#first i have to figure out who i'm even supposed to talk to

[starlost-mochi-x]

lonely st. series finale ✧ chapter x : a new dawn

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: mentions of injuries, lil bit angsty, some romance (not saying who but it's a surprise!), sad jisung :(( he's the best, i can't be bothered to write any more warnings. also i have no clue how basketball works so any basketballer stays out there pls don't come for me

a/n: it's done! i cried writing this last chapter but the ending is worth it i swear. thank you so much for all of the love, it means the world, and i'm so glad to have written this series for all of you <3 please read this post before you open this chapter if you haven't already 💫

series masterlist | skz masterlist

Hyunjin leapt and shot a hoop for the umpteenth time; he glanced over at the closed double doors of the gym as the ball thudded against the ground.

The gym was quiet and dark; the lights were turned off, and Hyunjin could only see because of the moonlight that spilled into the room from the high windows, unobstructed by other buildings and illuminating the lines and boundaries of the court.

Retrieving the ball, he sat down in the middle of the court, glancing around the darkened gym. He wasn't supposed to be in there to begin with; it was eleven pm and he was supposed to be in bed, sleeping.

Yet again, he hadn't been able to.

Feeling so restless that even sleepy Jeongin began to become disturbed by his tossing and turning, he'd decided to take a walk and figured that it wouldn't have hurt to shoot a few hoops to try and tire himself out. The last game of the tournament was tomorrow; they'd be heading back to school early and competing there.

Hyunjin contemplated his performance so far; he'd done pretty well, and worked harder than he'd thought he could. Every game except one which was a draw, they'd won so far.

There was one match left and Hyunjin had no intention of breaking the winning streak. Not when he and his teammates had worked so inexplicably hard.

He touched the bandage on his wrist, deep in thought; the friction burn was healing, and the bruise was beginning to fade, little by little, but after five whole days, there had been no real improvement. His wrist still hurt when he moved it too far to the left and it ached dully when he flexed his forearm.

He'd been told to leave the bandage on so as to prevent infection; at first, he hadn't minded, but soon the addition of the wrap to his body had become nothing more than a constant nuisance, something he'd had to stop and adjust during games.

The nurse who had wrapped it to begin with had given him a sling, or brace of some sorts; it was sleek and black, wrapping up his forearm and securing at the base of his thumb. He didn't wear it during the night, but he smiled at the memory of when he'd shown it to his teammates.

"It looks like a spy glove," Jeongin had told him with a grin.

Hyunjin wasn't sure what that had meant, but at least it had made little foxy Innie smile. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly, realising that the younger member hadn't been as happy as he had been at the start of the tournament.

They were doing just fine in terms of the competition, but Hyunjin knew his team members well, and if the evidence of overwhelming, strained practices and sleepless nights was enough to go by, he could tell they all just wanted to go home.

He felt the exact same way; the last few days had stung more and more without Y/n. He'd told her everything that had happened as often as he could, whether it was over the phone or through text.

He found he liked calling her better; it was nice hearing her voice, especially when he put it on speaker and let her tone float around him. It was like she was sitting right beside him as he talked about everything that had happened.

Deciding to get up and head back to bed, he put the basketball back into the netted ball bins near the door and slipped out of the gym, pressing the large flat button to raise the hoop. It ascended into the ceiling with a soft whirring sound and Hyunjin slipped round the corridor, walking towards his dorm.

He checked the time; he'd been gone for about an hour and a half. Hopefully the other members were asleep by now, and if he was lucky, he would be able to dress down and slip into bed before anyone even stirred.

Checking round the corner for any potential adults or figures of authority, Hyunjin hurried silently down the hallway to his dorm. It wasn't like anyone was out this time of night, but he still felt wary, and he couldn't help but think what might happen if any of the coaches if they caught him sneaking around in the dead of night.

Quietly opening the door to his dorm room and flinching at the click of the lock, he slipped inside and shut it as quietly as possible. The room was dark; he froze for a second, trying to determine whether anyone was awake. Hearing nothings but soft breathing and the occasional shuffle from Jeongin's bunk, he tiptoed over the his corner of the room, toeing off his socks and gently placing them down next to his sneakers.

It was completely dark in the room; Hyunjin stretched a hand in front of his face and saw nothing. He squinted and tried to adjust his watering eyes to the pitch blackness of the room as he slipped off his hoodie, then his shirt.

It was freezing cold; the dorms usually became cold by night, therefore they'd been supplied with extra bedsheets and blankets, and been told to dress warm for the night, but Hyunjin quite liked not having layers on when he slept. He liked the feeling of the coolness against his skin; it seeped through his skin and made him feel light, airy, and clean.

It was especially welcome as the sweat cooled and evaporated off of his skin; it meant he didn't have to freshen up. Now standing in nothing but his usual shorts, he felt his way to his bottom bunk, clumsily settling into the sheets and turning to face the wall.

He jolted and let out a muffled yelp as someone rolled over and slung a warm arm around his middle. Recognising the size and build of it almost instantly, he let out a shaky breath.

"Shit, Felix," he whispered. "You scared me."

From behind him, Felix smirked so hard Hyunjin could almost hear it in the dimness of the room. "Sorry."

"Why are you in my bed and not yours, sleepy chicken?"

Felix tugged him closer, nuzzling his face into Hyunjin's nape and whispering into the skin. "I got cold and Innie told me to leave him alone. Jisung's dead to the world and he tends to unknowingly thwack me if I sleep next to him, so I came to your bunk. Surprise, you weren't there."

Hyunjin let out a soft scoff. "My bad."

"It is your bad," Felix agreed. "Out talking to Y/n again?"

Hyunjin stiffened slightly and lightly pinched Felix's hand, resting on his hip. "No. I couldn't sleep, so I went to shoot a couple hoops."

Felix hissed. "You could have gotten in so much trouble."

His friend let out a soft, exasperated noise. "I can't help it. Besides, I've had a lot to think about."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Felix's voice was soft and thoughtful, though a little teasing. "Like what?"

"The winning streak our team has. My forearm injury. Y/n. You. The mess with Jisung. Also, my hair's growing longer and I don't know how to cut it myself." Hyunjin blew a strand of it out of his eyes as if to demonstrate his point.

Felix chuckle softly, murmuring. "Maybe you should ask Y/n to cut it for you when you get back."

Hyunjin was silent for a moment. "I really miss her, Lix."

"I know. I miss her too."

Hyunjin turned and shuffled, facing his friend. Felix tangled their legs together for warmth, shivering. Noticing his discomfort, Hyunjin pulled him gently closer and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, his voice becoming even softer than before.

"Do you think she really might like me?"

Felix nodded softly, the quiet brushing sound of his head against the pillow being Hyunjin's only confirmation. Quickly getting up to reach for his phone, which he'd thrown on the floor (Hyunjin swore he would never treat his own device like that) he settled back into his friend's bed and opened to his homescreen.

The sudden brightness made both boys hiss and Hyunjin let out a muffle groan. Felix, however, was undeterred, and navigated with watering eyes to his messages, where he opened up the chat he had with Y/n.

Turning his phone to Hyunjin, Felix pointed to several messages from her that had been sent not long ago.

"She sent these to me after I called her to check something back at home," he whispered. "It was really late, and she was crying."

Hyunjin's eyes widened as he realised the date. It was the almost exact same time and the same date from when she'd told him to look in his bag. Where he'd found the bandaids, and the little note she'd left for him inside the innermost pocket.

The exact same date, where she'd texted Felix crying, and the exact same date where Hyunjin had sat in the middle of the lamplit dorm, tears streaking down his cheeks as he'd cried to himself.

He cried because he had missed her, he wanted to see her, and he couldn't help the tidal wave of emotions that had surged over him after Y/n had ended the call; overwhelm, tiredness, longing, sadness. On top of all of that, she was just really sweet and the sentimentality of the gesture had brought tears to his eyes. Jisung had always joked about how soft he was for affectionate gestures, and Hyunjin was grudgingly beginning to see how he had a point.

He took Felix's phone and read through the messages from after the phone call with her had ended.

*call with 'y/nnie ⛓️' ended. call duration 00:01:43* lix 🌻: he'll be back soon, y/nnie. don't worry! y/nnie ⛓️: is he doing okay? lix 🌻: he's good i think lix 🌻: he was kinda upset a couple days ago because of all the pressure that's been heaped on him lix 🌻: and he's been a little tense y/nnie ⛓️: i could tell after we talked on the phone y/nnie ⛓️: he sounded really tired too lix 🌻: if his voice is anything to go by, you sound exhausted lix 🌻: but please don't cry y/nnie ⛓️: i'm sorry for calling you and disturbing you from whatever you were doing, lix lix 🌻: nonono don't be sorry!! i understand lix 🌻: i think he misses you too lix 🌻: ...but you already know that

Hyunjin turned the phone towards the real Felix laying beside him and glared at him pointedly.

"You gonna keep exposing me like this?" He whispered.

Felix whispered back accusingly. "I didn't say anything exposing to her. You literally told her you missed her."

"Oh, right. My bad."

Felix scoffed and it turned into a quiet laugh, muffled by Hyunjin's large hand over his mouth.

"Don't wake the others," he huffed out, though a smile teased the corners of his mouth.

His friend nodded, both of them bathed in the bright blue glow of Felix's phone screen, which was still held aloft between them in Hyunjin's hands.

"I really do miss her, Lix."

His friend's voice was soft. "I know. Are you planning to tell her, though? How you feel?"

Hyunjin sighed. "I want to, but I just don't know."

Felix propped himself up on his elbows and began stroking Hyunjin's hair out of his face. "If you don't tell her, she might go a long time without having you by her side. In that way."

"But I'd rather have her friendship than nothing at all," Hyunjin glanced at him desperately.

"Well, we're heading back tomorrow, for the final game, so maybe you can tell her then."

Hyunjin sighed and settled down further into the sheets, feeling heat radiating off of Felix's body. "Maybe."

From the other side of the room, Jisung, who had been silently listening from his bunk, closed his eyes, and slept.

Hyunjin sighed and pushed the ball bins back into the gym's storage cupboard. The boys' teams had spent the entire morning helping to clean and pack up the courts for the end of the tournament, and though it had initially sounded like an easy task, it turned out to be quite the opposite.

Hyunjin was sweating by the time he'd packed up his assigned area; he'd been told to check all of the storage cupboards and count the balls, before scouring the courts for any strays left over. He'd been running back and forth through the gyms all morning.

Wiping his forehead with a sweaty hand, he wondered where all of the others had gone. Each member had been given a set of different tasks, and though they had initially planned to leave for the school campus early in the morning, the date had been changed so that they were leaving later that afternoon.

Hyunjin didn't mind; he'd grown quite accustomed to the polished courts and the dorms where he'd spent so much time. He sat down in the middle of the court and leaned back on his hands. His wrist was almost healed; there was still a noticeable burn mark, and the inside of his forearm was painted in shades of fading purple and green.

He chuckled as a shout snapped him out of his thoughts; Jeongin had been sent to the gym next door to organize the basketball gear, and Hyunjin thought he heard a faint thudding, most likely the basketballs he'd spent all morning collecting tumbling out of the bins and onto the courts.

"Shit, Innie," he groaned aloud to himself. "That took me all morning."

Getting up, he stretched his hands far above his head, letting out another groan, and decided to go check on his younger member to see what kind of chaos he'd managed to cause this time.

Stepping out of the double doors and wincing at the sunlight that just so happened to be shining in his face, he shielded his eyes with a hand and began walking through the pathway that led to where Jeongin was. He passed another gym and paused as he heard a familiar laugh from inside.

Curiosity, or perhaps nosiness getting the best of him, he peeked into the gym, noticing two figures sprawled out on the polished wooden floors. Checking left and right, and then cautiously poking his head into the gym, he looked around, trying to find something he could hide behind.

Noticing a storage cupboard to the right, which had been left ajar, he braced himself and dropped to his hands and knees, glancing across to make sure he wasn't seen. He took off his sneakers too; the last thing he wanted was for Felix and his little girlfriend to hear him squeaking his way across the court.

He hoped the storage cupboard was empty; a quick glance around showed him that it was. Satisfied with his hiding spot, he poked his head a little around the door to spy on his friend.

He felt a little bit bad; after all, they assumed they were alone; but he couldn't help it.

Besides, Hyunjin thought with a grudging grin, It's about time he gets a girl.

The girl in question, who Hyunjin had previously assumed to be a volleyballer, was leaning against one of the basketball bins at her back, legs stretched out in front of her. Felix was leaning on one hand, nodding along attentively to something she was saying. Hyunjin bit his lip to keep the smile from his face; it was honestly really cute.

He watched as Felix reached up a hand to run it through his hair, his eyes not leaving the girl's face. She didn't look away either as his hand came down, suspiciously close to her own. She made to fake-stretch and rested her hand closer to his friends.

He rolled his eyes. Get on with it already, man.

Felix apparently must have heard his telepathic message, because he inched his hand forward, just barely touching hers. Hyunjin's smile grew as he saw her hand inch forward too, til their fingers were loosely laced together against the polished floor of the court.

Even though Hyunjin was a short distance away, he could see Felix's cheeks heating up, taking on a soft pink hue matching the girl's ears. If he was being honest with himself, Hyunjin was halfway through wanting to clap and cheer and halfway through wanting to throw up, but he kept quiet and hidden nonetheless.

Felix adjusted himself so he was a little closer; his fingers moved to lightly run his thumb along the back of the girl's hand. He was smiling as sincerely as Hyunjin had ever seen it. Even brighter than the sun. Was that possible?

He was busy pondering that thought when his vision came back into focus, just in time to see Felix press his mouth to hers.

Hyunjin's jaw dropped and he knew he should look away, give his friend privacy, but he was so enamoured by the sight of his forever-bitchless friend finally getting some game that all he could do was stare with his mouth open.

Felix tilted his head a little and brought a hand up to gently run it along the side of her face; the girl's hands were clutching at his shoulders and she was beginning to lean back. Felix blindly reached beside her head, still kissing her, and pushed the ball bin that she was leaning on away, sending it rolling back a metre. He leaned forward just as the girl leaned back, propping herself up on the floor.

O-kay, time to stop watching them now-!

Hyunjin turned and covered his mouth as he leant against the wall of the storage cupboard, in disbelief. He'd just seen his friend kissing a girl.

Hyunjin now had two choices; stay until they had finished with the lovey-dovey notions, or risk being seen as he left. He decided to stay in the storage cupboard after a moment of strategic thinking. If the faint sounds of kissing and sighing were anything to go by, they wouldn't be done for a while.

Looking around the small, dark room while he waited, Hyunjin noticed another door hidden behind a small rack of tennis equipment to his left. Getting up as quietly as he could, he moved to the door and turned the handle, wondering whether it led to a smaller cupboard.

It didn't. It led out into the sunshine, and Hyunjin realised it was the back door to the gym. He sighed in relief and shut the door behind himself.

Deciding to actually go and find Jeongin, and see if he needed any help, Hyunjin set off towards the other gym opposite, peeking inside just in case he happened to walk in on anyone else.

Jisung and Jeongin were inside, much to Hyunjin's relief, and he walked to them, feeling a bit shaky on his legs. They were sitting in the middle of the court, playing some sort of game on Jisung's phone, and apparently finished with their tasks. Hyunjin sighed thankfully; at least their jobs were done. He'd already decided not to tell them anything for fear of upsetting Felix.

Jeongin looked up as he approached, smiling. It dropped as he tilted his head at the older boy in concern.

"Captain, why is your face so red?"

The bus ride back to the school campus was long and uneventful; the boys had started off chattering and laughing, throwing snack wrappers at each other, and teasing other endlessly, but had eventually fallen silent as the ride progressed. Hyunjin sat next to Jeongin this time, Felix having decided to sit with Jisung.

Looking through the gap in the seats, Hyunjin noticed Felix smiling at his phone, his cheeks still a bit red. His hair was a little disheveled too and Hyunjin smiled to himself as he turned and leant back against his seat, closing his eyes.

At least someone had the guts to confess.

He looked out the window, contemplatively intertwining his hands as his brow furrowed, wondering what he should do. He had followed through with his plan so far; he'd grown closer to Y/n through texts an calls, and he had a slight feeling that she might like him, but he still wasn't any closer to finding out whether Jisung harboured any sort of affection towards her or not.

Truthfully, he hadn't been talking to him much, only when they were on the court. Otherwise, they'd only been talking when absolutely necessary, and as Hyunjin reflected, he began to feel guilty for how much he'd been neglecting his friend. He wondered if Jisung had any idea about what was going on. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't.

He could only hope it was the latter.

He knew for sure that Jisung had caught onto his avoidant behaviour; he'd overheard him talking to Felix about how he felt like he'd done something wrong, or perhaps said something that might have upset Hyunjin, and as a result, made his captain avoid him.

He'd felt pretty bad after that; Hyunjin kicked himself for letting the negative feelings fester in his heart for so long. He should have just talked to him about it. But there was still a part of him that felt that Jisung liked Y/n too, and if he knew that he had competition, things could have turned nasty between them.

And yes, Hyunjin liked Jisung, and he was a close friend, but Hyunjin had finally found a potential other half in Y/n, and he wasn't sure what he was willing to put on the line if it meant being on the receiving end of her affection.

Was it worth losing Jisung for Y/n?

Hyunjin groaned softly and let his head fall against the window, the vibrating sensation of the bus's movement reverberating through his head, shaking up his thoughts. It was still sunny outside, and he closed his eyes, letting the sunshine filter through onto his skin, painting the insides of his eyelids in a coral sheen.

He jolted as Jeongin's head fell slowly on his shoulder; looking down, he realised the younger boy had fallen asleep. Brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, he kissed his friend's head affectionately and he decided to attempt to fall asleep himself, trying to get comfortable in his seat.

Maybe some rest would clear his mind.

"Okay, so you two can play defence for the first half, because we've watched some of the other team's plays and they always go for the left side, so you two block them there. Innie, make sure you get in front of the other team's shooter, so we have a clear view of the net."

Jeongin nodded. "Okay."

Hyunjin stood and regarded each of his teammates in turn. They were prepared. For once, he felt focused, sharp, and fire ran through his veins as he took his position on the court, the center.

The final game.

The court was packed to the brim; the school had even hung several banners in the boys' team colours to encourage them. They could win a home game.

Students, teachers, and even the principal had come down to spectate the game, filling out the bleachers. Those who couldn't find somewhere to sit were happy enough to watch the game from the side of the court, provided they didn't distract any of the boys playing.

Hyunjin had previously felt rather nervous upon entering the court, seeing that everyone was there, but he'd told himself to focus, putting all thoughts out of his mind while he zoned in. The game was his only priority right now; everything could be dealt with after.

Including Y/n.

He hadn't seen her in the crowd; he hoped she was in there somewhere, spectating. He wanted her to be here, but he didn't have time to scan the bleachers and the crowd, instead deciding that the team should run through the tactics one more time. He'd enlisted Felix to tie his hair back; it hadn't worked the first time. His bangs were too short to be tied back, but too long and distracting to have in his face.

Grudgingly, he'd allowed Felix to loosely braid it, so that he had one of either side, his hair in a tiny little bun at his nape. It felt a little strange; it'd been so long since he had a haircut. He was used to having no hair against his neck, since he liked it short, but he found that he didn't mind the longer length either.

Also, Y/n had teasingly told him she liked the style on him when he'd sent her a picture of the group over text.

So he'd kept it.

Shaking his head, Hyunjin kept his eyes on the ball as the referee held it between them, poised to blow the whistle. There was gradual silence as the crowd settled down, waiting in anticipation to see who would get the upper hand first.

To no one's surprise, and to the enormous annoyance of the other team's center, Hyunjin's fingertips brushed the ball, sending it almost halfway down the court, where his teammate intercepted it and began dribbling towards the hoop.

Hyunjin landed lightly and quickly adjusted the black sleeve protecting his injury, before racing down the court.

Twenty minutes later and Hyunjin was beginning to become weary and exhausted; his coach called a timeout and went through a couple strategies, much to the team's relief. It'd been one of the toughest games so far, and as Hyunjin glanced up at the scoreboard, he realised they were currently at a tie.

He exhaled forcefully as the game started up again, moving to defend an opponent as Felix moved down the court with the ball. He noticed two of the other team's members moving towards Jisung as Felix passed the ball to him, and shouted out a warning.

One of the opponents budged Jisung hard with his shoulder, attempting to take the ball, and he spun, leaning over with the ball to his middle to stop them from taking it. Jisung looked up as the other opponent covered the closest team member; there was nowhere for him to pass. He glanced up at the clock as Hyunjin began to move towards him. Thirty seconds.. he could either wait it out and keep the ball, or risk passing.

If they take the ball, though, he thought. I have to keep it on our side.

Desperately, he looked to Hyunjin, who was currently being marked by an opponent. The clock began to count down, the crowd's cries becoming increasingly loud and frantic.

Twenty seconds.

Jisung barely managed to pass the ball to his friend, almost tripping, and Hyunjin exhaled as he moved towards the hoop, faster than he'd ever done in his life.

Much to his dismay, an opponent to his left brushed his arm as he reached for the ball, and nudged Hyunjin's injury, sending a shooting pain up his left arm. Crying out and dropping the ball, stumbling, he made to recapture it before someone whizzed past and stole it.

Jisung.

He had three opponents marking him now, and a clear shot of the hoop. They caged him in and Hyunjin fell unsurely, clumsy on his feet. His arm was beginning to throb sharply and it became hard to focus on anything else. He could only stand as Felix hoisted him from the ground and watch as Jisung dribbled the ball where he stood, looking for an opening.

Ten seconds.

Jisung made to move towards the hoop and was shoved roughly in the side. Hyunjin let out an outraged yelp but Felix held him back, just as Jisung fell down, shooting desperately at the hoop in a last-ditch attempt.

The buzzer rang as the ball hit the floor.

Everyone turned to look at the referee; they'd all missed the opportunity to see if the ball had gone in, and that too during the ending buzzer. There was silence as he debated the verdict, before lifting his left hand and signaling a point to Hyunjin's team.

The crowd roared in ecstasy, but Hyunjin was distracted; Jisung was on the floor, back to him, clutching his right leg.

Skidding to his knees beside his teammate and raising a hand for the medic, he glanced down desperately at his friend.

"Jisung," he gasped, panting.

His face was twisted in pain, his lips parting as he groaned softly, chest heaving. Hyunjin let the hair tie slip from his locks, his bangs falling into his face as he cradled Jisung's head.

Their coach and two medics came to assess his friend; one of them moved to take off Jisung's shoe. His ankle was already beginning to bruise severely, the swelling evident against his pale skin. Jisung cried out just as the medic attempted to move it gently to the left.

"Sung," Hyunjin whispered, the guilt flooding his system all of a sudden. "I'm so sorry, I- I got jealous, and I hurt you, and I didn't meant to ignore you for the entire tournament, it's just-"

Jisung was being helped into a sitting position, still managing to shoot Hyunjin a pained grin as he panted. "I know, Cap. Relax."

"Sung, I swear, I should have-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know you like her, by the way."

Hyunjin's head snapped up. The medics took no notice, and their coach stood to direct the others off the court. The crowd was now chattering amongst themselves, and Hyunjin was glad they weren't dead silent, staring at Jisung and his now-hurt ankle.

"Y-you knew?"

Jisung rolled his eyes despite the pain. "Yeah, I knew. It wasn't hard to tell. Besides, I decided to let you be mad at me for a while because I figured you had enough going on. You're welcome."

Hyunjin's eyes filled with tears despite the public situation. "Thanks. I'm so sorry, Jisung."

His friend waved a hand, his head lolling back a little as he hissed, the medic moving to cushion his foot. "Ah- shit, yeah, it's all good, man. I don't like her, by the way."

Hyunjin blinked at him. "You don't?"

"She's nice and all, but nah."

Hyunjin let his shoulders sag in relief. Touching Jisung's hand, he smiled at him just as a tear ran down his cheek. He felt overwhelmingly happy all of a sudden; they'd won the championship, he'd made up with his friend, and now he could finally relax now that Jisung didn't like Y/n. Of course, there was still the matter of whether Y/n liked him, or anyone for that matter, but Hyunjin brushed that thought to the back of his mind, letting it sit quiet and forgotten for the time being.

Jisung smirked at his friend, his face sweaty and flushed. "Felix has a girlfriend now. That volleyballer chick. He confessed to her before we left and they're planning to meet up. Think it's about time you did the same thing, Hyunjinnie."

Hyunjin's eyes met his friend's a little sadly. "I don't know where she is."

"Felix said he saw her walking down the corridor by her form class earlier. Apparently just chilling out by herself since we don't have classes because of the game."

Hyunjin squeezed Jisung's hand. "I don't want to leave you."

His friend waved a hand. "Go. I'll be fine, they're probably going to take me to the infirmary. We'll see you later, okay?"

Hyunjin nodded and stepped back, letting the medics lift his friend and sling an arm over each of their shoulders, carrying him off the court.

He congratulated his team briefly and shook hands with the other team before slipping out of the gym. An increasing sense of urgency settled in his stomach, each step he took fueling the fire that had been burning in his heart since he'd realised what Y/n meant to him.

Please, he thought desperately as he broke into a run. Please let her be here. I don't care that she didn't watch my game, I just want to see her.

He skidded around a corner and saw a figure sitting in one of the window alcoves, a sketchbook laying open beside them. The page was blank. Hyunjin's heart leapt so high and hard he thought he might lean over and throw it up.

Y/n.

He cried out her name and broke into an even faster run, skidding to a stop beside her. His sneakers screeched against the floor and he doubled over. It wasn't for long, though, and as he hauled himself upright, he felt a pair of arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.

He clung to her, burying his face in her neck. She didn't seem to care how sweaty he was; her hand came up to cradle the back of his head, undoing the braids from his hair, fingers shaking.

"Hyune," she said quietly. He realised she was crying as he pulled back.

"I missed you so much," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I missed you too. It felt like forever, I was so alone-"

Hyunjin shook his head, an unexpected tear running down his cheek. "You're not alone. You said it yourself, you never have been."

She nodded vehemently, still holding onto his shoulders. Hyunjin stepped back a little, his arms still wrapped around her waist. He took a deep breath steeling his resolve.

"Y/n, I have to tell you something."

Her voice was quiet. "Me too."

Hyunjin's heart was thudding so hard it hurt. Now that he finally had the opportunity to tell her how she made him feel, he suddenly found he didn't have the words. It all rushed out of his head in an instant as Y/n looked up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"I don't know how to tell you," he whispered.

"Show, me then."

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, his eyes not leaving her gaze. Taking her chin in a shaking hand, he stroked it affectionately across her jaw.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

She did.

Hyunjin leant forward slowly. Surely she knew what he was doing, touching her like this, talking to her so softly. But she didn't back away, didn't back down, just stood close to him, held in his arms, and let Hyunjin kiss her.

She tasted salt and sweat and affection and she tilted her head a little, letting her hands touch his face, though shakily and experimentally.

Pulling back after a minute, Hyunjin rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. He was still holding her waist, and her eyes were still closed. Hyunjin watched a tears slip down her cheek and brushed it away with a warm thumb before it reached her jaw.

"Please don't cry," he murmured to her.

"I'm not..."

Hyunjin chucked softly, feeling so overwhelmed he could do nothing but hold her as if she was an anchor in a stormy sea. "Am I that bad of a kisser?"

Y/n opened her eyes, looking away from him. This time, there was no teasing remark, no playful insult, and it made Hyunjin's heart soar so high he felt like he was floating. He stroked her cheek as he looked back at him, both their tears falling freely.

"You're not alone," he whispered. "You'll never be alone, Y/nnie. I promise."

Y/n nodded, running a hand over her shoulder as Hyunjin pressed two fingers to her cheek, wiping away her tears.

"I know."

Hyunjin chuckled quietly, still holding her. "Yeah? How do you know?"

Y/n smiled up at him, eyes wet. She felt a little embarrassed, but to Hyunjin, she was the most beautiful person in the world, even if she was crying.

She touched his cheek.

"Because now I have you."

taglist (open) : @kozumesphone @bangchansgirlsblog @ms-flowergirl @stayriversflow @hhwangsmoon @steddie-steddie

✨ send a request or DM to be added / removed !

[whimsicalskeleton]

.

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 6!!!

[keeps-ache]

buttered noodles 💫💛🍜

[sysig]

Leftovers gone bad (Patreon)

[seafoam-taide]

You know I thought for awhile that I was just a rare type of person who sure, liked people well enough but was okay being alone didn't necessarily need anyone and NO. NO. NO. OH MY GOD . YOU GIANT DUMBASS. NO HAHAHA NOOO NOPE

[tokyoteddywolf]

22 isn't very much at all, I think.

[hua-fei-hua]

been seeing a lot of "kids these days" kind of posts bitching abt minors in fandom, and tbh i'm starting to feel a little bad for them.

like yeah, it can be exhausting to hear them complain about the stuff they see on ao3 that they don't like, but that's just the experience of curating one's own online experience for the first time. i remember taking countless aliquots of psychic damage by merely existing in the snk fandom back in the day!!! i have diary entries from that age where i talked about that discomfort and what i, at the time, thought should be done about it!!!

and like. spoiler alert, but it was pretty similar to those kinds of "this isn't right, and i think you're an icky person for being into it even though it's fiction" conclusions that you see a lot from people who are the same teenaged age as the characters involved.

there have been issues with calls to take down ao3 bc of this kind of thing, but that's not a position exclusive to people below the age of eighteen, and i don't think we're really going to actually get young fans to listen to us if we just keep calling them brats or snot-nosed children.

i've grown and changed a lot since i was their age, but something i have noticed is that it's easy to blame younger versions of yourself or others for not knowing the lessons you've learned since then. "i used to be that person; i know how they think, so why don't they see the obvious truth to my current viewpoint?" we fail so hard at giving kids the grace to be uneducated kids that we subsequently fail to educate them as intended.

being compassionate to kids is hard, i get it, especially when it feels like they're trying to actively dismantle the good you've worked hard to help create, and i don't think that bad behavior should go without consequences just because they're not adults yet. it's not our job as adults in fandom to parent them; hence the block button.

but like, idk. i think often about how easily we forget all the latent fear that existed within us growing up that slowly dissipated once we gradually assumed authority of our own lives. i think often about those posts that circulated tumblr about a decade ago promising to become the generation who wouldn't talk down on the generations below us, because we would remember how it felt to be talked down and dismissed at that age. and i just think that perhaps, generational warfare is not the answer here.

[tittiesnhrtz]

ghostface!ellie x reader

minors & men dni , fingering, cunnilingus, knife play, nipple play, overstim

it's a chilly october night, the leaves are still vibrant with autumn hues outside your window. a crisp breeze weaves through the trees outside, sending a gentle rustle through the branches. the faint scent of vanilla, pumpkin spice and cinnamon hangs in the air inside your home, wrapping all the furniture and the trinkets like a shroud. you’re sitting on your sage couch, wrapped in a cozy crocheted sweater, wearing loose shorts and leg warmers to keep your feet warm on the cold tiles beneath you. your parents are away for a few days at your grandma's, with her health getting worse, it's been hard for her to take care of herself.

the glow from the TV feels distant now, the reporter’s voice filling the otherwise silent room. it’s the same grim news cycle: more bodies found, more gruesome and grotesque details of the dead bodies that should make your skin crawl and erupt with goosebumps. but honestly? you’re just tired. tired of the stories and the police coming up empty.

two of your friends from your friend group are dead, and what'd they have in common? you dated them both at some point. this detail shouldn't probably be necessary or even worth dwelling on, but considering how almost everyone who's either flirted with you or gone on a date with you has no doubt ended up dead—killed by the infamous ghostface himself.

yes, a him. that's what mostly everyone believes but you're somehow sure it's not a man. the way ghostface toys with his victims, the blackmail and emotional mind games—it all feels too calculated, too clever to be the work of a man. not that you think men are stupid, but something about this whole situation just feels... off.

the sound of the doorbell jolts you out of your thoughts. ellie, your best friend, is supposed to be here any minute. she's been your rock through the whole ghostface ordeal. and you think you might be catching feelings for her. her stupid puns and that goofy smile plastered on her face whenever she'd talk about space, dinosaurs, comic books or anything that interested her really, got to you at some point.

with a sigh, you push yourself off the cozy couch, and shuffle over to the door. but when you swing it open, what should've been ellie on the other side is just empty air. that’s strange. you step outside, scanning the porch and the yard, half-expecting to see some kids laughing at their ding-dong ditch prank. instead, you’re hit with a chill as a dark figure catches your eye. a ghostface mask. your heart drops. but before you can even process what you just saw, it vanishes into the shadows.

you stumble back inside and lock the door, but then you hear it—a crash from the kitchen. a china dish smashing to the floor. fuck, what if this is it? what if you’re ghostface’s next target? with a tentative breath, you step inside the kitchen, holding a lamp, ready to strike. except, it's not ghostface, it's just ellie, standing there with a sheepish smile on her face.

"fuck- i thought you were-" you start, your voice trailing off as the memory of the figure outside flashes in your mind.

"i'm sorry, jus' thought i'd surprise you and come in through the back." she explains, motioning toward the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. "you should seriously learn to lock your doors."

her gaze then drops to the shards scattered across the kitchen floor, the delicate china dish now a jumbled mess of white and pastel blooms. "sorry 'bout that." she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

you let out a breath, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. lowering the lamp, you speak. "next time, just ring the doorbell?”

ellie grins. "yeah, sorry."

"whatever, just help me clean this mess." you motion to the mess on the white and black kitchen tiles.

"yep."

you can't stay mad at ellie and it's not the first time she's done something stupid like this.

𓍯𓂃

after what felt like an eternity of cleaning up the mess, you and ellie finally collapse onto your bed, grateful for the distraction of a movie. the small TV on the cabinet across the room flickers to life, and the eerie sounds of SAW II fill the space. you can feel ellie’s presence beside you—she’s sitting awfully close, her warmth radiating against your side. you steal a glance at her, and to your surprise, you catch her gulping, almost instinctively, not once, but three times already. though you're not sure if it's because of the proximity or the gore-y scenes displaying on the screen.

“not a fan of gore movies?”

she chuckles nervously, her eyes glued to the screen. “not exactly in love with the idea of people torturing each other.”  a hint of laughter in her voice, but you can sense something else underneath. something you pass off as anxiety.

you turn your attention back to the movie, but it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel the heat radiating from her. the scene on the screen darkens, and the tension builds as the characters navigate their terrifying predicament. you can’t help but steal another glance at ellie, who’s now looking directly at you.

the characters on the screen scream in despair, but you hardly register it. instead, your focus is drawn to the way her tongue glides over her plump pink lips. and god you want to kiss her badly, to taste the sweetness of her lips.

you don't miss the way her eyes dart down to your lips or the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. you take a breath, steeling yourself, and decide to be bold. you lean in slightly, heart pounding as you gauge her reaction. the air is tense, and you can see her breath hitch, taking that as an invitation, you close the gap.

her lips are slightly cracked but surprisingly soft. she makes a noise against your lips, hands gliding up to rest against your hips, but then they slowly start to wander. under your sweater, from your hips to your waist. ellie can’t help how warm her hands feel against your skin, how smooth, there’s not even callouses on them like hers. the kiss is a bit hungry and impatient, her tongue licking the seam of your lips. your hands move from your lap to cup her face as you part your lips.

the unexpected warmth of her tongue against your cheek sends a shiver down your spine, silencing the whirlwind of thoughts that had been racing through your mind. it’s a ticklish sensation, one that catches you off guard. you let out a small gasp which is muffled into her mouth. ellie continues to explore, her tongue tracing the soft contours of your cheek as if she’s savoring every little bump and curve. there’s a clumsiness to it, an awkwardness that feels endearing rather than off-putting.

when you pull away, a delicate string of saliva connects your lips. your cheeks heat up as you notice the drool glistening in her chin, a sight that is enough to make your panties wet. you lean in and lick the drool off of her, and you can feel her tense up, her hands on your waist squeezing gently. the only source of light is from the TV, and it casts shadows over both of your bodies, the screen and the voices of the characters now completely forgotten. you can feel her hands move from your waist and she’s suddenly cupping your breasts over your bra.

“is this okay?” her thumb traces circles over the soft mounds, staring at you for an answer.

you nod in return and help her remove your sweater and your bra, tossing it somewhere in the darkness. her gaze flicks down to your breasts and for awhile, she just stares. and then a quiet curse follows. her hands move to knead your breasts, watching the skin closely. then, she takes a nipple between her fingers and gently pinches it, watching your every reaction. her mouth latches onto your other breast, her tongue darting out to swirl around it and suck the hardened nub as she pleases, the soft symphony of your quiet noises echoing in the night.

you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into her mouth. she alternates between both of them, giving them both equal attention. her mouth goes dry and she has to pull away with a pop, her green eyes searching your own.

“i wanna feel you.”

her breath hitches and before she knows it, your hands are on the waist band of her jeans, fingers looping into her brown belt. her eyes darken with desire as she looks at you.

“yeah, baby?” she exhales.

the nickname makes your cunt tighten around nothing and you're hastily unbuckling her belt and tossing it away. your fingers work to unbutton her jeans and you slip a hand inside. she lets out a gentle groan as your teeth bite into the flesh of her neck. you leave a series of bruising kisses in their wake as your palm comes into contact with her boxers. to your surprise, she's soaking wet. you almost want to tease her but your desire prevails over it and you're slipping your fingers into her boxers, tracing her slick folds. she's making the prettiest noises too, already falling apart under your touch. but little did you know, she's spent years dreaming of this moment. paintings and drawings of you hidden under her bed, along with the candid pictures that she oh so eagerly waits to get off to every night.

"say you want me."

her breathing is unsteady as she opens her mouth to speak. "fuck." she grunts softly and leans her head into your shoulder. "i want you, baby. please."

her pathetic begging and whines are enough for you to give in, her cunt throbbing as your fingers rub her slick along it. it greedily sucks in your digit as you slowly add it. she feels ecstatic because this isn't a dream anymore, it's real. you add another digit, eliciting a pornographic moan from her. it isn't long until your fingers are curling around her g-spot and her walls are squelching around them.

""m close..s-so close."

"i know. just cum for me, yeah?" you coo into her ear before nipping at the skin just below her ear. and she does exactly that, letting out a strangled sob as her body gets the release she's been chasing for. you take your fingers out of her boxers and suck them clean. ellie still has her eyes shut and her head against your shoulder but she can hear the way your mouth wraps around your fingers and sucks her juices off. she's pulling away and looking at you.

and then, she's guiding you down to lay on the bed, lifting your hips up to remove your shorts until you're splayed in just your cotton panties and leg warmers in front of her. she almost moans at the sight.

"you're so-" she starts, but cuts herself off. leaning down to hover over you and planting a kiss on your temple, on your cheek and one on your collarbone. one of her hands starts rubbing the inside of your thigh as she leans in and kisses you, sloppily. her hand comes to rub your clothed cunt and you feel her muffled moan inside your mouth, as you swallow the noise. she pulls back to look down at you.

"look how wet." she smirks and you almost regret not teasing her about her own drenched underwear.

you can only whimper and lift your hips up in return as her hands hook under the waistband of your underwear and pull it off of you.

"god, so gorgeous and so wet....all for me." she murmurs, more to herself than you. her pupils are blown wide, lips parted as she moves your legs up and pushes them apart. your hands find purchase on her ass beneath her flannel as she mouths at the skin of your neck like it's her hobby. as you squeeze her jeans-clothed ass, you swear you feel an outline of something resembling a... knife. in her back pocket. you take the object out and it's indeed a knife. ellie was in a daze to notice or feel what you were doing— to busy enjoying your skin after only having imagined what it must have felt like in her dreams. your voice, however, causes her to look up from your neck. you dangle the knife in front of her.

"..why do you have a knife?"

her eyes widen a fraction before she smirks and takes the knife from you. "protection. why else?" she answers like you were dumb to even ask the question in the first place. “don’t wanna risk getting killed with ghostface on the loose.”

a pause. "but...it could come handy for other things." she glides the knife down your clavicle to your breasts, the hitching of your breath only serving to encourage her. she presses it down against one of your nipples before moving it lower— where you're aching for her the most.

the cold blade presses against your puffy clit and you moan loudly. "ellie..."

"shh." she coos, grinning down at you, almost sinisterly. she pushes it further against the bundle of nerves, making you whimper. "i need-" she cuts you off by lining the knife along your delicate entrance, you let out a cry and your eyes widen in fear and shock. she seems to notice it and pulls the knife away, but not before gliding it up and down your folds.

"i'm not gonna hurt you, baby." the words roll of her tongue like honey and you feel bad for fearing her in the first place. she places the knife beside you on the sheets and moves to place herself in between your legs. a couple of kisses to your clit before she's greedily licking at your pussy. tongue moving at a relentless pace against your clit as her hands come up to grope your tits. moans fall out of your lips like a prayer and she pushes her tongue inside your cunt before pulling back and lapping away at your juices. you're awfully close and she knows it, she can sense it by the way you're arching your back and gripping the sheets, your knuckles almost white.

"cum on my face, pretty girl." her words vibrate against your clit, causing you to moan out her name.

that elicits a moan from ellie, herself. something stirs in her, hearing you moan her name out like that. and she inserts two fingers into your sopping cunt. curling them graciously against your g-spot, hitting it over and over again as her mouth does the same to your clit.

"ellie..i can't..fuck-" your final cry of pleasure, reverberates through her body. she removes her fingers but keeps lapping at your pussy even after you cum. your weak cries do nothing to pull her away. her grip on your thighs tighten and she pushes them apart from closing. you squirm and squeak due to the overstimulation, nudging her away with all your force, but it's too weak. she doesn't seem too keen on stopping, a hand pushing down on your stomach to stop you from squirming.

"s-stop." it isn't until that word comes out of your mouth that she stops and pulls away to look at your wrecked form. cheeks flush and hair tousled. you don't know how much it affects her. you never do.

"sorry, got too carried away." she murmurs. but she's anything but sorry. after helping you lay your head down on the pillow, she pulls the covers up your body. she can tell she's tired you out by the way your eyes are half lidded and your limbs look sore. she soothes you by wrapping her arms around you, intertwining your hands, and placing a kiss on your forehead. eventually, you drift asleep.

the longer she looks at you, the world outside fades further into obscurity. you, who's sleeping blissfully, completely unaware of the fact that the knife that was pressing against your clit a few minutes ago was the same knife that she used to brutally stab and dismember the body of a classmate who dared flirt with you. you, who's probably having sweet dreams while she has to go and take care of the unconscious body of the guy who rang your doorbell this very night.

this is my first time writing smut or anything close to a fan fic!! so if you see any mistakes js ignore it :3

[kingkat12]

pornography (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, groping/fondling, dry-humping lol, mentions of substance abuse

summary: when you finally talk to Eric Draven in rehab, it doesn't take long before you get drawn together by a force stronger than anything you have ever encountered. it doesn’t help the situation that you eventually find out Eric has been drawing pictures of you… nude

word count: 2,337 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is for all the girlies like me that just came home from watching The Crow and got their mind blown by how hot Bill was in it... holy fuck. had to write this blurb because I am so shaken up, I can't feel my face. enjoy!! there will be more parts hihi...

"I fucking hate pink," 

I couldn't believe that was the first thing I said to him-- the dark and broody stranger I had been eyeing through my first few weeks in rehab. He stared back at me, confusion swimming in his big green eyes, probably pondering why I had sat down next to him in the cafeteria. "Pardon?"

"It's a little ridiculous," I tried, watching as he put down his cutlery, pushing his food away as he gave me his full attention. Tugging at my pink sweater, which we were all wearing, I let out a nervous chuckle. "Whose idea was it to put a lot of addicts in pink, anyway?"

My eyes darted down to his hands as I waited for his answer-- they were huge up close, and completely covered in tattoos. I hadn't noticed them from afar; I had only noticed the ones peeking through the top of his shirt when he would pass me by in the hall, or the big eye he had on his chest that I had seen while passing by his room. I knew it wasn't nice to peek into his room while he was changing, but I was quite frankly starved of any male contact-- any girl would go crazy in here. 

He eventually shrugged, giving me the answer I least expected; "I guess pink is supposed to be a calming colour. It's not that bad," I watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, giving away hints of amusement. "Aren't you girls supposed to like pink?"

"Maybe," I mumbled, nudging food around on my plate with my fork. "I just don't like to wear it. It doesn't suit me."

The handsome stranger didn't seem to agree, another shrug following accompanied by a shy laugh. "I can't figure out whether you're being sincere or searching for compliments,"

This was most definitely not how I wanted to come off. I straightened up, resting my elbows against the table as I cleared my throat. "I'm just trying to make conversation,"

"... Why?"

"Because you've been staring at me almost as much as I've been staring at you," I put down my fork, hoping he didn't see how nervous I was. In truth, he had been staring-- it wasn't all purely one-sided. I had caught him staring at me in the courtyard, on my way to the shower, and I had also caught him lingering outside my room several times. He would usually leave when I came out, disappearing down the hall with speed I wouldn't even dream to catch up with. 

He finally gave in to a smirk, nodding to himself as he lowered his head. "Sorry," It was clear that he hadn't thought he'd be called out like this. However, something told me he wasn't too upset about being caught either. 

"Don't be," I said, feeling my anxiety ripping through my veins. Why was I indulging? "I just--"

It was at this moment that a guard appeared behind him, yanking him away from the table with a harshness that made me gasp. I clasped my hand over my mouth, watching as he barely reacted to the brutality. 

"Guys and girls eat separately!" the guard yelled at me, slamming his fist down on the table. 

My eyes widened, looking back at the handsome stranger. "But I-- I was the one who sat down here, he didn't do anything!" I protested, watching as the guard grabbed him and led him away. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with the rules at this place. Why was it so fucking strict?

I eventually looked up just in time to see that the man had managed to turn around, smirking my way; "I'm Eric!" he said, holding back a laugh as he was shoved along the cafeteria for everyone to see.

Despite the horror washing over me for getting him in trouble, I managed to croak out my name as well. It seemed that he appreciated that I had at least tried to stick up for him-- What was it that I had just started?

My question would be answered a lot quicker than I had expected. 

A few days passed, and more looks and stares were exchanged. I was dying to talk to Eric again. I knew I hadn't been sent to rehab to make friends or get feelings for someone, but something was gnawing at me to talk to him again. I wanted to be around him constantly; what was happening to me? I recognized this feeling-- it was the same feeling I got when I really, really craved something... Fuck, how I missed drugs. Maybe Eric was turning into a substitute?

It wasn't often that the door to Eric's room was open, but today it was. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't taken the extra lap around the institute as usual, hoping to get a glimpse of him through the small window in his door. But today, I didn't have to get on my tippytoes to get a look-- there he was, picking up several drawings that had been scattered around the floor. His room looked like a mess, completely unlike how I was used to seeing it through the tiny window. This looked like the result of one of those raids that the prison guards sometimes did when they suspected there were hidden drugs in a patient's room. 

I felt sorry for him; I knew how horrible it could feel to have someone rip through all your stuff. But as I bent down and picked up a few drawings that were at my feet, my lips parted in surprise.

It seemed I wasn't the only one caught off guard; Eric noticed me standing in his doorway, letting out a relieved sigh as he watched me inspect his drawings. He called out my name, leaning against the wall as he sized me up and scanned me, crossing his arms over his chest. 

I cleared my throat; "Is this... me?" I held up the first drawing of the bunch. It was a sketch of me sitting in the courtyard, and I was sure that it was me-- I suppose it was my shock asking for confirmation. 

Eric snickered, kicking off the wall. "Yeah... Sorry,"

"Stop saying sorry," I shuffled through the drawings, finding he had drawn me in multiple settings, and it was clear that I had been watched the few weeks I'd been here. "These are beautiful, Eric... I guess I'm honoured--" My words trailed off as I finally approached the last drawing. Was that...?

He didn't even try to take it away from me. Eric sighed, looking away as his cheeks flushed a light pink, similar to our uniforms. 

Judging by his reaction, I had a feeling he wasn't so against me seeing this. It was a sketch of me, after all-- nude. 

I had to swallow rather hard for anything to go down. I couldn't pinpoint why I wasn't absolutely horrified at this.  "So... this is what you've been up to in here, huh?" There was no stopping the smirk that spread across my lips, holding back a flustered giggle. "This is next-level pervy, do you know that?"

It didn't take long before Eric's big hands ripped the drawings out of my hands, turning away as he shook his head. "Every artist needs a muse, no?"

"A muse? How can I be your muse if we don't know each other?"

"That's not how it works," he mumbled, throwing away the drawings into a heap on the bed. "Your beauty is all I need to get inspired."

This was enough to shock me into silence. I inhaled a sharp breath, stepping into Eric's room despite knowing it was forbidden. "So now you think I'm beautiful?"

Eric hummed, finally turning to meet my eyes. "It hasn't been the biggest secret, has it?" There was something playful about him, shameless, as though it didn't matter to him that I had just found his handmade porn. "It gets a little lonely in here, I guess. These drawings just... run out of me like water. Can't control it."

There was something so unimaginably tantalizing about Eric. Everything about him made me want to jump him then and there-- was it maybe the result of my withdrawals that were turning my brain into further mush? In a normal setting, this would have creeped me out to infinity and beyond, but knowing this was coming from the man I had been lusting after from afar for several weeks made me excuse it in a heartbeat. 

I had no idea what possessed me to close the door to his room and lock it, knowing the repercussions could be severe if we were caught. But Eric didn't seem to mind; his green eyes widened, watching my every move like a hawk.

"It was really pretty and all... The drawing, I mean," I said, inching closer to where he had sat down on the bed. "But would you maybe want some inspiration for the next one?"

Eric's plush, pink lips parted, eyes rounding out in surprise. Despite his shock, his big hands reached out for me as I came closer, and he pulled me in between his legs. I could feel him caressing my back through my shirt, holding me with the utmost gentle touch. "I'll take all I can get," he murmured, looking up at me through his brows, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. 

I let out a giggle as he pressed his lips against my stomach through my shirt, enjoying the intense feeling of someone against my skin again after all this time. Eric pulled away, glancing at the door before slowly trailing his fingers under my shirt, testing the waters. 

It didn't take long before that wasn't enough for him-- my breath hitched as Eric grabbed my waist, pulling me down with him on the bed. I barely had time to think before the euphoric feeling of being kissed engulfed me. Our lips met in an open, soft kiss, almost as though we were scared to break the other if we were too needy or harsh. As I straddled him, I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, dipping back under the fabric once more. His fingers gently ghosted over my lower back, eventually ending up trailing small circles with his thumbs along the underside of my bra. 

If I hadn't been so starved of any human contact in here, I would've never jumped the opportunity like this. But none of us knew how long we had until the guards would bust us, and it only fueled the adrenaline pumping through our veins. Our kisses became desperate, hungry, and I let out a whimper against his lips as he took the liberty of cupping my chest, feeling me up to his heart's delight. I knew I had been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw him, and I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers-- I decided to let him do whatever he wanted to me, no matter what. 

I could feel Eric's cock twitch beneath me, clearly aroused. It was also at this moment that he made me sit up, tugging my shirt off of me before laying back down to scan me. Was he memorizing my body for his next sketch? It wasn't every night that I had a handsome stranger beneath me like this, so I allowed him to trail his hands up and down my body, lips parting in delight. "Fuck... Yeah, this will do," he murmured, pupils dilating at the sight before him whether he wanted them to or not.

"You sure?" I asked, giggling to myself. My hands rested against his broad chest, letting out a sigh of delight; God, he was sexy. As I shifted in his lap, Eric's breath hitched as I seemingly sat down in the exact right spot. Almost as though he was possessed by instinct for a moment, he grabbed my hips, rocking me against him through the fabric of our clothes. 

Who would've thought I'd be dry-humping this stranger and enjoy it so much? My hands gripped his shirt, a quiet moan spilling past my lips-- I had forgotten this feeling. This was mostly something I did when I was a teenager, before I figured out how to have proper sex with my high school boyfriend. But it felt so damn fucking good, desperate; it didn't take long before I leaned back down, capturing his plush lips in another kiss. 

I craved him like water. I wanted him against me, in me, for him to take me in every possible position ever-- a deep, dark part of me knew I would be insatiable from now on. 

But our moment of ecstasy was interrupted when a guard started banging his fist against the door, his muffled yells barely registering through my arousal. Despite my dazed state, it didn't take me long to drape my shirt back on, climbing off Eric with wobbly knees. "Shit," I mumbled, turning to him with wide eyes. "I'm screwed. We're screwed."

Everything about him was so damn beautiful. The kiss-swollen lips definitely didn't help how gorgeous I thought he looked right now. Despite the situation, knowing we were in deep shit, Eric let out a soft chuckle; "I don't think you're screwed enough, actually. We'll get to that another time," 

My eyes widened as I gave into a light giggle. There was no way this was happening-- had my naughty rehab dreams come true? The guard banging against the door was drowned out by the incessant ringing in my ears that festered through my mind as Eric leaned down to kiss me one last time; "I hope to see you around, if they don't kill us,"

"Yeah," I breathed, only now realizing how tall he was as I looked up to meet his gaze. This man was towering over me. Holy shit. "Can't wait to see your next masterpiece."

I couldn't wait. I really couldn't.

(a/n: PART 2, PART 3 here!! enjoy<33)

[reshinless]

Hiii, it's me again, I'm here to ask abt kinich- anyways, Reader is kind of insecure and self conscious and she's dating kinich, and she sees how good mualani is to kinich and starts to ask herself if she should actually be with him (+I would appreciate it you somehow turn this into smut because I'm a dog for him🤭)

NSFW CONTENT AHEAD UTC.

you knew kinich was close with her too, but you couldn't help but feel like you weren't as good as she was.

you saw the way she looked at him, what were you supposed to do? you knew she'd never pursue someone in a relationship but she always asked about your relationship with kinich.. was she hoping you'd break up?

well i'll be glad to answer that no she does not! but ill explain more later.

you continued to feel like you weren't a good partner, therefore distancing yourself from the man you fell in love with.

maybe he was better off with her. or at least so you thought. you see, mualanj was giving him advice on how to treat you, she always smiled whenever her and kinich spoke about it.. because.. well.. it was funny to her how he doesn't know how to talk to you.

you have barely had your first kiss with him, and he's never had anyone else like you before.. so he had to ask a professional (mualani plus her 0 relationship experience advice)

"just remember to make them feel at home! you notice if they've been sad or anything recently?" mualani puts up her surfboard up on a tree, sitting on the soft grains of sand on the beach.

"i.. feel like they've been running away from me.. did i do anything wrong?"

mualani realized immediately why you'd distance yourself; you were jealous. kinich has a dense sense for romance, so he wouldn't notice immediately unless.. well professional couplw therapist mualani ensures it doesn't happen again!

once kinich realizes what he's done, he goes to find you as soon as possible. not even hearing out more of mualani's words. she was sure you both would figure it out anyway.

but trust me kinich is quick on his feet to tell you how you're everything to him.

when you tell him you didn't believe him.. well i guess he just had to show you.

kinich who learned a few things from the books mualani threw at him, she didn't realize one of them was basically sex in a book, as he read on, he wanted to try out a specific scene.

laid out in front of him, taking his gloves off carefully tossing them to the side. prepping your hole for him to treat you good. your wetness already all over his fingers as he added another digit progressively.

he who hums into your ear, hearing how well you whimpered, and whined out his name. he could only praise you for how good you took him.

your cunt sucked him inside so well, the sounds of pleasure echoed throughout the hallway in the gap of the unlocked door.

your walls started to tighten around his cock, but that wouldn't stop him from penetrating you. he'd make sure by tonight that no one other than you could make him cum.

kinich who likes to put you into a mating press, your legs held high above your head, he slaps the soft skin of your ass, before laying a kiss onto your wet cunt, mixed with cum of your own and his.

kinich will make sure you know that he loves you more than anyone else. and he wants you to do the same (not that you weren't already doing that.)

but when its all over, his words are sweet, learning a thing or two from whatever mualani discussed with him. clearing the air on why he had been talking to mualani more recently.

he just meant to ask her about advice on what to get you for your next anniversary 🩵

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in. 

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night. 

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations. 

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold. 

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused. 

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone. 

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter. 

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled. 

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white. 

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here. 

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress. 

Wonderful. 

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall. 

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that. 

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean. 

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head. 

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes. 

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on. 

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react? 

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes. 

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door. 

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do. 

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore. 

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood. 

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.  

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot. 

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours.  You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you. 

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up. 

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around. 

Fuck. 

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words. 

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show. 

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it. 

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide. 

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier. 

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul. 

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you. 

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise. 

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here. 

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up. 

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you. 

And you still feel terrible. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says, just as quietly. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away. 

“My neighbor said he c—” 

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you. 

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing. 

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand. 

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it. 

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.  

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that. 

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off. 

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become. 

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself. 

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.” 

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy. 

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff. 

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice. 

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment. 

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words. 

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him. 

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates. 

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it. 

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise. 

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh. 

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth. 

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him. 

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do. 

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it. 

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh. 

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded. 

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it. 

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good. 

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely. 

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile. 

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips. 

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find. 

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty. 

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous. 

“You can come in,” you call. 

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today. 

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair. 

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod. 

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point. 

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned. 

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes. 

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended. 

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now. 

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh. 

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown. 

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it. 

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you. 

He just washes your hair. 

[tadc-harlequin-au]

New Puppet Unlocked: Pomni, the Last Harlequin!

Pomni's character description:

I actually finished this about three days ago, but I didn't wanna post it because I haven't started on the others yet. I eventually decided that fuck it, we ball.

Pomni is the most recent and last model of a Combat Harlequin; P-1210. She doesn't have any remembrance of her life before becoming a Puppet, only the fact that she has an itch in her head that tells her to keep fighting.

After hunting down The Puppetmaster and a duel ensues between the two, it ends with the Harlequin and The Puppetmaster forming an alliance in order to fix the destroyed City.

Now, Pomni spends her time sparring, sharpening her sword, bantering with the Puppetmaster, hunting down bosses and eliminating manic Marionettes.

Fun facts about Pomni:

She likes sandwiches. Specifically, salmon.

She REALLY hates it when someone eats it. (It's Bubble)

She finds some things annoying in other Puppets, and will be blunt about it.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't care. In fact, far from it.

Pomni may come off as cold and jerkish due to her hot-temper, but in reality, her emotions simply have ahold on her more than anyone would ever really think.

Caine thinks that a therapist would benefit her. (honestly though)

She hasn't explored any hobbies outside from anything involving combat.

Pomni occasionally gets glimpses of visions when she dies; she is unaware of what they mean.

Pomni rarely gets drunk; she'll only indulge in alcohol when there's an occasion. Aside from that, she tends to limit Caine's alcohol intake (reasoning that he smells like booze), much to the Puppetmaster's dismay.

She shuts down any form of philosophical advices, thinking they're "typical" and "unnecessary".

She tends to be careless and rude in battle.

When push comes to shove, Pomni can and WILL use her sharp teeth to her advantage.

Pomni initially disliked Ragatha. She found the doll's positive demeanor eerie, and even uncanny, borderline inhuman. Thankfully, a few interactions and heart-heart conversations later, she's changed her mind since.

Bubble usually accompanies her when she's out on missions, a condition she had to agree on just so Caine would let her fight overburdened Puppets. Even though she hates the blimp's nonsense, she knows that his presence is out of necessity, since Bubble is the only way keeping in touch can be possible.

She rarely ever apologizes.

She once stole Caine's cane to try and figure out how his attacks work. She immediately lost interest once she found out it's just a plain, and boring metal cane.

She unlocks the first stage of enlightenment after the first boss.

Battle quotes:

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

"I didn't come here just for you to act like a wuss!"

"You. Me. This sword. In your head."

"That was pretty stupid of you to do."

"Between you and me, I prefer still having my head on my shoulders."

"This is getting annoying!"

"I've had it with you idiots!"

"I'm gonna celebrate with a Puppet head kebab once I'm done."

"I like the sounds of a sword slashing, and heads bashed in."

"Keep (talking/screaming), and I'll crack your skull open."

Hurt in battle:

"Ah! What the fuck!"

"You're gonna pay for that!"

"Eye for an eye, motherfucker!"

"I normally wouldn't mind... Actually, I always mind."

"When I'm done, you're gonna be unrecognizable."

"Fucking marionettes!"

"Useless scrap!"

"I really, really, REALLY wanna hurt you right about now."

"Ohohoho, you're picking the WRONG fight, BUDDY."

"Asshat!"

"Who do you think you are!?"

Dying:

"This... wasn't supposed to go this way..."

"God.... dammit."

"Agh... fuck."

"That... fucking... hurt."

"I still...! Got fight...! Left in me..."

"This... isn't... over..."

"I'm... not... done..."

[egg-but-with-style]

Mmfhhh butcher ghost..

Part 2

He's big, he's scary, his apron is covered in blood. You just walked in and are immediately stunned by the look of him. He's wearing a mask, which you figure is to stop blood from getting into his mouth or nose, but something about him tells you he wouldn't mind it either way.

He's pretty focused on a bloody cut of steak at the moment, his knife slicing through with such ease and precision. The air smells of blood, leaving a tangy taste in your mouth, which is already dry from seeing him.

It's a good 30 seconds before he even sees you, his gaze trailing up to the counter, which he seemed to have completely forgotten about. He walks up, pulling off the bloody gloves he had on, throwing them into the trashcan.

That's when you see his fingers, scarred, worn, thick. You try not to stare, knowing that's rude and all. Normally you'd be fine, you're not small, you're not intimidated easily, but he's just so.. intriguing.

He's the first to pipe up, throwing out a gruff, "What can I help ya with?" He figures you're scared. The people that come in are always scared if they aren't used to him.

He watches you snap back to his eyes, your lips slightly parted in what he thought could only be fear, or awe. If he was being honest, he did like a woman who wouldn't break when he played rough. But he was supposed to be a professional, not a pervert.

You quickly snapped out of it. Pulling out your phone, being glad you had something else to look at other then his deep brown eyes. Like molasses. Focusing on the list on your phone, you quickly sputtered out your order, "Oh! I uh, I need two chickens.."

He hummed in acknowledgement, moving towards the display of packaged meat. He pulls out two chickens, the best of the bunch he had. He figured someone cute like you should have them. He placed them on the counter, near the register.

He cleared his throat and spoke again, "So, got any plans for the poor creatures?" He was hoping maybe he could prolong the conversation as much as he could. He wasn't sure if you were a local, and you were easy on the eyes, who could blame him?

You started to pull out your wallet and paused. Surprised a guy like him was talkative, you weren't complaining though. Not when his voice sounds like that.

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to my parents house for dinner tonight. My mom loves my chicken spadini"

"Well atleast they're going to a good cause. Maybe you could...bring me some."

It's been a long time since he had a meal cooked by another person, and if it was good enough for your mom, it would be good enough for him.

"I mean..yeah sure! There's always left overs and..well I like cooking for other people sometimes.."

It was hard to tell if he was being flirty, or if he genuinely wanted to try your cooking. He was just so deadpan.

He figured he should probably ring you up, not wanting to be even more forward then he was. He didn't wanna scare you off.

"That's gonna be 25.68"

"But it says-"

"It's a discount. I am getting free food after all"

You opened your mouth again to argue but, he seemed so stern about it. The 5 dollar discount was nice, but seemed a bit much just for chicken spadini. You figured it wasn't worth the trouble. You payed and took the sack, the two cold chickens weighing down the plastic bag.

He then handed you your receipt. You didn't think much of it, just stuffing it in with the chickens.

"Thank you, ..?"

You looked at his name tag. Simon

"Thank you, Simon"

"No problem. You be careful."

He was glad he was wearing the mask, otherwise you might've seen the slight red in his cheeks as you called him by his name. Something about the way your lips moved to form the words. Something about your voice

Then you waved goodbye, and out the door you went. He was a bit disappointed to see you leave. You walking out the door seeming to happen so quickly. He just hoped he hadn't scared you. But seeing your ass took his mind off the fear for a moment.

You hopped into your car, ready to drive to your parents, when curiosity got the better of you. Looking into the bag and checking the receipt. Seeing a phone number in your area code. Guess he was flirting.

Authors note: butcher ghost has been one of my favorite brainworms since I've gotten into the cod fandom. I think I have a type. I also don't know who originally made the butcher ghost au?? I know in lore he was a butchers apprentice before he enrolled in the army, so it maybe it wasn't made by a specific person. But yeah, thank you for reading, bye!!!!

[queenofthequillandink]

Steph's new roommate's little brother was absolutely a meta.

The two of them weren't really trying particularly hard to hide it, but they weren't mentioning it either, so Steph just... followed their lead. Especially because Jazz, while a little neurotic, was a pretty good roommate and new some truly innovative things to make in the microwave with whatever was in their dorm fridge.

But anyway, back to the meta thing. Steph could totally back it up.

Jazz was from the Midwest somewhere, one of the "I" states. (Indiana? Illinois? Iowa? Steph could never keep them straight.) From the way Jazz talked about her parents and the things she said to Danny, Steph could tell that the Fentons still lived there and Danny with them. Yet at least four nights out of seven, without fail, Steph would come home from a long night studying or vigilante-ing to find Danny in their dorm room, usually passed out on the futon. As though Gotham wasn't halfway across the country from Indiana or Illinois or Iowa.

"Our parents are pretty loud," Jazz explained with a quiet grimace, the first time it happened. "Like 'keep you awake at all hours of the night' loud. I told Danny he could sleep here when he needs to, is that okay? Tucker's parents are great, but they'll kick him out eventually."

"As a sleep-deprived college kid, I wholeheartedly support sleeping wherever you can get it," Steph whispered back. "As long as he doesn't eat my half of the food, I'm not gonna tattle to the RA."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Jazz squealed, flapping her hands. Steph darted a glance at the teenager passed out on their futon, but he didn't even twitch. "Oh, don't worry, you have to be loud enough to wake the dead to get Danny up," Jazz said with a smirk.

"Alright. Makes things easier, I suppose," Steph said with a shrug, moving to sling her backpack onto her bunk. "He gonna be here in the morning?"

Jazz narrowed her eyes as though Elder Sister Glare could penetrate dreams. Hell, maybe it could. "He'll be at school before you wake up, if he knows what's good for him."

School. Which should be halfway across the country. Sure. Well, Steph could recognize a topic that Simply Wasn't Spoken About and unlike the rest of the Bats, she actually respected her roommate's personal privacy. "Cool."

So. Definitely a meta. Teleportation, maybe? Or superspeed or flying, she supposed. Whatever it was, the kid was clearly only using it to get a good night's rest in a safe space, so it wasn't really Steph's business.

At least neither of them had noticed she was a vigilante. It was an impressive secret to keep in such close quarters, if Steph did say so herself.

~*~

Jazz had clocked that Stephanie was Spoiler in a week and a half. And it only took her that long because she was distracted by orientation. The girl wasn't exactly subtle. Especially not with her injuries. Jazz had three years of experience watching someone come home injured and try to hide it, and while she was better than Danny, it still wasn't good enough.

Still, Steph wasn't making a big deal of Danny portalling into their dorm half of every week. And, like she had with Danny, Jazz wanted Steph to trust her enough to tell her herself.

And if this meant that Jazz spent a good portion of her first semester figuring out the rest of the Bats' identities based on Steph's friends and acquaintances, well. That was between her and Steph's scary-but-sweet girlfriend who read her like a book as soon as their eyes met.

[i-yap]

Can I get your thoughts on a gn reader who’s dating Grayson and is like a parent figure or older sibling to Damien, so they have a soft spot for him ( so does Damien ) ?

Dick grayson x gn!y/n x platonic!Damian

this is my first time writing a gn reader so like I'm sorry if I write something stupid or offensive, just comment it and ill fix it.

if you are dating dick then damian will stalk you extensively at first. Dick is his favorite sibling ( in most comics) and if dick is serious about you, stalking is just how the batfam shows love.

He will be rude , he will be mean and sarcastic but dick warned you and you understand where dami's coming from. So you kindly and patiently deal with him and dick obviously doesn't let Dami cross the line when it comes to you.

One night dick had to rush out for a really scary mission and told you to stay at the manor because its the safest place to be.

Damian was the only other person that was left behind since the mission required everyone else on the team and bruce did not think damian was ready for such a high risk mission just yet.

so damian was really frustrated and also worried for the rest of the family. you walk past Dami's room to see him staring off in the distance while fidgeting or biting his nails. You ask alfred for a chess set ( or any other board/card game) and bring it to dami's room. While playing , he opens up about his frustrations and you patiently listen . Not a lot of people in his family are as warm and caring as you are ( maybe dick but even he is really busy)

After that night the roles are reversed. Now damian thinks dick is undeserving of you and his snarky comments are directed to him. You just find it funny while dick is left confused. "I thought he liked me more man, why the sudden switch?" " he got enlightened dickie boy muhahah" " you are mind controlling him arent you"

One-on-one time in the manor- haha dick wishes. So he tries only calling you when dami is at school or training or patrol. ofc you and dami catch on soon which means you and dami chasing him with katanas.

talking about katanas, dami loves showing you his art and his pets and if you share an interest in either of them he gets even more excited.

you and dick become dami's honorary parents. might as well adopt him since bruce and talia are obviously not doing a very good job ( in most comics) .

whenever dami is mad at bruce or simply upset or bored he comes to you and dick's apartment. You and dick are the fun warm loving couple that spend the night playing board games and watching stupid movies . you introduce him to all the major pop culture shows and movies and dick teaches him how to just dance randomly. your apartment is so different from the gloomy , filled with blood stains, fights and training manor. its filled with music and love and warm lights cooking together in funny pjs and dancing badly to pop songs.

it is watching you and dick that dami realizes what love is supposed to look like. and what a normal household looks like( sort of normal) and it affects the way he grows up. I wont be surprised if he comes to you for parents teacher meeting days or to sign his field trips or for advice on normal things

and the canon where dami is being bullied in school, while you go full on protective mode ,dick tries teaching him how to be better in social situations.

overall dami is just counting down days dick marries you and you'all unofficially adopt him.