#he just hates these guys and wants OUT of the conversation

[peachsukii]

I’m too lazy to properly write up a little SMAU for this at the moment lol

Thinking about Bakugo and reader working together at his agency as re-connected friends. Your previous agency was closing down, and thankfully, you knew a few people who could pull some strings to keep you employed. What you didn’t expect was to see Bakugo’s name flash on your phone screen, calling you on a random Tuesday to ask you out to lunch. The two of you never lost contact, but after UA days, it became difficult to keep up with each other. No bad blood, just two adult heroes with busy ass lives.

Well, lunch was actually an interview in his office. He didn’t have any intention of letting you walk out without a job — he’s the boss and makes the rules, no matter what the finance department tells him they can and cannot afford. If he could guarantee job security for one of his friends, especially someone in the Class A family, then it was worth his own potential pay cut to keep you afloat.

Cut to a few months later once you’ve settled into a comfortable routine, you’ve found yourself hanging around Bakugo more often than you thought. There were plenty nights spent at your desk to catch up on your hero reports, something you’re notoriously always behind on, and he’d be sitting in his office doing whatever agency owners do. You never asked, it seemed like a boring subject that he dreaded speaking about anyways. Nights like these, he’d strut over to your desk with a cup of tea, telling you to get your ass home before you passed out and drooled all over your paperwork. You always wondered how he knew which tea you liked. Maybe subconsciously you started to like it because he made it for you.

You two never discussed things like relationships, because why would you? Bakugo hated personal conversations like that. You knew better than to pry, as curious as you were. Recently though, you’d gone through a nasty breakup, one that kept you up at night questioning how the hell you got to this point in your life and why you even wasted time with this guy. No matter the damage done to your heart, you still showed up for work, dragging your ass through patrol shifts without a word. Bakugo didn’t need words to figure out something was wrong with you, though. He knew from the bags under your eyes, the fake smiles you’d sport on the job, and the way you sigh when you don’t think anyone can hear you. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, to look past your surface level emotions and dig a little deeper — at least, that’s what he told himself, chalking it up to knowing you for so long.

It bothered the shit out of him that you wouldn't open up on your own, and it pissed him off even more that he wanted you to come to him. No way in hell was he gonna make the first move...until he overheard you crying in the bathroom between patrol calls. Something in Bakugo snapped, simultaneously wanting to hunt down the man who hurt you and scoop you up into his arms, to tell you that the bastard wasn't worth your tears.

When you head back to the office the next night to finish up your pile of reports, there’s a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting on your desk. An immediate panic floods through you, thinking your ex is trying to slither his way back into your good graces. It takes an embarrassing amount of courage to flip over the card stuck in the flowers, afraid of the words on the other side and what kind of mental gymnastics you’re gonna have to tumble through. Imagine your surprise when you find yourself snickering as you read it, a goofy grin tugging at your lips.

‘Dinner tomorrow @ 6. I’ll be sure you forget all about him.’

You don’t even need to ask who they’re from — Bakugo’s leaning against the doorframe of his office with his arms crossed over his chest, a cocky smirk on his face. He nods in your direction. “Wear somethin’ nice and don’t bring your wallet.”

He turns and shuts the door, the smile on your face telling him your answer before you could even vocalize it.

[baepsays]

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

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tag list: @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @moonlitwitchdaisy @rriwyu @gojocon @aishi-toru @cuntyji @arcanarix @lover-lyn @kazupop

[ldydeath]

Too Fast to Live | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is busy on tour while you’re busy with work. You finally find time to come see him, but Jiyong gives you a fright when he’s too exhausted to keep up with his demanding schedule. 

Warnings: fainting, but that’s about it.

With the MADE tour being in full swing you and Jiyong hadn’t been able to see each other much. This was something you’d discussed a lot prior to the tour kick off and despite the odds and distance you two had decided to make it work. You two had been together for a little over a year now and loved each other too much to walk away despite busy schedules.

Every chance you got you were making stops along the world tour, living for the days your schedules aligned perfectly and you got more than a few hours together. When Jiyong had first left you’d thought this was going to be the longest year of your life, but truthfully with how busy you’d also been the past year, the tour was flying by.

You and Jiyong would facetime after every show, regardless of what time zone you were in. You honestly didn’t mind being woken up at all hours of the night, not when it meant you got to wake up to the most beautiful face you’d ever seen. Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, your arm moving out of the comfort of the warm blankets to fish around for it. Your peaked open one eye to check the notification, a grin quickly crossing your face when you saw who it was. “Hi handsome.” Your voice raspy from sleep and Jiyong’s face came into view. “I woke you?” He frowned as if this wasn’t an almost daily occurrence at this point. 

Jiyong was almost done with the tour which meant his nights were early morning for you. “It’s fine, I need to be up soon anyway to head to the airport.” You shrugged, sitting up fully in bed. His frown turning to a smile at the mention of your trip. You’d be back in his arms in 24 hours and he couldn’t wait to see you. “How’d it go tonight?” You took a minute to look him over, noting how exhausted he looked - even on a grainy screen. “It was good. Just a lot, again.” 

You knew what he was referring to, Jiyong had been struggling for a while now with the extended set time he was on stage, but in true Jiyong fashion, he wasn’t willing to press the matter.  “You need to rest, Ji. Try to take it easy tonight?”  You knew his nightly routine by now - dinner with the guys, a quick call to you, and then he’d be locked in his room until morning. That didn’t mean you didn’t worry about him, because of course you did. “I am resting, look!” He moved his phone showing off his bed and you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I have to get going, ok? I��ll see you tomorrow. I love you.” He pouted on the other end but nodded in understanding, “I love you too.” 

The next twenty four hours passed pretty slowly , thanks to spending most of it in the air. You’d been antsy the entire flight and practically ran to baggage claim. Jiyong had sent a car, not being able to pick you up himself. You practically jumped out of the car while it was still moving when you pulled up to the venue, Jiyong waiting outside for you. He let out a laugh as you leaped into his arms, pulling him in for a bone crushing hug. “Hi you.” He grinned as he held you tightly. “I’ve missed you.” You practically melted in his arms at his words and pulled back to take him in. He looked well, more rested since your previous conversation and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I missed you too.” Jiyong leaned down, pressing his lips to yours but before you could deepen the kiss behind you brought you both back to reality.

“Hate to break up the happy reunion but we’re needed for sound check.” Seunghyun offered you a friendly smile before pulling Jiyong away from you. You grabbed your bags and found your way to Jiyong’s dressing room. You had about an hour to kill while sound check was going on and decided a nap would do you some good if you even wanted to make it to show time. Kicking off your shoes, you plugged your phone into the nearest port, texting your family to let them know you’d made it in and curled up on the couch, falling fast asleep.

You awake an hour later to Jiyong pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Hi” you whispered, whipping your eyes, sitting up fully. “You look tired.” You frowned, noticing the fast difference in his appearance. “Just what every guy wants to hear” he teased as he moved to open the door, letting in his glam team. “Oh, stop, you know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes, playfully at him. The next couple hours went by quickly as you watched your boyfriend get ready for show time.

“Ready?” You asked as you both made your way towards the other guys. He nodded, words failing him. Despite how many times Jiyong was on stage he still got nervous right before going on. You squeezed his hand, a reassuring smile on your lips as the guys came into view. “I’ll see you after.” You pecked his lips, said a quick hello to everyone and followed his team to your favorite spot backstage. 

No matter how many times you watched this show you never got tired of it. You’d lost count by now how many times you’d seen it, and had come to enjoy memorizing every detail of the show. Zutter, which was arguably your favorite song, had just started and you sucked in a breath. This was the part of the show Jiyong had been complaining to you about the whole tour. Jiyong, as usual, killed it and the show continued on. But as the intro for Bae Bae started you noticed your boyfriend walking towards you. That wasn’t right. Before you knew it he collapsed in front of you. “Jiyong!” You shouted. Before you could get to him the crew had surrounded him. Your heart raced as you watched them fan him off, helping him change into his jacket. As he stood back up, your hand brushed his gently and he offered you a small smile before rushing back onstage. 

A few minutes later, he was back on the ground in front of you, this time you refused to be pushed to the back. You brushed his hair out of his face, pleading for him to wake back up. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as he came too. You, as well as the crew helped him to a sitting position and your hand went to rest on his as you handed him water, trying your best to not show the panic on your face. “You don’t have to finish, they can do without you.” He shook his head as he gulped down the water. “Have to finish.” 

You knew that would always be his answer and as much as you didn’t want him to go back out there, you helped him to his feet anyway. The dancers and Seunghyun were close behind and you exchanged a look with his best friend. Begging him to take care of him out there. “You’re sure?” You asked and he replied with a nod, kissing your temple before turning back to the stage. You could tell he still wasn’t with it, sweat was dripping down his face as he took his place amongst the dancers.

Jiyong wasn’t going to disappoint his fans though, and proceeded to give it his all out there. You didn’t only thing you could, and watched on. You weren’t even sure you were breathing as the song came to an end. The lights dimmed and in a flash, he was backstage the rest of the guys left to entertain the crowd.  You walked over to wear he was panting on the ground and kneeled down next to him, a rag in hand. “What do you need?” You whispered as you wiped the sweat off his face. 

He shook his head, his hand coming to rest on his chest and he let out a shaky breath. “Just need a minute.” You nodded, your hand going to rest on his and let out a breath. You couldn’t remember a time in your life where you’d been this scared in your life. But he was here, he was talking, he’d be ok. As the guys came backstage you went to move so they could check on him, but Jiyong clutched your hand tightly, a pleading look in his eyes. “Stay.” You weren’t going anywhere. 

After getting fully checked out, Jiyong decided he was well enough to finish the show, and you watched on nervously throughout the rest of the night. He seemed more like himself on stage. But he’d also seemed fine that morning and now you’d watched him faint twice.  Once the show was over, he met you back in the dressing room, the exhaustion still evident on his face. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He nodded, but before you could move his arms were back around you, his chin resting on your head. You wrapped your arms tightly around him, breathing in his scent. “Thank you for being here. I don’t know that I would’ve had the confidence to get back out there if you weren’t here. I promise I’ll take it easier on myself the rest of the tour. I love you.” 

You nodded your head as he spoke, as horrible as the situation had been, you were just glad you could be there for him in some way. “I love you too. Are you sure you’re ok?” He smiled at you as he pulled away, “Yeah I’m good. I have you.” There it was again, those words that always made you melt. You grabbed his hand, leading him out of the room and towards the car. Even if the tour was almost over you vowed to yourself you’d do whatever it took to keep Jiyong healthy for the rest of the shows. 

Tag list:  @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

the reader has each time that a member of her family tries to create a bond with her:I am not your pet, I never liked you, I don't care about you I won't wait for you. I hate you.

Yum, good soup!

They'll do anything to spend time with him. Bruce has never watched anime in his life, but you love *Ouran High School Host Club* and *Soul Eater*. With no choice, you watch with him, only for him to ask fifty or more questions. And you always end up leaving him behind in the dust. But he's trying; you're still his baby, even if you side with him like that.

Dick always wanted to help you out with your like a big brother should, showing you the way, but you growl like a wild animal if he gets close to curls. Sure, you let him put growth oil in your cornrows, but that's all he'll ever do. You avoid that man like he has cheese touch.

Jason hasn't been a teen in forever, maybe reading a comic or two and bonding with you about how stupid comics draw women or how ugly the super-realistic style is, just for readers to roll their eyes every time he speaks. Why is he talking to me? Come on, laugh at his jokes; he knows you, he's funny. Come in and giggle!

Tim, you both are nerds. Why don’t you guys play some D&D? "Nah, I have my own party." Tekken 8? Nah, you prefer MK. Come on, just hang out with him! Geeks stick together, but for some reason, you’d rather play with random online players. He’s literally the superior player, and he’s way cooler and funnier, so don’t ditch him for your friends—he's a better rival!

Damian, please, oh, please let him hang out with you. Let him be a little brother; let him ride on your back. Let him play video games with you. Let him come to your room when you have a night in, but you refuse; you blow him off like the plague. Don’t tell him you’re not free—he tracked your schedule!

Stephanie, let's go shopping, paint each other's nails, talk about our crazy crushes, go shopping, and max out Bruce's cards. Oh, you're busy? That's cool. Wait, all your friends are hanging out together, and you're going to Chuck E. Cheese? Why don't you let her join? Oh, you guys were planning this and you don't have an extra space? Maybe next time you'll spend time with your favorite gal pal.

Cass will psychoanalyze all the shonen you've ever watched. Even if it's unrealistic and people don't scream for 15 minutes and suddenly get powerful in the show. Oh, Kengan Ashura! Tell her about the lore and all the fighters; please talk to her about it. She'll pose like the fighters and recreate the moves for you. Come on, just hang out with her. She won't talk, or she'll talk your ear off, but your face of indifference tells her you really don't care; you'd rather watch something else. Fine, Cass will watch it with you.

Duke, come chill with him. Sure, you guys have only had two conversations, and so what? You can't have more? Listen to Kendrick with him; why don't you both bond over not liking and hating on Drake? Schoolboy Q shit. He'll even play Doechii's Chromakopia is out. Let's rap to Sticky. You don't fuck with that? Oh, it's cool; he'll listen to whatever you like. He'll do whatever you like! You guys can watch Boondocks together and make random references that only you two understand. Let him give you a retwist. Let him be your brother, but you'd rather hang out with some loser from your school? What's that about?

[konjiang]

Cumplane Library au

Sy was in the Library studying when he saw that PIDW just had a new update, he almost couldn't contain himself and started fuming from anger. Thankful no one else beside the library staff was here right now.

He quickly craft up the most vile and disrespectful review post, and hit send before anyone else even left a comment. Some may say his dedication to hating on Airplane was obsessive and unhealthy, but his hands shake with fury every time he read a new chapter. If he didn't do something, he would probably get sick from the repressed feeling.

After spurring out all his hatred towards Airplane in the post, he resumed studying for his class. Right when he was about to put in his earbuds and to start playing some lofi, he heard a quiet chuckle from behind him. The quiet library staff was staring at him and trying to hide his laughter.

The burning in his face was sure to set the library on fire with how hot he felt. He couldn't believe that someone witness him in his lowest form. He quickly got up and packed his laptop away, planning on dying from embarrassment in the safety of his room.

'This is all that fucking dumb hack author's fault!' He practically ran to the door, but the door wouldn't open now matter how he pulled or pushed. He had no choice to turn around and pretend like nothing happened.

He tried to nonchalantly go back to his seat, but a pair of brown eyes followed his movement. When he crossed over the front desk, the guy abruptly stand up and smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you like that. It was that you were so funny getting mad at the novel you were reading." He had brown curly hair, dimples on both side of his face, a ponytail, and a innocent looking face. Sy thought that this guy looked exactly like what he thought LBH looked like.

"That door is currently shut because of construction. A lot of people have been trying to open it all day, but they never read the sign I put up." the LBH lookalike sighed, and SY turned his head and saw that there was indeed a piece of paper tape to the door, but in his flustered state, he couldn't bother to read it.

"Oh. Thanks..." Sy mumbled out, this day was getting worse by the second.

"What were you reading?" the innocent looking guy asked. Sy couldn't tell him, he couldn't be the one to ruin this guy's innocent.

"Just some webnovel." SY deflected, wanting this conversation to end already.

"Oh really?" They guy bounced a bit as he leaned forward causing his ponytail to sway slightly, "I like web novels too, which one were you reading?" SY stared at the guy's doe eyes, noting that he was definitely not as tall as LBH, since he was shorter than SY.

'He would look great cosplaying white lotus LBH.' Sy thought, but he didn't want to entertain that idea at all because his brain kindly provided him with all the sex scenes from varies chapters of PIDW.

"It's not really popular, so I don't think you'll like it." Sy stood there in agony when the cute guy looked at him disappointedly.

"Oh...okay. Sorry for bothering you."

'Fuck! Why can't god just strike me down right now.' Sy impulsively ripped out a piece of paper from his binder and wrote down his number.

"Here, I can recommend you some better novel. Just text me your preferences." Sy said coldly, trying to regain his composure.

"Really? Thank you!" The guy excitedly whispered as a group of student walked in. Sy took this chance to blend in with the crowd and leave when the guy was preoccupied with others.

'Ah fuck. If I ever met that dumbass author. I'm beating the shit out of him.'

--

As a university library worker, he seen a lot of things throughout his shifts. But he would never expect to find Peerless Cucumber reading the latest chapter in the library. Is it shame on him for posting it when he was working or shame on Cucumber for reading it in a public place.

He type in the phone number and saved it in his phone. His shift was about to end and he could fully plan out how to mess with Cucumber afterwards.

"Luo Binghe, you're free to go."

"Thanks" Luo Binghe, or more infamously known as Airplane, skipped out of the library while humming to himself.

[simonisferal]

the different side of a coin

YOUR ex is a piece of shit—just getting it out of the way—so when he, out of the nowehere, wanted to break up with you, you would’ve been ecstatic! except you weren’t, seeing how you were convinced he was the love of your life or whatever. now coping and realizing how tired you were having to carry every conversation and crying every night he doesn’t text you back, you get your life together perfectly fine. years later, you fall in love with an artist—someone who understands you more than you yourself; and someone you’d never thought you’d hear from again.

tags: ex/artist scaramouche x gn reader, exes to lovers warnings: slight angst (not really), they both still like each other but idk, status: starting…. idk — written chapters will have a 🎸

prologue: he was so nice before. 🎸

0.1: the way things go

1. coping is making me rich — 2. popularity

3. eargasm — 4. attached to a song

5. favoritism — 6. obliviously in love

7. over him — 8. i see you

9. get out of my head — 10. crash out 🎸

11. marinette dupain-cheng — 12. liar

13. don’t hate me — 14. nosy

15. surprise! 🎸

0.2: you’re here. that’s the thing

16. call me back — 17. you know.

18. the waiting game — 19. disappointed.

20. you look the same. 🎸 — 21. i think i’m ready

22. paparazzi — 23. tba…

0.3: pictures of us (bonus chapters)

1. tba…

erhm…. hey guys 😁 how are we liking it here? very preppy!!! 😻

ill post the prolouge idk next week so be there or be square!

taglist: @liuaneee, @axquella , @kunikuni1819 , @quiechee , @ kunikissr , @jinjjjia , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @mywillt0live , @sunnylyly

[residentrookie]

NFU 

a messy exes/right person, wrong time jegulus microfic inspired by the song NFU by del water gap for my bb @static-radio-ao3 as my thank u for the introduction :))

“Hello?” 

“Regulus,” a hoarse voice rasps on the other end of the phone, drawing out the syllables of his name. Rough and low and… drunk. Extremely fucking drunk, by the sound of it.

Regulus stiffens. “James. Are you-- you’re drunk calling me. Again.” 

“Very astute. You’re always so astute, Reg.” 

He checks the clock on his nightstand with bleary eyes. 3:30 AM. God. Not this again.

“I thought we talked about this,” he sighs, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“We don’t talk much these days,” James points out rationally. “I think I would have remembered.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes. Not fucking likely. 

“Since you were in a similar state the last time we had this conversation, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Just so we’re clear that doesn’t make it okay, James. This is— you have to stop doing this.” 

By ‘this’ Regulus means getting wasted and calling him when James is too far gone to talk himself out of the idea. And, if Regulus were smart, he would stop picking up when James’ name flashes across his screen. 

“Like I said. Astute.” 

Drunk James is his worst nightmare, truly. Drunk James is a walking, talking reminder of everything he doesn’t have anymore, everything he will never have again. When he calls, lacking crucial social skills like self-control and any modicum of a filter, Regulus is forced to be the rational one, reminding them both that this boundary exists for a reason. A very good reason.

“Okay. Well I’m glad— it’s good that we talked about this. But this is— this has to be the last time. I’m hanging up now, okay?” 

James continues as if he never spoke. “How’s your um— your boyfriend doing?”

Immediately no. 

“I’m not talking about this with you—” Regulus attempts to shut him down, but James is nothing if not obstinate. 

“You’re still dating the guy with the dumb fucking name, right?” 

James knows full well that he is. Sirius would have informed him otherwise. He just wants to hear Regulus say it because he’s fucking sick and twisted. Naturally, Regulus can’t give him the satisfaction, so he avoids the question. 

“You can’t think Regulus is a perfectly normal name and then turn around and shit on a guy for being named Kingsley.” 

James scoffs on the other end of the phone. “I can shit on him as much as I want. Fucking hate that fucker.” 

“You’ve never met him. You can’t hate someone you’ve never even met.” 

“Sirius hates him.” 

“Sirius doesn’t hate him—” Sirius just wishes he was you. 

“Mhm. Told me so. Said he’s a little bitch who can’t hold his liquor.”

Now it’s Regulus’ turn to scoff. “This coming from you right now? You sound so fucked up, I doubt you can even see straight. Not that you could before, but—” 

“I’m not fucked up,” James insists, then says calmly, “I just missed the way that you talk.” 

This. This was why they had to stop. In his worst moments, Regulus loathes the fact that Sober James all but ignores him most of the time, only bothering to text him on important holidays or birthdays. That is, until he’s reminded that Drunk James wants to ruin him— completely and thoroughly— by the casual cruelty of speaking his mind and expecting Regulus to go on peacefully with his life as if he didn’t just upend it entirely. 

“James…” he starts shakily. 

“Fuck, that sounded stupid. This was,” James hiccups, “not my best idea, I fear. Rash. Extremely rash feeling.” 

“What, drunk calling your ex? Yeah, I would say it’s one of your worst.” 

James is quiet for a moment. “You kill me, you know? I-I hate talking to you.” 

Rage wells up in Regulus’ throat so fast he nearly chokes on it. “You called me—”

“God, you sound good. You always sound sexy when you’re angry, did you know that?  Rougher… hotter. All red in the face and your neck…I can almost see it, if I squint.”  James pauses, presumably squinting like a drunken idiot. “Maybe that’s why I called you— to make you angry. To hear you be angry at me again. Stupid fucking thing to miss, isn’t it?”

Yet again, Regulus is at a loss. 

“You— I’m— God, you’re a real fucking bastard. Do you have any idea how excruciating it is to talk to you when you’re like this?” 

But James ignores him, saying ruefully, “Sirius told me, he always tells me, he says, ‘Don’t fucking do it, James. You always regret it, you always yell at me the next day for letting you call him,’ but he can’t stop me,” a childish giggle bursts from him. “I’m too fast. Much, much faster than him, just for the record. He’s never once beat me in a foot race, and if he says he has he’s a big, fat fucking liar—”

“James, I sincerely don’t give a fuck about that— be honest, did you run away from him at the bar?” 

Drunk James will do that. He’s a runner. Well, not when Regulus was around to keep him on a tight leash, but it seems that without him, James is turning back to some of his worst habits. 

The line goes quiet. Then, “A little bit.” 

“It’s a yes or no question, James.” 

“Mm.” He seems to think on it. “Yes, then.” 

Regulus tosses his hand in the air, forgetting James can’t see him. “Go back and find him!” 

“Don’t want to,” James sniffs. “Tryin to make my mistakes in peace.” 

“You— I’m hanging up and calling Sirius.” 

“No, no don’t!” James yells into the receiver, making Regulus wince and pull his phone away from his ear. James’ voice is much quieter when he speaks again. 

“Don’t, I have to say— I wanted to tell you. I have to tell you that I’m sorry, Regulus. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

A pit of dread forms in his stomach. James sounds wretched. He sounds like how Regulus feels when he thinks too long about how far they’ve drifted apart, how little they speak to each other anymore. For one infinitesimal second, Regulus gets the satisfaction of knowing that he’s not alone in this specific shade of misery— dark blue and bottomless. And then he reminds himself that he’s sober and his ex-boyfriend is drunk and they shouldn’t even be fucking talking right now if they knows what’s good for them. 

“James, look, you’re drunk, you’re emotional—”

“‘S not what I’m apologizing for.” 

“What, then?” 

“Everything. All of it. I never—I wanted…” 

Don’t say it, Regulus begs silently. Please don’t say what I—

“I still love you,” James breathes out. “I love you so much I can’t breathe around it.” 

Regulus lets his eyes sink closed, firmly shuttering the tears forming in his eyes. He can’t let himself say it back. He can’t. If he does…

“James…” Regulus lets himself savor the sound of his name on his tongue. Then says softly, “It’s okay.” 

They both know it’s not. 

______________________________

James looks down at the number on his phone. Blinks, just to make sure he isn’t imagining… but, no, he isn’t making it up. He picks up his phone, his apprehension growing. 

“Regulus?” he asks, unsure. 

A snort sounds on the other line. “Hm, fffancy seeing you here.” 

James blinks again. “...We’re talking over the phone.”

He doesn’t have to see Regulus to know that he’s just waved James’ words away with a flippant hand. “Metaphorically, then.” 

It’s been weeks since the last time they spoke. James remembers very little of that ill-conceived conversation, except of course for the part where he said the one thing he promised himself he would never say again because his brain hates him. It’s played on a loop in his head everyday since, his ragged, sincere words and Regulus’ noncommittal response to them. 

It’s okay, he had said. 

It was anything but okay. They both knew that. 

He had been doing so well, had been training himself to think of other things besides his ex boyfriend and his ex boyfriend’s new boyfriend and what the two of them were getting up to together, all the fun things they were probably doing while James was just focused on getting through his day. On getting to the next one. The next. The next the next the next the next the next—

“You don’t have ‘nything to say? Hm?” Regulus’ words slur. Unusual for him. Regulus was always so in control of himself. 

James frowns. “Are you okay? You sound—”

“Drunk? Well, that’s because I am. Royally, massively fucking toasted. Thought I’d return the favor and call you for once. ‘S your lucky day.” 

“Oh. I guess— I deserve that.” 

“I’ll say. Taste of your own medicine. Drink up, Potter.” 

James huffs a humorless laugh. “You must be drunk if you’re calling me ‘Potter’. You never call me that.” 

“Never say never, Potter,” he spits out meanly.  “It’s never a good idea to say never, remember? Remember how not good of an idea it is to use the word never? My therapist, she says I need to stop talking in absolutes. Never and always. Never say never, I learned that from her. Shame you didn’t, too.” 

James sinks into a kitchen chair, burying his face in his free hand, rubbing out the headache growing in his left temple. “You were right,”  he admits. “This is excruciating.” 

This conversation is making him feel awful for every single time he’s dialed Regulus drunk, the barrier between his thoughts and his words nowhere to be found. Regulus was right. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. He deserved this for every single second Regulus had to keep his cool on the other line while James was busy fucking them up a little more than they already had been. 

“Like remember when you said we’d never break up? Or when you said you’d always love me? Hilarious. Really, really funny stuff.” 

Regulus’ voice is liquid rage, red hot and acidic. James swears it’s burning him through the phone. 

He sighs. “Regulus. Can we not?” 

“No, no, we should talk about it. It’s been long enough. We can be rational adults and have a damn conversation. Here, you know what, I’ll even go first. I wanted you to come with me, you know. I should have asked you. To come with me.” 

James feels his heart stutter in his chest at those words. “You did ask me to come with you,” he murmurs. 

Regulus was waiting for that, like a snake rearing to strike. “Wait. Yessss, that’s right. I asked you to come with me and you said no! Now I remember. You said fucking no.” 

James clenches his jaw, his own anger slowly rising up the column of his throat. “I didn’t say no. I asked for some time to decide if I wanted to upend my life and move across the country, which is a pretty sane response to a question of that fucking magnitude. You’re the one who decided my hesitation meant I didn’t fucking love you.” 

“Well, it sure didn’t feel like you loved me when you let me leave.” 

“Let you—?!” James cuts off, knowing he’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t calm himself.  “Regulus,” he starts, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one lets you do anything! You do whatever you please and damn the consequences! I just never— I didn’t want to be one of those consequences.” 

Regulus, to no one’s shock, does not attempt to calm himself. In fact, James fears he’s only stoked the flames. 

“You are hands down the most infuriating human being on the face of the goddamn planet! Of course you’re blaming me! Of course, like you were just an innocent bystander while I went about ruining our relationship! Like you had nothing to do with it! You had no part in it, no, not perfect James Potter, never him! I cannot believe— I just— it’s all so— fuck!” 

His voice breaks on the word and then the rest of him breaks too. His tears sound painful, like they’re fighting they’re way out of Regulus’ body with each sob. He cries loudly and messily and James can’t pretend like the sound doesn’t break his heart all over again. 

“Regulus?” He makes his voice gentle. Soothing. “Hey, don’t cry. Listen, you’re drunk. Why don’t we try talking when you’ve sobered up?” 

“No, James,” he sobs, gasping for breath. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I fucking fucked up.” 

James sits up straighter, alarmed. 

“Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s going on—” 

Regulus sniffles. “No, I’m— I’m at my place. I’m fine. It’s just… it’s Kingsley.” 

James’ mind goes still in a way that should scare him but doesn’t. “Did he hurt you?” He doesn’t  bother keeping the cool rage out of his voice. 

“No!” Regulus nearly shouts. “No.. the opposite, actually. I hurt him. Badly.” 

James closes his eyes and takes a deep, slow breath. “Look… I’m sorry you’re upset but I really don’t want to listen to your lover’s spat—”

“I said your name last night,” Regulus whispers. 

“You—what?” 

Regulus doesn’t hold himself back. “He fucked me and I said your name. When I came. Yelled it, actually. No way to hide it. James and Kingsley don’t sound remotely similar.” 

And that— well. James has lost the ability for rational thought. “Oh,” he manages.

“Yeah, oh,” Regulus mimics him harshly. “He stormed out and we haven’t talked since. And I think— I think he’s going to break up with me now. He should break up with me. It’s— what I did is unforgivable.” 

No matter how hard he tries, James can’t think of a single thing to say to this information. Naturally, Regulus won’t let that stand. 

“James? Are you gonna say something?” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks weakly. 

“Say you’re sorry!” Regulus shouts. “Say you’re sorry for drunk calling me all the fucking time, for reminding me that you exist, for reminding me I still fucking love—” 

He cuts off, but not quite quickly enough. James still heard everything he didn’t say. 

“I am sorry,” he says, voice rough. “I’m really fucking sorry, Regulus.” 

He hears the hitch in Regulus’ breath. If he closes his eyes he can see Regulus before him, see the pain take up residence on his beautiful face, the way he scrunches his nose when he cries, his eyes going stark red, his cheeks staining themselves pink. 

He can see Regulus so clearly in his mind. But he didn’t see what was coming next. 

“I-I just want to be with you again,” Regulus cries softly.  “I want to be with you, James. I’ll move back, I’ll quit my program, I’ll move in with you like you wanted, I’ll do fucking anything— but I can’t live like this anymore, James, I can’t, I can’t—”

James’ own tears slide down his cheeks silently, falling off the cliff-edge of his chin. 

“Regulus,” he says as firmly as he can manage. “Stop it. Please. You didn’t move away on a whim, okay? You’re in an amazing program. You love Chicago, you love the city and the river walk and the Art Institute and that bookshop across from Grant Park—” 

“You can’t— I didn’t tell you about any of—” 

“I pay attention. I know you love it. And I love where I live. I love my job here.” He forces the next words to leave his mouth, even though they taste like poison. “We’re… in the right places for ourselves. I have to believe that.” 

This doesn’t satisfy Regulus. The most twisted part of him is glad about that. 

“Why don’t you fucking get it, James? I can’t be in the right place if I’m not with you. The right place doesn’t exist if we aren’t in it together.” 

James squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Regulus can’t know how badly this is hurting him. He can’t know that James feels like dying every day they spend apart, that James has applied for over ten jobs in Chicago just to hear nothing back, has looked at apartments in Regulus’ neighborhood enough times he’s saved the site to his favorites bar. Even when Regulus was dating someone else. Even after Regulus had moved on from him. 

He's looked at it from so many angles, tried to reconfigure it so many times in his mind, and nothing made sense for them. One of them would always be giving up something, making sacrifices for the other, letting the resentment build.

Even thought Regulus is saying everything he’s been wanting to hear for an entire year...

He’s drunk. He’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Doesn’t know what he wants. 

“We’re happy, Regulus,” James tells him stiffly. “We’re both happy.” 

Maybe if he keeps repeating it, he’ll finally start to believe it. 

“If this is what happiness feels like,” Regulus snarls, “then I don’t want to be fucking happy.” 

No. And James doesn’t either. 

“You’ll feel differently in the morning. I promise.” 

Regulus laughs without humor. “I’ll still want you in the morning. Being sober doesn’t change that. It just lets me hold on to a shred of my dignity and not call you to tell you about it. But it doesn’t change a damn thing. You have to know that.” 

He’s drunk, James reminds himself. He’s fucking drunk. 

“Goodnight, Regulus,” he chokes out. 

“I still love you, James.” 

“It’s okay, Regulus. It’ll be okay.” 

They both know it won’t be. 

[heyits481]

Lando’s smile drops a bit when he sees the man approaching, knowing he’ll want a picture with the both of them. The restaurant is small, nothing too fancy, and he’d naively hoped that maybe they would be able to finish their meal and enjoy the short drive back to the hotel without being bothered. This close to Paul Ricard, Lando supposes he shouldn’t have been so optimistic.

“Pardon, you two drive the race cars, no?” The French accent is so thick Lando can hardly understand the man, but tries to paste on a grin in response.

He hopes Oscar understands. Thinks that he will. It’s not like Lando’s ashamed of being seen out getting dinner with Oscar, or anything. Not like he’s embarrassed of having him as a teammate, or friend really, if Lando’s being honest with himself. It’s just that he hates sharing everything. He knows the picture will get posted somewhere. Hates that he can’t have this be just for him.

Oscar smiles at the man politely, hands messing with the glass of water in front of him. Lando watches a bead of condensation drip down the side. “Yeah, sure do.” Lando can almost feel Oscar’s gaze move to him, but he keeps his own firmly planted on the tablecloth. Picks at the hem of it under the table.

“Did you want, um-” he flops his right hand toward the man’s phone. Doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course the man wants a photo.

Jon’s told him before that he can always tell people no, that he’s not obligated to anything, if he doesn’t want to. But then Jon’s not the one being asked, not having to face the pleading eyes, the demanding tones, the dropped shoulders that followed the few times he had declined.

The man crouches down slightly as he nods, hand coming up, phone at the ready. Lando tries to avoid looking at himself in frame, looks at the man’s reflection instead, tries to mimic the bright smile with his own face.

The sound of a shutter. Lando resists rolling his eyes, he’s never understood old people’s obsession with having their phone volume on full blast. The man squeezes his shoulder. “Ah merci, merci, I will have to send to my daughter, she adores you!”

Lando lets himself zone out a bit while the man repeats the process with Oscar. Focuses back just in time to tell the man to thank his daughter for being a supporter before watching him walk back to his own table.

Oscar doesn’t say anything for a bit, but once again Lando can feel him watching. Lando pushes his food around his plate under the guise of eating. Shivers slightly when he accidentally scrapes his fork across the porcelain. Oscar clears his throat. “You ok mate?”

Pushing the sleeves of his sweater up his arms Lando shrugs, doesn’t quite know how to say “I want to keep you just for me,” in a way that doesn’t sound creepy and possessive and not at all how he should feel about his teammate. Decides to go with, “Yeah, I’m fine.” instead.

Oscar doesn’t look convinced, but lets it slide, keeping up a polite stream of conversation about how the tires they were testing felt, how they spent their break, random stuff that Lando only half listens to. It’s on the drive back to the hotel that Oscar brings it up again.

“Hey. What’s the matter?” His tone doesn’t leave much room for discussion and Lando’s hands begin to sweat slightly where they’re gripping the steering wheel. He hums. “Nothing’s the matter.” He hopes Oscar doesn’t notice the way his knuckles whiten around the wheel.

He hears Oscar shift in his seat slightly. “It’s just, ever since that guy-” Lando shakes his head, interrupting. “Osc. I’m fine.” He glances over quickly before looking back to the road. Indicates his turn into the hotel car park. “Honestly.” Oscar waits until he pulls into a spot to speak again, and Lando now has no reason to not turn and look at him.

Oscar is twisted slightly in his seat, hands resting on his thighs. The dim lights of the car park cast a slight glow against his profile. Lando wants to trace the line of Oscar’s jaw.

“Is it because we were out at dinner? And you didn’t want people to see you with me?” There’s a slight flush under his eyes as he says it.

Lando shakes his head, turning his body more toward Oscar, hand reaching out before he can stop himself. He freezes when it’s inches away from Oscar’s neck. “Shit. No- I- I mean yes, but not because of you, I just hate that there’s no privacy, or that it couldn’t be just me and you having dinner, you know? It’s not like I want to hide you.” When he realizes what he’s said Lando’s eyes go wide. “Not saying your mine to hide-”

Oscar’s blush deepens, but he’s smiling now. Not like the one he’d given at the restaurant, but genuine this time. The type of smile Lando is used to being on the receiving end of. “I get it, you know I feel the same.”

And Lando does know. Oscar’s always been a private person. It had taken a month for him to mention breaking up with his girlfriend to Lando, let alone the rest of the world.

Lando lets out a breath, the puff of air ruffling Oscar’s bangs. He didn’t realize he had leaned so close to him. Lando shifts away slightly, dropping his hand to the fiddle with the gear shift.

“I wouldn’t mind though.”

Oscar is almost whispering. His eyes on his own lap now. Lando feels the way his own eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wouldn’t mind what? Not having privacy?” Oscar’s head shakes, hair soft across his forehead.

“Being yours.”

Lando feels like his skin is on fire. It’s overwhelming how quickly his brain flashes the images before him- Oscar letting him touch, stretching Oscar out over the bed, tracing over his pale skin with his tongue, the tight feeling of Oscar around him, Oscar under him gasping out his name.

He presses his legs together. “Oscar don’t say- fuck- don’t say that if you don’t-” Oscar’s eyes snap up to meet Lando’s. “I do mean it.” His tone is bold, eyes dark like he’s daring Lando to question him.

There’s a pause and then Lando can’t stop himself from reaching out, one hand twisting into the front of Oscar’s shirt, the other gently brushing his hair back, Lando holding his breath as the soft strands glide between his fingers.

“Osc. You’d let me? Like, I could- you’d be mine?” Lando knows he’s not really making sense, but his tongue feels cottony and dry. He wants to wet it in Oscar’s mouth.

Oscar’s pupils are huge, head tilted back slightly as Lando leans over him. Lando bushes his thumb across Oscar’s temple. Watches Oscar’s eyes dart down to Lando’s lips as he whispers, “Yeah. I want you to.” Lando’s not sure if Oscar even knows what he’s agreeing to, but then Oscar leans forward, mouth brushing against Lando’s. “Want to be yours.”

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 13

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

February 1984

Eddie slams his fist into the vending machine. The bastard ate his last dollar, and is refusing to return the other quarter he slid into the machine. This is just his luck.

"I might have another dollar," Gareth offers up.

Eddie shakes his head. "Don't bother.”

Gareth is already fishing through his wallet. Shit, he might have quarters to give up to his friend. Money has been tight on Eddie - Gareth was over last weekend, and the fridge was empty. Not to mention that he also caught a glimpse into Eddie's lunchbox, and there was hardly any food inside. A bag of pretzels, and an old napkin.

While fishing in his wallet, Gareth drops something. It lands with a plop on the school linoleum. Racing to snatch the condom, before Eddie can get his hands on it - he fails. Eddie flicks it between his fingers thoughtfully.

“Uh,” Gareth holds out one more quarter, “trade?”

How could this be any more awkward? With an audience maybe? Eddie didn’t even know you two were at that point in your relationship. Well, he still doesn’t. Should he ask?

Eddie doesn’t say a word, and Gareth takes the condom back. To prevent that from happening again, Gareth makes sure it’s secure in a deeper part of his wallet.

Clunk - clunk - clunk.

The vending machine does take Gareth’s quarters. With an aching buzz and a whirl, Eddie now has lunch. A crappy bag of chips that would fill him for another hour at best. Maybe he should have payed closer attention to his choices.

Suddenly, the hallway from the vending machines to the cafeteria feels more like a million steps instead of just a couple around the corner. The boys scuffle along the tile making an awful racket. Eddie pops the chip bag open upside down, and offers the snack out to Gareth.

“I’m good,” he doesn’t want to take away food from Eddie right now.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, and tries his best not to look terribly ravenous eating the chips in front of him. The cold truth is that he is surviving on junk until this Friday when Wayne gets paid. That, or he meets up with his boss. Eddie gets a sizable cut for the deals he makes selling weed to the kids that hate him the most. Rich kids. Church kids. All that matters is that these hypocrites have the cash, and Eddie hands out the supply. It’s simple. Very under the table.

The thing he can’t get off his mind is what Gareth is carrying around with him. A condom. It’s one condom.

Of course, Eddie knows what it is for. The better question is have you done it? Have you let Gareth do that to you? It’s against his better judgment that he asks the fatal question. He might as well load the bullet into the gun, then point it at his head, before letting Gareth pull the trigger.

“Are you guys- uh- have you guys-,”

Gareth stops abruptly in the hallway. This is not the conversation that he wishes to have right now. Not with Eddie in the least. Although, the halls are bare except for the few darting to the bathroom to smoke while the teachers aren’t looking. He’s done that enough times.

Truthfully, Gareth only stuck that thing in his wallet when the two of you began to date. Going to the store to buy them was enough of a challenge not to be seen by anyone from school or by anyone around town that his mom might know. The cashier gave him enough of a look over that made Gareth wonder if this was even a good idea in the first place.

It’s on his mind - you and him - like that. Sometimes Gareth wonders if he’s just a pervert because surely you can’t have the same mind that he does. Then again, you have needs too. Right?

Gareth is jittery already. It’s Valentine’s Day, and aside from buying you a bouquet of flowers, he’s also taking you to the school dance tonight. There’s a big announcement about it around a month ago.

You show little interest in the events around school, but every once in a while Gareth sees a twinge of excitement come from you. A flyer in the hallway caught your eye, and so he asked you. You were just as shocked as he was when the words flew out of his mouth. But, the smile grew on your face and he was smitten.

Gareth is thrilled to escort you to the dance. The nerves draw from getting dressed tonight. He’s got no idea what you’re wearing, but his tie will match your dress. For only this night, his mom is allowing him to borrow the car. She expects him to take you there and back in one piece. That is his plan too.

For the most part, his mom trusts him. The only child. The only one she’s got to keep an eye on. She’s proud of who he’s become as he’s growing up. Gareth regularly tries to stay out of trouble despite his outward appearance, and the ear shattering music that comes from the garage.

Gareth wants to continue his string of good luck with his mom by following her rules. The only problem is that now he has a condom in his wallet. A new player has entered the battlefield.

To tell Eddie the truth, Gareth has wanted to ask for his advice. How does he even approach the question? Is it a question? He doesn’t just want to start anything with you, and then you’re uncomfortable.

Eddie has experience. Gareth knows this. There’s been a time or two that Eddie has accepted a different form of payment to his after-school transactions. It’s not like he’s implied that any of his customers have to do that. But, as Eddie says, it’s the perks of being a good businessman. He takes it as a tip.

The only problem with asking Eddie for advice is how close you two are. If he found out that Gareth needed help in that department, then it would be easy to tell who he was talking about. And, if he isn’t talking about you, then who’s he talking about and how easy could Eddie hide Gareth’s body when he’s through with him.

Gareth scratches the back of his neck trying to find the words to reply to Eddie in a manner that’s not outwardly asking for sex advice. As he’s scanning his brain, Eddie is holding his breath for an answer. An honest answer.

“We’re not,” Gareth answers him finally, and thus letting Eddie breathe again. “I don’t know -,”

There’s a pregnant pause. Either boy doesn’t speak. The hallway stinks of cafeteria food bleeding down the rest of the school. It’ll smell like that all day. At least the biology classes haven’t started dissecting frogs yet.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Eddie huffs. “Either you are or you aren’t.”

Why did Eddie want to know so badly? He wishes he could shove his foot into his own mouth. A part of him wants to hear Gareth say that they are doing that. No idea why. Gareth isn’t the worst person in the world for you to be doing that with. It’s just - maybe someday, Eddie had hoped that would be him.

Eddie really has to give up on the thought of you two ever becoming a thing. It’s not healthy. It’s selfish. You’re into Gareth. And, if he’s making you happy then Eddie should be too. Even though the sting still feels fresh against his alabaster skin.

“Gareth."

Gareth winces at how abrupt his friend calls him by name.

“Just,” Eddie pinches his brows together, “be kind to her. And do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Please, spare me the details.”

-> <-

The sun has just set across Hawkins, but there is no moon to be seen. Clouds across the sky cast a blue-gray haze over the town. This doesn’t stop you from wearing your most favorite piece in your closet. Now you have an excuse to wear it, since your birthday didn’t work out. You zip up the back of the dress that Gareth bought for you.

Your hands dance along the side of the fabric that hugs at your waist. Lips press together to blend your lipstick in better, while you check all the details in your mascara.

The quiet air is suddenly broken by the shattering sound of glass in the kitchen. Even in a pair of heels, you’re quick to race out of your room.

Standing over twinkles of shards, your mother has drunkenly let a drinking glass slip from her grasp. Her hand trembles, but she doesn’t make much noise at the mess in front of her.

“Are you okay?” You stand in front of her on the other side of the mess.

Your mom has been home for a total of three days. That’s more time that you’ve ever seen her in the last few months. You’ve become quite used to coming home to a quiet house. The one day when she had shown up, you thought she was an intruder and you armed yourself with the baseball bat you have by your bedside.

Surprisingly, the moment she came home she was sober. No idea how she got home. That lasted all of an hour when she claimed she had a headache, then went out for booze. She came home again, and drank through nearly a bottle and a half of vodka. Enough to kill her. Maybe that was her plan. Leave you with the debt, and she’ll be buried six feet under.

None-the-less for some reason you still care. Three whole days of this, and you’ll still reach your arm out to catch her when she sways. She flinches away from you. Not a fan of touch anymore. At least, not your touch. She still has clients she reaches out too at ungodly hours of the night. She’s loud about the conversations, but if you ask her to lower her voice then she calls you unbearably nosey.

Why are you so glad to have her home? It’s so confusing all the time. The way you pick up after her. You’ve taken on her responsibilities. Shit, you’re looking for a job to begin to pay the bills that she can’t afford.

You’re sweeping the last of the glass, while your mother nurses a bottle of tequila in the dark corner of your kitchen. She hasn’t cut herself from the glass that she’s dropped.

“There’s macaroni in the fridge,” it’s like reasoning with a spirit in a human body. “Please eat.”

Your mother groans. All you do is pester her. Why did she have your ungrateful ass in the first place? A cat would have been less trouble than you.

There is a knock at the front door. You aren’t expecting anyone, but maybe your mom is. There are plenty of dirty men that want something from her.

“Gareth?” You pull open the door, and there is your date for the evening. Clean. Suit and tie. He smells expensive. All this for you. You shut the door behind you fearing your mom might gain a wind of energy. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the dance?”

Gareth is awestruck by you. For one, your radiance is unmatched and is indescribable in words. His jaw hits your porch.

“You look-,” he’s flattered you wore the dress, “God, you’re beautiful. How did I get so lucky?”

It is your turn to blush. To forget who’s behind you inside. Little do you know her ear is to the front door listening to the hooligans on her porch. They’re whispering about her!

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you acknowledge, but the scuffling behind the closed door brings you back to reality. “Er- the dance?”

“Right,” he swings his arm out to show off his mom’s station wagon, “my mom lent me her car tonight.”

“Oh, wow,” you’re both impressed, and terrified that your mother is planning her great escape.

That she is. One more word comes through her head that her kid is conspiring against her. She’s being sold out!

Swinging open the front door, she knocks into open archway. At least she doesn’t have a bottle of liquor anymore. Unless, that means your mom has finished that one too.

“Mom,” you plead, “it’s fine - go back inside.”

She assesses. Gareth is in a suit, but he’s too young to be a government spy. So, she accepts that he’s here for one thing. An exchange.

“Who are you?” The words come out in a slur that almost sounds animatronic. This is the most she’s spoken since coming home. It’s hoarse. That could be the alcohol. “Are you handsomely paid?”

Gareth’s face has fallen.

“Mommy,” you beg, “go back inside. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Her laugh is soaked in alcohol. “Please. You’re on your way to getting bred and dumped like me. Trust me - having a kid is the worst thing you could do.”

It’s clear to you now that she’s completely unaware who she is talking too, or has been talking too the whole time she’s been home. That’s why you’ve kept yourself locked in your room fearing she may forget you’re home, and mistake you for an intruder.

Still, the punch to the gut doesn’t hurt any less. Not only are you miserably unloved by the one person you know by blood, but your boyfriend stands mere steps away from you watching the whole exchange. You wouldn’t be surprised if Gareth turns to run.

This is the final act from your mother tonight. She swirls around on her heel, before retiring into the blackness of her bedroom. It’s safe when you hear her bedroom close.

“My purse,” you excuse yourself from Gareth a moment to tip-toe back into the trailer for your bag on the kitchen counter. Only five dollars is left in there. You should have known she would take it.

Gareth stays quiet - studying his shoes. You’ve never invited him over to your house before. Sure, he’s been around the neighborhood. Not when your mother is home. Things begin to make more sense about where she’s been on these “work trips” you’ve told him about.

“Let’s go,” you lock the door behind you.

The car ride is quiet, aside from the radio playing music that you’re unfamiliar with. His mom’s favorite stations, perhaps. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to cry or something. Confessing your mom is a drunk - or a pill popper - or a prostitute - yeah, that isn’t exactly on your agenda.

You don’t notice, but you’ve made it to the school. The building looks so different at night. It’s not as intimidating without all the expectations written on chalkboards, or the smell of the pages of used textbooks. Tonight the only area well-lit is the gymnasium. A girl’s laugh echos that brings you back to where you are. Earth.

Gareth’s eyes bore into you. All of these questions that he has, but he won’t ask. You won’t tell him until you’re ready anyway. The time comes sooner than later anyway.

“My mom is nice,” were you telling him that, or yourself? “She bakes. Well, she used too.”

Pause.

“My grandma was nice,” you pick your head up at this. “She baked too. She used too.”

Tears threaten to fall down your face, but Gareth catches each one before they ruin your makeup completely. You let Gareth just hold you right then. In the middle of the parking lot like no one else is around because no one matters more to him than you right then.

“She’s been home for three days,” you sniffle, “it doesn’t even feel like she’s really home.”

“Like she’s a ghost,” he traces shapes against your skin.

“Ugh, my makeup,” a silly little thing to worry about right now. But alas, you sit up to fix the mascara threatening to run down your face. “I’m sorry, Gareth.”

“Hey,” he takes your hand in his to draw your attention back to him. Easily, he slots his lips against yours. Once, twice, three times. Wet kisses. “You have nothing to apologize for. If you want to get out of here and just drive - say the word.”

The idea wasn’t bad. Getting out. Feeling the wind in your hair. Going somewhere far away. It wouldn’t work. You would have to come home in the end.

“No,” you breathe across his mouth. “Let’s dance.”

That is what you do. The whole evening. After clearing your eyes, and turning your brain off, you have a really fantastic time with Gareth. You even convince him to take photos with you in the Photo Booth.

A few dances in, and both you and Gareth find a rhythm to dance too. The rhythm might not have been the same one that everyone else was dancing too, but nonetheless you’re having a great time.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” your bladder is getting to the best of you. “Can you get me a glass of punch?”

“Sure,” Gareth could also use a break from the dance floor. He’s moving with two left feet!

The bathroom clears out as you come in. By the time you’ve finished in the stall, the only person left in the room with you is Chrissy Cunningham. The sweetheart you’ve grown to be fond of outside of her massive jerk of a boyfriend.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” she’s powdering her face over the sink. A floral scent wafts around her. She must have just applied a generous amount of perfume. “But, you and Gareth look like you’re having fun.”

Oh, Gareth! Even just saying his name brings your heart to a flutter!

“Uhm,” you can’t help, but break into a grin the size of Texas, “yes! Chrissy, he’s the nicest guy. Not to mention how ridiculously handsome he is.”

“You know what, he does clean up nice,” she plucks at her bangs dangling in front of her face. “Those so-called Freaks are surprising in more ways than one.”

“What?”

“Well, Jason’s waiting for me,” she tells you, “we should totally go on a double date. That way we can catch up!”

Ah, Chrissy. She can never be anywhere alone for too long without Jason. But, maybe the offer isn’t far out there. It could be the start of a truce between the boys.

“I’ll talk to Gareth,” you can promise her that. “Have fun! You look so pretty by the way.”

“You too!”

When you’re done powdering your nose, you find Gareth nursing a cup of punch at an empty table. No one wants to be near the Freaks. Boy, you haven’t realized how tired you are of hearing how badly the boys get picked on around here. They play a fantasy game, and listen to different music so that makes them completely undesirable? That gives this miserable school a reason to outcast them all?

“Hey,” Gareth holds up an extra glass of punch for you, “having fun, tonight?”

“I really am,” you sip the drink.

Gareth taps the table with his pointer finger. There’s something on his mind that he isn’t telling you. You’ve been together for nearly half a year, and his tells are already becoming more obvious to you. He knows this as well as you do.

“I’m really sorry if what I’m about to say is overstepping,” that’s not the best way to begin, “I found a phone, while you were in the bathroom. I booked us a motel room - I booked you a room.”

You must have heard him wrong, “sorry?”

“I know how hard it is to have a family member act like that, but living with her can’t be easy,” he tries to put as delicately as possible. “After you’ve been having so much fun tonight, I thought maybe you could use a break. I can drop you off and pick you up if you want. Or, you can tell me this idea was dumb. Whatever-,”

Stopping Gareth in his everlasting ramble, you reach over and plant a kiss to his lips holding onto the lapel of his suit jacket. His lips soften against yours.

“I love you.”

The words slip off your tongue, as you hold him there. You’re the only two people in the crowded gymnasium. Blush pink lights bounce off of his and your hair.

It’s funny how a single moment can rewrite the history and the time of your relationship. All of those moments he spent arguing with Eddie about why you had to be there at their band practice. You were - you are a complete distraction. Bobbing your head up and down to the music, even though you just hear noise. The times you sit on your porch with your nose in a book. Those are the days he recalls begging with fate for you to even glance up with that cross-eyed stare that could melt him. Even your snarky comments couldn’t stop his heart from beating out of his chest for you.

Gareth couldn’t wait to take a bite of that forbidden fruit that was just out of reach. Out on a branch just a bit too high in the sky. But, here is his with you in his arms. Your words hold the key to validate the same feelings that he’s had for a long time. He’s sorry that he’s taken so long to recognize them.

“I love you too,” he hold either side of your face to kiss you.

This is different than the kisses before. Your heart locks to his. Moving as one, you lose yourself in the moment. Nothing else matters except the two of you. Here.

“Hey!” A chaperone hollers. “You can’t do that here!”

The couple does separate in a fit of laughter. Gareth is wearing your lipstick, as he waves off the teacher for interrupting. You pull his jaw back to face you, so that you can begin wiping at the lipstick across his bottom lip.

“Is it my color?” Gareth jokes.

You snort. “Totally.”

After a brief silence, you speak again;

“Do you want to get out of here?”

-> <-

It’s not the cleanest place ever. The motel that is. Understaffed. Underpaid. The clerk at the front appears exhausted, malnourished and far less concerned than one might be seeing two teenagers with a hotel reservation. That must happen a lot. It’s a small enough town that there are only a handful of motels, and none of them are as glamorous as the ones in the big city.

You toy with a fake potted plant that sheds dust when you tamper with its leaves. That’s one of many pieces that could use a fix. There’s a tear in the couch that’s supposed to warm people into staying here. You wonder what might have happened.

“One key is fine,” Gareth tells the front desk lady.

The woman waddles when she walks. Hiding out behind a desk and standing all day does things to you. When she returns, she has the single key to your very own room.

You’ve only spent time at a motel once or twice in your life. Both times were with your mother years ago. She went into the city for a couple of job interviews that fell through. Back then, it was just another job. She assured you there are always more opportunities waiting, and that was just not the right time.

“Check out is eleven tomorrow,” she drops the key into Gareth’s open palm, “we do charge if you’re late.”

“Thanks,” he replies, “have a good evening.”

Leading you through the front doors of the hotel into the evening air, Gareth gives you the key now. You hold the brassy thing in your palm. The engraving reads ‘201.’ So, you’ll be on the second floor and closer to the front desk office. That’s easy enough.

Gareth comes along with you to make sure the room is alright for you. He’s already ready to rain hellfire if anything isn’t up to your standard. But, it’s unlikely seeing that all you really want is a bit of peace and quiet from the world.

Twisting the key into the lock, you push the door forward. It opened. That’s a start. There’s a switch next to the door, so you’re not fumbling around like a moron in front of your date.

It’s simple. A queen-sized bed with a scratchy top sheet you could flick off if you want. There’s a table with a small chair close to the entrance that they consider a ‘dining nook.’ Also, a fat color television in front of the bed. Completely snug in the back is the bathroom. It’s clean, and free of mold, hair, or bugs.

Coming back around from your inspection, Gareth stands still outside of the hotel room.

“What are you still doing out there?” You hold out your hand. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Gareth wants too. He really does, but he still has his mom’s car. This is your retreat anyway. A night away with some peace and quiet. He doesn’t want to screw that up for you.

“My mom is waiting for me,” he tells you honestly. “I’ll come back in the morning and get you.”

“Gare,” the nickname soothes him. “It’s late. Call your mom and tell her that you’re staying at Eddie’s or something. I’m sure he’ll cover for you.”

Gareth snorts out a laugh. It’s silly how easy you can sway his better judgement. That by him not wanting to ruin your evening comes from more than just ‘he has to get home.’ So, he crosses that threshold into the motel room where you are.

Hot breath crosses your face, “are you sure you want me to stay?”

Your voice comes out at a whisper, “please. Please, stay.”

Gareth closes the room’s front door. The outside world is no longer either of your problems. You’re here with him. That’s all that matters.

You spring onto the bed next to him, after using one of the hotel’s wet wipes to rid yourself of your makeup as best you can. There’s a silly little hand lotion that will make up for any of your real lotions back at home. This could have been better thought out. Neither of you have a change of clothes.

“I’ll be home in the morning, mom,” Gareth speaks into the telephone sat on the bedside table. Taking your advice, he fibs that he’s exhausted from dancing all night and will just stay at Eddie’s trailer. “I love you too.”

“I wish my mom was as concerned about me,” you’re half joking when Gareth does hang up the phone, after his mom is done yapping his ear off about the evening. “Do you think she would even answer the phone if I called?”

Gareth unties his tie, and allows a bit of laughter to leak through. You’re taking this very well. So, it can’t be new - your mom’s behavior.

“Gare,” you lean into him, “could you tell me about her? Your grandma that is.”

Oh. Gareth doesn’t have a clear memory of her, before the day he really came to life with full thoughts and full feelings. This is his mother’s mother. She died a few years ago. One morning she got as intoxicated as she could, then left for the store for more beer in the middle of the night during the winter. She found a park bench to sleep on, and never woke up. The doctors said it was the weather that got her.

“I’d have to ask my mom,” he presses a kiss to your forehead as he sinks deeper into the mattress with you. “I think she really liked her. My mom turned out fine, you know. You will too.”

“Thank you,” you mutter into his chest.

For a moment, you lay there. Your breathing is slow. The rise and fall of your chest makes Gareth aware how exhausted you must be after these past few days. However, in the midst of Gareth trying to decipher how he could sleep sitting up straight, your eyes pull open.

“Gare,” you only sit up enough to brush your nose against his. His response is a hum, “kiss me.”

Gareth doesn’t need to be asked twice. Hot lips bathed in that sweetened fruit punch from earlier meet yours. You find your breath is just as shaky as his, and you brush your nose into his as you swing your leg across him settling yourself onto his lap.

Pushing away at the sleeves of Gareth’s jacket, he follows your lead. He would follow you anywhere. You put your hands at the buttons of his shirt, and Gareth’s heart begins to slam against his rib cage. He figures you want him to place his hands somewhere, but he’s a bundle of nerves just waiting to burst.

Placing your palm across his heart, Gareth covers your wrist with his hand and using his thumb he’s counting the number of beats in your heartbeat. It’s just like his.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want too,” there is a note of vulnerability in his tone.

You stop there a moment. Hand still across his chest. His heart beating ever so quickly. You love the soul that carries on next to this heart. The young man willing to give you the world if he could. You’re terrified of love. When love will run as far away from you as he can because you’re too much.

Gareth searches for something deep in your eyes. That you will finally allow yourself to be completely happy. You deserve this. To be truly happy.

There’s a spark in your eye. Your lids droop halfway across your iris.

“We don’t have to do anything you want too,” you say with your lips dangling in front of him.

Gareth meets your eye line, “I want too.”

“Me too.”

-> <-

[to be continued]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo @chaoticgood-munson

[sadnightforus]

[6:48 PM] “Can I sit with you?” 

 His voice startles you out of your concentration that was on your work earlier, but you look up to find the source of the voice and you find that it’s a guy, a handsome one indeed. 

 You’re at your comfort café (although it has been open for just 2 weeks), but it quickly becomes your spot to go to chill at, whether you’re doing assignments, which is something you’re doing right now, or wasting your time away. 

 You have your green tea frappe by your side, a laptop and a phone, focusing on your work until a person came along and shot you a question. 

“Uhm.. yeah sure. Take it easy.” You respond, ashamed by your obvious potential starstruck expression you must’ve made like you’ve seen a god in real time. 

 He pulls the seat, then sits down, dropping his bag onto his lap too as he seems to be in rather hurry mode to finish it. He pulls his iPad out, with a pen and it’s when you notice that he drinks an iced latte. 

“Sorry about that. It’s just, there are no other table and yours is the only one with an empty seat. I hope it’s not troubling you.” He profusely apologizes for disturbing your peace and you ought to scream that you’d let him do that any time as he wishes. 

“It’s no problem with me.” You smile, trying to show that you’re more than welcoming for his presence. 

“I think as a thank you, I should learn my savior's name, if you don’t mind me asking?” He questions, and you think to yourself, smooth. Real smooth. His attention has been pulled from his iPad to settle his eyes on you instead. 

“Y/N, what about you?” Your eyes have a twinkle of amusement, which he can’t help but compliment on it. 

“That’s a pretty name. You’re pretty.” He then clears his throat. “I’m Taehyun.” And he is so pretty, with his eyes, nose, lips and gentleness like that. 

 Pretty boy with a pretty name, that’s what you think. 

“Your name is as beautiful as you too.” You return the smile, although this time you take the initiative to flirt first. 

“You’re much cuter.” He comments. 

“Hmm not so sure about that pretty boy.” And then you ask him. “What major are you in?” 

 You both ended up chatting for a little while, discovering that he took environmental science while you took finances and that you both attended two different universities that happened to be located near each other. You both talk about your common interests; which are music and comment on how good the shop owner’s taste in songs is— the reason why you keep coming back.

 You look at the time, and realize that you both have been talking for almost an hour. 

“I hate to cut the conversation so short.. but I have the work due. If you want to ask anything, don’t hesitate to throw it myself.” And he nods, understanding it as he too, goes back to work on his own notes. 

 The table falls silent, a comfortable silence between two strangers that happened to encounter tonight due to Taehyun unable to grab a table at a famous café shop. He, too, is quiet and doesn’t ask questions. Occasionally, you can hear the pen making noise against the screen as an indication that he too, is also studying. 

 You don’t know how much time has passed, but you’re now done with your assignment. You finally look up to see that the shop has customers coming in and out, never making it quiet. You realize that it’s probably very late too and you want to go home and finally relax. 

 You shut your laptop down and sip on your drink, then put everything into your bag, rechecking to make sure you didn’t leave anything. Taehyun notices, knowing you’re about to leave and he hates the small talk you both had when he wanted to extend that. As you zip your bag, stand up and ready to leave, he stops you by calling out your name. 

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” You quirk your eyebrow in confusion, an adorable kind of confusion from Taehyun’s view. 

“I hate to make this talk so short, so I was thinking if I can get your number.” 

 How is he so smooth? It’s unfair that someone who is as handsome as him also is that charismatic. 

 But you smile before you give your response, after looking at his piercing eyes that eventually turn soft overtime and you think that he must’ve been really shy. You hear his “You’re pretty.” thrown to you mindlessly but you pretend that you didn’t catch it. 

“Sure. But give me your number too.”

 You both end up exchanging each other’s phones to type the number before handing it back to one another. As you brace yourself and finally get his number, you lock your phone, then look up to see Taehyun smiles at you. 

“See you later.” You wave to him, heart is full of a feline-appearance who manages to charm you tonight with only his smile. 

“See you.” He waves back, his eyes never losing its sparkle as he watches you turn around and start heading out of the café shop, then disappears out of his sight. 

 You consider tonight a win as you get to drink your favorite order, complete your work and get a cute boy’s number. 

COPYRIGHTED BY SADNIGHTFORUS, 2025

A/N: know by meyou... i believe in you. also, my second fic of taehyun to thai's song. a coincidence? i think not. also i wrote this in june last year lol

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

[shinjisdone]

𝑇𝜎 𝑆𝜎𝑓𝜏𝜀𝜋 𝛼 𝑊𝛼𝑟𝑟𝜄𝜎𝑟’𝑠 𝐻𝜀𝛼𝑟𝜏 (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn - 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒓𝒄, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 4)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors - though as your future seemed promising, his thirst for revenge devastated all that you had left.

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet Thorfinn again after he shattered your heart (based on season 2; both platonic and romantic)

Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ₁ ﹙Wᴀʀ Aʀᴄ﹚ is here

Part 1: - (Thorfinn as a slave and his struggles) Part 2: - (Thorfinn trying to accept your existence as a slave)

Part 3: - (Thorfinn finds a reason to live, you finally see him)

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen , @theknightssecrets , @lana-del-stan , @theghostofanficpresent , @night-shadowblood-writes2

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Slavery will be a main subject throughout the entire arc. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[TW: This part will specifically mention: depressed tension, attempted murder, suicidal thoughts, lots of talking, lotsa dialoge, short but detailed description of strangulation, finding reasons to still keep living including being begged to]

Mighty River, Release My Soul...

Your arms were as warm as they were on that winter day.

You scolded him back then too, though he reckoned it was far more vicious than your prattling now.

The way you looked at him, were so focused on tending him even if it was for a mere moment, was like breathing in fresh, icey cold air that he has been deprived from for weeks. It coursed through him and stung each limb. It only found an end after Pater cleared his throat.

Immediately you let go of Thorfinn, spinning to the man with a confused noise and a gasp. He smiled. "Thorfinn is fine now, you don't need to worry. These two boys just need to take the rest of the day off. Now that you are willing to talk...I believe we'd best have a conversation. Not with Master Ketil, do not worry."

Still, that flustered panic did not leave your face as you meekly nodded and followed him. Pater waved Thorfinn and Einar one last goodbye before motioning you to follow with an easy gait. You looked back to Thorfinn before tailing after Pater.

Einar let go of his baited breath. "How..strange. They...you really know them, don't-" The brunette chocked on his breath as Thorfinn was disappearing into the dense forest. Work had to be done, injured or not. Perplexed and with a huff of irritation, he ran after him.

First he doesn't know how to show gratitude and say 'thank you' and now he is shrugging off - someone who was scared to death for him!

What the hell is this guy's problem?!

The way to the forest was easier than the last few weeks. The both of them were able to cut down quite a lot of trees, clearing the path, but the stumps remained, leaving the woods like a rugged wasteland of dead trees.

Einar didn't even noticed his stomps and the way his bruisened feet dug into the soil. Narrowed blue eyes watched Thorfinn swing down the axe again, again, again. Cut, cut and cut.

His movements were fluid as he observed him, as he wasn't threatened this day at all. As if he wasn't a second from throwing his life away at all.

But he dodged. He sprung out of the way and didn't seem to be aware to have tried to kill Snake. He seemed so...light and out of it. Like a drunken bird.

"Hey, Thorfinn." The blonde barely showed any sign of listening to him, continuing to cut. "Have you ever been to war?"

Thorfinn chopped once, "I have."

Einar's gaze darkened. He answered him clearly and with focus.

"Have you ever killed people?"

Again, he cut. The tree fell down swiftly. "I have."

"How many? A few? Five, ten?"

"Why do you want to know? Don't you hate war?"

His blue eyes snapped up as the blonde halted. If he stalled or wanted to hear his answer, he didn't know. He just knew that each and every day of being with him confused him more, made a tiny flame in him flick, made the gall in his throat come up.

"I'm asking because...if you went to war and killed, then how-"

Einar took a deep breath and swallowed the gall that threatened to spit out, "-How can that person be worried about you? Why do they want you to live if you killed?"

The axe hovered above his head before he slowly lowered it down - and having it fall with a thud to the ground. His dull eyes oversaw the mess he left. "I don't know...", "Why not? They seem to know you. Are they like you?"

"No." Thorfinn quickly and sharply answered. Though his next words fell flat and soft again, "They aren't a dog like me."

Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you were so heavily relieved by seeing him breathing and battered, like his father was back then.

...I Need To See The World...

Waged war since he was a child.

Ever since he was a wee lad, he said, but he couldn't remember the exact age. He is only about eighteen, so how long ago was it that he can't even remember? Could he even recall it?

It sounded...ridicilous as Einar walked back to the little barn they called their home - or beds, he wasn't sure - back hunched and steps sulken, though his face was as dark as thunder.

He pillaged and killed and stole of people's hard work. Their land, wheat and loved ones. And he can't even remember who, when and why?

Let that fool cut away at the last standing trees as roughed up as he is. Einar is allowed to rest and he'd rather drown in his thoughts alone, bundled up in hay than look at Thorfinn for another minute.

Falling asleep alone feels somewhat sad...but at least he'd fall asleep without any screaming waking him into the early night.

It was the sound of spilled water that made him shoot up his gaze up at the person holding a bucket and rags with them. You shuffled awkwardly to the side, standing right in front of the barn.

Einar was quick to wipe the glare off his face. "Oh...good evening."

"...G-Good evening." You struggled to reply, he thought.

Einar couldn't help but make a long and wide face, pursing his lips as his blue eyes took in your uncertain form. You finally met his eyes with your own. "Are you waiting for Thorfinn?" Your brows rose as you nodded. He must've figured it out quick - or you are just that predictable.

"Pater allowed me to go see him quick. For his ear. Just to make sure the wound didn't fester through the day." "He's still back in the forest chopping. If you wait too long, you might get in trouble."

Shuffling a bit, you hesitated. "I'll wait a bit more. He's stubborn."

The brunette's shoulder sank. With a sigh, he swiftly sat down on the boulder next to the barn's entrance and crossed his arms. "I'll wait too, then."

He sat there on the right, while you stood on the left side. You stared at him briefly, confusion written on your face. The sky turned even darker, with the stars shining through their hiding spots. The moon was nowhere to be seen but the lights from the master's estate still offered some solace. It was illuminated enough for both people to see each other and perhaps recognize an possible incomer.

The silence did not feel heavy yet pressuring. As if any moment, something was waiting to happen.

You glanced at the man and took a deep breath. "...Are you hurt somewhere, too?"

"Uh, what?" Einar jumped and whipped his head to you. "You were there too, right? With the guests. They must've hurt you, too." "Oh! Well - I'm fine enough. Just a few bruises," He rolled his shoudler while chuckling dryly, "The real unlucky bastard is Thorfinn."

You hummed and rose the bucket in your hand. "Pater didn't give me any balms or medicines but the water should cool the bruises." "Ah, uh," Einar waved with his arms, laughing as he shook his head, "No, no, I'm okay. Honestly I...got really off scott-free. Really, the one who has it the worst is...Thorfinn."

You pulled a face - Einar could not decipher what it meant - and went back on being on the look out. "I'd figure. He likes getting in trouble."

The man glanced in your direction, taking in your unreadable, narrowed expression briefly, before staring back down the hill as well, though halfheartedly. "You know him?" He dared to glance to you again, "That he's like that?"

The grip on the bucket tightened and your eyes darted around the cool meadow below. For a moment, you shifted aimlessly but decided to give in. "Yes. He...is an old friend."

There was no need to pretend. To act coy and unknowing when you so foolishly started to speak and cradled him in your arms. Not when you were waiting here like an idiot for him to return and see him again just this once for tonight.

As if he was deserving of it. Thorfinn did not return when you ran after him, did not stay as you lead him to Leif's boat and now you are waiting for him again - and the only certainty you had was that he had the order to do so as a slave.

You yourself needed to oblige.

Lying here will bring you nothing but punishments and you had to be on your best behaviour, even if it meant not being with Thorfinn for however long you were allowed to. But for now, you could use Pater as an excuse and do all that you could - even if this whole place, Thorfinn himself and your own actions didn't make any sense to you.

You are a slave here now on this farm. Why should you even try?

Back with Askeladd you could fight back. But here, your hands are only untied by Ketil's orders.

"There he is." Einar lowly let out and made you snap your head up to see the short blonde march towards you with a hunched back and one arm holding the other bandaged one. His own lidded gaze was focused on the ground before they widened upon your sight.

"Your friend has been waiting." Einar got up with a start, his voice stern and certain, "I'll be just outside. Let's head to bed soon after." Thorfinn barely had the chance to utter a protest as the brunette simply turned around the corner of the barn, staying a few steps away from it. Though his eyes quickly went back to you, wide and unsure, before he walked into the barn and sat down on the hay. You kneeled down next to him, dunking the cloth into the water.

Wordlessly, you got up and went around to his side, pulling his greasy strands away to observe his ear. Thorfinn felt the gentle, almost ghostly tips of your fingers graze his shell as he unblinkingly hung his head, sitting cross-legged. His hands were clutched and the fingers would tense around one another, slightly, as if shivering from the cold.

There was nothing to see. No festering, no tissue. A clean cut that won't affect his hearing at all. You knew, but wanted to see him anyway. Perhaps it was the paranoia, perhaps you didn't trust Pater's word, felt like you couldn't, or you truly just wanted to see him again. This ghost of a man from the past.

You didn't know. But you knew you were a fool for feeling drawn to him after all this time, for wanting to see if he is really alright.

Gaze remained on the wound for a while before you let his hair slip off your hold and kneeled down next to him again. Watching him, Thorfinn didn't meet your eyes, not even when you brought the wet, cold cloth up to pat his face.

His jawline felt thinner. The short stubbles tickled your skin and bent back against the cloth. You couldn't remember him with any stubbles, let alone a sliver of what seems to be a beard ever appear on his grimsome mug. Blonde hair heavy and stringy tickling his shoulders - he used to hate having long hair. It bothered him so that he'd cut it whenever it got too long for his tastes, leaving him with this disheveled, wild look. But here, he was downcast, downtrodden, like nothing he has ever been before or wanted to be. Yet his eyes stayed the same. The sorrow you saw reflected in the deep brown, the same you saw that winter day.

Still, Thorfinn didn't want to look at you.

...To The Unknown, I'll Go Against My Sorrow...

"What are you doing?" Was all he muttered instead, staring holes into the ground. The cloth hung in the hair before you dapped it in water again. "I don't know. I think I wanted to see if you're still...here."

Pressing the water out, you took his limb hands and gently glided the cloth over his course skin. "You shouldn't. You'll get in trouble and..." For a moment, Thorfinn glanced to the side, "...I'll drag you down with me."

You couldnt help the frown as you focused back on his hands and picking out the splinters of wood. Thorfinn dragged you down with him ever since you met him. Drowning together seemed like fate, a curse that befell upon you the moment you so foolishly returned his dagger.

Is it punishment for not being like Askeladd and letting him die? For not being like Canute and letting him be? Are people like you just meant to suffer in this world, all caused by your own actions?

It felt like it. Yet here you were with him again. Was a reunion another form of punishment, prolonging your suffering just a bit more before you die?

Was sitting here and tending to him suffering as well?

"I can't be dragged lower than this. There's nothing else." Finally, Thorfinn looked at you and the action was as painful as he thought it'd be. Your hair was longer, face bearing more and you've grown, too. Lidded eyes were focused on his calloused hand, the shadows of the night consuming you, not even the stars were bright enough. Hesitation would flicker within every minute, every moment, if it's really you - yet then his eyes would unwittingly search for the familiar injuries you had in the past, that one uniquness you wore, a certain pattern of speech and it would ease all doubts he had, eliminate them with the memory from just today. When you embraced him. When you told him he should be back in Iceland.

Thorfinn turned his hand around, grabbing one of yours, while the other one swiped the cloth in your hand off, as if it meant nothing in this, as if his injuries meant nothing at all, and held both of your hands in a tight, suffocating grip. With every passing second, they trembled more.

"You shouldn't be here. You should be somewhere far away, somewhere that isn't here. I'm doing this to you." He glared at your hands with an anguished frown, gripping them as if they could be swept away any second while yours were lying limbly in his. "I thought if I could be here...it'll be fine. But I'm still finding ways of doing this to you. Even after all I did...I'm still managing to hurt someone, and that's you."

Suddenly, he whipped his wide-eyed stare to you, taking in your own frustrated and chagrin-filled face. Your dry, pressed lips, the frown etched onto your visage, your bulging eyes. Thorfinn felt like he needed to continue before you began tearing up. "I'm...still me. But I will be here tomorrow. And the day after that." The blonde hesitated - before deciding to not promise it. He can't tell how much faith you can still put in him and neither can he.

Your watery gaze narrows before looking back over your shoulder. The house's lights are out and you'll need some to find your way back.

Slowly, weakly almost, you got on your feet. Hands still clung to Thorfinn's as they slowly slipped out of his grip. With one last look you offered to him, you hoarsely whispered, "You'll be here."

The man could only nod with wide eyes as you finally let go and went back. The darkness of the night swallowed you whole, only the sound of splashing water letting him know you're still nearby before only the sound of critters were left.

As Einar turned towards the entrance of the barn, he saw Thorfinn lying on his side. He watched him, the blonde almost motionless but the rise of his chest was a relief. He wondered how on earth Thorfinn could've fallen asleep so quickly but he didn't care enough to ponder for a minute more. This...guy. He was another beast, wasn't he?

He killed and pillaged and caused people like him and Arnheid and Pater to end up in places like this. Though Master Ketil was a kind trader, he was an exception to the rule. Anywhere else, and he might have it worse. And you seemed to be just like this guy.

One by one, the brunette took a step closer. How many has he killed? And have you taken lives as well? Can any of you remember?

The hay glided off his legs like snow. Have you caused fires, burned down fields and houses, flung spears and arrows into people?

He stood in front of him. The hay was warm around his knees. This murderer is now cutting down trees to make a field, to plant, to grow, to thrive. To feed people. To still their hunger, use the wood for houses and tools and use the wheat to bargain and trade.

His thick, scarred hands fit around his neck. The anger burning inside him and filling the hole in his chest made it easy to clam them around tightly. Einar could feel his pulse, steady and clear against his skin. Further back was part of his spine, feeling every movement of each inhale. Yet it feels so surprisingly soft when he puts pressure. Soft as his fingers curl around the back of his neck, squeezing the spine in, feeling his pulse quicken and his breath labored. The peaceful snores turned into winces, into pleas for the pain to stop.

Just a bit more. More. The blonde gasps, wiggling around in the hay as his whimpers turned into groans of pain. Somehow he could still breath.

"...Shit."

The throat was warm but Einar could feel his palms getting sweaty. In an blink of an eye, he surprised himself of how quickly he let go. His squatted legs trembled and stumbled back. Thorfinn didn't stop screaming.

Shit. He can't do it. Einar can't kill someone!

It's scary. The feel of someone's neck around your hands is terrifying and daunting, like a weight itself is put on his chest even though he is pretending to be the predator. To be stronger. To be the winner. He can't do it. He doesn't want to do it. He doesn't want to hate. He doesn't want anyone to die.

Suddenly his hands whipped out into the air, wailing around for help. Thorfinn gasped for air, only to screech out more. Even when Einar tried to kill him, he's still throwing a tantrum.

Quivering with hitched gasps, coughing and panting. It's the same every night.

A man like him. It's all nightmares, every night, and he knows it but now - now he wants to live to keep dreaming and live to keep seeing you and live to keep chopping down trees. Yet still, he feels so out of place here.

A desperate inhale and he reckoned he wanted to call for someone. His sweaty hand stiffened. In an blink of an eye he could feel it coil to a fist, pressure forcing his fingers down and he snapped his gaze wide open. Einar's hand clung around his.

"...You..." Thorfinn could finally feel the coolness of the air, the way the hay prickled his back as he desperately sucked in deep breaths like a man starved of food.

A good minute passed, at least to Einar, and Thorfinn shuffled around to sit up. He wiped the sweat off his face before glancing towards the brunette's back. Finally he calmed down, and noticed how dry his mouth was while swallowing. "...Why..." The blonde licked his lips, "...Why do you wake me...everytime I have a nightmare?" He took another breath and could clearly hear the crickets, hiding among the high grass, now. "...I...killed people, too." Propping his knee up, he leaned his elbow on it and his face against his hand - scarred and big enough to cover half his downtrodden visage. "I helped pillage and kill in each village I passed by. People like you. For years. I am...I am as despicable as the warriors that killed your family. And I'll just drag you down, too. So why-!"

Suddenly, Einar shot up, like a predator seeing his chance. Swiftly he snapped to him, a steel-tight grip on his tunic and a glare as dark as thunder as tears welled up in his eyes. "So, you wanna die, huh?!" He gave him a good shake and Thorfinn let it happen, "You wanna die here in the woods you chop down?! You and your - listen," His tone turned dark and Thorfinn's eyes widened, "I don't know exactly what happened to you. And I don't wanna know! I can't even imagine it!" Another rock, "But even if we are far down in our lowest point, there are - there are still some things we can be glad about to experience! Even if we just eat, work, sleep and shit all day, it's worth something! When you get cleaned up all nice, even when its with a stinky, worn out rag, it's still something! And all of that...all of that is only possible because someone let you live!"

Through gritted teeth, he swallowed his snot and fought against his tears. Images and voices of his mother and sister flashed by and Einar bit his lip to focus on the pain. He shook Thorfinn again.

"So be grateful for that at least! Do you hear me?!" He couldn't help but let a shaky sigh escape him. He didn't even have the strength to throw the blonde to the ground - he'd let that happen, too. So his grip grew softer and in defeat, Einar slumped down on his side of the barn. "Besides," He muttered, "It's not like you were the one who killed my family."

His brown eyes observed his hunched back, the way his body curled into a ball. Quiet and steady were his breaths as Thorfinn looked back to his hand. His scarred, calloused hand Einar took to get him back to the waking world, to the cold and dark night, the crisp air as crickets played their songs. It was better. Calmer than any other place he had ever been to.

"...Thank you, Einar." His voice was a mere attempt to utter his gratitude but it made Einar's heart beat faster. "Thank you for always waking me when I have a nightmare."

"...Yeah. Can't get a good night's sleep with you brailing around. Just go to sleep, Thorfinn."

"I will. I'll get up with you tomorrow."

Mighty River, Release My Soul, Out To The Open Gold...

He did wake up first.

Washed his face, stretched, got his axe. Waited for Einar to finish his chatting with Arnheid as you came around the corner.

It seemed like Pater was not angry last night nor did you get in trouble. Thorfinn couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

Einar noticed you as well and tried to give his best welcoming smile. "...Good morning!" The brunette noticed the crack in his voice but tried to brush off his embarassment with a wider grin. You blinked and gave a somber reply. "Oh...good morning." Your eyes immediately went to the shorter blonde, seeing him ready with the axe over his shoulder. His locks hid the shine in his gaze. He, too, greeted you. "Good morning."

The sound of your name on his tongue felt foreign. Like a hometown meal he hadn't had in ages, or learning a melody from his long-gone childhood. He saw your eyes widen as you struggled to instantly give a response. "G-Good morning, Thorfinn..."

His back was straighter, you weren't sure if he even noticed that himself, and his steps were heavy. The deep rise and fall of his chest was...relieving in a way, but before you could glance at him again, Einar sucked in a baited breath and stepped forward. "Well, we'd best get going, haha!" His laughter was too forced and so was his goofy grin, "Trees don't chop themselves! Uh, have a good, productive day, you two! See you later!" He marched away with a comedic wave towards Arnheid, and with Thorfinn in tow.

The woman chuckled before looking at you. "We're lucky to have such sweet and funny guys as our neighbors, don't we?"

The sun slowly went her way down across the sky but Thorfinn was more eager than ever to drop his axe, rope and knife to walk towards the edge of the decreasing forest. Einar rose a brow but brushed his confusion off, believing the blonde wanted to greet the master. "You're up and about, you lads, aren't you? Very good work ethics, I must say."

"Thank you, Master Ketil." Einar noted Thorfinn's quick and serious reply but kept his mouth shut. As fair as Ketil was, here on his high horse, it wasn't like Thorfinn to be so eager for conversations with him. "I do plan to turn this place into a field in about three years," Thorfinn added with an determined tone, his words cut and clear. Ketil, too, rose a brow. "Oh? Have you planned for that exact time?" The shorter man shook his head. "No. But I will get it done by then."

Look at that guy. Talking all high and mighty, confident like a carpenter as if Einar isn't doing half the work, too!

"And when it is done, Master...I'd like to ask you for a favor." The elder straightened his back and took a sharp inhale. Thorfinn making any suggestions piqued his interest - yet rather in puzzlement. "What did you have in mind, boy?"

Now, he, too, straightened his back, widened his eyes as if trying to pierce through Ketil's soul, wanting dearly for him to understand the utter necessity that bore in his words, that tore apart his heart. He had to say it and the man had to understand. Please.

"If you would so kindly allow, I'd like to work as much as I need to till this soil and grow its crops here. But instead of buying myself, I'd like to sell you the produce in order to buy their freedom back."

"What?!"

Both Einar and Ketil jumped at the boldness of his words. Thorfinn didn't blink an eye as he kept his expectant stare on the master. "Thorfinn...do you know what you're saying? Three years, at the least, all for this...one, one person? You don't mean the shy, new one?"

"I do." Thorfinn did not falter, "I want to work to buy their freedom back. To get somewhere else, far away from here. I want them to be free."

I Can't Stay Here Forever In This Hollow...

----

okay, so, this took too long-

first of all, I noticed way too late that Einar is, in fact, not a brunette;;;;his hair is rather dark reddish...oops. i'll pay more attention to that in the next also, i read a few posts of manga-onlys/those who read the manga first that they didn't like Einar's confrontation with Thorfinn in the barn after their drama with Snake. That he's too violent, put in a bad light and I do get that - considering how incredibly kind and open-minded the guy actually is and even called Thorfinn his friend in that very chapter (in the anime it happened way later). this is...complete bias on my part but I don't mind the scene in the anime. its scary, almost unnecessarily so in some regards considering how long the strangle goes on, like wtf - but I do like that it allowed Einar to be angry and grief in a rather negative way and realise in the midst of the action that what he is doing is wrong and that he physically does not have the guts nor want to kill someone. Imo not even giving into the thought of hurting Finny (like in the manga) shows more maturity but I don't mind both scenes. Plus, I like his speech of finding even the smallest things worthwhile and letting go of his anger in the moment to wake up Finn, cause he knows its wrong - that he isnt doing anything helpful or good, despite not liking Finn during that time at all.

ngl, I didn't get his speech at first - but pondering it about it more, Einar had already gone through a tragedy as a child with his father fighting off warriors/vikings to defend their village and not being sold off as slaves. After the huge amount of damage vikings have done (I imagine), there was prbly a lot of things to recover and rebuild again where all he, as a child, could do was work to rebuild, eat what they had, sleep as much as he could, and shit all day until their village recovered and they could enjoy their peace again - aka Einar being rather hopeful and ready to do that all over again as a slave and buy his freedom back.

[slcmml]

tech support! charlie & reader — you turn my software into hardware.

you hate making phone calls.

absolutely despise it, actually. something about talking to a stranger, especially for customer support, makes your skin crawl. but your laptop is acting up, and after scouring the internet for a solution and coming up empty handed, you seemingly have no other choice. so, you dial the number, swallow your nerves, and wait.

“hello! this is charlie from tech co’s customer support! how can i help you today?”

you weren’t expecting the voice on the other end to sound so… cute?

it’s warm, gentle, and just a little scratchy, like he’s been talking all day but still has patience to spare. suddenly, making this phone call doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

“hi, um. yeah. my laptop isn’t working? i mean, obviously, that’s why i’m calling, but, uh, it won’t turn on, and i have no idea why.”

“gotcha! let’s see if we can get that fixed for you!”

his voice is so reassuring you almost forget you’re actually supposed to be fixing something.

he walks you through the steps, patient as ever while you fumble through them. when you press the wrong button, he gently corrects you. when you let out a frustrated groan, he laughs—not in a mean way, but like he finds you endearing. and god, it makes your stomach do a little flip.

“it’s okay, take your time! i’m here to help, promise.”

and help he does.

except at some point, your laptop starts working again, but you don’t want tell him.

“huh? still not working? that’s weird.”

you lie straight through your teeth just to keep talking to him. it’s shameless, really, but you don’t even care. he’s kind, patient, and his voice is the nicest thing you’ve heard all day. so you keep up the act just a little longer, drawing out the conversation until there’s truly nothing left to say.

“well, i’m glad i could help! and if you need anything else, you know where to call.”

oh, you do. and you’re already thinking about it.

“you’ve been super helpful, by the way,” you say, hesitating just a little before asking, “um, what’s your name? so i can leave a good review?”

“oh! yeah, of course. it’s charlie.”

charlie. yeah, that suits him.

“thanks, charlie. i really appreciate it.”

“anytime.”

—

you call back the next day.

you shouldn’t. there is no reason to. your laptop is fine, perfectly fine, but—

“hello! tech support, how can i help you?”

your heart sinks for a second before you realize it’s not charlie.

“oh, um,” you stammer, scrambling for an excuse. “i, uh, had an issue with my laptop the other day, and i wanted to follow up? i think the guy who helped me was named charlie?”

“oh, charlie! yeah, give me a sec, i’ll transfer you over.”

your stomach does a whole flip before you hear the click of the line transferring.

“hello?”

oh, thank god.

“hey, charlie,” you say, and you hope he doesn’t hear the stupid little smile in your voice. “it’s me. again.”

“oh, hey! did something go wrong with your laptop?”

“yeah, it’s, uh. still kinda acting up.”

lie.

“oh no,” he says, immediately concerned. “what’s it doing now?”

you make something up on the spot, some vague, convoluted problem that doesn’t actually exist, but he still goes along with it. walks you through another set of steps, laughs ok when you struggle, and just—keeps talking to you.

and this time, you swear he’s stalling, too.

—

it becomes a thing. you call every couple of days with some tech issue you made up, and he never questions it, just helps you like normal and talks to you like he’s actually happy to hear your voice. (spoilers: he is)

until the one time you say, “ugh, this laptop hates me,” and he hums thoughtfully before going, “you know, for a laptop that’s given you this many problems, you sure seem to like using it.”

does this mean he knows?

“what?” you say, playing dumb.

“i mean, you’ve had, what, like five different issues this week?” he teases. “i’m starting to think you just like calling tech support.”

heat rushes to your face. “okay, first of all,” you say, indignant. “it was three times.”

“mmhm.”

“second of all,” you start, then stop. because what is your second point? that he’s right? that you do like calling tech support? or, more specifically, that you like calling him?

“whatever,” you mumble instead, hoping he can’t hear how flustered you are.

but if the way he’s laughing is any indication, he totally can.

—

a week later, you take it one step further.

you don’t call this time. you show up.

you made a small google search to find the address of tech co, the store he works at, before stepping inside with a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing under your skin. you don’t even know what he looks like, but somehow, you just know when you see him.

he’s standing behind the counter, light brown hair, slightly messy, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. he’s cuter than you imagined—not just cute, but like, unfairly pretty. and when his eyes meet yours, shining with kindness, you know you made the right call.

“hi,” you say, leaning onto the counter.

“hey,” he says back, smiling. “fancy seeing you here.”

“yeah, well. my laptop broke again,” you say, suppressing a grin.

he raises an eyebrow. “oh, did it now?”

“yeah.. completely fried. tragic, really.”

“oh, so tragic,” he echoes, playing along.

you both know you’re full of shit. neither of you really care.

“so,” he leans in just a little, resting his arms on the counter, closer to you. “now that i’ve seen you in person, should i expect more tech issues? or was this a one time thing?”

you laugh, feeling a little bold. “you think i’d come to your job just to say it’s a ‘one time thing’?”

“i hope not,” he says with a slightly nervous smile.

your heart flips. he’s so cute.

“well, it’s not,” you say, mustering all your courage. “‘cause, you know, i’ve got a real issue that could use your help.”

his grin widens. “mmhm. and what would that be?”

“i need your number. y’know, in case of emergency. i mean, what if my laptop explodes?”

he blinks.

then he laughs—soft, surprised, pleased—before pulling a receipt from the register and scribbling something on it.

when he slides it over, his fingers brush yours, and you think, yeah. totally worth it.

© slcmml

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; "the one where Kon's soulmark is fake". I remembered that, like, SEVERAL of my older WIPs are just a hot mess at the starts of their tags and also realized that I had posted like, very little coherently-connected parts of specifically this one's beginning, for some reason? Despite the fact that I love hurting and being hurt?? Somehow???? TERRIBLE oversight on my part, gang, sorry, here y'all go, enjoyyyyy~ 💙 (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon is sort of fucked-up in a lot of ways, but he didn't deliberately get the tattoo. Like–he's not that fucked-up. Hell, even Black Zero wasn't that fucked-up. 

Black Zero's Westfield didn't even give him the tattoo, actually, so maybe that's part of why they had a better relationship than Kon did with his version of the guy. Kon would also have hated the asshole a lot less if not for the tattoo, probably. 

But his Westfield had made damn sure to give it to him.

Kon doesn't remember much before he got broken out of the cloning tube, but he does remember getting the tattoo. It'd taken a really long time, and it'd been the first time he'd ever felt pain. So like, it'd made an impression. 

He hadn't even known what it was for, then. Hadn't even known what it was supposed to be. A brand? A method of identification? Some kind of weird serial number analogue? 

Not so much, it'd turned out. 

Superman's soulmark is a gorgeous Kryptonian sunrise spread out across his chest, bold and bright and beautiful. It looks like the rising truth and the clarity of a new beginning and the very literal physical manifestation of hope. 

And Kon's tattoo looks exactly like it. 

Except for the part where it's obviously just a tattoo, of course. 

Tattoos don't pass for soulmarks, after all, which is the only reason Kon has the damn thing to begin with. Westfield hadn't wanted him to make the mistake of thinking that he was a real person, or to make the mistake of thinking that anyone was ever going to give a fuck about him as the person that he was. He was a clone, an experiment, a weapon, a thing. He didn't have a soul or a soulmate. Didn't have a mark. 

He got over that. Like, it sucks? It really sucks. And he still hates it. But he'd gotten over it. 

Or he'd thought he had, until he'd found out who Superman's soulmate was. 

"What?" Kon says, staring blankly. 

"Dad's my soulmate," Jon repeats, pointing at the Kryptonian sunrise spread out across his chest, brightly illuminated by the noontime sun as they stand on the dock at the edge of a little pond on the outskirts of Smallville. "Why, who's yours? Or don't you know yet? Like, has it not come in?" 

"Clones don't get soulmarks," Kon says, wanting very, very badly to just throw up and die. 

"Huh?" Jon says, looking actually surprised. Kon continues to want to throw up and die. Or maybe bury himself in magma in the center of the planet and stay there 'til he suffocates. "But I thought everybody got soulmarks!" 

"Naw," Kon says instead of fuck you, because the kid's ten and doesn't deserve that. 

"Why not?" Jon asks, because again, he's ten. Ten and apparently as emotionally intelligent as a pudding cup, but whatever. Not like Kon's never had this conversation before. 

Never with Clark's kid who is apparently so much his kid as to be his literal fucking soulmate, which no one ever thought to mention to the stupid shitty clone in the past like four months since Clark had finally admitted to the secret identity that Kon had long since figured out thanks to Hypertime bullshit, but whatever. He only even officially met Jon a couple months ago. 

Probably they all figured it just wasn't his business, he guesses. 

Which–it's not, really. It's not his business. It never has been. 

It's not. 

"I mean, I'm sentient or whatever, but I'm manufactured," Kon tells the kid with a shrug. "Therefore no soul, therefore no soulmate, therefore no soulmark. That's all." 

"You don't have a soul?" Jon asks in bewilderment. 

"Naw," Kon says again, with another shrug. "So like, we gonna swim or what?" 

"Oh, uh, yeah," Jon says, still looking bewildered. 

So they swim. 

Kon, obviously, doesn't take his shirt off for it. 

Jon, mercifully, doesn't ask why. 

It's fun, aside from being the worst afternoon of Kon's life. They fuck around for a couple hours, then fly back to the farm after and mostly dry off on the way, and Clark comes out to meet–well, not them, obviously, but Jon. Jon lights up at the sight of him and throws himself straight into his arms like he's never once had to question whether or not Clark would ever want him there, and Clark smiles down at him like he's the most important person in the world. 

Kon should just count himself lucky that Clark trusts him enough to leave him alone with his kid for more than thirty seconds and be grateful. 

What Kon actually is, of course, is jealous and angry and fucking heartbroken. 

Jon is ten. Kon was manufactured two years ago. Clark had a real kid long before Kon was even a theoretical spark in a scientist's eye. 

And Jon had Clark the whole time Superboy was just desperately hoping that Superman would decide he was worth his attention. Worth the "S". Worth . . . 

When Clark had offered him a name from his family–specifically a name from an adopted member of his family–Kon had been . . . stupid, a little, and thought that it might've been, like . . . another step. Like he'd hoped that Superman even letting his weird stupid clone wear the "S" to begin with might've been.  

He hadn't been a complete idiot or anything. He'd known Clark would never, like–want to keep him around or have him too close or anything. He'd just thought that maybe he'd . . . that someday he might've . . . 

Kon isn't a real person. Like–obviously he's not. It isn't subtle. Hell, he'd have known it even if Westfield hadn't bothered tattooing him with a copy of Clark's mark. And really, he guesses he should be grateful Westfield didn't tattoo his own soulmark on him, whatever it was. 

Just, like, of course he's not Clark's . . . family, or whatever. Of course he's just like that one weird kid from down the street that somebody occasionally invites over out of pity who only learns the family secrets by accident or through osmosis and isn't actually kept in the loop or anything. Kon knows that. 

But watching Jon beam up at his dad and Clark smile down at his son is still making him want to curl up and die right here and now. 

Kon does kind of wonder what it's like to be, like . . . loved, or whatever. 

Everybody always makes it sound really nice. 

"Dinner's about ready," Clark says. "You two mind setting the table?" 

"Sorry, I gotta get going," Kon says instead of admitting he has no idea how to set a fucking table, especially not to whatever Martha Kent's standards are. Cadmus did not actually see fit to educate him on typical household chores and he has very rarely ever sat down at any semblance of a normal family dinner. Like, in Hawaii they all just ate wherever and not even all together half the time, and Cadmus has a cafeteria, and Young Justice just dumps a pile of junk food or takeout on the nearest unoccupied surface and they all just go to town on it like the weird gaggle of semi-superpowered and usually-ravenous teenagers that they are. 

He could look it up on his phone, and he probably will later, but there's no way he's gonna run the risk of getting caught looking it up on his phone. Like–no. Never, thanks. Miss him with that particular little bit of "further proof of being a fake person" humiliation. 

So it's . . . whatever, he guesses. 

"Well, that's alright, we'll just have to catch you another time," Clark says with a polite smile that looks nothing like the one he was just wearing for Jon, and doesn't even fake like he's disappointed or like he's gonna miss him. Because like . . . why would he, after all? 

Kon misses him all the time, but Kon's the pathetic counterfeit of a person with a copy of said person's soulmark tattooed on him. 

"Yeah, sure," Kon says, thinking longingly of suffocating in the center of the planet. 

Sometimes he thinks about what's gonna happen when he finally gets his dumb ass killed and whoever, like, autopsies or embalms him or whatever sees the tattoo. Thinks about what they're gonna think, if they . . . 

Superman's soulmark isn't a secret or anything. Clark's gotten smashed around too often for the suit to have kept it covered all this time. So like, if someone ever saw the tattoo on Kon's chest and didn't know that Cadmus put it there . . . 

Like . . . well. The natural assumption would be that Kon got it on purpose, obviously. That Kon was actually, like, that fucking pathetic and disturbed of a person. 

He never wants anyone to see it. Never wants anyone to know. Never . . . just never. None of it. Ever. 

And Clark will never smile at him like he smiles at Jon, so maybe Clark will just never know about the tattoo either. Maybe that's a thing that Kon can manage. 

He's managed it so far, at least. 

Kon goes back to Cadmus and buries himself in his eternally unmade bed in his cramped little disaster of a room and desperately tries to not be the absolute fucking freak that he is. 

He definitely fails at not being the absolute fucking freak that he is. 

He cries about it for a little bit, like that's something he even has the fucking right to do, and tries so fucking hard to forget how Jon's very real soulmark had looked when he'd stripped his shirt off and bared it so unselfconsciously. Not even deliberately or proudly–just as a simple, inalienable fact. A thing that he knew. A thing he just had. 

Although Kon wouldn't even care about the stupid goddamn mark, if Clark would ever look at him even a little bit like the way he looks at Jon. 

He tries not to think about the way Clark would actually look at him, if he ever found out that Cadmus had tattooed his fucking kid's mark on him. 

Kon's never let himself think too much about Clark's mark, on account of not wanting to torment himself that bad. He'd just vaguely assumed that it was Lois at some point and then just shoved said assumption in a box and drowned it in concrete and made sure to never, ever take his shirt off in front of anyone else or any possible cameras or spy equipment or anything similar. Ever. 

He should've known it wasn't Lois. It's a Kryptonian sunrise. Why would it be Lois? 

If it were Lois, though, Kon wouldn't care this much. If it were Lois, it'd be a romantic mark, and Lois is straight-up gorgeous and a total fucking badass, yeah, but Kon doesn't, like, want her or anything. There's nothing to be jealous of there. 

So of course it's not Lois. Of course it's not romantic. 

It's Jon, and on top of that it's a mark that only actual Kryptonians would ever share. 

It's Clark's real kid. The one he had long before Kon was even a single strand of stolen DNA or a cell in a cloning tube or even a scribbled theoretical on a whiteboard or in somebody's notes. 

The one he actually wants. 

Not for the first time, Kon wishes that prick Westfield weren't too dead to punch. 

And while he's wishing for completely impossible shit that’s never gonna happen, he wishes he could've been able to stay in Smallville for that stupid dinner without fucking embarrassing himself, too.

[moosesarecute]

Chapter 11: The Shadow to my Flame

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“That’s insane, Az,” Cassian was the first to speak.

As if Azriel didn’t already know that it was insane. He couldn’t be mated to a Vanserra.

Ashe Vanserra.

He only stood and waited for his brothers to continue the conversation. He felt speechless. He needed them to tell him that he was wrong. He was in total denial.

“Why do you think she’s a Vanserra?” Rhys was the next to speak. His voice was a lot calmer than Cassian’s. Hearing him call her a Vanserra made Azriel shiver.

“I have a few different theories.”

“Okay,” Rhys said with a few nods. “Let’s not jump to conclusion. Take a few deep breaths and explain.”

Azriel did what his brother suggested and started talking.

“First of all. I found this document,” he picked it up from his bag and gave it to his brother.

“You stole documents from Autumn?”

Azriel ignored the comment and continued speaking.

“It says that the Lady of Autumn had a still birth 160 years ago. Ashe is 160 years. Second of all, she got taught together with Lucian. Why else  would a servant get education with a High Lord’s son? And she’s good friends with Eris. He protects her. What if he does it because she is his…you know.”

He had to stop and take a few more breaths. This felt so wrong. He needed them to tell him that he was wrong. He couldn’t even say aloud that she was Eris’ sister.

His mate. He just wanted her to be as kind and lovely he had experienced her so far.

“Thirdly,” he then picked up the book he stole from Ashe and the red hair. “There is a law that says that all servants with red hair must colour their hair. If you look at the date of the law, it is from 160 years ago. I found this in Ashe’s cabin. She has red hair.”

And then came the reason that made him want to throw up. He hated to know that they had hurt his mate so badly, without reason.

“I told you guys about Thord, right? Well, the soldiers found out Thord got away and Samli, his mate, was going to be punished because of it. Ashe refused to see her friend get hurt because of something she did, so she volunteered to take the punishment.”

Azriel then picked up the last document and handed it to his brothers. He got an overwhelming feeling of anger as he continued.

“Samli was sentenced to ten lashes,” he struggled to continue talking. Both fear and anger took too much space. Why was he suddenly feeling so much? “Ashe had to drink faebane and got thirty-one lashes, where the last six was given by Beron himself. And he sat the whip on fire. He wants her dead, so we have to get her out.”

Azriel then sat down. Cauldron, he felt overwhelmed. Rhys and Cass were both visibly thinking. For a long time. They were as speechless as Azriel.

“Beron didn’t want us to see him beside her for such a long time,” Rhys muttered. “That’s why he made her leave during the dinner that day...”

Azriel only nodded. That was what made Azriel look into Ashe’s heritage in the first place.

“Well, I think you’re right,” Rhys said and Azriel’s heart sunk.

No!

He wasn’t supposed to be right. He was supposed to be insane. He wanted nothing more than to be insane.

Azriel struggled to breathe. He felt so terrified. His shadows engulfed him completely, and his brother’s voices muffled.

His sweet, kind and wonderful mate was the daughter of the most terrifying male in Prythian.

His head was spinning. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was tightened. He was dying. He was sure of it. Terror spread through his body. His heartrate got so much quicker than it should. And then he felt immense pain on his back and legs.

Wait?

Why were his legs hurting?

 “Azriel?” he heard his brother’s voice a lot clearer.

Cauldron, he was burning. He was being set on fire. He was sure of it.

He abruptly stood up and had to look at his legs and over his shoulders. There was no fire.

Which only meant one thing.

“She’s burning,” he said aloud as he realized.

His brothers started asking him what he was talking about, but Azriel had already left.

He didn’t care. If his mate was a traitor, he would deal with it later. If she had known about her heritage all along and lied to him, he would deal with it when they got to the night court. He would not risk her being innocent in all of this and being hurt, again, because of it.

He felt himself praying. He needed her to be okay. Even tears pressed at his eyes. He couldn’t find out what was his feelings and what was hers.

He needed to get to his Ashe. And for the moment, he let himself forget about all the difficult dilemmas he had to figure out later. He was going to save his mate.

And no one.

No one, no matter what felony they had committed, deserved to be burned.

“Walk with me,” he said.

Ashe almost threw up from fear only at his command. She wore no shoes, and she was in her nightgown, but the High Lord didn’t care.

He stood tall with his hands on his back and started to walk slowly down the corridor.

Ashe wasn’t stupid. She knew that they knew. They must somehow have figured out that she was helping the night court. There was no other reason to why the High Lord would command her out off her room in the middle of the night.

She was getting killed.

Ashe was terrified, but at the same time, she was proud of her work. She had saved Thord. She was helped preventing one of the bigger attacks and she had helped the Night Court knowing what they would have to do to stop the High Lord.

And she had met a very wonderful male.

It was now getting her killed, but she had lived so much only in the last couple of weeks, so it was fine.

Ashe walked beside the High Lord until they reached the balcony. It was warm outside, but with a clod breeze. It was typical that the weather would be nice when Ashe was dying.

“Do you know why I have brought you here?”

His voice brought shivers down her back once more. She took a few deep breaths to at least not shake from her terror. She was going to stay strong, even in her last moments.

“I don’t, my lord.”

She most definitely did, but just in case she was wrong, she chose not to say anything.

“Some very important documents have disappeared from my office. I have a suspicion the Shadowsinger is the one that took them.”

Yep, she was definitely dead.

“Maria told me something quite interesting recently. That when the Shadowsinger escaped from his cell, you were nowhere to be seen.”

Maria?

Maria had told on her? What? Maria was her friend! She wouldn’t have! Right?

“She also told me that you asked for a night leave at a very late time on the exact day your friend, the lesser one, got out of Autumn. And my spies tell me that he was delivered to the Shadowsinger. It would be a pitty for nobody to protect the mate of the lesser fae any longer.”

Oh no.

Cauldron no.

He was not going to hurt Samli.

“160 years,” he continued. “I have waited 160 years to have a reason to do this.”

Ashe froze. He had waited all her life to do it? To kill her? Why did he want to kill her? Ashe hadn’t even known he knew about her until recently.

She had almost no time to think before she felt the fire. She screamed her lunges out as it wrapped around her legs and up to her back.

She tried her best to use her own, safe fire to set herself on fire. To use her fire to stop his, but he was too strong. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision blackened. It was so hot. It was burning her. She smelled her skin burning.

She fell to the ground and the coldness was comfortable for a few seconds before the fire again got hold of her.

She would wake everyone. Everyone in the Forest House would hear her die. That’s probably what he wanted. To make an example out of her one last time.

She no longer had enough breath to scream. She could only let out whimpers.

Ashe fought to keep her eyes open. She refused to give up.

Somehow, she had the hope that someone would save her. Someone would come and give her a second chance at life.

So she tried to breathe and think cold thoughts. She tried to keep her eyes open, but the heat soon made it harder and harder.

She screamed the last she could. That was is. She was dying, she was now gone and soon forgotten. She was-

“Get your hands off my daughter.”

The voice was close, but distant at the same time. But Ashe didn’t care. Relief. She felt so much relief as multiple buckets off water made the fire around and on her disappear.

Ashe heard a loud bang and then heard a body fall to the ground. She almost didn’t dare to move. Please say that was the High Lord falling to the ground and not her saviour.

“You need to leave, my dear,” the voice told her. Ashe felt hands on her back and shoulders and whimpered at the pain from the touch. “I’m so sorry, my little one. Please, you need to leave.”

It was first then that Ashe realized who was speaking.

The Lady of Autumn.

Ashe turned and saw the tears and burn-mark on the Lady’s face. She looked further and saw the High Lord knocked out, but stirring a little.

“You got to leave,” the Lady said again, now Ashe heard enough to notice the pain and sobs in her voice.

Get your hands off my daughter.

She must have heard wrong.

“Daughter?” she whispered with a whimper.

The Lady lifted her up on her feet and gave her the gentlest hug. Ashe just wanted to sink into her. The Lady’s hands held her head and brushed carefully through her burned hair.

“Yes, my dearest,” she answered and wrapped a thick blanket around Ashe. Her nightgown was burned, so she needed to wear something. “We don’t have time to explain, you have to get out.”

Ashe didn’t even have time to start her existential crisis before they heard another voice.

“Traitor.”

The High Lord suddenly stood right behind Ashe and the Lady. The Lady pushed Ashe inside and closed the door to the balcony. She stood like a human wall and tried to prevent the High Lord getting to Ashe.

Ashe had blisters everywhere and cried for every step she took, but she walked as fast as she could.

Get out, get out, get out, get out.

“There you are!”

Ashe didn’t even turn to see who had found her before she almost fell through the door of the closest cupboard.

Of course it was the one where Azriel had kissed her.

She tried to keep her hisses and whimpers of pain quiet as she waited for people to pass.

“I’ve got you now, princess.”

Ashe had to force herself to think about anything else. She could not think about what the Lady had revealed. She was just a normal servant.

Azriel.

She would think about Azriel.

His soft mouth and pretty eyes.

She heard the steps getting closer.

His comforting smell and cool shadows.

“You can’t get away this time.”

The small smile he wore when it was only the two of them.

How hot he looked in his suit.

“I’m got you-” the sentenced ended with gurgling. Ashe realized it was gurgling of blood. Someone had cut his throat.

“Ashe, we need to leave,” Eris told her. Ashe have never been so relived and at the same time furious at hearing his voice.

“How am I supposed to trust you after what I have just learned?”

Eris realized immediately what she was talking about.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, but I know you’re smart enough to know that if we don’t go now, you’ll be dead within the hour.”

Ashe hated that he was right. She opened the door, and Eris immediately grabbed her by the wrist.

One second, they stood in the Forest House, the next, they were on the border to Summer.

Ashe ripped her hand out of Eris’ grip.

“You have to leave,” Eris said. “As long as you’re over the border you’ll be safe. I’ll explain everything, I promise you Ashe, but for now, you need to leave.”

His eyes were big. He was terrified. Her brother…

Eris had done this before, Ashe remembered. He had gotten Lucian to Spring. And now, he was helping her to Summer.

“Please, Ashe,” he said and gave her a small push towards the border.

“I’m not leaving without Samli,” she answered and got almost confused at the sound of her voice. It was so weak, rough and shaky.

“Wait here,” Eris said with a slightly annoyed sigh.

Eris was done within a second.

Ashe stood and waited. She struggled to stand, so she eventually started to lean further and further backwards. Her feet followed, and she felt herself crash into a tree.

She was ready to fall down to the ground, when the arms of the tree caught her.

Wait, what?

“I got you.”

She burst out crying at his voice. The shadows spread all around her body to cool down her blisters and burn-marks.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

Ashe had no longer any energy to stay up by herself. All the adrenalines left the second he touched her.

He kissed her head and Ashe cried even more.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered again and kissed her forehead so tenderly.

“Wait,” was the only word Ashe managed to get out.

Azriel was going to ask her what they were waiting for, when Eris arrived back with Samli.

“Of course it’s you,” Eris said.

Samli was immediately over at Ashe’s side and helped holding her up.

“It’s over now,” she said and hearing her voice made Ashe cry even more.

It was too much. The pain, the thoughts, the feeling of safety. She was going to pass out.

And then she did.

Taglist: @tele86 @demon-master-zero @kbear8863 @atluky @mis-lil-red @rcarbo1

Let me know if you want to be added!

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[miss-noo-na]

Take What You Can Get (Yeonjun x Reader)

Title: Take What You Can get

Featuring: Choi Yeonjun (TXT) x Reader

Rating: Mature/explicit

Warnings: Verbal degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), dubcon because consent isn't verbally given but insinuated. Rough sex/hate-fucking, dirty talk, choking, biting, yearning.

Word Count:  4000

Summary: You have been pining for Soobin, even though he doesn't return your feelings. You can't stand his best friend Yeonjun, but he notices, and he's going to make you forget all about him. Whether you want to or not.

Notes: It's been a long time since I posted something to Tumblr, so I thought I'd do it for funsies. Also to remind everyone that I'm still alive and update on AO3 now (check my pinned post for links) Love you guys <3

You didn’t expect much when Soobin invited you over. Sure, there was always a small part of you that hoped maybe today would be the day. The day he got the hint that you liked him and had for some time. The day he returned those feelings, or at least was curious to get closer. For the sake of your friendship you would never confess to him the crush you had been harboring for so long, unless you got that hint.

But you never imagined that standing in his kitchen he would introduce you to the girl he had been seeing. You had no idea he was dating anyone, especially not someone so pretty. It was early in the relationship but you thought for sure you would have known about this sooner, if not from him than one of your mutual friends. You smiled wide and happy when you shook her hand, even though inside you could feel the weight of the disappointment crushing down on your heart.

To make matters worse, halfway through the get-together they had left. He assured you and their other friends they would be back in a bit, they had something they needed to do together. You don’t know why they hadn’t done it before you bothered coming over, but there you were, alone in his bedroom trying to work out a problem with his computer. He had mentioned in passing that he was having some issues with a program you were familiar with, and it would be great if you could take a look at it while you were there.

“I’d really appreciate it.” He said with a gentle crease in his eyes that made you melt, and you nodded all too willingly. Now you just felt like an idiot, doing his tasks for him while he was out with his new girl doing whatever it was you didn’t want to think about.

You were vaguely trying to solve the issue, more so lost in your thoughts and clicking around idly. The door being nudged open loudly by someone’s foot startled you.

You swiveled halfway in the chair and locked eyes with Yeonjun, who half-smiled at you but not in a kind way. You rolled your eyes and turned back around without a word.

The baggage of pining for Soobin came with the unfortunate add-on of having to be around Yeonjun. From the moment you met, there was something about him that bothered you, and the more you got to know him that something turned into many things. He was arrogant and loud and always needed to be the center of attention. He thought too highly of himself and dominated conversations with his obnoxious presence that he was under the impression was charming to others, but not you. You tried ignoring him at first, but over time started to speak up whenever he was too extra, and cracking jokes and roasts at his expense had him glowering at you from across the room. You bickered like rivals even when it wasn’t that serious. Every time he opened his mouth in a group setting you couldn’t help but roll your eyes just as you had done when you saw him enter Soobin’s room.

“Does he know you’re in here?” He asked as he made himself at home on the edge of Soobin’s bed.

“Of course he does.” You said in a biting tone, trying to focus now.

“Got you doing his work for him, eh?” He asked with a laugh and the sound it of it went down your spine like nails on a chalkboard.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”

“Naturally, you’re always doing him favors.” He said off-handedly, and you fought the urge to turn around. You said nothing.

“Tell me, do all your little errands feel stupid now that he’s fucking someone else?” He asked in a voice that dripped in condescension and you could feel yourself getting hot with anger. Yeonjun had caught on to your crush long ago, far more attentive than Soobin had ever been. It was something he liked to bring up whenever he felt like getting under your skin. Usually in retaliation for the times you told him to shut up and stop pestering everyone.

You continued to ignore him, typing more furiously and glaring at the screen, mentally cursing him out but not allowing it to reach your tongue.

You heard him get up and hoped he was leaving, but instead you felt him behind you, his presence looming over your shoulder. He turned his head and his hot breath ghosted your neck.

“Does it make you crazy thinking about him and her in this room?” He laughed low and it tickled your ear. “I bet you get all worked up wishing it was you.”

You weren’t going to sit here and be mocked, the anger bubbling up inside but also the pin-prick feeling of something else you didn’t want to address. You shoved the chair back, bumping his chest and making him stumble back. You headed for the door, figuring you could do this later when he wasn’t here.

“Hey! Hold on.” He grabbed at your wrist and you snatched it away, turning and glaring daggers into him. He sat back down on Soobin’s bed and he was grinning.

“I’m just messing around.” He said, but it didn’t ease your fury. Then his voice changed, it got a little softer and deeper.

“Come here.”

You blinked, his smile had faded and his eyelids drew down. The way he was looking at you was different. Usually it was smarmy or annoyed, but this looked like….

“Why?” You asked, still angled toward the door.

“Because.”

He gestured to the spot next to him and you hated that you were curious about what he had to say. The day was already ruined, so you relented and went and sat next to him.

“Look, I’m the only person who knows how you feel right now.” He said, surprisingly understanding, but you wondered about his angle. He wouldn’t be the type to comfort you.

“And I think maybe you should take this opportunity to do something about it.” He leaned a little closer. “That I could help with.”

You pulled back and scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about letting me,” He pointed at himself, “Make you-“His finger touched the center of your chest, below your throat, “feel better.”

You guffawed at his proposition, but the hysterical laughter was hiding the way your blood started rushing to your ears when you heard him say it.

“You think I’m desperate enough to do that?” You asked.

Instead of being offended, like you might assume, he smirked.

“I do.” He stated plainly. “I think you’ve been following my best friend around like a pathetic puppy and someone needs to snap you out of it.”

Your smile faded at his words and you didn’t know how to decipher the mix of emotions. It hurt, first and foremost. But it hurt in a way that made your breath pick up as Yeonjun stared you down. You wanted him to keep talking.

He put his hands on the bed and moved forward in a sudden motion, making you lean back so far that you fell onto your back and he was now hovering over you.

“I think someone needs to get it through your dumb head that he doesn’t want you.”

He sounded mad. Frustrated by your behavior and intent on letting you know.

“And I know that you hate me,” He said with a wry smile, his eyes taking in the sight of you beneath him for a moment. “So I’m the perfect person to fuck it out of your system.”

Despite yourself and everything your instincts told you, you trembled at his words, your eyes widening and hands going clammy.

“What’s in it for you?” You asked, irked by how weak your voice now sounded.

He laughed, almost gleefully. “Making the bitch who hates me squirm under me is satisfying in its own way.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ll think about it next time you try to humiliate me in front of our friends.”

Your chest was rising and falling quickly now, as he talked it got harder to deny what it was doing to your body. It took you a moment to recognize that the more he degraded you, the more it turned you on. And even the shame of that revelation was exciting you.

“So,” He started, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, just under your jaw. “Are you going to let me ruin you or what?”

His kisses moved to your throat and then down to your collar bones. You stared at the ceiling, breathing hard and pressing your hands into the covers. You suddenly remembered where you were. This was Soobin’s room and his best friend was kissing down your neck in his bed.

His mouth moved to the crook of your shoulder where his teeth sank into your flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make you yelp in surprise. Your hands shot up to grab his arms, holding on to him. He laughed against your neck.

“Take this off,” He said, toying with the hem of your shirt. You couldn’t understand yourself when you did exactly what he asked without hesitating.

“You might as well take your pants off, too.”

As you worked on removing your clothing, a voice in your head was asking what exactly you were doing, letting someone you couldn’t stand 5 minutes ago strip you down to your underwear. It was overpowered by a louder part of you that needed this. Needed to be taken and consumed and punished.

“You may be stupid,” He said, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as his vision grazed your body, “But you’re not bad looking.”

His half-lidded gaze, plump mouth and imposing form over you made you realize you thought the same of him. Maybe when you first saw him you recognized how attractive he was, but it was quickly replaced by a seething dislike. However here, in the afternoon glow of Soobin’s bedroom and his smoldering eyes, he looked like everything you’d desire.

In one harsh movement he grabbed your leg under the knee and pulled the limbs apart, settling himself between them. He attached his mouth onto your neck once more as his fingertips started a delicate dance down the front of your body, stopping to fondle your breasts through your bra.

“Maybe I should mark you up, huh?” He breathed against your skin before latching his lips to it and sucking hard, nibbling with his teeth. “Make him wonder where you got these from.”

He moved to the other side of your neck and did it again, and without seeing it you could tell he was leaving vicious marks in your skin that would be obvious to anyone.

“Then again, he probably won’t care.” He chuckled. “You’ll want him to. You’ll leave them out for him to see and he won’t give a fuck.” He hissed before capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

It took you by surprise, and you made a sound against his mouth. However, it didn’t take you long to reciprocate, opening up to him and letting his tongue lap against yours. Your hands found their way over his shoulders, drawing him closer, and he pressed his hips into you in response.

He pulled back but kept close, staring down at you as one of his hands came up and took your chin, his thumb pressing against your moist lips.

“Look at you.” He murmured, pushing up on your chin to raise your head. “Your body is begging for attention. He’s ignored you for so long, hasn’t he?” His voice baby-talking those harsh words and his hardness grinding into you made you whimper. Your brain felt like it was being emptied out and all that mattered was what Yeonjun was doing to you.

“Aren’t you glad I was here?” He smiled, a devious edge to his sweet voice. “To take advantage of a pathetic, touch-starved whore.”

His words were like electricity jolting through you. No one has ever talked to you like this before, and never did the thought occur to you that you might like it.

Because he was right. You had followed Soobin around for ages, hanging off his words and vying for anything you could get. You hadn’t been desired or looked at by anyone else in that time nor did you want to be, until now. Until Yeonjun forced you to take what you had been lacking.

His hand on your chin trailed down your body once more, his large hand cupping over your clothed sex. He squeezed you, hard, and you cried out from the painful ache that it caused.

“I could’ve just stripped you down and fucked you raw and gotten it over with.” He commented nonchalantly. “You would have let me, too. But teasing you is so much more fun.”

You looked up at him with wet, wide eyes, lips pouted and wanting to say something.

“You’re so quiet now. Usually you never shut the fuck up.” He laughed, now gently rubbing his hand over you, feeling your wetness seep through your panties.

“What do you want to say, baby?” He leaned closer and his voice fell to a whisper. “Tell me.”

Some of your deep-seated anger was coming through as you heard him talk without changing pace in his motions. Even in the moment of actually doing something useful, he was still so goddamn annoying.

“I hate you.”

A smile grew over his mouth as his eyes narrowed, and you didn’t know if you detected anger or passion. Maybe both.

“Your mouth says that,” He started, then slipped his hand under the band of your underwear and sank down toward your wetness, his fingers pressing between the folds and stroking up toward your clit. “But your body loves me.”

When his fingertips grazed agonizingly over the sensitive spot, you moaned, your hips twitching.

“See?” He commented triumphantly, and you were too lost in the feeling to argue it.

After teasing you another minute, his middle two fingers sank inside you, pressing to the second knuckle and making your back arch up off the bed toward him. He kissed up your neck to your ear and breathed, making you shiver.

“I’m gonna make you forget all about him.” He said in an unusually serious tone. He curled his fingers up and massaged a place inside you that made your eyes roll back.

Yet just as you were starting to surrender to it, he retracted them, and you whined at the emptiness that followed. He ripped your underwear down your legs as he sat up, then grinned down at you before removing his shirt.

“Stop whining, you’ll get something much better.”

You watched him quickly strip away the rest of his clothing and before you could do anything else, he was grabbing your legs and pulling you down toward him, surprising you with his strength.

You looked down between your bodies, your knees trembling as he took himself in his hand and aligned it with your entrance, but didn’t enter quite yet. Instead, he ran the tip of his cock between your folds, all the way up to your clit and slowly back down again. He repeated the motion as he spoke.

“Do you want me to fuck some sense into you?” He asked, meeting your eyes. “Or do you want to save yourself for your precious Soobin?”

“Shut up.” You whined, not sounding as strong and biting as you usually did when you told him to shut up.  “Just fuck me.”

His eyes that once danced with amusement dropped down into a glare you were familiar with. “Fine.”

He grabbed your hips at either side and sank himself inside you in one fluid motion, pressing all the way to the hilt until he bottomed out inside you. Your eyes snapped open and you grabbed onto his forearms, digging your nails into his skin. It was overwhelming in both pleasure and burning pain but you didn’t want him to stop.

Then he started to move, his hips drawing back only about an inch before snapping back in. He made sure he pulled you flush against him each time, showing you just how deep he could go.

As the grimace melted away from your face and twisted into pleasure, he leaned forward.

“What happened to all that attitude?” He asked, his breath coming out in thick pants. “You sure don’t look like you hate me now.”

You dug your nails even deeper into his skin and he hissed, snatching your wrists and forcing them over your head, pinning you down and never faltering in his rhythm.

“How does it feel?” He asked, squeezing your wrists and breathing down your neck. “How does it feel knowing I’m fucking you into the mattress of the man you love?”

You tugged at your makeshift restraints and knew you were trapped, he was stronger than he looked, but even if you could break free you didn’t really want to. Your face burned in embarrassment, hearing him mock your feelings.

“What would he think about you?” His voice got lower and closer to your ear. “What would he think knowing that you long for him, and you fucked the first person who showed you any attention because you’re just that desperate. “

He punctuated his words with hard thrusts, sweat forming on his brow and temples as his hair fell into his face. He swallowed up your needy moans in a kiss.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” He laughed breathlessly as he pulled away. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You could have had this all along.”

Something about that sentence rattled your brain, and you tried to focus on what he meant, but the way he was driving into you and holding you down made it difficult to concentrate.

“All this time running after Soobin when I was right here.” He growled, and a very real anger clouded his eyes. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but he made it very clear he wasn’t joking when his motions became more purposeful.

“I wanted you as soon as I laid eyes on you.” He huffed out a breath. “And you couldn’t stand me.”

You were caught between listening to his confession and trying to hold on to your sanity with what he was doing with your body, and hearing the pure and unmistakable wanting in his voice spurned on your arousal.

“Now look at you,” That deviant smile came back. “You’re mine now.”

He let go of your arms and one hand encircled your throat. He didn’t squeeze too tight, just enough to get your attention and make you moan in approval.

“Isn’t that right, pretty girl?” He asked, and the tiniest hint of praise that hit your ears made you squirm and cry out under him.

“Yes.” You responded without hesitation, rocking against him and letting him grind down into you.

“Yeah? You like me taking care of this aching cunt and making it mine?”

You moaned in response, nodding your head in his hand and gazing up at him with a wanton stare. You realized the power you held in that moment, giving him exactly what you didn’t know he wanted.

“It’s all yours.”

The fire that lit up his eyes was worth it all, and his mouth crashed down on yours to kiss you with a new kind of fervor, grinding down deeper until his pelvic bone was in the perfect place to stimulate you. He knew exactly what he was doing, rolling his hips up and hitting the right spots until you could feel your release building up inside you.

He could see it in your face, and it only made him work harder. “I want you to come undone. I want to break you.” He rasped, his own ecstasy mounting right behind you.

You latched onto his shoulders and let him guide you to it. “I’m so close, Yeonjun.” You said his name in a way that drove him crazy.

“Then come for me, slut.” That sly grin found its way onto his features, “show me who it belongs to.”

With that it didn’t take long, fingers digging into his shoulders as your back arched and your orgasm hit you hard, washing over you in waves. He leaned down and panted in your ear “that’s it, baby,” and “All for me.”

Relentlessly fucking you through it over-stimulated you until you were a babbling, drunk mess. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down, feeling the vibration of his moans against your collar bone.

“Fuck, I’m-“ He hardly had the time to warn you before it hit him, he slowed down into a gradual, pulsing thrusting motion as he whined out his release in the sweetest way.

He came to a halt and panted against your skin, your limbs all tangled up and chests rising and falling together. It took a long time for your heartbeats to slow down.

He lifted himself up on his hands and looked down at you, softening and twitching inside you still. After the haze of the arousal and the hormones wore off, you felt exposed under his gaze. You wondered if he was angry at you.

But there was a softness in his eyes that worried you more than anything, and you reached up to push his hair back so you could see him better. You locked eyes for a long moment and said nothing.

Finally, he slipped out of you and came to lay down next to you. You grabbed at the nearest cover and pulled it over your body. When you looked over, there was a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“You can’t hide from me.” He said in a tired, husky voice.

“I can try.” You said, tucking yourself down into the cover, concealing part of your face. He rolled to his side and pulled them up, joining you underneath. Before you could speak again, he reached out and held your cheek in a surprisingly tender motion, and placed an even more tender kiss to your ravaged lips.

“I really didn’t mean for it to go that far.” He said in a near-whisper under the covers. You could only kind of see his face, and his dewy eyes and pouted mouth looked delicate.

“That’s hard to believe.” You whispered back, even quieter than him.

“Well I didn’t expect you to give in so easily.” He chuckled, and you felt yourself get hot with embarrassment.

“Did you mean what you said?” You asked curiously, knowing this was probably the only time he’d be honest about it. Who knows how either of you would feel once the adrenaline wore off completely.

“About you?” He said, and before you could confirm he nodded. “Yeah.”

“You could have just told me.” You offered, and he laughed louder this time.

“My pride wouldn’t let me do that.  Not with how you were always yearning for my best friend.” He sighed and rested his head on his arm.  “Also you hated me, remember?”

“Hate is a strong word.” You offered.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Either way…”

He trailed off and you were both quiet for a moment.

“How do you feel about me now?” He asked, and you thought about it for a moment.

“Hmm, you’re slightly less unbearable now.” You said playfully, and luckily he laughed, too. He reached over and pulled you over by the waist, making a surprised squeak come out of you.

“Well, we’ll have to do this a couple more times. Just to make sure.”

He kissed you, and for the first time in a long time, someone other than Soobin made your hands shake and your heart beat faster.

[sfotiegiuls]

Rafe Cameron

summary: Rafe Cameron is your best friend or rather he was. He was until you started hanging out with his sister, Sarah and her friends, pogues. Now it’s been some time since you’ve been with him and those rare times you meet him, when you’re with Sarah, he ignores you.

warnings: nothing !

word count: 1.5 k

rafe cameron X ex- best friend fem!reader

The Cameron house shone under the warm lights of the veranda, the hum of conversations and the sound of music blending with the distant noise of the waves. The air was warm, filled with the salty scent of the sea and the sweet aroma of drinks poured into crystal glasses. The party was in full swing, with laughter echoing through the garden, people moving back and forth between the veranda and the living room, the typical chaos of a summer night in Figure Eight.

Sarah had invited you to this small party with friends, and even though you knew there was a chance you’d run into Rafe, you had still accepted. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because, somehow, you hoped things between you could return to normal. Or maybe because, despite everything, a part of you still wanted to see him again.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and whenever it did happen, it was always the same scene: him ignoring you as if you had become invisible, nonexistent.

Why was that? Because you’d started spending time with Sarah and her friends, the Pogues. Rafe had never said it outright, but you knew he saw it as a betrayal. He was a Cameron, a kook, and they were everything he despised. Yet, you never thought he would have the strength to push you away so easily. That he would stop talking to you, stop looking at you, stop considering you. When you crossed paths, there was no hesitation in his actions: you had simply become a shadow. And that hurt more than you cared to admit.

Still, despite everything, there he was.

As you grabbed a drink from the kitchen, you heard him before you saw him. That low laugh, full of sarcasm, the kind of laugh he used when he wanted to make it clear that he was judging someone without having to say a word. You turned, and there he was, leaning against the counter with a glass in hand, his gaze fixed on you. But he wasn’t alone.

JJ was beside you, and it only took a second to realize that this wasn’t doing anything but irritating Rafe.

Rafe had always had a problem with JJ, and the reason was simple: he couldn’t stand seeing him near you. Since you were kids, Rafe had always been jealous. He never said it out loud, but the way he stiffened when you talked to another guy, the way he always found an excuse to pull you away, spoke louder than words. And with JJ? With him, it was even worse.

He hated JJ. He hated his rebellious attitude, his cocky smile, the fact that he was a Pogues. And he hated, more than anything, the way JJ made you laugh.

“Are you having fun with your new friends?” Rafe asked, tilting his head slightly. His tone was light, but his gaze said otherwise. His eyes briefly scanned JJ, sizing him up with clear disdain.

JJ, fortunately, didn’t seem to notice.

You sighed, already exhausted by his attitude. “Rafe, seriously? Are we still doing this?”

He gave a bitter smile, shrugging. “Oh no, it’s nothing. It’s just that you decided to be with them, right?”

His voice was venomous, and this time JJ noticed. He quickly turned, meeting Rafe’s eyes with that typical defiant look of his. He was ready to respond, to throw a provocative line that would escalate the situation.

But you didn’t let him. Before he could open his mouth, you placed a hand on his arm, gently holding him. “JJ, just give us a minute.”

He looked at you, hesitant. He didn’t like leaving you alone with Rafe, and you knew that well. But after a sigh, he shot one last warning glance at Rafe and walked away into the crowd.

Now, it was just the two of you.

“And does this mean we have to stop being friends?” you asked, crossing your arms. You could feel your heart beating faster, but you didn’t want it to show.

Rafe chuckled, a sound devoid of amusement. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, his blue eyes burning with conflicting emotions. Anger, disappointment… pain.

“I don’t know, y/n,” he shook his head as though he didn’t have the answer either. “But it definitely means you’re not on my side anymore.”

Those words were like a sharp blade to your chest.

“You’re not on my side either,” you muttered, trying to maintain your composure, to not give in to the lump in your throat.

He laughed softly, but there was nothing funny about that sound. Then, without warning, he set the glass on the counter too forcefully. “Then prove it.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes trapping yours in a mixture of challenge and something deeper, something more intense. Something you couldn’t decipher.

“Prove it to me,” you responded, not breaking eye contact.

Rafe took a slight step closer, his expensive scent – a mix of salt, alcohol, and something costly – surrounded you. “You know how,” he said quietly. “If you were still on my side, you wouldn’t be here with them.”

“Sarah is your sister,” you replied. “You can’t hate her just because… because she’s different from you.”

Rafe took a step back, as if your words had struck him more than he wanted to admit.

“It’s not Sarah that’s the problem,” he finally admitted. “The problem is you.”

Those words hit you harder than anything he’d ever said.

“Me?” you asked, incredulous.

“Yes, you,” he repeated, clenching his jaw. “Because despite everything you say, you’ve changed. You’re not the same person I knew.”

A heavy silence fell between you two. For a moment, the only sound was the music echoing through the house, the distant laughter.

“Or maybe,” you whispered, looking him straight in the eye, “it’s just that I’m not the person you wanted me to be.”

Rafe clenched his fists at his sides. “Maybe.”

His gaze shifted briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. There was something in him, something you couldn’t quite define. Desire. Anger. Pain.

“Prove me wrong,” he finally said. “Prove to me that you didn’t choose them over me.”

And in that moment, you realized this wasn’t just a challenge.

It was a plea.

And deep down, you already knew what your answer would be.

You felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff, uncertain of what to do. Rafe’s words had struck deep, yet you couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at you. This wasn’t just anger. It was something else, something more complicated.

“Rafe…” you began, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he said in a low voice. “Prove it to me.”

You crossed your arms again, your heart pounding in your chest. “JJ’s my friend. Sarah’s my friend. You can’t just expect me to stop spending time with them because you’re mad.”

Rafe looked at you, his gaze intense. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again. “I want to know if I’m still important to you.”

Those words struck you harder than anything else.

“Of course you are, Rafe.”

He laughed, bitterly. “Really? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

You stepped closer, the distance between you barely noticeable now. “You’ve always been important to me. It’s just that I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Rafe stared at you, his breath slightly quickening. Then, suddenly, he did something completely unexpected.

He moved even closer. So much so that you could feel his breath against your skin, so close that you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

“Prove it to me,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading. “Tell me that if you had to choose between them and me… you would choose me.”

Your stomach twisted. Because you knew the answer. But you also knew that saying it would change everything.

The silence between you thickened, charged with something unresolved, something you both were afraid to face. Rafe was so close that you could smell him, a familiar blend of salt, sandalwood, and something darker, more dangerous.

“Rafe…” your voice was barely a whisper.