#i finally caved and reached out to my discarded gifs...

[raplinenthusiasts]

DEMON

[oftenderweapons]

The Magic Touch - hyung line

Pairing: hyung line member x reader

Wordcount: 1.2-1.8k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

Hello there everyone! I was very conflicted about posting, especially since I realised some of you might be focusing your energies on the BLM movement -- at the same time I thought that, as a writer, one of my priorities is to offer a momentary getaway from real life, especially since many countries are still affected by quarantine and lockdown, and many of us might need to get away from all the stress in the meantime. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m pretty busy with exams and studying but I really wanted to post it (even though I don’t know when I’ll be able to finish the maknae line, Jimin’s scenario is giving me a rough time). I really, really want to post because last week, on May 28th, we celebrated International Masturbation Day! So, as you can see, the theme is masturbation. 

I think that the general message here is that you don’t have to be single to masturbate, and that masturbation and couple life are not mutually exclusive.  

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There is swearing. Also, well THIS IS QUITE DESCRIPTIVE (sometimes even too descriptive for my own good), pretty much any kind of masturbation, mostly mutual, but also individual, of course this thing is filled with exhibitionism and voyeurism, these guys are not shy about porn and some of the girlfriends aren’t either (ahem), unprotected foreplay and spit play, mentions of unprotected sex (GUYS, PLAY IT SAFE, CONDOMS, DENTAL DAMS, GET TESTED REGULARLY!!!!), sensory deprivation, blindfold (again, guess who’s the freakiest of them all ? ;)))))))) mentions of sextapes. Jin’s scenario might contain some angst, based on the little gap I imagine between Jin’s fictional gf and him; Hobi’s scenery also contains slight angst but waterfalls of fluff too; Joon’s a daddy, fucking fight me; Yoongi and his gf could talk abt sex for hours and they would be absolutely fine with it (talk your kinks out with your s/o, sex gets 100 times more intimate and fun!!!!!)

Here you can find the maknae line

And here you can find my masterlist

Namjoon

“Hello there,” Namjoon said, standing against the door. 

You turned, without even feeling guilty or shy. “Hello.” Your hand slowed down, the motion subsided to focus on the conversation with your boyfriend. 

“Didn’t know you had started without me.”

“Wanna join?” With a smirk you patted on the bed beside you. 

“What you watching?”

“Mh, just scrolling.”

“Yeah?”

He took off his jacket and shirt, his hands fumbling with his belt. 

“Slow down, Joonie, we don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.” You chuckled, your hand again picking up the rhythm. 

You had come home early from the office and headed straight for the shower. Wrapped in a towel, you had realised you still had a bit more than an hour to yourself. You laid down and let the towel unwrap, stretching to reach your phone on the bedside table. It had been only twenty minutes when you heard the keys enter the lock at the front door, though he didn’t call for you. He hadn’t expected you home yet. 

Still, you let your whimpers resound louder from the room, moaning his name, hoping he would hear you.

When Namjoon found you, you were laying against the headboard, one hand scrolling through random NSFW gifs, the other caressing your pubis, quite innocently, not to actually reach completion, but merely to arouse. 

“Where do you want me?” He asked, climbing on the bed beside you, his boxers still on.

“Behind me, I wanna lay against you.” You sat up and moved your hips forward, letting him sit behind you, his head and back propped against the pillows, as you lay with your shoulders against his chest. 

“Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“Don’t know. The usual?”

He kissed the tender skin behind your ear. “Want me to take over?” He was already reaching for your chest, gripping a breast with a heavy touch. 

You thought about it for a second. Nodding, you moved the hand between your legs inch away, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin under your belly button. 

“What do we have here? Let me see, love.” He half-whispered with that deep voice of his. 

In the meanwhile your hand reached for his thigh, your nails scraping against the soft, sensitive skin there. “It’s been a long week. I need to decompress.”

“You wanted some alone time? Want me to go?” He said, understanding filling his voice.

“I want you to take me there. Help me stop thinking.” You tapped on a gif, looking at the way a woman’s hips undulated against a man’s face. 

“I’m here for you.” His lips venerated you. “You like that?” He meant the gif. 

“You know I love your lips there.”

“The weekend’s long, let’s save that for later.” His palm started stroking your outer labia, your spine muscles relaxing against his chest.

Another gif, now of a woman performing oral on a man. “What about this?” You teased. 

He moaned when you turned your arm behind your back, reaching for his manhood over the fabric. “Your mouth’s pretty. I like fucking it. Prefer your hands though.” You knew you would find loads of lovebites on your neck and shoulders later in the evening. 

“You’re enormous, just one third of you fills my mouth. The problem’s the thickness.”

He chuckled. “Doll’s mouth. So tiny.” 

You reached inside his underwear. “Oh, I like this one,” You said, looking at the screen, a man fucking a woman while standing, lifting her up and down against his length. 

“I’ll have to hit the gym like JK to get that.”

“Bet his girlfriend gets a lot of that game — Wait, yes, there...” you replied, his hand circling your clit just right. 

“Like this?” He questioned. 

You nodded. “We’re lazier.” You said, continuing your previous conversation.

“We’re older. We like the mind games.” He commented. You giggled agreeingly. “Look at you. Half of the sex happens in your brain. No youngling could give you that.”

“You know what I like.” The hand on your breast moved to your nape, massaging your scalp and tense tendons. “That’s it...” You abandoned yourself against him. 

“I wanna take off my boxers but I don’t wanna let go of you.” He kissed the tip of you ear. 

“Take ‘em off.” You gave him space to manoeuvre out of them, licking your lips at the sight of his sex. You swallowed, your mouth salivating, your desire inhibiting your embarrassment. 

“Not yet, come back here.”

You didn’t waste time easing back, your free hand naturally reaching for him. 

“You taught me a lot with your naughty hands.” He commented as he again started touching you, now with more pressure. He let two fingers slip inside, your arousal making the insertion so easy you blushed. 

“So wet. Bet your pretty pussy is clenching for me. Thinking about my cock.”

“Joon-“

With two of his fingers tweaking your nipple, other two pressing your g-spot, you started stimulating him with more pressure, adding a squeeze. 

“____, yes, just like that.” He praised, calling out your name. His tip was blunt and soft, the texture like marshmallow. The heady smell of your arousal filled the room, his moans intensifying with the way you rolled your thumb against his frenulum. 

“Open wide baby, wanna use both my hands on you.” You spread your legs further, obediently, the addition of his middle finger caressing your clit making you focus and suddenly turn very quiet, your breaths becoming more shallow and rare.  

“Keep going like that, baby, don’t stop, I’m so close.” He moaned, licking your neck.

“Joonie— ”

“Let go, love.” As you took one last breath you felt your limbs catching fire and caving in, your whole body melting. 

“Yes, babe.” Taking the hand on your clit away from you, he kept massaging your inner walls heavily and slowly, applying that pressure that you always needed to fully enjoy and ease out of your orgasm. With one hand joining yours, he helped you around his girth, squeezing the base as you fondled the head. 

“There, yes— ” He moaned again, his hips now rutting against you, and finally with a groan you felt him spilling over, the orgasm catching him by surprise as he collapsed over your shoulder, “There. Love, fuck, yes.” The warmth of his cum hit your hand and your lower back, and you used the lubrication to caress him gently, slowly, accompanying him out of the high. 

Your phone now discarded on the bed, you turned around, laying your front against his. “Joon, I love you.”

“Love you too, little vixen. My pretty doll.” He palmed your ass and kissed your lips calmly. “Wanna get cleaned up.”

“By now the sheets are messed up. Might as well finish the job.”

He smiled viciously then bit the inside of his cheek. “Then get on your knees, Princess.”

Seokjin

“I’m not sure I’m allowed to do this.” He said.

“Why not?” 

“It’s- Private?”

“Don’t you like it?”

Jin loves you. Every little inch of you. Every nook and cradle. He loves the air around you, worships the ground you walk on. And of course the feeling is mutual. “Don’t ask dumb questions.”

“Maybe I just wanna hear you say it.”

“I love you. And I really like it. But are you truly okay with it?”

“I’m doing it because I love how you look at me.”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like I have all the secrets in the universe.” He kissed your lips tenderly. He could barely hold himself together. He was scared to move. His eyes hesitant, he gave in and started getting caught up in the video again. 

“That mole over there,” he whispered, eyes droopy as you kissed his face, your hand spurring him on. “It’s so yours. Unique.”

You took a deep breath. 

“Why are we watching it on the screen when you could be doing that right in front of me?”

“Because I caught you jacking off to one of the videos I sent you while you were on tour. Now I wanna see what you do when I’m not around.”

“Why is your hand on me, though?” He said with a playful smirk. 

“Because I can’t help wanting to touch you.” You replied matter of factly. 

“Keep your hands to yourself and sit on the chair, please.” He suggested, exiling you to the comfy armchair in the near corner of the room and getting the bed all to himself. With one hand he kept the phone propped to a comfortable angle, the other, a bit shaking, timidly propped against his jutting hipbone. He let his fingers tentatively spider to his sex, laying against his lower belly, so hard and looking so delicious. 

You watched how his hand wrapped around himself, how the thumb started teasing the head, without much pressure. From his breathy moans you could tell it wouldn’t be long until he come apart. Oh, how his eyes were glued to the screen… Normally you wouldn’t be this affected, he’s looked at you with those eyes from up close while you were making love, still seeing this from a distance, as a third party, really made you understand how much he loves you. And how much you love him too.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, his eyes still entranced. “I can’t believe I can have that whenever I want.”

“I’m yours.” You said in a small voice from your corner. 

His hand got still for a second, his head turning towards you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied, your stare gently holding his. “I want to see you cum.”

He blinked slowly, his gaze again on the video, his hand massaging slowly from the base to the tip, squeezing, the soft of the palm on his hand stroking against his tip. His slightly high pitched groan was all you needed to tell that he’d be lasting less than seconds now. His face wrinkling, his legs flexing and his back arching, you marvelled at how his hips snapped up, his dick forcefully fucking his hand. You got truly surprised at how strong he could be, and how much he must have always restrained himself while fucking you. He was always careful about your well being, holding himself back not to hurt you. 

“That’s my handsome, lovely man.” You commented from the chair, licking your lips as a thin string of his semen dangled from his palm and fell to his lower stomach. He had avoided making a mess, keeping himself in his palm. 

You wanted a taste. 

You climbed onto the bed, crawling between his legs. 

“What are you doing?” He looked wary. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Want me to cook?” He asked, getting ready to get up. 

“No. I want to taste you.” His lips curled, his expression doubtful. Oral sex wasn’t among your most common activities. Sometimes he felt too shy for it, like it was too daring. 

Sometimes you marveled at all the things he didn’t do because of nerves or because “it’s not really appropriate”.

As you saw the discomfort lingering on his face, you took a step back, hands retreating to your own comfort zone. You felt yourself shutting off. 

There are differences between you and Jin, and you’ve always known it. He wouldn’t always explore with you. Considering how far you’ve gone together today, you really didn’t know why you felt so disappointed. 

“What is it?” He asked, concern overcoming shyness. 

“Does it bother you? That I��m so dirty?” You asked, avoiding his stare. 

“No. I’m just afraid of hurting you. When you put your mouth on me I get nervous and I can barely concentrate on anything but the feel of you. Makes it very difficult not to snap. And when it happened you always ended up with a sore throat.” He used his clean hand to tip your chin towards him. “Maybe you don’t realise it, but you’re so cute and small and sometimes I just wished I could trap you beneath me and do you messy, but when I let go, I see you wince and I get back in control.”

“I might wince or choke or end up with a sore throat but I don’t care. All I care about is I was looking at you right now, wishing you did me like that, hard and fast. Every now and then.”

“You want it like that?” He asked with wonder. 

“I just need you to get me ready, warm me up a little and be patient if I ask you to slow it down a notch.”

The hand on your chin caressed your face. 

“Okay. And of course we can go gradually. See how far you can take it.” He kissed you temple and then your lips. 

Naked and below him, his fingers started exploring your most intimate parts, toying with your delicate breasts, adoringly caressing your sides, reaching you hipbones and carefully tipping closer to the apex of your thighs. 

There was nothing but adoration in his eyes as you gripped his strong shoulders as an anchor, his caresses teasing all the right places, stimulating all the right nerve endings, his fingers inside pressing the exact same spot of his digits outside you.

You went off in record time, much to his surprise, eyes blown wide and imploring as he gently accompanied you in your high. You loved his hands. But the thing you adored the most were his eyes, bathing in the vision of you, covering you in nothing but love.

Yoongi

You were both being lazy on the sofa, nothing to do on the rainy Sunday afternoon. You were almost ready to head to bed for a cozy winter nap when he tutted with his mouth a couple times, then pouted a little and turned to you. 

"Do you wanna watch something?"

You turned on your side, looking at him from your side of the sofa. He was sitting at one end, a book in his lap, one hand innocently trapped between his thighs, close to his knees, as if to warm it up. You were on the other side, curled up under a blanket that covered you up to your nose, only your hand, your phone and your eyes coming out of the covers. 

"Mh. What do you wanna watch?"

"I was thinking of trying something." 

"Like?" 

"Porn?" 

You chuckled, thinking it was a joke. He was dead serious though. You stopped laughing and looked at him with fascination. "Okay."

"Good." He grabbed the TV-remote and quickly connected it. 

"Do you usually watch it on the TV?"

"If I need to, I watch it on the laptop, but I used the TV while you were away." 

You had been on a 10-day trip for a family party -- a cousin of yours was getting married and wanted you to be there as a bridesmaid, and Yoongi had preferred to stay at home, waiting for a better moment to be introduced to your family, not wanting to steal the attention from the bride and groom. 

"Was it a satisfactory experience?" 

He looked at you, questioning whether it was a test. "I guess…"

"What were you watching?" You asked curiously. 

"I didn't watch it all, just some foreplay. I wasn't in the mood. But it was good, that's why I thought you could enjoy it too. The director's a woman and you can really tell it's female-supporting." 

You smiled at that, your man being considerate in every single way. "That's very nice of you, Yoongi." 

"I'm glad you wanna try this with me." He showed you the platform, the different titles and the one he had selected. Even the cover picture looked quite decent and classy. 

He sat on the sofa again, this time closer to you. You also sat up, cuddling against him.

"Ready?" He asked. "We don't have to do this, you know." 

"Yeah, but I want to." You took his hand and kissed his cheek. 

He pressed play. It looked cute. A nice dinner at home, candles, flowers, slightly cliché but really cute, romantic. The chemistry between the actors was cute. They looked like they were dating. 

"That looks very nice." 

"Yeah, mundane. Average. I thought it was nice because it shows them in a relationship. It's like 'you know, you can do this stuff with your girlfriend, cause maybe that's the stuff she likes.'" He said, shrugging. 

"That's cool."

They were kissing. 

“Sometimes I forget not all couples talk it out.” He commented, still watching the video.

“I like it this way, being open about it. I think it makes us happier.”

Some clothes were now missing. She was wearing sexy lingerie, still something realistic. One of your triggers were the disgustingly cheap, poorly made and revealing clothes these actress usually wear. As if you need a short chequered skirt and no panties to be turned on. Usually all it took you was one of Yoongi’s enormous white T-shirts and very unsexy grandma cotton briefs to turn him on, often leading to him bending you over the closest flat surface or burying his tongue between your folds.

“What would you do if I were more vanilla?”

You thought about it, staring at the screen without really watching. “I don’t know. We could talk it out. Explore what you’re willing to try. Probably I’d masturbate more.” You quietly mulled over the idea. 

“You wouldn’t leave me?”

“It’ll probably be a revelation to you but I’m not just here for the sex.”

He laughed, leaning against you. 

“I think I’d leave you if I found myself wanting someone else, something more. If I found out that I’m really missing it rough. And also if you felt uncomfortable about the imbalance.”

“That’s good. Honest,” he replied, his tone neutral and reasonable. 

“But you’re not all that vanilla.” You commented, looking at him from head to toe. 

“Maybe I am.” He said, looking at the way the man picked the woman up and kissed her against the wall. With a furtive motion you delicately strokes you hand down your thigh, reaching for the spot where your knee connected with his. He parted his legs a little more, looking lazily at your leg for a second, then focusing again on the tv. 

You were slightly bothered by the lack of attention he was paying you, most surely teasing you. 

The couple had moved to the sofa, she was getting rid of the underwear, he was touching himself to the sight of her. 

“Were you vanilla when you fucked me against the mirror in the walk in closet last Saturday?” You nudged your hand higher up his inner thigh. 

“Pay attention to the movie, please.” He said with a snicker. 

“I’m sure I’m not missing out on the plot.”

“How arrogant,” He commented. As a reply you pushed your palm against his clothed crotch.

“You say I’m arrogant?”

“We both know you act all bold but if I were to touch you now you wouldn’t last a minute.”

“Is it a challenge?” You asked, stroking him with more passion now. 

“Wanna see how long’s gonna take me?” He taunted. “Off with those pants and open up wide, kitten.”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” He smiled at you with a cheeky grin. 

A few minutes later you were both naked from the waist down, his pants rolled around his calves, his eyes on the screen, one of his hands comfy and snug against your sex, the other behind your shoulders playing with your chest and nipple. 

“You eat me out way better than he’s doing with her.” You commented, both your hands busy around his shaft, every now and then caressing his testicles gently. You were a complicated tangle of arms and legs, your left one flung over his right, in order to gain more space for him to finger you, but also to keep him open. 

“Because I love you.” He commented. “And because you taste like sugar.”

You moaned, warning him that you were reaching your limit. “Are you close?”

“If you keep doing that with my balls I might.”

Without even knowing how, you found yourself both spent, your head propped against the headrest of the sofa, cradled in his arm, his sensitive eyes hidden in the crook of your neck, mouthing at it in the calm that possessed him after an orgasm. 

“We’re way better.” You replied.

“That’s why I usually watch our videos.” He deadpanned. 

Hoseok

“Yes? No? Maybe?”

“I think it’s a yes.”

“Great. Amazing.” He grabbed some lube and poured it over himself. “Is it good like this?”

“Perfect.”

“Want me to switch the light off?”

“No, the bedside lamp is good.” You answered sweetly. 

“Do you want me to start?”

You paused and licked your lips. “I think I’m a bit nervous.”

“I don’t really understand why, but I think I’m a tad nervous too.”

You suddenly sat up, your mood set aflame. “Yeah, right, I mean, we’ve done way more kinky stuff than this. I don’t get why I’m so tense.”

“Maybe it’s because we usually don’t plan it like this. It comes natural.”

“I mean, some nights we do plan it out like a week ahead, so everything’s ready and we don’t risk any accident. But it’s just jerking off, in front of each other. I’ve touched myself in front of you so many times already. Fuck me, I actually squirted while you fingered me. Why am I so damn tense?”

“It’s okay, sweetie. No need to do this tonight.” He said, understandingly, not a sliver of disappointment in his voice.

“But look at you.” You frowned. All you wished was to reach out and touch him. “You look so hot.” He was hard, naked, beautiful in front of you.

“What do you want me to do?” He said, leaning over you, kissing you with devotion. 

You needed to have control. His usually domineering attitude didn’t relax you tonight. You needed to hold the reins. That’s when the idea struck you: you rummaged in the drawer beside the bed, finding one of the first articles you’d bought as a couple. A silky black blindfold. 

He looked at you. “I guess that’s not for you.” He smiled.

“Not tonight, no.”

You hoped he trusted you enough to let you watch him while he couldn’t see you. “Do you want to put it on me?”

“Sit against the headboard. You’ll be more comfortable.” His face got warm at your display of concern.

He settled as you suggested, pressing a frilly kiss against his smile, your hands slipping the blindfold around his head and over his eyes. “You ready?” You asked.

“Whenever, darling.”

“Can’t wait to see you like this, Hobi.” You were trembling with anticipation to see him this vulnerable. 

In the meanwhile he had noticed how sensitive his senses grew when his vision was inhibited. He thought your breathing was already louder. Had you already started touching yourself? His memory helped him create an image. You kneeling, knees wide apart, your whole palm moving in circles against your lower belly, every motion inching closer to your intimate parts. 

He grabbed the base of his shaft, the lube now warmer though a bit dry. He felt your weight dip the mattress on each side of his hips, then a warm liquid falling over his sex, from the tip to the base. “Is that you?”

“Thought you needed it wetter than that,” you said apprehensively.

“Thank you. Is it…”

“You love it when I use my saliva.”

“Good god.” The sudden image of you, eyes closed, mouth open and drool dripping down your tongue. 

Then he heard your quiet moan. “Are you touching yourself already?”

“Two fingers inside me. I could probably insert a third. You’re so sexy. You’re making me so fucking wet I’m dripping, Hobi.”

“Let me feel it. Can I use it to stroke myself?”

You guided the hand on his cock between your legs, dragging against the inner side of your legs, where your thighs grew tender, and you let him feel how your wetness reached even there. Impatiently he cupped your cunt. “Sweetie, you’re so warm and sensitive. You must be so turned on. So fucking plump. And so, so wet.” He licked his lips and brought his hand to his mouth. “So sweet. If I entered you now I would be gone in seconds.” He chuckled. “So embarrassing.”

“It’d be lovely. You’d like it so much you wouldn’t even be able to help yourself. And we know you’re always ready for multiples,” you giggled. “It wouldn’t affect your overall perfect streak at all.”

“I love making you cum with my fingers.” In the meanwhile he was back to your thighs, using his full hand to tease you with some friction, then using your wetness on his dick, tugging himself slowly but with quite some pressure. “I love getting hard again while I finger you. You’re ten times tighter when I enter you again. And you always lose it. Really, it’s so easy to overstimulate you. It’s my favourite thing.” He emitted a grunt as he reached the tip and circled his all palm over the sensitive sponge tissue, the colour a bright red. 

You thought of how easy it would be to make him cum now if you trapped his glans between your cheeks and tongue, rolling it against his frenulum. Your hips started undulating on their own against your fingers. Hoseok immediately heard the small whine you emitted. "I wanna know when you're close."

"I need to see you cum first."

He grew impatient and whiny. "Come on." The rhythm of his hand was now furious, his hips writhing like wild, vicious, the kind of pace that made your legs shake and you eyes roll shut when he moved inside you. 

"Come on baby, if you cum I'll let you see me."

"Touch me, please. I need you," he cried, feverishly needy. 

One of your hands cupped his balls, the other caressing his face, comforting him. "I'm here, baby."

His panic subsided but his frenzy kept spurring him, his brow creasing. You kissed his forehead, his mouth opening and a silent cry leaving his throat. 

You were used to him being noisy and shameless, but this vulnerability and softness were rare and precious. 

He came, his semen spilling on his hand and his abs, hot spurts coming out almost endlessly, causing in you both wonder and worry. With his hips slowing down, his essence started bubbling more discreetly on his tip, rolling down in pearly globes down his shaft and onto your hand. 

"Are you okay, my love?" You instantly removed the blindfold, his eyes searching for your face. 

"It was the most intense thing ever." He said, almost scared, finding peace in your arms. 

You stretched to the t-shirt you had abandoned on the bed, drying the sweat on his face. "You are the most marvellous thing I have ever seen." You kissed him again in comfort and praise. "I've got you." You pondered over licking him clean or simply cleaning him with your cloth. Considering how sensitive he must be, you gently dabbed the fabric against his abdomen, then using it to clean your hand and, very with a very light touch, his soft sex. 

"Did you…?" 

"You were all I needed." 

You didn't mind helping him get clean in the shower, your needs shut down by his own. 

You didn't mind falling asleep beside him right after you finished taking care of him. 

Most importantly, you didn't mind when he woke you up with his mouth on your nipple, pressing his hard on against your clit and finally helping you with your arousal. After all, for him once was never enough.

[hughiecampbelle]

Gentle Reminders (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,077

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby @riana-jannat

A/N: I loved the first paragraph, but the rest of it makes me go :/ Today was an emotional day and I just had to write it out. The first week of school is always stressful, on top of everything else. Soon it’ll be routine, but for now it’s an adjustment. This ended up darker/angstier than I anticipated, but we should expect that by now. Hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: The impending fall weather reminds Tommy of you 💕

Gif Credit: @benson-shelby :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The open sky hemorrhages. There is no way to cauterize this kind of wound, your kisses falling flat on the wet pavement the same way the leaves do. Slipping effortlessly from the branches, swaying on the way down, taking the kind of trip of a lifetime. Inky reds begin to bleed into the green familiar, yellows and oranges painted too, a warning that the world is still spinning and will continue to do so regardless of how often you really think about it. Grooves and waves move around the softly chewed edges as it finally takes a dip. The air is hot, and wet, and bloated, sweating in its own sense. It touches you with the same disappointment you so often find when you hold yourself. Though it looks and breathes as the cold, nipping day you long for, there is nothing but overdue summer heat and the underwhelming sense of wanting what you could never have.

Beads fall down the glass, patter across the rooftops, seep into the stingy fabrics of coats and hats left raw on the coat rack, the rest let itself inside, taking solace in the warmth it’s grown too used to. Tommy never liked the way you left the windows open. The wind blew papers off his desk into careless piles, soaring across the my room, crumpling, caving. Raindrops kissed the windowsill and floorboards beneath, pooling, waiting for him to find it crying out. Across the edges and spines of books nearby, discarded where the light would have been best. The sky a patchwork of torn cotton, the clouds grey and screaming, ripping at the seams. There’s a clear sky above, somewhere. He used to spend his afternoons looking for it. No leaves to fall. No bugs to swim. Only the agitation of the outside world ruining the in.

Tracking mud up and down the grand staircase, filling in the cracks of the old wooden boards. Your clothes so often soaked and tattered, clutching to your skin, plastered across every nook and cranny of your body. Dripping, a trail he could follow all the way to find you. Discarded in a sopping pile before the tub, a witness to the before time. Candles lit, the warmth of the smoke, the scent, the match lit so violently, eagerly, blackened in ash between the bubbles. Sugar and spice burning bright, warming you from the inside out. Sinking deeper, deeper, until the worries dropped from under you, until it didn’t hurt anymore. It always used to scare him the way you drifted off, forgetting how starved the fire could be, how it would have eaten you alive if you hadn’t kept an eye on it. You wanted to leave them be, let the baby sleep, but he was dreadfully impatient, stirring them before they were ready. Putting them out, waving the ash away. No more sugar, no more spice.

The oven warming, a sweltering, suffocating feeling between the walls of the kitchen. Enveloping him, the way you used to, tugging at his collar to breathe. Dishes made for the cooler weather, for the dead trees and snow piles, for the brown grass and howling winds, roasting across the table. Set for a welcome home, for the nights that lead to burning cheeks and struggling for warmth, the kind you couldn’t wait for anymore. Skin and bone, you’d poke at him, urging him to try everything. It was always the cigarettes, though. Stunting his appetite, coating his tongue in teeth in nothing but nicotine. Scraping his fork across the plate, pushing all the words He never said around. Taking your time, your cooking, your excitement for granted. The pots and pans asleep in the sink. Afterwards you find your sleeves rolled, an ache as old as time spreading through your chest. You thought, by splashing, by soaking, by distracting yourself with all the things that brought you joy, it would stop. The thoughts, the regrets, the abyss wouldn’t gnaw through you.

With the clouds parted, the crying soothed, stars sprinkled across the thick open sky. Shrunken and dry, leaves rustling, celebrating the little things, your smallest accomplishments. The mirrors foggy, bloating your image, smearing you and him into nothing. That’s what you were, after all. Nothing in the infinite. Your finger dragging across the shadows, up and down, two spots in the middle: a smiling face staring back at you. You try to match your own to it. The crickets singing, harmonizing, mocking you through the night when the sheets stick to you, when the realization wasn’t so sudden anymore. You could fool yourself all you wanted. The time of year that pulled you close and never let go was more than a few storms away. Drifting away. A man of distance. Your hands inching closer, too careful, too forgiving. He should have met you halfway, closing the gap between you. He should have seen how hard you were trying, how pained, forced your smiles were, how glossy your eyes grew when it was all becoming too much to hold in. He should have, but he didn’t.

The sky hemorrhages the same way bodies do. There’s no stopping it. A man who thought he was doing everything right never even saw it. Isn’t that funny? Eyes wide, drowning, but he never saw a thing until it was too late. It’s a disease he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. An illness with no cure. Temporary fixes. Denial, drawn smiles, finding solace in the steps that kept you going. Loneliness. It was the ways you reached out that he ignored, that he stepped over, sweeping under the rug, calling it by another name.

He left the windows open, now. Before the first drop, ordering everyone to check every lock, be sure the clean, fall scent moved through the haunted house. He stopped looking for sky, instead stepping in the puddles, splashing, dirtying his pant legs the way he’d always scolded. When the scent of you grew faint, he lit those candles. Huddled in the middle, shoulders slumping, broken, wanting to feel what you did, live what you did in those last moments. He tried to cook what you did, all of it burnt, soggy, raw. Nothing near you could do, what you perfected. Drew faces in the mirror before he went to bed, where he held a pillow in the place of you, where a godless man prayed each night it was all one long, terrible nightmare.

[sultrysirens]

Story Time

Out of nowhere I decided to share a bit of my story as a fanfiction writer, starting with my original introduction into the profession. It’s going to be a long one, but hopefully, and inspiring one. Skip if you’re not interested.

NOTE: This includes spoilers for certain anime and fandoms. If you don’t know Dragonball Z or Inuyasha, specifically, you’ll be quite lost.

The Beginning

How everything started was just through surfing the net. Back then my interest was Dragonball Z. I was 14. I had only had the internet for a few months, so everything about it was new. This was 20 years ago, now, back in 2000. I used Yahoo! for all my searches. Google had not yet been born. Fanfiction.net was the main hub where all these amazing stories were birthed, and yet at this point I had not yet found it.

What I found, first, was a fanfiction writer who had a website. Geocities, I believe. I can’t recall how I found it, exactly, except that I had only just learned about Bulma and Vegeta getting together and thought they were an amazing couple. I looked up art, and it led me to this site. I can’t recall the site’s name anymore, but I remember the tagline for it was something like, “Bulma and Vegeta’s Cove.”

One thing I can distinctly recall is a small gif in one corner of the main page, displaying a chibi Vegeta with a microphone in one hand, going between 2 or 3 singing poses. It was cute.

This site was coded in such a way that it linked directly to fanfiction.net, displaying the owner’s many, many, many fanfictions in an embedded window. The stories were largely explicit, included sex and, in a few stories, rape, all of them AUs from all the rest. But each had a singular goal: Bulma and Vegeta’s romance, how they ended up getting together.

Some of the stories I remember very clearly. Others have faded. Some were modern AUs, one included dimension-hopping via a magical device Bulma created and recharged every 24 hours (sound familiar, anyone?), and some were painfully OOC but in very sweet ways.

I devoured these stories. There must have been two dozen, with most of them multi-chapter works. And, eventually, I started to notice the format with these stories, how it seemed to be a miniature explorer window within the website. Eventually, I clicked on the mini website and was given a full introduction to fanfiction.net and its massive breadth.

Back in those days, fanfiction.net (or FF.net, as it was usually called) allowed explicit content. And this I looked for very directly. I enjoyed the “lemons” more than anything, easily reading the most ridiculous stories just for the porn therein.

Eventually, I figured it out. I understood fanfiction and what it meant. And though I’d only been using a computer for a few months, I started writing.

It was a painful process at first. Think back to your first months with a keyboard and how difficult it was to get used to the format, how to move your fingers. I had to stare directly at the keyboard to write anything and it was a pain, a slow-going endeavor of passion.

My first fanfictions were Dragonball Z, unsurprisingly. I made a few silly ones, a few serious ones, a few sexual ones. At 14, with no grasp of the anatomy of sex, I was writing porn, using the porn I’d already read as resources. I didn’t know what a clitoris was, but I knew ladies apparently went nuts when men tongued them, so that’s what I wrote.

Eventually I got my first hit: Temptation. It was a Bulma/Vegeta story. I don’t remember it very clearly, and this is probably for the best. The plot, as I recall, was Bulma getting sick and Vegeta having to be her nurse for a time. Eventually she got worse and worse, until she recognized why she was sick: she’d cut herself one night with a device that’d had a compound on it. I can’t recall what the compound was designed to do, but the short version is it made you feel weaker and sicker until you increased your physical activity to burn it out.

This led to wild sex. Like, very wild sex. For hours. My lack of experience evidently was not a consideration; I was given compliments by the dozens. I’d done good.

And now I was addicted.

The Second Hit

I was 16 now. We’d be moving out of my childhood home soon, but I didn’t know this yet. I’d been spending a lot of time with my sister, who was 26, and soaking up Adult Swim shows on her cable. Inuyasha was my new obsession, as well as a liberal amount of Trigun. I lived, slept, ate, and breathed these shows. My head was constantly alight with ideas, concepts, and desires. I wrote near-constantly.

Through this, I managed my second big hit: Transformations.

It’s been a long time, now, and I can’t recall the beginning as much as the ending. I think perhaps I called it something else at the start.

The premise was simple: Kagome, the main character, suddenly transforms into a half-demon, a hanyou, after a demon bites her in battle. I remember that initially I was just writing bullshit; I had no filter and didn’t edit or delete anything. What I wrote got posted verbatim. And, at first, it was cringe-worthy.

I can distinctly recall two things: first, Sesshomaru -- Inuyasha’s full-demon elder brother -- caught Kagome’s scent and investigated and had difficulty resisting her. She was a half-wolf demon, and he was attracted to that. Earlier she and Inuyasha were together in a cave, and her transformation had given her a tail -- which she didn’t like. She chased it, trying to catch it and rip it off.

That’s when the accusations started coming in.

Out of nowhere, and totally unexpectedly, I was getting a slew of comments accusing me of copying another popular fanfiction. I’d legitimately never heard of it, and I had to search it out. I remember reading the first chapter or two and feeling surprised; they were very similar, to the point where I couldn’t blame anyone for thinking I’d copied it.

This was a case of great minds thinking alike, or so I said at the time. I was amused more than anything, but it was clear the accusations weren’t going to stop. Eventually I deleted the story and started over. I’d learned a bit in those few chapters I’d posted and decided that I didn’t really want the events to unfold the way they had, so starting over sounded like a great idea.

And it was.

Now came Transformations as it remains today. The beginning is the same -- Kagome is bitten by a demon and transforms into a half-wolf demon -- but the events following take a different turn from the original.

It was a monster of a hit. I got multiple comments and reviews on every chapter, and I can remember doing this thing for a long time in which I threaten the readers at the end of each chapter with various weapons, only to have the weapon backfire somehow and hurt and/or kill me. The readers seemed to enjoy it, and soon they were suggesting new weapons for me to use.

I loved it.

Eventually the story ended at 64 chapter, but back then my chapters weren’t nearly as long as I write them now, and the final chapter was just a family tree of sorts leading the characters from Feudal Japan to modern day. It was a great, beautiful monster and I had drawn dozens of pictures to go along with it.

It was actually through this that I decided I needed a better place to post my art and thus discovered DeviantART.com. That’s been my main art gallery ever since, around 16 years now (I believe I created it in 2004, a year after I started the fic). If you go there and head all the way back to the first images I posted, you’ll find all of that art remaining even today.

It’s...pretty bad. X’D

But the story doesn’t end there. I wanted my fic to have a greater reach, so I started looking for more websites. I found MediaMiner.org, which was appealing because it hosted both written works and art. And once Transformation was finished, the story concluded, I found I couldn’t quite let it go.

So I did something I’ve not done since: I created an alternate ending.

Titled Changing Lives, this story picked up after chapter 28 of Transformations and went a different way. It treated the story of Transformations as just that: a story, written by Kagome, which Inuyasha read while she was gone one day. He was thunderstruck by it, given it so clearly screamed “I love you” and was full of romance -- and sex.

This led to them getting together, but soon thereafter, tragedy struck.

Kagome was kidnapped on her way home from school. By the time Inuyasha found her, she’d been gang-raped and discarded.

The story very deeply included time travel and revenge aspects from that point on, and I can also recall giving the character Miroku a reincarnation as a detective. He was put on the case, and with Inuyasha’s help, had all the men arrested -- there were seven of them.

Then they started dying.

Inuyasha wasn’t doing this, but he was happy to allow it to happen. The detective did his job per the law, trying to keep the criminals safe as they started dropping like flies. The killer left notes written on the cell walls in the criminal’s own blood, though I can’t quite recall the sequence anymore.

What I do remember is this: the first one read, “He touched her first.” The rest followed that sequence, killing the men in order -- second, third, fourth, etc. I remember one said “hurt her”, one said “made her cry”, and so on.

Eventually, the truth was discovered: Inuyasha was killing them, but not “young” Inuyasha. “Old” Inuyasha. The one who’d lived through the centuries. And his story was the most tragic of all.

In his time, Kagome had been raped and her rapists arrested, as normal. Then, years later, they were freed, having served their time, and immediately they tried to track her down. She was pregnant at the time with Inuyasha’s child. When she saw she was being chased, she jumped down the well back to his time, and the men followed her.

They traveled through time with her but had no idea. They killed her there, then climbed out, and Inuyasha arrived too late to help. But the men were there, confused and lost, and the blood of his wife and child were on them. He slaughtered them all.

But now the well had ceased functioning. He couldn’t return to her time. And, at first, he was just...sad. He mourned. Then, with time, he began to plan. For five centuries, he planned.

His plan was to keep Kagome from ever getting raped. Alas, he failed in this, so instead he decided to get pre-revenge and kill the men while they were imprisoned. He succeeded, but along the way grew...exhausted. By the time he murdered the last man, he had little will left to do so.

But he finished it. For her.

Then he showed himself to Kagome and Inuyasha, explaining what had happened. And he wished them well.

Changing Lives was significantly shorter than its predecessor, only 35 chapters, but I felt it was the better story, overall. I never made art for it, I don’t think, but it was more emotional.

To Present Day

I kept writing, on and off, ever since. Any time I got sufficiently involved in a story, my mind immediately began making my own stories for it. Movies, shows, video games; nothing remained untouched by my mind. I made stories for Labyrinth, Dragon Age, Trigun, Spyro, Jak & Daxter, Naruto...the list went on. I started posted on a third site, adultfanfiction.net (comprised specifically of explicit stories), and I started existing solely on my stories and the feedback I received from them.

I got better. And better. And better. I started looking back on my first stories, my first “hits”, and cringed at the horrendous grammar and articulation of my youth. But it was nostalgic as well, bringing back fond memories of writing on my home computer before we had internet and then rushing to my sister’s with a 3.5″ disc to post them via her internet.

I had a friend around this time, named Leila (Lee-lah), and drew and wrote together. We came up with original stories and though we never really posted them, we had so much fun it didn’t matter. Mostly we talked and drew together, and while I considered myself the better artist, I considered her far better at clothes designs.

Then...a dry spell. I went into college at age 20 and there I met my husband, Eric. He was 17 at the time. And he introduced me to so many more worlds than I’d known before, including the aforementioned Jak & Daxter series and the Sims 2.

Years passed. I still wrote from time to time, but it wasn’t such an obsession as it’d been before. If I had a good enough idea, I’d write it, but I tried to keep my things to oneshots. I posted many such stories on adultfanfiction.net, and I generally got positive reviews and ratings. In the meantime we were more addicted to World of Warcraft, us two and a few friends, and we played that often.

Eventually I slowed down. Time blurred together. I had a lot of good stories, but no major hits. Then came Megamind, and with it, an interesting idea that a lot of people took a liking to: Megamind as the indirect hero, and Metro Man as an abusive spouse of Roxanne. I titled it Bad to be Good, and it was an incredible story.

I started counting words with this one, only posting chapters when they reached around 6,000 words.

The story was a very serious one. It struck cords with a lot of readers, one in particular saying it helped her through some similar times with her abusive husband. We eventually became friends and remain to this day. (She since divorced him, so don’t worry about her. ♥)

Ultimately I never truly completed that story. I remember getting up to 12 chapters and then having difficulty figuring out how to proceed. I used to open the Word document from time to time, check what I’d written, and try to edit things or continue it, but it never really took. Eventually I abandoned it, but luckily the 12th chapter was a softer ending of sorts, so my readers were satisfied.

Then came the Marvel films and, with it, a resurgence in an activity I’d long since stopped participating: roleplaying.

The Crazy Train

It started simple enough. The Avengers just came out, and I was starting to see Facebook RPs popping up between the characters. Curious, I tried to find the pages in question but couldn’t locate them. I did, however, come to find out that there were dozens of pages dedicated to the main characters, alone, with dozens more popping up by the month.

Eventually I stepped in. I’d grown to love Loki’s character and subsequently found he had a canonical wife, Sigyn, but hadn’t found any pages for her. So I made one. Without checking with the other RPer, I just threw myself into a Loki page and, thankfully, that Loki accepted his “wife’s” presence.

We had fun. And our group steadily grew. A Thor, another Loki, and Odin, a Sleipnir, and a whole slew of original characters joined the ranks. I, too, began adding more pages to my roleplays, starting with Narfi and Vali -- Loki and Sigyn’s twin sons.

At the start, these two shared a page. Then, when it became increasingly obvious that people had their favorite of the two boys, I separated them. Funny enough, Vali started off as the clear favorite (he was flirty AF), but Narfi steadily became more so.

Their relationships grew. They both fell in love. They were both tricked by a succubus, giving each an unwanted child at different intervals. Narfi soon had a family of his own, as his lover had an adopted daughter and he was given a daughter of his own.

We spent years here, six or seven I think, just roleplaying with one another. Our group grew and shrank as people joined our circles or left it. There was drama in and out of the roleplay setting. Friendships were forged and abandoned. At one point a Thor page (titled Fatty Thor) targeted me for my roleplay choices and tried to get his followers to harass me. Eventually he left, deleting his page, and our RPs continued without him, never addressing his disappearance.

Then Ragnarok struck -- but not the film’s Rangarok. No, this was worse. We were impatient to have the event occur, me in large part because the mythology says that Vali slays Narfi during the sequence and I couldn’t wait to put all that pain into writing. But what really kicked this off was a friend’s page getting repeatedly deleted.

Sleipnir.

In this RP setting, Sleipnir was a fully intelligent horse capable of speech and even transforming for short periods of time into a humanoid form. He fell in love with a half-demon woman and they had a son together, a centaur named Grani. And then his page kept vanishing.

Initially, we believed the page was reported because there was a rape sequence between his character and the half-demon, though -- and this is imperative -- the two RPers had discussed this in detail before agreeing to the RP. A great deal of thought went into it before they started the roleplay.

And yet, Sleipnir’s page went down.

The RPer made a new one, and that too, went down a short time later. This was disheartening for her, and though we all did our best to help, even creating the page for her in case it was her account getting it flagged, the pages kept getting deleted. The only cause we could work out was that Microsoft just came out with a Sleipnir program of some form and were removing all other pages with that name regardless of content.

So we kicked off Ragnarok and wrecked our Facebook RP world, killing off some of the characters and leaving others behind. We moved platforms, taking our remaining world to Gaia Online, but it wasn’t to be.

Though the RPs increased in quality while there and we created avatars for each of our characters and it definitely helped the process, we just couldn’t keep it up. We were too disheartened for our friend and how things had ended on Facebook.

Slowly but surely, our RPs died. We tried just once more by moving to a new forum called Valucre, but we couldn’t quite get steam going there, either. Eventually all of the RPs died, most of them without conclusions. In some ways, we mourned the loss.

But our remaining group, a total of four of us, remained friends for a great while longer. Three of us, in particular created this very blog some years later with the purpose of posting all of our NSFW works here.

Art, writing, roleplays, etc; this blog was meant to be a joint page to display all of our wicked wiles.

For several months we didn’t post much. Kyone did the most posting during this time, art for her favorite yaoi couple of the time, both NSFW and SFW, and it was moderately popular. Then came my contribution: The Dancer.

The Resurgence

To this day, I’m not sure what really got me back into TMNT. I know I was tired of RPs but wanted the stories to continue, and thus did I begin writing fanfictions again after years of never touching them -- or, at least, never posting them.

The Bayverse movies kicked this off. I’d always loved TMNT, since I was a kid, but the Bayverse films put them in a new light. They weren’t anthropomorphic turtles under 5′ tall anymore, naked 100% of the time. They were tall, big bois, more humanoid, and more like hybrids. I loved them. I wanted them.

I wanted them to be loved.

At the start, I was under the false belief that they didn’t get much love -- i.e., no romance. I especially believed Raphael didn’t get much affection, being such an angry and brash character. Oh, how wrong I was, lol.

Thus did I start with Raphael.

At the beginning I was inspired by a story written by another page, @teradoration, featuring a merman. I wasn’t too interested in the story, personally, as it’s m|m and I’ve never enjoyed those types of stories, but the inspiration came from the fact that it was a multi-chapter work -- on Tumblr.

So I decided to write some porn.

Initially, the idea was to make a short story, something like 10 chapters. I put thought into it, into the character I wanted to create and introduce, into her appearance and history and passions. I considered Raphael, his personality, and crafted a character designed to intrigue and challenge him. Then I looked at both popular and unique character tropes and the kinds of characters I’d made and turned in another direction.

Thus was Jocelyn born, a half-black, half-Polynesian ballet dancer with blonde hair and freckles. And, at first...it was a dead story. No one saw it. No one liked it. No one took a chance on Jocelyn.

For nearly a year, I wrote chapters to an empty audience. I tried not to let it get me down, but the consensus seemed clear: no one was interested in reading it. Still, I’d started it and come to love the characters very dearly, and so I continued. For my sake, for their sake, I continued.

Then came my first big break: tmnttrashcan. If you’re wondering why I didn’t @ that one, it’s because it’s been deactivated. But this amazing woman found my story, loved it, and began sharing it. And because her blog was one driven by reblogs and gifsets, it was far more popular than this one despite its younger age.

And thus did The Dancer begin drawing attention, fans, and feedback. Thus did I finally feel as if this labor of love was validated, that I wasn’t posting just for me anymore. People were enjoying the story, and in return, I poured more effort and love into it.

This is how I thanked my readers: with better content. More drama, more emotion, more love, more heartache, more sex, more everything.

Even before this happened, however, my head had continued the story far into the future. I made a sequel -- The Dragon -- before I’d even had a concept of The DJ. But in this sequel I’d begun laying the groundwork for something in between the two, and through this I began creating Lisa.

With Lisa, I wanted to create a character that fit more securely with the next turtle on my list: Michelangelo. Rather than opposing the turtle in many ways, as Jocelyn does with Raphael, I wanted Lisa to mesh very easily with him.

The DJ had begun.

For a time, tmnttrashcan’s admin and I were fantastic friends. We talked often, over text and over voice chatting. I told her ideas I had for the future, plans going years down the line both in and out of the story, and even let her read what I’d written of The Dragon thus far. She loved it, every last word, and heaped praise at me.

I loved this woman very deeply. I’d tell her as much from time to time, and she echoed the sentiment.

Then she simply...vanished. She stopped talking to me, stopped responding. Eventually I asked her if we were no longer friends. She never answered.

It was heartbreaking.

Soon thereafter, I was also left behind by Kyone. She unfriended me. And then Tumblr decided to ban all NSFW content, so in order to preserve this blog, I was forced to delete all her NSFW art. And when she went further and removed herself from the blog, I went further too and removed all of her posts. But it wasn’t easy.

It’s been a few years since then and I remain heartbroken. We’d been friends for over a decade. I saw her grow up (we met when she was 16), saw her graduate, saw her go through schooling and jobs and hard times. Between her, myself, and Fluxx, we’d amassed a mountain of great times and greater stories. We’d been a sisterhood in all but blood. We’d even called ourselves such.

To this day there remains a hollow place in me. In short, I’ve been jaded. My whole life, I’d seen this pattern repeated: I make a friend, we become close, then they abandon me, usually within a year or two. But with Fluxx and Kyone, I’d truly believed this pattern had finally been broken. I’d believed I finally had friends for life.

Between the loss of tmnttrashcan and Kyone, however, I learned a hard lesson: not to trust so deeply.

This was repeated twice more before I gave up on sharing. With Blue Blood, twice I made a close friend, got to the point of talking near-constantly and voice chatting. Twice I shared previews of what was to come. Once I even told the entire story, everything, every last detail I have planned to the end of the series. And twice, after hearing so much of the tale, the friend vanished from me. They stopped responding. I was talking to air.

It hurt.

By now you may be wondering why this is included in my fanfiction autobiography. Well, because it spurred me on. If I can’t keep friends for long, then I’ll keep my own company. I won’t let myself down. I decided to focus on my stories, for in this I am always the most important person. I am the one who will never be abandoned. I am the creator, the god, of the worlds I shape for the entertainment of others. Readers may come and go, as much a slave to their interests as I am, but I remain. For those who stay and those who arrive later, I remain.

There is a power in this which cannot be matched, but more so, there’s an enjoyment and responsibility. My stories are unfinished but demand an ending from a slew of followers. And so I keep writing, even though the stories are largely complete in my own mind. I know how they end. I know how they intertwine, how they connect. I know the backstage dancers, how the plot lines link together, where each thread is leading; my readers do not.

And so I continue writing, even as I remain cautious about how much I share.

To The Future

What comes next is largely unknown, even to me. I have many, many, many stories, both in original settings and fandoms. I work on some of them from time to time, in between trying to focus on my bigger hits. Sometimes I just open one and begin reading what I’d already written, refreshing my memory and contemplating where I want the story to go.

I’ve considered other forms of storytelling as well. Otome games have my interest, specifically, because of the nature of them; a single protagonist and multiple love interests with their own unique tales to tell. I love that format and have tried crafting numerous stories for them, but they’ve yet to gain any real ground.

This is partly because it’s a huge undertaking. It’d require more than myself to get them made. I can do art and writing, but I know little to nothing of coding. I’m unsure how I would turn words and images into a novella-type game. Originally I wanted Fluxx and Kyone’s help -- Kyone because I felt her art is better than mine, and Fluxx because she has experience coding. I tried to get them involved. They did not get involved.

As far as otome games are concerned, I am alone.

But this is fine. I am a better writer than anything else -- better than I am an artist, a gamer, or a friend, based on my history. So I’ll continue to write. And if I never truly create an original story, if I never get published, if I never receive royalties for my years of painstaking effort, then so be it.

I made people happy. I made people gush and scream and keyboard-smash. I made people laugh and cry. I made people fall in love with that which I love.

That’s enough.

I’ll see you soon with more updates. My stories are not yet finished.

- Nightshade

[hyungswons-blog]

we are not forever.

Characters: Yoo Kihyun, Female Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Slight smut, a breakup and a bunch of sad stuff

Length: 4.1K

a/n: this is my first fic i’m posting on tumblr ajfhdkasjhdv just a little something that i wrote on the plane ride back home from vacation. has not been proofread and it has very slight shitty smut. anyways, hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

+ gif is not mine, but the contents of the story are.

It feels as if everywhere you go, there’s a hint of Kihyun lingering, your failed relationship taunting you at every corner. Your bedroom, which belonged to him as well not too long ago, haunts you upon entry—which is rare now, since it pains you too much to spend time in it alone. Too much of your time is spent wallowing under the duvet. His scent is still engraved in the pillows, and there’s a perfect Kihyun-shaped indent on the left side of the bed. That was his spot, because you’re afraid to sleep on the half of the bed by the window. And every time you close your eyes in an attempt to sleep, you can almost feel his breath fanning across your lips and you jolt upright in hopes that it’s not just your imagination craving his gentle kisses but it is.

The kitchen is another reminder of the times he’d spent the night, taking you places and showing you feelings that were so pleasantly foreign to you, and you’d awake in the morning to the smell of bacon wafting through the house. Kihyun would be standing at the stove in sweatpants and the yellow apron you’d gotten as a housewarming gift from a distant relative. Tearing his eyes away from the food momentarily when he’d hear you padding across the floor, Kihyun would offer you the sweetest of smiles, but refuse to kiss you.

“Good morning,” Kihyun greets you with the smile you adore so much, his eyes shaping into the smallest crescents when he sees you wearing nothing save for his shirt.

Stretching your arms over your head, you trudge towards him, the small piece of clothing leaving nothing to his imagination—not that he needs to conjure an image for himself when the previous night is burned into his memory. Your soft whimpers ring in his ears and he has the urge to recreate the situation.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” Kihyun asks, stopping you about a meter away from him with one hand extended, as if to ward away an evil spirit or reenact the Force from Starwars.

You shake your head, knowing full well how anal Kihyun is about hygiene. However, he catches you off guard with his growing grin, dropping his spatula beside the stove to bring you into his embrace. Your boyfriend lifts you by the waist, placing you gently on top of the kitchen counter and settling himself in between your legs.

Eyebrows raised, you say nothing at the unexpected behaviour, and Kihyun takes this as a sign to carry out whatever thoughts he’s having.

“You look so good in my shirt,” he speaks quietly, nudging your head to the side as he latches his lips onto your neck, marking you as his.

It’s an automatic response for your hands to fly up and tangle in his honey locks. “You look so good in my apron.”

“You know who else looks good in these clothes?” Kihyun tugs on the hem of your—his—shirt, an indication to discard the material that you adhere to. “The floor.”

You can’t help the chortle that escapes. Kihyun normally excels at flirting, what with his dangerous smirk and smooth voice that makes anything sound like heaven. But lately, he’s been spending a little too much time with someone who prefers the greasier approach. “You sound like Wonho.”

“Are you really thinking of that idiot when I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast?”

Brows furrowed, you try to make sense of what he’s talking about because Kihyun’s not exactly got a plate of eggs and toast ready to—

Oh. Your mind’s still a little hazy from your slumber, but his words finally make sense when his hands grip your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter and letting himself dive in between your legs.

As talented of a chef Kihyun is, he has to admit that the flavour of you is better than anything he could ever cook, and he loves the fact that your taste is because of him. His pace is slow and he refuses to offer you his best at first.>p>Not until your hand is pushing on the back of his head and your hips are bucking upwards to receive the relief you so desperately need. That’s when Kihyun’s tongue works expertly on you’re releasing with wanton moans onto his lips.

Occasionally, you think you see him around the restaurant you work at just like old times. When you’d clock out, stepping out of the front doors to find Kihyun waiting for your shift to finish with a bouquet of flowers because it’s your monthsary. Or there were times when he’d simply sit and order a coffee, taking hours to finish it because he just liked watching you work, hair swaying with every step and smiling for customers.

You continually curse your brain for playing such cruel tricks on you.

But there’s one time when it’s actually him, and you have to pinch yourself four times to make sure this isn’t a dream. He’s here to see you, you can feel it in your soul that’s reaching out for him from across the diner. Kihyun knows you work here.

Just as you build the resolve, already walking towards the table to take his order, maybe make some small talk, Kihyun’s joined by a pretty girl with features that could outshine you even in the dark. She kisses him sweetly as a greeting and you’re sent spiralling back to where you began, spinning on your heel and retreating.

“Y/N?” Hyungwon’s hand is on your shoulder, stopping you from nearly running into the employee bathroom. He bends down, studying you with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He knows you all too well after working together for years, or maybe it’s just too obvious that you’re suffering. It feels like you’re on the verge of a panic attack, the tiny version of you in your head mocking you for thinking Kihyun was actually here to reconcile with you.

How could you be so stupid? the little you laughed and the sound made your head throb. Your hands grabbed at your forehead, clawing at your temples to rid of the annoying voice that seemed all too pleased at your misery.

You shove Hyungwon’s hand off your shoulder and immediately lock yourself in the bathroom. It must be hours that you spend in there, sat on the toilet lid with wads of toilet paper stuffed in your nostrils as you wept into your hands.

He’s doing all the things he’d done with you, with the other girl. Kihyun’s probably whispering lyrics into her ear to lull her to sleep, brushing her hair out of her face as she cuddles into his side. He’s probably taking her on picnics or cooking dinner for the two of them after a particularly tough day at work, or taking her out to model for photographs because that’s two of the things he loves the most in the world: photography and his girlfriend.

“Kihyun, this is beautiful,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut to soak in the moment. Your boyfriend’s brought you to a secret hideout he’d stumbled upon a few days ago. It’s a little cave shrouded behind a waterfall, but you’d both come prepared with swim trunks and a bikini.

You had expected a swim, not a discovery worthy of a million dollars. As soon as Kihyun had feigned drowning beneath the stream of water, you’d panicked and surged forward. Emerging on the other side, you’d been met with Kihyun’s proud grin and arms open wide.

“Welcome to my man cave!”

It was far from that. There was only his waterproof camera lying to the side and a few towels; it was obvious that you were the first person to visit his discovery site, and you couldn’t be happier.

You don’t realize it, but Kihyun’s camera is pointed at you. With your back towards him as you marvel the sight of the waterfall from behind it, he sees the most beautiful image he’s ever had the honour of witnessing and he just has to capture it. The sun’s setting outside the cave and the pastel colours reflect off the clear water. You’re running your hands through your wet hair, the silhouette of your frame against the plethora of colours.

Then you hear the click and glance over your shoulder, and there’s another click.

“Hey, stop it!” You whine, covering your face with your palm. You peek through your fingers but Kihyun hasn’t moved yet. “Kihyun, delete those!”

He lowers the camera, lips formed into a playful scowl. “Why? You look so beautiful.”

“You always take pictures of me,” you complain and hold your arm out, palm up. “Let me take some of you.”

That’s the first time Kihyun trusts you enough to handle his baby—the camera. He doesn’t regret it because he returns home with an array of aesthetic snapshots that would have Changkyun shivering in approval. Some are of his girlfriend, some are of him, some are of the two of you goofing off after setting the timer.

He doesn’t delete even the blurriest of images.

After four months, you think you’ve finally gotten Yoo Kihyun out of your system. After four hours on a particularly painful day, you realize how stupid you are to think so.

Family gatherings are a rare occurrence, but when they do happen, everyone far and wide comes down to your parents’ house for a good three or so days. This Thanksgiving is the first time in four years that Kihyun isn’t attending with you, the first get-together in four years that you’re single and brokenhearted, still hung up on a boy who’s already moved on.

When you ring the doorbell, your mom is the one to answer, immediately tugging you into her warm embrace. She knows of your failed relationship; she was the first, in fact, to know because of your sorrow-filled phone call that exact night, when she’d called to tell you of your sister’s pregnancy and you’d choked out a sob.

Everyone greets you happily, but there’s anticipation in their eyes as they stare behind you, expecting your boyfriend to be trailing in while carrying your luggage. But your suitcase is in your own hand and there’s a tight lipped smile gracing your features, and most of them piece the puzzle together.

Most, being the key word.

As you take a seat on the couch across from your aunt, she addresses the elephant in the room as soon as she can. She’s always greedy for gossip, and she always likes to make a show of how her life is never as unfortunate as everyone else’s. Though, her husband would argue that claim, but he’s long gone after a messy divorce that she pretends never happened.

Kihyun knew you hated her and he’d always redirect her attention elsewhere. He’d ask her to elaborate on an extravagant vacation she’d taken to some island, or when she was being extra snobbish, he’d drag her down a notch with a sweet smile while bringing up the nastiest of topics. Now, you’re left to deal with her yourself.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”

There’s a lump in your throat that you have to swallow down as your mother gives you an apologetic look. No one ever wants your aunt to be present at the gatherings, but she always somehow ends up inviting herself. “Um, we broke up.”

Your aunt gasps, an exaggerated sharp intake of breath but her eyes are gleaming in something akin to amusement. “Really? When? Why?”

You don’t exactly want to explain your past year in morbid detail; she doesn’t need to know of the countless breakdowns, the fact that Kihyun is on your mind more often than not. She doesn’t need to know how pathetic you are that he had so easily fallen out of love. “It just wasn’t working for us. We called it off in May.”

“What a shame,” she chides, lips twisted in a plastic frown. “I always thought you’d be engaged to him by this time.”

All you can do is smile weakly and shrug, before excusing yourself to visit your old room upstairs.

Hands passing over the walls longingly, you can’t help but wish to return to childhood. When boys weren’t as important, when they couldn’t break your heart, when you didn’t feel pressured to settle down with someone just because you’re almost finished university.

But you can’t bring yourself to regret the past four years with Kihyun. In fact, you’d do it all over again, even if it ended the same way. In a time of darkness, trying to discover yourself and your future, Kihyun had guided you down a path of calamity and acceptance. He’d helped you figure out what major you wanted to do, what job you could get with it. He’d kept you sane and out of jail when meeting with your aunt on occasions like this.

Your reminiscing is interrupted by your little cousin Ari barrelling through the door, your name escaping her lips loudly as she leaps onto your bed and latches onto your waist.

It’s hard to not chuckle at her antics. Perching yourself beside her on the edge of the bed, you run a hand through her hair as she excitedly tells you about how the start of grade three had gone. She talks quickly, and you can barely keep up, but there’s this light in her that brings a genuine smile to your face—something that seems unfamiliar since the breakup.

But she’s curious. All young children are.

“By the way, where is Kihyun?”

Your heart shatters for the nth time, and you suddenly wish you had stayed home this Thanksgiving to wallow in self pity. You know Ari wasn’t doing this on purpose like your aunt, but that didn’t dull the pain.

Out of your whole family, Kihyun had taken to your little cousin the most. He’d watched her grow for years, babying her as if she was his own family, and Ari had always been fond of the handsome boy.

There’d been a time where you and Kihyun had babysat your cousin for a weekend, and that was the first taste of a future with your boyfriend you’d been granted. You felt like a married couple with a baby girl. The memory’s ingrained vividly in your head because since then, you’ve always been itching for that engagement to Yoo Kihyun, for the wedding, for the children, for the domesticity in your relationship that you craved and were sure that you were oh so close to.

“What do you feel like doing today, Ari?” Kihyun asks, crouching down to eye level of the little girl. She giggles and takes his hand, playing with his fingers as she thinks, but is unable to come up with anything that can be considered fun by the two older people. “How about we go to the carnival?”

It’s the best idea your boyfriend has had because the three of you giddily march into the amusement park hand in hand. Ari is in between you, her small hands clinging to one of yours and one of Kihyun’s to ensure she doesn’t get swept away in the crowd.

You go on all the kids’ rides together. The small roller coaster has you sitting right behind your cousin and boyfriend who take the front two seats, and Kihyun exaggeratedly screams with his arms in the air as you roll down the small hill. It’s quite the contrast to when he’s on the real rides, face scrunched up and an iron grip on the bars as he awaits death.

After a few rides, you grab some street food and walk around the grounds, stopping at a few booths to play those cheap, rigged games. Kihyun hands you his hotdog to hold as he promises Ari that he’ll win her the giant elephant toy.

“Boo, you suck!” you tease as he wastes half the money you’ve brought. Kihyun constantly misses while aiming for the glass bottles, and so you switch spots to give it a shot.

Two tries in and you’re smirking at your boyfriend, Ari hugging her stuffed toy gleefully.

“It was rigged,” Kihyun waves it off nonchalantly, taking your cousin’s free hand. You lace your fingers with his other hand and roll your eyes as he leads his two favourite girls to the ferris wheel to finish off the night.

You stand in line for what feels like hours, but you’re internally grateful for the wait because by the time you climb into the carriage, the sun’s setting. The view is beautiful from your seat, but you can’t help but watch the scene beside you; Ari’s head is on Kihyun’s chest, his arm around her small frame as she snores. He glances at you and your eyes meet, bringing a soft smile to his lips.

“She’s so cute,” he mouths and you nod in agreement. “I can’t wait ‘til we make one of our own.”

You don’t realize it, but tears are dripping down your chin and onto the hands that are now folded in your lap. You stare down at them through watery eyes, locking onto the third finger where there should be a ring by now but you’re met with bare skin.

Your cousin is climbing onto your lap, her little thumbs wiping away your tears. She doesn’t say anything but you have a feeling that she knows what’s happened, because she’s soon wrapping her arms around your neck and letting you cry into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, yet you don’t know what for. Perhaps it’s because Kihyun had been a favourite of your cousin and she’d always been excited to be the flower girl at a wedding you’d planned over midnight movies, or maybe because you’re getting snot on her new dress. Probably both. But she doesn’t care.

“Boys suck anyways,” she whispers. You can’t help but think that she’s too wise for her age.

It’s not long after that you come face to face with the man who’s crushed your heart. In fact, your luck has you sharing a class in your last semester of university, and on the first day, he mistakenly sits beside you.

Catching up on your sleep, your head is buried in your arms on the desk in front of you. You only look up when the chair beside you screeches against the floor, and that’s when your name falls from his lips, tone laced with regret at the sight of the mess you’ve become.

Kihyun’s body is warm against yours as you curl into him on the couch, a box of half-eaten frozen pasta on the coffee table as you watch a movie for what must be the tenth time in your relationship.

You love movie nights with Kihyun, allowing time to relax in each other’s embrace as an escape from the harsh realities of life. But these days, he doesn’t seem to feel the same for a tradition that he insisted you start. His hands don’t wander beneath the blankets and his eyes don’t light up the same way when you hold up the disk excitedly. And he always complains that he’s too tired to cook with you, or too tired to stay up all night to marathon an entire series, or too tired to pleasure the both of you with what used to be passionate lovemaking.

You don’t take it to heart. He’s been busy with university. That’s all it is.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you study your hands that seem to fit so perfectly in each other’s. “You know, my sister got engaged yesterday.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but you feel his body stiffen underneath you.

Glancing up at him, you reposition yourself to find comfort in his lap, a leg draped on either side of his waist as your hands thread through his hair. “You’ll come with me to the wedding, right?”

Kihyun peels your hands away from him, but keeps them in his grip in between you two. “That’s a long time away, you know.”

You shrug. In your mind, when you attend the wedding, maybe you and Kihyun will be engaged too. It’s a given that you’d bring him along, even if it’s two years away or even five. “I can’t imagine going with anyone else.”

The boy nibbles on his lower lip. “You don’t even know if we’ll be together still.”

You climb off his lap, brows furrowed in both pain and concern. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

You’re trying to stay calm but there’s this burning feeling in your chest, telling you every possibility that can make sense of his words. Kihyun can tell. “I just mean… we’re young. We’re… I don’t know.”<\small>

He’s been acting strange for weeks, and what he says is just the icing on the cake. “We’re bound to see other people?” you ask, bewildered. Your boyfriend nods and that’s your cue to stand up. “You don’t see a future with me?”

Your voice cracks with the last syllable and Kihyun’s up in front of you right at that moment, hands placed on your either shoulder. But that’s already wrong, because in moments like this, he’d be kissing you to remind you that you’re the only one for him.

“We’re still young,” Kihyun repeats after a moment of silence.

The scoff that falls from your lips catches him off guard. “So you want to experiment with other people before settling down?” At that, he hesitates but that’s all you need to draw your own conclusions, swatting his hands away from you in anger. “Why are you still with me then?”

You want him to tell you that he’s just made a mistake with his words or that it’s all a joke, but when Kihyun breaks eye contact, finding the floor easier to look at than your wetting eyes, you know better. “I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

He can’t face you. “That I don’t… I don’t think I love you anymore.”

All breath is knocked out of you. Your heart stops beating for a millisecond and your brain is berating you for even asking that stupid question, for bringing up this topic, for not noticing earlier the signs of an impending doom to your utopia that is Yoo Kihyun.

“What?” you croak out, disbelief and despair evident in your voice. You must have heard him wrong, you had to have. But Kihyun shakes his head solemnly, unable to repeat himself. That’s confirmation enough. “H-how long…?”

“Your birthday dinner.”

Two months.

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole. He’s been lying for two months, acting for two months. And you’ve been eating it all up naively, without a care in the world to the turmoil that was really happening in his head.

The memory of your breakup flashes between the two of you as Kihyun drops his bag in shock. Both of you stare wide eyed, until his phone vibrating against the wooden desk pulls you from your misery.

A text lights up the screen and you briefly catch the contact name and a part of the message before he’s snatching it up.

From: My Everything ❤️

    Wanna grab lunch today? I miss kissing your face :(

From: My Everything ❤️

    I mean seeing lolololol

Another piece of your heart cracks and Kihyun just smiles at you guiltily. “Sorry,” he says, but you don’t know if it’s because of what he did to you, or the text messages he knows you saw, or for what he was about to do. As if it’ll fix everything he’s done to you, as if that one word will glue your entire being back together and give you the motivation that you’ve lost.

You want to bang on his chest and tell him everything he’s putting you through, show him whatever bitter bits of you are left, maybe beg him to give you a chance to make him fall in love all over again. Or maybe you just want to talk, because you’d thrown him out so fast after his confession that night that he didn’t have a chance to explain everything, you just need closure.

But you don’t want to hear his excuses and every gut wrenching moment when he held you gingerly or avoided your touch because he didn’t love you anymore.

And just as you’re about to ask him if he wants to eat lunch with you to catch up after all these months—even when you know he’s got plans with a girl and that’s probably the reason why you have the urge to ask—Kihyun’s picking up his belongings and climbing the steps away from you.

He sits a few rows behind you, introducing himself to his new seat partner without sparing you another glance. You’re left staring, open mouthed, after him, the last atomic-size shard of your heart falling to your stomach.

Yoo Kihyun does not need you in his life anymore.