I never did.”

Y/N smiles a little, looking away from him as she leans her head back to match his pose. “I don’t hate you either. You frustrate me to no end, particularly because of how our work is divided, but I don’t hate you.”

It sounds like Seungcheol starts to say something, but there’s suddenly yelling outside of the elevator shaft. A few minutes later, they’re stepping out of the elevator on the 7th floor to face a very apologetic technician. “My damn phone died,” he said lamely. “I hope you guys weren’t here for too long.” He seems to know the answer already, but Seungcheol and Y/N shrug and wish him a good night, or rather a good morning. 

They’re parked a couple spots from one another in the lot and Seungcheol simply tells her to get home safe. He waits for her to pull out onto the road before he backs out of his spot. 

~

9am comes early. Y/N rushes into the office to throw her stuff into her cubicle and grab the reports on the corner of her desk. Seungcheol’s computer is locked but still lit up, so he must already be here. She finds him in the conference room, schmoozing the execs that they’re presenting to today. No one really acknowledges her as she takes a seat off to the side, pulling out her notepad. 

Seungcheol glances at his watch during a lapse in conversation. “Let’s get started. I’m sure all of you have busy schedules.” 

Y/N glances at the slide deck that was built last night and a small change catches her eye. Report and content by Lee Y/N. Presentation by Choi Seungcheol. He’s making a joke about forgiving him if he looks a little tired because he spent half the night stuck in the elevator, but she barely hears the chuckles becaue she’s blinking back tears. He gave her credit.

Blessedly, the exec team has very few questions following the presentation and compliments her report while looking directly at her. Back at her desk, she falls into her chair, sighing. She’s squinting with tired eyes to read her email when a mug is placed in front of her. Seungcheol simply says, “A little cream and three sugars.” Her eyes follow him as he walks to his side of the double cubicle and sits down, logging into his computer. 

She wants to say something to him - about the change to the slide deck, or the fact that she didn’t know he knew how she took her coffee, or about last night in the elevator, but her phone rings and they’re being called into another meeting. Seungcheol makes sure she takes her coffee with her.

~

Seungcheol waits for her to gather her things right at 5pm. They pass by the elevator bay without a word and head to the stairwell. Somewhere around the 5th floor, Seungcheol turns to her. “Hot date tonight?” His tone is a little teasing.

Y/N scoffs. “Yeah, that hot bath that I didn’t get to have last night. My rushed shower this morning didn’t cut it.” Seungcheol chuckles. “What about you? Hot date tonight?”

“Not unless it’s with you.”

She nearly misses a step and his hand flies out to her waist to steady her. They’ve stopped somewhere between the 4th and 5th floor. “What?” He’s standing on the step below her and they’re basiclaly eye to eye. She’s perplexed when he looks a little sheepish.

“I would have asked you on our first day four years ago, but you were mean to me.”

She shoves at his shoulder and he barely moves. “You were mean first.”

Seungcheol laughs. “Maybe,” he admits, both hands holding her waist. “What do you think? Do you still hate me too much to go on a date with me right now?”

Y/N laughs too. “No, I think I might even like you a little bit now.”

[phatkochi]

Nvm, here's a few art pieces and doodles I've done during my hiatus. No digital art in the mean time 😭

Also bonus Character AI moments (cw//claustrophobia mention)

Ougghhh I can't help myself a lot of stuff online has gotten me too giddy lol

[skzstannie]

"Just Breathe"

SKZ -> Minho x GN!reader

genre: exes to ??, hurt/comfort, angsty wc: ~1,200 cw: brief descriptions of a panic attack, reader has claustrophobia but it's not directly mentioned

summary: After a nasty breakup, you're hoping to never see Minho again. However, when your stuck in an uncomfortable situation, Minho is right by your side yet again.

A/N: Well hello again! It's been forever, so I thank you for being so patient. School has been stressful as ever (I'm actually procrastinating as I write this), but I wanted to get something out to you guys even if it's short and kinda shitty (but oh well). I have a few requests, and once school eases up, I'll get right on them! Just want to make sure they're good quality.

Not proofread (oops)

Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

"What I wouldn't give to live in a different apartment complex right now," you sigh, standing as you wait for the elevator.

The elevators have had a vendetta against you all week, and you've been trying to not let it get to you, but after waiting for the fifth minute with no luck, your patience starts to run a little thin.

Taking the stairs is always an option, however, you live on the 15th floor, and 30 flights of stairs is certainly not for the weak. You would know, as yesterday you took the alternative route. It left you a sweaty mess with sore limbs and blisters on the back of your heels, something you're not looking to experience on the daily.

Finally, the elevator dings, signaling it's arrival, and you pick your bag up from the floor. A load of people step out the elevator, explaining why it took so long to arrive. You step in, turning to press your floor. The doors begin to close, but a hand sticks itself in to the gap before they close all the way. Your eyes narrow at the person before they're even in your view, upset that you're once again behind held up.

All you want is to go upstairs and lay on your couch to take a nap.

What sliver of patience you had left in you quickly diminishes once you see who has stopped the elevator.

Lee freaking Minho, your ex. Things didn't exactly end well between the two of you. There were multiple accusations of cheating going around about the both of you, and neither of you were putting enough trust in the other person. He thought he was the one to end it, and you thought you were the one to end it- so things didn't end on a very concise note. Not that you were complaining; after the blowout fight you two had, you were hoping to never see him again. This was unlikely though, as he lived in the same apartment complex as you.

His eyes widen upon seeing your agitated stance, and he scoffs when you roll your eyes. You hope for a moment he'll just turn around and walk out upon seeing you, but your heat drops when he doesn't. In fact, he has the audacity to even ask you to press his floor.

"17, please," he smirks at you, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

"What, you can't reach over there yourself?"

"No can do sweetheart, you know I'm not one for unnecessary movements," he snaps back, leaning back against the cool elevator wall.

You scowl at him before relenting, reaching over to press his floor for him.

It's silent for a moment, and you relish in the peace of not having to hear him run his mouth. All good things must come to an end, unfortunately.

"You know, if you keep scowling like that it might stick forever," he comments, crossing his arms over his chest. You once might've fawned at the way his shirt tightens around his chest and arms, but the only emotion you feel now is annoyance.

"I'm sure you know from experience, right?" you shoot back, keeping your head facing forward as to not give him any satisfaction.

Just try to ignore him.

You can see out of your periphery how he rolls his eyes, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to busy himself.

You breath a little easier upon seeing he's going to leave you alone now, and you bring yourself to watch the different floors pass as the elevator goes up.

You watch as you hit floor 10, then suddenly the elevator jerks to a stop. You stumble a bit, not expecting the jolt. The number disappears, and the elevator, once lit with the overhead light, turns pitch black.

Your breathing immediately picks up, and you crouch on the floor to try and ground yourself.

"Y/N?" Minho says, his voice shaky and apprehensive.

"Shut up," you tell him, focusing on trying not to hyperventilate.

"It'll be fine," he says, trying to reassure both you and him, "I'll just press the emergency button, and hopefully they'll have it up and running again soon."

You don't respond. You bring your hands up into your hair, subconsciously tugging at the strands roughly. You squeeze your eyes tightly, anything to distract from the panic bubbling up through your chest.

You feel a hand rest gently on your back, but you immediately push it away. as if it's burned you. Minho's brought out his flashlight from his phone, illuminating the elevator in a soft glow.

"Don't touch me," you rasp out, falling back onto your bottom. You bring your knees up to your chest, burying your head between them.

"You need to calm down, you're going to give yourself a panic attack."

While you'd love to scream at him, tell him that he's not allowed to comfort you anymore. That he's not allowed to tell you what to anymore. That he had his chance to be a good boyfriend, but he threw it away.

You wish you could tell him all those things. Scream in his face, tell him how badly he'd hurt you. He'd hurt you bot only by accusing you of cheating on him, but also with hanging out with your ex-best friend, someone he knew had hurt you very badly in the past, enough for you to cut all ties with her.

While this is what you wanted to do, you know your body needed something different.

Throughout your relationship, Minho was your rock. Through thick and thin, he'd always been there for you. Every accomplishment, every set back. Every celebration, and, in turn, every panic attack. Unfortunately, the latter happened more frequently than you'd like to admit, and he'd gotten quite good over the years at comforting you through them.

So, deciding to listen to what you knew your body needed, you gave in.

"Please just hold me," it came out as a whisper, but Minho had no problem hearing you over the silence encompassing the elevator.

While you were having your own internal battle, Minho was also contemplating his options.

He knew if he held you, if he comforted you, all those emotions he'd suppressed for the last few months would resurface. He'd worked so hard to get his life back on track, all for you to inadvertently ask him to throw it all away.

In his heart, he knew what he needed to do. It was the just the two of you in this elevator, and he'd be a monster to tell you no, especially since he knew what would happen if he did.

So, with that, he quickly dropped down onto the floor. He wrapped his strong arms around you, and immediately you felt the panic begin to subside. It was amazing what this presence could do to your fragile mind in times like these; it never failed to amaze you.

You leaned your head against his chest, taking slow and deliberate breaths to try and slow your heartrate down.

"That's it. You're ok, we'll get out of here. Just breathe." He let his arms tighten around you, and he realizes just how much he missed having you in his arms. How natural it felt for him to comfort you in this way.

"I'll get you out of here."

[enmi-land]

౨ৎ ROUGH PATCH

──── 𝗂𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺’𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄.

2024 pairing. poly!ot7엔하 x fem!member oc cw. illness & injury, fan mobbing, claustrophobia, brief mention of suspected violence, not proofread req. mila hiding bruises from the boys. ❨ back to LIBRARY ?! ❩

IT WAS LIKE DEJA VU. Mila had foolishly that maybe she would be able to go one day without the feeling of being suffocated — without feeling like her head was held underwater and her hands were tied behind her back. She hadn’t learned her lesson: to never underestimate the power of her fans.

“Out of the way!” Mila’s manager held an arm around her shoulder, keeping her as close as possible to avoid the hands that reached out to her. And yet, it was fruitless — she could feel them on her clothes, on her hair, any part of her that they could touch. She jolted when one of them landed dangerously low on her back, and she resisted the urge to cry as another managed to grab her arm with a death grip, before her manager was able to pull her away.

There was no room to breathe. The parking lot felt no bigger than an elevator, with people crowding her and her staff in from all sides. A flash of a camera caused her to flinch, and the sounds of people screaming her name overlapped each other and became loud ringing in her ears. The heat of her body was not cooled by the perspiration that slid down the skin of her neck and face, but instead served to suffocate her more as it dampened her clothes. Her limbs felt like lead weighing her down and even breathing became difficult to do.

Mila could feel her eyelids start to drop. Her manager’s arm tightened around her as her legs became weak, threatening to buckle under her weight.

How ironic, she thought. She came to the doctor’s to get better, but it looked like doing so was only going to make her health worse.

“Move out of the way! Get away!”

Mila stumbled as fans pushed into each other, before tripping over each other’s limbs and falling to the asphalt. There was more screaming and flashing cameras, but at least this time Mila was able to see the company van through the mob, just a few feet away. She could make it. She just had to hold on a little bit longer.

But she could feel herself slipping away, black spots covering her vision, her breaths short and shallow. She could vaguely hear the sound of her manager was opening the door, covering her back as she stepped into the vehicle and telling her something. But she couldn’t quite make out the words, his voice muffled like she was underwater and water was filling her ears. It took everything in her just to make the step into the backseat, before she was collapsing onto the leather seat.

The last thing Mila saw before she let her eyes fall shut was the sight of flashing cameras, against the tinted windows, and the screams of her name.

By the time Mila woke up, it was to the sound of muffled voices and the feeling of someone softly caressing her hair.

“What did the doctor say?” came Kiara’s voice.

A sigh that Mila recognised as her manager’s followed his question. “She’s feeling weak from over exertion. She has a Vitamin C deficiency, which is why she’s alway getting tired recently…”

Heeseung exhaled deeply through his nose. “And what about those people who crowded her at the doctor’s building? What happened to them?”

There was a pause. “You know we can’t do anything about them.”

“What sort of bullsh—”

Mila chose that moment to let her eyes flutter open to see Jongseong’s gentle eyes as they regarded her awakened state. “Hi, Angel.”

Mila groaned, unable to form words. Before she could say anything, Jongseong was being nudged aside by Heeseung, who took his place by her bedside, eyes full of worry as his hand gently cradled her face. In another situation. “How are you feeling? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Mila furrowed her eyebrows. Ah, Mila thought. Right. She had been mobbed by a group of fans at her doctor’s appointment, which the public should have even been aware of. She took a second to gather her surroundings: she was in her room and lying in bed, meaning she must have been carried inside. She still felt heavy, but at least the migraine from when she was being surrounded by manic fans had subsided. She could acutely feel pain in her limbs, but she brushed it off as being a side effect of overexerting herself.

She shook her head, smiling gently at the older male. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Heeseung sighed in relief, before bidding his head. “Okay. Then gets me sleep, okay? I’ll be here with Jongseong if you need anything.”

Mila hummed. But she couldn’t muster the strength to reply. It didn’t even take a second after she closed her eyes before she fell into darkness again. But even then, she could still recognise the voices of her boyfriends and her eonnie as they spoke to each other.

“I should have gone with her…”

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen, Heeseung-ah. Don’t blame yourself.”

Mila wanted to agree, to reassure him and let him know that he wasn’t to blame — that Mila was simply having a bad day. But she couldn’t. She was already fading into deep slumber before she could utter a word.

Mila was alone when she opened her eyes again. But she couldn’t feel upset about it — not when pain shot up her limbs when she tried to sit up, an ache spreading through her body. She winced, clutching her side, only to flinch back when the pressure caused another age of pain to shoot up her body.

“What even?” Mila cursed as she lifted her top, only to spot a large purple bruise blooming across her ribs. Figures. Her Vitamin C deficiency would have made her vulnerable to bruising, and the fan mobbing from earlier was more than enough stimulus to cause injury — what, with all the limbs falling everywhere as she tried to make her way through the crowd, barely conscious.

She pulled up her pyjama sleeve. More bruises. She pulled up the leg of her pants — and of course, there were even more. And when she looked at the spots, she could still feel the phantom touches lingering on her — especially the ones that had gotten too close for comfort. It was like there wasn’t a single part of her body that remained unaffected by the wondering hands of total strangers that were doing everything in their power to get as close as physically possible.

And for what? What could they have possibly gained from it? (She shuddered to think about what would happen if there was someone there with evil intentions.)

Mila sighed. She thought she would have been more frustrated… But she couldn’t even find the strength to do so. All she could do was lie back down on her pillows, staring up at the ceiling as she pondered her situation.

It seemed like nothing was going her way these past few days. She had back to back promotions to attend to, including filming for a variety show and a radio talk show, followed immediately by an opening event, and then another photoshoot for her brand endorsements. She barely managed to make it through the past week, but now the exhaustion she felt from constantly working, day in and day out, caught up to her, and she found herself unable to even lift a spoon without faltering.

It was frustrating. Not being able to do what she usually did, feeling helpless as she watched her boyfriends run around and attempt to assist her with duties that she should have been able to do on her own. But it was even more annoying after today, hearing Heeseung blame himself for something that was never his fault.

She wished that she hadn’t gotten sick in the first place. She wished that she’d have been more resilient. But now she was causing everyone to worry about her, and she didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they found out about the bruises that were littered across her skin.

“Who is it?” Mila squinted her eyes. She woke up in the middle of the night when she felt another figure slip into her bed, before arms wrapped around her. She smiled when she realised who it was. “It’s just me.”

“It’s just me,” Riki whispered. “The hyungs said not to disturb you but I missed you.”

Mila hummed as she reached up and caressed the top of the younger male’s head, doing her best to make sure his arms didn’t come into contact with her bruises. It had been a while since she was able to cuddle, and she admitted that she missed the warmth that the tall boy provided.

“Are you doing okay?”

Mila nodded, biting back a wince when Riki hugged her closer to him. “I’m fine.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. And there was only so long before it became obvious.

“Yah, what’s this?” Mila was jolted out of her thoughts when a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling up the sleeve of her jumper to reveal spots of blue littered across the length of her pale skin. Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes snapping to Mila’s for an explanation. “Where did this come from?”

Mila had been careful not to let anyone see the injuries that she discovered on herself, and she had thought she would at least be able to keep up the act until they faded. But as it happened, it hadn’t even been a day. And really, she should have expected as much — nothing escaped her boyfriend’s notice when it came to her. It only took her flinching slightly when Sunghoon gently squeezed her bicep before his eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

Mila opened her mouth to explain, not wanting him to worry, but instead, she ended up getting cut off by someone else.

“What’s wrong?” Jungwon peered over Sunghoon’s shoulder, before gasping, his eyes widening in shock. They scanned over her skin before landing on Mila’s face. Voice shaking, he asked, “Noona, what are these?”

“I just got them from bumping into people,” Mila said hurriedly, recognising the tone in his voice. “It’s nothing serious.”

��‘Nothing serious?’” Sunghoon repeated incredulously as he joined the others. By now, the others had crowded around Mila to get a look at what was happening, and all had been in shock to see the bruises on Mila’s arm, before it then shifted into worry… and perhaps, maybe even fear.

Heeseung had a stern expression. He lifted her arm slightly, though still careful not to pull too hard or for his fingers to accidentally apply pressure to the purple spots. “This doesn’t seem ‘serious’ to you?” His eyes bore into Mila with a desperation evident in his gaze, serving as a thin veil to his anger. (Not towards her, though — and that was honestly more worrisome.) “Answer me properly: who did this?”

Mila opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn’t sense any anger in his voice or his tone, instead all she could find was panic — and the look made something in her gut drop with guilt. She could briefly see Riki’s conflicted expression from where he stood behind Heeseung, and Sunoo looked as if he had seen a ghost.

She felt hands on her face, bringing her attention back to Jongseong. “Please,” he said, “don’t hide this from us.”

Mila sighed. “I don’t know… There were just too many people there, and I didn’t know who was who…” The boys were silent as the words sunk in. “But it wouldn’t have been this bad if it weren’t for my Vitamin C deficit. It wasn’t that anyone intentionally hurt me or anything… I just happen to bruise easily these days.”

There was a pause. For a second, Mila thought she was going to be scolded, but instead, she was pulled into a firm chest, as a large palm cradled the back of her head. Jaeyun was careful not to hold her too tightly, but still firmly enough that Mila was engulfed in his warmth. “Damn it, don’t scare us like that.”

Heeseung sighed, reaching up to hold a hand against his forehead. Jungwon glanced at him before looking back at Mila. “Next time, please don’t hide this from us,” he said with a frown. “I honestly thought my heart stopped for a second.”

Sunoo furrowed his eyebrows, his worried eyes skimming over Mila’s revealed skin. There weren’t any words to describe how much his heart hurt seeing Mila’s sickened state these past few days, but seeing those bruises had caused his heart to drop in his stomach in fear — a fear he recognised on the day they got the news of the mob who crowded her on her way back from her doctor’s appointment.

He wasn’t the only one, either. They had all reached a similar conclusion: What if someone really got their hands her that day? What if they hurt her? What if — goodness forbid — she had been alone that day and didn’t have anyone by her side? No bodyguards, no manager, no members… Just her against a mob of crazed “fans” who would do anything to be close to her, no matter the lengths they had to take?

For a second, Jongseong really thought he was going to lose all control of his sanity. He couldn’t even imagine Heeseung or Sunghoon’s feelings; just the news alone of the fan mob was enough to make them clench his fists in anger, as if ready to strike — but if something were to actually happen? If things turned out worse than they did?

Jongseong didn’t want to think about it.

“Still, how could it be this bad?” Sunoo asked. “You look like someone…”

It looked like someone had hit her. And that thought alone made him sick to the stomach, and his eyes sting with tear.

“I promise that wasn’t the case. Really. The worse that happened was someone grabbing onto my arm, but manager pulled me away before anything happened.” Mila raised her arms, and he fell into them immediately. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t apologise.” Riki placed a hand on Mila’s head like he was too scared that she might break with the slightest touch. “We just want you to be okay.”

Mila nodded. She looked around at her boyfriends, a sense of heaviness in her chest. It hurt more seeing them this heartbroken, than it did to be bruised, and she really wished they never had to experience sadness in their lives. But it was only natural that these things happened. At the very least, they were together.

“Group hug?” Mila asked, opened her arms to the rest of them. They looked sceptical at first, clearly wondering over the severity of her injuries, but Mila reassured them with a smile. “I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

That seems to ease their worries, because next thing Mila knew, she was being held in the centre of seven boys. She only wished Kiara was with them, to complete the Enhypen group huddle, but the older female was filling in for a schedule that Mila had to miss because of her illness. (She would have to inform the older girl later of what happened, if only to prevent her for panicking if she got the report from anyone else.)

“It won’t happen again,” Heeseung whispered into her ears. “I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?”

Mila smiled. “I know.”

“None of us will,” Sunghoon said. “That’s a promise.”

It was impossible for her to live as an idol, and to be safe. This was the first or last time she would find herself in a situation like this. But somehow, she felt like she could believe them when they said it with so much conviction. And if she could, she would do her best to protect them as well.

“We’ll look after each other,” she said. Just as they always did.

By the time they pulled away from the hug, she was already being ‘treated’, watching with a small smile as their young leader blew on her bruises, placing gentle kisses along them. “So they get better,” Jungwon said with a cute smile, and Mila felt her heart melt.

“Let me, too!” Riki said, before repeating the same actions. His hyungs simply chuckled, watching with fond smiles as their maknaes took turns playing nurse.

Mila couldn’t say that the past few days were good ones. But at times like this, things didn’t seem so bad after all.

✉️ NOTE. just a little mini chapter that came to mind… it was more of practice to get back into writing longer works, bc i’ve only done drabbles so far since recovering my account and i cooks had the training lol 😆 so please do excuse if the quality isn’t as good as usual 🥸

[gretavanflame]

The Elevator

Jake Kiszka x Reader (f)

Cw: SMUT including: kissing, fingering, handjob, oral (m) receiving. Other content including: cursing, drinking, fear, panic attack, anxiety, claustrophobia, brief mention of alcoholism.

Summary: “You’re funny Y/n. I can’t believe it's taken getting trapped in an elevator for us to finally talk to each other.” 

Word Count: 3.5k

You check your watch as you run hurriedly into the elevator, almost tripping as you make your way inside. The doors start to close and you take a breath. Your eyes find the little numbers starting to go up and the elevator stops when you reach the third floor.

You pull out your phone to avoid the usual awkward elevator encounter and you see the shoes of a man as he enters and takes his place beside you. What catches your attention however are the familiar brown chelsea boots. You feel a familiar lump appear in your throat everytime you run into your apartment crush. It's the stupidest thing really, this thing you have for a man who you’ve only ever seen in passing. To be fair, he's one of the most attractive people you have ever seen, and he has this way about him where he'll look at you like he's in love even if he doesn’t know you. It's captivating to say the least.

You finally force yourself to look up, praying that no garbage spews out of your mouth as you do so. You take him in inch by inch. His blue jeans, one hand tossed loosely into the pocket and a sailors knot bracelet tied around his wrist. He wears a black button down which ties together dangerously low by only a single button and you swallow as you notice his perfectly tanned chest with a single coin necklace hanging down it. His chestnut hair falls in loose curls around his shoulders and his lips are pursed as he glances at his own phone, but when you finally get to his perfect chocolate eyes, he turns to meet yours. You quickly turn away with your heart thumping embarrassingly in your chest. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of that stupid smirk of his as he shakes his head, returning his attention to his phone.

Focusing your attention away, you return to the number. Three then four. Only two more floors until you make it home to your cat who desperately needs to be fed. You check your phone again, an anxious habit, and see that the time is 10:23pm. Not the latest you’ve been home this week, not the worst.

The elevator jolts a little and you look up to see Jake’s similar puzzled expression. You weren’t on the next floor already, right? Your heart drops into your stomach and you feel the panic start to set in as you realize that you are not indeed at the next floor, but rather stopped in between them.

It feels childish to say, but this is quite literally your worst fear and one of the main reasons you debated moving into this apartment at all - the lack of stairs. Suddenly the 4 metal walls feel like they're closing in on you and the reality that you're trapped inside them starts to send you into full blown panic. 

You should be acting like such a baby, you think. Elevators stop between floors all the time, in a couple seconds it should be moving again and then you’ll get home at a reasonable time to feed your cat. Or you’ll be stuck here for hours, or worse, the metal chords holding you inside of this death box could snap and you’ll plummet to your death next to the man you were too embarrassed to even talk to.

As you try to steady your breathing, you start frantically searching your bag for a water bottle. You must be practically heaving when you can’t find it because you feel Jake’s presence shifting to face you.

“Hey Y/N, are you alright?”

His words seem to glaze over your head. Part of you has heard them, but you can’t seem to generate words as your whole body feels like it’s shutting down. You force yourself to nod and you realize your hands are shaking and are covered in sweat as you lift them from your bag. You can tell he knows you’re bluffing and he takes a step closer.

“I’ll just press the help button. This has happened to me before, it's really no big deal.”

He smiles at you and your eyes meet him for the briefest second sending a warm chill up your spine. His hand reaches for the button to press for help and your eyes travel to his arm, the strong muscles under the rolled up sleeves.

You manage to nod your head and close your eyes trying to steady your breathing. You feel your chest rise and fall heavily and you step backward to lean your body on the wall. You stay there, trying to silence your breathing, but doing so only makes the problem worse and you can even hear yourself practically heaving for air.

It feels like the world might end and your chest starts to hurt as Jake turns to you again, this time looking much more concerned. 

“Really are you okay? It looks like you’re having a panic attack.”

You nod your head aggressively, unable to say much more.

“Okay how can I help?”

You try to speak, your words coming out broken and rushed, “I-I don’t know I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, it’s okay. Take a deep breath okay? I’ll do it with you.”

He reaches his hands out and places them on your arms. 

“Is this okay?”

You nod your head slowly, allowing yourself to take a deep breath while his touch soothes you.

“Okay just breathe in with me, alright Y/n?”

You nod again and watch as he inhales slowly then exhales. You follow his breathing and close your eyes and after a few minutes, you feel your heartbeat finally slow. A minute later you open your eyes to find him smiling back at you. He removes his hands and takes a step back.

Taking one final deep breath you say, “that was fucking embarrassing.” You try to play it off with a laugh but he shakes his head.

“My sister used to get them. Panic attacks I mean, so I'm used to them, and helping people out. Really you have nothing to be embarrassed of, not with me, I promise.”

“Okay.” You whisper, smiling at the man in front of you. “Um how do you know my name?”

He looks down, a blush appearing on his cheeks as he laughs. “Sorry I realize that might be a bit creepy. Well, the actual answer might still be creepy. I um- you live across the hall from me right? And I just see your mail sometimes, so, sorry…”

“Oh no it’s okay! I don’t think it’s creepy, I was just wondering. I know your name too, Jake, if that makes you feel any better.”

You both laugh together, meeting eyes for just a second before casting yours downward. Something about his stare feels so intimate, so knowing, like you’re long lost friends.

“So you said this has happened before?” You ask biting your lip and pulling off a tab of skin, an anxious habit.

“Yeah a couple times, but usually it gets moving after a couple seconds.. so I’m afraid we might be stuck here for a bit. I’m good company though I swear.” 

He smiles again and you huff out a nervous laugh. You look up again at the number, stuck in between floors. You reach out to press the help button again.

“Isn’t this supposed to make some sort of sound? Like an alarm?” 

“I honestly have no idea.”

“My cat is supposed to get fed.” You pinch your brows together, shaking your head at your own carelessness. “I should have just gotten home earlier, if only I had just-“

Jake cuts you off with a question. “What’s your cat's name?”

You giggle a little at the innocence of his question. If there’s one thing he’s doing well is keeping you from panicking.

“Her name is Lily, and she gets nervous. Just like I do I guess.” You laugh again, looking down at your feet.

“That’s a nice name. You have a nice name too by the way. Y/n. It flows off the tongue nice.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Your blush deepens. 

Jake looks around at the floor for a moment before shrugging and taking a seat with his back leaning against the wall. 

“If we’re gonna be here for a while we might as well get comfortable.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” 

You sigh as your reality for the next however long sets in. At least you’re stuck here with Jake, although he does make you slightly nervous just by being him. You walk over and take a seat to his right. You sit and place your bag on your lap as you lean your head back. 

You hear him rummaging in his own backpack and you turn to see him pulling out some sort of bottle. You laugh out loud when you realize what it is- tequila.

He’s laughing too and says, “I just realized I had bought this on my way home, you know, just to have, but I can’t think of a more appropriate moment.”

“You’re right, that is kinda perfect.” You let a warm smile stretch across your face and you see a similar look on his.

His teeth are so perfect you notice, and his smile lines are sculpted so nicely. His eyes as well bring you some comfort in this moment, and you watch his strong fingers untwist the cap.

“Alright. This won’t be fun.”

Jake scrunches up his face and takes a quick swig from the bottle. He pulls it away coughing and contorting his face. He hands you the bottle wordlessly and you grab hold of the handle to take a long swig.

You do so almost reactionless and his mouth drops open. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as he chuckles.

“Damn girl, I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“Unfortunately after discovering the cure for anxiety I've gotten pretty good at using it. I’m not like… an alcoholic or anything though.”

“No, yeah I understand. It’s impressive is all.”

In the next few minutes the two of you take turns passing the bottle around until you feel the familiar burn settle low in your stomach and the dangerous loosening of your tongue.

Before you can stop yourself the words tumble out of your mouth, “So do you have a girlfriend?”

Your forwardness takes him by surprise and he blushes, laughing slightly. “Um I don’t, no. How about you? Making some guy really lucky?”

Now it’s your turn to blush and you cast your eyes downward as you realize what you’ve said, but of course you can’t find it in you to care.

“No, I'm very single.”

“What’s very single?”

“I don’t- I shouldn’t.” You pause, looking at him and he gestures with his hand for you to continue.

You take another quick drink from the bottle. 

“I haven’t gotten any in a minute, I'll leave it at that.”

Jake turns his head away, laughing into his hand.

“You’re funny Y/n. I can’t believe it's taken getting trapped in an elevator for us to finally talk to each other.” 

“I know right! We’re friends now right? Because it would be weird if we went on after this to never speak again.”

“I think we’re friends, that is if you’ll have me of course.”

“Yeah of course Jake.” 

You both smile at each other for a beat too long before his gaze becomes too strong and you turn yours back to the wall. 

“How long do you think we’ll be in here for?” He asks.

A deep sigh escapes you and you turn to him feeling as though your head is light as a balloon.

“I don’t know Jake, I like talking to you so no offense, but I hope not much longer.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“How are we gonna pass the time?”

Jake thinks for a moment, taking another large swig before answering.

“I have an idea.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Alright, close your eyes.”

You giggle and close your eyes. You sense something, heat coming towards you and a second letter you feel something soft touching your lip.

Your lips instinctively part and Jake takes your bottom lip in his, kissing it slowly. You tilt your head and kiss him back, breathing into his mouth while your hands find their way around his shoulders.

Your reaction is delayed and you pull away quickly, looking into his opening eyes with a heaving chest.

“Jake, what about cameras?”

He lets a smile graze his face. “You worry too much Y/n.”

You smile and pull him closer to kiss him again. What were soft gentle kisses turn into heated ones and you allow his tongue to slip past your lips. His hands come up to your cheeks, pulling you even closer into his parted mouth. A small moan is exhaled from him and a whine from you before he pushes away for a moment just to whisper, “I’ve had a crush on you since I moved in.”

Every set of your being is set on fire, a need for him overtaking you. 

“Me too Jake. I want you, please.”

“Now that’s the most sure you’ve seemed about anything since we’ve been talking.” He huffs a laugh. 

“Shut up.” You giggle, closing your eyes to let his lips meet yours again.

His hands slide down to your neck, then down your body over your chest to your waist. Jake stands to his knees and crawls in front of you, trapping you against the wall as you part your legs to make room for him. 

He pulls away for a second. “I don’t know if this is what you were thinking, but I don’t have a condom on me.”

You think for a moment. 

“That’s okay, just touch me, please.”

You watch his smile turn to a smirk as he brings his lips back to yours. His hands touch your thighs, sliding upward towards the bottom of your skirt that you realize was the perfect thing to wear today. You straighten out your legs and his hands reach the tops of your thighs. You can feel yourself pulsing in two places as Jake’s hand cups over your center. 

His tongue licks into your mouth through a moan and you start to rock against his hand, chasing the small bit of friction. With one hand on your thigh to steady himself, the other pulls your panties to the side and slides through your slit with his fingers. Your breath hitches through the kiss and you break it to look down at his hand.

The veins bulge out of it as he slowly pushes a finger in. You tilt your head back and close your eyes as he curls it inside of you, pulling it back to push another one in. You look back at him to watch as he too stares down at where his hand touches you. He curls both fingers into you and you whine his name into the small room.

Jake tucks his lip under his teeth, and you can hear his own breathing pick up as he starts to push and pull his fingers into you. A second later he brings his thumb up to your clit, dragging it across every time he moves his other fingers. Your legs begin to squirm, and your toes curl in your sneakers as you near your release. 

Your stomach tightens and you bite your lip harshly as the sensations wash over you. It’s at this moment that the absurdity of your situation kicks in, even through the swirl of tequila in your system, and you laugh, startling Jake. He tilts his head as if to ask what’s wrong, and you shake your head.

“Wait Jake, stop.”

He pulls his hand away immediately, looking concerned, and you reach for his belt. You look up at him innocently, trying to hide away your smile as you push it through the loop and unbutton the button and unzip the zipper. 

“Is this okay?” You whisper, the smile stretching wider across your face.

He breaths out a curse and nods his head, his eyes clouded with lust. He watches your hands pull down the pants and he helps you. Soon he's only in a pair of plaid boxers and you let your hand roam over his already hard bulge. Your fingers tuck into his waistband and you pull down until his cock springs free, bobbing in front of your face. 

You want to take it into your mouth, feel it shoved down your throat, but you also want his hands on you again, so you lean back and grab him, stroking his length up and down. He exhales loudly as you run your fingers over his tip and back down to the base. Your eyes catch on his pubic hair, matching the color of his wavy brown locks, you smile to yourself.

You make a show of spreading your legs for him, hiking up your skirt in the process so he has a good view. 

“Holy shit.” He whispers, letting his own head fall back momentarily while your hand gives him a little squeeze.

He brings his fingers back to your entrance, thrusting them forward with a pressure that reminds you of where you left off, and with his thumb circling your clit once more, you already feel halfway there.

In the small metal box, the heat rises as your bodies move in sync with each other, chests rising and falling rapidly as your hands work each other towards release. Every once in a while your lips will reconnect, tongues searching for one another desperately. He tastes like tequila and honey, and you moan into his mouth, waiting to feel him even more, if possible.

You let your hand pick up speed and he matches your tempo, bodies both eager to cum. You look down at the tendons in his arm flexing as he moves. You can feel his strength too in the way his fingers curl boldly with power. 

Through heavy breaths, Jake chokes out, sounding desperate and needy, “Come on Y/n, give it to me, pretty girl.”

His words hit you just right and soon your walls are tightening and you’re gushing his hand as your legs tremble and close around him. His name rolls off your tongue and your eyes roll back while his hand continues to move inside of you.

All it takes for him is the feeling of you cumming all over his fingers and he rushes out, “Where do you want me to cum?!”

Without thinking, you lean your face forward, mouth open. You bring his tip to your tongue and jerk him with your hand until he's shooting hot white spurts of cum all over your mouth. His hand slows and his cock twitches wildly in yours. He grunts with every exhale, whining finally as your mouth sucks around the tip of his cock, cleaning off any remaining cum.

You look up at him while you do so and watch as he brings his own cum covered hand to his mouth. He sucks on his fingers through a smirk and then leans down to kiss you once more. You both taste yourself on the others tongue, humming through the slow kiss. You can hear it too, the wetness of your mouths on each other.

You break away and stare into each other's eyes for just a moment. It feels intimate in a way that almost scares you. You both wait for the other to speak before something unthinkable happens. The elevator starts to move upward. A panicked look appears on both of your faces and you scramble to grab your bag and fix your appearance. Jake rushes to pull his pants back up, tucking his cock away while you smooth over your skirt and hair and turn towards the doors of the elevator.

To make matters worse, when the doors open, three firefighters are standing outside. The next few minutes are a blur, but the two of you finally finish talking to the men and explaining what happened, (them obviously sensing something weird between the two of you), before walking away.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You repeat, finding yourself once again captivated by his stare.

“Crazy night huh?”

You giggle and nod along with him while you walk down your shared hallway.

“Listen, I’d love to meet Lily sometime, if you’ll have me, but I think I should sleep off this tequila and get ready for work tomorrow.” “I’d love to have you over Jake. Just knock, literally… just knock, I’m always home.” You chuckle.

You quickly type your number into his phone and he kisses you one more time on the lips while you blush. You turn and enter your apartments simultaneously, smiling and blushing at each other until the moment the doors close. You turn to your apartment, finding an angry cat meowing in front of you. You laugh and go to feed your cat, thinking still of the charming man in the elevator. 

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[wri0thesley]

hopeless romantic - percy (yandere demon oc) x reader (4.6k)

valentine's day has snuck up on you. somehow you don't think this one is going to be as pleasant as last year's.

cw: this is primarily a horror work. kidnapped reader, captive reader, mental torture. food warning, claustrophobia. mentions of (non-explicit): insects, emetophobia, dental trauma. general hopelessness and manipulation. REALLY fuck this guy!

a/n: for a very quick primer on percy, please read this, and/or see this!

(also i mentioned this last time i wrote something for lucas but getting a commission for one of my own ocs is so WILDLY exciting and flattering. waaah!!!)

this was a commissioned work.

You didn’t consider yourself a hopeless romantic. 

Perhaps you consider yourself a bit of a romantic, in that you’d always enjoyed a classic love story; re-read your copy of Pride and Prejudice until it had fallen apart, had occasional daydreams of handsome suitors and the swirl of a masquerade ball, had perhaps watched Labyrinth too often as a young woman and wondered ‘what if’ about the Goblin King and his domain--

But you had thought you knew enough not to expect fiction from real life. No balls for you; no impassioned declarations of love soaked to the bone, no royal promising he would move the world for you if only you asked. You had thought you would be content with a bouquet of flowers - a smile, a squeeze of the hand whilst watching a romantic comedy, a kiss goodnight that was a little awkward with a clash of teeth and tongue. That was the kind of life, you told yourself, that waited for an average person like you - and that, too, would be enough. Because companionship would be enough; somebody to walk through life with, somebody who understood you, somebody who would cuddle up to you at night. 

And then you had met Percy. 

You hadn’t been able to believe your luck. 

A man almost exactly like you’d imagined? Someone who held the door open for you and smiled so softly it made you ache, who would sit with you and talk about books and whatever else passed through your minds for as long as you wanted? Always seeming to know what to say, always there for you - he’d brought you a bouquet of roses for your first date, for God’s sake. And though you’d been anxious about the ostentation of them, holding them at the restaurant, the way people seemed to be staring at you from every table . . . you had bit back the nervousness and given him a shaking smile and let yourself be swept off your feet. 

You wish that you’d seen the signs then. 

Maybe you had? Maybe you’d noticed them all and simply let them roll off of you instead, water off a duck’s back, because if you let Percy go you’d surely never find anyone like him again? And they had seemed such little things, too. Waiting just a fraction of a moment too long to comfort you when you were frightened or anxious - almost as if he was letting the moment shimmer in the air, develop as far as he could. Always being awake after you’d had a nightmare (you’d bought the chronic insomnia excuse at the time, but . . . surely someone who never seemed to sleep should be more tired than Percy ever seemed to be?). Nightmares, coincidentally, you don’t remember having so vividly or so regularly before you met Percy-- 

“Hey,” he’d murmured, soothing you, pulling you into him, warm hands rubbing up and down your back as he’d whispered sweet nothings into your hair. “Shh, sweetie. Just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.”

And those nightmares - the ones where you thought you’d woken up, eyes as wide as saucers, body pinned to the bed by some unknown force . . . and slowly, slowly, the creature of spindle limbs and glowing eyes and sharp bright teeth had crept into your view, sharp fingernails running over the duvet and the blankets, Percy’s presence beside you in the nightmare non-existent--

You curl your body around yourself on the hard wooden floor; there’s a bed, in the corner of the room, but you preferred nowadays to stave off sleep for as long as you could. 

Looking back on it, you think you should have known. Should have run for the hills - your friends had loved him at first, citing his warm smile and the way he treated you like a princess . . . but before you knew it, your friends had dropped away, because you were spending all of your time with him instead. If you still had your cell phone . . . how long had it been since you spoke to your best friend? What was the last thing you said to her? 

Your stomach rolls uncomfortably as you think about how it was probably something about Percy. 

You were such a fool. 

You pull yourself off the bed, your body aching with the effort of it. You don’t get much exercise nowadays; this little room, with a bed and a desk and no windows and the strange sigils scrawled on the floor in paint (definitely paint, you tell yourself fiercely, though it shines strangely when the light hits it and is a dark, dried out red that makes your stomach roll) is all of the space you have. You can stride from one wall to another in fifteen paces. Thirty floorboards. 

You’ve counted all of these. 

You lower yourself onto the chair by the desk, your back crying out in pain. Even if you had been sleeping properly on the bed, it was hardly comfortable - and when one is as racked with nightmares as you are, tossing and turning and twisting and begging . . . Well. No wonder you hurt so much. 

You tread carefully. You have seen this room become a thousand things; have seen a dark pit open up in the middle of the sigil and all manner of creatures crawl out of it, crowding up to you with gaping maws and blood-shining teeth and great pits of eyes. Spiders. Bugs. Screaming. Three days when all of the light in the entire room - your entire existence - had gone from the world, and you had fumbled and stumbled around the room without direction. 

(Into Percy, a couple of times, who had laughed and held you tight and whispered sweet nothings into your ear that might have been romantic, once upon a time, but now just lilted with mockery. 

“Oh,” he’d murmured, soft and silky against your ear. “Poor thing. Are you scared of the dark?”

You had not thought yourself scared of the dark - but until those three days, you suppose, you had not known what the dark was. Had not known it could settle so thick and heavy like covering your entire world with ink; had not known it would muffle everything else so completely. Percy had kissed you demanding and hungry in the middle of the nothingness and you had hated yourself as you’d clung to his shirt in between the kisses and begged him not to leave you there. 

He had, of course). 

There is one other thing you’ve counted. 

As best you can, anyway; it’s hard to keep real track when Percy’s comings and goings can be so sporadic. He remembers to feed you, you think, most days - but with no window, no way to tell the time truly . . . days can blur into one another. And so, though you think it’s February, you wouldn’t have known for sure that it was the thirteenth of February, unless--

“Friday the thirteenth,” Percy had hummed, that what-might-have-been-morning, as he’d held you softly in his arms as you writhed and whimpered, the walls closing in on you. It’s a dirty trick, what Percy can do, you think; the hallucinations, the untruths . . . interspersed with the truth, just so you never quite know what is real or not. You’d known in some primal part of you that this one had to be one of the tricks - walls do not really cave in on you, you are not living in some ancient Egyptian-themed action movie where walls are booby-trapped to crush you into tiny pieces - but when the threat of death looms over you in such a way, you suppose that your mind cannot truly be reasoned with. 

You hadn’t thought you were claustrophobic before this, coincidentally. It’s amazing how Percy can somehow bring out fears you didn’t know you had. 

The times he uses whatever power he possesses to play with you like a spider with a fly trapped in its web are preferable. At least, you think, probing tenderly with your tongue the spot at the back of your mouth where you used to have a molar before Percy had shown you the glint of pliers and murmured for you to ‘be still now, sweetie, or it will hurt more - oh, don’t tremble like that, you’re making it awfully hard to concentrate--’. 

“February,” you’d told him, and he’d laughed. 

“Yes,” he’d said. “Valentine’s Day tomorrow, then? I’ll have to think of something special for us.” 

The very words had sent a tingling shudder down your spine. You hadn’t bothered smiling for him - for someone who had gotten you where you were with a faux tilt of his eyebrows, with pretty lies wrapped in sugar, with promises he never intended to keep . . . he doesn’t like artifice. He’d told you, that first night you had found yourself bound and gagged and trapped, that he had never found you so pretty - and then he’d smiled at you and pinched your cheek hard enough to bruise and promised you that you were going to be wearing that expression rather a lot. 

He’d been right. 

The fear of what he was going to do must have crackled in the air; Percy’s eyes had gone half-lidded and he’d sighed, pleased, before he’d pressed a kiss onto your forehead and let the walls recede back to where they were supposed to be. 

“Something very special,” he’d said, letting go of you; watching, amused, as you’d scrambled away from him. 

You’d tried to ingratiate yourself to him at first; had tried to be well-behaved, not to snap and fight back at him, in the hope it would make him ease up. You’d learnt very quickly that there was no point in doing such a thing; it doesn’t matter if you struggle. Percy will treat you the same either way. 

If anything, the outright shows of fear - the proof that you’re terrified of him - seem to please him more. The more scared you get the quicker, the sooner he usually ends the torment. 

Unfortunately, that’s not exactly something you can pretend. Not with a man - a thing - that can sense your emotions on the air, that hungers for the terror that runs cold through your veins. You can pretend to shudder all you want - and you’d tried - but Percy just clicks his tongue and pulls you back to him and murmurs; “Well. That’s not going to do, is it?”

So he leaves you, that Friday the thirteenth of February, to stew in the fear of what a Valentine’s Day with a demon might entail. 

You and Percy had begun to date, officially, at the beginning of January after meeting at a friend’s New Year party. Neither of you big drinkers (as it turns out, stimulants like alcohol have very little effect on a creature like Percy, but you had not known that at the time), you had found yourself feeling frazzled and frightened by all of the new people and the laughter and the whirling out-of-control dancing, and had been hiding out in that friend’s cloakroom amongst other people’s coats with a book you’d smuggled in in the pocket of your dress. Percy had found you there.

You know now you must have been a buffet; perhaps the most scared thing in the whole room, your anxiety leading him directly to you and setting your life on track for . . . this. But at the time he had recognised the battered old paperback in your hand and been all-too-eager to talk to you about it, smile on his face, his voice kind. You had thought him handsome - and when he’d told you he owned a bookstore, you think you fell in love a little bit right there and then. You’d shared a kiss at midnight and been found afterwards by the mutual friend who had invited you, who had effusively shared praise of the man - he’s magic, she’d promised, cured my insomnia with nothing more than a tea blend! Gave her a couple of nightmares for a few nights, but after that - poof! - and you had really thought . . . 

You had really looked at Percival Thacker and thought; oh. There he is. 

So of course, this wouldn’t be your first Valentine’s Day. 

Your last Valentine’s Day, Percy had gone all-out for - after you’d admitted to him that you couldn’t afford much, that you hadn’t been dating that long, that you were nervous about it . . . He’d told you earnestly that he simply liked you so much, afterwards, and he’d wanted to show it - but of course, now you know his true nature, you know that the shame that must have come off of you in waves and the fear that he thought you cheap and the nervousness that you could not match his energy must have all been a veritable feast for him. 

The gift of hindsight, you suppose. 

So you see, you had a point of reference for what a Valentine’s Day with somebody you thought you might love would be like; you had that thought of roses and a fancy dinner and a trip to the ballet and a first edition of your favourite book. That’s what you’d thought a Valentine’s with Percy would be like, perhaps for the rest of your life. 

And then he had shown himself to you, in all of his true colours, and there had been far more pressing concerns than making sure you remembered to budget enough to at least buy him a card. 

But what he might do, now, as a ‘Valentine’s Gift’ . . . knowing how much he likes you crying, whimpering, begging and frightened out of your skull . . . the very thought of it makes you want to bury your head into the thin pillow and sleep the day away entirely. What a pity that he’s just as capable of getting to you whilst you’re sleeping as he is anywhere else. 

You know that you’re feeding into what he wants by agonising over it; that he can probably feel your anxiety over what is going to happen to you from everywhere in the house, the force of it is so strong. But you simply cannot help yourself. Considering he’d been the first to admit, easy and smiling as ever, that his greatest flaw was a tendency towards laziness, he’s been ever-inventive when it comes to ways to make you feel like you’re going to die of a fear-induced heart attack. 

The whole day, you feel yourself hovering on a precipice; your throat ready to close up at a moment’s notice, your entire psyche balanced on a fragile tightrope ready to snap. Every tiny sound from somewhere in the house makes you jump, sets you on edge, straining for the sound of Percy’s footfalls. The house is not always so noisy, of course - it bends to whatever Percy wants. Sometimes you wonder if this little room is even a part of the cramped little townhouse Percy lives in at all, or if it does not exist in some other dimension - but you are not permitted to step foot outside of it, so it does not really matter. 

You even toy with the idea he’s going to do nothing. He’s going to let you stay here, stewing in might-have-beens and maybes, instead of letting it all build to a crescendo. 

When you do hear his feet on the floorboards, the click of a lock . . . you scold yourself for thinking that at all. Such an outcome would have been far too kind for Percy. 

He walks into the room with a smile on his face. You do not often see him without it; that soft-eyed, careful smile that had so enchanted you at first but has seemed to grow more and more mocking the more often he has used it as a weapon. The door clicks closed behind him, and though he does not touch the handle you hear the noise of locks clacking shut, one by one. Even if you tried to run - to overpower him and go for the door - you know that it would not open for you. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says to you, with that mocking smile you hate so much. He makes a great show of looking around the room; the bare walls, the floorboards, this prison cell of a home that he has engineered to be your own personal hell. “Oh, this isn’t going to do at all.” 

You’d had some thoughts about the idea of magic, before all of this. You’d always hoped it existed in some capacity - the problem, you suppose, with being a voracious reader and a fantasist - but whenever you had thought of it, you’d thought . . . Wands, or snapping fingers, or little incantations. Percy moves the world around him without blinking; the only feeling you get after he exerts himself to use a little of his power is a faint sickness in the pit of your stomach, the taste of iron lingering in the back of your throat. 

And then there is a little table in the middle of your room; two chairs, and a tablecloth, and silverware glinting in the light. 

“Well?” He asks, and your head bounces from the table and around to face him. In his arms, once more are a bouquet of roses - and you could cry, you could vomit, you could tear him into pieces. You recognise the soft rose hue of the tablecloth; the design of the chairs, the centrepiece in the middle of the table and the dozen red roses that Percy holds in his arms. “I thought we had such a wonderful time last year . . . we can’t quite replicate it, but I’ll do my best.”

It is exactly the same as last year - if last year’s Valentine’s had taken place in a jail cell. He takes your hand and guides you none-too-gently to the table in the middle of the room (it looks silly, there; the prison you call your life is too small for the ostentatious chairs and the dining table). Your eyes frantically scan over the chair and the table, just to ensure there are no secrets lying in wait there. 

(A scorpion, ready to crawl from underneath a plate. Rotting meat, ready to give you the worst attack of emetophobia you’ve had in your life. Some kind of venomous spider on the chair, waiting to bite you and paralyse you and have its poison destroy you from the inside out). 

You take your seat at the table - and nothing happens. You watch Percy warily as he takes his own seat, as he gently places the bouquet to one side - you’d been so rattled to see it, you realise, you hadn’t even taken it from his arms. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. Simply sighs and stretches, looking around your little bare room as if it is the restaurant you two were in only one year ago. 

“I didn’t think we’d need a menu,” he tells you, with a small smile. “I thought we’d simply have everything we had last time.” 

He’d ordered for you, last time - you’d felt so overwhelmed at the restaurant he’d made reservations at, by the class of people around you and the glimpse of the prices on the wine menu, that you’d been glad of it. Looking back, you know he did that on purpose - but at the time, you had only been able to gush about how generous he was. 

There is no waiter to bring your food. There’s that iron again, the tang in the back of your throat - and then the plate of appetisers is before you, your glass full of viscous red wine. It looks far too much like blood, now, for you to want to drink it. 

Through every course, you wait for the sting. 

This cannot be all of it. There must be something more; something hiding behind the sighs of pleasure that Percy makes and the attempts to call back to conversations you’d had. He doesn’t seem to mind you have very little to say in return - he’s happy to talk about how his cat is doing, how the bookshop is faring under this cost of living crisis, a new book he bought last week and is enjoying--

But nothing comes. Nothing happens. For all intents and purposes, the two of you are simply reliving your first Valentine’s date - only this time, in a windowless room, after your boyfriend has kept you captive for months and brought you to the brink of death and manipulated you and used you and hurt you--

The food looks exactly the same on the plate; beautifully presented, and delicious. Your stomach rumbles in hunger, but the thought of what still might come flashes through your mind.

You can’t bring yourself to eat a thing.

“My compliments to the chef,” Percy chuckles, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “A pity you’ve barely eaten anything.”

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, into the air between you, and Percy gives you a sympathetic look. How could you be hungry, when you’d feared everything you might put on your fork would turn to ashes or organs or worse in your mouth? When you’d spent the entire meal wondering about what he was going to do next, what he was going to say next?

He clicks his tongue, tutting at you sympathetically.

“Poor thing,” he says, voice dropping with that faux sympathy. “We can’t have you losing your strength, now. I’ll make sure you have your favourite tomorrow - just to see if we can tempt you into eating.” He leans forward, catching your chin in his hand, still smiling. “I’d hate for you to waste away into nothing.”

This close, you can see the slitted pupils of his eyes, and you know he must feel the way that you swallow. You’re so vulnerable like this - he could do anything to you, use this moment to break you in any way he chooses. 

The moment passes. He lets go of you. 

“Well,” he says, “that was pleasant, wasn’t it?” He sees you staring, helpless, and laughs. “Oh, sweetie. Did you think I would hurt you on Valentine’s Day? When you know how much I adore you? How I couldn’t bear to be without you?”

“It’s never stopped you before,” you whisper to him, a quiet, barbed little thing - and Percy lets you say it, and then throws his head back and laughs. 

“Ah,” he says, “but I’m absolutely stuffed. You’re a meal all on your own. You’ve been terrified of what I might do the whole time! Anything else would have just been greed, I fear.”

You look up at him, barely daring to believe it. He’s really just going to leave? He’s going to take what he did from the meal, from the trembling edge of fear you’ve felt all day, and simply . . . let you think that was enough? 

“Th-that’s it?” You ask, hating how small your voice sounds. You clench your fists atop the table cloth, the few bites of food that you did manage to get down churning in your stomach. 

Percy tilts his head to the side, and then laughs again. 

“How silly of me,” he says, and your throat constricts. “No, no. I have another present for you. I almost forgot!”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, crumpled, folded over and over. He unfolds it for you, and you see that it is a sheet torn from a newspaper - his smile does not budge as he leans over and places it before you on the table. 

You take a moment before you look down at it. You don’t know what it would be, after all; and it would not be the first time something that has seemed perfectly harmless has turned out to be anything of the sort. Percy waits, patiently, and you finally bring yourself to look down and read the small, cramped letters. 

That’s a photograph of you. 

You stare up from the page, caught in mid-laugh, your dark hair blowing across your face. In the background is a sunny day at the park; it takes a moment for you to remember it being taken. It takes a while, now, to remember you had a life before these four walls. 

There are other photos of you, too. One with your family. A baby photo, posed perfectly in a photographer’s studio. A picture of your graduating class, with you circled--

Your eyes scan desperately over the words. You can’t quite take it in. You try to read it properly, but your vision skims and sputters and spots, and only certain phrases make it through the haze of terror and confusion that you feel descending over you. 

‘Missing for eight months’ . . . ‘Every effort has been made to locate her’ . . .‘Family have called off the search’ . . . ‘Presumed dead’ . . . ‘Memorial service to be announced’ . . .

That’s it. 

They have been looking for you - apparently in all the wrong places. There’s something about a forest being combed over, a river being strained for a body. No mention of a townhouse owned by your boyfriend. No mention of a boyfriend at all. 

They’ve been looking for you, and now they’re not. They’ve thrown you to one side; they’ve said ‘that’s enough, we’d rather just act as though she’s dead’. There’s nobody coming to save you. 

You hadn’t realised how much the idea that someone might find you, that you could go back to your normal life one day, that people were out there looking for you had sustained you until you’d read in stark black and white that it wasn’t going to happen.

The future that stretches out in front of you now is simply Percy, and these four walls, and what it feels like to be afraid.

“Why do you look so frightened?” Percy asks, as you sit there, trembling. The table and the chairs and the remains of the dinner fade to nothing around you, and your legs buckle - before you know it, you are knock-kneed and awkward on those awful floorboards, the sheet of newspaper still crumpled in your hands. You can’t breathe. 

Any hope of escape, any hope someone was looking for you, any thoughts that perhaps they’d find Percy’s little house and break it open until they found your prison cell - gone, like that. Nothing to think about. No hope to cling to. 

And he’d called it a present!

He kneels down before you, reaching out - and his arms are wrapping around you, pulling you closer, holding you against him with a grip like a vice. 

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he murmurs, against the top of your head, as the tears refuse to fall and the certainty that you are either going to be stuck here until you die, or until he wrings you dry, washes over you. “Isn’t it good news?” 

A kiss. From out of the corner of your eye, you see the red roses he had brought you; they’re on the floor now that the table and chair have been removed. A fat spider crawls from the inside of one of the roses, inching closer and closer to you both. Percy croons softly into your ear, fingers running through your hair. 

Is there a point, you wonder, where you will stop being afraid? Where all of this will become background noise, and you’ll be a useless shell of a person? Because at this moment, with the thought of who-knows-how-long stretching on in front of you and all of the things that Percy could do to you, all of the ways he could fuck with your mind and your heart and everything in between--

You think that perhaps being a shell would be better. Percy clucks, rocking you against him like he’s trying to soothe the fear out of you, though both of you know it is the opposite--

“It’s wonderful news, isn’t it? We get to have the rest of your life together.”

[cinnamostar]

01: home

part two.

pairing : minho x gn!reader

summary : minho had waited in front of the entrance of the forest for you until the sky darkened, his eyes welling up with tears as he came to accept that you had forgotten about him that day. maybe you needed to go home that day and forgot to tell him before school, he thought. although, he realized something far greater than that had happened as he arrived at the front of your house, the for sale sign standing in the yard without a trace of human presence in the home.

wc : 3.8k

cw : childhood friends, arguing, angst, sadness, mentions of bullying + racism/xenophobia, mentions of alcohol, idk what else

a/n : tried a new writing styles, lmk what you think!!! also pls let me know if you guys are interested in a part 2 :3 this fic is very much inspired by the movie past lives heheheh

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The low buzzing of mosquitoes filled your ears while you wandered down the dirt trail with trepidation as the vast forest surrounded you the deeper you ventured in. Tufts of grass tickled your ankles as your clammy hands clenched your best friend’s, who had dragged you out against your will, insisting it would be a fun adventure to test your bravery. 

Every now and then, he’d look back and shoot you a wide, childish grin, a gap taking the place of the front tooth he had just lost last week. “C’mon, Y/N! Walk faster!” 

You nodded meekly at your friend, admiring how he fearlessly marched forward, while you anxiously trudged behind him, biting your lip to release some of the tension in your body. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig would cause you to jump, afraid that something would jump out at you in the next second, but Minho’s gentle grasp would always bring you back down with a reassuring squeeze, reminding you that you were not alone as you hiked into the unknown. You weren’t sure where you were heading, neither did you know if the seven year old boy ahead of you knew, but his presence was enough to ease you, trusting that everything would be okay as long as he was there.

“It’s okay, Y/N, we’re almost there! You’re going to love it.”

Although only ten minutes had passed, it felt as if this journey was lasting for an excruciating amount of hours as anxiety loomed over you. All you could see was the different hues of green leaves enveloping you, the site of the park you had come from no longer in view as the forest swallowed you whole, only bits of the sunlight made its way through the dense leaves above you, coloring the dirt path with shadows and lights. You looked above, hoping to find the comforting blue sky looking down on you, but not even the heavens were there to accompany you on this trek. It was just you, Minho, and the eerily quietness of the woods.

You decided to put your blinded trust in Minho, shutting your eyes closed as the daunting feeling of claustrophobia began to bubble up your stomach, not daring to take in any more of your surroundings. Suddenly, Minho had come to a stop, causing you to collide into his back as you slowly opened your eyes, unsure what you’d be met with. 

“We’re here,” Minho whispered to you breathlessly from all the walking, turning his head to look over his shoulder, “Look, I found it the other day, it reminded me of you.”

You reluctantly peeked your head out from behind him, a small and excited gasp escaping your lips as you marveled at the sight before you. It was like a photo from one of your nature books had come to life before your eyes. There laid a pond with clear waters and lily pads floating atop of it, soft ripples forming in the water as tadpoles swam just beneath the surface. Just to the right of the pond was the faintest stream of water cascading into the pond, bubbles forming where the brook met the pond as the light trickles of it accompanied the low hum of the forest. 

You had forgotten you weren’t alone as Minho’s giggles brought you out your trance, his eyes beaming with affection as he watched your frightful expression turn into one of amazement and discovery. 

“See, I knew you’d like it. Sometimes you need to pass a test of bravery to get something cool at the end.”

For a seven year old, Minho often said profound things as if he had lived a life full of experiences, things only an adult from a movie or book would say, but in his own childlike vocabulary. You didn’t always quite understand what he meant, but always kept those small tidbits of profundity with you, hoping one day you’d grow to learn the meaning behind his words.

“But jeez, you’re such a scaredy cat. You should’ve seen the look on your face,” he teased as he now faced you, a hand pinching one of your cheeks.

And sometimes, he would just be like any other kid who was messing with his friends, saying something outrageous and nonsensical the next second. He was a strange kid, but you had grown to adore his unpredictability throughout the years of your friendship. You rolled your eyes playfully at his remarks, knowing he meant well, “So what if I was scared?”

“I think it’s cute when you’re scared. You always hold my hand when you are.”

Your face grew warm at his comment, an innocent smile gracing his features as he looked off to the pond. You pouted as butterflies fluttered into your stomach, making their presence known for the umpteenth time today, “Whatever…”

You returned your attention to the pond, walking to its edge as you squatted down with an arm and head resting on your knees as the other reached down to touch the cool water. Your fingers dipped beneath the surface and waved underneath, hoping you’d catch the attention of the tadpoles, but instead the sudden movement shooed them away. 

“Minho?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you find this?”

The boy stood in his place from earlier, opting to admire the scene from afar, “Well, I went out exploring with my dad the other day and it was just here. I learned the path back to show you. Do you like it?”

“It’s so pretty. Can we come here again?”

“Of course.”

Since that day, it had become a small ritual between the two of you, stopping by nearly everyday after school to spend time by the small pond as you slowly learned to appreciate the peaceful quietude of the wilderness. On the days your mother would tell you she needed you home after school, you’d always approach Minho with big, teary eyes and trembling lips, disappointed that you’d have to miss out on a time you had cherished so much with him. And every single time, Minho would pull you into his embrace, place a small kiss on your head, (a gesture he had learned from his own mother), and reassure you, promising that you both would go the next day.

This routine had lasted for a bit over a year, until one day your parents sat you down and told you that the family was moving away to the United States later that month. You had known this was going to happen eventually, as your parents mentioned this in passing to you over the last few months as they prepared for the move, but your child brain couldn’t comprehend the passage of time and just how fast this had all come.  You immediately broke down into tears, begging your parents to let you stay, not wanting to leave all your friends behind so soon, not ready to confront the uncertainty this new country had. You were scared, terrified for what this had all meant, and the worse part of it all was that you wouldn’t have Minho holding your hand through it all this time. He was staying behind, you were leaving him.

Days had gone by as the day you were moving had come close, and you still hadn’t told Minho that you were moving. You didn’t know how to, you were afraid he would cry or be angry at you, so eventually, weeks had gone by without you saying a word. 

Then, you left without a word, never telling your best friend you were leaving and never giving him the chance to send him off with a proper goodbye. 

Minho had waited in front of the entrance of the forest for you until the sky darkened, his eyes welling up with tears as he came to accept that you had forgotten about him that day. Maybe you needed to go home that day and forgot to tell him before school, he thought. Although, he realized something far greater than that had happened as he arrived at the front of your house, the for sale sign standing in the yard without a trace of human presence in the home.

Panic settled into his body as he sped his way home, not being able to understand what was going on as he rushed to his mother, tears falling down his face as he screamed that something happened to you and your family, how you never showed up to the pond that day.

His mother leaned down as she pulled him into a tight hug, a comforting hand rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe him, “Oh, sweetie, didn’t Y/N tell you?” 

Minho looked up at his mother, his face reddening as he continued to sob, a confused look on his face as he shook his head no. His mother cooed at him with a saddened look, pressing a kiss on his forehead, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I thought they did. Their dad got a job in America, so their family is moving there.”

Minho stood there in shock, sniffling as he croaked another sob, “What? Does this mean they’re gone? They’re never coming back?”

“No, baby, they’ll come back eventually. I don’t know when, but they will.”

You had abandoned Minho with no warning, consequently breaking his heart as he mourned the loss of his best friend.

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While your parents kept in contact with one another, Minho refused to ever speak to you over the phone whenever he had the chance, as the love and adoration he once had for you festered into anger and resentment for leaving him without warning. 

It hurt you every time you asked over the phone if Minho could talk, and all you would hear was a loud, upset no from the background after his mother would ask. Your eyes would water up each time, his mother apologizing for him and saying he would soon get over his feelings. 

You hated living in the United States. It was an entirely different culture you were not prepared for as you struggled to communicate with other kids your age, unable to make friends due to the apparent language barrier. Everyday after school, you’d come home in a flood of tears, exhausted and upset at how difficult everything was.

You couldn’t understand your teachers and lessons, always performing poorly even though you knew you could do well. You couldn’t make friends, always being made fun of by other kids due to your accent and jokes constantly flew over your head. Everything about you had become a weapon everyone else had used against you, and the parts of you you once loved and once were proud of became something you rejected, something you felt ashamed of. Back home, you were so smart and witty, always the center of attention, yet here, you were just a stupid kid who didn’t fit in.

You missed Minho so much, wishing he was here with you to help you fight through it all with your hand in his. If he was there, he would’ve told off all the kids for you. He was much braver than you ever were, and you needed him there. Although, as time ran its course, you eventually gave up on the idea of ever reconciling with Minho and thought he would reach out to you whenever he was ready.

Except that day never came, and he had long become a memory of a past life you no longer knew. 

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Years have gone by since you left your home country and all you had left of it was the faint outlines of memories that faded away with age, much like how pencil marks slowly disappear from paper as time wears it down. Well into your adult years now, you have grown accustomed to life in the United States and have eventually learned the language, made friends, and even lost touch with roots as many immigrant children do. Although, as you grew older, you began to yearn for the country you once called home and remember where you had come from, feeling ashamed that you had neglected such a crucial part of your identity for so long. 

Today, for the first time in years, you and your parents returned to your home country as a small celebration for your college graduation, deciding it was appropriate to revisit your childhood before embarking on your journey as an adult. You already had a job lined up once you returned to the states, so you were going to take advantage of the limited time you had here.

Much like you, everything here has changed through the passage of time, yet the familiar comfort of home remains as your eyes scan over each detail through the car window. Even the humid air smelled the same, your face smiling as memories slowly crept their way into your mind. As the car drove you to your aunt’s house, you were catching glimpses of the past as convenience stores, parks, and even your old school greeted you, still looking the exact same as you remembered, but just a little dulled down as the years weathered on them.

The car came to a halt at the front of your aunt’s home, your parents and you taking your luggage from the trunk as you bid the driver a goodbye. As you were approaching the front door steps, your aunt came bursting out with an excited gasp, tears filling her eyes as she pulled you into a familiar embrace, “Oh, Y/N! Look at you! You’re all grown up now!”

She pulls away as her hands rest over your shoulders as she takes a moment to beam at your face, taking in every detail she had missed over the years, “My, aren’t you adorable too! I’ve missed you all so much,” she laughed cheerfully as she then went over to greet your parents in the same fashion. 

“I missed you too, auntie,” you breathed out a content chuckle as you enter her home, admiring how it still looked the same way you remembered it, just a bit more modernized.

After settling down in the guest rooms, your family sat with your aunt to eat a dinner she had prepared for you all, even going as far as making some of your childhood favorites. Each bite sent shivers down your spine as your eyes rolled back with nostalgia rushing over you, reminiscing all the times you spent as a child eating each of these dishes at the very table you were sitting at.

“Wow, this is all so good,” you mumble after taking a huge bite of meat, letting out a pleasured hum as you chew.

“Y/N, honey, please don’t talk with your mouth full,” your father scolds, shooting an apologetic and embarrassed look to his sister.

Your aunt let out a belly laugh as she waves you dad off, “Nonsense! Let them enjoy their food. I am just glad you have you guys back.”

Your mother smiles at her comment, nodding her head in agreement, “Us too, it’s good to be back, even for a bit. Thank you for having us.”

“Oh, of course. How could I ever say no to my brother?” smiles your aunt, before turning to you, “Is there anything special you wanted to do while you were here? Do you have anything planned?”

You shake your head, “No, not really. Just kinda wanted to spend time with family for the most part.”

“Oh, what about Minho? I know you two were close as kids. Are you going to see him? He still lives here.”

Your heart stops for a moment as your brain recalls your old best friend, a name that hadn’t crossed your mind in years as fragments of your memories began to resurface, ones that you didn’t even know you have. “Wow, I forgot about him, honestly.”

Your mom gives you a comforting smile, noticing a slight sadness in your eyes, “Well, I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to catch up with him, no? Aren’t you curious to know what he has been up to all these years?”

You nod, feeling uneasy at the thought of coming face to face with your former friend after the stunt your younger self pulled on him, “Ah, maybe. We’ll see.”

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You had spent the last few days catching up with your cousins, letting them take you out wherever they thought you had to see and show you what you’ve been missing. Unfortunately for you, that meant you were dragged off to a night of drinking and while you had fun with lots of laughs, you were beginning to regret all the alcohol you had ingested the night before as you woke up with a pounding headache. 

Since the day your aunt mentioned Minho over dinner, you couldn’t help but wonder what he had been up to nowadays, what he looked like, if he had changed much, your heart yearning for the boy you once loved as a child. While you could’ve easily asked any of your family members where to find him, you were also dreading having to face after so long. What if he was still mad at you? What if he was disappointed in who you’ve become? What if he had become an insufferable asshole over the years? 

The insurmountable what-if’s were too much for you to bear, choosing it was best to avoid the subject much as you both have all these years. Yet, you couldn’t ignore the pang in your heart as you looked through your old memories of him, part of you wishing to relive that childlike innocence you lost when you moved away.

That’s when you remembered the old pond Minho and you once frequented as children and thought maybe this was the respite you needed for not only your hurt soul, but your hangover too. Maybe you needed the peace and tranquility of mother nature today.

You felt your heart swell with anxiety as you approached the start of the trail you had become so acquainted with, noticing the same trees decorating the entrance, the only difference was their thickened trunks and roots that had overgrown onto the poorly maintained path. 

You begin to make the trek into the forest, enjoying the gentle zephyr that kisses your skin, inviting you back into your old safe haven as if it recognizes you. The familiar buzzing of mosquitoes greets your ears, along with the songs of birds filling the rest of the space.

A gentle smile melts onto your face as you arrive at the same pond that somehow remains unchanged over the years, just like how you remembered it all those years ago. It was as if you were going back in time as you took in your surroundings, your mind replaying memories of the days you and Minho spent here as children, recalling the first time he had forced you out here and how glad you were that he did.

There are still tadpoles swimming in the water, your smile widening as you realize the frogs are still laying eggs here, even after all these years. You feel at home again seeing how this was like your own little time capsule, a feeling of safety and comfort taking over you, one you hadn’t felt in years. You don’t know how much had passed, but the sound of crunching leaves and twigs startled you from your daze, visibly jumping in place as you turned to see the source of the sound.

Behind you was a man about your age standing there, surprise and confusion painting his face, scanning you from head to toe while analyzing your features. Your face mirrors the same expression he wore as you took him in, your eyes widening as you recognize the man standing before you as none other than your childhood best friend, Minho. 

Somehow, he still looks like the boy you once knew, the only difference being that he grew into his feature with a more matured air around him, his eyes tired from god knows what.

“Y/N…?” he spoke with disbelief, not entirely believing the sight before his eyes.

“Minho?”

For a moment, both of you could only stare at each other, unsure how to react or what to say in the moment, as it felt like you both had just seen a ghost appear in front of you. Your mouth dries as you search for the right words, resisting the overwhelming urge to just jump into his arms and cry out a mess of an apology between tears.

“You’re… here? You’re back?” he questions with a gleam of hope in his eyes, all the memories of his youth flooding back in as his heart swelled with joy, the bitter resentment he had held for so long disappearing for a moment.

“Just for a bit,” you whisper nervously, “I’m just visiting with family.”

The soft smile on Minho’s face began to drop as disappointment colored his face, the hurt he felt all those years ago as a child bubbling back up in his tummy, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth while feeling foolish to think you had moved back home. 

“I… Y/N, why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

You felt your heart contort from guilt and agony as you watched Minho’s smile dissipate, his eyes now shining as they watered while recalling the painful memory of the day you left.

“Minho, I’m sorry, I really am. I tried to apologize to you after, but you never wanted to talk after.”

“I waited for you that day. I waited for you to come here, but you never showed up. I went all the way to your house and saw it was empty. My mom had to tell me,” you were wishing the world would swallow you whole as tears streamed down your face, “Y/N, did you not want to say goodbye? Did you not even miss me?”

“Of course I missed you, Minho. I wanted to stay here with you, but telling you I was moving was scary and I didn’t know how.”

His eyebrows furrow at your words, his lips trembling as he tried to hold back a cry as he croaked out with a mixture of sadness and anger, “You left me, Y/N. It wasn’t fair, you don’t know how much I cried for you. Did you even care about how I felt?”

“Minho, I know what I did hurt you and I regret it so much, you meant so much to me, but I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better.”

Minho focuses his gaze to the ground as tear drops roll off his face, the fabric of his shirt darkening as they make their landing, shaking his head side to side, he whispers, “You know, I was a kid too.”

With that, he looks at your face with a hurt expression one last time, turning his back towards you as he walks away, not failing to leave you with a gut-wrenching thought, “Maybe you shouldn’t have come back.”

This wasn't the hangover cure you came looking for.

[cmdrfupa]

Winters Blessing

Suguru x Reader

an: idk yall. This has been sitting in the files for a minute and I finally found how I wanted to go about this. Little to no proofreading so uh.. Slight copium ig.

Cw: claustrophobia mention, reader and Suguru have a child, mentions of death, Cursed Child Arc which is a warning in itself.

Suguru looked curiously into the crib, "She looks just like me." You didn't say anything, instead keeping your eyes on the sleeping child. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Soft golden light spilled from the windows as the night's snow flurry was underway. The gentle winds blew against the window.

"If I told you, what would be different?"

"I would've helped." his tone was neutral.

"You wouldn't have chosen us nor dismantled your following," noticing how closely he looked at the baby, you inched closer to him.

Suguru's views caused too much chaos, so you left. You followed him longer than you should have, choosing to stop trying to find ways for him to spread his opinions without aggressive forces. You were understanding (complacent) until you found out you were expecting, and his actions became more volatile. " I did what was necessary." The emotional turmoil was evident in your voice, a testament to the unresolved struggles.

The strings of white, green, and red lights twinkled around the window trimming. You kept the house toasty as small gusts of winter chill swept across the floor of your older home.

Suguru smiled, "Fair point," accompanied by a light laugh. A bitter taste lingered at the edge of his tongue. "We wouldn't have been able to agree, true. But when two parents have conflict about their child, the healthy option would be to have a conversation." He felt like a teenager again, the sick side effect of love, the kind that makes you do things you never thought you would. It was a pathetic realization that he would've done anything for you and still would.

"Healthy conversation? Geto, please," the subtle rise in your voice caused the baby to stir. You rubbed her back lightly. "I tried telling you. More than once. Just for you to have your assistant put me in your room like some concubine without a voice."

He tried to ignore the ache from the formality of you calling him Geto. "I did that to keep you safe. Did you think I was just going to let you roam? I don't trust those ingrates."

"That's not the point, Geto."

"Then what is? You're not giving me a good excuse," The lack of understanding between you was palpable.

"The point is you didn't give me a chance to help from the beginning. When we left Tokyo, you were confrontational about literally anything I said. You were tired and underappreciated. We were on the same team. But you never let me into your world enough to be there for you."

You stepped away from the crib, attempting to step directly into his sight.

"You say that as if we were ever the same. "We weren't then, and we aren't now," Suguru said. He wanted to touch the child's dark hair, but he held back. He placed his hand on the crib railing. That action alone would make this more challenging than it is. "Almost 10 years of knowing me in my truth and your views on life and humanity are weak. You are weak. You walked among non-sorcerers for too long, and it made you soft. You coddle them as if it's your purpose. I've been fixing what you've had a hand in ruining." Suguru's voice was sharp. But, it hinted at your old bond beneath his pointed words.

"And that is why I stopped trying to tell you."

"Not a good enough excuse. It is my child. My blood." You were just as stubborn as he was; he was out to hit a nerve. "Will you resent this child as they grow older? You do know she will be a sorcerer who appreciates her place in the world. She won't be weak, like you." his lips turned up, looking down at his daughter. Her hair haloed around her cherub face as she slept peacefully. "Your child is better than you... honestly rather shameful, no?"

"Hallway. now." Your eyes said everything. You opened the door, holding it for him.

Suguru wasn't stupid enough to argue. Without another word, Suguru walked out to the hallway, grinning.

"Suguru. You have some nerve coming to me like this when I tried to be understanding for years." Looking into his eyes was setting a trap, but you needed him to see you. "My view on life and humanity might make me look weak. But you kept me. You loved me. I left everything and everyone behind for you. To support you. To understand you more. And all I was given was dust."

The smirk on his face was disgusting. It made your skin crawl. "You wanted to support me? Fine. You left everything behind and stood by me." tone dripping with condescension. "But I kept you with me because your weakness made me look stronger amongst fools who lead with emotion." Already a tiny space between you, he takes a step forward. "The minute you don't get your way, you run. Just to be in need. Always needing to be saved. Never necessary.."

"Don't you dare." the heat in your chest pooled as you cut him off; this was beyond anger as Geto attempts to manipulate your emotions. "If I've always been weak and never necessary, tell me why you loved me. And don't lie."

"What I thought was love was simply us being teens. Even then, you accepted me and my flaws." He pauses again, a flicker in Suguru's eyes. A sense of longing in his voice has already faded from him. "But I know you're not the same anymore, and neither am I." Exhaling, he knew he wasn't lasting against you for long. "You're too compassionate and open. I'm cold and willing to set the world on fire for my goals. Perfect disastrous match." His words didn't match his feelings. Suguru was losing his inner battle.

The silence was thick as his brown eyes couldn't look away from you. You had him. He was letting you in.

"I've only read your thoughts once before."

“And that time, you asked me.” He tsked, putting on a face of disappointment. “Shame on you for not getting my consent this time, sugar.”

“You didn’t look away. You know how this works Geto.” You quickly retorted. “And consent wasn’t an issue when it was your followers I was doing this on.”

Since that one time in school, he had kept you from accessing his thoughts and feelings. Knowing that eye contact was key to your technique, Suguru made it a habit to look at the tops of your brows when he spoke to you. There would've been no success if you'd discovered his plans before he was considered defected. But he was tired. He was tired of hiding emotions and thoughts that made his will waiver. He needed you to see him, all of him.

"Why are you letting me in now?"

"Because you have power over me, I don't want to forfeit that."

"How did you find me?"

"I had one of the cultists following you since you left. You went to Gojo. That makes me believe you did it out of spite." Suguru sucked in a breath and clenched his jaw before continuing. "Did he try to turn you in for being an accomplice?"

You shake your head. "I stayed with him during the pregnancy. I didn't have much of a choice, considering the other option was being sentenced to death for my collaborative efforts. You weren't an option, Ever."

Your words sliced him open. Was he so horrible that a death sentence was more appealing that coming back to him wasn't an option? A grotesque feeling of shame filled his body.

"Why are you back? Is it the child?"

"Both you and the child..” hesitance spread across his face before he shook his head. “And I have business in Tokyo.”

Was your defection inevitable?” The locks that kept the gate his emotions locked up rusted and fell off. You heard everything. felt everything.

“When Yuki and I spoke. She understood what I felt but we saw different ways of achieving that goal. I saw eradication as the only way.” His eyes were stuck as he saw you in his mind. You were in his temporal lobe and only planned on going deeper. “If I didn’t go that route of taking others' lives, I would’ve taken my own.”

The way your throat tightened was a threat for tears to spill. 

You took a deep breath, placing your hand on your chest before tapping it lightly and the room slowly dimmed. The surroundings transform into a cold, sterile interrogation room. Geto was seated across from you, bound to a chair with restraints unseen by the naked eye, unable to move or escape. With a harsh light overhead and a tense feeling pressing down on you both, you broke the silence, “Geto. Speak.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I let things get out of control. I lost myself. I lost my best friends. I lost you.” His words spilled out, no longer playing tug of war as it was a losing battle with your power no longer holding back.”The way things felt. Like I was second best despite being told I was the best with Gojo. Seeing how life was worth nothing to those fucking ungrateful, ancient, careless fucks who look down on us from the safety of their hiding spots. I needed to be heard. To be seen by them.”

The lights grew brighter as Suguru's emotions intensified. He hung his head, tears dropped down the front of his robes. “Geto.”

“Then you. A fucking child. Our child. You hid a child from me!” The walls drew in, the space between you closing as the sterile room became a claustrophobic nightmare. “I know I wasn’t the strongest. I knew I was unstable. But you didn’t even give me a chance to fail.”

 Shaking your head with confidence, you clenched your fist. “That is a lie. I gave you ample chances. Every day was a chance and you being the strongest would’ve meant nothing.”

A harsh, anger-fueled laugh left his throat before Suguru spit on the floor. “You gave me a chance to come to you so you could feel better about leaving me. You already knew you were leaving me the day I told you I’d leave no stone unturned when it came to getting the ending I wanted. Being pregnant was just a convenience. And you’re lucky it happened the way it did.”

“Thats not true. Geto, I-”

“Yes, the fuck it is.” Eyes bloodshot, Geto struggled against the restraints, failing to get up. You walked over to him and kneeled to look directly into his face. “You what? Loved me? You never loved me as much as I loved you. You gave me part of you while the rest of you stayed behind at that hell on earth of a fucking school.”

“You don’t know shit.”

"That child is your reminder. A reminds of my love for you. That if they handed you stones to end me and watch me die, I'd be a part of you for the rest of your miserable, lonely life.” It was like watching Jekyll and Hyde with how much he tried to hide his true thoughts. “No matter how far you ran, I’d be right there looking at you through the eyes of that precious angel. Our angel.”

“So why didn’t you get rid of me? Tell me to stay behind or leave me with hopes that you’d return?”

“If anyone were to ever try and forget me, you’d remind them of what I did. Of who I was at my core.” He wiped his wet cheek on his shoulder, trying his damndest to stop from tearing up as he let out a half-hearted chuckle. “God I really hate your stupid technique. It’s too potent.”

“It works when it needs to.” You stood up, your domain dissipating as you gave Suguru space to get up. “You were never going to be forgotten because I was never going to stop you. I just needed you to be here. To be present.”

The familiarity of your home embraced you as the pale-colored hall was now in view. “You were going to keep me grounded and out of my own way and honestly, I fucked up.” Suguru took your hand. His cold fingers squeezed yours as he needed you to see his soul in yours one more time. “When I’m done, you’ll see my efforts haven’t gone to waste.”

“What are you telling me, Suguru.”

The heater roared to life down the hall and the chills that crept up your body were soothed by the rush of warmth.

“I’m telling you that I don’t regret a single thing. My defection, my love for you, our child. You will remind them of who I am because you know the real me.” A punch to the chest after every word, the truth cemented behind tired eyes. “You made me feel known. And I won’t ever regret being known by you.”

Showing understanding with nothing but a nod, you touched his cheek gently. Suguru closed his eyes for a moment, releasing every bit of tension he’d held onto for the last 2 years without you. “There is always love when I’m with you. I’ll carry it with me until my last breath.”

Tears at your waterline, you smiled, attempting to combat the somber energy that now filled your home. “Niina should be getting up soon. Do you want to help feed her? I can make dinner for us if you want to stick around for the rest of the evening.”

“Are you certain?”

“Sugu. I want you to meet her. You can be a dad, see our little mastermind in action. It will be good for you. For us.”

It was a night that felt suspended, heavy with stillness, where the world seemed paused in the embrace of winter’s grip. Calm and serene as if the world knew to slow down for you to enjoy your last night together in the stillness of December.

[froggibus]

Jason Todd (any version) x reader (preferably female) where Jason helps reader through an anxiety attack? Or a panic attack, if that's easier for you. And with as much fluff as possible, please?

Chilling Out - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: during a party at Wayne manor, you have a panic attack, but Jason knows just how to help you

CW: panic/anxiety attacks, tight spaces (but no claustrophobia), crying, general anxiety (O7), hurt/comfort, mentions of past trauma & triggers, soft!Jason, they get ice cream, i promise it ends very wholesome. lmk if i missed anything

i haven't wrote DC in a hot minute but this request was too cute not to write. im so soft for soft Jason!! also shoutout to my trog for helping me come up w a title bcs i am dumb today. anyways hope you enjoy <3

————

Jason knows very little about your past. Or at least, the bad parts of your past. You were always hesitant to share that part of your life with anyone, and Jason was never one to pry. 

Even if he didn’t recognize the trigger, he recognizes what comes next. 

That vacant, scared look on your face. The rapid, shallow rise and fall of your chest. He notices the way you’re almost shaking, the way your eyes dart around the room looking for an escape. 

You lose more and more air with every breath. The manor is absolutely packed with guests for Bruce’s most recent gala, and having so many people in so little space is overwhelming. You dig your nails into your palms. I have to get out. 

Jason is frozen across the room from you. He’s torn—stuck between running to you and wrapping you in his arms and never letting go, or letting you be and giving you the space you need to calm down. He knows if the roles were reversed, he’d want to be left alone. He’d go and hide in a comforting space and try to regain control of his thoughts. But you’re not him. 

He blinks and you’re gone, tearing away from the main foyer and escaping into the safety of the house. 

You collapse in the closet of a random room. The darkness accepts you into his arms, surrounding you like a blanket. You squeeze your eyes shut and contract all of your muscles, trying to force air back into your system.  

Jason doesn’t realize he’s following you until the cold air of the grand entrance hits him. You’re completely out of his sight now, having disappeared into one of the many rooms of Wayne manor. He pinches the bridge of his nose—where could you possibly be?

He starts searching the rooms on the ground floor, careful not to be too loud and accidentally startle you. After none of the rooms on the ground floor turn up anything, he starts to climb the stairs. He only makes it two steps before he hears a sob that sounds a little too familiar.

He backs up, eyes locked on the closet that Bruce keeps winter coats in. It’s tucked just out of the way of any prying eyes, at the end of a hallway near Bruce’s study. It’s quiet, enclosed and of course, dark. The perfect spot to hide in. 

“Y/n?” He keeps his voice soft and even, kneeling just outside of the closet. 

You sniffle in response, strained gasps echoing off the walls of the closet. How did he find you? How did he know?

He slowly pulls open the door, giving you enough time to hide your face or protest if you need to. A sliver of light from the hallway breaks through the darkness of the closet and illuminates your face. Jason’s heart breaks at the sight.

Poor thing. All teary eyed and wet cheeked, shaking like a leaf at the bottom of an old closet. He shakes his head. This won’t do.

 “Hey, hey,” he says, “it’s safe here. It’s just us. Just you and I.”

You hear his words but it’s hard to register anything in your panicked state. Your breathing stays erratic, your heart beats so hard you’re scared it will burst. You can see Jason through the black spots and tears, but just barely. He looks more like a broken mirror than a person right now, but it’s Jason.

“Are you okay if I touch you?”

As soon as you nod, Jason is pulling you into his lap and shutting the closet door to return you to darkness. Strong arms hold you close to his chest and his scent surrounds you. 

“Close your eyes, okay? Focus on your breathing, focus on what you feel, not what you think.”

You try to follow his instructions, managing to relax enough to shut your eyes. You can feel the warmth radiating off of him, the steady bump of his heartbeat, his hands resting above your belly button. You can smell his cologne, the familiar scent filling your nostrils and reminding you that he’s really there. 

Jason keeps himself sturdy. He keeps his breathing steady and his hands still. You need stability right now, and Jason is going to be the one to give it to you. He doesn’t care if he has to hold you for an hour, or even the entire night. All he cares about is you.

Your breathing starts to steady and the burning in your chest fades. You try not to push yourself—taking slow, gentle breaths. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, and suddenly you’re painfully aware that you’re sitting in his lap, in his arms, in a dark closet.

“Y-yeah,” you say, “I think so.”

He nods. “Great to hear.”

Jason awkwardly adjusts so that he can stand, opening the closet door. He reaches a hand out to you. “How about we ditch this thing? We get rid of these stuffy clothes, take a ride on my bike and get some ice cream?”

Jason almost bursts at the genuine smile that fills your face. It’s like clouds parting to let the sun rays through—a reward after seeing you break down in his arms.

“That sounds great,” you accept his hand and let him tug you to your feet. “I’ll go get changed.”

Ten minutes later and Jason is waiting at your door, having traded his suit for jeans and a t-shirt. “Ready to go?”

He takes your hand in his and leads you downstairs, out of the backdoor and to the garage where he parked his motorcycle. He helps you do up your chin strap, calloused hands gently rubbing the sensitive skin of your neck. 

You mount the back of the bike, your feet barely scraping the ground. Jason puts on his own helmet and climbs in front of you. He revs the bike, “you should hold on.”

You lean forwards awkwardly and wrap your arms loosely around his waist. Jason seems satisfied with this and takes off. As soon as the bike lurches into motion, your grip tightens around him. You swear you hear him laugh.

The cool night air feels nice on your once clammy skin, the familiar smell of the city surrounding you. Jason drives carefully, or at least, more carefully than he usually does. You can tell he’s making a great effort to keep you comfortable.

You relax into him, feeling the curves of the bike as you make your way into the city. The streets of Gotham fly by, amber streetlights casting the whole street in a soft glow.

You feel almost disoriented when he brings the bike to a stop in a parking stall next to the ice cream parlor. The sudden cease of motion leaves you feeling like you’re still moving, and you have to wait a minute to get your bearings.

Jason puts down the kickstand and climbs off of the bike, hanging his shiny black helmet from the handlebars. “Here,” he offers you a hand and helps you down.

Your knees shake slightly but you find your balance. You take off the helmet and set it on the seat of the bike where you just were.

“So, what���s your go-to flavor?”

You smile. Jason has never been one for small talk, and he’s definitely never been as gentle as he’s being now. You melt at the idea of him being extra careful with you.

“It’s so hard to decide, honestly,” you admit. “I usually get the same thing every time, but sometimes I want to switch it up, you know?”

He nods, “I’m usually a mint chocolate chip or rocky road guy myself, but I like to mix it up sometimes.”

You spend almost five minutes discussing ice cream flavors with Jason. It doesn’t help that this particular place boasts over 100 flavors, and all of them sound equally delicious. Finally, you manage to decide and step up to the counter to order.

You order your ice cream, but before you can pay, Jason steps up behind you and places his order with yours. You go to protest, but the man is already tapping his card.

“Thank you,” you say sheepishly.

“Hey, if I invite you out for ice cream, don’t expect to pay.”

You get your ice cream and settle down at one of the picnic benches in the parking lot. It’s a nice, warm night, and there’s not very many people around. Usually you’d be afraid to be out this late in Gotham but having Jason around just settles your nerves.

“Thank you for tonight, Jay. It—it really means a lot to me that you helped me.”

You swear his cheeks tinge red. He looks at you seriously, “anytime. Seriously, if you ever need me, no matter what, just call me, okay? I’ll be there for you in a heartbeat.”

His words almost have you tearing up again. Seeing Jason so soft, so kind and caring—it just makes your heart flutter. He reaches across the table and squeezes your hand reassuringly. 

A peaceful silence falls over the table as you finish your ice cream. Jason never takes his hand away from yours, and you’re not quite sure you want him to. If you could live like this, with him, in this moment forever, you’re sure you’d never have another panic attack again.

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day twelve

@ailesswhumptober 12 — isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here.” ↳ the farm, circa 1889 word count; 1.4k

cw; abuse, claustrophobia, mentions of death

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's cold. So damn cold. Hellishly, endlessly cold.

Oscar is numb. It's dark all around him, pitch blackness, and the cold has sank into his bones to weigh him down like water, stiffened his joints like death does to the animals. He'd long ago lost track of what time it is, and through the stone walls around him has no idea if the sun is still up. If anyone might still be awake.

If anyone still remembers him out here at all.

He'd been asking for it, really. He'd known it was coming. There was nothing else to expect. But Da had started on Mo for something stupid, and Oscar can never stop himself from getting involved when it's his wee brother on the wrong end of Da's anger. Mo's only tiny, and Da is so huge, so cruel.

So Oscar had thrown himself in between them and shouted and protested — and after Da had belted him bloody for his troubles, he'd dragged him out the back door with a big calloused hand around his arm. Kicking and screaming and pleading. Over the hill and to the old shed by the fields; a stout, damp stone structure with no windows and a solid wooden door that bolts on the outside, so small inside that Oscar can just about sit but can't lay down, surrounded on every side with old tools and machinery. Rusted monuments of his father.

And though Oscar had known, had expected, exactly where he'd end up — where he always ends up — he'd still started screaming louder.

"Please!" Oscar had wailed, digging his bare heels desperately into the damp dirt to try and slow the walk. It hadn't worked. His father is a big man. Strong. A farmer. "Please, please, Da, I'll—I swear to God I'll be good, I'll be quiet, you can lock me up inside 'til—'til you need me, I'll clean, I'll look after the babby—"

He knows it's no use to beg Da, not when the man's made his mind up — not ever. But it's an instinct to fight. Perhaps Oscar's only instinct.

All the fight's left him now.

For hours he had screamed, even after the bolt was slid into place with the sickeningly familiar sound of grating metal. He had begged and hammered his fists on the door until his knuckles split, the blood the only warmth available to him, but it's long cooled and gone thick and tacky since. He'd wailed for his father, and then wailed for Ma. Wailed for his grandfather despite every knowledge that he's dead. Pleaded for anyone to come and let him out, come save him, come protect him from the stone walls that seem to be closing in on him from every side despite the fact he can't see them. Can't even feel them with touch, for when he reaches out or moves too far, the metal edges of tools find him first. Too blunt and rusted to be much more than a warning, but what a warning they are.

At least they keep him conscious. Prevent him from tilting too far from either side, even in moments his consciousness tries to leave him, worn thin from exhaustion. Hunger.

On the one hand, it feels as if it would be a blessing to fall asleep, pass the time he's imprisoned here to suffer his penance, but Oscar is all too aware of the risks of not waking up. Perhaps being asleep when Da is finally close enough again for Oscar to make a noise and remind him he's here, and miss his chance entirely. He doesn't want to die in here.

Alone and forgotten. As fitting as it seems for him.

Perhaps half of it is fear for his own mortality, but the rest —

Who would look after Mo?

Da and Ma are both shit at it, probably haven't even fed the kid tonight. Had they put him to bed? Mo ain't good at sleeping on his own, he won't stay in their bedroom unless Oscar is there to keep him there, and then he'll wander off God knows where. He's gone missing countless times before, been found wandering the field or hiding somewhere in the farmhouse or curled up with the animals in one of the barns. Oscar can only wonder where he is now.

He supposes he has the answer to his question when he hears quiet footsteps approaching.

They aren't the heavy stomps of Da's boots, nor the delicate steps of Ma's bare feet. They're bare, but they're clumsy. Young.

"Os?" Morris says.

Oscar swallows hard to stifle a sob.

He'd thought his tears had all dried up with how he'd wailed, but suddenly they've found him again, and they've wound themselves tight around his throat, tighter than even the cold had bound him. He's struck with the desire to hold his little brother, clutch him tight to his chest. For his own comfort or Morris.

"Mo," he chokes out. "You ain't s'pose to be out here."

He wonders what Morris is wearing. Pictures him in his threadbare undershirt and drawers he wears to bed, pictures him freezing in the cold late fall air. Pictures his tiny clumsy feet against the cold, wet dirt.

"Wan'ed you," Morris mumbles. "Can't sleep. M'back hurts, Os."

Oscar's hurts too.

"He hit you?" he asks quietly.

"Uh-huh."

"Fuck. 'm'sorry, Mo."

He hears movement as Morris shuffles closer and must sink down, and the door rattles slightly in its frame.

"Can you feel me?" Morris asks, with all the innocence of a little kid. "'m'right here. Got my—my hand on the door. So 's'almos' like bein' together."

Oscar has to swallow again. Shuffles closer and presses his own palm to the door, where he guesses Morris' might be.

"I can feel you, Mo."

He can't. All he can feel is the door between them and the walls all around him, but it's nice to pretend. For a moment, it almost makes it easier to breathe. But then he thinks a little more, about the fact that Morris is here, and his chest gets tight again. The walls squeeze in.

"Mo," he says, edged with urgency, "You gotta get back inside."

Morris whines. "I don' wanna."

"I know, I know you don't, but you gotta. 'f'Da catches you out here—"

"I don' wanna go inside, Daidí was bein' scary—"

"I know. I know, Mo. But he'll be scarier if he finds you, yeah?"

It's as if he can hear Morris swallow in the beat of silence that follows.

"Yeah," he whispers. "He'll be. Be real mad."

"Yeah. Good. Good kid. So you jus' gotta. Head back inside an' head to bed, alright. Wrap yourself up. 's'cold, ain't it?"

"Are you cold?" Morris asks suddenly, rather than answer.

Oscar can't feel his hands at all anymore. Can't feel his feet, the sensation crawling up his legs like he's sinking into something. His knees are aching like they've been turned to stone, and he feels as if maybe he'll never be able to move them again.

"'m'fine," he lies, and Morris believes him, because what else can the kid do?

"Okay," he says quietly. And then pats his palm in a soft rhythm against the door, a clumsy little game to amuse himself, until Oscar starts patting back. The two of them continue, locked in an out-of-sync sort of rattling of sound, until finally Oscar catches on to Morris' rhythm, and Morris bursts out giggling quietly as they're suddenly tapping in perfect sync to his own made-up music.

Oscar, despite everything, can't help but feel himself smile too.

"Get inside," he tells Morris gently. "Curl up on my side of the bed, 'f you gotta. Okay? Try get some sleep."

"I will," Mo says. Like the good kid he is. "I will. Love you, Os."

God. Oscar swallows hard.

"Love you too, Mo."

Morris' footsteps race away, and the silence that follows is deafening. So all-consuming that Oscar takes to tapping again, just to prove to himself that all sound hasn't emptied from the world, hasn't left him behind like everybody else.

It's cold. It's so fucking cold. And, without Morris, the fear begins to drown him again, but he meets it with a new determination — to stay awake, to survive. Because his baby brother needs him.

And Oscar's not a kid anymore.

[steddiemicrofic]

Steddie Microfic January 1st-7th Masterlist

Man, you guys really love hole. I don't think we're surprised at all about it.

What I am surprised by is how many of you accomplished Wynn's goal of keeping it G rated.

I'm gonna give everyone a challenge for week 2: Bonus points (not literally, we aren't keeping a point system) if you can keep it G rated and include the trope enemies to lovers OR childhood friends to lovers. -Mickala 💖

Another Hole In Your Head by @bifuriouswaterbender | Rated G | no cw

I love you by @medusapelagia | Rated G | no cw

Legend Has It by @griefabyss69 | Rated E | no cw

swindled for the hole by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated M | cw: sexual innuendo, implied sexual content | tags: modern au, established relationship, date night

Marks and Paintings by @aidaronan | Rated E | no cw | tags: smut, pwp, comeplay, fingering

Hole in Me by @thisapplepielife | Rated E | cw: 18+ only, light dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex | tags: established relationship, foreplay, smutty teasing, top eddie munson, bottom steve harrington

Untitled by @estrellami-1 | Rated G | no cw

holes on the house by @cranberrymoons | Rated M | cw: innuendo

more than these bones by @momotonescreaming | Rated T | cw: implied main character death/undeath | tags: zombie au, first meeting

Bullshit by @shares-a-vest | Rated T | cw: angst without a happy ending, break-up, hurt/no comfort

donut thief by @sourw0lfs | Rated G | no cw

Untitled by @sharpbutsoft | Rated G | no cw

The romantic implications of quoting Pride and Prejudice by @hbyrde36 | Rated E | no cw | tags: established relationship, love confessions, porn with feelings

Wanna Help Me Dig A Hole? by @runninriot | Rated G | no cw

Need by @wormdebut | Rated E | cw: anal fingering, d/s dynamics | tags: hot boys whimpering

Unapologetically Steve Harrington by @novacorpsrecruit | Rated G | cw: needle

Slay me dead by @katyawriteswhump | Rated E | cw: foreplay, sex, mention of sex toys | tags: rising rockstar eddie, wannabe popstar steve, angst and fluff, shameless pet names

Fixation by @messessentialist | Rated T | no cw

hole in the wall by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated T | cw: steve's dad is an asshole, implied abusive behavior | tags: realizing feelings, bisexual steve, extremely subtle love confession, mention of canon events, angst with a happy ending

Numb by @oh-stars | Rated G | no cw

It's a Date by @bifuriouswaterbender | Rated T | no cw

Half of Me by @lihhelsing | Rated G | no cw | tags: hurt/comfort

fill the holes by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated E | cw: dom/sub dynamic, mild degradation | tags: dom eddie munson, sub steve harrington, anal sex, finger sucking, brat steve harrington, unprotected sex, dirty talk

what you cannot hold (wanting) by @steviesummer | Rated G | cw: angst, unrequited love (maybe)

Only Fools Rush In by @katdeerly | Rated M | cw: recreational drug use

ask me (I won't say no how could I?) by @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly | Rated M | cw: implied sexual content/language | tags: modern au

i'm way too good at goodbyes by @sunflowerharrington | Rated E | cw: main character death

untitled by @wearing-tearing | Rated G | no cw

my little hatefuck by @starryeyedjanai | Rated E | cw: hate sex, petnames (derogatory)

My Cabin in The Woods by @slavicviking | Rated G | no cw | tags: pre-season 4 AU

smooth operator by @thefreakandthehair | Rated M | no cw

Desperate by @stevesjockstrap | Rated E | cw: masturbation interruptus, pet names, sex toy, anal fingering, a little manipulation

pull my threads by @onirislanding | Rated T | cw: innuendo

lotus-blossom by @hitlikehammers | Rated E | cw: rimming, light/implied felching, dirty talk

get what i want by @onirislanding | Rated T | no cw

Be my escape by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated M | no cw | tags: fantasy au, magic au, guard steve, thief eddie, imprisonment, claustrophobia, eddie munson whump, referenced sex

we found wonderland by @sourw0lfs | Rated G | no cw